Still Alive

Hello!

I'm glad you still stop by periodically. I'm not officially retired from blogging but life is crazy busy right now. I just wanted to update on the off chance that someone still happens by.

Somewhat incoherent quicky update: Married now. Still in love. Wedding ring is engraved with 'These are better days" and overall, it's true. Am employed as an art therapist. Still not paid what I'm worth, but hey, who is? Cleaning rich people's houses to subsidize the crappy income. Kids are great, healthy, happy, growing like little weeds, smart as whipper-snappers. Step-brother died of a drug overdose, still dealing with that in my own slow to comprehend and accept kind of way. Cat is still a big fat weirdo-attacks my feet and emits a weird meow like he's being tortured. Considering going back to school for a Master's degree.

Them's the highlights. Hope you're doing well. Hard to say when I'll be back. I try to keep people guessing.

xoxo
WiP

You Can't Make Me

I realize that I have been MIA. I've actually had a variety of blog worthy moments in the last several months, I just haven't had the time to put finger to keyboard (so to speak). This is a short anecdote, and somewhat amusing so I figured I'd take the time to share.

I am somewhat of an environmentalist. I try to minimize my impact on nature by doing things like bringing cloth bags with me to the supermarket, recycling, reusing, driving the shortest route, you know, the basics and then some. Plastic bags are awful for the environment for a variety of reasons. First and foremost, they never go away (when I say never, I mean not in my life time or the life time of my potential great-grandchildren).

I went shopping for 2x4's birthday recently and purchased him the 10 inch frying pan he's been anxious to receive for a while now. A frying pan has a HANDLE. Keep this small fact in mind while I share with you the exchange between myself and the older lady at the department store register.

I put the pan on the counter. The nice lady scaned the pan and then grabbed a plastic bag. As I took my money out of my purse, I stated; "You know what, I don't need a bag, I'll just carry that as is."

The nice lady then proceeded to put the pan in the bag and declared, "No, I have to give you a bag or I'll get in trouble with security. If you want to remove the bag when you get outside, you can." Clearly she missed the point. I don't want to use a bag nor waste a bag, nor add one more plastic bag to the world.

I handed the nice lady my money and then removed the pan from the bag stating, "If I get stopped by security, I'll inform them that you tried valiently to give me a bag but I resisted your efforts"

The nice lady was clearly annoyed and moved more stealthily than I would have thought someone her age could, producing a role of tape with the store's logo printed on it and before I had a chance to protest, stuck some to the pan announcing, "Then I have to give you some tape!"

This was particularly amusing because I wouldn't have objected to the tape but somehow her approach made me feel victimized, like she had just smacked me across the face with her glove.

But, as my middle name is compromise, I smiled and said, "That's just fine." After all, the situation had quickly evolved from a simple "I'll do one little thing to help sustain the health of the planet" into "I WILL win."

I feel that in the end, mother nature and I were triumphant. Our team won the battle.

Our New Family Member

Growing up, the only type of animals we were permitted to have as pets were dogs. My mom hated cats, and rodents and reptiles were out of the question. We had a Chow named Frisky when I was 4 or 5 years of age. Her stay in our household was short-lived. Though my memory of her is limited, I'm told Frisky was simply too frisky to keep. And she was none to friendly, to boot.

Being the product of a broken home meant that I also had dogs at my dad's house. Belle was a wonderful soul. She was the runt of an English Spaniel litter and came as a package deal with step-mother number one. This pair introduced me to the idea that a dog can be loved through training, and that a well trained dog is much more of a pleasure to have around than a jumpy lunatic who can't tell a sit command from a call for dinner time. Belle lived a long life, and I have no doubt that she went to dog heaven for all her years of family love and devotion.

Next at mom's we had Annie the beagle. I loved Annie like crazy as she was the first pet I truly considered mine. I even had pictures of her in my school locker. As much as I loved Annie, she was a slave to her nose like any hound dog and would go deaf when on a scent. She also ate every disgusting thing you can imagine. There was never a dirty pair of underwear or used tissue safe when Annie was around. To my beloved Annie, these were delectable treats. I once watched her crap out a whole damn sock. It wasn't a small sock either, it was a long tube sock. She died young. I couldn't talk about her without crying from saddness for a good 2 years after she was gone. But, Annie's foibles were enough to make me decide that I will never again own a hound of any variety.

Then there was Bandit who slept with me every night. Bandit was a mutt. She was full of energy and as loyal as every other dog I was fortunate enough to own. When I moved out of my mom's house I felt more guilty about leaving Bandit than I did about leaving my mom.

