kallaydoscope

i moved!

2009-12-28T15:29:00.005-05:00

(again)

first it was myspace to blogger.

now blogger to wordpress.

still working out the kinks...

but all is well. blog is imported.

domain link is updated. (kallaydoscope.com)

blogroll is (mostly) complete.

the feed links are posted so feel free to update your blogrolls and subscriptions.

now, off to find a pink theme i can live with until march.

without further ado (and a large blogger headache)...

kallaydoscope.com

:)

kallay

"Every time a bell rings..."

2009-12-23T23:32:00.007-05:00

I was all prepared to write about my neon Christmas cookies and how they might possibly be more than able to glow in the dark, but then I remembered about another post I needed to write and decided on that instead. My friend Ally over at Magnolias and Mimosas posted a blog about the reality for some at Christmas. It made me remember when it was my reality and a small pocket of pain burst open in my chest.

The year they died, Christmas was a walk of Zombies. I received almost all sweaters from my mother because in her daze of Christmas shopping, she chose the first magazine in the stack and ordered everything I had dog-eared. To this day I wish I had put anything other than J. Crew on top of her catalog mountain. I still have some of those sweaters because a) they're warm and cozy and feel like a hug and b) memories. I have a hard time parting with a lot of things from that year. I have his coffee cups, his hats, shirts that I wish still hinted of his scent and the silver box that I still can't bear to wear the contents of. In fact, the jewelry is still in the plastic.

I have posted about him very few times, but Fred was in every way my dad that my real father could/would not be. He built my first bike, I was the first baby he had held, he protected me and comforted me and called me his "MelonKallay Baby". He was, at that point in my life, a man I could look up to. Someone I could trust and love and believe would never hurt me. After he moved to Vegas he began sending me silver boxes with jewelry in them. I still have most, if not all of them. Here is an excerpt from a post this year:

When Fred died, a piece of my heart went with him but I still have the most precious gift... my memories. Here is one of my favorites...

When Fred moved to Las Vegas to pursue his career in the FBI he started a new tradition. Every Christmas I would receive a silver box with real silver and turquoise jewelry. He'll never know how much it meant to me, but every Christmas I would look for that box because I knew it would be there. It was like he was there, for that moment, and it was everything to me. So when he died that December I knew my silver box would not be under the tree. When my family went to Vegas a few days later for his funeral I was given what was to be my last silver box. To this day it is my most treasured possession, among all of his t-shirts and things that I have... this is what I would miss the most if it were lost. It's a silent reminder that he thought of me as much as I thought of him. He was my daddy for all intents and purposes and it's like having a piece of him with me always. I have never worn the jewelry in the box in the 12 years since he's been gone. I just can't bring myself to do it. But it's there and it's a gift I can reopen over and over again.

As I write this post, my heart aches. I remember a Christmas knock on the door and there he stood. It was all I wanted for Christmas that year. I can't help but wonder what he would say if he were here, what the silver box would hold this year, as I wonder every year. I miss him more than I could ever convey in a written language. It's an odd feeling knowing you will never be able to see your favorite person again. It exceeds pain and I'm not sure what to say beyond that. It's a loss for words, that's for sure.

The year he died, as I said, we all walked around like the living dead. Julie, his step daughter, and one of my "sisters" died with him. She was close in age to my sister and was a part of our family as well. Her mother is my mom's best friend and like a second mother to my sister and me. It was a devastating year for all of us and we clung to each other for support. I was a teenager then so my hormones put me as close to crazy as one could get. At the time, my world was a complete fog, but I remember everything as vividly as if it were today. We put our Christmas tree(s) up that year and somehow found a way to celebrate in spite of the utter terror of what had happened.

As we hung the ornaments, my mom hung her silver, glitter encrusted spider's web and made a wish, as she has done every year and shortly after I found these 2 golden bells. They became Fred and Julie's bells. That year, I hung them together, on the same branch, near the Angel that once adorned the top of our tree. And then I cried. I prayed through my tears that they were up there with God. That He would welcome them with love into heaven and let them peek down on us every once in a while. That they were resting peacefully. And for the next few years, until I moved away from home, I hung the bells. I learned the saying "Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings." that year and until this year, I had never seen It's a Wonderful Life. I liked the saying anyway and rang the bells, just to be sure.

I was building the Barbie tree this year, thinking up snarky things to say about the blonde "bimbo" as Fred would say, and I picked up a wad of tissue paper with ornaments in it. I set it aside because Barbie only comes in a box. My mom helped me put the boxes back into the fifteenth Rubbermaid and I heard her take a gulp of air. I turned around, my hand went to my mouth and my bells lay on the tissue paper in front of me. My eyes welled up with tears as I ran my finger over the familiar ornaments. "My bells" I said.

I hung them on the tree, said another prayer and documented with pictures, as any good blogger would do.

For those dealing with loss in this holiday season, my heart goes out to you. My tears roll down my cheeks for you. I know the pain of losing a loved one and how Christmas somehow becomes salt in that wound. It's been 13 years since we lost Fred and Julie and every year we honor them, we remember them. We laugh at their stories, we cry over our loss. No one will ever be able to replace the one you loved. Over time, this will be a comfort to you. Your love for them will grow even in their absence. Your memories will become more vivid. You may not remember all of the lines on their face, but you will remember their smile or their eyes. Odd things will trigger your memory, and like me and my silver boxes, they will bring comfort, not pain. I think of these moments as a tap on my shoulder, as if he's saying, "I'm here kiddo." This Christmas, I challenge you to start a new tradition for your loved one. I have so much to hold on to during the holidays and as time has gone on, I cherish these little things. To a stranger on the street, a silver box is just a container for jewelry, for me, it's a container for a piece of my heart, and what comfort it brings during this cold winter holiday.

At the beginning of this post, you saw a pretty picture of 2 golden bells hanging on a tree.

Now you see 2 tiny pieces of my heart, my memories, my comfort, my joy.

Merry Christmas to you and yours. Hold them tight and love them well.

With love and joy,

Kallay

What have I been doing?

2009-12-22T22:44:00.002-05:00

I made a promise to myself that I would not blog until I finished my essays for school. I'm done with one and the other is in my head, it just needs to be written down. Also, I wrote another article (since it's been a month). Here's the link...
Coffee's Crappy Side: Kopi Luwak and Jacu Bird Coffee

Comments welcome! :) Also, please subscribe. No spam will be sent. It sends you an email when I write an article. No special offers, no awesome porn, no awful porn, just a friendly email letting you know that I have gotten over my writer's block, wrote an article about our friend coffee and how to get there.

As soon as I jot down my other essay, our regularly scheduled blogging will commence. Happy. Joy. I miss my blog.

So, have no fear! I will be back before the New Year!

Come on, Get Happy!

2009-12-17T03:11:00.009-05:00

I'm a winner! And Lauren (Salt) at Salt Says... said so! First, I finally found a recipe for chocolate chip cookies with wine in them. Remember THAT day? So random... So stupid... So typical of my days... Anyway, Lauren said that "I win at the internet." (!!!!) And then she gave me this fancy schmancy award! An award y'all! Thank you Lauren! (She's one of my new favorite bloggers, you should go read!)

There are rules though. The first is one I made up. You have to click on this link and listen to this song while reading this blog. It makes it just *that* much happier. Yes, I've had too much caffeine, I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. Read this at warp speed and you'll be reading almost as fast as these words are running out my head.

Ok, official rules...

1) List 10 things that make you happy, and try to do at least one of them today.
2) Tag 10 bloggers that brighten your day.
3) If you are one of those 10 lucky (happy) bloggers who get the award, link back to my blog and create your happy list!

Fun, right!? Except, I'm over-caffeinated so, hopefully I remember how to count.

Ten Things That Make Kallay Happy

(One) Family, my niece and nephew in particular. I mean, I *did* just decide to subject myself to frostbite for them. If that doesn't show happiness, I don't know what does.

(Two) Hercules and Madeline - Hello, look at these faces! Not that I'm all about looks. (Ok, maybe a little... see number nine.) Honestly, these two are my children, for all intents and purposes, and I love them as if I birthed them myself. And judging by the size of Hercules, I'm glad he's adopted. I love Maddie's sense of humor. (e.g. she bats my cellphone off my dresser in the morning when the alarm goes off. hysterical.) I love Hercules' big brown eyes, how every time I leave the house he looks like his heart is ripping out of his chest, which then, in turn, rips my heart out of my chest. I think that's actually his plan, but I'll let him stick with it. It makes me feel loved and I'm a sucker for that.

(Three) Pink Crap - As Oviler says, everything I own is pink. It's true. The only thing I don't own is a pair of pink boots. But, as a rule, if it comes in pink, I want it. And I want it hard core. I got so mad in elementary school. One day they took away the small crayons and gave us the big fat ones because some idiot at table 4 had an appetite for colored wax. (Guess what didn't come in pink in the 80's?) I asked my teacher if I could have the Carnation Pink crayon and she lied and told me she didn't have any. Excuse you, lady, 5 year olds are not stupid. Don't ever get between a girl and her pink crap. (This is the same teacher who ate my Double Stuffd Oreos that I brought in for snack time. Bitch.)

(Four) Yoga *sigh* I haven't been able to do this in a while. (Ok, I just heard half the planet go "Pffft!") Just hear me out. I started yoga last year when I lived in Knoxville, had the *best* instructor and really started to get good at it. My lower back thanked me every morning. It was a (mostly) free class. A "Karma" class, as they called it, which basically meant that it was free or very cheap. You gave what you could. When I moved back to Michigan, I obviously lost my free/inexpensive yoga privileges. Now, sure, I could totally do yoga on my own and downward dog my brains out, but it was his *voice*. He would correct our positions and then during what I always called sleepy time, he would go through every body part, telling us to release all of the tension, that "we didn't need it anymore". Imagine James Earl Jones yoga. Mmm... it was like soft serve vanilla ice cream after being at the beach all day. Doing yoga on my own just isn't the same kind of relaxation. Maddie's ubermeow in the background plus Hercules thinking I'm playing "Where's Mommy?" is not a good combo.

(Five) Finding new music - I'm one of those people that loves to listen to music that isn't on the radio yet and then when they make it big, I'm one of those people that get all atwitter because "I HEARD THEM FIRST!" Mmmhm. I admit it. Jack Johnson? Imogen Heap? Joshua Radin? Etc. Etc. I'm happy for them. I am! But I'm also proud of myself for having good ears! (<---- So Vain! But you asked!!) (Here's some cool stuff if you like this sort of thing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K2hMQRlU_S4)

(Six) Writing - I have loved writing since I was a kid. I wrote things as a 7 year old that would be considered politically incorrect. I guess that's what happens when you spend a lot of time with adults. It's funny though, I read these stories now and I want to take my little girl self aside and reprimand her! "What were you thinking? Do you have any idea what this word means?" No, I sure didn't! Sure. Didn't.

In my teenage years, I used writing (and reading) as an escape from the "real" world. This was when I became a self proclaimed "poet". (I sucked.) I can't read much of it at a time. It's dark. It's depressing. I want to give my teenage self a hug and tell her that one day she'll be beautiful. One day she'll have friends. One day she'll be okay. But she would do the teenage door slammy trick, the one where they simultaneously lock the door while slamming it? How the hell....?

Writing has gotten me through so much. I finally learned to use my humor as a way to deal. Write about life, make it funny, even though sometimes the situations I end up in are so far from it. Like ending up in the ER on my birthday unconscious last year? Not funny. Couldn't make it funny. So I skipped it. There's a lot more to my life than what ends up in this blog. Eventually the funny finds me and then you get to hear all about my running over bunnies (:( or the latest crazy alarm when people of the Earth are in rare form for the day. I love writing about this stuff. It helps me remember. It helps me forget. It just helps.

(Seven) Coffee - I wrote an Ode to Coffee in high school, one of the only un-depressing poems I wrote during those years. It began, "Coffee, coffee, friend of mine..." Still true. I love the smell and even as a little girl, it was one of my favorite things to wake up to. Now, it's the only way I function. I tried decaffeinating myself for about six months in 2006. What a dumb idea that was. Picture this: Three day headache that no amount of Excedrin could touch, drinking peppermint tea until you morph into human menthol and no jitters. Awful right?

I happen to like feeling like a vibrator thankyouverymuch. So, there. I love the taste of coffee and drink it with just about everything. Coffee is my breakfast and more often that not becomes my lunch as well. Pie without coffee? Is that even legal? When I was a cafe manager and barista one of my favorite chores was grinding coffee. Those fresh oily little beans (they totally look like vaginas, have you ever noticed that? gross.) rolling around in the hopper and wafting into the air the most luxurious smell. The aroma is caffeinated, I can almost swear by that. Yems. I've said it before, I'll say it again, hook me up to a dialysis machine, replace my blood with coffee and we are in business. Biz. Ness. Plus, all you water people... you get some cool water bottles, sure. Coffee gets special treatment. I mean there's water glass, water bottle, the end. We have espresso cups, latte bowls, coffee mugs (in all sorts of sizes), cappuccino glasses... What's not to love? Plus... coffee was at some point just plain old water, so really, coffee is just diva water. All dressed up. Places to go, people to see, bloodstreams to caffeinate. And for the love of, don't make me drink Starbucks. I beg. I plead.

(Eight) The City - I've always been an adventurous person. Not really suicidal, I mean you won't see me jumping out of planes or Russian Rouletting it up in Vegas. I do love a good walk down a hustling bustling street though. Getting lost in a concrete grid. Talking to strangers. Eating weird food. I've been to most of the good ones: New York, Seattle (lived there for 2 years), Philly, Boston, D.C., Atlanta, Miami, Dallas, Portland, and Chicago. Hands-down my favorite city is Seattle. But Chicago holds a big chunk of my heart too. The buildings, the people, the food, the coffee, the neighborhoods, culture... I could go on. I just love cities. I feel most alive, the most like myself when I'm walking down a busy sidewalk with a full tumbler in hand. Horns blaring, cellphones ringing, it's noisy, it's invigorating, it's me. You'll never see me smiling more than when I'm in a city. Kids in a candy shop are tame in comparison.

(Nine) Mascara/Lip gloss - It's no secret that my eyelashes are quite possibly my worst feature. When I wake up in the morning with a fresh face and no makeup, I look similar to a cancer patient. You think I'm kidding. You would be wrong. My eyelashes are so white and short, they poke straight out of my eyelids and they *still* don't reach my glasses. It's pathetic. So mascara is without a doubt my very favorite beauty product. I've tried them all. I've tried extensions (thanks Ma!), I've tried fakes, I've tried the double sided wand things with the special extender formula on one side and the mascara on the other. My current mascara of choice is Lash Stiletto. I love the brush! I usually have two different mascaras, one for the top lashes and one for the bottom lashes because the brushes really do make all the difference. But Lash Stiletto takes care of both. Hello, Miss Multitasking Mascara. Welcome to my beauty regime. Second favorite is lip gloss. I have every color, every brand. The push up, the sponge applicators, the squeeze tubes, I'm a lip gloss freak. Don't even get me started on lipstick. It's asinine. I used to sell Mary Kay, so the leftover product bin is my own personal lip product arsenal.

(Ten) Guilty Pleasures - ;) (I love all the assumptions happening right now, love them. Assume away, you might be right.)

Of course I love these ten bloggers too. I read them like it's my own personal religion. My dashboard is my friend. And these blogs simply rock. (If she wasn't the one who graced me with this award, Salt would totally be on this list.)Here we go:

Ten Blogs That Make My Days
(some old, some new, some popular, some under appreciated)

1. The Anti-Journalist
2. Magnolias and Mimosas
3. 2birds1blog
4. Hooking Up Smart
5. The Date Girl Diaries
6. Mental Poo
7. Mandi Speaks
8. The Dog's a Boy, Too!
9. That Girl Blogs
10. The Ungourmet

And so many, many more. I think I read about a novel a day with all of these great writers sharing their life experiences, I just can't get enough.

By the way, how many times did you push play? It's a great song isn't it? *love* Judy Garland.

I bet you won't complain about decorating ever again...

2009-12-15T16:48:00.033-05:00

You know Macy's, that department store? They throw a cute little parade every year? Mmhm, if you put our living room in their furniture department, no one would be the wiser. We are fighting off the Grinch, stopping Scrooge in his tracks, even, yep, I'll say it, Martha Stewart would be proud! I haven't been home to really enjoy the holidays with my family in two Christmases. I did come home last year but it was a whirlwind circus of "Surprise! I'm here!" for 3 days and lots of driving in the snow and since no one really knew when I was coming, it was not the all out parade of giant crimson balls that it is this year.

So because I'm home and able to celebrate for longer than 72 hours, mom (or Ma Christmas) decided we needed to have a big old fashioned Christmas. In our house this means my mom dons her decorator's cap, drags twenty seven Rubbermaid containers out of the attic and before you can sing "Joy to the World" the house looks like we're related to Santa. You're thinking tinsel and candy canes and you would be wrong, my merry friends. Wrong, I say!

Let it be known that I'm a pretty good amount of pissed that my camera decided that it just doesn't feel like it anymore, meaning: the Christmas Wonderland that is our home could not be captured in its full potential and glory. But much like the Griswold's, we will press on and have the Hap-Hap-Happiest Christmas Tour since "Bing Crosby danced with Danny Fucking Kay!" (If you need assistance with lines from this movie, I am your official Christmas Vacation guide.)

Let us begin...

We have six trees. This is the first, dressed up in red and gold, masks and feathers, and my bells (which I will detail in, yet another, Christmas post). You might notice the small wreath and garland display to the left.

Complete with carolers...

Sing, girl, sing!

...and (empty as hell) stockings.

Santa? Kissing a baby? We sure do!

Did I mention we have six trees? Well, here's number two.

I did most of the work on this tree. You can tell because there are four strands of lights on it and one could probably, I don't know, perform brain surgery under it? This was an accident, I'm no Ma Christmas, so how was I to know that we would no longer need indoor lighting with four strands of twinkly lights? Ups.

This tree is pretty special though. Beyond the short bus job I did of lighting it, it's pretty magnificent and royal. It's also pink. And home to all of the Barbie ornaments one could purchase in a 10 year time span. (The back is filled with Marilyn Monroe and Cinderella, yeah, that goes together... at least they're all blonde.) Go Ma Christmas! To set the girly scene (or to remind me of Christmas past), this tree dons a gorgeous crown... from one of my marriages gone wild, or wrong, whatever.

Here are a few of my favorites:

This Little Barbie has a pre-nup,

This Little Barbie has fur,

This Little Barbie buys her own shit,

This Little Barbie steals hers,

And This Little Barbie smokes a whoooole lot of weeeeed when she gets home.

(Marilyn just wants to go wee-wee.)

Trees number three and number four are in the dining room, which is attached to the living room. So depending on where you are, they're in your room. Special, no? Looks like Ma Christmas got a little heavy handed on those there lights on tree number four. Mmhm. Sure did!

Also, we seem to have a theme. Not only are the feathers in the trees and wreaths...

...there's also an entire wreath made of them.

Ok, tree number five. (complete with banister feathers being all, "Pick me! Pick me!")

The Banister. It happens to be Ma Christmas' favorite part of the house. The feathers came from real pheasants, courtesy of some folks over in Wisconsin. Go Badgers! (and pheasants, before you become a Christmas ornament!))

See the kissing ball? And the giant crystal my sister gave Ma Christmas for her birthday? So prettiful!

Um, Kallay? What's that?

Oh! Those are just some pretty little ornaments we hung form the chandelier! See?

No, No. Not that....

Oh that!? That's just a huge elephant we moved (really heavy) furniture around for, to fit it in the dining room. Naturally!!

It lights up too!

We also have a pig... and an angry birdie next to him. He doesn't have the holiday spirit. Homie P is working on that.

And bears...

And Zebra! We love Zebras! And she loves her bow...

No, really... she does!

How many Zebras can you find in this picture?? (three)

Also, Maddie wouldn't move so, she says Merry Christmas too. Although it sounded a lot like "Eff you, mom." I don't know. She's hard to read sometimes.

Stay tuned for my cookie adventures and the story of the bells. You'll laugh, you'll cry... And then I'll tell you about my New Year's "Resolutions" and you'll cry laughing.

"Oh, Oviler..."

2009-12-10T18:17:00.007-05:00

When Oliver (or Oviler, as I like to call him) and I met we took one look at each other (me wishing he wasn't gay because gosh, he's cute. and look at those glasses! him tallying up how much my outfit didn't cost and admiring my great hair and crazy blue eyes) and became insta-friends complete with a secret handshake and our very own language. He was just stopping in to get his paycheck and I was just beginning my training. I schedule stalked him to find out when my new friend was working with me next. The merry day came and we exchanged hearts, phone numbers and politically incorrect jokes. He deemed me his "hag" which made him my "fag" and the world tilted a little more on its axis. (sorry world!) He also nicknamed me Glamazon, I nicknamed him Gaysian and our friendship was born. (Because duh, cool nicknames are the cornerstones of good friendships.)

I love all of my friends. They each have their own silly quirks which make me love them just that much more. Like one of my friends who has an affinity for all things Alice (as in Wonderland) or another who knows more than anyone should about the peculiar, albeit it fascinating and intelligent, writings of Shakespeare. And even another who lives in exotic places and after all of these (almost 12!) years has kept in touch. Yes, my friends are the chocolate chips in my cookie. But Oliver just adds a little something special to my batter.

He (as he will confirm) fulfills my EEO requirements all in one little human package of nuts. He's my homosexual, asian, redneck, fashion forward, silver-tongued "girl"friend/"guy"friend. And holy buckets, I love him. After over a year of friendship, he has become one of my closest. There are so many hilarious stories to share like the time I was having a bad day and we ate as many plates of Cici's Pizza as we could, complete with dessert buffet and then went on to Godiva and ate some more (author's note: you'll find many of our mis-adventures have something or another to do with food) or the time he laid out with me and turned his boxers into a thong speedo (aka the first time he met my neighbors) or the countless times "we" were on the rag and used our discount as a way to eat ourselves silly at work whilst supporting the business and not our diets. Or the time we tried on wedding dresses and other hideous things while Goodwill hunting and I took a picture with a Unicorn, even found matching outfits.

One of my favorites is my moving day. Mostly because it's the gift that keeps on giving. Shortly before I moved to Michigan, Oviler came over and assisted me with packing because a) I hadn't even begun and b) packing alone sucks. So he arrived with fellow guyfriend "Lady" and the tape started to rip. We finished the kitchen which had no less than 15 improperly packed boxes and went down stairs to my domain. Lady and Oviler were tasked with packing the closet and I was working on my bathroom. Fifteen minutes went by and the downstairs became eerily quiet. As with children, when gay boys become quiet in your closet, mischief has ensued.

I walked into my room and knew when I approached the previously open closed door that on the other side could be mind changing events. I slowly opened the door hoping that Oviler and his best friend were not doing sexy things in my closet. They screamed, I screamed and then I fell over red-faced and suffocating from pure breathless laughter almost crushing a large box of DVDs. Oviler and Lady were not doing sexy things. No, they were wearing my clothes. My dresses to be exact. My pink, flowery dresses. Complete with heels, scarves, hats, purses and yes, even my undergarments stuffed with more of my undergarments. Oviler and Lady were having a full out tea party in my closet, enjoying every minute of "packing" by trying on all of my clothes instead. They pranced around speaking in high octaves and succeeding at making me pee my pants and finally removed my now stretched-out heels from their ginormous man feet.

Two hours later, my closet was still in disarray and a total of two boxes had been packed. We (I) decided to hit up a local Steak & Shake because we (I) had a craving for their cheese fries. I ordered the cheese fries with a side of delicious patty melt, extra mayo, add bacon, and coleslaw. If my memory serves me, there was also a chocolate malt to wash it all down. Needless to say my food took up half of the table because Steak & Shake employees enjoy doing dishes so everything comes on its own plate. Lady and Oviler ordered their healthy, in comparison, double bacon burgers, salads and shakes. I looked like I fell out of Uncle Eddie's trailor complete with a dirty hat on my pretty little head while they were dressed in their brand name besties. Me: Curly Sue, Them: Rich fags helping a Hag out. After Eat Fest 2009 concluded with them forklifting me out of our booth and rolling me to the car all Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory style, we drove back to my house to finish packing.

They returned to the closet (mine, not the gay one) and put serious effort into packing everything in their paths. More giggling. Endless giggling. They asked for markers and I obliged, reminding them of my only rule in packing: Never lose the tape or the marker. They lost both. I finished the bathroom and food coma walked back into my room with boxes upon boxes of clothes in my hallway. (internal fist pumping Arsenio style) They were still giggling and I can always use a laugh so I inquired as to what could make them laugh for 30 minutes straight. Here are a few examples:

"shirts i will wear when i stop eating cheese fries"

"matronly sweaters"

"3 pillows stained with drool" (in the tiniest box you've ever seen)

"sweaters i wear when i cut myself while listening to alanis morisette"

"parachute materials" (i'm guessing these are exercise pants???)

"one down comforter with cigarette burns and smeared with regret"

I mean, these are my box labels. My 30 (yes, 30) boxes of clothes are "labeled" with un-identifiable markings. The additional 20 boxes are vague or just plain unlabeled. They didn't want me to read all of the boxes because I was to have a "surprise" when I arrived in Michigan. Yes, surprise! No wearable clothes in my suitcase. Surprise! No clothes for an interview. Surprise! No shoes but a mismatched pair of flip flops and my "lesbian shoes" as Oviler calls them. I like them and think they're cool. Then again, my fashion sense wears a t-shirt that screams "Bitch, you don't know me!" So, grain of salt. Surprise! Every time I go to find something, it's not there. Or there. Or there. Or there. And so I give up. And then I see another mis-labeled box and I laugh. And laugh and laugh.

It's so us. It's so Oviler. It makes me miss him every time I think of something else I need that is no doubt hidden in the pile of me, all the while hysterically laughing at a newly discovered box. Then I say aloud, as I often did when he pulled another antic, "Oh Oviler, I love you like air." And I hear him reply "Ayer! Ayer!" And suddenly, whatever it was that I needed has escaped me. The only thing I need is friends. And soon we will be eating and drinking it up in Chicago with our other friend Caroline, causing some sort of trouble I'm sure, laughing 'til we hurt, offending anyone within ear shot with one, many, or all of our stash of inappropriate-for-public jokes. We'll be the ones laughing loudly on the "L", the ones eating Julius Meinl out of house and home, the ones trying on clothes we can't afford, the ones toasting 2010 with our as-yet-unnamed pink sparkly travel mug filled with things of the alcoholic variety. More stories will be written, more food destroyed and our thighs, like our friendship, will grow.

Boot Scootin'

2009-12-10T11:11:00.009-05:00

I don't call it "The Mitten" for nothing. Don't get me wrong, we are firm believers of the "Four Season Theory" and participate (almost) every year. The summers here are hot and humid, allowing for such activities as water skiing, boating and tanning the hide. Autumn is perfect for apple picking in your favorite long sleeved shirt and scarf, drinking cider and tree watching, what with it being a parade of Technicolor photosynthesis and all. Spring is full of April showers and May flowers, allergies included for the low low price of $24.99 for your prescription of 24-hour Zyrtec. Among the Four Seasons there lies a beast. Sure, he's handsome and covers the world in a blanket of white, blows it around to make it festive and encourages the outdoor treachery of snow shoeing, skiing and mobiling. But Old Man Winter surely knows that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Deep down he's a vindictive little man. Michigan is shaped like a mitten, fair warning I'd say! So when I made the decision to move up here to pursue a better relationship with my nephew and niece and to pursue the American dream of loving my job as much as it loves me ($$$!!)... I knew this day would come.

I need boots.

I haven't owned boots since I was in 2nd grade.

Old Man Winter (OMW) and I have not spoken in a little over 2 years, so still... no boots here!

But the time has come.

Everyone knows you can't just walk in the snow. You scoot. Sort of like an old person. Why? To simplify... when you walk normally your weight weeble wobbles back and forth between feet allowing for mass ass landings on the icy walkways. If you scoot, well... I'm convinced there are less bruises and broken bones involved. Still, scooting without proper footwear is just as dangerous as walking. For one, you're going to end up with snow drifts on the tops of your feet complete with wet socks and two, your jeans or pants will somehow be soaked all the way up to your knees. That's right, knees! I'm the dumbass walking around with the ballet shoes and pink All-Stars because somewhere between my 20+ years of experience in the snow and 2-3 years in the South I forgot how to do the boot scoot and also made serious fun of Uggs. They're ugly. Useful, but still ugly. (And also, I am not standing outside in 32 (or less) degree weather digging through boxes trying to find a pair of anything winter appropriate. It's a lost cause anyway. Lord knows I don't own anything of the sort.)So, with a frown on my face due to succumbing to what I still think is a fashion don't (if you live in the South), I have taken to the world wide webs to find the perfect pair of ugly foot protection. So far I have found nothing but mind boggling fashion statements. Mind boggling.

So, let's begin. Target sells boots in my (family's) price range so I began my search there. Search: boots. Result: hysterical laughter.

The first pair that appealed to me were these:

Two words: Memory. Foam. In your boots! And look at all the fancy colors! I'm a fanatic of pink (in case you haven't gathered) and by design I also enjoy bright colors. To be completely honest though, I noticed these boots in the order of memory foam and then bright colors. These are on my list. If I'm going to be all tragic fashion follower, I'm going to do it up and be bold and wear the ugliest boots I can find! Let's face it, the uglier it is, it's probably all the more fashionable. (Hello hounds tooth and leg warmers! Fingerless gloves anyone?) If I'm going to scoot around for the next 4 months, I might as well be bright and cheery doing it.

So I continued on my (un)happy journey of boot shopping and what to my wondering eyes should appear....

Alright, excuse me. I can walk in heels. I can even occasionally run in heels. (All of my friends are now laughing because they are imagining the face plant potential of this scenario.) But let's not add insult to injury here. I feel like I just found the Regretsy of Target.com! You want me, Kallay Clutz, to purposefully place hot pink plastic baggies over my very high heeled shoes and then... what? Because no way in hell can you (I) walk in these. And if you can, well then kudos to you ballerina, my coordination does not allow for such acrobatic acts as walking with elevated pink plastic Ziplocs for shoes. That's me asking for a hospital stay. Moving on...

I like boys, so these are out.

As are these, same reason. They're called "Novella" because some genius over at Champion was all, "By George! I have a novel idea! We'll start with a Michelin, ok? And then I'll skin my Persian cat! Leather, check! Fur, check!" Listen, they may ward off winter, but you can count on dining alone and holding your own hand at the movies, because these boots also ward off phone numbers. NEXT!

Cleats of the slip on variety. These give traction but provide nothing in the style/warmth department, plus you'll look like a giant dork. Winter fail.

I'm wearing these in public, right? Bless you cute little angels with small calves, pray tell; where are the extenda-calf pink striped boots? Muffin top on my calf wasn't the look I was going for, really.

Light pink fake Uggs. I mean, they're ok. But *sigh* I want something a little more fantastic. Something that makes people stop and go, "Those are terrific!" and not "I own those in every color! (You fashion failure.)"

I have plenty of pink scarves in every material, pink gloves, pink hats, pink coats, pink sweaters... where, OMW and friends, are my pink boots? My feet are freezing, the snow banks are growing and icy pavement is patiently waiting to take me out (on my) back.

On the bright side, at least I don't have to plug in my car.

The Christmas Card (not sent)

2009-12-08T20:22:00.004-05:00

It's a Merry SITSmas! (SITS = a blogging community for women)

And staying with tradition we are posting Christmas cards for all of our internets to see. Only problem is...

I don't mail Christmas cards. I'm single, I have a dog who eludes me when the camera is out and I want a team photo, and a cat who typically glares when I snap hers. So Christmas cards are out because I refuse to send out a photo of just me and a Christmas tree. It seems vain and silly at best. Last year however, there was a photo taken that captures every ounce of love and adoration I have for Hercules. It's just so... us. If I wasn't saving for (one of) my best friend's wedding in January, I would be printing it up and sending it out. This dog warms my heart and melts my soul. He is hands down the best dog I've ever owned. Friendly, loves to eat, smiles when he's happy, cries when he's sad (at least that's what I think the wet goo is coming out of his eyes) and is the best/worst bed hog ever. Best because he serves as a 100 pound foot warmer, it's a great thing in the winter. Worst because the bed is a queen, plenty of room for two, and he chooses to occupy the space where my feet are supposed to go. So I end up sleeping like a slash mark. He's also a big fan of tampons, but only if I leave the house. Other than that, he is my best friend. Yeah, he's a dog. But he knows when I'm sad. He celebrates with me when I'm happy. He greets me at the door with enthusiasm whether I've been gone for an hour or 3 days. He cuddles with me when we watch movies and is eternally patient with my choices of romantic comedies and decidedly girlie shows on TV for a guy. I couldn't ask for a better companion. The past few Christmases I have had to either drive for hours on end to see family or not at all. But through it all, Hercules has been there to wish me a Merry Christmas every Christmas morning. I am grateful to have such a wonderful fur-person in my life, to somehow make everything ok and make every Christmas a Merry one.

