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250 Px_Ballrooms-Ugly_Poodles-3DleftHello there, you.

If you enjoy this blog, huzzah! For it has been turned into a living, breathing, walking, talking book!

“Ballrooms and Ugly Poodles: Semi-Tall Tales of a Palm Beach Waitress”  is available as an early release e-b00k — currently priced at just $2.99! The print book will be available on March. 12.

Click HERE to get reading, and thanks for stopping by.




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Who let the samurai warrior into the ballroom?

I don’t know if I have posted this one beofore.  If I have- enjoy again.

If I have not- eat it up.

xo xo

I have seen famous singers, 80’s rock bands, and circ de solei performances.  I have seen firework displays, naked women painted gold (sick), and live art painted on stage.  The entertainment at the parties I am working always doubles as my entertainment for the evening, and that is one perk of being a Palm Beach waitress.  However, no entertainment act excites me more when they bring in the … traditional Japanese drummers.

Boom ba da boom boom boom ba da boom.

Can you hear them now?  Probably not, and you probably think I am a dork for trying to write out their deep, soul vibrating sounds, but just go with it.

It is called taiko drumming, and is truly amazing.

They fill the stage with huge drums, and of course a massive gong.   The drummers all dress in traditional Japanese clothing, but sometimes I wonder if they are just wearing a bathrobe from target.  The taiko group comes to the hotel all the time, basically whenever someone orders a lot of sushi for a reception they feel it is appropriate to have such drumming played in the background.  I have no complaints.

Most of the drummers are Japanese, but there always is the one little blond girl that always leaves me wondering how she got involved in such an extracurricular activity?  And also leaves me jealous because instead of beating out all of life’s frustrations on a massive drum while wearing pajamas, I am standing in one spot for four hours offering champagne that I am not allowed to drink.

But yet, the best part of the drumming ceremony is not the blond girl, nor the loud deafening beats.  The best part is the Samurai warrior that comes free of charge with every performance.

A man, a random, strange man dresses in traditional Samurai garb lurks through the ballroom, massive sword and all, in complete stealth.

He has a helmet that flaps over his ears, and a fu man chu moustache that resembles Hulk Hogan’s, but of course not platinum blond, rather it’s black and much more stringy.  His thick armor hangs over his shoulders and around his waist.  The best part, he even wears those ninja turtle toe type socks that they wear in Japan with those weird wooden flip flop shoes.  Amazing oh ninja turtle sock man, you look absolutely amazing.

Now this warrior takes his job very seriously, coming up to you and staring you straight in the eye, holding his sword up like he is about to cut your arm off, and his lips quivering in anger.  Hopefully the anger part is acting, and not his true pent up aggression towards his job, because he is holding a weapon, and things could get feisty.

Anways, with the Samari warrior in our midst I knew tonight was going to be a lovely evening.  The guest start to pour in, and the sushi is flying off the plates, and a couple conveniently into my mouth behind the closed doors of the kitchen.  Oops.  The room is abuzz with excitement, chatter, and Palm Beach gossip. 

About a half hour into the reception the drummers take their places, and begin their rhythmic banging, the beats vibrating the glasses I was carrying on my silver tray.

One particular woman in attendance at this party had already taken about 5 of my champagnes I had been assigned to pass out for the evening.  Her lips were bigger than Goldie Hawn’s, and her hair a few shades lighter blonde.  The skin on her face was stretched so tight it looked like the casing of a hot dog.  Her dress was a floor length yellow number, that had more rhinestones than my high school dance costumes.  The woman was Palm Beach fierce.  She was talking so loud out of her fat hot pink painted lips, I could almost hear her clearly over the loud drumming.  She was making huge motions with her arms, a little of her champagne spilling out of her glass with each syllable.  She seemed oblivious to everything else except the little crowd she was entertaining with her stories and loud laughter.

The Samurai warrior suddenly appears next to me. 

“Hello!” I say to him, in a very friendly tone, having seen him at several parties before.  He looks at me and grunts.  Man this guy never breaks character.

He too has spotted the bright yellow canary Palm Beacher chirping in the middle of the crowd.  He studies her for a minute as if planning a war strategy of attack.  His hand slowly and steadily reaches for his machete like sword, his eyes never leaving the woman in the annoying yellow dress.

He rears up his sword back over his shoulder, putting it at the perfect angle to decapitate someone at any moment.  I am frightened.

The samurai begins his quiet slow steps over to toward the loud woman, each ninja turtle foot gingerly placed in front of the other with careful precision.  This man, was on a mission.

The warrior gets within inches of the loud woman, her back turned to him she is completely unaware of the man with a nasty fo man chu breathing down her neck. His slow, deep careful breaths slightly flutter the woman’s massive diamond chandelier earrings.

 People in her group obviously see the man behind the loud woman, but ignore him, most likely as curious as I was about what he was about to do.

The warrior puts his face up right behind the woman’s ear, lifts his sword over his head and lets out a loud, frightening war cry.

“RAAAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAH,” is how I can best dictate to you the ridiculous growl that escaped past his lips.  Sound it out.

The loud yellow dress Palm Beacher screams bloody murder, her champagne glass flies up into the air, the sticky liquid raining down 8 nearby guest.

She whips around as fast as lighting, and is face to face with  samurai attacker, his sword still drawn, and she faints.

Yes, she faints.

She is flat on the floor, in a puddle of champagne and embarrassment.

The warrior lowers his arms, looks around with his sly samurai eyes, puts his sword back in position, and takes his careful steps away out of the ballroom, never breaking character, never speaking a word.

