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...
Thursday, November 5, 2009
"the gays"
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:
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.
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.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
an exercise in writing
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.
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.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
i found love in chicago...
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.
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.
Friday, September 11, 2009
things that should not occur during the week you quit smoking...
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.
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.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Coffee and Cheese? (an article submission... oo! fancy!)
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.
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.
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