So without further ado, here are my choices... Perhaps an e-card will suffice?

The Original:

Red:

Green:

Black and White:

On this Christmas, if all you have is a 3 foot tree and a four legged companion, Hercules and I wish for you a Merry Christmas full of furry love from our full hearts to yours.

Thanksgiving Pot Pie

2009-12-05T23:48:00.004-05:00

I had boat loads of leftovers and there was no way I was going to be able to eat them all before they went bad. So...throw them away? No. Dog? No. Casserole? No. POT PIE!? Yes! I was trying to figure out how to use the rest of the mashed potatoes and stuffing and a moment of inspiration hit. (Never happens!) Put them on the bottom! Like a reverse shepherd's pie. It turned out so well! You may add frozen peas or corn if you have them. Make it a one stop meal!

Thanksgiving Pot Pie

2 pie crusts (I used my family's pie crust recipe for this but you may use store bought crusts or your own favorite pie crust recipe!)
1/2 stick butter
1 cup finely diced onion
1 cup finely diced carrot
1 cup finely diced celery
4 cups leftover turkey, chopped
1/4 cup flour
1 cup of gravy
1 cup of water
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup sour cream
2 teaspoons dried thyme
fresh herbs, chopped (I used parsley and sage because this is what I had leftover.)
salt and white pepper to taste (I use white pepper because it lends flavor without leaving black specks all over the place, but you may use whatever pepper you like.)
cooking spray (optional)
leftover mashed potatoes and stuffing (optional)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Spray 2 9 inch pie pans with cooking spray and spread the mashed potatoes and stuffing evenly onto the bottoms of both pie pans.

Heat butter over medium to medium high heat in a large skillet and saute onions, carrots and celery until translucent. (Season lightly with salt and pepper.) Add turkey and mix with vegetables. Sprinkle mixture with flour, stir to coat and heat for a couple of minutes. Stir in gravy and water, heat to a simmer. Combine heavy cream and sour cream and add to skillet. Add thyme and herbs and season to taste. Simmer for a few minutes until mixture thickens, stirring frequently.

Roll out two pie crusts into rounds 1-2 inches larger than pie pans.

Carefully pour mixture evenly into the two pie pans and cover with pie crusts, folding under the edge and pressing into pan to create a seal. Slice top of crusts to ventilate.

Bake for 30 minutes until crust is golden brown and mixture is bubbly.

Let sit for a few minutes to allow sauce to thicken before spooning into bowls.

(once again, i apologize for the not awesome photos. the camera cord is just... invisible? don't know. but she's gone, baby, gone.)

Ever Forward, Ever Faithful

2009-11-30T14:59:00.005-05:00

You're so glad you missed it, if in fact you did miss it. I'll be brief. We broke up. I lost it, like LOST. IT. I've parted ways with so many things in the past two months that I finally hit rock bottom with a thunderous thump. It was nasty. Flu-like symptoms, felt like my body was being ripped from the inside out into several thousands of pieces, status updates that all but screamed suicide. It was just dark and gloomy. And I'm not dark and gloomy, not even close. That sort of intense emotion has to come out somehow, somewhere. And girl, did it! Thinking of new ways to say I'm sad, I'm hurt, I'm lonely and I have no fucking clue what to do next is my way of coping sometimes. I didn't expect comment, in fact the attitude of inconsolable prohibited it, but the comments came anyway. Not ignored but not exactly taken for gospel either. Just knowing that somewhere out there someone else cared for my life was enough to keep me from googling my demise. So, here I am. All cried out. Finally. Sometimes asking the question aloud can give an answer you weren't expecting. "What am I going to do?" in a desperate plea will often awaken a part of the mind that can't hear your inner shouting, it simply doesn't have ears. The hour struck defeat and the resilient feline in my soul landed on her feet. Life brought me another closed door, the fourth (or 247th) in 2 months. And then God handed me an ax. A beautiful, weighty hot pink ax. And He said, "Ok. Now chop. And start with the door of opportunity, that door will provide the keys to open these other doors."

He's so smart, God. After application maybe and application fail, application no response and application doom, I'm abandoning a path that was taking me nowhere but from one small salary to the next. I'm going back to school. To learn some new skills and to hone some others. My declared major is English Literature and will include another when God tells me what that is.

He's got a plan and I woke up this morning knowing in my bones that somewhere between falling apart and my 7 hours of peaceful (success!) sleep last night, God had employed me with this task. As mom says, "Baby steps." Starting with my new job as a caregiver for the elderly and with the application to a really great community college, declaring a major and leaving the details to God. Chicago is still in my future. Cafe Kallay is not a realization gone to steam and dust. But they are on hold until I am fully equipped to take them on. The new path gives me a better opportunity to make money to save for those dreams. Hardest realization yet? You can bet your life on that. But I also understand now that God is trying to fill my boxes again. My confidence, my self worth, my knowledge, my faith, my, dare I say it, hope, and my love, which will come last, and I'm ok with that right now. God does not want me to end up an empty shell of a person who only needs money and possessions to make them happy. He knows this has never been in my spirit. He knows my priorities and my goals, my passions and my needs and none of these list money at the top.

He has provided me with a position to help people in their greatest hours of need which will not only cure my thirst for charitable contribution but also my bank account's recession. (insert clicked "LIKE" button here) He brought me into a family that supports, loves and nurtures one another even though we are all very different people. He has given me the ability to forgive, but also to forget. He has given me the ability to laugh at myself, my situations and at yours too! He has made me resilient, kind, friendly, talented and faithful. He has also made me humble, defeated and with absolutely no choice but to need help. A lesson in humility is a lesson in gratitude. I'm talking about the simple, unexpected acts of kindness given purely and without expectation which happen very rarely but are the ones to be most thankful for. A gift given with a selfish heart is not a gift at all. (And to be clear, I am not talking about monetary loans.) He has given me friends on which to rely and to nurture and to grow with. Amazing people with great talent and perseverance and intelligence; with laughter in their souls and others on their minds. Truly unselfish people. For all of these things I am thankful and humbled beyond measure.

So, we move forward, with lots of questions unanswered and many baby steps to go. A new map to explore and old boxes to fill. I know this to be true, God has a plan and His plan is better than my own, to seek God is to seek Greatness and I'd rather be armed with His Great Plan than my own uncertain one.

How To: Pie Crust (I'm no Martha June buuuut I make a nice pie!)

2009-11-25T15:38:00.014-05:00

It's the day before Thanksgiving and people all over America are stocking up on Turkeys, potatoes, and Xanax. Worrying whether their 140 pound turkey will fit into their Easy Bake sized oven and if they bought enough wine to forget to care. Planning out place settings, family football pools and Me? I'm all set. I'm ready to cook and eat and wear large pants. Just one last thing to do... the pie. Traditionally, we make Pumpkin Pie which is just about the easiest pie to make. No worrying about sugar bubbling over the side of the plate onto the oven's coils granting a much needed phone call to the nearest fire department and perhaps even a grocery store blueberry pie. Because face it, if you haven't bought your pie and you're a buyer of pie, you're left with Sara Lee or Blueberry, which is just gross, so perhaps a nice box of Ho-Hos? I say that Pumpkin Pie is the easiest to make because the filling is mostly slop, plop and pour. The hardest part of any pie is the crust which you can buy but I'm a little egotistical for that hulla-baloo. Also, Sallie Mae is still collecting funds from my Culinary School days so buying a pie crust is sort of in the same category as using pre-chopped garlic, mostly it's a crime. So homemade pie crust it is.

First of all, I'm supposedly a professional, so I can wear a black shirt with confidence. You, however, should not.

So, properly attired, you may now begin the gathering of ingredients. This is what your counter will look like:

This is what mine looks like:

I embrace my inner OCD when baking/cooking. One of the first things we learned in school was mise en place, literally translated: everything in its place. Ingredients in order from recipe's start to finish is where my disorder begins. Yes, the pastry blender is an ingredient. Not a utensil. At least it should be. Everyone knows that cutting in butter (or lard in my case) is near impossible with anything else. It's the sex toy for pies. Nothing can get the pie off... just... never mind. Use the pastry blender, you'll thank me later. Now, utensils...

Nothing special here, just a big ass bowl. I will say this, wider mouth bowls make this process a tiny bit easier since you're cutting the butter into flour. Having a surface that's mostly flat ensures equal distribution of the fat into the flour in a reasonable amount of time and if you use the pastry blender, you won't end up using your hands. Joy!

I'm not going to hand out my great grandmother's pie crust recipe because I'm not sure if this is family secret material. Hercules knows better too so don't ask him, he's no Duke. Just know I measured precisely and you should too. Baking is not a willy-nilly game of horseshoes folks, close doesn't count. It's a science. Not that your pie crust will turn purple and explode if you add too much of the wrong ingredient but it won't turn out, you can count on that. Leave the recipe tweaking to the professionals until you understand what a little of this and little of that will do to your precious baked goods.

Now we cut-in. Use your pastry blender to cut the fat into the flour. Using a slight twisting motion as you go around the bowl making sure the flour and fat are combined. You will end up with something with the visual texture of cornmeal with small pea sized fat bits. I didn't take a picture with my phone, you can't see the texture. My regular camera works fine but getting the pictures off requires a cord. My cord is buried in the massive pile of my life in the garage so, camera phone it is! When your cornmeal texture is achieved, add liquid. The method of pie making is always the same, the ingredients are going to be different so just follow your recipe. If it says to add 1/4 c. of ice cold water and add 2 T. of water after that until the desired texture is reached, then do that. I'm lucky enough to have a recipe where I can just dump my liquids in and go. (God Bless you Great Grandma Kallay) Use the pastry blender to mix in the liquid and then use your hands to press dough together into a clump of obese flour. Don't forget to remove your rings. Flour and fat do not a pretty diamond make.

Pie crust achieved! Now, just slap some flour on the counter and shape that pretty piece of dough into a disk like this:

Ah, we meet at a crossroad. As this point you may either a) begin rolling out your dough or b) chill it and use it later. Most pie crust recipes allow for a top and bottom crust, if you only need the bottom crust you can freeze the other half or make two pies, I'm making two pies. Either way, before you begin rolling out the crust, cut the disk in half. I prefer to chill my dough and let it rest before I handle it anymore. I don't want gluten to form. I'm not making Pumpkin Pizza, I'm making Pumpkin Pie. So I put it in the fridge until it's set up and hard, like butter. I wrap it twice in the equivalent of a food condom aka Saran Wrap aka Clear Plastic Wrap (for those of us on a budget) so it doesn't take on the odors or flavors of the other food in the fridge or freezer, the STDs of the baking world.

You can see why double bagging is important in this refrigerator. I'm a big fan of the leftovers but when you make a pork roast on Sunday and order pizza on Monday, that leaves exactly 2 days to eat about a week's worth of food. This was not my genius idea. This was another sticker on the coffee pot moment.

So there you are internets, your step by step guide to a great pie crust. If nothing else goes right for you on Thanksgiving, I guarantee this will. Here's hoping you have a special someone and a great family to spend your holiday with. I have the pleasure of my family this year for the first time in a couple of years. You can be sure I will be enjoying more than just the food.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Yeah, Good Idea...comparing my life to an airport.

2009-11-25T03:04:00.005-05:00

Your Daily Horoscope: November 24, 2009
Pisces
Feb. 19 - Mar 20 (Wrong Sign?)
Some series of events has come to an end Pisces, because the signs are clear that a new path is opening for you. Right now, all you need to change your life for the better is the courage to take the first step, and as the Quarter Moon is in your sign, you are likely to find that courage. It's like a moving sidewalk at the airport, just step on - you have everything you need to succeed. Don't let your fear of the unknown spoil the opportunity that is to come. This week could be very important as far as the lunar month is concerned.

Oh Daily Horoscope, you don't even know the half of it. I have been told that I have contrails, which is really nothing more than a plane fart, but ok, we'll go with it. Yes, I move a lot. I grew up in the Midwest, moved West(ish), then all the way West, then back to the Midwest, then South, then North, then South again and now we're back here in the Great Mitten. So... fair statement. In 10 years I have moved (hold on to your flotation device) 24 times. Twenty Four. I guess I never really liked the "third time's a charm" mentality. So, that said, your prediction of a new path is not all that far off. However, this is me and you just compared my life to a moving sidewalk and that's just a mental picture that's too funny to pass up.

Thing is, the sidewalk ends. Then you have to hoof it to the next sidewalk, or just get off and go to your gate. Most people can handle the inevitable, albeit abrupt, end of the sidewalk. Me? I fall ass over shoulders onto the carpet. So, my question is, how long is this ride on the moving sidewalk going to be? Yay me for having the tools to succeed and yay you for predicting my Piscean over analysis of the situation by throwing in the "Have No Fear! Opportunity is Here!" But survey says, I'm going to need a little more information. Lunar location and signs being what they may, I'm still skeptical. Don't get me wrong, this has been one hell of a carpeted walk to the moving sidewalk. I've got a heavy suitcase, penniless purse and 2 crazy furballs I'm dragging along beside me and for this analogy I'm wearing heels so, bless the moving sidewalk for even existing. I'm sweating and struggling and more than ready for the break.

It's just that I'm that girl. The girl who gets up and showers, applies makeup, finds a suitable outfit and leaves the house looking pretty with it. An hour later I want my pajamas and a nap. Not because I'm tired but because I've probably stepped in dog doo without realizing it until someone points out the smell, I might have forgotten to set the parking break and apparently coffee looks good on me. Did I mention my shirt's on inside out and backwards? I'm not a pessimist, I'm just really that unlucky. So, I step on this moving sidewalk only to find I've placed my hand on the only part of the rail including someone's chewed up grape Bubbilicious.

While your fairy tale is sweet, life is never that simple for me. Let's, for the sake of all things shiny and gay, look at the positives for the week. First of all, it's Thanksgiving and I have loads to be thankful for. One of which, and always most importantly, is my family. My grandmother told me about a position to care for the elderly and no one loves old people like this girl. So, the second thing I am thankful for is possible gainful employment. Tomorrow I will learn my assignment and I am overly excited about that. If for no other reasons than to a) be able to share the comedy that is to ensue and (of course) b) receive a paycheck.

Here's where the sidewalk may end... I'm still not making any progress on my career path, which in case you haven't heard, is to own my own cafe and be the best coffee snob there ever was. I'm still stepping on the belt. I need this job. If not for my sanity, for the money. I'll take it, believe me. I would feel much better if I could find the correlation between coffee and wrinkles though. Plus, I'm dying to unpack my boxes which are, for now, sprawled about willy-nilly in the garage labeled with reckless abandon (thank you Oliver and John) and wouldn't you know it? I can't find a damned thing. It took me a month to figure out which box my hair dryer was in! With over 50 boxes to sift through, I have given up on finding anything else. Unpacking and repacking an entire garage of a lifetime of my stuff is not on the top of my list. So what I'm saying is, I hope there's a Chicago apartment somewhere on this moving sidewalk of yours, Daily Horoscope, because a girl needs her straightener and her shoes.

Also, don't read your horoscope at 3am.

Not In My Double Helix!

2009-11-21T21:24:00.003-05:00

My mom called me one day.

Mom: "Hi Honey!"

Me:"Hiiii. How are you?" (Knowing that this amount of enthusiasm is always a sign that I should have just let it go to voice mail.)

Mom: "Good! I'm going to do my kitchen RED!"

(She's very excited and I'm just frightened. My mom has a thing for wallpaper so my mind is immediately overcome with thoughts of red wallpaper with some sort of animal print and her white counter appliances. Oh yes, this is going to be epic. The woman has great taste, let's be honest, but I was worried I was going to go home to a bad episode of Trading Spaces where the wife leaves the room in tears and the husband inquires about the location of his tv. It could happen. Mom wears Betsy Johnson!)

Me: "That'll be cooooo-uhl!" (Well, what would YOU say!? It's her house!)

Mom: "I know! I'm going to get all red appliances and utensils. I'm going to redo the cabinets..." (oh God!) "...and finally get rid of this wallpaper!" (HM! New leaf! Way to go Mom!)

Me: "Are you planning on painting the walls or are you going to leave those alone?" (Please let it be (B), please let it be (B)!!)

Mom: "Oh! No! I'm not painting it, that would look ridiculous with the rest of the house. It's all one room." (Aaaaand... now I'm breathing normally again.)

Me: "Well, that sounds great! Let me know how it turns out! Can't wait to see it!"

A few months later I come home and I get to see the kitchen. I'm over excited. I want to see the wall paper gone. I want to see modern sleek looking cabinets. I want to see something other than that damned white coffee pot!

And I did. The kitchen finally made it into the 2000s and it looked great! The microwave, toaster, Kitchen Aid Mixer (*cat call* Hey baby! Sorry, I have a thing for mixers.), and food processor are all red and shiny and new. And then the heavens shine down upon the most beautiful red and black coffee maker. Oh, praise you Jesus for this wonderful appliance. The white, stained, way past its retirement plan coffee maker is gone and here sits Miss Thang! It's late, but I want to make some coffee. I want to get my mom's money worth! I want to use this bitch!

Me: "Mom! I *love* your mixer! And look at that sexy coffee pot! Do you love it?"

Mom: "Oh, you mean that piece of shit!?"

(Um... what? That's a hot piece of brew machine. It sparkles! It has a self timer yo! And a strength setting. I mean, this is like a mansion compared to that trailer park of a piece of crap she used to have. So, what's with the hostility? I want to cover the poor thing's ears and give it a hug. Damn!)

Me: "What's wrong with it? It's brand new! And it was made in this century mom!"

Mom: "The clock doesn't work."

(I look around... I spy with my little eye... 9 clocks. Microwave, oven, wall clock, plate made into a clock, cable box, mantle, home phone, cell phone, Hey, look at your wrist! Wow, Rolex! All I have is a "Guess?" and it tells time backwards! If you can't figure out the time, we need to have a different conversation!)

Me: (confused silence, inquisitive look)

Mom: "The first one I bought had a broken clock too so I exchanged it and then that clock didn't work either so then I exchanged that one and got this one but I don't want to fuck with it so I'll just keep it they don't have any other red coffee makers anyway." (breath)

Me: "You could get a black one!"

Mom: "No, I want the red one!"

Me: "So you'd rather pay full price for a broken one that's the right color?"

Mom: "Yeah!"

(Well, ok!)

So I'm messing around with the coffee maker. The third coffeemaker... thinking about this and sort of worrying. What if there's a short in it and that's why it's not working? I hope the store took them off the shelves! What if they're trying to charge people full price for a coffee maker with a broken clock that could burn down their homes? I'm starting to get frantic when I run my hand over the front of it and feel something... funny. Is that...? What is...?

Me: "MOM!?"

Mom: "Yeah?"

Me: "It's the STICKER!!!" (Mad and LAUGHING. Hard!)

Mom: "Whaaaat?"

Me: "You didn't take the sticker off the front of the clock. The clock works, you don't."

She dissolves into a fit of laughter and probably extreme embarrassment. My mother had returned and probably made the store damage out two perfectly great (and expensive) coffee makers because she missed... a sticker.

Is this hereditary? She does this a lot. She knows the name of every muscle, meridian and bone in the body but couldn't figure out a sticker. She's not stupid. She's just, blonde?

Tonight we're watching tv and this commercial comes on with these giant metal spheres plunging out of the sky. I'm freaked out. What the hell kind of commercial is this?

Mom says: "I can't wait until this show comes out!"

Me: "What is it? It looks freaky!" (There are things falling from the sky, slamming into Earth, leaving giant holes and people are following them and looking at the destruction in awe. Scary music is playing. Sorry. Not my kind of show.)

Mom: "It's Droid!"

(sigh)

Me: "Mom?"

Mom: "Yeah!?"

Me: "It's "the" Droid Ma. The Droid is a cell phone."

Please God, let it be the bleach. Please tell me that this is not in my genetic instructions.

And excuse me Verizon? I actually *want* the Droid. But if you keep making it look all freaky transformer cell phone... I'm going to change my mind! I don't want my cellular device to grow legs in the night and strangle me for accidentally dropping it. K? Think techno and pink and flowers... I will feel much safer with a phone that doesn't have an ulterior motive.

Lost: Give me an L!

2009-11-12T01:10:00.008-05:00

Oops.

Here's the thing, I really badly want a library card. I need freebies in my life. I probably (let's face it, I do) qualify for food stamps but I'm unsure if I want to journey across that bridge after what I endured today.

When I moved back to Michigan I changed my address because I wanted to get mail here, but mostly because I wanted proof that I was a resident. I imagined waltzing, yes, ballroom dancing, into the library with my change of address confirmation, pressing it into the hands of a bespectacled wise old woman and retrieving what I think is the best escape of life's downward spirals... books. My reading rampages usually begin and end in crises. And I'm revving my engine for a good old fashioned read-a-thon. Except, today... I foxtrotted my too-in-love thighs into the library and apparently my mom lives in the wrong township. At least for this particular library.

Let's play a little game I like to call "said" and (thought).

First of all, when I arrived, I parked on the street. Or tried. A large SUV was sitting in their spot with their rear lights on. (Hm... self. What shall we do?) So, I parked sort of far away from them officially taking up two spots, waited a full minute and got out. Figured they would be there and I would be ok to run in really fast, get my card, get my book, and get out. They didn't move. (Awesome.) Until I got to the sidewalk. Arf. So I get BACK in the car, pull forward so I don't look like the asshole taking up all the street parking and Paso Doble into the public library.

No bespectacled wise old women here! Darn it! My fantasy is already losing steam. First, retard Lexus lady and now this. Ugh. I march up to the counter with a big fat smile on my face and the following ensues...

Cute library girl with the awesome sweater I wanted but couldn't afford: Hi!

Me: Hello! I would like a library card please! (YAY!!! Library! Give me an L!...)

*hand her my driver's license and my freshly opened change of address confirmation*

Cutie Patootie: Ok, great.

*types in the address and makes a funny face*
(uh oh)
*types in the address again*

Becoming Uncute: Well, that's what I thought.

(fuck)

Me: Is there a problem? (Of course there is. This is your life we're talking about here. Loser. Give me an L!)

Librarian with MY sweater: Well, unfortunately, you have to go to L Township to get your library card because that's the township you pay taxes in. But (!!!) you can bring your card back here and we'll put a little sticker on it and you are more than welcome to check books out from our library as well. (Doh.)

Me: Oh, that's ok. (No it is NOT. You have a 1/8 tank of gas.)

My sweater: Do you know where the L Township Library is? Down on C Avenue?

Me: Oh, yeah! (NUH UH!! NO YOU DON'T! LIAR! Give me an L!)

My beautiful gray sweater: So, you know to go down to G Road and take a right? (no) Then follow that until you get to the C Avenue intersection where Walgreens is. (Oh! Yes, I know this one!) You turn left and it's a half a mile down the road... maybe.

Me: Sure, yes! Great! Ok! Thanks! (You should have written that down.)

So I waddle back to the car, defeated. Knowing I'm a) about to be lost in a small town and b) may not make it home with the amount of gas I have. I know. You're thinking.. "So put gas in your car!" and to you I say "With what? My great rack and good charm?"

Peanut has a few select quirks that should be pointed out about now.
1. Her oil light is always on. Always.
2. Her engine light is always on. Always.
3. When the gas light goes on, your four letter words become four letter paragraphs.

So I need milk too before I go home. Earlier in the day my grandmother took pity on me and bestowed upon me some delicious home made bread, Red & Rover cartoons (she's been sending me these for years... Hercules is my Rover) and meat. Chicken tenderloins, beef stew meat, and shrimp. Yums. (By the way, I made Beef Stroganof for dinner from scratch. Success! Divine!) So I have meat, I have bread, I need milk. Luckily, the store is on my way to the L Township library across town. So I stop in, debate over milk prices and pay $1.25 for 1/2 gallon of milk. Not telling you where, because I'm going to win the lottery and go back and buy it all. Major Score. Sorry! Poor girls keep secrets.

And from there it's sort of blurry. I drove to G Road. Turned right. I drove to the Walgreens and Peanut's gas gauge said "1/16 yo!" but I kept driving. I turned right. I was supposed to turn left. I know this now. But I did not know this then. I drove down C Avenue and ended up practically on the front steps of the public library. Again.

I realize I just drove in a giant circle and am now panicking about getting home. I turn down a side street and drive gas tank friendly slow to the stop signs, being extra sure to be extra light on the gas pedal so as not to disturb the 1/4 c. of gas that now resides in my gas hole. Peanut alerts me that we are about done with this circus side show and that I better get her back to a driveway or I'm going to look like a dumb ass.

"Yes. Hi! Roadside Assistance? I ran out of gas trying to find the library."

An intelligent person doesn't say these things. I pull into my mom's driveway with the fear of God in my stomach and lots of meat on my passenger seat. I decide I will try this another day. Reading is supposed to be relaxing. I'm kind of stressed out.

Lesson learned. Don't get lost with a 1/8 tank of gas. Give me an L! (For Liquor!)

Unemployment: The Mental Health Professional's Wet Dream

2009-11-09T23:13:00.000-05:00

This whole unemployment gig is much like the dating scene, I whine everyday about wanting someone to call me back. Sometimes I don't even like the job, I just want them to like me. Sounds pitiful but come to my world and you will quickly realize the full potential of your insecurities. Looking for a job and looking for love are very much the same. Not only are you presenting your best self to the world, but you are Sofa King scared you won't find it.

Unemployment should be a medical condition. Trust me. It's not the inconvenience of not having a job that's killing me, although that is in fact what brought me to this particular mecca of hell. It's the combination of bad situations blending together to make this one giant smoothie of a mental health professional's wet dream.

Bad Situation #1: I Miss My Job (not the Horrid Company)

I actually enjoy what I do. Love it, in fact. So, waking up every single day not being able to do what I love is a slap in the face in and of itself. I *love* my customers. I *love* the smell of freshly ground coffee, the sound of the timers chirping letting me know it's time for a dining room check up or a new batch of coffee, the smiles of the babies and children we get to watch grow older in front of our eyes, the inventory and the finances telling me that I am doing a bang up job... I just *love* my job. So my joy in life has been stripped from me, now what?

Bad Situation #2: Communication with the Outside World

When I lost my job, my mom knew I had gone and lost my mind. I cried to her over the phone about not wanting to leave my customers, about loving the cafe so much that even though I deeply wanted to make the company suffer and figure out the inventory themselves, I couldn't do that to my cafe. Also, I don't know what revenge looks like, I've always chosen to forgive, no matter the crime. I couldn't just let the cafe fall apart because of me. I just couldn't. Mom told me I needed to come home. I needed to get out of the toxic situation that I was in. She said she would gladly help me with bills and that was that. So I got up on that Sunday, September 27th and I did the damn inventory with the new supervisor, I did it gritting my teeth, but I did it. Two days later, I was driving my truck with my car on a dolly back to freezing cold Small Town, Michigan. At the time, I had what we all thought was an offer from a great coffee company to become their next Store Manager. The move would be temporary and I would have a job in no time. I was actually optimistic for the first time in a long time. I would not lose my sanity living with my mother because it was only going to be for a couple of weeks, then on to Chicago. Right? Needless to say, the offer disappeared. I have been here for over a month now and my sanity slowly slips away each and every day. This city is one I grew up in but I went to a private school about 15-20 minutes from here. My friends have all gone off to college or have traveled across the US just like I had. So that leaves me with no communication with the outside world except for phone calls to friends who are actually living their lives rather than wasting away in a town with no jobs to procure and not a whole lot of friendly people.

It's no secret that I'm not a fan of this town. The words "I HATE this place." have been uttered across my lips more times than I can count. And unfortunately, hate is the correct word. The people are mostly stuck up and judgmental, caught up in ridiculous racial and status issues of years and years gone by and are, for the most part, rude and unfriendly. Not an ideal place for someone who has lived in cities where people are gracious and friendly and accepting and open minded. (And I don't mean Democratic, I mean truly open minded.) Communicating over the phone and through Facebook are wonderful things, but sometimes you just want a hug. Sometimes you just want to see the same funny as someone else, give them a look and laugh! Living in a friendless town is one thing, but living unemployed in a friendless town is worse.

There is *no* communication with real, alive, non-digital people except for nervous interviews, grocery stores, and gas stations. Everywhere else is a luxury and if you're like me, if you're there, someone else is paying. So instead of enjoying the time out of the house, you are dwelling on the fact that you can't pay for it yourself. Sure, there is a time to be humble and to put your insecurities away, but stripping away the basic needs for a person to be healthy and then expecting them to humble themselves even more is sort of a ridiculous request.

Bad Situation #3: The Long Distance Relationship

Enough said? Probably. But I'll go deeper. I'm not the most trusting person. For obvious reasons, but honestly, I don't trust most people. So the long distance relationship for me is harder than for most other people. My insecurity runs through my veins about as thick as the very blood keeping me alive. I'm grown up enough to admit that. So God bless my boyfriend for being so patient with me. Granted, he's a dude and does stupid things. And I'm a girl with over emotional Pisces tendencies. Combine this with Bad Situations #1 and #2 plus loss of everything else and the poor guy is battling quite the case of female blues in order to get this lady to smile. He manages. On a daily basis.

But on the days we fight or disagree or just plain don't communicate with each other, I'm a basket case. When you're standing on the intersection of Nothing and Everything to Lose, and you begin to lose... again... I'm not sure I can explain the chemical imbalance that occurs to make you cry more tears than you thought the human body could expel. I can't explain the mental or physical pain, at least not more than to say if I was working, it would be a sick day. On these wonderfully special days, I literally can't see straight. The world is a blur to me. I will remember nothing you tell me. I will not be able to recount what I did. I will walk slower and be lost in thought when you try and converse with me. I will cry at the dumbest and most inane events. Forgot the paper towel to clean the bathroom mirror? 5 minute sob. Dog dreaming loudly on the floor? A smile, and then a tear. Coffee creamer empty before the last cup? Raging cry.

I often thank God that there aren't video cameras around to record this insanity. Because on these fantastic days, my emotions are so close to the surface, anything can set them off, I look very similar to a person who should be medicated and straight jacketed. If not for the safety of myself, for the safety of that gorgeous lamp.

Sometimes I pace thinking I can outrun the pain, and then when I sit the pain floods me and I do what Oprah calls the "ugly cry". Where your face bunches up and immediately turns red. Your tears aren't even tears so much as an emotional catastrophe leaking from your eyes and nose. It's so nasty too, you'll wipe your nose on anything. Because really, at this point, are you leaving the house? Definitely not. And using your sleeve is easier than walking hunched over in pain to the bathroom for a tissue that will only fall apart. You already tried that and ended up using your sleeve anyway. When doing the ugly cry, do not, I repeat, do not, look in that mirror. The feeling of being pathetic and looking so, will only make you cry harder. Plus, you don't want to see what your sleeve looks like. Eventually you're going to snap out of it and you'll have to wash that shirt. You'll never look at it the same again if you remember it this way. When you have finally taken the plunge and let yourself accept an emotion that you have been warding off like a thief, you can't stop the thing. You'll stop crying when you have nothing left to cry about. When you've run through your head all of the things worthy of a tear. Then you'll get the hiccups, which just furthers my belief in God's sense of humor.

(And just so we're clear... we weren't fighting about musical taste and fast food preferences. Taco Bell will never make me cry.)

Bad Situation #4: It's Not That I Want to Eat Everything in Sight....

When I arrived with my overstuffed Uhaul complete with furry brood, dragging Peanut along on the trailer, my thighs were kissing. Smooching if you will. Now? They're fucking in love. I mean, infatuation station down there. Makin' out! Of course it's my fault but you know, Grilled Chicken Salad doesn't have the same calming effect as say... Fully Loaded Nachos? To say that I eat my feelings is to say that I have a small crush on fast food to go cup buttons, complete understatements. When I'm depressed and want nothing to do with positive thinking mumbo jumbo blahblahblah, I eat. A lot. Some people drink good wine (or boxed, whatever), some people smoke (I used to!), and others just say fuck it and jump. The good thing about eating is that eventually my jeans will write a letter and be like "Hi, we know you're going through a rough time since we've been on your floor for a week and you've been wearing those ugly ass pajama pants. You know, the ones with the stripes that make your ass look big? Yes, those. Buuh. Well, we were just wondering if, before you try to pry us up your thighs again, you could maybe do like, a sit up or something? We're your stretch jeans not your fishnets and while those are also not one size fits all, they will allow for movement. Love ya, Denim" and I'll go for a walk. (And YES, my jeans are gay boys. Who compliments your ass more than your gay boyfriend? Hello. Miss my Oliver...)

