dear chef 1, i know how to cook beans.
dear chef 2, i know how to cook beans.
dear chef 3, i know how to cook the shit out of some motherfucking beans now shut your trap and leave me alone so i can cook some goddamn beans.
thank you.
Showing posts with label work much?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work much?. Show all posts
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
hey guess what!? uh, nevermind...
this past weekend at work was kind of a blur, all the days seemed to blend into one another. i remember at one point there were bag pipes in a cafe (which sounded amazing), ancient books in the new york historical society, and lots and lots and lots and lots of onions.
i almost cried tears of pain for the blister developing on my right hand, but then i didn't want the onions to think they were getting the better of me so i stifled my tears out of sheer stubbornness.
by saturday afternoon i had experienced such a range of randomness that i got the brilliant idea to start another blog dedicated solely to my stories of working in a kitchen, or 'cooking room' as i was once dumb enough to say when i couldn't think of the word kitchen fast enough.
but by sunday evening i had already talked myself out of that idea for several reasons, not the least of which being that it would be harder to keep up the veil of annonymity regarding my place of employment when all i did was talk about my job.
then i realized that i tend to do things like that a lot. i come up with ideas or plans for things and then give myself time to rationalize my way out of following through. i don't know if i think this is a good thing or a bad thing, but i can say that it's definitely a pattern.
yet sometimes the opposite type of characteristic can also be true. if i find myself in a particularly spontaneous situation, i have a hard time saying no to pretty much anything. lucky for me b is slightly more grounded or else we could have been married by a dancing elvis in vegas.
what that all amounts to is basically i give myself liscense to bullshit about anything at any time and just blame it on being wishy washy.
maybe i'll start a cooking room blog someday, or maybe i'll just talk about the time that i thought about doing it. either way, i still have a full-time schedule ahead of me loaded with the promise of interestingness to come.
i almost cried tears of pain for the blister developing on my right hand, but then i didn't want the onions to think they were getting the better of me so i stifled my tears out of sheer stubbornness.
by saturday afternoon i had experienced such a range of randomness that i got the brilliant idea to start another blog dedicated solely to my stories of working in a kitchen, or 'cooking room' as i was once dumb enough to say when i couldn't think of the word kitchen fast enough.
but by sunday evening i had already talked myself out of that idea for several reasons, not the least of which being that it would be harder to keep up the veil of annonymity regarding my place of employment when all i did was talk about my job.
then i realized that i tend to do things like that a lot. i come up with ideas or plans for things and then give myself time to rationalize my way out of following through. i don't know if i think this is a good thing or a bad thing, but i can say that it's definitely a pattern.
yet sometimes the opposite type of characteristic can also be true. if i find myself in a particularly spontaneous situation, i have a hard time saying no to pretty much anything. lucky for me b is slightly more grounded or else we could have been married by a dancing elvis in vegas.
what that all amounts to is basically i give myself liscense to bullshit about anything at any time and just blame it on being wishy washy.
maybe i'll start a cooking room blog someday, or maybe i'll just talk about the time that i thought about doing it. either way, i still have a full-time schedule ahead of me loaded with the promise of interestingness to come.
Monday, March 22, 2010
not about sailboats, although now that you mention it i'd love to have one
hi blogland, it's me, lana. i've had a lot on my plate lately, literally.
yesterday i ate poison at work.
it wasn't as bad as i would have expected it to be, although the taste took a few hours to fade away. but at least i saved some people from potential death and their relatives from the hassle of a lawsuit, not to mention my boss's job.
i was just commenting to a friend recently about how much i enjoy having a career that always offers something new and different with each day, as opposed to sitting in the same desk in the same office. i would have never experienced how easy it is to confuse a chemical de-greaser with cooking oil had i chosen a different path.
additionally, i am now realizing that my miniskirts from six years ago might still fit, but that doesn't mean that i should be wearing them. this does not upset me, however the fact that i kind of want to keep a few of the nicer ones for my daughter should she ever want to wear them some sixteen years from now is quite bothersome. am i a hoarder in the making?
it's almost too disturbing to think about. instead i think i'll go marvel at my amazing natural wonder, a siamese strawberry i found like a treasure hidden amongst all the regular berries. behold:
you know you want one too.
ps. where did my spell check go?
pps. and what is with all the spam? have i really been gone that long?
yesterday i ate poison at work.
it wasn't as bad as i would have expected it to be, although the taste took a few hours to fade away. but at least i saved some people from potential death and their relatives from the hassle of a lawsuit, not to mention my boss's job.
i was just commenting to a friend recently about how much i enjoy having a career that always offers something new and different with each day, as opposed to sitting in the same desk in the same office. i would have never experienced how easy it is to confuse a chemical de-greaser with cooking oil had i chosen a different path.
additionally, i am now realizing that my miniskirts from six years ago might still fit, but that doesn't mean that i should be wearing them. this does not upset me, however the fact that i kind of want to keep a few of the nicer ones for my daughter should she ever want to wear them some sixteen years from now is quite bothersome. am i a hoarder in the making?
it's almost too disturbing to think about. instead i think i'll go marvel at my amazing natural wonder, a siamese strawberry i found like a treasure hidden amongst all the regular berries. behold:
you know you want one too.
ps. where did my spell check go?
pps. and what is with all the spam? have i really been gone that long?
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
he said what?!
the man was tall, but not big. his roundness was evenly distributed for his height. his greying hair peeked out around the edges of his well worn cap.
his clothes looked as if they'd been washed a thousand times over, soft spots in the fabric were easily noticeable. the man's smile was friendly, despite the jagged bits of teeth that seemed to dance in every direction across his mouth.
the pungent, yet not altogether unpleasant odor of white lilies hung in the air as he rinsed their stems in the sink. his eyes were focused intently upon the work at his hands.
and so, with this initial impression, i was disarmed.
as i washed my hands in the adjacent sink, we said our polite hellos. i turned my back to him as i reached for the paper towels to dry my hands, thinking our exchange was complete.
'so you work here, in the kitchen?' he asked me as i walked back to my table.
i answered him with a friendly smile of my own, and a simple yes.
'what do you do, work the salad bar?'
this was confusing to me, someone who tends to take things literally more often than not, as there was no salad bar anywhere in the manor house that we catered events from. i may have shown this in my face with some sort of unattractive brow wrinkling and nose twisting. his next remark was more to his point.