When I started dating my first husband he had Nikki, a beautiful Dalmation who may very well have been Belle reincarnated. Her disposition was similar and she took to me immediately. As a matter of fact, I think my ex-husband was forever jealous that she so easily became my companion and would wait for me at the door every day knowing it was about time for me to arrive home from work. He never grasped the simple concept that I was the one who showered her with love and affection, that I was as excited to see her as she was me, while he was mostly indifferent to her existance. I cried for days after Nikki was gone. And I still miss her.

Why this long tribute to the pets of my past? Because while I am clearly a dog person, 2x4 is a cat person. So, recently, we adopted a beautiful cat from a local shelter. We named him C.K. Dexter Haven (C.K. or Dexter for short) from my favorite movie of all time (ten points if you can tell me the movie without googling it).

And here's the lesson Dexter has taught me: Cats are totally different than dogs. TOTALLY. I don't understand how attacking me with his teeth and claws means he's happy. Dogs don't do that! Or, at least when they do, it's clear that they're playing. The first time Dexter did this, I FREAKED. 2x4 had to explain that this is normal and he's playing. Call me crazy but I don't think playing should involve sharp instruments.

Dexter seems to get more lively the longer we have him. This morning he got all worked up and was stalking my feet. It led to me yelping, jumping onto the couch, and tucking my feet up under my butt so that they wouldn't be ripped to shreds. You wanna know how he got worked up?! I was lovingly PETTING him. Next thing I knew, my feet were near victims of his happy excitement. With dogs, the difference between a play face and an "I'm really viscious and am about to attack you" face are clearly defined. With cats, they're the same! The "you're a juicy mouse and I'm going to eat you" face is the very same face as the "I love you sooo much that I'm going to grab your arm with my paws and nibble on your hand a little, but it's jut because I'm happy and wanna play" face.

Don't get me wrong, it's only been a couple of weeks and I'm totally attached. I'm an animal person, always have been. I love him despite the fact that he makes me sneeze and makes my eyes water. And he seems to like me as well. We're teaching each other. I'm learning how to interact with animals of the feline variety, and he's learning how to deal with a neurotic human.

Impossible

Girl and Dog has tagged me and asked that I list my 5 favorite songs. This is impossible primarily because my list of favorites shifts drastically with my mood. Also, narrowing it down to 5 is a tall order (though I do appreciate the fact that the list won't be a daunting task). Unlike the rest of the world, I can't refer to a songlist in my mp3 player 'cause I don't have one. Therefore, I'm going to the CD shelves and attempting to recall via osmosis. So, in an effort to participate honestly, I will list 5 songs that I can listen to when in almost any mood. Songs that have stood the test of time and maturity. Songs that I would enjoy hearing at my wedding. Now, without further ado, I give you 5 of my favoritish songs.

1. The Best is Yet to Come performed by Frank Sinatra. LOVE IT. 2x4 once told me this song makes him think of us. It should most definitely make an appearance at the wedding.

2. Mambo Italiano performed by Dean Martin. Whenever this song comes on, I. cannot. sit. still. It always makes me smile. I'm smiling just thinking about it. "Hey mambo, mambo italiano..."

3. Repetetive? maybe. But I have to do it: Withcraft also performed by old blue eyes. An explanation isn't always necessary. This is just a good song.

4. Why Georgia by John Mayer. John Mayer wrote the soundtrack for my life around the time that I decided to end my first marriage. The idea that he wanted to skip his freeway exit and just keep driving, leave his current life because, "might be a quarter life crisis, or just a stirring in my soul"...so what I was feeling. My very own quarter life crisis left me with the realization that I had made a mistake and married the wrong man, but that I could rectify that mistake. Had I not done so, I wouldn't have been available to spend the rest of my life with the man who makes me feel complete.

5. Sunrise by Nora Jones. Happy. Tranquil. Just plain enjoyable.

Inspiration via 2x4

I sat at my desk, chin deep in med charts, service plans, and scheduling challenges when my purse emitted that tell tale vibration sound, indicating a text message. I absent mindedly fished through the middle pocket, not taking my eye off the puzzling chart in front of me, full of microscopic squares, intended to monitor medication compliance. I used my left thumb in an often practiced maneuver to flip open the phone and read the incoming message.

"Do you want to go out on a date with me tonight?"

My heart skipped a beat at the prospect. Two simultaneous reactions occurred within me.
1. Absofreakinlutely.
2. We can't afford this.

I took a split second to hush number 2. We need this. Our schedules have been opposing, we've both been somewhat on edge, and due to a scheduling snafu I get out of work at 6 this evening instead of 9 which would have put me home just in time to hear the first of his sleeping breaths. Instead, my wonderful love wants to take advantage of the rare opportunity of an evening together and treat the stressed out woman that he loves to a night of wining and dining. God I love this man. So, I responded:

"YES!"

His response:

"Put on something nice"

I paused from my paperwork hell to swoon.