No letter yet, so eat I shall. Cheese, ice cream, chocolate, chips, cheetos, comfort. While I'm unhappy about the relationship status of my thighs, my job situation screams Half Baked Ben & Jerry's. I've been trying to ward this off by drinking coffee until 4 pm. The problem is, then I'm starving and all I want is a chocolate shake and a stick of butter. So, clearly that strategy is not a working one. Eating is on the healthier side of the "things to do instead of crying and talking about your problems" because weight can be lost. You can't just run off an infected liver or a black lung. Fat rolls? They love a good jog. Cellulite too. So, judge me if you will, but I'm feeling pretty darn good about this.

Bad Situation #5: Hope Does What?

Listen, I like romantic comedies and chick flicks as much as the next girl, but we all know it's bullshit. Really. Since when did your dead beat ex-boyfriend become rich because he discovered he had a talent and actually pursued a dream? And when were you ever standing in the aisle choosing between said ex-boyfriend and Mr. Took You To Tiffany's To Choose Your "Skating Rink"? Come the fuck on. And friendly neighbor guy? Where the hell's HE at? Hope Floats, my ass. I'm not trying to be negative here, it's good writing, warm and fuzzy like a grandma's hug, but seriously... Hope doesn't float. Hope gets her ass kicked. Hope looks over her shoulder for the next tragedy. Hope is realistic. Unlike Faith, little miss everything is going to be ok. Hope knows that despite all of the bad situations, there might me a silver living or a lesson to be learned. But there might not. Hope does not equal Happy. Hope knows she might not be employed. Hope knows that she is just a want, and we don't get everything that we want. What's really sick is that sometimes we don't even want what we want. Because once we get it, it's not what we thought it was. Poor Hope. She's just not for me. Too much uncertainty lies in her bones. I need sure things. Solid things. A job. Not a floatie.

Bad Situation #6: The Inevitable

Unemployment is just a fancy way to say that you are no longer rubbing pennies together, because "Haha! Sucker! You don't have any!" It's an indescribable feeling of doom when you've Coinstarred your purse and you've delegated your car payment to someone else, and your ATM just exclaimed "You're broke darlin'!" I don't want to talk about this much. I'm unemployed, I obviously don't have money, and everyone needs money. I really could be worse off. I could be houseless which is not the same as homeless, and I am technically homeless. I could be deathly ill, but I'm just mental not dying. At any rate, gig's up. I need a job. I need money. And if not just for me, for my mom. Additionally, beyond bills, I have plans. One of my best friends is getting married in Oregon. Guess who's in the wedding and making her cake? Guess who can't wait? Also on the list: Christmas, moving, and paying off debt. Plus, I'm sure my mom would much rather be spending her expendable income on something other than Peanut. I mean, even I want to be spending my money on something other than stupid Peanut, but... all hail the necessary evils or something like that. Anyway, the point, the inevitable, I believe my time of Green & Black has risen again. I agree with my friend C when she said about me "You'd rather be serving G&B coffee than none at all." Hear, hear. (But still... Fuck.)

Bad Situation #7: Pity, party of one?

Worst. Party. Ever. For one thing, the music is depressing. A person can only listen to so many unpopular sad musicians before they cease musical libation at all. Also, when you're down, you're down, sort of like learning to water ski. This party is invite only and the guest list employs one name: yours. So while you drown yourself in slow songs, eat yourself chubby, and cry about the latest disappointment... the whole world is still spinning. No one knows, no one cares. They weren't invited anyway. So even if they *did* try to come to brighten the party, they'd be D listed. Sorry. So, when I'm done here, I'll let you know.

Bad Situations or not, it's ok to laugh. I have to keep reminding myself of this. That even though I'm sad and I need things I can't have right now, it's ok to laugh. It's ok to have a good time and relax. It's ok to feel sorry for myself every once in a while too. I will allow myself this indulgence. What's not ok, what is absolutely not in my plans, is giving up. I might cry and eat and swear and get angry but I won't give up. I might sacrifice and sway from the career plan, I might work somewhere I don't want to and bitch about those things. But I won't give up.

No, for now, I'm going to steer clear of books like The Knitting Circle and reach for the funny or inspiring. I have cried more than necessary reading this book because I can identify so much with this character and how it just seems like she keeps losing things/people. I am really tired of getting snot on my new shirts though. I'd really like to blow my nose into a Kleenex again. It just seems so much more lady like and civilized, not that I will ever fully be either of those things. It's worth a shot though. So I believe I shall be hitting up the library for some Jen Lancaster or possibly reread a David Sedaris story. Or maybe I'll keep Stumbling Upon humorous things like The Bloggess and keep reading wonderful blogs like Magnolias and Mimosas and laughing my ass off at the ludicrous crafters on Regretsy. And just like that, there went ladylike and civilized.

An Old Inspiration

2009-11-06T21:48:00.003-05:00

It's relevant. I love it. But I need a change on this page. So out with the old and awesome, and in with the new and more(!)awesome.

I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice,
Hesitate in the presence of procrastination,
Negotiate at the table of fear,
Ponder at the pool of popularity,
Or meander in the maze of mediocrity.
I won't give up, Shut up, Let up,
Until I've Stayed up, Stored up, Prayed up, and Paid up,
And become the person God intended me to be.

(note: I have no idea where I got this. I had it written down from a conference I went to for Mary Kay. I found something similar that was from the Latter Day Saints, but it didn't list an author. Anyway, still profound.)

Unemployment: Stay at Home Daughter

2009-11-05T15:11:00.012-05:00

(Disclaimer: I love my mother. That is all.)

I recently changed my employment status on Facebook to say this:

Stay At Home Daughter

cooking, baking, cleaning, trash girl, bartender, applying for real jobs, applying for crappy jobs, lawn chick (does not rake), designated driver, laundering, entertaining, knitting, reading, writing, eating all the good food (snacks, ice cream, etc.), drinking all the beer, warming up the couch, making sure the tv works (specifically on sundays and thursdays), taking up space in the driveway with ugly car named Peanut, Facebooking incessantly while filling out online applications and writing articles (multitasking), vacuuming with cool uniform (see pictures), etc.

Since skipping out the door of my last job or rather being kicked out quietly, I have moved in with my mother. Love her as I do, living with her is much like Chinese torture. I am thankful that she is allowing me to take up space in her home and in her garage. And she is thankful that those pesky high light bulbs are being changed! My mom is short, I am tall. (read: likely adopted) So all of these high reaching tasks have been delegated to me. Light bulbs, reaching for vases, vacuuming the ceilings for house showings, yes, I do them all. I am employed with the never ending to do lists to keep my mind from exploding because my mother knows that a girl that is zoned for the city, like myself, does not survive well in the country. I'm walking around the house wondering things like "Can I get a sidewalk? Maybe a cafe that doesn't serve coffee that tastes like BBQ? Hell, I'll take a horn honking!" while everyone else is enjoying the peaceful and serene view of the now hibernating trees. Don't get me wrong, it's gorgeous here but it fades. Stare at the same Thomas Kincade painting for a month and tell me you don't want a change of scenery. Between job applications you might find me scrubbing a toilet or vacuuming the baseboards. In the city you would find me casing out the newest wi-fi cafe or running to catch the El. I've taken to knitting and cleaning as hobbies because cafes and trains don't exist here. Call me June Cleaver and I will scream.

After about a month in the country I am ready for a Thanksgiving dinner sized helping of Chicago. The wind blows the crazy out of me, and my friends are thankful for this. In the country, I have to *think* of things to do keep my mind off my insanity ridden life. In the city, I have to decide which thing to do first! Walking to get coffee is a welcomed task in the city. Here, it is impossible. Maybe I should walk around the house three times before I come in and start my pot in the morning. Who cares if the neighbors think I have a serious case of OCD? I'm going mental anyway, might as well come out of the closet with it right?

To say that this past month has been awful would still probably be a gross understatement. Adjectives have not been invented to describe the kind of mental instability that unemployment has created for me. I'm a strong girl. I've been through more than a person my age should. And I'm still standing. But not working and living in the country at the same time is enough to make me Google "high bridges near SW Michigan". I'm applying for plenty of positions. I even had an interview with a staffing agency in Chicago. They loved me, and I loved them. It's a terrific fit. But patience and waiting have never been close friends of mine. I wrote a blog not too long ago about the relationship between my patience and waiting. I officially don't have any. I'm waiting because I have to, but my patience packed its bags and told me to fuck off a long time ago. So here we sit, me and my new frienemy, Waiting, and have these conversations about length of stay. Waiting is always complaining about Patience leaving and I am always complaining about why Waiting is taking so long. It's like...Dude, shit or get off the pot already. This is ridiculous. The fact is that there are 15.1 million of us out of a job AND that when you apply for a job, if you don't have a degree, you're sort of fucked. I do not have a degree so I'm not in the top ten competition, I am thanking my lucky stars though that I have management experience and that I did at least attend some college classes. I might not have graduated, but if I want to go back I can. It would require one really good waitressing job in the city (or two) or one craptastic job in the country (because it's rent free) to pull off the school *and* work thing. I'm not sure I'm ready to make that decision yet, mostly because in the end, I would be doomed to stay in the country with my mom. It's on the wheel of (mis)fortune though, I can't deny it. This is my luck we're talking about here and I don't remember any of my friends wishing they could have a piece of it. And so, Waiting is quickly becoming my least attractive friend. In fact, she's an ugly bitch who is driving me mad.

Beyond missing the city, beyond waiting, there's a bigger issue. I'm a 27 year old living with her mother. While this is probably socially acceptable, it is not mentally acceptable. For a few reasons...

1) She eats really loudly. I can imagine that if I was ever brave enough to get close to a cow again to listen to her eat, she would sound much like my mother. (I say again because I had a bad run in with a cow once. It chased me out of a field. Remind me to tell you that one later.) Cheese eaten with a smack is gross. So are crackers and chips because then the crunch factor is introduced and it's enough to make food poisoning sound like the more attractive option. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.... all disgusting with your mouth open.

2) She (allegedly) has two livers and exercises them daily. Either that or she just has an overachiever in there. Did I mention she's 5'2"? And can drink me under the table? Just sayin'! More evidence that I was adopted or that I'm just a lightweight.

3) She can not tell a joke to save her life. (Which is actually something I inherited from her and that's annoying.) She tries though. The good news is that I always know the punchlines to jokes, sometimes she collapses into laughter before she can tell me the rest of the joke though so the conversation usually ends up something like this...

Mom: Hahahahaha! Funny joke! Hahahahaha!

Me: What ma? (annoyed because I already know it's going to suck)

Mom: Orange you going to let me in? Hahahahaha! Wait, wait... I forgot the first part... ok... Knock, Knock... Hahahahahahaha! (and then nothing, but more uncontrolled laughter)

And so it goes.

4) Asking for money might be #1 on the list of my least favorite things to do. And since I am jobless and now penniless after this awesome year of bad luck and bullshit, my mom has taken pity on me. This is all well and good when I need things, but when it's something I don't necessarily need but want... I feel like a 5 year old, which is wonderful(!!) because I have always hoped to go back and relive the hell that was elementary school. (e.g. Grocery shopping: "What do you want from the store?" I should say "Broccoli, carrots, chicken, and low fat yogurt!", but what I want to say is "Family Sized Bag of Cheetos and 5 Gallons of ice cream please!" Are you catching my pathetic drift?)

5) Every time my mom walks in the door from work I'm on the computer. Mostly because she gets home at 7 pm and by that time I have already completed my "chores" for the day. So even though I have done all of these things I still feel like a momentus loser jackass sitting here all typity type when she walks in the door every. single. day. So I've taken to leaving one little task to do when she walks in so it looks like I'm a busy little bee. Even though dinner is made, baked goods are on the counter and the house smells like cleaning products, I still feel the need to look busy. So what do I do when she gets home? I wait until she walks in the door and I put a dish in the dishwasher and act like I had been working on this for hours. I'm pathetic. I know. But it makes me feel better to see her face of gratitude rather than the face of "Jesus Kallay, get a job!" when she walks in the door.

If I were to be unemployed with a small nest egg of savings to live off of, this situation of insanity would probably be cut nearly in half. My ideal unemployment situation would be to live alone and live off of my small savings. It would prevent me from having to live with an annoying person, ask said annoying person for money and from having to look up from behind a computer screen to the annoying person's annoyed face. If I were alone I would at the very least be able to be unemployed without feeling guilty about it. But alas, I am here. Living in the fishbowl, begging for food nuggets and doing cute fishie tricks to try and earn a new job. Isn't unemployment adorable?

Unemployment: The Beginning

2009-11-05T13:41:00.006-05:00

15.3%

That's my state's unemployment rate. Granted, I became unemployed when I was forced to quit my job in Tennessee so really it's their problem. But I live in Michigan now and I can honestly say that there are no jobs in the town I am living in. If I want a job (not even a decent one) I have to drive an hour to get there. For $8 an hour, I would be paying for gas. Luckily I am not trying to procure employment in this nonsense state. Chicago is the target city. Beyond this I have nothing serious to say about unemployment. Nothing, whatsoever.

I have recently posted some things about unemployment on my Facebook that went something like this:

"Unemployment makes me bipolar."

"Unemployment is nothing more than perpetual PMS. I apologize in advance."

"i can haz interview? dis neat."

"is it my new glasses or is the world upside down? maybe ice cream will help."

"it seems that when my sky falls so does the rest of scenery."

"never say that things can't get any worse... because they can... and then they will. and then you use big words, with 4 letters. it's no fun. trust me."

I have been unemployed before but never quite to this degree. When I was interviewing in Chicago and when I gave notice to my former employer, the understanding was that I would leave when I found a position. And since I found my own replacement, this should not have been an issue. Especially since my replacement was cool with being on the waiting list for my job. He was happy where he was and had that whole confusing patience thing going for him that I lack in gallons. So you can imagine my surprise when I was told on September 24th that my last day was September 27th. Wait, I thought I was quitting. How am I being fired? Or "fired"? I'm baffled. I was still waiting to hear good news from a company that was considering me for Store Management. My General Manager had flown the coop the week before and when she did, she set a few mines for a few of us leftover. My flesh eating bomb shell was that she told our District Manager to set my last day for September 27th. "Funny,", I thought, "That's the first day of a new week. Why would she make my last day..." and then... I went all superhero crazy bitch. September 27th was, in fact, an inventory day. They weren't respecting me, they were humoring me. They were fine with me looking for another job, especially because they couldn't give me a raise and knew I needed more money. What they didn't say, until three days before I was to leave, was "you have until the end of the month." Well throw me off a cliff why don't you?

In order to illustrate the slap in the face I received, I must back track on our story a wee bitsy. A short but sweet explanation. When I have said that I gave up everything for this job. I truly mean everything. The GM told me when I started that after I took over the supervisor position that I could receive a significant raise. She said this because I almost refused the position due to the $9/hr price tag. So, with the promise of a promotion in a few months' time and a raise on the horizon, I began the march of doom. I worked like a mad woman. I received my promotion, 2 months after I was supposed to. I received my raise, which was not significant. I did not sign up for part time benefits because I was told I would be eligible for full time benefits, which also turned out to be a bold faced lie. I found this out too late. So, I had another run in with pneumonia, insurance free, which meant that I waited until I couldn't breathe to go to the doctor. I ended up in the ER on my birthday, also insurance free. I lost my brand new car. I lost my lifestyle which wasn't that extravagant but it did allow me to go on the occasional shopping trip and out to dinner and movies with friends, I could also afford gifts and groceries.

I was now homebound, penniless, unhealthy and driving a wreck of a car. The car was affectionately named Peanut because of the amount of pissed I was for having to buy it. (note: Jeff Dunham has a purple puppet named Peanut who pisses him off... my car is purpley...) I was getting food from a food bank and using my tip money for gas and cigarettes. (You try to quit smoking when your life is falling apart in front of your eyes and tell me how successful you are... don't judge me!) Through all of this, I still worked my nails to the bone. I supervised without the title. I cleaned, I trained myself on other parts of the store, I led without being told to do so. I took initiative where it was needed. I was a "team player". It used to be that hard work paid off. Now, it's expected that you suffer whether you work hard or not. By the time I received my promotion I was ready to leave. I had been played like a fiddle. My life looked like the after effects of Santa's cookie rampage. You can't just put that shit back together again. You have to start from scratch. Time marched on and my patience wore thin. The cafe won contests and excelled in the district. We became a family. We all worked hard. But none of this was recognized. Finally, in August, I approached my GM and told her my story. Told her about the amounts of money I was borrowing, the food I was eating, the car I was driving and the effect on my health that this job was taking. I cried to a woman I loathed hoping that somewhere in her body there was a human being. One month later I gave my notice. My notice that we agreed would be ongoing until I found another job. Since I had found my replacement who did not need training, the transition would be simple and worry free.

And then 3 weeks later I looked in the mirror and found the bloody knife sticking out of my back. She had betrayed me. When I was approached with the news, it was not in the office. We were in a common area and I was told that my last day was September 27th. When the shock wore off, the anger exploded. How could she do this to me? How could the COMPANY do this to me? How could this be ok? Isn't it illegal to fire someone who is already quitting? (Not in the fucked up state of TN it's not!) The assistant manager came up with this brainless plan that I should stay on as a manager since I already had keys and knew how to do most things in the store, including parts of her job that I had done the holiday season before. My replacement would come in and I would work as a manager a couple of days per week in the cafe, and then work on the floor the rest of the week as a manager "picking up the slack" for the other managers. In other words, taking on more responsibility, with no raise, and letting someone else take my job when I was still going to be in the store. Excuse me, but if I am going to be the general manager of a store, I damn well better receive the title and raise to go along with it. I'm not going to "pick up the slack" or in other words, do the parts of the jobs that the other managers didn't WANT to do (dirty work) and not get paid for it. This new glamorous job would have included: merchandising, operations, cafe operations, receiving duties, corporate sales duties, etc. Ninja. Please. Fingers to ya! I'm leaving. How can you do so much for a company only to have them turn around and slap you in the face like this? Yes, they have replaced (or rather I found and was going to replace) me with a new cafe supervisor. But the term replacement isn't exactly accurate here.

My responsibilities ended up reaching far beyond that of the cafe. Far beyond the scope of $10.50 an hour. Far, FAR beyond being pushed out of the store because clearly they thought it would be easier to just get it over with. So I can only say good luck to the new supervisor and God speed to whoever is left in the store. The stories I have heard since leaving the cafe have broken my heart. (From former customers, friends and former coworkers alike.) They made a bad decision, and now they get to stew in it. So, as bad off as I am right now, there is a small part of me that gets to say "I told you so." At least my inner 5 year old is happy. The rest of me is just giggling with insanity at my current situation. I went from angry to straight jacket crazy in the period of about a month. And boy do I have some stories to tell...

"the gays"

2009-11-05T13:34:00.001-05:00

apparently i'm a lesbian. or at least that's what a mysterious, yet to be discovered, person i used to work with thought. if you've read anything in this blog, you know this to be false. but ba-scuuuuuse me for being affectionate with my friends in public. girls do weird stuff with each other all the time, kiss in bars (have not done this), hold hands in public (all the time), link arms, etc. without being gay. we just love our friends and don't care who knows it. you kiss your sister, hug your girl cousin, and link arms with your mom. you love your relatives and sometimes your friends become your family. that said, even if i was gay, in this century, why does it matter?

my gay friends are brilliant, fantastically creative, gifted, happy people.

as revolting as bumping uglies with parts that are like mine sounds, my gay friends find my sexual activities just as vile. what's more... who really gives a shit anyway? i mean i could walk around telling everyone "i'm heterosexual which means i like to boink boys." no one would bat a lash, even if i used the four letter eff word. but if two guys/girls hold hands in public... omg. sound the alarm. it's so backwards... what we find offensive. gay or straight... unless you're in porn, you're not having sex 24/7.

it just irritates me that some of my most amazing friends are criticized because they happen to be attracted to people of the same gender. and when i say amazing, i really mean amazing in the WOW! sense not in the cliche-overused-word sense. they trump most people i know in smarts, creativity, beauty, style and fashion (which are the same and very different), compassion, generosity, grace, perseverance, work ethic, and hope. did i mention they are HILARIOUS?

the gay marriage debate has sparked this fire under my butt today. i recently read an article about gay marriage that really got under my skin. my heart just breaks for these people. my comment was this:

i would much rather see a great homosexual marriage rather than some of these awful heterosexual ones. (hello, jon & kate) i am openly christian, but i refuse to judge someone based on their sexuality. would i vote for gay marriage? absolutely. i think it’s ridiculous that we allow some members of our military to have “contract marriages” so they can have more money or allow people who just met to get married in vegas and treat it like a joke. i don’t believe that gay marriage is as offensive as either of those things. in fact, i believe if the relationship is based on trust and love, no matter what their gender, they should be allowed to get married. gay or straight. period. true love does not offend me. getting married by elvis does.

don't flame me for the military comment, it exists. i lived it. (at least my ex-husband did... i was in love, he just wanted money, or at least that's all i can gather from his lack of respect for me and his need for other women. that's another post.) the point is, people i love are being hurt because our society says: "kill a baby? don't mind if you do! marry someone you love? just a minute there, pal." and damn it, that just sucks. don't bother pardoning the bluntness either, because it's truth all stripped of the politically correct blahfuckblah, and i'm not sorry for that. i'm tired of my friends having to feel like they don't matter in a country where they pay taxes, volunteer their time and spend their money on our economy just like any other legal citizen. it's not just about the marriage certificate. hell, according to grey's anatomy you can be married on a post-it note and it's still a contract. it's about the basic right of a human, the basic right of a legal u.s. citizen. we allow "the gays" to vote, pay taxes and make other decisions that effect our lives but refuse to allow them to marry someone they love because... ? here are some reasons i have heard that make my eyes roll into the back of my head.

1) "our children will see it." yes, they sure will. and like i said before, i would much rather see and have my children see a loving happy relationship than an abusive unhappy one, gay or straight. this point has no validity. our children see and hear all kinds of things. sex on tv, swearing on the radio, violence in their own neighborhoods, teen pregnancy... and yet gay marriage is what some parents are worried about.

2) "it goes against the very foundation of what our country was built upon." excuse me, but make up your damned minds. are we a christian nation or are we still trying to separate church and state? it seems to me that when it's convenient we pull out the Jesus cards. give me a break. i'm a christian. i believe in God and sin and prayer and the bible and all of those things. i do not believe it's my right to judge.

3) "people will abuse the system." hello? can we please take a step back and worry about things that need to be worried about? things like taking advantage of: welfare, food stamps, HETEROSEXUAL marriage for money and tax benefits, illegal non-citizens, tax write offs, unemployment benefits, school districts being shut down due to "school of choice" programs, bankruptcy, etc. Those things cost me money. My two good friends getting married? Not a dime, except for a great wedding gift, which they deserve.

maybe someday i'll get to buy that gift, for now i'll just keep voting.

Pregnancy Loss Remembrance Day

2009-10-15T19:02:00.002-04:00

In this hour, I remember you.

Rest Peacefully.

Love,

Mommy

an exercise in writing

2009-10-03T23:10:00.002-04:00

i'm bored and need something to get my mind off of it. "it" is many things at the moment and i just don't want to think about them. it's mostly reality or at least my perception of it and just for a while, i want to ignore it. so here we go...

the exercise starts out...

step 1: describe the person's hands. (it has to be someone you have strong feelings for)

this pair of hands happens to be the same size as my own. they are warm and soft, well maintained, but not overly so. they are kind of pudgy which is cute, but probably not to him. i'm not sure he would even want someone to refer to his hands as cute. i mean, i would be cool with it but this is not about me. they're white but not white like albino white. white like caucasion white, because he's caucasian. and caucasians have caucasian hands. or at least we try to. it would be weird to be caucasian and then look down and have african hands and asian feet. although, shoe shopping would be easier. so, he has caucasian hands. he has small fingernails like me, but no wrinkles and no burn marks. lucky. he also went to college and works in an office so that gives him a leg up, or hand up... whichever. the point is that he doesn't wash dishes for a living nor does he have to worry himself with nightly hand cream rituals. this is unfair. i'm a girl. he should have rough manly hands, not me. but he doesn't. i wonder if that means i'm a harder worker? or if i'm just retarded because i didn't want to do anything that required a college education. hm.

step two: describe something the person is doing with their hands...

i just received a text message from him so i would imagine that he is reading my response with his thumbs and then placing the phone back into his pocket. or he could be paying the cab driver and opening the door only to be hit with what is sure to be a cold blast of wind. or even better.... he could just be giving the cab the finger and walking off. although i'm not sure he would fare so well if that is the case. not that he's a bad fighter, it's just that cab drivers are insane. especially in the city. he could also be shaking hands with his brother by now or possibly lifting a cold beer to his lips. if that's the case then i'm jealous. (am now happily sipping on my favorite brew... blue moon.) blue moon smells like my grandma's bread when it's still in the yeast feeding stage. the first sip tastes like foamy yeast with a hint of citrus and as you drink more and more the after taste becomes reminiscent of that of an orange which is great but i'm drinking beer, not eating fruit. it can be deceiving. the morning after doesn't taste as sweet. so i hope he's drinking beer by now. he will then use his hands to pay for his bill and open doors to get home. which i hope will be before 2 am since i am going to visit. sleepy grumpy boyfriends are not fun people.

step 3: Use a metaphor to say something about some exotic place.

and off the beaten path we go. metaphors are fun. not when your blocked up like this. when your brain had too much cheese and refuses to expel anything but gibberish. so now i have to think exotic... which to me right now is not necessarily a warm fuzzy beach. exotic to me is change. anything different that results in a successful path for me. exotic in its true definition means strange or weird or from another place. metaphor has a definition all its own. its one thing but also many. so now my brain is in overdrive... exotic place: my next destination. chicago. we hope. my final destination, my retirement place, who knows. i hope somewhere warm and cozy but my life resembles "Who's on first?" and "where's waldo?" so who the fuck knows? metaphors to describe this place could be... "the feline travels onward to the maze of wind and light." (maze of wind and light being chicago, cats = landing on all four feet, curious, adventurous, a certain shape of eye, etc. friends compare me to a cat)

step 4: Ask this person a question somehow involving #2 & #3 above.

oh sure... now i see... the one step at a time process involves me making an ass out of myself. ok. i'm game. possible questions...

1) baby, if the feline wanders into the maze, will your hands still pay for the bill?

2) sweetie, get your hands off my feline?

3) the feline has arrived, where are your hands?

hm... next.

step 5: The person looks up, notices you there, and gives an answer that shows he or she only got part of what you were asking.

him: "did you just ask me to get my ass on an airline?"

me: "no, i asked you to get your hands off my cat."

him: "what cat?"

me: "the one you're petting?"

him: "babe."

me: "yes?"

him: (cocks head)

me: (blinks and slightly smiles)

him: (raises eyebrow)

me: (blinks and slightly smiles)

him: "this is not a cat."

me: "scientifically, no!"

him: (sighs)

me: "but your hand is on it..."

step 6: Now spend some time shaping your responses into a poem or short story. Or, if you prefer, use this as a jumping off point for a freewriting session.

i'm not sure if this could be turned into a poem. and for that matter, i'm not sure i could turn it into a short story. at least not without putting some sort of over 18 warning on my page. but the process was interesting. two steps that relate. one that doesn't. two more steps that relate. this is supposed to be the cure for writer's block. yeah, we'll see.

i found love in chicago...

2009-09-12T22:59:00.000-04:00

Yes. Love. True, passionate, engaging, mouth watering, deliciously wonderful love.

His name is Julius Meinl.

And his manager's name is Conner.

And tonight... I had the most beautiful coffee experience of my life because of these two gentlemen.

From the moment I walked into this coffee shop I knew I would want to sit and stay awhile. The live jazz musicians dressed in black playing "The Girl from Ipanema", the beautifully handcrafted desserts on their silver platters, and the warm earthy atmosphere hit me in the right spot. I was told upon entering that they are a full service coffee shop and to please take a seat anywhere.

So I chose a cute little corner settee with a table and two other chairs across from the musicians and placed my order with the manager. I decided that since it IS a Viennese coffee shop I should try a Viennese dessert. So I ordered the Vienna cake which is a dense chocolate cake covered in chocolate ganache with a layer of apricot in between. I did not expect my coffee to come out on a silver platter. Nor did I expect it to come with the cutest little spoon you've ever seen garnishing a tiny glass of water on it's very own doily. It was adorable... and FANCY. And SO delicious.

My latte came complete with latte art which I appreciated as a fellow barista attempting to master this simple but not easy art. And my cake? Well, they drizzled the plate with chocolate sauce and before plating sprinkled dark cocoa powder on top of the ganache. This was heaven. I wanted to sit here all night. Eat my cake with my tiny fork and drink my monet latte, watch people, and listen to some really great musicians. This is the cafe I had been dreaming about. The cafe *I* wanted to own, and here it was in full swing.

This kind of thing is what I miss about the city. The hustle and bustle and then the calm right smack dab in the middle of the storm. So perfect.

I want more.

things that should not occur during the week you quit smoking...

2009-09-11T00:43:00.000-04:00

1. Oil changes that cost $400 due to new required tires.

2. Fighting. Of any kind. Including... friends, boyfriend, mother, dog, neighbors, distributors, bosses, etc.

3. Ex boyfriend sending weird texts.

4. Old stalkers making another appearance.

5. Bill payments... especially the kind that have potential to make your account negative.

6. Bombardment of work. I'm talking rogue orders, reviews that aren't done yet, boss getting mad because my idea of giving notice is not her idea of giving notice (me giving more than two weeks in unacceptable), scheduling issues which is more like scheduling cluster fuck of immeasurable fuckedupedness.... it goes on. I'll say... I wanted to quit this week to the point where one day I didn't put on my apron all day in case I needed to just leave. Yes, it's that bad.

7. Random injury... woke up one morning with a big ankle and a scratch, then discovered random bruises all over my body, and my shin hurts now. I'm beginning to think that Maddie might be beating the shit out of me at night. Not sure why though. I feed her!

8. Medical issues. No further explanation given.

9. Large meals. They require cigarettes.

10. Other people smoking. Yeah, I'm THAT selfish. I want the world to quit smoking the week I do. Because when I go on my break to smoke usually it's children I have to hide from and baby strollers. The week I quit smoking, all I see are smokers. Every fucking where. Old people, young people, like 16 year old young people, people my age. People I know. People I don't know. All of them mocking me. It's relentless.

Coffee and Cheese? (an article submission... oo! fancy!)

2009-09-06T01:14:00.001-04:00

We often think of coffee as company for our dessert plate, something bitter to break the sweet. But I recently discovered that coffee can break the back of just about anything rich, including cheese! Imagine your favorite cheese, maybe it's velvety and slightly sweet, or sharp and requires a little bit of dental work. Now, chase it with a bright and slightly acidic blend of coffee or maybe the satisfyingly smooth dark organic roast with that wonderful smoky aroma. Yes, coffee and cheese. I discovered this on a long overdue break one day at my most recent cafe. I needed the jolt of a great cup of coffee, but I also needed to EAT! Lunch slash dinner doesn't usually involve a muffin for me so I chose a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich with a dark roast organic coffee.

The combination of the crusty bread and three melted cheeses was heavenly on my palate after a rough morning and even worse afternoon. And then I drank, expecting to make a foul face, but was pleasantly surprised. My eyes closed, my mouth hugged the combination of flavors and a new habit was born! Coffee and cheese! Brilliant! Sweet and bitter are obvious friends. But who knew salty and bitter could be buds? This relationship is more about texture and underlying flavor. Cheese, like coffee, is anything but simple. It can be sweet and fruity or smoky and nutty. Pairing the two is a match uncommon, but truly under utilized. Next time you stop by your local cafe for a shot of espresso, bring along a snack of some fresh green grapes and some of your favorite cheese. Your taste buds will delight, and you may even find that your cookie habit can be dismissed. And while you're at it, the wine too! Coffee is the new cab.

go go gadget patience!

