I was having dinner with friends last week when their youngest and I began the 7-Day Countdown to our shared birthday.

"And how old will you be?" I asked.

He stood up on his chair and shouted, "FOUR! I WILL BE FOUR!!!" The best part was The Batman Costume, complete with chiseled chest. He insists on wearing at least 3 times a week, much to his mother's chagrin, but I think its pretty fabulous.

"And how old will you beeeeeeeee?" He asked.

I whispered in his year, and his response was to slap his forehead in utter exhasperation. Big numbers tend to overwhelm the young. (Damn kids...)

I did not stand on my chair and shout it to the world. Because, lets be honest - I'm a faller. And I think I will save that for the actual day. So if you happen to see a chair standing, age shouting super hero out and about this week - that might be me.

I'm thinking Wonder Woman. Loved the jewelry. And that invisible jet.

And maybe those magic bracelets will dodge not only bullets, but maybe keep me vertical.

I was a kid once, too. So I get it. All the wierd quirks. The risk taking. Breaking all the rules. Accidentally dropping dad's box of freshly-tied hooks and creating a tangled mess that made him cry like a baby when I wasn't looking. Using mom's pans as my own personal drum set - making her yell at me in a crazy voice I had only heard in Disney movies.

Being an adult really isn't so different except the stakes are higher and instead of having to face the wrath of your parents you face the wrath of your local law enforcement. And the one time The Husband used my pans as his own personal drum set I threatened to cut him off all the main food groups. (He, too, cried like a baby when I wasn't looking.)

But I was different than most kids in that I had a job - early. I was one of those annoyingly responsible kids who had to back out of a few games of Kick the Can so I could get to Mr. and Mrs. Thompsen's on time.

The first step in the employment pool came in the form of babysitting. And I was fierce. Not only did I babysit I cleaned the house, did the dishes and cooked quasi-gourmet versions of macaroni and cheese, and did a little dusting when Timmy would nap. I was in demand, and I was paid well. Beyond wanting to do a good job for people, (and my crazy love of money) I had parents who demanded it of me. And it wasn't so harsh that I was sweeping cinders while everyone else was all dressed up for the ball, but the rules were pretty clear - no hard work, no ball. And forget about the fancy shoes.

And they led by example. They continue to lead by example, and I have to be honest to say that sometimes I wish they would both sit around in their underwear wiping Cheeto Cheese on their t-shirts and belch loudly so I could maybe not be so demanding of myself and learn to chill once and a while. But I don't think that is in my DNA, really. Though making a good martini is, so I do suppose it all balances out. That and all the spilling.

Anyway.

It is pretty exhasperating to me when I face issues with employees who cannot - or will not - do the simplest of tasks, or follow pretty reasonable rules. And I should clarify that by employee I mean the teenage kids who float through my place begging for a job - any job. And in this business, that means starting out behind the sweaty steamy dishwasher. But it's a start. It's how I started in this business, and I get that it sucks. It's a hot, dirty, demanding job. But it's a start.

Right now I've got a kid working nights. He does a great job... when I can get him to focus. He goes along great until he gets distracted by something shiny - so you can imagine the chaos that ensuses when he sorts silverware. And he's a good kid, I like him a lot. But that whole distraction thing and his aparent short term memorly loss issue make me feel like I repeat myself over and over and over and over. To the point where I am sick of my own voice, and sick of sounding like a nagging troll. But when I say, "No iPod at work", I mean no iPod. That doesn't mean if I can't see it, it's OK. Or OK when I am not around. Or OK if you don't dance. It is just not OK. I mean, you need to be able to hear people. You need to know when someone is walking behind you with a pot of hot stock or a knife. Or a roaster pan full of hot soup. And if someone calls for plates they don't want to see you gettin' low.

So last night I walk in and his shirt collar is up and his head is bobbing. And short of doing his Danny Zuko impression I know he has earbuds nestled in his years. I said his name - and got nothing. So I walked up and stood right behind him, close enough to see if he had lice, and he took a step back and slammed right into me. He froze. I said nothing. We stood there for a minute in that akward position until he finally broke. "Would it help if I said I was listening to books on tape."

I dropped my head and sighed.