Of course, mental health clients being what they are, my last client decided that TODAY would be the day he does a 180 degree turn and wants to be compliant with his treatment, and talk about it. All I could think was, 'Good GOD would you shut up? Don't you understand I have a life? Why after 3 weeks of bitching and moaning must you want to be chatty today?' How's that for empathy?

I barely made it out of work at 6. I came in the door and he was at the computer, dressed up, sexy as hell. I greeted him with a kiss and stated, "I'm sorry I don't have time to chat, I have a hot date tonight"

He was very understanding, and gave me my space.

Showered, sexy, excited and light hearted, we headed out. We had never been to this restaurant before. We walked in the door and were greeted by a pleasant gentleman who lead the way to our table. We followed him, a slight limp causing his gait to be slow, and I took in the atmosphere, trying to savor each moment. The white linen table clothes looked crisp. The wine glasses on each table held cloth napkins, alternating in black and white. The walls were a calming pale green with a darker chair rail breaking the monotony of the one color The contrast was appealing to the eye. The lighting was just right and the small lanterns on each table helped set the low-key, relaxing mood.

He pulled out my chair, a gesture that I love, and that has never been performed for me by another man. We settled in and ordered a bottle of Chianti. The waitress understood right away that we were not in a hurry and allowed us to enjoy our meal at a slow pace with minimal interruptions. The sounds within the restaurant ebbed and flowed as we immersed ourselves in conversation, enjoying each other's company, catching up on the small portions of life that get lost when our time together is limited. The meals were marvelous, specialty culinary creations not on the menu as there were no vegetarian selections. He had called ahead, he thought of everything. He decided on a white sauce, and I on a red. We sampled each other's, both impressed with the chef's ability to make pasta primavera so enticing, the vegetables cooked just right and the ratio of veggies to pasta perfect.

As the waitress wrapped the remainder of my meal (He had nothing to wrap, his bowl was clean) I noticed that the din had decreased. Many of the evenings diners had moved on, few of us remained. I ordered the triple chocolate cheesecake for desert and was generous enough to feed Him a couple bites. The chocolate was a wonderful pairing for the remainder of Chianti in my glass, the bottle drained.

As we exited the dining room we took a moment to glimpse at the artwork on the walls, offering forth critiques to one another. I shared that wine still lifes are appealing to me despite their generic qualities. Perhaps it's the reaction they invoke in my soul, the feel of romantic evenings, of time well spent, of the unencumbered passage of time.

I'll leave you to your imagination regarding how the night ended. Rest assured, the end was no disappointment. I can't imagine a more inspiring evening. Sometimes, my muse is channeled through the love of my life.

Re-evaluating

Some blogs have specific goals or themes. Some are simply an outlet for writers, an opportunity to practice writing with the added bonus of connecting with others. Some seem to be ramblings about day to day life, and again a connection to others through comments and reading other's blogs. Some blogs are devoted to hobbies such as photography or computer jargon.

When I first began blogging I never chose a theme. I simply decided that it would be enjoyable to have a writing outlet that wasn't graded or evaluated. A location where I was the one in control and could write about everything from the mundane and trivial to the deep and meaningful. In turn, I enjoy a variety of blogs. I enjoy those devoted to humor and those devoted to introspection. I enjoy the ones that are simply online journals, providing a connection to others that I would otherwise never have met. I've connected with other people from across this country and beyond and look forward to reading about the daily lives of people that I consider friends, friends that I have never met in person but who know more about me than many people I have met in person. I believe that I also know a great deal about these people, perhaps more than many that they have met in person. All of these new connections, and not once did I have to sign up for an online dating service!

Lately I have been somewhat self conscious about the quality of my writing. My blog has slipped into the land of the mundane much too frequently. I feel as though my muse has left the building and left the 'time expected to return' portion of the community bulletin board blank. I have spent a great deal of the last several months seeking out inspiration wherever I may find it and I routinely become frustrated with my inability to translate whatever inspiration I eke out into art. I have always used art in one form or another to keep the depression grip at bay. I have used writing, painting, drawing, pottery, scrapbooking, stamping, watercolor and assorted craft making to keep myself busy, occupied, and content. But, quality has always been important to me as well. A concept that my mother beat into me (figuratively of course) was, "If you're going to do something, do it right." This applied to everything from dusting the living room to the biggest tasks that one decided to take on, and I take this idea very seriously. Otherwise, what's the point of committing yourself to something?

With my blog, I simultaneously feel the desire to hold my writing up to a quality that I am proud to call my own, and to post simply to stay connected to my (for lack of a better term) cyber friends. I have felt as though my posting keeps them coming back, and if I go too long without posting, they'll forget about me and move on to the more entertaining and predictable blogger.