2009-08-27T15:16:00.003-04:00

this shit is for the birds. i have the patience of a saint when it comes to people. but i am admittedly hands down the most impatient person when it comes to surprises (that i know about), call backs and waiting in general. i just suck at it.

i have recently decided that watching my niece and nephew grow up in pictures is not my cup of tea. so i'm throwing it down the drain and moving back to the north. i don't want to talk about the snow, the freezing cold, or the ice wind. i will adjust eventually. they are worth it. the city of choice is chicago. i have interviewed for a fantastic position, scouted an apartment and a great little neighborhood. all of this is resting on one job interview and my stomach is a giant whirly twirly knot. i have applied at some other places, received some call backs and emails. no other interviews though at this point. i called the GM today and was told that she is checking my references and that she will make a decision by monday. she is also checking out two other candidates' references. my head officially hurts and my day has gone accordingly...

i woke up at 11:30 am after accidentally shutting my alarm off at 9 when i was originally going to wake up and greet my day. after getting ready and realizing i have no clothes to wear to work i put on a pink t-shirt that is not dress code and drank some coffee to wake up. i traveled all weekend on my days off so laundry is currently doing it's wishy washy thing. i drove to work. was there on time for once his month. clocked in, looked at the daily.... and fuck me... Kallay Sup was supposed to be there at 5 pm. not 1 pm. son of a bitch god damn it.

so i clocked out. prepared a couple of triple lattes for roomie and me and began the walk back to my car. (i also parked in the back today where we are supposed to park but i never do... rebellious i am... had a bit of a jog back to the car with my hands full of lava hot milk and coffee, sleeves kallay, sleeves!) i made roomie an extra hot almond latte so it would still be hot when i got home. apparently the cup was bent on one side though so i made the entire walk back to the car and then spilled all the good foam on my driver's side window and roof. arg. thank god i had two napkins still left from the road trip up to chicago. yup. just the two. begin to wipe milk off the car and finished with some dry napkin. small blessings... because i spilled it AGAIN when i tried to put it in the cup holder. apparently the gear shift and console also wanted to try my almond latte creation. fuckers. used the rest of the dry napkin to collect the sticky shit from the car and drove back home.

now i'm waiting for the laundry to finish drying so i can change my shirt for work... again. this whole waiting around for a phone call is worse than dating. i'm dating a job interview. i just want to hear... "i love you." is that so hard? those other two candidates can not be as awesome as i am. i'm just saying that to make myself feel better. but let's be honest, i need it more than they do. my current life situation depends on this. i am halfway to crazy. spilling stuff. showing up to work 4 fucking hours early, and have had more sweets in the past two days than i have had in a month. this is ridiculous. i'm eating my patience. brownie sundaes, apple fritters, cookies, lattes with extra shots and extra caramel... my thighs are screaming STOP STOP STOP! my mind is screaming EAT FOOL! EAT! my phone just stuck it's tongue out at me.

stupid patience. what a bitch.

dear indiana,

2009-08-27T00:19:00.000-04:00

you make road trips painful. maybe you could pick a speed limit? somewhere in the middle of 60 and 35? it's just a suggestion. my brakes are hurting from going 60 to 45 to 55 to 35 to 60 to 45 to 35 to 30 (??) for about a mile back to 55. it's so confusing. your highway is one giant speed trap. and i passed thank you.

except for this one time.....

i'm confused about this warning. i was warned for n/a. what does this mean? being pulled over at 1:30 in the morning after driving for God knows how long at 10 mph over the speed limit and then being a good girl all through your state is beyond confusing. your police officer said that i passed him and that passing a police officer is illegal. um... i don't remember that rule. i DO remember that pulling out in front of someone is illegal which is what your police officer did. so i went around him to avoid eating the back of his head with my car. so why did i get pulled over? and why did it take him 45 minutes to decide that i should just go with a warning?

probably because... I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!!!!

so thank you for the 45 minute nap indiana. and thank you for the brake job. and the n/a warning. i will be careful to never n/a ever again.

love,
the not drunk, not speeding, not breaking any laws driver from sunday at 1:30 am.

scrapin' up bunnies

2009-08-12T00:13:00.000-04:00

alright... here's the run down.

i had a bad experience. the whole of tuesday was a bad experience really. it was just endless bad hour after bad hour. so bad, i was starting to think that maybe it wasn't tuesday after all. maybe it really was monday and God was just fucking with me. but no... it was tuesday. my computer confirmed it. and so did my cellphone. the worst part was that it started at 6:25 am and didn't end until 4 in the morning on wednesday.

my mental scroll for tuesday august 11....

6:25 am: ugh. i need coffee.

6:30 am: holy damn it! it's 6:30???? I set my alarm for 5:25... right? oh shit! (check phone... sure enough... 5:25... my phone malfunctioned in the night.)

7:00 am: must drive faster....

7:10 am: "hey it's me! i'm on the way... my alarm's retarded i'm sorry!"

7:20 am: what the hell? did you turn out the lights and just walk away? i mean really? i need a to do list.
1. clean cafe.
2. open cafe.
3. do order
4. make lots of phone calls.
5. break at 12 to allow time for training.

9:00 am: oh man... it's going to be one of *those* days.

10:00 am: you're retarded... can i have an oven that works please?
10:05 am: you're retarded... can you pick up these 3 week old scones now? they're *still* not mine.
10:10 am: you're retarded... can you please fix my jet propelled water filtration system please? i actually only need the one shower per day. thanksverymuch. you said 3 weeks ago you would fix it.

11:00 am: i'm on the bookfloor... why? can i do MY job now?? please?

12:00 pm: still have to put in the order... guess i'm not having that hour of blissful break today.

12:30 pm: SON OF A MOTHER...... did that just happen? (power went out... lost my order... going to have to redo that later...)

12:45 pm: left over kraft is the shit.

1:00 pm: training, training, training.... leave me alone, stop interrupting, would you JUST! GAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! oh lord... how am i going to train these people in 2 days? how?

2:30 pm: i need nicotine. lots of fucking nicotine.

4:15 pm: well... i *was* going to be going home now.

5:00 pm: ok email... 17 tries is ample enough chances to LOAD PLEASE.

5:30 pm: finally!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ok.. order's in. whew! no break today. been here for 10 hours with no break. i'm officially done and done.

6:30 pm: aahhh... *sigh* home again. hercules please pee. bella stop eating the... damn it STOP! eating! the! grass! shit! OH! good girl! :)

7:00 pm: yoga man here i come.

7:45 pm: oooohhmmmmmmm.... wait... warrior pose what? can we just skip the ouchies and skip to the part where we lay on the ground and you talk about letting good energy in and i put the lavender pillow on my eyes and have nap time? oh right... pigeon. yes, great idea. oooor not. ouch!!! ooo... i love happy baby! we're almost there! *snore* namaste and stuff!

9:30 pm: oliver is having another seizure i think... oh... no he's just dancing.

10:30 pm: why is borders calling? we're closed!

10:45 pm: i can't believe i'm driving back to work.... i can't believe i'm driving back to work.... i can't believe i'm driving back to work....

11:00 pm: crisis averted... keys unlocked... need food. thanks nice mcdonald's lady!

11:30 pm: mmm... belly full.

relax, relax, relax, facebook, giggle, facebook, giggle....

2:00 am: (RING) what the.... who is calling me at 2 am????

2:30 am: i can't believe i'm driving back to work.... i can't believe i'm driving back to work.... i can't believe i'm driving back to work.... i swear if someone is in there, they will wish they hadn't broken into the store at 2 am. damn damn damn......

3:00 am: WOH!!!! BUNNY!!!! oh god... missed it. thank go.... ugh... what the hell? am i dragging... oh my god!!!!!

3:15 am: yep, i'm insane. i'm scraping up a bunny that's skinned, half alive, half squirting organs, off the road and onto the grass with my ice scraper. yup. sure am! because anyone would! i mean i can't just leave it here. oh my god bunny stop blinking please. :( :( :( :( don't cry. don't cry. don't cry. ok... rest in peace little bunny. i'm so sorry. :( :( :(

4:00 am: i suck. this day sucked. i have to be up at a stupid 6. my gas light is on. have to ask alice for money. i miss my family. oh crap i forgot to send that email to jennifer! i have to do that tomorrow. i wonder if i could photo shop the decorations onto the cake. poor bunny. *cry* am i for real still awake? its been 22 hours. i should be sleepy. i should be... *snore*

9:00 am: it's WHAT!? NINE!? i was supposed to be at work at 8! oh... eff. em. ell. damn damn damn.......

*cry in car*

7:25 pm: i need a vacation.

mind vomit... more like dry heeves

2009-08-10T04:11:00.004-04:00

needing to get all of this out somewhere but i don't know a foreign enough language for it to be acceptable for the public eye.

don't want anyone to know, but i need it out of my head resting somewhere other than in between the folds of sanity that are left.

starting to feel a little bit like a train wreck on the inside while the outside is merrily catching up. so much for the instant face lift avon... thanks.

i'm too nice of a person to tell people how i really feel about them... mostly because i don't want to either a) scare them away or b) hurt their feelings.

a lot of my neurological spinning is relationship oriented. there are also the monetary spins, the what the fuck do i do now swirls, and the i need something more circles.

i thought PMS was supposed to hit BEFORE your period?

shit!

It is unacceptable for the crazy alarm to go off before my second cup of coffee...

2009-07-17T11:07:00.004-04:00

...but it didn't adhere to this very important rule this morning.

No it sure didn't!

iT and I decided to save the earth this morning and car pool. Well, that was handy!! Turned out, we had to use some major team work this morning. My opener slept in because she is (like the rest of us) exhausted. So I opened for her, which was fine because I had some other stuff I wanted to get done in the cafe this morning.

BUTT. (it's a big butt, get it? ha! sorry) anyway...

BUT... the problem here is that no one is really seeing the ripple effect here except for the people that have the most responsibility and the least say. I have to be careful what I say here. All I can say is that this morning was an epic failure of mass proportions and I hope that we can recover and get it together. Always a fun concept when we already know it's only going to get more interesting.

I'll give you the run down though so you can kind of see what I am dealing with this morning.

First of all, I closed last night. Which means that I was home around 11. WIRED like an alarm system and damn it if I couldn't fall asleep. So around 1 am my lids are just about to close when I hear... WTF? Is that fireworks? Yeah, those are fireworks... Awesome. Definitely not falling asleep anytime soon. Hooray. Alarm is going off at 5 am. Yeah, that's in four hours. 2 am... I am finally sleeping.

5 am... good morning world! And good morning Madeline! (who is in my face purring and tapping my nose with her paw as if to say... mama... i hungry... get up and feed my fat ass please (oh right, who am i kidding, since when do cats say please?)) And so I rise. I push my favorite button (that would be the coffee maker btw) and take a shower. I'm so proud of myself at this point. I'm up at 5 am, coffee is dripping, I'm showering and SHAVING (WHAT!?), and I don't have to clock in until 1 am. But ya know... we're saving the earth today so it's cool.

Leave the house caffeinated, heading to work, bright eyed and bushy tailed haired because I curled it this morning. I want to sing "I feel pretty..." and run about 15 miles. Arrive at work practically skipping and then all hell broke loose. I am surprisingly still in a fabulous mood though. I could run about 5 miles now since I used about 10 miles of my energy opening the cafe and assisting with the store open.

And that's as far as I have gotten. I'm doodling around the internet waiting for my second two hour shift (haha!) to begin. Could use a fire stick about now though. I mean... really.

Plans for the weekend include a movie tonight (perhaps Harry Potter... or just the stay at home kind since a friend generously offered a Netflix loan), working in the morning again (woot!) and then Saturday night is girls' night out. We need it. More than fish need water. I need to dance and have a beer or 7 (ok fine... 8). I need to dress up and wear heels that are inappropriate for work. I need to get sweaty from fun rather than from a mop bucket and a hot sink.

May your day be less retarded than mine and your weekend more creative. :)

kroger. 10 pm. beware.

2009-07-15T22:53:00.001-04:00

So today was a pretty crap day. I slept an hour and a half last night. My glasses have evaporated into thin air. Work just suuu-u-u-ucked. So I came home, had a leftover spaghetti snack, and moped. Then roomie came home, we chatted, decided on sonic for dinner and i wanted ice cream!! (oh i drank beer...) No longer sober.... we made our way to drop off some tables teresa sold and then went to sonic. well.... almost.

Teresa sees the Kroger sign and all bets are off. We go to Kroger. She wants to make breakfast in the morning for her awesome roomie (that's me), and her video production crew for her haircut tomorrow. (Her hair is loooong and she is donating it to locks of love... awww... our friends are taping it) So naturally she needs Eggos, syrup and eggs. Get to the parking lot. I'm completely cool with staying in the car because I don't generally leave my house in pjs. I'm not sober, my hair looks kind of like morning hair, I have on baggy palazzo pants, and a long sleeve old ass holey Michigan t-shirt that's kind of see through due to the amount of bleach it has received. So yeah... not REALLY! She begged. I gave in. I step one foot out of the car and know in my soul this is going to be one of THOSE trips.

There's a coach bus in the parking lot. That means there are people in there. 10 pm at Kroger is not prime shopping time. But tonight it was. So we walk in... I look to the left and immediately want to kill Teresa with my bare hands. To the left: every hot man in America. There was not an ugly one in the bunch. These were the coach bus occupants. At least 30 of them. At LEAST. So... as if my dignity is not dangling enough from my soul, I then proceed to run into a sign whilst staring at the hotness. I mean... really.

So we begin on our list of EGGOS SYRUP AND EGGS! Arrive at the syrup and we have to study the syrup. Because as if I don't look enough like an asshole, I have to now look like a fat asshole and study the syrup. Because it's THAT important. We choose a syrup. Head on down to the freezer aisle where I now realize I'm no longer wearing winter protection for my chest and wouldn't ya know it.... so now I'm walking through the store with my arms crossed holding Eggos.

Pass some more hot men that are NEVER at Kroger at 10 pm when I'm wearing CUTE clothes and look human.

Find the eggs, have to rearrange a carton to get a whole carton of unbroken eggs.

Go to the checkout. I refuse to look up in case I catch the eye of one of the men that are now staring... (we were the only women in the store... can't blame them) So we're checking out and next to me I hear Spanish blaring from the self checkout next to us. I had to look. HAD to. Dude is not spanish. Dude is not even sure what the checkout is saying. Dude... is weird. He looks at me, shrugs, and I say to Teresa "Welcome to Kroger!" And we get the giggles...

I thought we were giggling at the same thing.

But we weren't.

We get halfway out the door and Teresa busts a guffaw and says... "Did you see that!?"

Me: "Clearly!"

Teresa: (still about to pee herself laughing) "No!" hahahah "Did you see what he just did?"

All manner of things raced through my head. Maybe he gave me the finger because *I* was making fun of him for broadening his Spanish whilst *I* am in my pjs in public. Maybe Teresa did something evil.

Me: "Um... no"

Keep in mind.. we're halfway through the gauntlet of HOT here ok? I proceed to turn around stare at the weird spanish lover and STOP in the middle of the place and yell at Teresa "WHAT!?" "Tell me!"

Teresa: (hahahahahahaha) "That (haha) guy (snort) just grabbed his nipples and inhaled when you walked by and pinched himself while staring at you!" (hahahahahahah)

Me: "Are you serious?" "That's GROOOSSSAH!" I'm now facing spanish lover and screaming this... but ya know... beer and all that... I didn't realize my decibel.

I collapse in laughter and also disgust. We walk quickly out of the store while people giggle in our wakes. I vow to never again wear pjs to the store. Pray that the fashion gods will forgive me and not ever punish me like that again. Ever.

Finally made it to Sonic though. Still laughing... the drive thru chick got mad at us for laughing. But I couldn't help myself. It was too perfect. This stuff doesn't happen to normal people.

the walk of shame is sometimes done in front of a mirror

2009-07-13T00:27:00.003-04:00

i love and sort of hate when i read something that is so completely me. i love it because i don't feel like a loony bin contestant anymore due to the fact that somewhere out there is a person who can relate. i hate it because most of the time it's an unflattering look in the mirror. it's like an inner emotional walk of shame. except no one is watching but you. and no one is laughing at you but you. and no one wonders what you did but you. and most of the time i look like hell. i need something akin to an emotional long hot shower and a good hard scrubbing to wash it off. then, after the feeling of "holy shit! that's ME to a T!" wears off... i read voraciously onward to find out how they cured that particular cancer in themselves. i'm not finished with the book which means i have not reached the end of this author's journey but her life experiences resonate with me, which really pisses me off. mostly because i'm in my twenties and she's in her later thirties. i don't want to be 10 years older in my real age thanks very much. say what you will about being wise beyond your years and having experience but ya know, that's only cool when you're 10. when you're 27, you want to fucking BE 27. not 30, not 35, not 25... just 27.

ok so this is what i read:

eat, pray, love by elizabeth gilbert pg. 65

"I have boundary issues with men. Or maybe that's not fair to say. To have issues with boundaries, one must have boundaries in the first place, right?" (FUCK YOU LIZ!) "But I disappear into the person that I love. I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have everything. You can have my time, my devotion, my ass, my money, my family, my dog, my dog's money, my dog's time - everything. If I love you, I will carry for you all your pain, I will assume for you all your debts (in every definition of the word), I will protect you from your own insecurity, I will project upon you all sorts of good qualities that you have never actually cultivated in yourself and I will buy Christmas presents for your entire family. I will give you the sun and the rain, and if they are not available, I will give you a sun check and a rain check. I will give you all this and more, until I get so exhausted and depleted that the only way I can recover my energy is by becoming infatuated with someone else."

Every sentence in this paragraph made me think... what a dumb ass. Then I thought... I'm a dumb ass. I met "the man of my dreams" when I was 15. Then I met him again when I was 16, 17, 21, 23, 24, 26 and now 27. Tim, Andy, Ryan, Stephen, Travis, Michael, etc. etc. etc. I mean seriously? I should change the "man of my dreams" cliche to "man of my recent dreams" -or- "he's not the man of my dreams but if i change this and this and definitely THAT, then he will be... i hope". At some point or another we all do this, however, most of us, wait, most of YOU, eventually learn that it's never gonna happen sweetie. Which is a good thing! The sooner you learn that the man of your dreams is the man you don't need to change, the better off you are.

HOOOOWever... then there's me! :) I am kind of the exception to every rule in some way or another. So am I better off now that I believe this new revelation? (hahaha) No. Of course not. I'm still the martyr in relationships, give give give. I don't believe I can change someone, so I go through guys like a world champion hot dog consumer. No sense of humor? Dumped. Ugly jeans? Dumped. Stupid hair? Dumped. Hate your family? Dumped. Walk weird? Dumped. I am... in a word... picky. So picky that I think I have hopped, skipped, and jumped over the pond to the other extreme of dumb ass. I'm kind of a relationship retard. I fall fast and hard and all that other pisces crap. This is a terrible place... picky. I don't want a fuck buddy either.

Please, anything but that! Please. I beg of you, the relationship retard gods... At one point, not that long ago, I really wanted this. But certain events have taken place that made me realize that it's not the sex I crave nor the attention. And let's have a side bar here while we're on the FB topic. OK, women... AWESOME at this kind of relationship. We know the rules. We understand this game. This game is simple. WE hang out, we watch a movie, we fuck, we eventually GO HOME. No strings. No DTR conversations. Just sex. Nothing else. Guys... fail epically and this type of relationship. I was talking to one of my friends the other day about this particular "relationship". She is gay and has a lot of female friends who talk to her about their man issues. Every single one that has ever had a fuck buddy and then proceeded to find a real relationship ended up getting snubbed by the FB. Why, you ask? Because the dude got attached. That's right... HE wanted a relationship.

This happened to me. Before my last relationship began I had a great friend who I also had sex with. We started out as strictly JUST FBs. Then all of a sudden he wanted to take me to dinner and wanted to cook for me and brought me presents and gave me his sweatshirts to wear and left his clothes in my house, etc. We were dating without the official label. Through out this whole weird ordeal, I was actively dating other men. FB would get pissed! And jealous! OMG... jealous. And then would show up the next day wanting to talk and cuddle, etc. It was the weirdest thing. So one night I grew a pair and asked him what the deal was. I was tired of his weird mood. His reply... nothing. Absolute silence. And then... snoring. So clearly this was not a subject he wanted to breech. It was absolutely ridiculous. So when I actually ended up in a relationship, he quit talking to me altogether and still to this day will talk to me for about 5 minutes and then he "has to go". I hurt him. I didn't mean to. I thought we were just having sex and being friends. Apparently, he was developing feelings but didn't want to talk about it. So do I want this again? No, I think I'm ok with loneliness for now. Fuck buddies equal drama... unforeseen drama even.

I am a matchmaker's nightmare. I will give them my list of must haves and must nots and they will giggle themselves to sleep. I'm picky. I don't want a fuck buddy. I hate dating. All you fans of dating must be swimming in a pool with cool fish because mine suck. That's right, I'm swimming in a talk full of plecostomus. It's funny because I want to be in a relationship, get married, have kids and all that. But in order for that to transpire I have to date. It's sort of like wanting to be a doctor but hating school. It's completely contradictory and ironic but hey... so is using war to achieve peace.

So bless you, Elizabeth Gilbert and your genius of eat, pray, love. I can't wait to read what your journey taught you. Mostly because I am now using your book without permission as a compass. My north is my south for the moment. You remind me of myself and unfortunately you are older than me and hopefully, by the end of this book, wiser. Because I want to be 27, not 35. I want to steal your wisdom and your experiences and apply them to my own crazy cancer that is eating away at all that is lovely and wonderful in this weird, illogical world of love. I want to walk by a mirror and not hang my head in shame after another round of "why did i date that guy?" and "what went wrong?" I want to walk by and give myself a thumbs up for a date done well. A big rockin' smile for not fucking it all up.

calling all fleas, ticks, bees and wtf is THAT!?

2009-07-08T15:32:00.004-04:00

I have a problem... I think bugs are following me. I know. I KNOW! Ok? But hear me out.

The cafe that I manage suddenly has flies. Lots of flies. They're everywhere. The floor is clean, the grease trap is clean, everything is CLEAN. I'm anal. Trust me. It's clean. But the flies... oh my God!

THEN, I go home to sit outside on our front patio and there are BEES! IN THE GROUND PEOPLE! I mean, seriously??? Bees make nests in the ground now? Why do they have to build where I enjoy my morning coffee and after work cigarette? I enjoy the peace and quiet of the front porch. The birds sing, the wind blows, the sky is pretty from that angle... and now instead of relaxing, I flail around helplessly hoping not to throw folger's black silk all over myself or burn my hair off with a lit smokey treat. What am I supposed to do?

I woke up to my neighbor's fire alarm this morning. Waited for 911 to arrive. They came, they saw, they found the dying fire alarm and were unable to put the thing out of its misery. So it's still blaring. When the excitement wound down, I went to go potty after cup number 2 of coffee and entered the roomie's bathroom. Only to find.... a fucking tick. On the shower curtain. As if to say, "Good Morning master!" They're following me. The bugs are. I know it.

Because when I went to go lay down in bed last night... there was a bug on my pillow. I killed it. Shut up PETA. I know. But it had too many legs and it was on my resting place. I'm unsure of the type because I have never seen a bug with this odd appearance in my life. So not only are the bugs assisting me at work, they are also tucking me in at night, greeting me during my morning coffee, welcoming me home and WATCHING ME PEE!

This is invasive. This is ridiculous. I need a personal body guard to protect me from the stalking insects.

Apparently I might need to add rodents to this list as well because to my knowledge, there have never been sun loving bats. But there's a bat outside the store. He hangs out in my smoking area. His name is Lucky Bruce, affectionately named by the other smokers of the store. He's gross. He's big. He flies and he looks like a beetle when he's sleeping. (I'm assuming he is sleeping since he hasn't tried to attack my head yet.)

Also, I'm dating again. I hate it. Still hate it, rather. Maybe I should join a family who can choose a husband for me. Arranged marriages are the most successful. Wouldn't that be amazing? It's not so much a desperation thing, but more of a quality thing. I apparently suck at choosing men so why not let someone else choose him for me? Or better yet, LOTS of someones. It would be like the judge and jury choosing a life sentence. But a good one.

I might be on to something here, until then... I need to find some OFF! But like OFF! for my personal spaces rather than for my body.

Hello Rock! Hello Hard Place!

2009-06-19T03:23:00.001-04:00

Rock: What's the thing we're squishing?

Hard Place: Oh, that's just Kallay.

Rock: Do you think we should give her a break?

Hard Place: Naaaah! She always climbs over us anyway. She'll figure it out.

Rock: I hope so! She's turning blue!

Hard Place: And red! WOW!

Rock: I know right? Cool!

Hard Place: Lean in, maybe we can get her to turn purple!

Rock: OK!

Hard Place: Hm...

Rock: I think she's fighting...

Hard Place: I think you're right.

Rock: She just kicked me in the stone.

Hard Place: I know! She got me in the crack!

Rock: This isn't working.

Hard Place: Don't give up! We're making her strong!

Rock: Maybe, but she seems sad.

Hard Place: Trust me. She'll thank us later.

*sigh* I need sleep. Or something. I just wrote a note about what my rock and hard place have been talking about lately. This is ridiculous.

ya know... or not.

2009-06-14T03:06:00.003-04:00

well.... it's over over. done and done.

apparently he was also an ass wipe. but he had an awesome marketing team and a great sales pitch. and pretty packaging. the problem is that once i finally got the damn thing opened... it was the same shit inside.

cheater cheater pumpkin eater.
had a girlfriend but couldn't please her. (yeah... i said it out loud)
he was chatting on the side,
with a girl who's whore-ified.
she sent him pictures of her boobs,
i found out and made him move. (back to south carolina in the middle of the night)

that's pretty much it.

he wanted another chance and i'm too old for that game anymore.

lost a friend in the end but not really. i don't really try to associate with the faux and when you boil it down.... it was all just a mirage. he was a boy living in a man's body and will probably stay that way for the rest of his life. poor guy.

missing out.

moving on......

He did it again...

2009-06-10T11:15:00.001-04:00

I ASKED FOR

I asked for strength and
God gave me difficulties to make me strong
I asked for wisdom and
God gave me problems to solve
I asked for prosperity and
God gave me brawn and brain to work
I asked for courage and
God gave me dangers to overcome
I asked for patience and
God placed me in situations where I was forced to wait
I asked for love and
God gave me troubled people to help
I asked for favors and
God gave me opportunities
I received nothing I wanted
I received everything I needed
MY PRAYER HAS BEEN ANSWERED.
Author Unknown

So we've all read this before, or maybe we haven't... but the wisdom within is something to revel in.

I ask God for a lot of things but mostly they are patience, strength and hope. Love and forgiveness come easy for me. Many months ago I asked God for someone who would be perfect for me. He listened and then does what He does best and answered the prayer with an unusual outcome. The perfect person for me wasn't someone I would spend the rest of my life with but someone who would test my patience, someone who would, in the end, make me stronger.

The relationship didn't last long, the friendship of two years is now also over. But the outcome has left me hopeful and happy. Which is exactly the opposite of my feeling of any other past relationship gone wrong. God guarded my heart so that I could be strong in the end. I said no to someone. I've been down this road so many times, always taking the familiar beaten path of forgive, forget, and hold on. But this time, I took a shortcut. It's always been there. But it looked scary. It looked to me like I was being unforgiving and mean. To say no to someone who begged for another chance seemed impossible.

And then I did it. I trotted down the path, I held my ground, I said no. Three strikes and you're out only applies to baseball, not to matters of MY heart. The path was shorter than I had anticipated. I always thought it would lead to more disappointment, regret, self loathing and endless questions. But when I arrived at the end of the untraveled path, what I found was much different.

I found my self respect that I had lost on the last trip down the familiar path. And hope was there too. I found a smile to wear and an armor of strength. I was rewarded with an ounce of pride and with what feels like an applause from God. If God was talking to me right now I think He might say something like "You finally found the way! I've been waiting for you all this time!" He would smile and I would thank Him for guarding my heart. I would thank Him for enabling me to use the strength I always knew I had but could never find at the moment I needed it.

Today I feel blessed. With wonderful friends, with an awesome sister, and a God who gives us only what we need, which is always more than we ever asked for.

love came without permission and other interesting updates

2009-05-24T19:03:00.001-04:00

like my coworker who hides behinds the bookcases to cleverly scare the shit out of me when i arrive at my place of employment... love snuck up on me.

after going through a 24 pack of 2 ply triple roll ass wipes, i have finally given myself over to someone who will treat me as his equal rather than a piece of meat that he can spit out when he's tired of chewing.

that happens when you fall in love with your best friend.

let's rewind...

*whirrrrr*

March:

chris and i make things officially official. we're still working out the details.

BIRTHDAY month... gotta love an ambulance! (and clubs that have bartenders who drug their patrons on their birthdays.) this shit can ONLY happen to me.

we moved... again. roomie couldn't handle the a-holes downstairs. drunk driver ended up in the front yard. and we're done. so we moved into a really nice condo, in a really nice neighborhood, with really nice neighbors that we affectionately call... the village.... or melrose place depending on the current drama.

April:

i still hate my job. i still am contemplating plasma donation but these days that's about as far as the body fluids get to being removed from my veins. after 4 bouts of pneumonia this year, i'm done with the immune system reduction.

i have come to the conclusion that peanut (my "new" purple car complete with scratches and engine problems) is here to stay for the year and we are bonding like ketchup and chocolate. i'm trying to love her. i am! but she's such a bad girl! she flashes her engine light at me like a girl gone wild. she leaks transmission fluid from her axle. and she's not a big fan of stopping... i can tell because she grinds to a halt... sort of.

i get the bill from BIRTHDAY. fun times.

May:

i go to hilton head to rendevous with chris. i have a hard time driving back because i love it there so much. on one hand, i want to go home. i miss my puppy. i miss my roommate. i miss having a selection of clothes to wear. on the other hand, i want to stay about as bad as i want coffee every morning. great weather. great people. great scenery. not to mention i sold everything i had to move down there the first time... it was a life long dream. and i miss it. with a fierceness. maybe someday...

for now though, it's nice to be closer to family. and knoxville isn't so bad. not my favorite city but it'll do for now. plus, chris is moving here next saturday. i'm co-habitating again. good golly! things are going to be weird for a while i'm sure. getting into a schedule and getting used to someone else's toothbrush in my drawer. getting used to boy socks and boy smells and boy miscellaneous everywhere. but at least the LDR portion of this adventure is over. i can't say that saying good night to a microphone every night is very romantic. not to mention phone sex isn't really our thing which means... well... use your gourd.

upcoming events? goings on? well...

i have a family reunion at the end of june. i'm stoked. no, seriously. this is the cool side of the family. the happy go lucky, pee your pants hilarious folks. chris wants to come but the jury is out on whether or not he will be coming. (due to the job situation, not an "i'm not ready" situation)

i'd like to make it to hilton head one more time this summer. float down a river in a tube with a 12 pack. reassess my current job situation after some much needed body work.

i'd like to read some more too. i just don't have the brain for it at the moment. my mind retains 2% of the information that it receives and that's only if i write stuff down. my cup runneth over and the information that is superfluous (i.e. fictional plots, people's names, flushing toilets) is pushed overboard and evaporated. i'm sure it's all up in there somewhere... but i forgot the password and my secret question was case sensitive. damn.

other than that... i'm in survival mode. trying to keep some peace, some sanity, some money in my pocket and some fun and laughter. big picture looks grand, but this little part of the painting is mostly monet. step back, enjoy the view... and it fades.

Random Acts of Kindness Get You a FREE Drink!

2009-03-19T12:11:00.000-04:00

So I went to Starbucks today (I KNOW alright!? I KNOW) and was waiting in the drive through with my happy little gift card. I got it for Christmas and still have yet to use it simply because I'm not a huge fan and I get 38 cent coffee at work that is so much better. Anyhoodle... The truck in front of me had something sitting on her bumper so I got out of my car grabbed whatever it was and handed it to the lady. She exclaimed THANK YOU and I giggled and told her she was welcome. It didn't look like anything special. Anyway, I was buying a drink and a surprise drink for my roomie with the gift card and when I got up to the window to pay.... you guessed it. Exclamation lady had bought my drinks for me!!! How cool is that?

Woot!

As if I need another nickname....

2009-03-19T12:06:00.000-04:00

You know the drill. Copy the note and change the answers to suit yourself. Tag the person who tagged you first, and pass it on!

1.YOUR REAL NAME:
Kallay Anna Carr

2.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME:(mother and fathers middle names)
Ann Andrew

3.NASCAR NAME:(first name of your mother's dad, father's dad)
William William (hahahahaha)

4.STAR WARS NAME:(the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name)
Carka

5.DETECTIVE NAME:(favorite color, favorite animal)
Pink Kitten or Pink Puppy (sounds intimidating, no?)