'i mean, all you do is make salads and stuff, right?'
oh. i finally got his implication, that because i'm a woman my job must be to make salad. the old florist was, in his sexist way, just trying to make conversation.
i asked him, 'why would you assume that? because i'm a woman?'
his grin was wide, his eyes sparkled at my eventually coming to understand his statement. this must have made him feel more comfortable. 'yeah, that's it. because, you don't cook here, all by yourself.'
that last part wasn't a question.
while i felt my face flush and my palms sweat, i knew that i was very, very close to saying some rude things to this man, this stranger who had only minutes before won me over with his gentle touch of the beautiful lilies.
the insult that i felt was growing exponentially by the second as my brain took his friendly smile and then interpreted it as smug. at the peak of my indignation, however, i realized that no matter what i said his opinion would never be changed.
i opened up my knife bag and took out my eight inch suisson chef's knife. its carved wooden handle, slim and molded to my grip, and it's gleaming stainless steel blade sharp enough to cut bone, helped me to center my thoughts and block out the man's ignorance.
at least, i thought to myself, i have a way cooler weapon than your words, old man.
his clothes looked as if they'd been washed a thousand times over, soft spots in the fabric were easily noticeable. the man's smile was friendly, despite the jagged bits of teeth that seemed to dance in every direction across his mouth.
the pungent, yet not altogether unpleasant odor of white lilies hung in the air as he rinsed their stems in the sink. his eyes were focused intently upon the work at his hands.
and so, with this initial impression, i was disarmed.
as i washed my hands in the adjacent sink, we said our polite hellos. i turned my back to him as i reached for the paper towels to dry my hands, thinking our exchange was complete.
'so you work here, in the kitchen?' he asked me as i walked back to my table.
i answered him with a friendly smile of my own, and a simple yes.
'what do you do, work the salad bar?'
this was confusing to me, someone who tends to take things literally more often than not, as there was no salad bar anywhere in the manor house that we catered events from. i may have shown this in my face with some sort of unattractive brow wrinkling and nose twisting. his next remark was more to his point.
'i mean, all you do is make salads and stuff, right?'
oh. i finally got his implication, that because i'm a woman my job must be to make salad. the old florist was, in his sexist way, just trying to make conversation.
i asked him, 'why would you assume that? because i'm a woman?'
his grin was wide, his eyes sparkled at my eventually coming to understand his statement. this must have made him feel more comfortable. 'yeah, that's it. because, you don't cook here, all by yourself.'
that last part wasn't a question.
while i felt my face flush and my palms sweat, i knew that i was very, very close to saying some rude things to this man, this stranger who had only minutes before won me over with his gentle touch of the beautiful lilies.
the insult that i felt was growing exponentially by the second as my brain took his friendly smile and then interpreted it as smug. at the peak of my indignation, however, i realized that no matter what i said his opinion would never be changed.
i opened up my knife bag and took out my eight inch suisson chef's knife. its carved wooden handle, slim and molded to my grip, and it's gleaming stainless steel blade sharp enough to cut bone, helped me to center my thoughts and block out the man's ignorance.
at least, i thought to myself, i have a way cooler weapon than your words, old man.
Friday, October 16, 2009
time travel is possible
today i will not be screaming fuck you, google.
no friends, today, google has supplied me with a good hearty chuckle served up with a side of humility.
i went back to look at my very first emails in my gmail account from january 2005. if i remembered the password or wasn't so lazy, i'd try to login to my hotmail account from college. i'm sure there's more than a few gems there.
but back to google. my pal google here has reminded me of some funny stuff, that i, as an elephant, have surprisingly forgotten. the very first email convo was enough to make crack the fuck up, but i think i need to set the stage a little bit for you.
b and i had been dating about a year and had recently moved out of our home town to where we reside now. i had taken a part time office job while looking for something more permanent. i've never, ever had a desk job before this or after this.
i was an assistant for a concrete company, basically doing logistics and admin shit. needless to say, i was bored out of my mind. i played on the internet all day long, pretending to be ordering supplies from staples. also, i sent many emails to just about anyone i knew about the minutiae of my day.
so there it is, the first thing i read this morning was a string of emails about a black ops garbage conspiracy and a shit-talker. and i don't mean shit-talker like someone who badmouths someone else, but literally, a man who talked on his cell phone while he took a shit. and by talked on his cell phone i mean made sales calls to clients.
reading words of mine from so long ago almost felt as if i was a new observer in the whole situation, sort of like when you hear your own voice recorded and played back for you.
my tone was goofy, a bit condescending, and definitely full of curses. i even ended the final email with 'TMB forever'. (for 'that's my balls' reference please go here).
is that really how i talk/write? it was funny, but also, a bit shocking to see evidence of a style that appears to be unchanged over the course of many years. i used to want to be a career writer. i used to want to write for fabulous foodie magazines and talk about the intricacies of different dishes. i imagined i could have flexibility and employ a safe amount of creativity in my career.
then i took a close look at food writers and realized how awful they are. not only does most food writing read like sandpaper in your mouth, but it manages to destroy everything about food that i love so much with nitpicking. not to mention that my 'style' is apparently not mature or dry enough to be very successful.
so now i blog. i write here on this little slice of internet in hopes of learning more and more about my writing style and to see if there is such a thing as a career in writing, for me at least. maybe, years from now i'll look back on these posts and reflect about how they have or haven't helped to shape my voice.
do you go back in time to read your old words? do you like what you find? i'm curious to know if you experience more fluctuations in subject matter and tone of voice or if your style is inherent and will show in your writing no matter what the topic.
no friends, today, google has supplied me with a good hearty chuckle served up with a side of humility.
i went back to look at my very first emails in my gmail account from january 2005. if i remembered the password or wasn't so lazy, i'd try to login to my hotmail account from college. i'm sure there's more than a few gems there.
but back to google. my pal google here has reminded me of some funny stuff, that i, as an elephant, have surprisingly forgotten. the very first email convo was enough to make crack the fuck up, but i think i need to set the stage a little bit for you.
b and i had been dating about a year and had recently moved out of our home town to where we reside now. i had taken a part time office job while looking for something more permanent. i've never, ever had a desk job before this or after this.
i was an assistant for a concrete company, basically doing logistics and admin shit. needless to say, i was bored out of my mind. i played on the internet all day long, pretending to be ordering supplies from staples. also, i sent many emails to just about anyone i knew about the minutiae of my day.