Mel, one of my favorite bloggers ever, has decided to take a break from the world of blogging. She says she's not feeling it anymore. And while I stand behind her need to take a break, I'm saddened that I will no longer be able to take a peak into her entertaining and touching personal world. At the same time, I have zero intention of taking her off my blogroll and will probably stop by her site daily as a matter of habit. So, when she decides she's up for writing again I'll be one of the first to comment and welcome her back on board with cyber hugs and kisses. In the mean time I'll probably drop her an email and ask that she keep in touch.

I guess this made me realize that I don't need to fill my blog with fluff to keep people coming. The people that matter (like 2x4, Mel, Shoparound, Amy, Cyberoutlaw, and Steph, for instance) will stop by periodically regardless of the frequency of posts. For that reason I've decided to focus on quality and not quantity. I will post when inspired to do so and not stress out about how long it's been since my last post. Those of you who are interested, by all means keep coming back as the frequency of my posts is bound to vary. I have no doubt that some weeks I'll post like my muse came back from her hiatus and is full with renewed energy from her invigorating vacation. And some weeks, my unpredictable muse will leave, feeling the unforeseen urge to recharge her battery. Either way, I've decided that I want to be proud of what I put forth in this format, and I can't predict how frequently my mind will offer forth worthy material.

World Domination

I just want to share with you, my friends, the fact that the Hershey company is taking over my mind. They have implanted some undetectable microscopic device inside the wrappers of the two confections you see here. This device has been programed to erase all will power I have spent decades amassing by making me unable to think about anything else as my mouth waters uncontrollably until I both purchase and consume these confections. Near as I can tell, they are in cahoots with Lane Bryant as both will profit from the expansion of my waist size.

Beware the conspiracy my friends. They're trying to take over the world.

I'm It.

Mel tagged me. The idea of the game, apparently, is to list 6 weird things about myself and 1 thing that isn't true. Then, in the comments section, you all get to guess which is the untrue statement. Truthfully, I'm having a difficult time coming up with strange things, which is peculiar, because, I'm an odd duck. So...guess away!

1. I have a black thumb (figuratively of course). House plants shudder when I come nearby, knowing that despite my best efforts, I will be the death of them. Pansies and ferns alike have suffered my unintentional murderous ways. Despite this, I can't wait to buy a house, so that I may have a bountiful garden and oodles of fresh produce.

2. I am immune to the smell of baby poo. The substance is gross to me but I have some freak resistance to the smell, it doesn't bother me. This has made me a popular babysitter for friends and family alike (the fathers who have diaper duty especially love it when I'm around!)

3. My ex-husband and I had bed bugs at one point. It was one of the most disgusting and horrific experiences of my life. Unbeknownst to us both our bedroom was infested with the little blood suckers and we had to douche our entire apartment and purchase a new bed. I swear I am NOT a dirt-bag. I'm convinced I got them from a laundromat and will not ever go to them anymore. The one requirement I had for my solo apartment after leaving him was a washer/dryer hook-up.

4. I can't function with long fingernails. I keep them really short because simple tasks such as pulling up my pants become nearly impossible for me. This is tragic because I LOVE the look of a French manicure. For that reason, when I get a pedicure (which is very infrequent, mind you) that I get a French Pedicure. I even have a picture of my toes adorning their first French-style pedicure!

5. I have never imbibed alcohol to the point of vomiting. I REALLY hate to puke. If I feel I am anywhere close to the puke limit, I stop immediately. The idea of upchucking into a throne while inebriated is all the motivation I need to put on the brakes. I have, however, eaten till I puke. Which is, of course, something I'm not proud of. I just didn't want you all to get the idea that I'm perfect ;-) We're not talking eating disorder either, we're talking no self control where chocolate is concerned.

6. One of my baby toes faces the wrong direction. I broke it on a pool side chair and it turned so that the nail is facing out. My sister calls it my alien toe. The other baby toe experienced a similar incident with a door jam, but that one stayed at a 45 degree angle from the rest of the toes and a trip to the emergency room to have it set was in order. Ahh, good times.

7. I don't wear makeup of any kind. Don't get the point. For me, there is an acne issue. I put on makeup, then zits pop up like chicken pox. Then, more makeup is required to cover said zits. It's a vicious cycle. And, mascara makes my eyes itch. Inevitably, I forget that I have it on, I rub my eyes, and spend the day looking like a raccoon or a victim of violence. Luckily, I have a natural type of beauty that doesn't require artificial enhancement :-)

So....what's your guess?