6.SOAP OPERA NAME:(middle name, town where you were born)
Anna Saint Joseph

7.SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd fav color, fav drink, add "THE" to the beginning)
The Periwinkle Coffee

8.FLY NAME:(first 2 letters of 1st name, last 2 letters of your last name)
Kaca (isn't that another name for poop?)

9.STREET NAME:(fav ice cream flavor, fav cookie)
Blue Moon Snickerdoodle (i'm slowly realizing why people think i am nice)

10.ROCK STAR NAME:(current pets name, current street name)
Hercules Lyons

11. PORN NAME: (1st pet, street you grew up on)
Oliver Linden (ugh... now i'm a BOY!?)

12.YOUR GANGSTA NAME:(first 3 letters of real name plus izzle)
Kalizzle

13.YOUR IRAQI.. NAME:(2nd letter of your first name, 3rd letter of your last name, first two letters of your middle name, last two letters of your first name then last three letters of your last name)
Aranayarr

14.YOUR GOTH NAME:(black, and the name of one of your pets)
Black Madeline (cooooool!)

15. STRIPPER NAME: (name of your fav perfume/cologne, fav candy)
Heavenly Whatchamacallit

25 Random Facts You May Already Know About Me (but probably not)

2009-03-19T12:01:00.000-04:00

Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

To do this, go to "notes" under tabs on your profile page, click the "write a new note" button, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click post.

1. I have a backwards "J" on my left hand because I fell off a chair when I was little with a bowl in my hand and the jagged edge of the bowl broke my fall. So, damn, mom was right. If you stand on a chair you could fall. No wonder I'm afraid of ladders, step stools and the like....

2. I was born Julia Kallay Freeland and 27 years later am now Kallay Anna Carr. No, I am not in the witness protection program.

3. I am awesome at Cranium. YOU want ME on YOUR team!!

4. I hate the words... panties, creamy, moist, and the four letter c word. Panties because of Victoria's Secret sales people, creamy because of a mac & cheese commercial from the 90's, moist because of a chef in college who referred to all baked goods as moist, and the c word because it's just unclassy.

5. I hate it when people ask me why I didn't finish culinary school... well.... because I wanted to own my own restaurant, not be a chef. They are different. I actually had a customer ask me the other day why I wasn't doing what I wanted to do and I replied "I am! I love coffee and the cafe business and I will own my own cafe one day." To which he replied "Oh. Sorry." dork.

6. I am terrified of singing in front of other people, but I have always dreamed of being a lounge singer. Go figure.

7. I have started and quit smoking 5 times.

8. I pace when I talk on the phone and then wonder why I am out of breath when I am done.

9. I can beat any man I know in a burping contest. (yes, i know... unclassy)

10. I LOVE old people. Their stories, their grumpier than all get out attitude, and canes. They're just kind of awesome.

11. I have climbed Mount Rainer. Not to the top but high enough that I could see Mt. St. Helen's and other surrounding mountains. It was gorgeous.

12. I would move back to Seattle in a heartbeat if my family wasn't so far away.

13. I could eat Taco Bell everyday. Ice cream too.

14. I LOVE pink, obsessively so. I used to get mad in Kindergarten when the big crayons only came in primary colors.

15. I LOVE brushing my teeth!

16. I have a mild celebrity crush on Vin Diesel. (even though he's 3 inches shorter than me)

17. I look 6 months preggers after eating rice, but I can't stop eating it.

18. I write restaurant reviews for a website in Knoxville. (www.divaguide.net)

19. Don't tell my sister, but certain friends (Kerry) would call me June Cleaver when I lived in Washington.

20. I had an emergency appendectomy last summer and have hardly anything to show for it. No cool scars. :(

21. I have now officially read two series I said I never would... Harry Potter and Twlight.

22. I have moved (hold on to your seats) 17 times since I was 18, give or take a few.

23. I am afraid of the dark.

24. I wanted a cool nick name when I was little because everyone else in my family had one. (ex... Kick, Midge, Bec, Sis, Banjo, etc.) So they asked me what I wanted to be called and I came up with... Flashlight Corn. It stuck and my family had Happy Birthday Flashlight Corn written on my 16th Birthday Cake. I was also called Grace because of my stunning ability to trip over air. My sister has also come up with plenty over the years including but not limited to... Kallerina Ballerina, Kallay Carr-door, Kallay Carr-bohydrate, Kallay Carr-digan, Kallay Carr-borator, Kal-orie Carr.........

25. I would rather scrub a toilet than wash a sinkful of dirty dishes.

BONUS FACTS!!!

26. I never leave the house without mascara on because my eyelashes are invisible they are so white.

27. I have enough lipgloss for about 40 people.

28. I love stand up comedy.

29. I had a small addiction to black olives when I was younger... I have taken control since then.

30. I literally can not function with coffee in the morning.

31. I am extremely competitive.

32. My favorite holiday is Valentine's Day, even when I'm single.

33. History bores me to tears.

34. I want to learn to speak Italian.

35. I have a "thing" for southern accents. (not the hicktown redneck ones... the OTHER ones)

36. I can't stand Sheryl Crow's voice.

ok retarded question of the day....

2009-03-10T12:16:00.000-04:00

is there wine in your chocolate chip cookies?

i mean, really....

i had a WTF moment....

2009-03-08T12:14:00.000-04:00

It started off as any normal Saturday afternoon... Cafe is full of people. Blender is going full tilt. Food is flying out of the bake case and we are running around like chickens with our heads cut off. Like I said, this is completely normal for a Saturday afternoon.

Usually around 5 o'clock we get a lull before our next rush around 7 when people start going to the movies and parking themselves in the cafe to enjoy a caffeinated beverage before their cinematic adventures begin. Yesterday.... the lull was null. It was nonstop. By the time my break time rolled around I was out of breath and *sweating*.

So I took my break which was really more of a bitch and moan session with one of my coworkers and returned an hour later only to find a long line and the beginnings of a night of hell. We were running out of things left and right... whipped cream, cookies, cold brew concentrate, espresso... it was insane. I felt like I was running on my hands and my brain had officially left the building. Restocking food and making more whipped cream, running (literally) to get change, restocking milk, trying to keep up with the mess in the cafe... (Just an aside here: Pick up your damn books, bring me your dirty dishes and stop spilling stuff and not telling anyone! It's rude!) Our once dead cafe had turned into a circus of movie-goers and first daters, old fuddy duddies and laptop aficionados. By 8 p.m. we were headed for a train wreck. Food was pulled for the next day, some of the dishes were clean (because my coworker is a rockstar) and that was IT.

Closing tasks for a cafe are more than you would imagine... condiment bar needs to be restocked, sweeping and mopping need to occur, everything needs to be wiped down, food waste needs to be recorded, trash cans need to be changed out and the sad thing is that every time we would do this an hour later everything had to be done AGAIN. It was like we were closing and reclosing over and over again. The problem was... there were only two of us and between the onslaught of customers and our patience levels dropping way below zero, stress was reaching epic levels and there was no end in sight.

9 p.m.: WTF!?

Closings tasks completed: one. (out of about 30)
Customers in line: seven.
Workers scheduled: one.

So I did what any good manager would do.... I called a time OUT! Blew my whistle and said... no. I called our service manager over and told her my other person is staying until ten. I can not handle a constant line of customers and be expected to close this cafe by 10:30. It's not happening. No way. No how. *bullhorn*

So we devised a plan.... my other server would stay with me until 10 (and he graciously offered to stay because leaving would be like throwing me to the lions with steak hanging off my ass) and plowed through the rest of the night.

9:30 p.m.: WTF!?

Closing tasks completed: one.
Customers in line: five.
Blended drinks ordered: five.
Espresso machine: sleepy.

A member of the book floor comes over to help us try and achieve the impossible... closing the cafe in one hour with absolutely NOTHING done. I write an apology to the opener explaining this insane situation and hope and pray that she understands. We continue steaming, blending, getting ice, restocking food, restocking fridges, and trying with all of our might to not throw knives at asshole customers asking asshole questions... like "do you have espresso?" FOR SERIOUS, PEOPLE!? We wasted 4 oz. of decaf all day. That's it. We were brewing half pots of decaf all night and were continuously running out. Usually we brew a quarter batch and dump it down the drain an hour and a half later. I have never in my almost 5 years of this business seen anything like I saw last night. It was pure and utter chaos.

So now there are three of us scrambling to clean. Closing announcements begin at 9:30 to explain the new store hours, cleaning and scrubbing and trash duties are in full force along with the blending, steaming, restocking and other madness.

We closed at ten with stragglers still collecting their possessions in the cafe and had completed exactly three closing tasks. My rock star server leaves for the night and I have a half hour to work a miracle. Me and the awesome book floor volunteer manage to clean dishes, empty most of the trash, wipe down all the counters, clean the espresso machine, fill coffee urns with hot water, sweep the cafe, stock the condiment bar, wipe down the bake case, record the food waste, leave a love note and the bell strikes 10:30. I felt horrible. The cafe was clean on the outside but an utter disaster on the inside. But with no leniency on our strict hours (that I had already gone over for the week) there was no saving it. I had to leave.

My adrenaline was so high that when I finally made it to my car talking/walking a million miles per minute, I sat down in the driver's seat and realized my whole body was vibrating. Literally shaking. I couldn't control my feet, my hands were like little back massagers with brand new batteries, and my head was spinning. So I took a deep breath, started the car, threw on the radio and began my journey home.

I arrived home to a bottle of my favorite wine and my roommate talking to me at warp speed about a house that we are looking at renting. I finally flipped my shit, gave her the look of death said "I need you to be quiet and leave me alone for 10 minutes so I can decompress. My heart rate is above normal and I can't understand the words that are coming out of your mouth." My facebook was going ape shit bananas with messages, comments, wordscraper turns and holy crap I was overstimulated.

Deep breath. 10 minutes of peace and half a glass of wine later, and finally my body was responding to the relaxation signals. I couldn't even think about the night without my heart rate spiking and me getting paranoid about the reaction of the opening staff. I felt like a jerk.

I finally calmed down and consoled myself with the wise words of Dane Cook...

The situation was a cluster fuck, but.... I did my best. And that's all they can expect.

Right?

Just when you think you can smile....

2009-03-06T12:13:00.000-05:00

So yesterday was just a horrible day. Two of my favorite coworkers' jobs were eliminated. I was hung over like nobody's business. Threw up at work. It was just awful. SO I came home. Got in comfy clothes, grabbed a giant water, and facebooked my fingers off. Roomie and I decided to go pick up my car from the bar because I refuse to drive drunken. And then it was off to greasy food land to cure the hang over. Hooray for Taco Bell!

Had a nice class-less dinner at Taco Bell. Ate my body weight in nachos and other nacho cheese covered goodies and drove home.

Only to find a car very far into my front yard, a wobbly old rich guy and a terrified 16 year old. What the HELL is going on!? Apparently wobbly old rich guy has had a few too many and drove around 50 mph across our street and parked his car on a stump in our yard missing the 16 year old's car by about a car length. By the time I arrived the car had been there for about 15 minutes and no one had thought to call the police. So I dial 911 and tell them there is a car and a drunk guy in my front yard and could they kindly remove them? A few minutes later the wrecking service arrives and I tell them to please wait, the police are on the way. Wrecking service guys freak out because they aren't supposed to be there before the cops. I told them not to worry that they were called by someone else and they won't get in trouble. Breathe boys.

Police finally show up and arrest the wobbly old rich guy for drunk driving and probably running a stop sign and probably some other things like property damage, etc. FINALLY the wrecking service attempts to remove the Infiniti from our front yard. I felt bad for wobbly old rich guy because he has obviously already had a bad night and now it's way worse with his jacked up really nice car and his impending night in the slamma. BUT I was also really pissed off. My "dad" died in a drunk driving accident and killed himself and another person who was like an older sister to me. I have zero tolerance for this kind of thing. Plus, the 16 year old and I talked and apparently his brother had been killed in a drunk driving accident 3 years ago. And the cops were having a good ol' time chuckling and carrying on. I thought... how insensitive! But they ARE men so maybe that's ok for them. I'm not sure. Whatever the case it pissed me off.

So I started getting all weepy teary faced because it brings back memories. I cried because wobbly old rich guy could have killed this sweet little boy and his parents would have been devastated AGAIN. I cried because I missed Fred and I was actually angry at him for the first time in 12 years. Interesting how grief comes around and bites you in the ass when you least expect it. I cried because I walk my dog where this man crashed and could have been killed or worse... Hercules could have been killed. I was just emotional about it. Woke up this morning thinking about Fred, drove to work in a daze and just didn't feel good.

As the day wore on my day improved, my mood changed, and I started to feel better about life. As I turned onto the road home I drove by another head on collision complete with fire truck and ambulance and it all came crashing back again. A sign of the times I guess. I've never seen so many accidents in a 24 hour period. On my way home yesterday I saw a guy smashed into a pole right around the corner from our house. Then on our way to get my car we saw a refrigerator and a stove in the middle of the highway and some cars on the side of the road that apparently didn't see them coming. Then our front yard and then the accident on the way home... It's just depressing. People drinking in the middle of the day to forget about how much money they don't have and then ruining their lives by driving.

I realize this is turning into a PSA but too bad for you. It made me sad. And I thought we all might need a reminder of why we call a friend or call a taxi. It's worth it.

An apple a day....

2009-02-23T11:22:00.002-05:00

MY ASS.

I'm not really much for hypochondriasis. The sniffles are not a sinus infection. Nausea happens to everyone. And the common cold is probably employed with such a name as common because that's exactly what it is: common. I am starting to get a little concerned though. In the past year, my health has been severely annoying and expensive! I have done the whole healthy eating and exercise thing, the quitting smoking thing, the sleeping well thing... and I still manage to get really, really ill.

To sum up the laundry list of symptoms we'll just go with diagnoses from the many doctors I have had the unfortunate chance of meeting... ready?

In the past year I have had:

*Pneumonia THREE times (something most people get maybe once in their lifetime if at all)

*Sinus infections

*The flu in conjunction with a sinus infection and pneumonia

*More "common colds" than most people get in their lifetime

*Appendicitis that meant I was great one day and had emergency surgery the next.

*Dizzy spells accompanied by nausea and severe stomach pain

*Back pain that averages a 5 and will sometimes twinge to a 7 or 8 if I move in the wrong direction

*UTIs and yeast infections (was tested for STDs and came back clean... no worries there!)

*Daily headaches that range from a dull ache to migranes that make my eyeballs hurt.

Something most people don't know about me is that I hate doctors. They make too much money by giving people prescriptions that are too expensive. I don't take pain medication unless I can not bear it any longer. Case in point, I went in for my appendicitis without taking anything but Gas-X thinking that it must have been gas. The girl that came in behind me had the same thing and was doubled over in pain after taking whatever she could to dull it. I was treated last of everyone in the emergency room and ended up being the one with an almost bursting appendicitis. Hers was barely inflamed. I didn't take any pain meds until after the surgery and only so I could walk because I was being rushed out of my room. So to say I have a high tolerance for pain might be an understatement but whatever the case.... this is what worries me.

I waited until the last minute for a severe condition to go to the ER to get checked out for something I thought was nothing more than a really bad stomach ache. I worry that I am doing the same thing now. Waiting until the last minute that could be something serious. The symptoms are somewhat manageable for me, but maybe I am just building up a tolerance for always being in pain and always being sick? Treating symptoms but not the cause?

What's bringing all this on is mostly the dizzy spells. They're getting worse. Sometimes I'll be driving and the whole world kind of turns to the right and then back to the left and then it's normal. Followed by a nasty case of nausea. I've noticed that my depth perception is way off. I'll go to put something down at work on what I think is the counter and then realize I have misjudged and almost drop it on the floor. I do this all the time. Sometimes I'll be sitting in bed and not moving and all of a sudden I'm dizzy. It's ridiculous. I know I can't keep on living like all of this is normal. Somewhere deep down I know you're not supposed to get pneumonia three times in one year and consider yourself a healthy person. But what kind of doctor would I go to? Without being treated like a hypochondriac? Because I'm not one. I'm not even scared by all of these things. The dizziness concerns me but I'm not really freaked out by any of it. I just toss it off as stress and maybe I just need a good back massage, where most people would be running to a doctor.

But what if my pride is getting me in trouble this time? What if there is something wrong and I'm just too stubborn to do anything about it? Questions that are immediately answered in my head: "You're fine, quit worrying about it."

Valentine's Day: My Funny Valentine

2009-02-15T00:46:00.003-05:00

He gives me the giggles. He is the BEST cuddler. He lets me sleep in! He's REALLY cute. He's protective and man enough to know when he did something wrong. He waits until I eat to eat and never leaves me alone. He's friendly and loves all of my friends and my friends love him. He's kind of lazy but he prefers the term "laid back". He's SO smart! He greets me with a smile every time I walk in the door and would open all of my doors if he could. He gives good kisses and he loves me unconditionally. My Valentine.

My Hercules.

My dog. :)

But I'm starting to wonder if he's really a dog. He kind of um... pounces? Like a cat? And prances when he gets excited... sort of like a horse. He also really enjoys vegetables. Especially peppers because they squirt in his mouth which is absolutely the most hilarious thing to watch. Because afterward... he smiles and it almost looks like he's giggling. He loves to give hugs but refuses to learn the command for shake, we almost have high five down though. He can sit, stay, come, lay down, and knows what no means. He also knows if he looks you in the eye he has to obey which is becoming more and more prevalent when he doesn't feel like doing something.

This dog's personal ad would not include the following:
"enjoys long walks on the beach"
"working out is a priority of mine"
"my health is important so i eat 3 square meals per day and go light on the snacks"
"i hate naps"
"i don't like cats"
"affection is for the birds"

I love him like no one else in this world. He's been through a lot with me. We're best friends. My four-legged shadow, he follows me everywhere. When, on the very rare occasion, we go for a walk and he is off the leash he won't go more than 20 feet away from me and if he does he always looks back to make sure I'm following behind. He redefines loyal and if there were an IQ test for dogs he would score in the above average quadrant of the pie.

I couldn't ask for a better valentine. He can't give me a card or flowers or chocolate, because he would no doubt eat them all before he could deliver them to me. His gift is better than all of those things. The way he greets me at the door with his tail wagging in a giant circle. The sound of him eating or drinking water makes me giggle. His protection and unconditional love are more than I could ever ask. He's an amazing dog. The only thing that can make me smile on a good day gone terribly wrong.

All of these things are gifts. The best gifts that no money could ever buy.

I was truly blessed when this dog galloped into my life.

Valentine's Day: The Silver Box

2009-02-14T22:55:00.002-05:00

My favorite holiday... Valentine's Day.

When I was a little girl, I used to love decorating my Valentine's Day box for school. Carefully cutting out the hole in the top where mean boys and nice boys alike would jam their cards into my perfectly decorated box. (get your MIND out of the gutter... this is a family story) I used to have so much fun writing out my valentines for my friends at school putting extra candy into my crush's envelope, of course. I even put aside my grudges on this day and gave the mean girls their undeserved candy hearts. Somehow I knew very young that love was a powerful thing.

As I grew up, my love for this day continued celebrating Valentine's Day with this boyfriend and that one too. Receiving flowers and chocolate, jewelry and other gifts. But it was never about that. I just loved the world on this day. People seemed more cheerful. Men marched out of card shops SO proud of themselves for choosing the perfect card for their loves and because I am hopelessly romantic from a young age, this made me swoon. I knew someday I would have someone that would be excited to run home to me with that perfect card and the ambition to make sure I had a perfect day. Even as a single woman, I love this day. It's romantic and happy and there's kind of a LOT of pink!

I'm not blind to the fact that I could tell people I love any other day why I love them so much but I like having a day completely dedicated to it. It's just FUN! Some people call it a Hallmark holiday but I'm pretty sure Hallmark wasn't around in the 1400s which is supposedly when the first valentines were sent. Some people think it's cool to hate Valentine's Day because they're single and they feel it's a great day to let the world know how much they hate this one day where love abounds... and then wonder why they're single. If you can't love, well, love, then how will you ever be able to fall into it?

So, today, on my favorite day... I share a piece of my heart with you in hopes that your view of the day of love will change.

When Fred died, a piece of my heart went with him but I still have the most precious gift... my memories. Here is one of my favorites...

When Fred moved to Las Vegas to pursue his career in the FBI he started a new tradition. Every Christmas I would receive a silver box with real silver and turquoise jewelry. He'll never know how much it meant to me, but every Christmas I would look for that box because I knew it would be there. It was like he was there, for that moment, and it was everything to me. So when he died that December I knew my silver box would not be under the tree. When my family went to Vegas a few days later for his funeral I was given what was to be my last silver box. To this day it is my most treasured possession, among all of his t-shirts and things that I have... this is what I would miss the most if it were lost. It's a silent reminder that he thought of me as much as I thought of him. He was my daddy for all intents and purposes and it's like having a piece of him with me always. I have never worn the jewelry in the box in the 12 years since he's been gone. I just can't bring myself to do it. But it's there and it's a gift I can reopen over and over again.

Little did I know, someone would restart the tradition a few years later. My high school sweetheart and first husband started giving me a silver box every Christmas. They were all special and so meaningful because in those boxes, Fred was able to live on in my memories. Now, so many years later, we are divorced and I have not received a silver box. Until this year....

I've shared this story with very few people. Only people who would "get it". When my roommate, who is also my best friend and as we've recently decided long lost sister, heard this story around Christmas time she began her search. She was bound and determined to find the perfect box. Of course, I had no idea. So as I'm lying here nauseous yesterday, feeling miserable from being sick, she calls. "You are going to LOVE your gift." In my head I was trying to figure out what kind of pink token she found because I L-O-V-E anything pink... So I started guessing all kinds of random things that could be found at Hallmark (which was my only clue). Then she pops out with "It's tiny." So I knew it wasn't a boy. I gave up guessing and went back to my tear-jerker Oprah episode and in she walks. "Okay. Are you ready?" I was, so I asked.. "What do you want me to do? Close my eyes?" She said "Hold out your hands and close your eyes." I did. And in plopped what felt like a price tag and a teeny little token. I was so confused. And then I opened my eyes...

And then I couldn't see because my eyes were flooding. It was the smallest most adorable little silver heart shaped box. The price tag was in fact NOT a price tag, but a card with an inscription that reads...

"May you find a love that's
affectionate and true
by someone special
who understands you.

With passion and joy
to fill your days
and a companion who
compliments all your ways."

I'm unsure whether or not she will ever know what this means to me. But this Valentine's Day, even though I am single, I am NOT alone. Because he is with me. After recently coming to grips with this whole being single thing, I am now more determined than ever to never give my heart away again. It is not a possession to be bought or a thieve's gold to be stolen... it's an award to be earned by the one who works the hardest, who "compliments all my ways", who loves me and not some girl he wants me to be. It's the lesson every great father wants their daughter to learn, it's what Fred would have wanted me to learn. So this Valentine's Day, I spent in memory of him with my favorite man... my dog. :)

Love isn't always about romantic grand gestures and a vase of flowers as they would have you believe... sometimes it's about the simple things. A small silver box that holds more memories and more emotion than it could ever hold if written. An inscription to finalize a decision of persistence. A friend who cared enough to make this day so filled with love for her friend who loves the day of love. But simple is sometimes also grand and today was grand.

Thank you Teresa for making this day one of love and happiness beyond measure. I couldn't have asked for a more meaningful gift. My Valentine's Day has been exactly what it should have been because you kinda sorta rock at being my friend.

to be continued....

a side effect of single... nesting?

2009-02-04T22:35:00.003-05:00

there must be some process of being single that i am unaware of. someone should warn you about the stages of one-ness. it's kind of like grieving.

phase 1. SINGLE AGAIN!!

newly single is fun. usually because you just subtracted some major loser asshole from your life and your friends are poring over you willing you to stop crying over said asshole. the drinking and dancing commences, you sing "i'm single again... back on the prowl..." at the top of your lungs and you meet your first rebound. so. much. fun.

and then he doesn't call and you replay the drinking hoe-down for a few months until you finally meet someone you actually *want* to call you back. and he doesn't.

phase 2. Eeyore

enter lonely. she's kind of a bitch. your friends have depleted their pick me up budgets and are now reduced to "wanna watch a movie with me and my boyfriend?" knowing you really don't want to but they feel guilty for leaving you alone. you eat a lot during this phase or not at all depending on your emotional eating habits. you date here and there resorting even to lame internet dating sites hoping "the one" happens to be on the site too. what you get in return are guys who are fat, short, ugly, mean, weird, scary or old. internet dating gets old so you move onto phase 3.

phase 3. Dating Other People's Friends (DANGER!!!)

blind dates and set-ups. this is the phase where you start getting picky. your friend says she knows a really great guy and instead of asking his name, you ask "what color car does he drive?" "how tall is he?" "does he have a job?" "does he have straight teeth?" "does he like college football?" you meet him. and then this scenario goes one of three ways... (one) he likes you, you like him, voila! a match. this is rare... moving on. (two) he likes you... you think he's repulsive. (three) you like him, he likes you, but he's not ready to commit, he just got out of a relationship, he doesn't have the financial stability for a relationship and other bullshit lines that actually mean "i thought you were hot and wanted to sleep with you, so i poured it on like ganache." your friend gets mad at him, he gets mad at your friend... just avoid this phase ok? if at all possible... don't date your best friend's boyfriend's best friend. ever. ever. ever. this phase sucks. mostly because you get your hopes up thinking your friends know you well enough to set you up with a great guy, but instead he fools everyone with that poker face and everyone ends up hurt in the end, including you. PLUS, you're still single and you get to move on to phase 4. (side note: neighbors are included in this phase because awkward cannot begin to describe the blasphemy of this type of relationship fallout. take it from me... don't go there. i know he's hot. but trust me... he's prettier to look at and wonder about than he is to get to know.)

phase 4. Suck Fest (enter year here) or Denial

i hate phase 4. phase 4 is boring. you don't date. you flirt. you have crushes like a 5th grade girl. you wear a lot of makeup and do your hair every day. you get asked out. but you turn them all down. you're like a giant tease in this phase. attracting men but you're so pissed you rebel. you convince yourself that being alone is so much easier then being in a couple. and then one day.. you break down.

phase 5. Green With Envy, Blue

sometime at the end of phase 4, you open your fucking eyes and see nothing but couples. and so phase 5 begins. oh, the rage!!! as the outsider you see how happy these people could be if they just... you get angry because they don't realize what they have. you get mad because your friends are engaged. people you knew from high school are getting married to each other and having babies. you are jealous. like. WOH. you want to be a we instead of a just me. you want this so bad that your jealousy becomes pain. this is usually the phase where you get over dating the assholes and start meeting the "nice" guys. the nice guys you get attached to quickly, start to really like and then something just isn't right and you stop dating. you even date guys that your friends like and THEY get disappointed when it doesn't work out. you take risks and date people out of your comfort zone. you get desperate. it's pathetic. eventually the jealousy subsides. you can hang around couples again. and you know you have entered phase 6.

phase 6. Nesting... And You Thought Only Preggos Did This!?

by this phase, you have weeded out the good, the bad, and the seriously ugly. you know what you want (sort of) but you are open to anything. not out of desperation, but out of curiosity. you are comfortable in your own skin. you feel content at home alone watching movies, reading books, and drinking wine. you also love hanging around your coupled friends that are no longer couples in your eyes, but just friends you can hang out with. you still want a relationship but you are more patient. you might date more than one person during this time. you might notice your friendships growing stronger because you are more concerned with yourself than with the obsession of singlehood. you want people who love you to be around because you miss the companionship. your work ethic improves. your health improves. you make important life changes. good things are happening everywhere you turn, and optimism is your middle name. true love is inevitable in this phase and only in this phase.

i am happily, finally, thank the lord jesus, in this phase. i'm no longer cynical or depressed. i am, however, turning into a living, breathing june fucking cleaver. i'm nesting, damn it. my roommate and i have jokingly coined me as "the wife". i cook, i clean, i wash laundry and fold it. if you know me... you know my laundry usually ends up in two piles... clean laundry basket and dirty laundry basket. i'm not a messy person, i just hate folding laundry. now try to stop me, and you might lose an arm or an eye... which ever is closest to the flicking towel i am currently folding. i just can't help myself. messes annoy me right now. i just want my world to be neat and tidy. i want the smell of freshly baked cookies and muffins wafting through the air and laundry detergent in my life. i want real food. i want my friends. i want real honest to goodness companionship. it's the strangest feeling. contentment like this a year ago seemed impossible. i felt like i would forever be damned to the depths of single hell.

the everyday stresses are still looming precariously in the background, but my patience for these things has drastically improved. i'm back to my old self. diving into books, brainstorming new ideas, laughing and cavorting around like a child without worry. church seems possible again. change of the positive variety is about to jump out and smack me in the forehead. sex isn't something i need to feel good about myself, but something i want to share with someone special. i just want the pleasure of it, not the self indulgent "i've still got it" feeling that it was before. i don't have to prove to myself or to anyone else that i am great. i just know it now. not in an egotistical way, but in a self confident, high self esteem way. i love who i am and i don't feel like i need to flaunt it to get attention anymore. i'm not going to lie to myself and say that i *love* being single, but single sure beats not knowing who i am and being with someone who doesn't love me. i still want all of the things i did before, but i'm not as impatient.

this nesting thing really has me thrown for a loop though. who knew? accepting single = june cleaver. huh.

YEP!!!

2009-01-29T18:11:00.002-05:00

So this is for my actual birth date... kind of scary how true...

A Pisces born on March 14 combines intelligence with profound creative insight. They have sexual magnetism and can exert considerable control over others. Prophetic and poetic, they seem to be on another plane of existence. They have a love of illusion and are drawn to the occult and the supernatural.

Pisces Information for March 14

You should embrace: Realism, the life force, tenacity

You should avoid: Naivete, impulsiveness, the blues

Friends and Lovers

People born on this date don't make friends easily, but once they do, it's for keeps. They must feel needed and indispensable or they cannot give themselves to others. They are extremely vulnerable in romantic matters. When they fall in love they fixate upon the object of their affection, investing that individual with all the magical traits of their creative, romantic imagination.

Children and Family

Because of their sensitive nature, it may be difficult for March 14 natives to resolve issues from their past. They may not feel they have what it takes to be a good parent. Naturally reticent, they may allow their spouse to be the stronger influence on the children.

Health

People born on this date are often more interested in their spiritual than physical health, but they eventually realize that each affects the other. They have a sensitivity to alcohol and should not drink.

Career and Finances

March 14 individuals have an artistic sensibility that is a part of their existence. They are rarely able to comprehend the importance of money. Even if they are financially successful, they may discount it.

Dreams and Goals

Few people have the pure "art for art's sake" mentality of March 14 men and women. They need to express their inner drives and needs through an artistic medium. They rarely strive for money success yet are likely to set goals that act as signposts on their journey.

And this is for my original DUE date... freakky. (my poor mom, her ginormous child was 5 days late!)

A Pisces born on March 9 is devoted to the pursuit of excellence. They are sensitive yet outwardly strong and determined. They are genuine and truthful. They have a great regard for spirituality and possess a wicked sense of humor. These individuals have little regard for artifice and will freely speak against it.

Pisces Information for March 9

You should embrace: Positive actions, goal-oriented achievement, dynamism

You should avoid: Caution, pretense, superstition

Friends and Lovers

The concept of friendship is held reverentially by March 9 people. They allow friends the emotional intimacy most people reserve for mates and family members. They are stable managers of their love affairs. Although deeply romantic, they are incapable of being fooled by a would-be lover. They judge character with pitiless accuracy.

Children and Family

March 9 people are deeply, unalterably devoted to their family. They display great loyalty, even in the face of potential disagreements. Because they are sensitive to the resonances of their upbringing, they have the potential to be nurturing, loving parents. They may find it difficult to impose rules or discipline upon their children and may need to relegate these matters to a spouse.

Health

People born on this date believe in their ability to create a healthy reality through concentration, meditation, and positive thinking. Although careful about diet, they favor red meat and red wine. This indulgence maintains their good looks and high level of fitness.

Career and Finances

Even from an early age, March 9 people have a clear picture of what they want to do with their life. Whatever they aspire to, they lay careful and intricate plans. They are drawn to pursuits requiring intensive training. Money is often a source of controversy.

Dreams and Goals

March 9 natives are constantly perusing their character, searching for the one reality that will explore and explain the totality of their existence. They often have a problem separating their personal identity from their work, though the relationships they seek out will help them accomplish this.