so there it is, the first thing i read this morning was a string of emails about a black ops garbage conspiracy and a shit-talker. and i don't mean shit-talker like someone who badmouths someone else, but literally, a man who talked on his cell phone while he took a shit. and by talked on his cell phone i mean made sales calls to clients.
reading words of mine from so long ago almost felt as if i was a new observer in the whole situation, sort of like when you hear your own voice recorded and played back for you.
my tone was goofy, a bit condescending, and definitely full of curses. i even ended the final email with 'TMB forever'. (for 'that's my balls' reference please go here).
is that really how i talk/write? it was funny, but also, a bit shocking to see evidence of a style that appears to be unchanged over the course of many years. i used to want to be a career writer. i used to want to write for fabulous foodie magazines and talk about the intricacies of different dishes. i imagined i could have flexibility and employ a safe amount of creativity in my career.
then i took a close look at food writers and realized how awful they are. not only does most food writing read like sandpaper in your mouth, but it manages to destroy everything about food that i love so much with nitpicking. not to mention that my 'style' is apparently not mature or dry enough to be very successful.
so now i blog. i write here on this little slice of internet in hopes of learning more and more about my writing style and to see if there is such a thing as a career in writing, for me at least. maybe, years from now i'll look back on these posts and reflect about how they have or haven't helped to shape my voice.
do you go back in time to read your old words? do you like what you find? i'm curious to know if you experience more fluctuations in subject matter and tone of voice or if your style is inherent and will show in your writing no matter what the topic.
Friday, September 4, 2009
don't make me stick a strawberry up your nose
to anyone who is planning, thinking of planning, or might ever in the next twenty years plan a catered event, if you make me plate up this strawberry monstrosity i will guarantee that you will never want to see another strawberry for the rest of your life.
please excuse the drawing, i wasn't exactly in the mood to take photographs the last time this asshole dessert and i were together. it might look all sweet and refined on the outside, but really, it's just that mean bitch you knew growing up who thrived on taunting you ceaselessly.
maybe a dessert can't call you dumb, but it sure as hell can make you look dumb when you have exactly twelve minutes to assemble a few hundred plates and ole strawberry shit decides to have ten million components.
please excuse the drawing, i wasn't exactly in the mood to take photographs the last time this asshole dessert and i were together. it might look all sweet and refined on the outside, but really, it's just that mean bitch you knew growing up who thrived on taunting you ceaselessly.
maybe a dessert can't call you dumb, but it sure as hell can make you look dumb when you have exactly twelve minutes to assemble a few hundred plates and ole strawberry shit decides to have ten million components.
enough with all the specific timing bullshit too, you dumbass dessert. the mousse has to temper but not too long or the ice cream will melt, the panna cotta has to be chilled so that the soup can be poured over it warm, mint oil last so it doesn't bleed into the sauce....AAAHHH!!
ok. i feel better now. sometimes i just need to let it all out.
even though this pain in the ass is on the menu for my shift at work tonight, i'm also working with hook-up chef. actually, i think he's officially slutty chef now that he's moved on to hitting on barely legal waitresses in front of the whole kitchen. regardless, he's sure to provide some form of disturbing yet engrossing display of inappropriate behavior to make me forget all about strawberry shit, for a little while anyway.
on that note, i hope everyone has a fantastic holiday weekend! i know i will, labor day means octoberfest is right around the corner!
ps. i'm still working on my blogtastic giveaway, but i haven't forgotten. i'll have info and pics soon!
Monday, August 24, 2009
i know a guy who actually says 'make that paper' when he means 'go to work'
sometimes it seems that having a potty mouth can bite you in the ass.
there are many times at work that i find myself fantasizing about how nice it would feel to tell the customers what i really think. for example, come on people, you're not allergic to parsley, just say you don't like it. the chef will be slightly less annoyed with you if you're honest and don't try to make up a bullshit allergy.
but our customers never see the inside of the kitchen or get to look the chef in the face. perhaps that enables them to be more demanding. and we never see them so maybe it's easier for us to assume they're being difficult because they have nothing better to do. i can't say for sure, but i do know that not one night at work goes by without at least a few customers submitting some absurd requests, followed by a healthy bitch-fest by a chef.
then i heard about the wiener circle in chicago. their unique flavor of customer service, while amusing to many, was actually developed out of need. the customer base is largely drunk white people leaving the bars. the mostly black employees shout gems like 'how many motherfucking cheese fries do you want?!'
for many at this particular food establishment, it's how they support their families, even if that means taking insults from drunks calling them all kinds of degrading racial slurs.
i found this video of the trash talkers in action, it's taken from a tv program so it's a bit long. right around the 2:25 minute mark you meet poochie, the manager, who seems to be great at what she does. around the 5:00 minute mark, she talks about some of the customers who get a little too carried away with the shit talking.
i'm not exactly sure how long i'd be able to put up with that kind of talk at my job. or maybe i just don't like drunk people. or then again, maybe it'd be different because even the jew slurs don't bother me, and i can't imagine anything someone could say that's not specific to me personally that would upset me.
what do you think? would you last at the wiener circle, or would you prefer to do your shit talking behind closed doors?
there are many times at work that i find myself fantasizing about how nice it would feel to tell the customers what i really think. for example, come on people, you're not allergic to parsley, just say you don't like it. the chef will be slightly less annoyed with you if you're honest and don't try to make up a bullshit allergy.
but our customers never see the inside of the kitchen or get to look the chef in the face. perhaps that enables them to be more demanding. and we never see them so maybe it's easier for us to assume they're being difficult because they have nothing better to do. i can't say for sure, but i do know that not one night at work goes by without at least a few customers submitting some absurd requests, followed by a healthy bitch-fest by a chef.
then i heard about the wiener circle in chicago. their unique flavor of customer service, while amusing to many, was actually developed out of need. the customer base is largely drunk white people leaving the bars. the mostly black employees shout gems like 'how many motherfucking cheese fries do you want?!'
for many at this particular food establishment, it's how they support their families, even if that means taking insults from drunks calling them all kinds of degrading racial slurs.
i found this video of the trash talkers in action, it's taken from a tv program so it's a bit long. right around the 2:25 minute mark you meet poochie, the manager, who seems to be great at what she does. around the 5:00 minute mark, she talks about some of the customers who get a little too carried away with the shit talking.
i'm not exactly sure how long i'd be able to put up with that kind of talk at my job. or maybe i just don't like drunk people. or then again, maybe it'd be different because even the jew slurs don't bother me, and i can't imagine anything someone could say that's not specific to me personally that would upset me.
what do you think? would you last at the wiener circle, or would you prefer to do your shit talking behind closed doors?