The New Girl

I started my new job. I've put in three 10 hour days and foresee lotsa mounds of paperwork in my future. I'm still undecided as to whether or not the job will be rewarding, but at this point I do feel as though I made the right decision. I think the experience will help immensely in future job pursuits. And there are perks, like, I have my very own desk. I never had my very own desk before! I've spent the last three days agonizing over how I should go about decorating my personal space. Currently I'm going minimalist but I think I'm going to commission a couple of artists I know to make me some pieces. They work cheap, a couple of cookies as incentive and these artists will put paint to paper like Picassos in the making.

And, I work with some really nice girls. Really nice. Super duper nice.

Too nice.

Like, gag me nice.

Like, you can't possibly be this nice for real nice. I can't handle chicks like this with their singsong voices and their super sweetness. I'm not one of those chicks. I'm nice, and I'm friendly, and I'm outgoing. But I don't raise my voice several octaves while carrying on a conversation. And, I'm not excited every time someone comes in the room (HI!!! HOW ARE YOU?! I know we just saw each other yesterday, but HI, HOW are you??!!!!) And I'm sorry, I realize that the folks we work with are mentally ill, but they're not children. If you spoke to me that way, with your singy songy tone I would slap you. I have a feeling I'm going to be the outcast in super fakey catty nicey girl land. But that's ok. I can handle it.

Perhaps I'm being to harsh. Perhaps these girls are sincerely very nice people. I don't intend to be mean or rude, and I intend to keep an open mind, but I sure as hell have no intention of acting like every person that walks into the office is my long lost best friend. I intend to continue speaking at the same decibel and for the love of all that is holy, please do not invite me to a purse party.

Quick Update

First of all, I apologize for the lengthy time period between posts. I had some kind of weird seasonal depression set in and I didn't want to doom and gloom my readers. Nobody wants the amout of sad negativity I would have spewed had I posted.

But, I seem to be better now. I accepted the job and just completed my second full day. It has been an eventful week. I had to call in sick on my first day because I was attacked by a stomach bug that tried to take my life (okay, that's a slight exaggeration but it sure as hell didn't feel it at the time) and I couldn't stray far from either my bed or the bathroom. Then we had a winter's worth of snow dumped on us in less than 24 hours. Then our computer crashed. So...I'm attempting to compose this post on our new laptop which is seriously testing my typing skills. I can't even begin to guess how many times my left pinky had hit the caps lock instead of the a in the last 10 minutes.

It's late, and I just got home from a 10 hour shift wherein I saw lots of mentally ill adults, so please forgive me if this post is short and slightly less than inspired. I promise to update soon...damn blogger made me switch to beta today. Forcibly! Can you believe that?!

Summa Cum Laude Naivete

I got my degree in the mail today. In September of 2004 I returned to college. Having survived my divorce, stood on my own 2 feet financially, and having had a wonderful taste of being on my own, I set out to return to school and attain an education which would render me able to help my fellow man. Mind you, not a career path that would lead to my being in the financial category of Bill Gates, Donald Trump, or the Bushes, but one that would leave me comfortable at the end of a work week; comfortable that I had spent at least 40 hours doing my part to better the lives of others, and making myself and family comfortable financially. I spent the last two years in a caffeine induced trance, stressing over grades, commuting weather, and trying to understand the new fangled way of doing research*. So, here I am, a Summa Cum Laude** graduate with a Bachelor's degree, anxiously anticipating a great job. One that will make me feel as though this education was a good idea. One that will make June not stressful when those student loans come due.

The universe is laughing at me today. HA. Poor naive creature.

I have until tomorrow to accept or decline a job offer I received yesterday. I will be making the same wage I did while working in retail before returning to school. The hours are crap and the pay isn't enough to cover my monthly bills. I will have to continue waiting tables for the time being in order to make ends meet. There is no guarantee that I will advance to a higher position, but the job is a county job and the benefits are really good. I'm told my job will be broken into thirds, one third client contact, one third paperwork, and one third cleaning.

Yup, that's right, one third cleaning. C-L-E-A-N-I-N-G.

But, theoretically, I will have the opportunity to assist adults with mental illness to either move onto, or return to fully funtioning active lives in the community. I will be mentoring, teaching life skills (like CLEANING), and being a source of support. I have to put my money where my mouth is, and decide what it's worth to me to help others. Am I willing to work a little harder? Start at the bottom, in the trenches with those that need my help? Or do I want to take the easier path. The one where I hold out for a Monday through Friday job. One that's less messy, and has a little more distinction than "residential counselor".

I want to be an art therapist, but a Master's degree is in order for me to do so. A Master's degree is not in the cards right now. I have to get several more ducks in a row before I pursue that dream.

So, I have to make a decision tomorrow whether or not to take this position and make the most of it, or whether I should hold out a little while for something 'better' to come along. It's a gamble either way. As our poker buddies would tell you, I'm a lousy gambler. I'll let you know what I decide.