Mission accomplished.

I now realize why this man does what he does.

He must love his job.

Book It.

Oh faithful PBwaitress readers and comrades,

Do not be faint hearted over my lack of posts in the past few months.

Rather, take heart. For I have been using all my creative energies to formulate this little blog into a future New York Times best selling BOOK, packed with more stories, more laughs, and more Palm Beach adventures.

With that said, if you are a literary agent or a publisher, let’s be best friends, and get this piece of literary art on the shelves at Barnes and Noble.

Cheers to you, cheers to chasing dreams, and cheers to vowing never to be a fat office girl.

-The Palm Beach Waitress.

PS-  Peruse through old stories, and I hope you will find something that tickles your fancy.  I love you.


“Hava nagila

Hava nagila

 Hava nagila vi nis’mecha”

Now to you that may sound like Ewok language, but to me that is the sound of a good time. Palm Beach has a high Jewish population, and the majority of the weddings celebrated at the hotel are of Jewish tradition. That song, Hava Nagila, kicks of the reception into a night of pure bliss.

Every guest piles onto the tiny dance floor, makes a circle and starts dancing around and around until joy is bursting out of every one of their pores. The dance floor is more hopping than a club in Daytona Beach during spring break. Trust me I know. .

The best part of this traditional dance is when the bride and the groom are lifted up into the air, they each grab a corner of a napkin, and are twirled and whirled around. I envy these brides. This looks like one of the most exhilarating, and joyous moments of their life. The most exciting dance at my wedding was when they played ‘Get low’ by Lil John and my grandma got down and dirty.

Anyways, Jewish weddings are absolutely amazing. I was setting up for the evening and quickly noticed a huppa in the ceremony room, and lots of cute little men wearing yamakas roaming the halls, so I knew that tonight would be yet another celebration of Hebrew bliss.

There ceremony came and went, glass was broken, and the bride and groom emerged into the ballroom to make sure every detail was in order for their looming celebration.

That is when I saw her, the bride. She looked beautiful, her hair was swept back, and she had beautiful antique earrings dangling from her lobes. And….she must have weighed 400 pounds.

Now nothing against women who have a little more to love, God bless them … but the thought of that chair dance immediately came to mind. What was going to happen? What….was going to happen! The chair dance is absolutely necessary to complete the Jewish festivities…the chair dance must live.

Then I saw the bride was thinking the same thing I was … as she glanced at the two chairs that were already placed near the edge of the dance floor, two chairs that were staring at her, taunting her. I saw her face go white, clearly nervous about her airborne experience that was quickly approaching.

She went to the bar and quickly consumed three glasses of champagne. Her new husband quietly tried to protest, but she would not hear it. The drinks were gulped down, and she took one more for the road just as guests were starting to pour in.

Drinks were served, food was passed, laughter and celebration filled the air. I kept one eye on the bride, and watched her shoot down 3 more glasses of bubbly right as the music began to kick it.

“Hava nagila

Hava nagila

Hava nagila vi nis’mecha”


The brides face dropped, just as everyone else’s lifted. The clapping and cheering began, and the dance floor filled. The crowd pushed the couple out in front of the stage, their chairs awaiting them. The groom plopped down on his, and the bride hesitantly sat on hers, a nervous fake smile crossed her face.

Every groomsmen in the wedding party surrounded her. The groom must have played college football, all of his friends had necks bigger than Bret Farve’s, with muscles bursting through their tight tuxedo sleeves. The groom clearly had selected his strongest, beefiest friends to be his groomsmen, knowing that this bride lifting moment was to come. I held my breath as I watched to see what would happen next.

The guests were spinning around and around, the music getting louder and louder. The groomsmen counted “one…two…THREE” and heaved the large bride into the air.

A drunken grin buzzed on her red face as she realized “I made it! I am up!” She met eyes with her groom and reached for her end of the napkin. That is when it all came loose. A meat head groomsmen tripped over a renegade high heel on the edge of the dance floor, and lost his balance.

The entire group of men supporting the bride started to sway. Hef face dropped, as did her hand from the napkin. She knew. I knew. We all knew what was about to happen.

They swayed left, they swayed right … someone tried to stand below the woman in an attempt to catch her, but we all knew he would be squished.

The bride ….was going down. She tried to grab onto the chair, onto her groom, anything! But it was inevitable. She tipped forward, arms and legs flailing. The crowd below her could not support her bootyliciuous body, and she, and about 5 guest beneath here, were flattened.

The Hava nagila slowly came to a stop. Everyone gasped, and started trying to help the bride up. But she pushed them all back, and quickly jumped to her feet. A little blood was trickling down her forehead. And a huge smile was plastered across her face. She yelled out a “WOO HOOO,” arms pumping in the air. Her cry was a little slurred.

It seemed as if the excessive champagne self medication had done it’s trick. She felt no pain from her fall, nor any embarrassment. Oh champagne, the curer of all awkward wedding moments.

And with that the band started up again, and the festivities continued for one of the most lively wedding receptions I have ever witnessed. The next morning I worked the post wedding brunch. The bride walked in, hands clasped with her glowing groom, a smile on both their face. She had a black eye, and a band-aid on her forehead. But she looked so happy, especially as she gazed lovingly at her new husband, and grabbed herself, a mimosa.


17 more stories and this little blog is being turned into a book!  God willing?



Another ridiculous poodle that roams the earth.

This picture needs no words.  Simply amazing. 

At this point I don’t know what this poodle has to do with being a Palm Beach waitress, but just appreciate it for all it’s glory.