Friday, July 10, 2009
not me, no way, no how, not ever
last night b and i went to a reception dinner to welcome the new regional managing co-operative district chief financial directing big boss. so what i made up that title, not like anyone ever really knows what those guys do anyway. the guy seems nice enough though, despite what i initially thought of him based purely on a picture.
the funny part was that the dinner was held at the estate where i work. so there we were, all dressed up in a room of 200 plus white collar, conservative, finance people, and i was busy bullshitting with the waitstaff. although i have to say that many of them didn't recognize me with my hair down and no chef whites on, so i had to have that awkward 'oh yeah it's me, i showered' conversation a few times.
but more importantly, i have to say that last night taught me a very, very valuable lesson. i learned exactly what type of old lady i do not want to become.
to be fair, this lesson actually started on tuesday morning when i was in traffic court. the sweet little old gal sitting next to me, someone's grandmother, seemed so helpless and scared about how to talk to the officer about her ticket. she kept leaning in to ask me what to do next, because i look like the kind of criminal who's seen the inside of a courtroom a few times yet is still reasonably approachable.
maybe she's psychic, but i was happy to answer her questions, hoping to make her experience a little less intimidating.
that is, until she began her relentless onslaught of fart bombs. i think she may have been having flashbacks to the first world war, and her subconscious released her own version of lethal gas to protect herself from any possible attackers.
she shrouded me with her clouds of stink, and still looked me in the eye to ask about when to stand up and talk to the cop.
devious as a black widow, masterful in her craft of luring you in just to poison you while you innocently offer advice, she was a rattlesnake in the grass, coiled and ready to strike. no granny, i do not want to be like you when i get old. it seems you have cornered the market on sweet and deadly, i could never dream of following in your footsteps.
she wasn't even the worst of the old lady gang.
last night i had the pleasure of sitting next to old secretary lady, who's biggest offense was the pearl-sized orange ball of ear wax perilously nestled inside her ear, ready to make its escape at the very slightest of head turns.
i tried not to stare.
it was incredibly hard to make small talk with b's other co-workers while at the same time keeping one eye on the crystallized ball of nasty just waiting to roll out onto my miso glazed chilean sea bass and blend right in with the papaya chutney. it was a cruel game. i knew if i wasn't vigilant i would end up eating the wax and be none the wiser.
so naturally i shoveled my food into my gaping mouth as fast as i possibly could so that i could retreat to the ladies room and wrestle with my spanx for about twenty minutes. i figured in that time old secretary lady would have finished her dinner and maybe gotten up to mingle.
i didn't know what i had inadvertently set myself up for.
in the bathroom stall next to me, as i struggled to get my spandexy undies back in place, i had to listen to oversharing old lady making vag farts and ugghhhhh noises. as i barely managed to keep my dinner in my stomach, she proclaimed 'that's how you know the food was goooood!!'
i tried to wash up and exit the restroom before she emerged from the stall, but alas, that was not my fate. no, oversharing lady had to reach right in front of my face to grab a hand towel while i retched silently.
'even these towels are nice here!!' she said with a grin.
i hung my head and ran out the door, never looking back.
and so, with these fine examples laid before my feet, i now know that i will make the effort to become a very different type of old lady. i will smell perpetually of fresh mint leaves and sit in a rocking chair knitting ceaselessly, even in the summers. i will not threaten innocent people with my bodily excretions in any state of matter.
i hereby do declare that i will be a truly harmless old lady. unless of course you try to talk shit about my driving, then i'll be forced to beat you with my cane.
the funny part was that the dinner was held at the estate where i work. so there we were, all dressed up in a room of 200 plus white collar, conservative, finance people, and i was busy bullshitting with the waitstaff. although i have to say that many of them didn't recognize me with my hair down and no chef whites on, so i had to have that awkward 'oh yeah it's me, i showered' conversation a few times.
but more importantly, i have to say that last night taught me a very, very valuable lesson. i learned exactly what type of old lady i do not want to become.
to be fair, this lesson actually started on tuesday morning when i was in traffic court. the sweet little old gal sitting next to me, someone's grandmother, seemed so helpless and scared about how to talk to the officer about her ticket. she kept leaning in to ask me what to do next, because i look like the kind of criminal who's seen the inside of a courtroom a few times yet is still reasonably approachable.
maybe she's psychic, but i was happy to answer her questions, hoping to make her experience a little less intimidating.
that is, until she began her relentless onslaught of fart bombs. i think she may have been having flashbacks to the first world war, and her subconscious released her own version of lethal gas to protect herself from any possible attackers.
she shrouded me with her clouds of stink, and still looked me in the eye to ask about when to stand up and talk to the cop.
devious as a black widow, masterful in her craft of luring you in just to poison you while you innocently offer advice, she was a rattlesnake in the grass, coiled and ready to strike. no granny, i do not want to be like you when i get old. it seems you have cornered the market on sweet and deadly, i could never dream of following in your footsteps.
she wasn't even the worst of the old lady gang.
last night i had the pleasure of sitting next to old secretary lady, who's biggest offense was the pearl-sized orange ball of ear wax perilously nestled inside her ear, ready to make its escape at the very slightest of head turns.
i tried not to stare.
it was incredibly hard to make small talk with b's other co-workers while at the same time keeping one eye on the crystallized ball of nasty just waiting to roll out onto my miso glazed chilean sea bass and blend right in with the papaya chutney. it was a cruel game. i knew if i wasn't vigilant i would end up eating the wax and be none the wiser.
so naturally i shoveled my food into my gaping mouth as fast as i possibly could so that i could retreat to the ladies room and wrestle with my spanx for about twenty minutes. i figured in that time old secretary lady would have finished her dinner and maybe gotten up to mingle.
i didn't know what i had inadvertently set myself up for.
in the bathroom stall next to me, as i struggled to get my spandexy undies back in place, i had to listen to oversharing old lady making vag farts and ugghhhhh noises. as i barely managed to keep my dinner in my stomach, she proclaimed 'that's how you know the food was goooood!!'
i tried to wash up and exit the restroom before she emerged from the stall, but alas, that was not my fate. no, oversharing lady had to reach right in front of my face to grab a hand towel while i retched silently.