*When I was a wee lass, we went to the library and combed through articles. Nowadays it's all about random article searches on your home school's data base. Sounds easier, but I'm not convinced.

**Wanna hear something funny? I had to google Summa Cum Laude because I thought Magna was higher and I was pissed. Perfectionism is hard to overcome!

I Know Memes are stupid...

...but this one looked like fun, so, indulge me for a moment, OK?

A- available or single? Der.

B- best friend? 2x4, J, whoever gives me a good tip.

C- cake or pie? Warm apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Or blueberry. Or Key Lime. Or pecan.

D- drink of choice? Alcohol.

E- essential item I use every day: Deodorant. Otherwise, I wouldn't have any friends. I sweat. Secret is Ph balanced for chicks like me.

F- favorite color? Is it possible to have a favorite color? I like the combination of sage green and yellow, and the combination of red and purple. This is a dumb question.

G- gummy bears or gummy worms? Neither, how about I just chew on some sugar coated candle wax? Mmmm.

H- hometown? Yeah, like I'm gonna tell you that.

I- indulgence? Anything chocolate. And organic, fair trade products. It's expensive being ethically and environmentally aware.

J- january or february? What the hell kind of question is that?

K-kid's names: Judy and Peter. You know, from Jumanji? The brother and sister with active imaginations that get into and out of all sorts of trouble together? Yeah, that's our kids.

L- life is incomplete without? Good wine, romantic evenings, friends and family, sunny days, and oxygen.

M- marriage date: THIS SUMMER!

N- number of siblings: This is complicated. Technically? 1 half sibbling, and 3 step stibblings. Truthfully? A sister. She's all that counts.

O- oranges or apples? Apples, with sharp cheese. Oooh...and they make a great grilled sandwich together too, on multi-grain bread, or sourdough!

P- phobias or fears? Drowning. Heights. Spiders. Driving long distances alone and getting lost.

Q- favorite quote? "I do not believe in the creed professed be the Jewish church, by the Roman church, by the Greek church, nor by any church that I know of. My mind is my own church. Sin lies only in hurting others unnecessarily. All other "sins" are invented nonsense." -Robert A. Heinlein

R- reasons to smile? Farts. Farts are funny. Well, except when the smell lingers for too long, then the humor seems to decrease.

S- season? Autumn. Summer's a close second. Spring's too soggy and winter's too damn cold.

T- tag: Nobody. Tagging is stupid unless you're in elementary school and running around on the playground.

U- unknown fact about me: I could not tell you the location of all the contiguous United States, but I could list them for you alphabetically on demand.

V- vegetable you don’t like: peas, brussells sprouts and lima beans. What's the point of any of those? They're all NASTY.

W- worst habit: Procrastination. Why do today what you can put off for tomorrow? That's my motto.

Y- your favorite food? If I had to narrow it down to one thing: Chocolate. However, food is one of those things that life would be much less enjoyable without. The key is in variety, and trying new things.

Z- zodiac? The big dipper. ;-)

Wasn't that fun?

Dumb-Ass

Lets say that you go out to a restaurant for lunch. Then, let's say that you leave your $300 sunglasses behind on the table with your doggie bagged food. Let's say that your server then puts both the food and the sunglasses aside and assumes you'll be back for them. Then we'll assume that you didn't come back right away (didn't notice that these things were missing until the next day) and when you call the restaurant they've lost your glasses. They were put aside but apparently someone swiped them.

Is this the restaurant's fault? Or maybe, just MAYBE it comes down to personal accountability. Maybe, instead of calling the restaurant 5 times a day every day, pulling strings with your state trooper husband who has the waitress come down to the station to make a statement and practially accuses her of stealing the prescious commodity that is your eyewear (the very eyewear that you LEFT BEHIND), maybe, just maybe, you could accept the fact that you screwed up. You made the mistake of leaving your beloved sunglasses on a table in a restaurant and didn't notice when you stepped back out into the sun that your eyes hurt. Yeah, it sucks, but let's face it, with your husband's trooper salary, you can afford a new pair. And if you can't, maybe this should be a lesson to you. If you're incapable of taking care of your stuff, buy cheaper stuff. Loser.

Here's Why I'm Not in Science

At about 1:40 this morning the alarm in the living room began screeching. I hopped out of bed, adrenaline flowing, to see what was going on...expecting smoke or some such. By the time I got to the living room the alarm had stopped, and there were no signs of fire. Moments later 2x4 yelled from the bedroom, "What is it?" By this time I had decided there was no imminent danger and was mid way through bladder relief, because if I'm gonna have to get dressed and get out the door quickly, I need an empty bladder. "I don't know" was my intellectual response from the throne.