We are last... no wonder we're self-conscious.

Pisces is the twelfth sign of the astrological year and is known by its astrological symbol, the Fish. Pisces natives are in touch with their emotions, though not to the point of mawkishness. With Neptune as the ruling planet, they are apt to be idealists. Pisces natives are physically and emotionally strong but may put their hardiness to the test if they try to resolve others' emotional conflicts.

Below you’ll find general characteristics for the Pisces man, woman, child, lover, and friend. At the bottom of this page, you’ll find links to articles with detailed personality profiles for every day that falls under the Pisces sign. Read on to see if the characteristics ring true for you or the Fish in your life.

Pisces Information
Element: Water
Quality: Mutable
Planetary ruler: Neptune
Birthstone: Aquamarine
Flower: Water lily
Color: Violet
Key characteristic: Compassion
Strengths: Idealism, spirituality, transcendence
Challenges: Escapism, weakness, self-deception

The Pisces Woman

The Pisces woman is mysterious but not aloof. She possesses an ageless charm that is enthralling to those who know her. Her capacity for sympathy and her understanding make her stand out. Pisces women find their greatest fulfillment through personal relationships. Even when talented, they may not respect their gifts. Many Pisces women are self-conscious and need a stronger individual to bring out their best qualities.

The Pisces Child

Pisces children are dreamers. At times they may seem caught up in their illusions and unable to tell reality from fantasy. These little ones should be allowed to explore the limitless boundaries of imagination without fear of ridicule. Playing games of imagination allows Pisces children to safely explore their creativity.

The Pisces Lover

Pisces men and women have an idealistic view of love and romance. Because of their sensitivity, they often prefer a fairy tale scenario to the real thing. Pisces know their vulnerabilities and are sometimes afraid the magic "bubble" will burst. The Piscean individual who is deeply in love may sacrifice themselves for their lover.

The Pisces Friend

Friendship comes naturally to Pisceans. Their commitment to easing the pain of others often draws them to less fortunate individuals. But pity is not involved. Although they may seem weak or unfocused, they are sympathetic listeners. They have strong links to the past and are likely to keep the same friends for years. Also, because of their intense family ties, Pisces natives may count a sibling or other relative among their closest friends.

thank you but goodbye

2009-01-22T23:50:00.002-05:00

have you ever had an elephant sit on you? well... me either, but 2008 kind of felt like one. i felt like i couldn't breathe. uncomfortable in my own skin. uncomfortable being me, hating myself more and more everyday because i wasn't getting it. i knew there was a lesson to be learned but not until i crossed over the line into 2009 did i realize what it was. last year was about breaking my pride. it was about being humble. asking for help. which is much on the same level for me as singing in public. i've only done it once. alcohol was involved... from what i hear i did a great job but the only thing i remember is the terror.

2008 taught me a valuable lesson. i am never alone. not ever. there is always someone there to pick me up, dust me off, tickle my toes and pat my ass on the way out the door. always. if i need it, i can ask. no strings. no guilt trip. no lecture. just help. it started out that people knew i needed help but would never ask. so they just sent the national guard without the invite. as the year progressed though, it became easier and easier to ask for help until i started feeling the opposite. i no longer was afraid to ask. i knew when the right time for assistance was. i learned the boundaries of need and want and how their territories differed so greatly. it's a lesson i needed to learn. hellish as it was, i sit here... thankful? grateful to God for the opportunity to learn a lesson and embracing it without even knowing it. funny how hindsight is always 20/20.

when that clock struck midnight on new years' i was in a parking lot hugging friends and ready for a celebration. i felt a relief i had never felt before. i could *feel* the good energy of this year wrap around me like armor. nothing can stop me this year. i have learned to be humble. to take the crappy job and be patient for the good it will yield. to make lemonade out of lemons. to be independent and thankful. and i am thankful. thankful that i have a steady job with decent hourly pay. thankful for my promotion, though the details and raise are on hold until further notice. thankful for my wonderful friends. my sister and i are getting closer. my mom finally has a dog to keep her company. and happy blog boyfriend is about to pop out and surprise me. he is coming out of hiding.

i don't know how to explain why i feel this way, i just do. i just *know* this year is going to be good. not just better than last year but a really great year. it's almost like God is letting me off the hook. i made Him proud. he understood that i had really learned the lesson. that humble and patience go hand in hand. and that asking for help is not admitting failure, which happens to be one of my larger fears. asking for help is simple another avenue to succeed. when i know i have a hard day coming i have always said that today is a day i have to put my big girl panties on. now i say on hard days.... fuck the panties... i'm going commando, because i have quite and army behind me to back me up. i don't feel like i have to do everything alone anymore to feel successful.

my recap this time last year would have included being stranded in BFE, no money, broken car, almost dying and a shitty boyfriend. now... i am looking forward to a promotion that i have been patiently waiting for, i still don't have any money but my situation is not as dire, i have a car i can afford, and i have dated some really *nice* guys. they might not have stuck around for the show to start but you know... not everyone is looking for what i am and i understand that. my happily ever after is coming. i don't know when or how or who, but i know that this year is going to bring me true, lasting, something or other. by this time last year i was cursing 2008 with every 4 letter word i knew and now i want to throw God a $20 tip and tell him what a great job he's doing.

it's amazing how one minute of your life you are completely down trodden... and the next.. victorious. so to 2008 i say thank you. thank you and goodbye. an old friend i will never forget. a friend that taught me lessons i resisted. that taught me the power of my strength. but it's time to move on. our time has passed. it was a great year and may it rest peacefully behind me.

mal día (bad day)

2008-12-18T19:44:00.007-05:00

we all have bad days. and i don't mean the "oh man! i broke a nail!" days. i mean the days where you peak out from under the warm safe covers of your slumber with one eye and go... "yeah, forget this." the days where you wake up to rain sloshing on your window, an eighth of a tank of gas, and your cellphone is turned off. the days where you realize the ratio of coffee to water is just not going to cut it. i recently had one of THOSE days. i was to be at work and the gas in my car was not going to suffice. my bank account was giggling at me with a pointed finger. and the only way to contact my boss was through a facebook message. yes, it was a bad day.

the beautiful thing about a bad day though... calories don't count. you can eat whatever you want and your favorite jeans will still fit the next day! comfort food is different for everyone. some people prefer a box of dove bars. others prefer mom's cooking or their favorite brand of super sized fast food. nonetheless, we all have a food that on any other day is just crap, but on *this* day.... this day it's our mental medicine. me? i prefer mexican. chips and cheese, chips and salsa, enchiladas, chimichangas, nachos... come on down!

roomie knows all too well that on my bad days, showing up with a bag of hot smelly mexican will perk me up faster than a pot of strong coffee. even better... driving me over to my favorite mexican restaurant in knoxville... mexico lindo! it's a small restaurant located off of cedar bluff road right next to aaron's. we walk in, choose a booth of our choice (which is usually in the back near the giant tv) and within seconds are greeted by our favorite waitress in town. she's absolutely lovely. we always get our food hot, on time, and most importantly... with a sweet smile.

so we arrived with roomie's sister in tow. we took our seats, sister on the inside because she likes the claustrophobia of it all, roomie across from me, and i got the coat check side of the booth. which in girl terms basically means, i get to hold the purses. we were greeted by our waitress who fell right out of the happy waitress tree. she took our drink order and returned with the FREE chips and homemade salsa we all crave bringing extra lemons for her resident electrolyte lovers. we ordered queso dip to share for the chips because what's a bad day without cheese? i ordered the chicken chimichangas. extra guacamole salad. no frijoles por favor. (which in english means no beans please -or- hold the flatulence thanks.) it seemed that this would heal the hurt and give me enough energy to deal with the onslaught of christmas shoppers i was no doubt going to encounter in just a couple of short hours. our food arrived complete with extra condiments in record(ish) time and i was already vacuuming in crispy tortilla and perfectly shredded and seasoned chicken topped with sour cream and lettuce before she could say "enjoy!"

mexico lindo is known for their tamales. homemade tamales. did i mention the all you can eat mondays? it's a whopping $8.99. i spend more at taco bell when i'm looking for an all i can eat experience, so to say that this is a deal would be cheating them out of advertisement. this place is not for the gastrointestinally weak. the portions are large, the prices are amazing, and you will need a to go box (unless you're me and can eat a small cow on bad days). they have all the comforts of mexican on the menu... everything from their homemade tamales to your basic taco. you name it, they have it, they make it well, and their prices are unreal for the amount of food that arrives for your munching!

we leave mexico lindo with smiles on our faces and a rice baby cooking in my belly. (i love rice, it doesn't love me back but i eat it anyway because it's SO good, especially from mexico lindo.) our bank accounts are pleased with us and all is well and wonderful again. bad day what?

moral of the story... if your bad day needs mexican like mine does, mexico lindo will heal your heart and fill your belly with a price tag your bank account will love. call in a to go order at (865) 692-9515 or drive yourself over to 462 N Cedar Bluff Rd, Knoxville, TN 37923. feliz de comer!

ah... if only...

2008-12-17T21:45:00.002-05:00

one of my favorite poems.... i share with you.

THE HANGING OF THE CRANE

I

The lights are out, and gone are all the guests
That thronging came with merriment and jests
To celebrate the Hanging of the Crane
In the new house,--into the night are gone;
But still the fire upon the hearth burns on,
And I alone remain.

O fortunate, O happy day,
When a new household finds its place
Among the myriad homes of earth,
Like a new star just sprung to birth,
And rolled on its harmonious way
Into the boundless realms of space!

So said the guests in speech and song,
As in the chimney, burning bright,
We hung the iron crane to-night,
And merry was the feast and long.

II

And now I sit and muse on what may be,
And in my vision see, or seem to see,
Through floating vapors interfused with light,
Shapes indeterminate, that gleam and fade,
As shadows passing into deeper shade
Sink and elude the sight.

For two alone, there in the hall,
As spread the table round and small;
Upon the polished silver shine
The evening lamps, but, more divine,
The light of love shines over all;
Of love, that says not mine and thine,
But ours, for ours is thine and mine.

They want no guests, to come between
Their tender glances like a screen,
And tell them tales of land and sea,
And whatsoever may betide
The great, forgotten world outside;
They want no guests; they needs must be
Each other's own best company.

III

The picture fades; as at a village fair
A showman's views, dissolving into air,
Again appear transfigured on the screen,
So in my fancy this; and now once more,
In part transfigured, through the open door
Appears the selfsame scene.

Seated, I see the two again,
But not alone; they entertain
A little angel unaware,
With face as round as is the moon;
A royal guest with flaxen hair,
Who, throned upon his lofty chair,
Drums on the table with his spoon,
Then drops it careless on the floor,
To grasp at things unseen before.

Are these celestial manners? these
The ways that win, the arts that please?
Ah yes; consider well the guest,
And whatsoe'er he does seems best;
He ruleth by the right divine
Of helplessness, so lately born
In purple chambers of the morn,
As sovereign over thee and thine.
He speaketh not; and yet there lies
A conversation in his eyes;
The golden silence of the Greek,
The gravest wisdom of the wise,
Not spoken in language, but in looks
More legible than printed books,
As if he could but would not speak.
And now, O monarch absolute,
Thy power is put to proof; for, lo!
Resistless, fathomless, and slow,
The nurse comes rustling like the sea,
And pushes back thy chair and thee,
And so good night to King Canute.

IV

As one who walking in a forest sees
A lovely landscape through the parted frees,
Then sees it not, for boughs that intervene
Or as we see the moon sometimes revealed
Through drifting clouds, and then again concealed,
So I behold the scene.

There are two guests at table now;
The king, deposed and older grown,
No longer occupies the throne,--
The crown is on his sister's brow;
A Princess from the Fairy Isles,
The very pattern girl of girls.
All covered and embowered in curls,
Rose-tinted from the Isle of Flowers,
And sailing with soft, silken sails
From far-off Dreamland into ours.
Above their bowls with rims of blue
Four azure eyes of deeper hue
Are looking, dreamy with delight;
Limpid as planets that emerge
Above the ocean's rounded verge,
Soft-shining through the summer night.
Steadfast they gaze, yet nothing see
Beyond the horizon of their bowls;
Nor care they for the world that rolls
With all its freight of troubled souls
Into the days that are to be.

V

Again the tossing boughs shut out the scene,
Again the drifting vapors intervene,
And the moon's pallid disk is hidden quite;
And now I see the table wider grown,
As round a pebble into water thrown
Dilates a ring of light.

I see the table wider grown,
I see it garlanded with guests,
As if fair Ariadne's Crown
Out of the sky had fallen down;
Maidens within whose tender breasts
A thousand restless hopes and fears,
Forth reaching to the coming years,
Flutter awhile, then quiet lie
Like timid birds that fain would fly,
But do not dare to leave their nests;--
And youths, who in their strength elate
Challenge the van and front of fate,
Eager as champions to be
In the divine knight-errantry
Of youth, that travels sea and land
Seeking adventures, or pursues,
Through cities, and through solitudes
Frequented by the lyric Muse,
The phantom with the beckoning hand,
That still allures and still eludes.
O sweet illusions of the brain!
O sudden thrills of fire and frost!
The world is bright while ye remain,
And dark and dead when ye are lost!

VI

The meadow-brook, that seemeth to stand still,
Quickens its current as it nears the mill;
And so the stream of Time that lingereth
In level places, and so dull appears,
Runs with a swifter current as it nears
The gloomy mills of Death.

And now, like the magician's scroll,
That in the owner's keeping shrinks
With every wish he speaks or thinks,
Till the last wish consumes the whole,
The table dwindles, and again
I see the two alone remain.
The crown of stars is broken in parts;
Its jewels, brighter than the day,
Have one by one been stolen away
To shine in other homes and hearts.
One is a wanderer now afar
In Ceylon or in Zanzibar,
Or sunny regions of Cathay;
And one is in the boisterous camp
Mid clink of arms and horses' tramp,
And battle's terrible array.
I see the patient mother read,
With aching heart, of wrecks that float
Disabled on those seas remote,
Or of some great heroic deed
On battle-fie1ds where thousands bleed
To lift one hero into fame.
Anxious she bends her graceful head
Above these chronicles of pain,
And trembles with a secret dread
Lest there among the drowned or slain
She find the one beloved name.

VII

After a day of cloud and wind and rain
Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again,
And touching all the darksome woods with light,
Smiles on the fields, until they laugh and sing,
Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring
Drops down into the night.

What see I now? The night is fair,
The storm of grief, the clouds of care,
The wind, the rain, have passed away;
The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright,
The house is full of life and light:
It is the Golden Wedding day.
The guests come thronging in once more,
Quick footsteps sound along the floor,
The trooping children crowd the stair,
And in and out and everywhere
Flashes along the corridor
The sunshine of their golden hair.
On the round table in the hall
Another Ariadne's Crown
Out of the sky hath fallen down;
More than one Monarch of the Moon
Is drumming with his silver spoon;
The light of love shines over all.

O fortunate, O happy day!
The people sing, the people say.
The ancient bridegroom and the bride,
Smiling contented and serene
Upon the blithe, bewildering scene,
Behold, well pleased, on every side
Their forms and features multiplied,
As the reflection of a light
Between two burnished mirrors gleams,
Or lamps upon a bridge at night
Stretch on and on before the sight,
Till the long vista endless seems.

Content of THE HANGING OF THE CRANE [Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem collection: Birds of Passage]

if you can't take the heat...

2008-12-12T20:06:00.002-05:00

hey! come to our house! because we don't HAVE ANY!!!!

this has been an eventful if not emotionally destroying week.

bank account neg. fuck you paycheck. rent. $1.85 left in bank account. apparently i miscalculated in a previous post. cellphone shut down like me with a previous courter. (or was he?) work = poopy. hercules has a strange ouchie on the side of his face that he refuses to leave alone. and now i am slowly turning blue.

our landlord was kind enough to bring us space heaters. however... running space heaters causes breakers to blow and we lost power last night. a lot of it. kind of all of it. teresa showered with candles. her room regained the only power in the house and so the bed was rearranged, ONE space heater was plugged in and me and my brood slept in a chair. a chair with an ottoman. but a chair, nonetheless.

we awoke this morning to our house lit up like a christmas tree after an unfriendly call to the landlord summoned him to come this morning and fix our unforgivable power outage.

oh, started a new job today. that makes three for those counting and ONE on the way! i'm giving birth to my energy but i am not getting the cooing and cute pictures back. what's up with that shit? so, i am home now, my lower back feels like i could fry an egg on it and lo and behold.... we are still heatless. i am afraid to turn on the space heaters. i'm not really into tempting the power to go off. especially since slammy and friends are gone for the evening. (see door slamming post)

the new job is interesting. the training contains most of the "figure it out yourself" handbook. my boss wants to date me even though he's about a foot and a half shorter, speaks shitty english, and ages me by about 30 years. he's nice though. (as if that makes up for the shitty english) it's a casual environment that is basically stress free except when someone comes in whining or screaming. that's always an uplifting moment to my day. the food is good and FREE when we're working. the boss has a strange addiction to ice cream so there are always frozen milky delights. i get to drive, which is sometimes my favorite thing in the world. people here in knoxville have never driven before in their lives though so it's kind of like dodging bullets. also, after doing some quick math, by my calculations my next day off is in 13 days. yeah, christmas. 2 days of presents, eating, hugging family members, and driving. then it's fuck my life in the ass again for who knows how long.

there is a silver lining. i thought i would save it for the end. i came home with a free medium pizza, cigarettes and a little extra money to save for the cellphone resurrection. (yeah i started again, bite me with your back teeth) also, i am going to start baking for my new job. if he likes my treats, i will officially be doing all of the desserts for his restaurant(s). did i mention there are 3 locations? i'm sure this means more money since i am not volunteering to be a pro-bono betty fucking crocker here. that means, my foot is in the knoxville door. this could be a huge huge huge HUGE break for me.

in other (good) news... oprah admitted she is fat and is finally going to stop whining about her giant arms and accept that age = weight. eat up girfriend! i'm almost done with twilight, so i can move on to the other books that i don't know what happens in since the movie has ruined this one for me. we're going to have a ginormous full moon on friday. (maybe the moon can heat up our house?) stocks are up. grandma sent DATE BALLS!!! (my fave christmas cookie evar!!!) and lots of gummy worms. it was like a box of kallay's top junk. (wish i could call her and thank her...) elf yourself is back for another merry season of cutting and pasting your favorite family members' faces on dancing elfen bodies. and the best thing...

i might be able to afford giftmas after all. ring the bells y'all.

Merry Giftmas!

2008-12-11T11:44:00.002-05:00

I wanna give.

I've found great gifts for my friends and family. I've contemplated sending emails to them saying... if I had money this is what I would have gotten you for Christmas... or Giftmas rather. This year has turned into a holiday of who is going to be able to buy Christmas presents and who is not. I'm in the not category as of today.

In order to send Christmas cards you also need stamps. Stamps are what... $5 these days? For 3? Groovy! No Christmas cards for people either. I have the cards, plenty of ink, but no stamps, no money for stamps, and no money for Giftmas in general.

I just really love giving presents. Don't get me wrong, I like getting presents just as much as the next person. But there is some kind of fulfilling pleasure that I get out of shopping for my friends and family and finding the perfect gift. Once upon a time I had enough money that I could send Christmas cards, buy decorations, buy amazing gifts, wrap them like Martha and still have enough to bake cookies, travel home, and still have a savings account. I'm now reduced to wishing I could buy Kerry this awesome mug I found online or Teresa this gorgeous outfit complete with jewelry that I saw. I mean, talk about torture! I could fill a cart with things I have found for my nephew and niece. Not sure how I would get it all home, but who cares! I'd find a way! Move over Hercules!

Do you ever check your bank account with one eye open hoping that the financial fairy dropped some mad money in your account? I've been doing it everyday. And everyday my bank account laughs at me. Kind of like... "hahahahaha ROFLMAO... you thought.... hahaha... there would be.... hahahahahaha money in here!??? hahahahahaha! you fool."

my bank account is a meanie.

oh bite me, money!

2008-12-09T11:09:00.005-05:00

if i ever wanted to start smoking again, it would be today. today, today. i'm one of those annoying people that thinks too much when they have either too much time on their hands or too many issues to deal with. i'm a thinker by nature, thanks Gawd. i'm also pretty damn good at problem solving though once i get the solution i am looking for. not great at this in the man department but ya know, this post isn't about men. it's about my kitchen.

kitchen wha!?

yeah.

the cooking place.

the food storage area.

the shoebox of white and tan previously mint green and cream.

myyyyy kitchen.

we recently painted the kitchen to resemble more of a 2000s look, rather than a late 70s, what the hell where they thinking, look. the cupboards are now shiny white rather than minty green and the walls are a nice calm tan color transformed from the scary dirty creamy white color. the counter top is still freakishly green and now has white and tan polka dots but we'll tackle that project soon. my problem is not with how the kitchen looks. because it's actually coming along quite nicely. my problem is that when i walk into the kitchen i can feel my maturity drop a few points.

when i get my kitchen stuff from home this will change but for now the under carriage looks kind of like this. big plastic bowl with no lid. tupperware thrown about, lids are also optional. two ginormous saute pans... lids? what lids? our cookie sheet (that btw, we store in our oven) serves as a lid for our pans sans lids. and then we have one nice pot with a lid we use for grey's night also known as kraft macaroni and cheese night. which brings me to our cupboards.

oh lord, if my grandmother ever saw this... our cupboards resemble that of a frat boy's room combined with old mother hubbard's cupboard. why you ask? oh... let me share the disaster. we have:

ramen noodles
kraft macaroni and cheese SPIRALS (because what epi of GA is complete without it!?)
chef boy ardee (no, i don't know how to spell his name or beefaroni because the stuff makes me gag... roomie loves it)
microwave poppable corn
cans of campbell's soup
and a small colony of canned goods featuring spiced apples and white beans that neither of us will eat

and tea. lots of fucking tea. apple tea, orange tea, aveda tea, peppermint tea, just a lot of damned tea. we're 21 and 90 all at the same time.

did i mention our envy inducing amount of crystal light?

let's move to our icebox.

and yes it's an icebox. i know this because i'm taller than it is and our freezer could double as a glove box from a car had it been installed in my mazda rather than our icebox.

so... our icebox...

drawer... who the hell knows... no one goes in there... it's probably still stocked with halloween candy and some old ass chicken slices from 50 grocery store trips ago.

bottom shelf... two pitchers of crystal light, beer, 1/4 c. of milk, and a gallery of other refreshments not suitable for late 20 somethings.

middle shelf... inedible leftovers.

top shelf... meet our village of condiments! it's expanded into the door even! we have 17 varieties of hot sauces and ketchups, sour cream, mayo(s)... the roomie likes kraft, i enjoy bringing out the best!, mustard(s)... basically the condiment aisle threw up in our icebox.

we always have coffee, we always have creamer... we'll dig through a change jar for those essentials.

but i am slowly coming to this very sad and very scary revelation that while the rest of our economy is riding along on the recession... our kitchen is quickly becoming the great depression part deux.

finding something to eat is not my favorite when i come home from work and the best i can come up with is either ramen or kraft. with the last package of individual frozen corn. mmm, mmm, good.

if this isn't poor, i don't know what is. my cellphone is off. so if you're trying to get a hold of me... i'm not ignoring you. it's just that i only have $0.68 in my bank account after rent. i have ramen in my cupboard. i have a roomie to whom i owe lots of $$. i have an assload of bills. and a big "fuck you" of a paycheck.

so yeah, i want a cigarette and then i want 19 more.

about a run....

2008-12-03T14:31:00.004-05:00

my lungs feel like the seven dwarfs went mining.

my legs feel like a fat man sat on them.

and why is it that every time i exercise i always want taco bell when i'm done?

and a nap.

gawd.

but i did it! i ran! for 15 minutes! (shut up!)

by next month i will be running my full 25 again. by my birthday my ass will be smaller and my lungs will be in love with me. maybe they'll even send flowers. with a note! dear person, we are so happy to be breathing campfire-free air again. at first we resisted the heavy breathing regimen you embarked upon but now we really do enjoy the extra fresh air! we love you! sincerely, lungs

see? i have something to look forward to. until then, i will just enjoy the suck-fest and keep on truckin'. there's this hill at the end of my run, my goal is to be able to run up that snotty bitch by my birthday. sort of like a happy birthday hooray! although, the plan is to be in savannah drinking lots and lots of greenish beer that day. but if i do it before i leave i can still count it as a present from myself.

i was only kind of scared while running. the path is in the woods. it's gorgeous and mostly people free. i will take pictures next time i go out there. i have to say... there's this weird little sign on this bridge i ran by. it definitely made my eyes bug out a millimeter or five. then i started to get a little freaked out. looking around me thinking that every squirrel noise was a mass murderer who wanted to rape and stash me in the field somewhere. every bird noise was a crazed man about to jump in front of my path. after a while i came across a mommy dressed in pink with a baby carriage. then i saw a short little old asian lady. and a really old guy with radio headphones that could pass for ear muffs. i felt a little safer after that.

moments later, my running alarm went off and scared the ever livin' out of me. and i reverted back to figuring out how to text 911 to roomie without looking. and "locate my body with the GPS from my phone". that was a little harder. going through the motions of trying to hide my phone in my underwear so my nonexistent attacker wouldn't know i had my phone went sort of like this. (only mentally... i never tried it) my running jacket is reversible so there are zippers on both sides of the pockets. (see, this story is exactly why people like me should run on treadmills) so i was thinking if someone came upon me, i could nonchalantly unzip my left pockets, reach over to the right pocket, unzip it and retrieve the cellular phone. text my stealth message to roomie. slip the phone down my pants into the underwear. (this would only work if the attacker was not planning on rape. if he was, i'd be fucked... i guess literally and figuratively.. anyway...) then i could keep on running. hopefully roomie would understand the importance of the text. and i just keep on running until the attacker strikes.

i realize my mind is sick and twisted. i can't afford a gym membership though so to the woods i go! now do you understand why i am afraid of the dark? you wouldn't BELIEVE all the villains that live in my closet after i turn off the light. it's ridiculous how they all crowd in there like that.

anyway, i ran. i hurt. yo quiero taco bell.

the end.

are we there yet?

2008-12-03T00:34:00.004-05:00

you guys.... 28 days. that's it. i have to hang on to my slippery rope for 28 more days. i really am a kid on a road trip this month. all i can think about is how everyday i am one step closer to planetary realignment. not that i believe in that crap, but ya know... you have to blame it on something. so i'll be the one asking aloud... "are we there yet?" for 28 more days. gosh... DAYS! it's just such a happy word! happy, happy, happy.

as it turns out, my sister is right. i have never wanted to say those words before in my life but it's true! and hooray! 2009 is peaking around the corner at me and saying, "hello! wait until you see the surprise on this side of midnight!"

so far, i have quit smoking. which is an amazing feeling. although the ass expansion project has begun so that leads us to another accomplishment to be... running again. i was running 2.5 almost 3 miles this summer before i moved to my mom's. then i moved to knoxville and exercise somehow moved down on my top 10 things to do. i'll let you know how it all turns out tomorrow. hopefully my clutzometer is in low gear. i would hate to have to get all dressed up in running gear, drive to the running park, fall on my running face, and end up having to go running home.... for a brownie and a sob fest. that would defeat the purpose of mission: ass dwindle. so we'll do our best.. me and my grace.

i have also been published. i've known about it for a while but i didn't want to jinx it. now that it is official, i can't even explain the happy feelings that are radiating off of my person. the website launches in january and i am their resident restaurant reviewer. my portion of the site is called "Dining with Kallay" i didn't pick the name. if i had done it, i'm sure it would have been something more along the lines of "mmm...butter!" or "more condiments please!" or "where did those 10 pounds come from?" but that's just me. if you want to check it out... www.divaguide.net is the website. i am on the front page for now but my articles will be in the dining section.

and so my countdown has begun. the ball is dropping in the times square of my life. i will apologize in advance for being the loud one. the happiest one. the (probably) drunkest one... on new year's eve. i'm going to celebrate the end of this year and the beginning of the next like a dog with a bone. just let me finish. my tail will wag, my eyes will light up, my tongue might even hang out. many will wonder about the excess in celebration but they won't know how much i deserve it. they won't know how badly i have been broken this year. i understand it was all for the greater good of myself. to make me stronger. to make me humble and ask for help. that's all fine and dandy but the fact of the matter is... this year was smelly brown poop on my new pink shoe and i'm ready to scrape it off and start anew.

what are you wearing?

2008-12-01T12:40:00.003-05:00

my self control is on sabbatical until further notice. it left a note somewhere, but i can't find it. somewhere between the heartbreak and frustration, but i don't have time to look for it.

so how do i know, you ask? well on a normal (whatever that is) day, my emotions are in check. my face shows nothing other than a (sometimes fake) smile, and customers/friends would never know that life has skipped the tracks and is crashing into a fiery inferno. lately though... i believe that i am wearing my frustration. my face is no longer a concrete wall, it is now a cinematic adventure of my current mood. not sure who turned on the reel but i just don't have the energy to conceal my thoughts or feelings.

case in point... new girl. she makes me sigh. not the relaxed outpouring of breath that releases your shoulders from your ears... no, it's the "is it 3 o clock yet?" sigh. the "get out of my fucking way." sigh. the "you suck at life." sigh. apparently i am not the only one that is frustrated but i am not the one in control, so the only thing i can do is glue my mouth shut and work. this is getting increasingly difficult.

due to self control's apparent vacation, my tongue seems to be having a hay day with the snark. i can't help the bitey ridiculous comments. i'm itching for a pink slip. i can't even lie to a customer about a drink. my face is 100% transparent. a young guy came up to the counter and asked me about a specific drink and if i liked it. my long pause and eyes flickering downward gave him the automatic response of "ok, you hate it!" i didn't even say a word! my billboard face gave me away. what a trader! i mean... why would my self control leave me during the holidays? great timing nimrod!

i've also been wearing a lot of drinks lately. i think self control took what was left of my grace with it. i am tripping, bruising, dropping stuff, missing the target, wearing drinks, and stuttering. these are all things that happen on a consistent basis, but just not usually quite to the extent where i wonder if i should even be walking much less driving a vehicle. i had the nickname "Grace" when i was little because my clutzy ways battled that of a newborn deer. now, a full grown adult, my bike crashing days are over, but the clutzdom continues. i was carrying dishes out of the back room the other day and when i stack them i usually put a cup on top with the knives and forks in it. it saves a trip. so i'm leaving the backroom, i tripped on air and about poked my eye out with the handle end of a fork. upon reaching the counter i opened the door onto my shin, bent down to put the plates in the cabinet and knocked my head on the counter. so within one minute, i not only practically blinded and bruised myself but i also gave myself potential brain damage. beat that bambi.

i'm sure it's the holidays. the constant stress over money, love, and life suck. it's probably a little bit of insomnia mixed with dehydration and caffeine push. not to mention uncomfortable shoes. it'll be over in 31 days. 2009 will arrive and my life will cut right and my planets will hopefully align themselves in a better sequence. the holidays will be behind me, BIRTHDAY in front of me and my self control will be back from vacation. and if not, God help me.

so what are you wearing?

nothing says thank you like turkey....