'even these towels are nice here!!' she said with a grin.
i hung my head and ran out the door, never looking back.
and so, with these fine examples laid before my feet, i now know that i will make the effort to become a very different type of old lady. i will smell perpetually of fresh mint leaves and sit in a rocking chair knitting ceaselessly, even in the summers. i will not threaten innocent people with my bodily excretions in any state of matter.
i hereby do declare that i will be a truly harmless old lady. unless of course you try to talk shit about my driving, then i'll be forced to beat you with my cane.
Monday, June 29, 2009
there's no segue good enough for this mess
i'm back blog, did you miss me?! whatever, not like i have anything earth shattering to talk about, just a few random stories of weirdness. but before i get started, i have to send a huge thanks to kristine for hooking me up with a funny and nostalgic post and reminding me that my shoulders used to be real bony. and also a hello and thanks for stopping by(!) to the new readers that she may have lured over here with promises of who knows what.
after my much needed mini vaca to cape cod, i returned home to jump right back into my routine of work and more work. saturday night i was catering a wedding for about 300 people. the decor looked strikingly similar to the wedding scene in beetleguese, but the blood red calla lilies and black lamps on the tables wasn't the weird part. what struck me as being a little over the top, not to mention an unnecessary mixing of genres, was the troupe of midgets dressed up as oompa loompas.
those little guys were lingering in the kitchen, watching us plate up 300 pain-in-the-ass tiny little plates of a dessert sampler, in full costume. when i first saw them i almost giggled and clapped, but then i realized just how out of place they were. they didn't talk much. in fact, they all looked extremely bored and put out. maybe that was their defense against the question we were all dying to ask, 'what exactly are you guys going to be doing here?'
i never found out. by the time my boss said 'aqui, chula, take some chickens for your husband' their act had yet to start.
maybe that's for the better anyway, those fuckers always scared the shit out of me in the movie.
as i related the story of my night to b, he reminded me about another uncomfortable food-related situation. it must have been last summer, because i was in that 'i'm so pregnant my baby might come out if i fart too loudly' condition, and also because we were at the hospital for the baby classes. being unable to waddle too far, we ate lunch at the hospital cafeteria. b ordered two hot dogs, thinking that that was a reasonable request.
what he got looked like this:
i know that's a piss poor job of photoshopping two hot dogs into one bun, but it really was the best i could find. no, what b got was actually worse. it was two sorry looking naked dogs nestled into one bun, but they gave him two. so on his plate were two buns and four dogs. the chick behind the counter looked at him like he had three heads when he asked for two more buns.
the real humor was the fact that he ate the weird dogs out of desperate hunger.
he felt so dirty afterwards, like as if someone had made him watch a bad porn or something else comparably naughty.
he made me promise not to tell anyone that he really ate the weird dogs.
sorry b.
even more bizarre than the double dog incident was the first time i met bill murray.
bill is a good friend of the restaurateur i used to work for. he was in and out of the different kitchens of the restaurants my former boss owned, and he even showed up to our summer picnic one year and played on our softball team.
as you can imagine, he's a total wacko in person. not only does he look about thirty years older than he really is, but he dresses in those old polyester blazers and shirts that look like the stereotypical garb an old, bumbling geezer would wear. i don't know if it's a deliberate effort or not, but it only adds to his oddball persona that he's developed over the years.
so the first time i met him i was working at my station, getting ready for dinner service. i was so intent on chopping scallions or whatever the fuck it was that i didn't even see him until he was about four inches from my face on the other side of the pass line (the shelf where you put plates for pick up). my boss introduced me to him and he mumbled something indiscernible and stuck two fingers at me through the pass, at about chin height.
two fingers for me to shake in some weird alternate version of a handshake.
i didn't even want to touch him, i almost yelled out loud 'what the fuck?!'
but i saw my boss nod subtly at the fingers and i just took a deep breath and did it. i shook his fingers and said some 'nice to meet you' crap, all the while wondering if this was something he did with everyone, or did he think that i couldn't handle exposure to all five digits on his right hand.
not that i dislike the man, but come on. two fingers?!
i still feel like scowling and shifting my weight uncomfortably when i think about it.
and now, some cuteness for a little balance:
little miss was way too annoyed about not being able to crawl after the dead jellyfish washed up on the beach to co-operate for a nice photo shoot. but these two in their tankinis was worth me stepping on a little dirty jelly and slimey seaweed.
of course, getting trapped by a rapidly rising tide with a stroller laden like a packing mule might have been a little too much. thanks miss, for at least not protesting to being carted over an acre of beach rocks while mommy scrambled for saftey.
after my much needed mini vaca to cape cod, i returned home to jump right back into my routine of work and more work. saturday night i was catering a wedding for about 300 people. the decor looked strikingly similar to the wedding scene in beetleguese, but the blood red calla lilies and black lamps on the tables wasn't the weird part. what struck me as being a little over the top, not to mention an unnecessary mixing of genres, was the troupe of midgets dressed up as oompa loompas.
those little guys were lingering in the kitchen, watching us plate up 300 pain-in-the-ass tiny little plates of a dessert sampler, in full costume. when i first saw them i almost giggled and clapped, but then i realized just how out of place they were. they didn't talk much. in fact, they all looked extremely bored and put out. maybe that was their defense against the question we were all dying to ask, 'what exactly are you guys going to be doing here?'
i never found out. by the time my boss said 'aqui, chula, take some chickens for your husband' their act had yet to start.
maybe that's for the better anyway, those fuckers always scared the shit out of me in the movie.
as i related the story of my night to b, he reminded me about another uncomfortable food-related situation. it must have been last summer, because i was in that 'i'm so pregnant my baby might come out if i fart too loudly' condition, and also because we were at the hospital for the baby classes. being unable to waddle too far, we ate lunch at the hospital cafeteria. b ordered two hot dogs, thinking that that was a reasonable request.
what he got looked like this:
i know that's a piss poor job of photoshopping two hot dogs into one bun, but it really was the best i could find. no, what b got was actually worse. it was two sorry looking naked dogs nestled into one bun, but they gave him two. so on his plate were two buns and four dogs. the chick behind the counter looked at him like he had three heads when he asked for two more buns.
the real humor was the fact that he ate the weird dogs out of desperate hunger.
he felt so dirty afterwards, like as if someone had made him watch a bad porn or something else comparably naughty.
he made me promise not to tell anyone that he really ate the weird dogs.
sorry b.
even more bizarre than the double dog incident was the first time i met bill murray.
bill is a good friend of the restaurateur i used to work for. he was in and out of the different kitchens of the restaurants my former boss owned, and he even showed up to our summer picnic one year and played on our softball team.