Then I went back to bed, asked 2x4 if the alarm is a carbon monoxide detector or a fire alarm. He didn't know, turned off the furnace, and went to back to sleep in .02 seconds, just enough time to mutter, "Well, at least if we die, we'll die together." Great.

So I spent the next 2 hours wide awake in bed trying to recall if it's carbon monoxide or dioxide that's the deadly gas. I couldn't remember this basic tid-bit of high school chemistry knowledge and it was keeping me awake. When I first went to college, it was as a science major. I was going to go into environmental science and save the world. Then I took Chem. 101 and within two weeks of the first class changed my major to liberal arts. I just couldn't wrap my artistic brain around the concept of letters and their little number buddies representing atoms and elements and such. Don't EVEN get me started on calculus! The area beneath a curve? You're KILLIN' me! Ask me who painted "Scream" (No, it wasn't Van Gough!) but don't ask me if the tasteless, odorless, faceless gas that is potentially going to kill me while I sleep has one or two Oxygens. I. Don't. Know.

This morning I decided to make biscotti. (Yes we survived the evening, it seems as though the alarm simply wanted us to be aware of its presence and had a little melt down. The alarm once again feels appreciated and has calmed itself). Anyway, I LOVE biscotti. We have a local bakery that charges 2 bucks a slice and I've decided that's too damn much, so I'm making some.

Except, I couldn't figure out how much 1/3 a cup of butter was in terms of conveniently portioned tablespoons drawn on the label of my butter stick. I actually had to ask 2x4 to do the math for me. He took a knife to the stick and handed me a chunk.

"I'm not retarded, you know!"

"I never said you were." Was his calm, loving reply.

I guess I'll just go sip my coffee and eat my biscotti while I make the world pretty with my art. I'll leave the hard math and science to others. Maybe that's why they charge two dollars a slice...all that hard math.

Stuff

Be forwarned, this post will be completely random, and jump between topics that to the reader seem disjointed and unrelated. However, it will make total sense from my perspective. This is how my brain works...and there will be zillions of gramatical errors.

I have had several shots of alcohol tonight in spite of the fact that I decided a week ago this coming Monday that I will not have alcohol for a week. I didn't make it. Sometimes, you need a little something to make it through.

Why?

Because I'm still a waitress and people still suck. Oh, wait, I'm a waitress with a Bachelor's degree (I think) but I can't seem to find a job.

Why do I only think I have a degree? Well, you see, there are holds on my account. That means I owe the college money. I just put $1200 on my charge cards a couple of weeks ago to pay my tuition, but I'm thinking those damn library fees are coming back to haunt me. If I don't pay the $60 late fee for the books I never read, they'll hold my diploma (that I paid $50 for). Jerks.

So why am I drinking? Because I'm tired of being treated like trash by strangers and being forced to take it. I actually got in a customer's face tonight and sarcastically told her that it had been a pleasure waiting on her. Why? Because she was throwing my tip money back into her daughter's lap while announcing, "She doesn't deserve it!" Details: Irrelevant. I did deserve it after putting up with that heinus bitch for the length of an entire meal. (I have no idea if I spelled heinus correctly). Oh, and that waiterrant guy? No WAY is he that calm and collected all the time. NO. WAY.

How the hell do people find jobs in fields that aren't main-stream? They sure as hell didn't teach me THAT in college. The career counselors helped me write a resume and cover letter, but that's where their useful assistance ended. The director of my program spoke of 98% placement rates and such, but, um, I must be in the 2 percentile that sucks at searching for a job and is doomed to waitressdom.

Oh, and I did take a moment to contemplate the idea of losing my job tonight over that woman. I paused and reflected on how long it would take me to find a job after being fired for harassing her in the parking lot about how sorry I am that her life has been so awful that she must be cruel to perfect strangers who have done nothing to her. I decided against it. Searching for a job while you have a job is tricky enough. An unemployed job search, I imagine, would be slightly more stressful.

I waited on the proprietor of my restaurant tonight (no biggy, I do it all the time, guaranteed 20 smackers) he's in his late seventies, and somehow suckered me into a conversation about religion. That was fun. The topic of religion is RIGHT up there with politics. No, I don't like George Dubya, and yes, I'm a bleeding heart liberal who doesn't believe in organized religion. If you really want to have either conversation with me, be prepared to provide the alcohol.

Today, I seriously had a knot in my stomach because it was too warm outside for this season. Rush Limbaugh (I'm too lazy to google the proper spelling, but you all know who I'm talking about) is an asshole, global warming is real, der.

I won't put people's take out food in plastic bags becuase they're awful for the environment. I've had altercations with management about this. I win. You've gotta stand for something, right?