2008-11-27T09:40:00.002-05:00

(before i begin, for those concerned for me because of the vent... i'm much better today. i woke up at a normal hour... six thirty something or whenever it was that teresa came into the room and said "kallay" and i said "what" and she said "coffee. convo." i said "mmm hm." i proceeded to roll out of bed and explain myself. the world is a brighter place today. anyway... back to thanks...)

the only commonality between turkey and thanksgiving is that they both start with a "t". i really don't understand some of our strange traditions in this country, but ya know... it is what it is. turkey for thanksgiving. ham for christmas. (which is ironic because in the old testament pork = bad) bunnies for easter... because you know when you have an important family funeral there are always colored eggs and chocolate bunnies. let's see... naked guy with a big arrow for valentine's day... wait... that one kind of makes sense.

anyway, i'm not sure what exactly a giant dead bird overcooking all day has to do with being thankful, but we'll go with it. i personally am thankful for mashed potatoes and gravy. i'm going to miss my thanksgiving again this year. the one where i cook for my family and we all laugh at my grandma's boyfriend after he drinks too much wine. he's like 100 billion years old...so i say drink up dude. you earned it. plus, he's hysterically politically incorrect when he's drunk. i enjoy that about old people. in fact... i am thankful for it. i can't wait til i'm aged enough to be able to say whatever i want and be able to survive the backlash. i really am going to miss that this year. i'm also going to miss cooking. i love the feeling of making a big dinner and everyone sitting down together and enjoying their food. i love hearing people say "YUM!" when they eat my food. Or maybe just the muffled sound of a yum when they have their mouths stuffed full of kallay-cooked goodness.

other things i am thankful for...

coffee.

oh, yeah and this stuff too...

my family because they're hilarious. they're giving, kind, caring, loving, thankful, fun to be around... they're just rad and i hope your family is as cool as mine is.

my friends because they get me. they get my mood swings and my irrational outlook on all things love, marriage, and breeding... they get my sarcastic sense of humor. and my dry sense of humor. they like my stupid faces and my goofy child-like disposition. they don't care if i wake them up throwing up in their bathroom and then ask for bread and country crock while lying hungover on their bathroom floor. they are my shoulders to cry on. my confidants. my people. and i love them.

my talents. even the hidden ones.

my animals. who squish me into the upper corner of MY bed every night. who sometimes (always) wake me in the night by walking over me, kicking me, sneezing, eating, drinking, and cavorting around thinking it's time to get up. yup. i sure do love them. especially maddie. she's a hoot. licking things like walls, envelopes, tape, pictures, sticky notes (this cat loves a good sticky note), shoes... ya know whatever. she just likes to lick it all. and when she's done she'll yell at you. it's really just obnoxious meowing but it's funny nonetheless. unless you're sleeping and she wants to be pet at 3 am. then it's not as funny. and if you think she'll stop you're wrong. you have to pet her. you have to. otherwise she starts hitting. and then she bites. and then she'll walk on your boob. especially right in the middle where it hurts. and if that's not enough she'll find that owie pressure point spot on your hip and stand there until you wake up and G. D. pet her. she's persistent. i love her.

i'm thankful for tight jeans. they remind you that even if it is the holidays.... it's the fucking holidays! stop eating or you'll bust a seam.

i'm thankful that this year is 11/12ths of the way over. i'm ready for a nice heaping of 2009. the prospect of a shiny new calendar... ha! who needs prozac?

finding (matching) black socks. it's magical.

pink fuzzy blankets.

nicorette!!!!!!!!!!!!(!!!!!!!) and cinnamon gum

gas: $1.69

waking up early to watch the most expensive parade ever... and see santa.

cheesy christmas movies with horrible acting

eatin' jeans

generous people who have welcomed me into their family as one of their own.

my beauty. ;) so vain. oh so vain.

but really... i am thankful. i'm heartbroken. i'm in my own little world. building my cocoon again, my hard protective shell. somewhere for me to be introspective, to be with myself and face all my demons so i can pack them away. too much has come out this year. it's time to make peace with it all. i'm thankful for the ability to do this. i am thankful for the people in my life who understand my need for solitude. as much as i hate to be without people, sometimes it is necessary. you know, before i lose my mind and go batshit bananas on everyone. :)

i had a good thanksgiving though. two families. two totally different dinners and styles of celebrations. delicious calling me from the fridge pies. leftovers to last us until next thanksgiving. 700 phone calls to family back home in the mitten. for another holiday away from the ones i love, it wasn't half bad. especially since last year it was spent with fake people, a crock pot of chicken and dumplings and a bag of salad. whoop!

and as tradition calls... i watched christmas vacation. like i do every year after dinner on thanksgiving. this year it was postponed a little due to the raking of leaves/dog excrement, the second thanksgiving in which i apparently offended people, and a short nap during the silliest christmas film fail ever. but mission: accomplished. i got to see clark fall off the roof, throw himself down a hill crashing into walmart, and freak the fuck out which happens to be my favorite part cuddled right up next to aunt bethany putting cat food in her jello mold, much to uncle eddie's delight! and i've eaten a sow's weight in pie. this thanksgiving is adjourned.

so bottoms up because the 2008 holiday season has begun. anyone else just get chills?

how to piss off a kallay....

2008-11-25T12:43:00.002-05:00

(i don't do disclaimers. but you have been disclaimed. i'm venting. and it might get ugly.)

i'm in a bad mood.

but it's not like a bad mood where i'm throwing milk, slamming doors (ok i did slam a door last night), and yelling at people. no, i'm just kind of slowly slipping into this weird funk. i'm not really sure why. maybe it's the holidays. maybe it's the fact that i am single and don't want to be. it's not THAT so quit thinking it. that was last week. maybe it's just the epitome of 2008. i'm just supposed to sink into a depression for the next month and a half until *ding ding* it's 2009? i'm really not sure. what i do know is, i have had a headache for three days. a real one. not the whiney "oh i have a headache, i'm going to take advil" kind that we all get from time to time. my chest hurts. kind of in the same general vicinity as where my heart is. and people are pissing me off. all of them. if you have two eyes, a nose and a soul, you are aggravating me.

and here's why....

*ahem*

1. i park on the road because i don't want to walk past freaky old guy and weird young guy late at night in the dark with no lights on. i am *afraid* of the dark. parking in my area makes me have to face my fear. i don't want to face my fear at 11:30 at night after i have just cleaned up an entire pond of dirty mop bucket water that i dumped all over the damn floor. i want to park in my space. walk to my door(s), unlock alcatraz and be in pj's in 2.5 seconds flat. i don't want an adrenaline rush. i don't want my life to flash before my eyes. i just want to go HOME. so park in the grass asshole.

2. i am an intelligent, hardworking woman. you do not need to leave me lists. you do not need to explain how to clean refrigerators. you do not need to answer my yes/no question with a paragraph-long explanation. you do not need to schedule me for closing shifts when i am the happiest morning person you have. you do not need to give me all the shifts you don't want to work. you do not need to tell me you have a life outside of work. you do not need to tell me you are a full time student when you are taking one class. in fact, you don't need to tell me anything. i just want you to go away. far and away.

3. i am not a child. do not speak to me like one. i don't have curfews, i moved away from my family so i could do what i wanted without having to explain my every direction. i can eat with utensils. i can drive a car, very well in fact. i have a bank account. i am old enough to know better. i am not your special project. i am not stupid. i might be goofy and play the dumb one at times, but i assure you that my mind is in full working order.

4. i am surrounded by people who think they are better than me. some of them even *know* it.

5. i am every man's rag doll. throw me around. toss me to the ground. love me when they need it. forget me when they don't. but i'm always there. sitting in the cupboard waiting to be loved. i cherish every minute when i am and wait patiently when i am not. all alone. with my yellow yarn hair, my big blue button eyes and my sewn on smile. always happy on the outside, but filled with dirty fuzz on the inside. sitting in the dark. or lying there haphazardly thrown into the cupboard when something better came along. ya know... he was in a hurry. i don't worry though, he'll come back. besides, i like lying here with my right leg behind my head and my left arm curled under my left leg.

6. fuck you bank account.

7. i used to feel like i had style. now i just hope my clothes smell clean and aren't too wrinkled. it's a good day when the fashion fairy allows my jeans to come up over my ass and zip or when i find a shirt that fits over my boobs and doesn't hug my tum tum. i'm not even going to get into the depression that is currently plaguing my shoe collection. i can tell you it pisses me off.

8. i'm sorry hercules and maddie. i wish you had more.

9. a cappuccino has foam and i hope you drown in it.

10. my hair is in dire need. of color. of style. of conditioner. but that costs money and we covered that in #6. my eyebrows i can do myself.

11. ever look in the mirror and get pissed off? just looking at yourself in the eyes disgusts you? maybe not, but i'm there. i'm disappointed in myself. i don't even want to look.

12. give me your license. all of you. i have been pulled out in front of more times this week than i can count on a calculator. there is a lot of life flashing this week what with walking alone in the dark and you dumb ass people aiming your cars. blinkers are not accessories. brakes are not your gas pedal. the world is not your speedway. and for christ's sake, you only need one parking spot. that's a 4 not a 2. move it. do your makeup at home. READ YOUR BOOK in a parking lot, not on the freeway. some people can talk and drive, some people can text and drive... you can not.

13. i think that i have entered the phase of "quit is a four letter word" when it comes to smoking. i want a cigarette. not because i like the taste. i know it's bad for me. but i am depressed and a cigarette would make me feel better.

14. maybe it is the holidays. people gushing about their families. cooking for their families. something i love to do, but can't and won't this year. christmas is looking grim too.

15. i'm tired. of trying. of being so honest. of getting hurt. of feeling lonely. of being afraid. of being put down easily. i'm just tired of it all. tired of feeling like a bug. small and annoying.

this year has been one thing after another. i'm floating around on a string trying to hold on. i keep telling myself it's only another month and a half and things will get better. they have to. right?

please say right.

please say that this torment will stop.

but what i really mean is...

2008-11-20T08:48:00.002-05:00

have you ever talked to someone or written someone and you want to say something, but you can't. it would be awkward or it would cause tension. i hate this feeling. i have something to say. i want to tell this person so badly. but i just can't. it would be weird. for one, my friends would think i'm an idiot. (and i AM idiotic on most calendar days) two, the person would probably think i'm some sort of insane asylum escapee. and three, i can't believe that this thought/feeling is even in there. really, i can't.

it's just been bubbling up in there. floating around in my head. maybe if i just write it out and then delete it, it will help? nope. didn't work. still there.

this is strange. i shouldn't be feeling this way. no, seriously. i really shouldn't. i should be moving on and forgetting this and shoving it in the back of my head closet. way back. like bury it. under that one thing that i forgot about and now remember again.

fuck.

dear brain,

please erase this ridiculous thought/feeling from your cells. we are not going there. at least not today or anytime this week. or probably anytime this month. we need to simmer in it. or hide it.

much love...

self

damn.

damndamndamn.

where's my shoe? (and other nic fits)

2008-11-19T11:13:00.003-05:00

Day one is always the hardest. I quit the night before, smoking my last tube of death at 11:52 pm. Yesterday morning I woke up to the pitter patter of dachshund paws scurrying across the floor. Oh, it was 5:25 am by the way. My alarm was set for 5:30 am. So I got up, knowing that 5 extra minutes of sleep were not going to help me achieve this day. And that's when I started bouncing. Off the walls, off the chair, off the coffee pot... I had so much energy, I probably could (should) have stopped at one cup of coffee. I took a shower and prepared for work realizing, I STILL had no idea where my other black shoe was. And so begins my first nic fit. I am looking through laundry, clean clothes, in the closet about 5 times, bouncing like tigger on adrenaline through the house searching for my shoe. Lifting up couches, looking in dead closets (the ones where nothing lives but you look anyway in case the lost item wandered in there without realizing), I was absolutely on a rampage. I looked in the closet one more time, this time with the light on and found it cuddled up nicely with my purple fuzzy slipper. Aw. FOUND IT!

Happy to have located my work shoe, I began to wander around the house, which literally translates to me pacing rapidly from room to room unable to decide what to do with myself. I sat down at the table while Teresa checked her email and wiggled like a 3 year old that has to pee. She looked over the computer screen with contempt in her eyes and went back to reading. I decided cereal would be a good option here. For one thing, I haven't eaten real breakfast in a long time. Brunch doesn't count. And it would probably keep my hands and mouth busy for a few minutes anyway. So I poured myself a bowl of Smart Start and sat contentedly at the table eating my cereal like a good girl. Quitting smoking raises my energy levels to that of a 5 year old. So yesterday I was in a cereal eating contest and finished my bowl in record time.

Now what? I finished getting ready for work, popped in a piece of nicotine gum and teresa and i were off to the races. me, vibrating all the way to work. the one day i need there to be good music on the radio or *something* to entertain me, they play slow ballads and songs no one has ever heard nor does anyone want to. i arrive at work 15 minutes early. fabulous. but not actually fabulous. because now i have to sit here.

so i'm sitting there... shaking. looking frantically around the car for something to do. i see quite a lot of crap. i decide to make a list.

what to do at lunch:

1. stop shaking. oh wait...

1. clean out car. that's better..

2. read book, if i can stop wiggling long enough to read the words.

3. eat slow. i might as well cross this one off because i can't do anything slow at the moment.

4. talk on the phone.

5. chew gum like a cow.

i finish my list and walk into work feeling great that i am a quitter. i should wear a name tag... hello my name is: quitter, i am so proud. i open the cafe in record time. 9 am, doors open and i don't have a single customer until 10 am. this is another instance where God thinks he's funny so he tests my limits of tenacity by making me bored to see if i can stand the energy literally pulsating through my veins. making me feel like i might explode kallay parts all over the cafe if i don't find something, ANYTHING to do. so i cleaned. i cleaned syrup racks, i wiped off counters, i wrapped sandwiches, i windexed glass, i organized papers, i did dishes, i filled anything that needed to be filled. i'm afraid i might have frightened the first customer i had. "HELLO!!!!!! Welcome to the 2nd Really Big Bookstore!!! WANT SOME COFFEE!!!??? COOKIE??? DO YOU LIKE CAFFEINE? I love caffeine. I also love reading, walking on the beach, your purse, and my dog. Do you have any animals?" *crazy wide smile with eyeballs bulging out* is what happened next i'm sure. i took some really deep breaths. all day. i just could not stand or sit still. i am a human vibrator when quitting smoking.

i did clean my car out at lunch though. i talked to kerry too. i couldn't read, the words were moving around too fast. i chewed my gum. nothing is working though. i just have to wait for this to be over.

it's funny how you get so used to smoking when you're doing certain things. morning for me was always coffee and cigarettes. checking email... smoking. driving... smoketastic! big meals... always have a cigarette afterward. take the dogs out? time to smoke! it's hard to re-program your brain. i'll be sitting in the car and i'll reach for my purse and i'll forget what i was looking for and realize... i was looking for my cigarettes. i'll be checking my email and wondering what's missing or drinking coffee and wonder why i can taste it. smoking is more than just a bad habit for your body but it's a bad habit for your life! it infiltrates itself like a virus in a computer and you are suddenly having to relearn how to function with out it. and it's so damn hard! i don't want to smoke because i am really enjoying the fresh air. but i just don't know what to do with myself.

teresa has to watch me bouncy ball myself around the apartment. i'm driving her batty bonkers. i talk about a million miles an hour. and poor hercules has never been pet so fast in all his life. i'm just BURSTING at the seams!! it's absolutely ridiculous to watch.

i did finally lay down last night and go to sleep... after my foot stopped moving to the beat of a woodpecker.

now i'm awake and having to make another game plan. it's day two. i have a meeting today. i hope i don't scare them walking in there all Doc Brown muttering to myself about time travel. i'm unsure of how i am going to handle nervous energy on top of the already ridiculous amount of whatever this is when i go in there.

perhaps heels might be a bad idea today?

i'm such a quitter...

2008-11-17T11:19:00.005-05:00

"you're well on your way to lung cancer if you don't quit."

he said that. not to my friend, not to someone i know, no... he said that to ME.

we (the smokers) have heard it all before. "you're going to die from that." "it's bad for you." "you're too pretty to smoke." "cigarettes cause lung cancer." the list continues.

i wonder if the people that have died from lung cancer were warned. did they just not care? did they think it wouldn't happen to them? i know that i have taken my lungs for granted. i am not going to live forever but why would i do something that would make my life shorter? especially when death is my greatest fear which boils down to some other fears like being terrified of the dark. it just seems so stupid. not even ignorant because ignorance is the knowledge we have not attained. i have the knowledge and do it anyway... that's stupidity. and i am not a stupid girl.

so in a way, being sick has enlightened me. or at least it has pushed me on the swing to recovery. after this....

i am done. i will not live in fear because of something i am doing to myself. every time i light up a cigarette i get excited because i know i am almost done. i know it sounds silly to build it up like that but it's better to be excited about quitting i think. it made it easier last time i quit. last time i chose. this time my brain is forcing it. i'm sure the cravings will start. the first two days are the worst. then after that i get hungry and the battle of the bulging ass resumes. but that's why people exercise and the money i spent on a week of cigarettes can now go to something more productive like a gym membership. what a concept.

some back story....

i had walking pneumonia last november when i was training for my management position at Really Big Bookstore. i was miserable. couldn't breathe, couldn't talk, had no energy. after that i had the flu. then pneumonia AND the flu AND a sinus infection. a few months later my appendix peaced out on me. and now i have severe bronchitis/borderline pneumonia again. i've only smoked consistently for about 2 years. two. that's it. but i am slowly killing myself. and that's sad. the doctor said "welcome to TN!" when i told him my allergies were getting worse. he asked me if i had ever had asthma... no, i haven't. then he asked if i smoke. yes, i sure do. like a champ! (says kerry!) that's when he looked me in the eye and told me that i am well on my way to lung cancer if i don't quit. most people don't even get pneumonia once in their lifetime. i have had it three times in one year. ONE year. apparently, that's not good. (kidding)

i've had doctors tell me to quit before of course. my answer is always, well i'm going to quit! and they are happy with that answer and move on. this doctor scared me. he kept pressing the issue. this doctor cared enough about my health to tell me the hard truth. my body has been knocking on my brain all year. "hello! i can't breathe. are you done yet?" now i can honestly say that yes, i am done. i don't like waking up in the morning, taking that first fresh breath of morning air and then having it catch in my throat leading to a coughing fit. feeling like you're choking is scary. and i'm sick of being sick. i've been sick all year and it's my own fault. so i'm done.

thank you dr. h. for scaring the crap out of me. for telling me that the reason i have been so sick is because of my smoking. for telling me that i am going to die choking if i don't stop. with one sentence, he changed my thinking. how is it possible for people i know to smoke all the time and never get sick? i don't know. but for whatever reason i do and i don't want to anymore. i'm scared. enough to quit and do something else to calm down. to be a quitter and stay that way.

i don't want to die choking. i don't want to miss the important things because i was stupid and couldn't put down the damn pink lighter. and i won't.

because damn it, i quit!

the war of door (s)

2008-11-13T11:35:00.004-05:00

so i realize i am being repetitive here, but i had to share. something ridiculous is happening and i'd like it to stop, please and thank you!

so last night, all excited that i could semi-breathe and talk like a woman, i decided to forgo my new nightly ritual of sleeping vertical on the couch and lay down for the first time in 5 days. this was a bad idea in and of itself but it was only worsened when 2 am rolled around. i had just fallen asleep after a fit of coughing and hacking and sleeping slanted on the bed because of hercules when i heard..

ding dong ding dong ding dong ding donG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DiNg dOnG DiNg dONG DINGDONG WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON DOWN THERE!!!!????

the dinging and donging continue. i know who it is. and i know why they're doing it. but damn it so help me if i have to get out of this bed i'm going to hurt someone with my eye daggers. bella is losing her mind. teresa is losing her mind. i start coughing again and i am now awake and i don't wanna BE!!!!

so hercules runs down the stairs doing his doggie laugh, i am shortly behind, not doing my doggie laugh. in fact, i'm not even doing my human laugh. i open the door for the three amigos and in they saunter... giggling like 5th grade girls. hello, it's WEDNESDAY! and you're 30-something. why are you drunk holding SONIC bags, giggling and ringing the doorbell incessantly? why? it's so mean. i want to punch you. all of you! in the nuts even!

one of the amigos disappears and moments later the door to their apartment opens and they all scream with pure delight. i mean, they screamed kind of like teresa and i scream after we defeat the locking yourself out process, but we're girls! and that's normal! they're boys... is that normal? of this i am unsure, but as they filed into their apartment one by one like bottles on an assembly line they all received the eye daggers. shortly before this teresa screamed down the stairs something so loud it was inaudible and then the door was slammed and i wondered if i had also just been locked out of my home. they weren't scared. they thought it was funny. getting locked out and causing sleep interruption for the girls upstairs. yes! grand plan morons!

one of us is sick. one of us can't fall asleep. and both of us have an alarm for 5:30 waiting to pounce. so hide a key already. i tuck the boys into their beers and SONIC food and walk up the stairs praying for an open door and for a little peace and quiet for the rest of the night (morning). it is clear that laying down would make me even more miserable so back to the couch i went. pile on the pillows, flip on the humidifier, take some anti-awake cough medicine and fall asleep around 3 am, not so blissfully. the alarm goes off and instead of just pushing the shut up button a million times, i apparently decided to skip that step and just turn it all the way off. so this morning my alarm took on the voice of my roommate saying "kallay did you know it's 6:45?!"

clearly not, as i was unsure at that point what my name was or why i was on the couch. 5 seconds later it all came rushing back and i was traveling to the kitchen for a date with the coffee maker. i was late but it made my coffee anyway. :) nice coffee machine no? i drove to work half in a daze from the meds that were still working since i had not taken them until 2:30 am and i was up at some 6:45 hour that no one should have invented. opened the cafe with ease and all of a sudden i am sweating bullets. i just broke a fever. i'm coughing up my left lung, blowing my right nostril, and can feel another fever coming on when my GM comes over and asks me if i'm ok. when i answer her in my newly refurbished robotic male voice she tells me i need to go home and go to the doctor. she thinks i have bronchitis. apparently it's been going around the store. lovely. just what i always wanted. why can't millionairism ever go around? i'd like to catch that!

so here i sit, waiting to go meet with dr. i'm going to pump you full of expensive drugs at 3:45 pm. pissed that i'm even here because perhaps if slammy, dingy and dongy hadn't messed with my REM cycles last night i wouldn't be here fighting off a fever. cheez-its.

oh and there we go again. another slam. i think it's high time operation revenge kicks in. teresa, are you reading this? it's time. time i tell you!!!

why are you in such a hurry?

2008-11-09T19:51:00.006-05:00

you know, i hate this question. i hate this question more than "what do you weigh?". i hate this question more than "why don't you want to be a chef?". i hate this question more than i hate the word panties and i hate all of those things. they disgust me. but this question.... this question takes the proverbial damn cake.

here's why...

if you're single, you will relate. if you're not single, you were once asked this question and will be able to think back to the time when you were asked this question and will remember that YOU HATED IT TOO!!!!

i am single. not desperate, not ugly, not jaded (okay maybe a little), and i'm kind of a catch. (or so say my friends) so just because i date a lot of guys does not necessarily mean that i am in a hurry. it just means that i don't want to waste my time on someone i can barely stand an hour with much less an entire lifetime. this isn't to say that i haven't dated some really nice guys, because i have. i've dated some guys that would be real catches, just not for me. some of my guy friends were previous datees and have become some of my really great friends. so i don't always date assholes, i just tend to marry and commit to the assholes.

on the flip side of this though, why NOT be in a hurry? if your very best friend is waiting for you at the airport, do you not drive a little faster? if you're starving and dinner is finally done, your plate of food goes from full to empty at an astonishing rate. and if your favorite show is coming on but you're trying to finish cleaning... that windex is a flyin' sweetie. so why should i be moving at the pace of a turtle to find THAT person???

that person who "gets" me. that person who makes me laugh and treats me like a human being. that person who knows that i hate beans and always ask for extra condiments. that person who knows i like my coffee strong and my knees weak. why is it so wrong for me to want to stop wasting my time with guys who don't care about anything beyond sleeping with me or wanting ME to like them? isn't that supposed to be a good thing? i mean i'm kind of damned if i do and damned if i don't.

i read an article that says you should treat looking for a partner like a part time job spending at least 15 hours per week searching online and otherwise for *the* guy. even *I* think that's excessive. i do agree with the part of the article that basically says, if you lock yourself out of the world, don't expect mr. right to accidentally fall in your lap or come magically knocking on your door. the real world just doesn't work that way. i don't think that spending 15 hours a week on searching for love is exactly mentally healthy but i get what they're saying. i think i fall somewhere in the middle of all of that and that's plenty ok with me because unless someone is going to pay me for the 15 hours of working to find mr. right... eff that shiz.

i just had to say it though. stop asking me this question... for the love of all things chocolate. i'm not in a hurry. ok? i am just sick and tired of sharing my life with myself. we're good! me and myself know everything there is to know about me and myself. we would just like to share it with someone else now. we're tired of talking in third person and sharing our stories with a cat. we're tired of cuddling with a really really hairy dog. (even if he is totally cute.) and we are definitely tired of the casual sex. yup. i said it. i sure did. no reason to lie. i'm almost 27 years old and i am TIRED of casual sex. because casual is not far in the dictionary from complicated and you know what? it's kind of boring. there's no talking. there's no real connection. there's no 3-5 date build up. it's just "hi! you're hot! wanna...?" yep. boring.

let's play this game your way and say that i am in a hurry though and you really need to know the answer or your hair will fall out and your teeth will turn green... God forbid. i would be in a hurry because i have heard couples say that they wish they would have met their significant other sooner. i have watched too many romantic comedies and the seed is planted that the older you get, the less available childless men there are out there. (not that i mind dating guys with children... if they behave... i've had some... instances... a barnacle and a beast are ringing a bell... another blog... sorry i digress) i would be in a hurry because i love that warm fuzzy feeling of arguing with someone and coming to a compromise. and because i've met enough guys to know that i haven't met him yet.

HIM... the guy i know absolutely nothing about. i don't know what he looks like. i don't know what he smells like, what his hobbies are, or how he likes his eggs. i don't know where he lives, if he's close to his family, or what his favorite color is. but i know that i want to meet him. i'm not crazy for wanting to meet the man of my dreams. i know this because somewhere out there... the man of my dreams is pining for a girl like me. except maybe not for a girl LIKE me, but just me. like my sister says, it might be someone i've already met. she's also the reason that the guys i tend to date are absolutely nothing alike. when people asked her (when she was single) what she looked for in a guy she said she didn't know because she hadn't met him yet. and i've totally stolen that line of logical thinking. i'm getting a little pickier though, or at least getting better at weeding out what i don't want in a life partner.

all that said, i do have a great roommate who lets me vent and spew craziness. i have best friends who help me laugh and giggle until my sides hurt. i have a supportive family who listens and sometimes gives great advice. i can't complain. and i'm not. i'm just tired of this stupid question. because it is stupid. if i was late for work and you asked me this question it would be just as annoying.

just thought i'd clear that up. thanks for playing!

the family way

2008-11-08T20:05:00.005-05:00

every family is unique. we all have our own traditions. our own inside jokes. our own battles. our own dynamic.

i grew up in a small summer resort town off the coast of lake michigan. it's beautiful with it's historic downtown and clean neighborhoods. a perfect place to raise a family. or at least that's what i thought when i was little. i always felt like i was different growing up in a town like this. our family wasn't the mom, dad, sister, brother, dog kind of family and obviously still isn't. never will be, in fact. that used to bother me, but not so much anymore. i have been blessed with the family that God chose for me.

i grew up in a predominately female environment with my mom, my grandma, and my sister who is my elder by 8 years, meaning... i have 3 moms. my grandma, the leader; my mom, the encourager; and my sister, the hammer. interesting that my discipline came from a sibling. i am extremely close to them and value their opinions, which are usually all extremely different making my indecisiveness even more fun when seeking advice.

my grandma leads by example living a simple and fulfilling lifestyle. marrying once and sticking to it, even through the hard times. she handles tragedy with grace and strength that i haven't seen in any other human being. she's compassionate, hard-working and absolutely hilarious. she's neither vain nor high maintenance, rude nor impatient. appropriately nicknamed saint midge. a good person the have at the helm of a family. she has her very own blog that i wrote in the beginning of this year. she's just wonderful...

my mother is a free spirit and while she is my mother, she is also my friend. we have our arguments. but without fail, she is the one i call at 3 in the morning when i can't breathe because i've been crying so hard or because i am sick and need advice on how to feel better. she's the one who encourages me. the one who "gets" me. she knows i am happier when i am surrounded by big city unknown. her favorite expression is that the apple didn't fall far from the tree. which has been shortened to just "apple....tree". she's always been the yes mom which growing up was great but later on in life i've had to learn on my own that you can't always get what you want. she's a good mom though. she's always encouraging me to press on with my goals and my dreams. when i need her, really really need her, she's right there.

and then there's my sister. being 8 years apart we have had some hard times relating to one another. we grew up in different decades for one! we are also very very different people. she prefers the safe small town living while i prefer adventure and big city living. she's short with straight naturally light blonde hair and i am amazon with crazy curly almost brown hair. we both have blue eyes. i tease her a lot, calling her june cleaver. it's not an insult. it's the highest form of a compliment. my sister is a great mother. i know this because she's practically one of mine. growing up she was not my playmate or my little bit older sister i could go to for advice, but she was always the one to set me straight. and i *hated* it. we had our fights that were over absolutely nothing, like me breathing wrong or her looking at me mean from across the room but hello, we are sisters. we antagonize. but sometimes she was right, and if you have a sister you know what i mean when i say that i hated to be wrong. nothing could flip my switch more than that.

now we're both adults. i'm 20-something, she's 30-something and our differences remain. but somehow we are able to talk to each other like intelligent human beings. we laugh together on the phone, mostly because she's the funniest person i know. i make fun of her, she makes fun of me, and we have a good time. if i ever had someone to look up to though for a good role model for a wife and mother (other than my grandmother) it would be her. my niece and nephew are two of the most beautiful children on the planet. i'm sure my brother in law had something to do with that too. but they are well behaved. my nephew is hysterical just like his mommy. he is polite and sweet and just plain great. it's because his mom takes the time to show him what is right and what is wrong. she lives in such a way that he doesn't have to hear it to do it. he just follows her lead. when they grow up she will give good advice, she will be at every school function, and she will be happy and excited about being there. not because it's her job as a mom but because she really truly loves her children. she has dinner on the table every night even though she hates to cook. she does it because she wants that for her family. she appreciates the lifestyle that she has and doesn't take it for granted. she has a wonderful doting husband who fawns over her not because she begs for it but because how can you not love someone who tries so hard to make everything perfect for the ones she loves? she is also my number one protector. always has been, always will be. she can rip me apart but if anyone else says a peep she is the first to defend me. she is my sister, no matter how different we are.

sometimes the only way you can get to know people are through the words of others. i am not always forgiving with my words. i get frustrated and angry. i get down trodden and annoyed. and sometimes the people that i love the most in this world are the ones to get hurt by this. it is NOT intentional. my writing is not meant to sting or burn. it is meant to get out a thought or thoughts. as a writer there is a constant script. always something brewing in the back of my mind. always something to say. writing things down always makes me feel better. even if down the road my feelings change, what was written is written. it's how i felt.

my family, no matter how far away i live or how many fights we have, will always be my family. they are my soft place to fall when life goes awry. so know this, there may be times when i am frustrated and i vent, but they are MY family and i love them dearly, because no matter what, they are mine. mine to vent and cheer and write about and i wouldn't have them any other way.

My Big Fat Breakfast

2008-11-06T22:23:00.009-05:00

Big Fatty's Catering Kitchen
5005 Kingston Pike
Knoxville, TN 37919
(865) 219-8317

Sunday was one of those days. I woke up practically skipping to the coffee pot. Arriving at my final destination of warm dark roasted heaven, lathered in french vanilla creamer, I set out to face my day. I drove to work and handled my end of the inventory battle. I left at 9:30 am with one purpose and one purpose only... to eat. Still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I march up the stairs to drag the roomie out of bed and force her to enjoy my very good day.

I recently moved to Knoxville in an attempt to keep my feet fully planted in southern soil. I love it here. The people, the weather (usually), and especially... the food! Being new to the area would seem, to most, a disadvantage. To me it's an adventure. A culinary adventure if nothing else. I came upon Big Fatty's one Sunday morning when my roomie and I were looking for a good breakfast place. My usual breakfast of strong coffee and cigarettes wasn't going to cut it. I wanted eggs benedict. What I found was better. So much better.

We drove into the parking lot like the Dukes of Hazard, starving and needing coffee. Upon entering there were a few people seated around a round table talking and laughing and carrying on. The owners and managers! We were told to pick a seat any seat. Glance around the restaurant and you'll find all kinds of interesting things to feast your eyes on. Brightly colored walls adorned with colorful art and a wall of windows. Our waiter greeted us with a smile and soon after we were blessed with our coffee.

This place is everything eclectic. Right down to the mismatched coffee cups. Along with coffee we were served their strawberry muffins. Sweet, tender little sponge cake like muffins with real macerated strawberries on top.

Two minutes later they were gone and my mouth was watering for more. The breakfast menu is basic at first glance. Eggs with bacon, eggs with this, eggs with that. Where are my eggs benedict? I begin to pout. I'm kind of a baby when it comes to cravings. I want it when I want it. And they didn't have it. Then a little something caught my eye... Big Fat Biscuit... Biscuits topped with pork, covered in gravy and two eggs on top as the crowning glory. How do you say "yes, please" in the south? Sounds like southern eggs benedict to me!!