as you can imagine, he's a total wacko in person. not only does he look about thirty years older than he really is, but he dresses in those old polyester blazers and shirts that look like the stereotypical garb an old, bumbling geezer would wear. i don't know if it's a deliberate effort or not, but it only adds to his oddball persona that he's developed over the years.
so the first time i met him i was working at my station, getting ready for dinner service. i was so intent on chopping scallions or whatever the fuck it was that i didn't even see him until he was about four inches from my face on the other side of the pass line (the shelf where you put plates for pick up). my boss introduced me to him and he mumbled something indiscernible and stuck two fingers at me through the pass, at about chin height.
two fingers for me to shake in some weird alternate version of a handshake.
i didn't even want to touch him, i almost yelled out loud 'what the fuck?!'
but i saw my boss nod subtly at the fingers and i just took a deep breath and did it. i shook his fingers and said some 'nice to meet you' crap, all the while wondering if this was something he did with everyone, or did he think that i couldn't handle exposure to all five digits on his right hand.
not that i dislike the man, but come on. two fingers?!
i still feel like scowling and shifting my weight uncomfortably when i think about it.
and now, some cuteness for a little balance:
little miss was way too annoyed about not being able to crawl after the dead jellyfish washed up on the beach to co-operate for a nice photo shoot. but these two in their tankinis was worth me stepping on a little dirty jelly and slimey seaweed.
of course, getting trapped by a rapidly rising tide with a stroller laden like a packing mule might have been a little too much. thanks miss, for at least not protesting to being carted over an acre of beach rocks while mommy scrambled for saftey.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
fried = fancy
what do four culinary school graduates do for fun in their spare time? curious you should ask, i was just about to tell you anyway.
what we definitely don't do is go to trendy restaurants and analyze the various components and techniques used in our meals. instead we get together at places like this where it's ok to throw your peanut shells on the floor and the house specialty is fried pickles.
oh yes. you heard that right, fried pickles, and they're fucking fantastic.
sometimes it's the ease of junk food that lets people enjoy themselves more than the expectation of culinary wonders ever could.
you can have your fancy dressing-up and sterling flatware and countless courses of tiny things. i'll always prefer foods that can be eaten with one hand allowing me to hold a beer in the other.
i think that's what the marketing suits had in mind behind this gem:
the 'big az chicken' can be found in corner stores all over this great land of ours. its simplicity lends a hand in its success. sometimes, people just want a big ass chicken sandwich.
how could you argue with that logic?
and now, if you'll excuse me, i'm off to work where i will prepare thousands of hor d'ourves for people all dressed up in uncomfortable clothes.
what we definitely don't do is go to trendy restaurants and analyze the various components and techniques used in our meals. instead we get together at places like this where it's ok to throw your peanut shells on the floor and the house specialty is fried pickles.
oh yes. you heard that right, fried pickles, and they're fucking fantastic.
sometimes it's the ease of junk food that lets people enjoy themselves more than the expectation of culinary wonders ever could.
you can have your fancy dressing-up and sterling flatware and countless courses of tiny things. i'll always prefer foods that can be eaten with one hand allowing me to hold a beer in the other.
i think that's what the marketing suits had in mind behind this gem:
the 'big az chicken' can be found in corner stores all over this great land of ours. its simplicity lends a hand in its success. sometimes, people just want a big ass chicken sandwich.
how could you argue with that logic?
and now, if you'll excuse me, i'm off to work where i will prepare thousands of hor d'ourves for people all dressed up in uncomfortable clothes.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
i miss you too!
hi blog! it'sa meeeee, maaaaaaaaaarriiiooooo!!! no, it's not. it's just plain old me, no cartoon plumber in sight.
it's been a while since we've spent some quality time together. i'm starting to feel like you're another kid that i have to take care of and nurture and shit. fuck that, i have enough responsibility in my life. i need to get back to the way things used to be, where we could tell silly stories and just enjoy a few laughs. no pressure.
over the past week there were a few things that i wish i could have shared with you, but for some reason i don't think i could get it together enough to spend more than five minutes at my computer. and when i did manage to find my way to the internet, it was only to play my neverending scrabble battle.
i thought for sure i was going to be able to write a nice cohesive post about safety coffins and those wackos out in arizona who buried themselves alive to see what it would feel like. talking about how bullshit it was that they had flashlights and sleeping bags in the graves would have done all the work for me.
instead, i'll just give you a picture.
then there's also the story about my unfortunate luck to be in the walk-in at work, carefully placing chives and chervil in their appropriate homes, at the exact moment that two of my coworkers decided a giant refrigerator was the perfect place to have a little secret sexy time.
there's no picture of that.
although, the respective spouses of the two in heat might appreciate a little photo evidence should they decide to go ahead with any divorces.
additionally, i think my dog might be spending some time doing things that i don't even want to imagine. $300 for the vet to tell us that his stank ear is caused by a thriving community of yeast feels like a punch in the babymaker. she gave us doggie monistat 7 and sent our little monster packing.
on a lighter note, perhaps the highlight of the week may have been when b came home from the gym, exceptionally proud of himself for his renewed commitment, claiming that 'in two months my muffin-tops are gonna be gone, son!'
and of course i have to throw some bloggy love to beckybecks who made me a lovely pic of her face on a stick body with huge tatas. we all know how i feel an unbridled kinship to any chick with huge tatas, those things are ridiculously hard to corral sometimes, i feel your pain becky! and thanks for the awesome pic!
so there it is, blog. i'll make a little more effort to not neglect you and maybe you could meet me in the middle somehow. i don't really know what that means, so i'm going to give you a day or two to figure it out.
love always,
your mom.
it's been a while since we've spent some quality time together. i'm starting to feel like you're another kid that i have to take care of and nurture and shit. fuck that, i have enough responsibility in my life. i need to get back to the way things used to be, where we could tell silly stories and just enjoy a few laughs. no pressure.
over the past week there were a few things that i wish i could have shared with you, but for some reason i don't think i could get it together enough to spend more than five minutes at my computer. and when i did manage to find my way to the internet, it was only to play my neverending scrabble battle.
i thought for sure i was going to be able to write a nice cohesive post about safety coffins and those wackos out in arizona who buried themselves alive to see what it would feel like. talking about how bullshit it was that they had flashlights and sleeping bags in the graves would have done all the work for me.
instead, i'll just give you a picture.