Well, the DiSaranno sedative is kicking in now. So, my reader, I bid you goodnight. I used to have more readers and commenters, then I stopped blogging so much, and they went away. 2x4 on the other hand is a regular blogging jock, he's got bloggers all over the place who just love his blog. It's not that I'm jealous or anything, it's just that I'm, well, jealous.

No, not really, der. It's a BLOG.

Overheard in NYC

"This looks cool...does anyone want to go with me?" Asks a young woman looking at a flyer just handed to her as she wandered the streets of NYC the weekend before Christmas.

"I think you have to be 21 to go." Responds her companion.

"Then why did she hand this to me?!" The young woman asks incredulously.

"She hands one to everyone, honey." Her companion gently explains to her.

I didn't hear the rest. I was too busy laughing. I'm easily amused.

Home

For the first thirteen years of my life I lived in the same house. My mother kept it and all of it's headaches after she and my father divorced. I loved every square inch of that house. When I was thirteen my step-father's last surviving parent died, leaving her house unoccupied, so my mother and her husband saw fit to move into the newly uninhabited abode.

That house was where I lived until I was 19 and left the nest. It never felt like home to me. I remember coming to that realization when I was about 16 years of age. From the time we moved in until the time I moved out, I felt like I was living in someone else's home. Of course, it didn't help that we acquired all of his parent's furniture, antiques, drapes, and dishes, as we couldn't afford to replace everything and his parent's belongings were nicer than anything we owned prior. So, I guess, in essence, we were living in someone else's home; filled with their decorations, their tastes, and their memories. It was a house filled with ghosts. It still is, but that's another post all together.

Tonight, as I was baking Christmas cookies while 2x4 and the kids were reading books in the next room, I shut off the hall light and suddenly found myself overflowing with a sense of being home. It's not a house, it's not as big as we'd like it to be, and I can't afford to decorate the way I would like; but it's our home, and I can't think of anything more comfortable or appealing than that simple feeling.

Christmas Confusion

Sometimes I'm a little slow, mentally I mean. Here's an example:

When I was somewhat younger than I am now, I sat down and really thought about the Christmas song wherein mommy is caught smooching Santa Claus. I was really upset by the whole thing. I couldn't believe that someone would go and write a song about mommy cheating on daddy with old St. Nick. It was so wrong! I felt so bad for daddy, the poor unsuspecting soul!

It wasn't until about the age of 14 (approximately 8 years after discovering the truth about the jolly old elf) that I got it.

Der.

Tis the Season for Giving

Check out this guy's photography. His name is Gilad Benari, he lives in Israel, and his work is just plain incredible. I've been admiring his stuff on the DeviantArt website for a while now, and since he's selling his work I figured I'd use my blogging powers of good to spread the word.

I know nothing about him that isn't on the Deviant site. I sent him and email today just to compliment him...I think he deserves the kudos.

These are the Screwed Up Days of Our Lives.

My coworkers periodically find occasion to hang out together. Some individuals give open invitations to the entire staff to come and hang out at their home and some simply go to the bars to party together. Either way, they all have a single goal and that is to get as inebriated as possible.

I do neither of those things for two reasons.
One: I don't really like my coworkers.
Two: Drinking to oblivion got old when I was like, 21 and 3 days old.

As of this evening I can add a third reason to the list.
Three: The cook, his son, and a third man will beat some unsuspecting soul to a bloody pulp.

Our cook is an interesting man. He has a bit of a temper but I've yet to meet a cook without that quality...you try working in a room that feels like Hades and be chipper all the time-it's a tough proposition.

Our cook's son was recently released from prison. He's 22 and was involved in several incidents which cumulatively lead to him spending a year in prison. The cook's 19 year old daughter recently had a baby and is supported by her dad as she hasn't worked since well before the baby was born, and of course the baby's father isn't involved. The three of them have a friend who washed dishes in the restaurant for a while and gave me the creeps from day one. You know how some people are just bad news? They ooze it? Well, this guy fit the bill.

Last night one of the waitresses extended an open invitation to the entire staff to join her and her boyfriend in their home for a holiday party.

I'm not sure of the specific events leading up to the horrific bloody scene that became their living room, as all of this is via other people (I, of course, was not there, for reasons one and two)...but the long and short of it is the host wanted The Cook and his entourage (son and creepy guy) to leave. The three of them decided instead to beat him almost to death. He is hospitalized with a busted nose, he has a huge gash on his neck and he has several broken ribs. Oh, and they trashed his house; broke windows and destroyed the interior.

The Cook's son and creepy guy are both on probation, so chances are they're both going to be locked up again (his son called the waitress today begging her not to press charges). The waitress and her beau are of course pressing charges, so chances are that The Cook will also spend some time behind bars.

What do you think the odds are that The Cook's grandson will be an upstanding and contributing member of society one day?