Kat the Maverick Bitching Barmaid

Dear Diary,

After Friday's late shift, I woke up about midday - damn it felt good to have a legitimate reason to lie-in! Ambled downstairs to share a little awkward conversation with Damien before spending basically 3 hours tarting myself up for my 4pm shift. And what a shift it was! There was another match on, so mostly dossed around, getting to know the other 2 (much more fun-seeming) barmaids and snaffling free Diet Coke. Amongst being rushed off our feet serving about 5000 people. AT ONCE.
It was an AWESOME night though - somehow, working there feels more like socialising than working, and what's even better is that John clearly doesn't give two shits. As long as you don't take the piss with it, and make sure there's always at least SOMEONE serving behind the bar, you can get away with murder.

Which I certainly did last night - when one of Shaun's mates, (all of whom were dressed up as nerds - dressing up to go out on the piss is a rugby tradition, apparently) Pez, asked what I normally drink. Touched, I poured a pint of cider, sticking it on the team's tab - whilst watching the team corner another victim for the "Beer Bong" (funnel) by chanting their name. Smiling, I reached for my pint, only for Pez to bat my hand away and pick it up himself. What was going on? Well, I found out 4 seconds later, as Pez started chanting my surname. The BASTARD!! The team soon caught on (despite only about 5 of them knowing who I am) and before long the whole room was ringing with chants of "O-DON-NELL! O-DON-NELL! O-DON-NELL!!!!" despite my half-laughing-half-pleading glares.

Casting a sheepish glance at the other barmaids and scuttling past John with a quick "Am I allowed to?" - I strode out from behind the bar, eyeing the funnel with an air of confidence (despite the fact that I haven't done one since uni and was actually terrified). And that is how on Saturday night, whilst at work, I came to be kneeling in front of my brother's mate, knocking back an entire pint as the room cheered me on - and back behind the bar in less than a minute. I'm a bloody MAVERICK!! Not to mention extremely professional - no swaying or anything. Not that I'm a lightweight or anything, but I did down it pretty bloody quickly...... Also got bought a Sambuca from one of the barmaids off into town. I'm getting PAID for this, people. This job fricking ROCKS!!!
Anyway, I'm back in next Saturday, and can't actually wait. Not to mention I get paid double from the Pub (from extra shift 2 weeks ago) tomorrow, my first claim comes through on Tuesday, AND I'll be getting rugby club wages on Friday! I'm gonna be RICH!!! AND I've just found out Lisa's home for a week on Thursday - this is the best week EVER!!!

Today was nice - we all (inc. Damien) went over to Grandma's for a pub lunch and a million more triumph-over-adversity stories, featuring Grandma as the "little guy" - battling corporations, establishments, and anyone trying to control her, basically. God, I love it. It was wicked to see her again, and lunch was GORGEOUS, not to mention the views. I SO need to get a place in the country when I'm a wildly rich script-writer.......

Damien's trying my patience, slightly. He's been with us for a week now, and it's so obvious he doesn't want to be here. Which is fair enough, he's in a country miles from home, he's only here because he HAS to be, he needs the work, and he doesn't have his own space. But for goodness sake, if I was staying at the house of family, however removed or distant, I'd at least make an effort. OK, he helps with the washing up and odd jobs, I suppose. But he's so QUIET, just keeps to himself all the time, and takes about half an hour to answer a question. It drives me mad.

K: "So how's the rennovation going back home, Damien?"
D: "........................................"
K: (*uncomfortable*) "Um........ OK........ Mum, have you got any.....?"
D: "Well, it could be better."
K: "??????????"

Then when we lay tea out, he just stands there LOOKING at the table, until everyone's sat down. Then he doesn't take ANYTHING himself, he waits till someone prompts him, or serves it for him. And then eats with his head bowed all the way through, as we try to engage him in the conversation and pretend the whole thing isn't massively awkward. I mean, god knows, he's a nice enough, hard-working man, and I appreciate that some people are probably shy. But come on, we've let him into our HOME. At least crack a SMILE every once in a while! Not to mention he's come from Switzerland, where he moved with his wife years ago, to completely rennovate an old mill, convert their house and make a B+B business out of it. We sit there and talk about what happened on Corrie the other night. You just get the impression he's looking at us all and thinking "What trivial lives you people have."

And another thing - it pisses me off NO END when Mum makes her usual jokes/comments at Dad/Dad's expense IN FRONT OF DAMIEN. I mean, for fuck's sake. It's alright to do it in private (well, if I'm honest, it's not, it drives me up the fucking wall). But to bring someone else into it? To make someone else witness Dad's little digs from his wife? I hate that. All Damien can do is mutter and smile uncomfortably while I shoot little glares at Mum.
And it's not just them - I've noticed this with other people. Other couples (often when in a big group) do this too, they make little digs and comments and jokes about their partners - who just stand by and take it - comparing marriage to a "life sentence" and saying things, which, if they were said in a serious voice, would probably be quite uncomfortable and upsetting. And then everyone laughs, as if it's the funniest thing ever. Are they laughing to hide the awkwardness of the situation? Or does everyone do this, and I'm just madly uptight?

It just seems to me that if you're going to enter into marriage (and therefore a LIFE together) it should at least be with someone you GET ALONG with, and dare I say it, LOVE. Otherwise it's no fun for anyone, least of all your children, who sit there blushing as you "jokingly" lay into each other in anybody's company.
Obviously, as a 22-year old with only one 3-month relationship under her belt, I realise I'm in no position to judge, or indeed, claim to know ANYTHING about married life. It's just thoughts.

Onto cheerier thoughts...... well, I don't have any at this moment in time. I can't stop thinking (translation: FANTASIZING and thinking) about Gary, and I get paid tomorrow. Which I think I told you. Gosh, what a fun little life I lead. I'm so on the verge of jacking it in and fleeing to Gary's for a dirty weekend. Not that we've planned it, but I'm sure he wouldn't really kick up a fuss.......

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