then there's also the story about my unfortunate luck to be in the walk-in at work, carefully placing chives and chervil in their appropriate homes, at the exact moment that two of my coworkers decided a giant refrigerator was the perfect place to have a little secret sexy time.
there's no picture of that.
although, the respective spouses of the two in heat might appreciate a little photo evidence should they decide to go ahead with any divorces.
additionally, i think my dog might be spending some time doing things that i don't even want to imagine. $300 for the vet to tell us that his stank ear is caused by a thriving community of yeast feels like a punch in the babymaker. she gave us doggie monistat 7 and sent our little monster packing.
on a lighter note, perhaps the highlight of the week may have been when b came home from the gym, exceptionally proud of himself for his renewed commitment, claiming that 'in two months my muffin-tops are gonna be gone, son!'
and of course i have to throw some bloggy love to beckybecks who made me a lovely pic of her face on a stick body with huge tatas. we all know how i feel an unbridled kinship to any chick with huge tatas, those things are ridiculously hard to corral sometimes, i feel your pain becky! and thanks for the awesome pic!
so there it is, blog. i'll make a little more effort to not neglect you and maybe you could meet me in the middle somehow. i don't really know what that means, so i'm going to give you a day or two to figure it out.
love always,
your mom.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
who's more annoying, me or me?
i realized this morning that i have this whole weekend off from work. i've been working so many weekends lately that i almost don't even know what to do with three days to myself. sometimes i'm so indecisive that it makes my head hurt, or maybe that's just a natural response to my multiple personalities battling it out in my brain.
either way, it dawned on me that i should probably take advantage of my sybil-esque tendencies and see what fruitful results i can elicit from deep within my psyche. this morning i took a very thorough survey of my peeps to see what they had to say about this whole 'free weekend' situation.
me: hey practicality, what do you think about this weekend? got any good ideas?
p: uh, how about vacuuming up this dirthole you live in for starters? then there's always laundry, grocery shopping, dishes, making baby food, more dishes....
me: yeah, ok i get it. you're boring, who's next?
me: what's up free spirit? what would you do with three days to yourself?
fs: oh hi! well let's see, i might take monster out for a really long hike up in silver mine or maybe even minnewaska. oooh, and i'd have to make sure i brought a notebook to capture any reflections i might be stricken with as i'm surrounded by nature's beauty. i might also want to start planting that garden i've been talking about. i could have all organic vegetables and then have some flowers on the edges to bring some harmony.
me: uh, that all sounds like work to me. i'm trying to not do any work here, maybe next time... i think i see paranoia over there, maybe she has something to offer.
me: paranoia, what the hell are you doing with all this foam padding stuff?
p: oh, just a little babyproofing.
me: um, i don't think monster is going to be very happy with padding on his feet. have you thought this through?
p: oh yes. this is exactly what the book said to do, cover ALL sharp objects in the house, and if you haven't noticed he's got some claws there.
me: o..k... you don't think that's a little extreme? i mean, he still has to walk, and it's not like the baby can get up onto his sleeping chair to mess with them.
p: uh-oh. is it too much? am i over-protecting? is little miss never going to learn to have natural boundaries? are other parents going to think she's spoiled? is she going to be able to make friends in kindergarten? is she...
me: that's enough! i gotta go see something, uh, over there. bye.
me: potty-mouth! you ol' bitchass! it's been too long!! maybe you can help me think of something to do this weekend. whattya got for me?
pm: for fuck's sake, enough with this indecisive bullshit. just get your ass out and do something already. b will be here to watch little miss, so you can go get shitfaced in the middle of the day if you want.
me: oooh that sounds fun! you coming?
pm: fuck that! it's supposed to rain. i don't go anywhere in the rain.
me: well, i can't exactly go out drinking in the middle of the day all alone. it's not that fun to get shitty and talk to myself.
pm: and that's so different from this crap you're pulling right now?
me: right. whatever. fuck off. i'm going to talk to laziness.
me: lazy, you have to have something good for me. no one else has been any help. i just don't know what would be the best way to spend my weekend.
l: go to the beer store, get a sixer of something new, put b on baby duty, and park it on the couch alternating between horror movies and super mario galaxy. done.
me: i knew i saved the best for last for a reason! you are so good at understanding me. how do you always have the right thing to say?
l: i'm really just too lazy for this conversation. can i go nap now?
i think laziness is my new best friend. at the very least, i should definitely listen to her a little more often. oh wait, i think i just did. i was going to make up some fun pictures in paint to illustrate this post, but guess what, i'm too lazy! so my words are all you're going to have, i trust you all to create wonderfully funny and appropriate images in your heads for yourselves.
and now if you'll excuse me, i think i need a nice long nap to help me gear up for all the sitting around i plan on doing this weekend.
either way, it dawned on me that i should probably take advantage of my sybil-esque tendencies and see what fruitful results i can elicit from deep within my psyche. this morning i took a very thorough survey of my peeps to see what they had to say about this whole 'free weekend' situation.
me: hey practicality, what do you think about this weekend? got any good ideas?
p: uh, how about vacuuming up this dirthole you live in for starters? then there's always laundry, grocery shopping, dishes, making baby food, more dishes....
me: yeah, ok i get it. you're boring, who's next?
me: what's up free spirit? what would you do with three days to yourself?
fs: oh hi! well let's see, i might take monster out for a really long hike up in silver mine or maybe even minnewaska. oooh, and i'd have to make sure i brought a notebook to capture any reflections i might be stricken with as i'm surrounded by nature's beauty. i might also want to start planting that garden i've been talking about. i could have all organic vegetables and then have some flowers on the edges to bring some harmony.
me: uh, that all sounds like work to me. i'm trying to not do any work here, maybe next time... i think i see paranoia over there, maybe she has something to offer.
me: paranoia, what the hell are you doing with all this foam padding stuff?
p: oh, just a little babyproofing.
me: um, i don't think monster is going to be very happy with padding on his feet. have you thought this through?
p: oh yes. this is exactly what the book said to do, cover ALL sharp objects in the house, and if you haven't noticed he's got some claws there.
me: o..k... you don't think that's a little extreme? i mean, he still has to walk, and it's not like the baby can get up onto his sleeping chair to mess with them.
p: uh-oh. is it too much? am i over-protecting? is little miss never going to learn to have natural boundaries? are other parents going to think she's spoiled? is she going to be able to make friends in kindergarten? is she...
me: that's enough! i gotta go see something, uh, over there. bye.