I ordered mine with two over-easy eggs, grits and a side of the cutest little pancakes you've ever seen. Pancakes are extra but worth it! Roomie ordered the same and then we waited. Conversation is easy to come by in a place like this. The waiter was not afraid to talk to us, the other managers and owners were super friendly. It was almost like walking into their home kitchen and having them make us breakfast. The people in the restaurant ranged from young to old and from every walk of life. This is a good sign. This means my breakfast is going to rock. At this point, I am beyond excited.

And then there it was, resting peacefully on a Shoney's Blue Plate Special plate, naive to the fact that I was about to devour every last morsel. I break open the yolks and let them mingle with the gravy and pork. Sink my fork into the middle and notice... I don't need a knife. There's meat on this biscuit that is fork tender. My calorie count for the day is in trouble, I can see that. I continue on through the biscuit expecting that it would be goo-tastic with all the gravy, but it wasn't. Those little soldiers held up through the whole meal! Bite after bite of smokey marinated pork, tender but wholesome biscuit, perfectly seasoned gravy and over easy egg. My pancakes stared at me feeling left out, forgotten even. What could I do? The grits were perfectly creamy without being runny or overdone. I couldn't get over the texture of the biscuits and I had just found my new eggs benedict! Move over pancakes!

Breakfast was over, and I felt like a Big Fatty. I had eaten a week's worth of breakfast in one meal, drank my body weight in coffee, and was now expected to walk out of the restaurant vertical and without explosion. We made a pit stop at the register, paid the bill and made sure to tip our waiter his well earned tip. We promised to return. And return we did. And return we will again.

Big Fatty's is a breakfast place on Sundays if you're looking for great brunch items. But they also have an amazing array of other meals for lunch and dinner. My favorite sandwich included... the french dip. Originally started as a catering company, they recently opened the restaurant, and I couldn't be happier. Some of their other foods include creative salads, like The Happy Fatty which includes chicken, bleu cheese, pecans and mangoes on a bed of wild greens, a very large selection of sandwiches and burgers with a little something for everyone with a range of everything from seafood to vegan/vegetarian options, and of course their Blue Plate Specials. Monday through Sunday, there's something for everyone, meatloaf, chicken & dumplings, you can't go wrong with comfort food. You can even order to go! Which is a viable option for me since every time I eat here I need to be carried out. Y'all they even have dessert! HOMEMADE Banana Pudding, red velvet cake, and a white chocolate and caramel brownie.

If you're looking for yum, drive yourself with haste to 5005 Kingston Pike, and bring a friend. Or call them at (865) 219-8317 and order the Blue Plate Special to go with some homemade banana pudding. You'll be happily marching into Big Fatty's at least once a week once you do, and probably with sweat pants on.

hallo - fucking - ween and mental revelations

2008-11-03T14:32:00.009-05:00

well, this weekend was interesting!

it was bipolar if nothing else.

halloween was on friday, as everyone who doesn't stuff their face under a rock knows. i worked. nothing too exciting about that, mostly because it's the same ol', same ol'. clean this, make this, drink this, taste this, clean this again, rinse this, steam this, clock this. out. but i got out early! the plan was that teresa was getting in and sprite for my gin & tonic addiction, i was getting gatorade, coffee, and beer for our morning after party. (which is never really more than... vertical sucks and i hate my life. why did you let me drink that much? can you believe him!? coffee, gatorade, advil, beer.... in that order.) so i make my way back to *almost* downtown knox where we live, go to kroger's get a fucked up cart as always and proceed to shop for my MAP items. get to the register and realize we need ice, add a bag of ice and i'm out the door.

i knew what i was driving home to. teresa had called me about an hour earlier letting me know that *someone* had closed the wooden door. the wooden door to which we do NOT have a key. personally, i think it's ridiculous to have to unlock 3 doors to arrive safely home but whatever... alcatraz it is. so she called john the maintenance dude, russ, the landlord dude, and john tried calling trevor, the downstairs dude. no one could help so we called a locksmith. $65 later and we were finally home. well, $65 and one more door to unlock and we were home. we run up the stairs, drink some G&Ts and start the costume process. teresa takes a shower, kelsey shows up and we help him into his monk costume, and we are finally ready for makeup. i look up the youtube video so i can properly apply the ten loads of black eyeliner to my lids and begin. an hour later we are made up, dressed up, and buzzed up. where are dawn and adrian? they arrive shortly before allen our cab driver. the following is what ensued...

taxi allen serenaded me. we took pictures and arrived safely at hanna's. we drank, we danced, we took silly pictures. we had an all around great time. some nurse stepped on my foot and didn't apologize. i have a bruise to prove it. bitch. i stole someone's wings and then left them somewhere but i have photographic evidence that at one point in the evening i had wings! after this is when things got ugly. and not just woe is she... but just plain oooogly.

the fun was officially over. teresa was tired, dawna and adrian were no longer sober and i had spent $40 on booze. allen was on the other side of town and we had no way to get home. it was fuh-reezing. my alcohol consumption was starting to catch up with my brain cells, the world was a-spinnin', and i was pissed off. kelsey had opted out of our hanna's fun and had decided to head to valrium with his friend david. there is some back story on this but you'll really be ok not knowing about it. david was driving kelsey home and had been asked by kelsey to pretty pretty please come pick us up. well, david had to go get another friend first. ONE friend. david has more then one extra seat in his car. whatever, dude. at this point we are starting assume there is a girl involved and say fuck it. we'll find a cab. yeah... not really. not on halloween. and not in downtown knoxville. we had reserved a cab for 2:30 am but he didn't show. so we call allen again. meanwhile, teresa and i decide to head to the pizza place to stand inside since my dress barely covers my ass and is for sure not a winter coat. allen shows up! love him like air!

we get home and i am still seething from the whole david situation. it doesn't help that i am 100% drunk, my world is now one giant rollercoaster, and drunk and angry make me cry. so i go all crazy white girl on the apartment, slamming doors, getting water and slamming the fridge, go to my room and lay on my spinning bed. drink the whole bottle of water and am sleeping within minutes. the morning after party began at 9:30am when i woke up with my head split in two and my eyelids unable to open due to the tears vs. eyelash glue from the night before. i SLOWLY rise from the bed that has now stopped spinning thankfully and make my way down the hall to the bathroom. peel my eyelashes off, open my eyes, peel the contacts out of my eyeballs, and pee. sweet jesus i need advil. somehow locate the bottle on the dining room table, take 2, drink another entire bottle of water and fall back to sleep. 1:30pm rolls around and i text message teresa. "uuuugh." was all it said. and before her phone could even receive it, she was sitting on my bed with a quad shot caramel macchiato (extra caramel) from staryucks. best roomie... ever. i carefully pour the life giver into my mouth and swallow with pure delight.

5 minutes later we are on the couch rehashing the evening, looking at pictures and i am still pissed about david. we arrive at the conclusion that since we did not get a call back until 4 am that there was most definitely a girl involved and we wanted no further details thankyouverymuch.

saturday is do nothing but hang over day. we read, we ate taco bell (because taco bell is the only acceptable hang over food), we clean the house, and then we veg. nothing seemed like the only viable option for things to do on saturday night. i had to get up early sunday for work and we both felt like we'd run a marathon and won, so nothing is what we did. and it felt goood.

sunday morning i wake up all bright eyed and bushy tailed. head to work for inventory. leave at 9:30 am return home and get ready for the exciting adventure of restaurant review! i recently contacted a website to try and get published. i told them that i was interested in writing restaurant reviews and entertainment venue reviews from the view point of the new girl in town. i am after all, the knoxville rookie. i am in one of those "shut up you're too damn happy moods". i literally should have skipped to big fatty's for breakfast. it might have calmed me down. so we have an amazing brunch. complete with strawberry muffins and big fat biscuits which is basically the equivalent of a southern style eggs benedict. biscuits, smoked pork, gravy and over easy eggs on top. it's heaven on a shoney's blue plate special plate. coffee consumed, breakfast in my belly and we head home to our family farm. we run some errands, pick up some stuff at teresa's sister's house and jcpenney's and head home again. teresa is feeling more productive. she probably could have conquered the world. i did some laundry. watched a girlie movie. ate some chips and salsa and too much leftover halloween candy. and then for some reason my brain decided to let me know that i sucked and i had sort of a meltdown.

teresa and i talked about my revelation. basically it boils down to this... i am a glutton for punishment. i have a nasty habit of forgiving. forgiving people who might not deserve it, giving people second chances when they didn't even deserve a first one. i have a hard time letting go. i regret things mentally that on the outside i would never show. i am happy on the outside and scrambled on the inside. kind of like a breakfast burrito. so when the opportunity to talk things out and smooth things over comes along, i am the first one in line. unfortunately this condition is related to my relationships. i get burned a lot. or as i usually put it, i get mind fucked a lot. i get morse code messages. yes i like you, let's be friends, but just kidding i actually liked you. mind reader is not on my mental resume and unfortunately the guys that i date tend to feel like i should study up on clairvoyance. if they're not speaking in clear terms, like in english, i'm not going to get it. i don't take hints very well. i'm gullible as a child and this is what gets me into trouble. i also try too hard. i play hard to get but really, my heart is easily won. i'm a heart on my sleeve kind of girl. i will tell anyone anything anywhere. it's just how i am. i don't hide much. maybe my thighs but that's about it.

i think because so many people around me are happy in their relationships, i am wondering if i will ever have that. and instead of just letting it come to me (which requires that whole part of being patient thing that i totally suck at... waiting) i just go out and try to find it myself. if a guy i date is giving me the friend vibe... i move on. sorry charlie. i don't have time to waste. why spend time with someone who clearly isn't interested? (or at least to ME is clearly not interested.) i'm that annoying happily ever after seeker. the dreamer. the wishful-thinking, fairytale loving, softy. i've watched too many romantic comedies. i know this. i know this like i know how to make a killer latte.

it's a lot like christmas when you're 5. you see this beautiful barbie dream house. it's all decked out in pink and barbie swagger. you want it. no, you *need* it. it will help you make friends at school! it will be THE fixture of your room. and it's only $400! your mom HAS to understand that this dream house is not just a gift, it's a life changing object! in reality though $400 is a lot of money for pink plastic and cardboard. glittery stickers are included and it lights up but the batteries are extra. you're dreaming, princess, if you think that monster of a present is going to be under that tree on christmas morning. which is kind of like the relationships i tend to pursue. i want the grandiose romantic gestures. the kisses in the rain. the love notes on the pillow. and the carriage ride through central park. but in reality if a guy opens a door for you and doesn't tell you that you suck... you're probably doing alright. especially if he calls on a regular basis, lets you know where he's going to be and doesn't give you mixed signals. these are all good things.

the barbie dream house was not under the tree on christmas morning. but i did get a small pink cardboard doll house to play with and i loved it. it was good enough. even at that age, i learned to appreciate what i had. in relationships, i don't get the dream house, but i also don't get the good enough guy either. i get the mixed signals, the brush offs, the cheaters, the criminals, the assholes... you name it, i've dated it. so as i look around me and see all of these functioning relationships... i wonder if this is even attainable for me. i wonder if, when i meet the guy who will treat me like i am worth holding on to, i will be happy like that christmas morning. i wonder if good enough will suffice. or will i tell myself i can do better? that's kind of sick, but it's true. and sometimes the truth hurts. knowing this of myself can only help though. it can only help me realize when i'm asking too much. on the flip side of this, it will also help me stay away from the toxic men who have seriously but a damper on my love life. it will help me spot the rotten eggs before they spoil me. it will help me not to forgive so quickly and really be done when i say i'm done. leave without regret and realize when the end is really the end.

all that said, good luck to mr. good enough... wherever you are. i am (not so patiently) waiting for you.

payback.... mwahaha

2008-10-24T19:39:00.002-04:00

we're not mean. we just don't like hearing doors SUHLAMMING when we are trying to have a peace of QUIET! slamming doors makes hercules bark, which in turn then makes bella bark. for some reason small dogs have built in screeching loud barks which is about 100 times as annoying as a giant hercules bark. so... in an attempt to ensure the quiet friday night pj fest... we decided to payback our maneighbors.

by slamming each. and. every. door in the house. my bedroom door slammed so hard... DUST flew out. the sound was deafening. we get about 20 minutes of peace and then....

SUHlam!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so teresa decides that every time a door slams she's going to slam a door. so she gets up and slams my bedroom door which we have now confirmed is the best and easiest door to slam in the house. the face is something comparable to "i'm going to kick your ass" pre-slam and then after... glee!!

i think somehow, someway, we have initiated a slam the door war. but they started it.

although... they did hang a noose on the front porch the other day and i flung it over the banister so it wouldn't hang down in my face when leaving for work. then the next day it was hanging down again so naturally it was flung right back over the railing. i mean really, it's kind of tempting to actually insert my head at the moment considering... but i fling it instead. take THAT suicide! mwahaha.

so we actually have a couple of wars going on.

i say it's high time for a prank fest!!!

the vicious circle

2008-10-24T09:59:00.004-04:00

while i sit and wait for the tow truck (!!!) as patiently as one can wait for a tow truck (!!!) i figured i could relay a little recap of my morning. it started out well... good hair day, cute outfit, excited to meet the district manager. left for work on time.... crunch.

the vicious circle bites me in the ass again.

pictures to come later... but there is a stump in the "parking area" of our house. it's not really a parking area but it fits cars and it's closer to the door than walking down the big slippery hill to the actual parking lot. anyway, the stump is big enough to fall over (ask teresa), pop a tire, or get the front end of your car stuck. but not big enough to do any real damage. orrrrr so i thought.

it's a rainy morning. typical fall day. chilly, spitty, and dark as atlanta. i backed out and *thought* i backed out far enough to where i could turn, merrily miss the stump and drive to work and arrive early. nope. crunch, grind, twist... my car is stuck on the stump. it won't back up, it won't go forward, i put it in park and it made the sound equivalent of car vomit. in case you didn't know... grinding, crunching, squealing, screeching, etc... are all bad noises, especially when coming from your car. so i get out to inspect the front end thinking maybe i can see which way to turn to unhook my car from the yard. turn the wheel. gas. nope. now i have a cute little car with squiggling lines blinking on the dashboard. and grinding noises again after putting it in park. ok, says my brain. time to call the tow truck. and work. clearly arriving early is no longer on the friday agenda.

call work. "thank you for letting us know. we hope it all works out. call us when you are on your way" good deal.

call the FREE mazda roadside assistance. am told the driver must take my car to the mazda dealership to be checked out. well, that's no good because i sense a deep ass raping in my bank account's future. cancel truck.

"dear God, thank you for letting my roomie get a job at a car shop. amen." call teresa. another FREE tow truck is on the way. getting the car fixed (if need be) will now save my bank account from the trauma of a dealership mechanic.

however.

the district manager is coming in to the store today and i wanted to meet her so we could talk about the exciting happenings in january. said conversation may or may not take place due to the delay of the tow truck driver. apparently a lot of other people are having a freaky friday as well. he will be here in 15 minutes. seeing as how this all started around 7:19 this morning... 3 hours later... i am still sitting at home. checked my bank account to see if there was anyway to afford this... that's a big fat naw. insurance and cellular phones are expensive and have dragged my bank account into the land of crimson. hooray!

trying to be optimistic... i'm trying to add up the positive things...

1) this accident has forced me to clean out my car and rid myself of trash and water bottles.

2) we have quite the collection of new water bottles.

3) i found teresa's coffee mug.

4) cool! mittens!

5) i am forced to wear a black t-shirt to work due to the fact that my cute sweater is now soaking wet from the rain i was standing in to clean out the car and to assess damage. but i get to wear a t-shirt nonetheless.

6) i will not have to deal with the grumpy morning crowd at work.

7) i have time to take hercules out to go pee and possibly even get him to do his business!

8) i have another hilarious story in my arsenal of what not to do.

9) my hair still looks cute in spite of the rain.

10) my makeup is still on.

11) discounted car repair is always, always, always positive.

but alas, 2008 strikes again. i'm going to go try #7 and then i'm going to pray really really hard that my car is fine and is just grinding because it's mad that it's stuck on the stump. the small but not small enough stump.

*sigh*

it's squeaking?

2008-10-19T03:00:00.004-04:00

so... you know when you fart kind of loud? but you're on a wooden chair or plastic bench and you're wearing really tight jeans? or when you REALLY have to poo and you waited until you got home because you knew it would be offensively loud? well, our toilet seat is making that loud screeching squeaky farty sound all by itself now! i cleaned the bathroom today because we only have one and i think it's gross to have the semi-public bathroom looking like a haunted mansion. so i scrubbed the tub and sink and floors and the toilet. apparently i upset the toilet hinge because it's complaining kind of loudly. i wouldn't be surprised if the downstairs occupants didn't hear it. it's like the toilet is now announcing our arrivals and departures. "NOW ARRIVING IN GATE POO!"

i'm an avid believer in closing the toilet lid. for one, i used to have a cat that liked to drink out of the toilet and while the sight of a cat with it's brains in the toilet and tail straight out for balance is quite hysterical... it's also scary if you have a twisted mind like i do. i always imagined her accidentally falling in face first and getting stuck in the poo hole at the bottom. that would be horrifying. so i close the lid. and two, sometimes your poo scrapes up against the side of the bowl which (obviously) requires a second flush to rid the bowl of the offensive streak, sort of like a courtesy flush, but after the attack. i personally close the lid before the initial flush because i don't like the idea of john particles all over my toothbrush. (i saw it on TLC once and got freaked out ok?) but i always check after the flush just in case something may have... streaked. while i used to be able to do this in private... our toilet now announces my every move.

SQUH-WEEEEEK! (potty noises) SQUH-WEEEEEK! (flush noises) squeak.squeak. (those are the peeking noises) i wish i had a sound clip of the noise because from the living room it really does sound like someone is relieving themselves of some serious mexican in the bathroom when really they're just trying to take an innocent pee. when you're actually IN the bathroom it's kind of like an echoing screeching noise... like train breaks.

i love old houses for their charm and for their strange noises. for example... the last three steps climbing up to the apartment creak. it was one of the first things i fell in love with when we walked in. after that it was the fact that some doors NEED to be slammed in order to shut properly... including but not limited to... my closet door, the kitchen door, and often the front door. isn't that awesome!? "why are you slamming the door!?" "i had to! it won't shut unless i slam it!" tee hee! my fan is new but it's also trying to fit in with the cool crowd and announces its on position by making a sound comparable to a hand mixer. the bottom door in the bathroom storage area refuses to stay closed and houses a very large hole for the cats to utilize their new favorite hiding place... the crawl space! which is really nothing more than the cats just climbing through the walls, meowing til we can't find them and give up and then they appear out of absolutely nowhere. for a while they crawled through the hole in the office but that has since been boarded up after our washer and dryer debacle (which btw has yet to be resolved). they gave up on that adventure and now i think they're just messing with our heads. the outlets need 2 prong adapters to plug in anything with 3 prongs and because it's us, almost everything we own has a three prong plug. needless to say lowe's has become our new haven. paint and supplies, plug adapters, fan cords, space heaters, light bulbs, etc. lowe's loves us.

so now that our toilet has started squawking to fit in with the rest of the broken house, i think it's officially time to say that we must be absolutely nuts to love this place but we do nonetheless. it's house-tabulous. i love that our toilet lid is squeaking, it gives meaning to the phrase "squeaky clean." although now i may burst out into random laughter at inappropriate times anytime anyone uses the bathroom... it's still a cute little quirk. it could be worse. i can't say i've ever heard of something squeaking AFTER it's been cleaned but like i said... i think our new stuff is trying to fit in with the old to please our sick love of all things antique and is therefore breaking for no other reason than to squeak, rattle, and drive me into a straight jacket.

squeak.squeak.

the green plastic chairs....

2008-10-18T22:38:00.004-04:00

don't worry... i was all kinds of james bond when taking this picture... i should mention that you shouldn't get too excited about the pepsi machine. it's out of order. there's another next to it though. that one's out of order too. don't you hate it when people dash your dreams like that? the pepsi machine would have come in handy with that whole not being able to pee situation in plasma donation day one. oh well.

teresa also has an unfortunate display of purpley goodness on the inside crease of her arm from plasma part deux. it's kind of gross but here's the picture anyway...

you might be poor if....

2008-10-15T09:35:00.011-04:00

yes, it's true. the opportunity of money is currently like sand between my fingers. bills keep coming as the calendar keeps marching on. stupid time. the necessities of life are harder to fulfill. and my dog wants food. so what do i do? what any other slightly insane person might do.... i donated plasma.

yep! i subjected myself to 4 hours of a long line of questions, finger pricks, urine tests, and the reflex hammer. then i let them stick a very large needle in my right arm, take my blood, process it (one cup at a time) and then return my red blood cells happily to their veins for 45 minutes. then they gave me $40. *cha-ching*

happy days....

teresa and i collected our books, our lease (which is our only proof of address), and identification proving that, yes... this plasma is MINE and i am Kallay A. ****. we cheerfully drive to ABC Plasma and see that the parking lot is something of a sight. not that i am egotistical or have a superiority complex, but i do have to say that if you are ever having a bad day.... go donate plasma. the crowd will make you suddenly optimistic about your situation. i might be poor but i have all my teeth, have access to a full pressure shower head, and while i might feel kind of crazy, i am, in fact, sane in comparison.

we sign in to the long list of NEW DONORS ONLY and carefully choose a seat on the light seafoam green hard plastic chairs. so there we were. sitting. and waiting. and giggling like we're 5. finally my name is called and i am asked for ID, proof of address, and my social security card... now go sit down you minion. teresa is next and provides the same. we walk outside to enjoy a smokey treat and i read her a chapter of my hilarious book. at this point we both have to pee. badly. 40 cups of coffee will generally have this effect so we enter the toilets of doom. upon entering we encounter this....

i proceed next door and leave teresa to the task. i determine that this bathroom is indeed a squatter and try really hard not to let my cheeks touch the seat. and then i giggle, laugh, and full blown guffaw. maybe flushing twice wouldn't have been so bad. reaching for the toilet paper... i discovered this...

mmmm hm. welcome to plasma donation. the sign said "women's bathroom" so one would only assume that... well, you know. i shudder, pull down my skirt, adjust my shirt and walk out of my stall completely grossed the fuck out. i'm supposed to believe that this place is sterile and that my chances of contracting some sort of strange STD are slim to none? yeah, ok. i take one look at the sink and decide that my hands are cleaner now than if i "washed" my hands in it. teresa and i walk to the lobby in a fit of silent laughter and take our seats one again on the dreaded green chairs. we are called up to another counter, asked about our piercings and tattoos and are told to go waste away. an hour later they call me back into an office to take my picture (i didn't smile), poke my finger and take my blood... of course i am freezing so the bleeding continues for the entire time i am in there. they have their a/c set at arctic freeze... probably to test you. someone in back is secretly hoping some of these people will leave due to frostbite.

so remember how i said i peed? in the scary potty with the strange signs? well, i was unaware of the urine test at the time and right about now is when the nurse comes over and tells me to fill this plastic dixie cup half full. i told her i would try my best. so back into the freaky toilet i go and manage a 1/4 cup. she seems pleased so i don't stress and continue on my donation journey. a 1/4 of a clock later i am sitting in a room being asked a barrage of questions... have i had sex with a male who has had sex with another male since 1977? (no, at least i hope not! i don't typically try to sleep with gay men.. just saying) have i had sex with anyone that has traveled to or lived in BFE, east jesus nowhere, and/or ghana? (hm... nope!) have i ever injected an illegal drug? have i ever colored with a hunter green crayon? have i slept with anyone who has colored with a hunter green crayon? do i like long walks on the beach? what's my sign? i'm starting to feel like i might not be donating blood but perhaps applying for a position in the porn industry. no lady, i don't have AIDS or any other VD of any kind. i am healthy and happy and able oh my. she takes out a flashcard presentation on a giant spiral and begins to read to me. what is plasma.... what is it used for? don't smoke for 30 minutes after your donation. (eff word!) you might wanna barf halfway through your donation and or feel faint. good thing i'm laying down! air in your bloodstream is bad in large quantities... bad, very bad. (this is an important sentence to keep in mind for later) do i understand? do i still want to donate my plasma? yes and yes, thankyouverymuch.

and off we go to the room with trash bags on the windows. i assume it's for privacy but it feels a little like there might be fluids flying since it's plastic and not paper. woo. scary. so she hits my knee, looks in my ears and my eyes, listens to me breath (wheeze lol j/k), listens to my heart thump thump thumping away, pushes on my liver and my gallbladder, and we live happily ever after. time to donate some plasma y'all!!!

WOO HOO!!!!!

i am led into a room full of strange people, teresa isn't here yet and i am beginning to think that she didn't pass the iron test since the girl doesn't eat a ton of meat and we're too poor for salad. :) don't be jealous.... eat your damn veggies. everywhere i go i have a purple sign attached to my chart that says NEW DONOR! they even hang a cute little sign on my anticoagulant pouch that says WELCOME NEW DONOR! i'm surprised my needle didn't say... FOR NEW DONORS ONLY! i'd be ok with not announcing this fact as it seems that everyone else is a donation veteran. so the nice nurse hooks me up to my giant needle and 7 bags of something or other and my donation begins. did you know that plasma is yellow? 1/4 of the way through and teresa enters donation land. she begins her donation and i am happily giggling to myself that she has a NEW DONOR sign also. tee hee and in true teresa and kallay style... we entertain the room. our side of the room is laughing and happily donating their plasma. the lady next to teresa donates 1/4 bottle of green plasma and starts to drink sprite. not sure what the hell was going on there, but she sure was grumpy. guess she doesn't get her $40 today. better luck next time cruella.

t and i are happily chatting away about food and dane cook when all of a sudden i start beeping. LOUD! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEPY BEEEP BEEEPER BEEEEEP i'm alarmed. no, i'm scared shitless. i lean up on my chair as far as i can without showing my no no place (note to self: do not wear a skirt to donate plasma) and look at my screen and yeah... there's air in my line. oh fuck i'm gonna die!!! so i start harrassing the boy nurse patrick. "patrick!!!! i'm beeping!!!! hello patrick!!!??? what do i do??" as i consider ripping out my line the machine stops beeping and clams down to a quiet buzzing noise but all donation has been halted. patrick saunters over and says that the machine automatically shuts down if there is air in the line and removes the air. well thank the lord. and donation begins again with patrick happily pushing my button.

whew. dodged a bullet. who's afraid of air anyway? (ME!)

all of a sudden... i'm done. donation complete. i'm unhooked from the tubes and am told to hold about 50 gauze pads on my teeny hole. so i do. but then everyone starts giving advice. these fucking donation vets. know it alls. don't bend my arm. raise it above my head. walk around like a window licker. no no no!!! i will just fold a gauze pad in a little square, throw my band aid on and collect my $40. or not. patrick informs me that i may only wear the band aid out of the center. i cannot pass go or collect my $40 until the bleeding stops. i explain to patrick that it is freezing cold and therefore i could very well bleed to death if i continue to sit in this freezing cold room. my teeth are chattering you shit dumb. afraid of the plasma police. i obey and wait for my hole to clot. a few minutes later i am bandaided and ready for my payday.

this turns out to be the easiest part of the process! i'm given a piece of paper. told to go to the ATM, type in my 4 # password, enter my birth date and BOOM baby... here comes $40... in cash. real money! YAAAY! off to the car to wait for teresa. and 30 minutes later i am happily smoking away with an iodine stain and a band aid on my arm.

then we came home to this...

the little assholes. i love my dog but he gets mad at me sometimes. after 4 hours of crazy people, needles, and getting hit in the knee... i didn't want to clean up trash that i had already thrown away. what a couple of meanies.

they say the next time we donate it won't take as long... we'll see. no guarantees regarding the dog trash attack though.

my sweet precious woobie

2008-09-28T07:26:00.004-04:00

this morning at around 5:30 one of my very favorite friends passed away. she was kind and gentle. when she was younger she loved to stand up on our balcony and catch koosh balls (remember those!?) and then she would bat them back down so we could throw them again. her other hobbies included eating, sleeping, chasing hair things and strings... she was always a kitten at heart up until about a week ago.

she loved people and especially her other fur friends who over the years have included 2 cocker spaniels, 3 golden retrievers, and who knows how many cats, although her favorite was my other cat Madeline. she looooooved boys. they always trumped me when it was time to choose a lap. everyone loved her. she was the best cat i have ever had. she came with me through every move, every marriage and divorce, every heart break, every success.... she's been there. to cuddle with me and console me. she would lay her sweet little face on my hand and lick away tears. now, as i mourn her, all i want is her on my lap purring away.

olivia was born in november 1989. she had a great life, at one point weighing almost 15 lbs. she was a fighter. anytime she was sick she would fight it and come through. so many times i have thought that i was going to have to put her down but she always sprang back to life and continued on. even up until her peaceful rest she fought. when i saw her last night she refused to close her eyes. she just laid her head on my arm and held on with her other paw with the little strength she had left, staring straight ahead and sometimes looking up as if to say.... "thanks for being here with me."

i am completely heart broken. it's going to be hard leaving tomorrow, but i know she is in a better place now. no longer suffering from the paralyzation she experienced yesterday morning after having a stroke.

ugh my poor woobie.

rest peacefully my love.

Olivia "Woobie"
November 1989 - September 2008

the blogs are coming, the blogs are coming!

2008-09-25T23:50:00.003-04:00

really! according to myspace i have 87 blogs to move. that's kind of a little. so... be patient while i procrastinate. to quench your thirst... i'll post one of my faves. it's from January 25, 2007... enjoy!

I have to go grocery shopping today. On my new dumb budget. Ok, here it is. I love grocery shopping. It's always an adventure. I love getting a cart because mine is ALWAYS broken. It either veers right or left, maybe one of the wheels gets stuck, or it just makes a rockin' noise. I love walking through the produce section because people always look at me funny when I pick something up and put it back. I have zero etiquette when it comes to that. I'm not buying a nasty apple just because I touched it. I don't care. It'll make you wash your stupid food before you eat it (and you should anyway). You know the farmer picked his nose and the produce guy at the store is 16 and Lord knows where his hands have been. (I'm betting on no hot water.) I also love how there are 17 different kinds of ketchup, but it's hard to find 4 rolls of toilet paper. You may only buy 24 triple rolls.

I love how a lady will park her giant ass cart (I realize it's not ACTUALLY bigger than my own) in the middle of the aisle and then glare at you when you gently move it over so you can get past. You'd think it would be okay with her since she's at the OTHER end of the aisle. I love that I always forget to get dog food and then have to figure out a place for the 50lb. bag among the eggs, tomatoes, and glass jars of whatnot. I love looking for an ingredient that SHOULD be in the spice aisle but find it in the canned foods. I love when I spontaneously buy something not on my list.

My absolute favorite thing about the grocery store though has GOT to be checking out. It's the highlight of my bi-week. As an American I am always in a hurry even when I'm not, so I always look for the shortest aisle. A caution for Americans actually in a hurry. There's a reason there's only one person in this lane. It will be one of these three:

A) It's a new cashier. (New cashiers... can't find the code for bananas, don't know how to redeem a gift certificate, and bag slow.)

B) The person wanted their groceries to be rung up in 3 separate transactions, they bought the wrong juice, or forgot the bread. (I am NOT making fun of WIC people, don't even try it. I'm just making a factual observation.)

or (and this is my personal fave)

C) Manager register 3!! (BTW, said manager is either on a break, cleaning up glass and honey in aisle 80, or "didn't hear the call".)

I always get the short aisle. And I always stand in line for 20 minutes without fail. A theory is that I could go grocery shopping 5 times and get 12 items each time and check out in the self checkout lane, but guess who's in the self checkout? Yeah. Foreigners... who can't read English. Or old people, who can't figure out that you have to put the ITEM IN THE BAG before scanning the next item.

Another of my favorite things about checking out...

I am anal about which food goes in which bag with which other food. I specifically place my food in such an order that it will end up this way when I get home for ease of stocking. However, not once have I figured out how the frozen stuff ends up with a cereal box in it. What. the. F. Then comes the bill...

I suck at food budgets. I do. Because I always think of something I want to make for the week and then I turn around and go searching through the aisles again. Then I get home and realize I forgot the chicken for it. Which then leads to another cart, another glare, another cashier and another messed up bag. All because I suck at food budgets. I get so excited when I finally get up to the cashier and slide my card that I forget about the amount that was just up on the screen. My receipt says, "Congratulations! You saved $0.09!!" with a big red circle around it like I'm awesome, so I must be. Then I get home and shudder.

But I do like grocery shopping. The shopping part. I like looking at food. Smelling produce, finding the squarest box, getting the last _____. It's fun! Especially when the aisle hog wanted it.

Well, off I go. With a list. *boo* And a budget. *hiss*