And then I went home and ate Cheetos.

No I did not run off with George.

I considered it, though. He's pretty fabulous. I know, I know... maybe a few public missteps under his belt... but fabulous just the same.

No - since my little foray into the world of 'time off' I have been doing anything but relaxing. There was staffing issues - one quit because, and I quote "I had no idea how hard this would be. I got an A in pastry class, after all." Right. I got an A in Geometry but you don't see me out there being all... Geometric.

It's been a chaotic couple of weeks, per usual.

I had a bride fall in love with someone besides the groom - wedding cancelled. Scratch that - two weddings cancelled. She fell in love with the groom who's wedding we were to Trick this weekend.

And then we had a gas leak at The Restaurant. Thank God it was caught early. Thank God no one was hurt. Unless you count my checkbook for the new side flat-top.

Never a dull moment in Crazy Town, for sure. Many moments that have been not so fabulous.

But George - George was good.

Happy 4th of July!

I hope you are all out celebrating in fine style - with the best grilling foods, the best beer and the best lounge chair to relax in while you fight Uncle Harry, with his fancy sock/sandal combo, for the last chunk of Jell-O Jigglers.

I am off today. I am off for the entire weekend, actually, able to schedule ourselves out for a nice long weekend during this crazy season.

But instead of spilling mustard on my shirt we're on a little road trip. A nice bit of time away from all the crazies. Well, I say that with great hope. Let's be honest, like The Friend in Italy I seem to wear just the right perfume to keep a pack-o-nuts following behind me like I am the Pied Piper of Crazy Town.

We were actually able to go out for dinner last night - a rare treat. I dined on Panko-crusted halibut while perched at a seaside table. The clouds broke enough to catch a glimpse of the most gorgeous sunset in all of it's splendor - even more gorgeous as the colors filtered through my freshly squeezed lemon drop.

There won't be any fireworks where I am at tonight. No, tonight I am starting off My Birthday Month with an adventure Up North. Vancouver BC is a fabulous city and I am here to leave my mark.

And because my schedule did not allow it two days ago, I am here to celebrate my personal Freedom (cheesy pun intended) by having dinner with George. He's even promised to sing me a few songs for dessert.

I'm such an 80's girl.

Have a spectacular day.

I've grown to loathe The Shrimp.

Big. Small. Hot. Cold. Sauteed. Wrapped in bacon. (Mmmm. Bacon. Ok maybe not those.) Tempura dipped. You name it. I hate them.

I feel like my body is starting to curve and a tail is sprouting out my arse.

It's all we do these days, it seems, is load shrimp onto a platter and serve them to the masses. And people - people go nuts for them.

For those of you not in this area - it was hot this weekend. Not like Eastern Seabord Hot with all that humidity. But considering it was a mere 58 about a week ago, 94 is hot. Damn hot. And I am not complaining because quite frankly I was starting to mold.

But I felt bad for the wedding party - all dressed in their black tuxes in all that 94 degrees. I myself was standing with my head shoved in the freezer to keep that ever unnatractive, "Ohmygod did you see how much the caterer was sweating" sweat from rolling down my face.

So when I made up the platter of the aforementioned chilled shrimp (or prawns for those of you Down Under) I gagged a little. I am just tired of seeing them. And as much as we try to get people to think outside the box a little, it all comes down to one fat fact: People love them.

This was just a small amount - part of a little "Nibble Table" we put out to entertain guests while chairs were moved to the place where the main course would be served. But as I set them down Mr. Groomsmen - sweating profusely - hunched over the display like a mad scientist and started digging in. I mean like dipping, slurping, belching digging in. And then dropping the tails right there on the platter.

I started to mumble, "don't do that" while shaking my head. But he didn't hear me. He groaned, "I love me some shrimp, prawns, whatever these are." And like a heard of stray cats on an open can of tuna people just pounced on that platter like they had not a care in the world. So I stepped back, turned an about face and went back to the kitchen.

The Partner could tell by the look on my face something was up and was just starting to ask when A Server came into the kitchen and said, "It's like Buy One Get One Free Day at Red Lobster out there."

And without saying a word I stuck my head in the freezer - praying the little ice crystals would morph into liquor.