me: potty-mouth! you ol' bitchass! it's been too long!! maybe you can help me think of something to do this weekend. whattya got for me?
pm: for fuck's sake, enough with this indecisive bullshit. just get your ass out and do something already. b will be here to watch little miss, so you can go get shitfaced in the middle of the day if you want.
me: oooh that sounds fun! you coming?
pm: fuck that! it's supposed to rain. i don't go anywhere in the rain.
me: well, i can't exactly go out drinking in the middle of the day all alone. it's not that fun to get shitty and talk to myself.
pm: and that's so different from this crap you're pulling right now?
me: right. whatever. fuck off. i'm going to talk to laziness.
me: lazy, you have to have something good for me. no one else has been any help. i just don't know what would be the best way to spend my weekend.
l: go to the beer store, get a sixer of something new, put b on baby duty, and park it on the couch alternating between horror movies and super mario galaxy. done.
me: i knew i saved the best for last for a reason! you are so good at understanding me. how do you always have the right thing to say?
l: i'm really just too lazy for this conversation. can i go nap now?
i think laziness is my new best friend. at the very least, i should definitely listen to her a little more often. oh wait, i think i just did. i was going to make up some fun pictures in paint to illustrate this post, but guess what, i'm too lazy! so my words are all you're going to have, i trust you all to create wonderfully funny and appropriate images in your heads for yourselves.
and now if you'll excuse me, i think i need a nice long nap to help me gear up for all the sitting around i plan on doing this weekend.
Monday, May 18, 2009
my work is never done
this weekend i actually worked two shifts. that's a huge step for me, my usual being about one shift every two weeks. i have to say, it definitely is hard work, but sometimes a girl just needs to get out of the house and in front of a hot oven or deep fryer to really appreciate all that life has to offer.
(i don't know how to make that writing not blurry so you're just going to have to deal with it)
the burning pain in my legs that i've been experiencing since yesterday morning leads me to believe that i've actually been using some muscles, to walk around and stuff, which can never be a bad thing. i've also begun to collect more of the horizontal burn lines on the middle of the inner forearm from hot sheet pans. these lines are almost like the rings of a tree trunk, the amount you have indicates the length of time you've been working. up until this weekend, i only had two.
working for an enormous catering company when i'm not pregnant also means that my appetite will return to that of a normal cook, i.e., nonexistent. spending ten-twelve hours a day handling food, even if it's the most gourmet shit i've ever seen, makes me want to ingest nothing more than an ice cold sam adams summer ale. which, of course, the bartenders are way too stingy with so i have to settle for a few gallons of coffee. so hopefully i'll shed the last 25 pounds of baby weight in no time with my new diet of caffeine and air.
another fun thing about working more is that i get to come home and see what random goings-on b has managed to capture on camera. i don't know about all of you, but this weekend we had another one of those obnoxiously loud thunderstorms that should have lasted only an hour but stuck around for about two days. oh and just a warning for future reference, flip flops plus flooding rains is not a safe combination. right, so i was trying to introduce this lovely photographic evidence of monster's new favorite hiding spot during a thunderstorm. it used to be here, but it seems that sometimes a dog just needs a little more security, and nothing says 'you're safe here buddy' like a bathtub.
(i don't know how to make that writing not blurry so you're just going to have to deal with it)on that note, i before i go scrub the shit out of my tub, i really would like some input on a question i had not too long ago. i never really got a second opinion about this, and i'm still very curious. if a bathroom cleaner is so strong that it makes me headachy, and the roof of my mouth and the back of my throat burn for about five hours after using it, does that mean that i shouldn't give my baby a bath in a tub that i just cleaned with that cleaner, or does it just work really, really well?
i'm going to use it anyway, i guess i just wanted someone to tell me that it's ok and that little miss won't develop a skin condition from chemical exposure.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
who, me?
i'm really awkward in person. if you met me, spent half a day with me, and then had a minute to reflect, you'd think i was in need of some chemically induced stability.
i often make jokes when others are serious, and become intensely focused when others are lighthearted. sometimes it takes days for me to even realize the emotional discrepancy, but i do eventually see it. i've never been good at reading people, so i'm usually left playing catch-up.
i've come to accept this, but that doesn't mean that it never bothers me occasionally.
recently, at work, i had an experience where someone said to another co-worker 'i'm scared of her, she NEVER smiles' referring to me, in that jokey-i'm-kinda-serious way. the other co-worker replied 'who, HER? she's always laughing, what are you talking about?'
since both of these people are people that i would consider friendly acquaintances, i was a little surprised at the opposite opinions. now, i've been known to say that i could care less what people think of me and that i just 'do my own thing.' but we all know that everybody cares. even if it's just a little bit, only once every few weeks or so, there comes a time when you do actually care.
today is that day for me. so instead of talking about how nice and sunny it is outside, or how cute monster looks curled up into a ball with his tail around his nose, i'll just leave you with one last tidbit from my sometimes irrational logic:
sometimes i feel the more friends i have the more lonely i am. i'll take my three or four good ones, hold them close, and feel comfortable knowing that i don't have to pretend to make sense to them.
i guess that's not all that irrational, maybe i'm too morose for witticisms today.
ps. i can't stop laughing at the fact that i haven't changed the batteries on one of fuss's singy toys and every five minutes or so i now hear 'if you're happy and you know it clap your hands' in that drawn out, demonic, warble voice.
i often make jokes when others are serious, and become intensely focused when others are lighthearted. sometimes it takes days for me to even realize the emotional discrepancy, but i do eventually see it. i've never been good at reading people, so i'm usually left playing catch-up.
i've come to accept this, but that doesn't mean that it never bothers me occasionally.
recently, at work, i had an experience where someone said to another co-worker 'i'm scared of her, she NEVER smiles' referring to me, in that jokey-i'm-kinda-serious way. the other co-worker replied 'who, HER? she's always laughing, what are you talking about?'
since both of these people are people that i would consider friendly acquaintances, i was a little surprised at the opposite opinions. now, i've been known to say that i could care less what people think of me and that i just 'do my own thing.' but we all know that everybody cares. even if it's just a little bit, only once every few weeks or so, there comes a time when you do actually care.
today is that day for me. so instead of talking about how nice and sunny it is outside, or how cute monster looks curled up into a ball with his tail around his nose, i'll just leave you with one last tidbit from my sometimes irrational logic:
sometimes i feel the more friends i have the more lonely i am. i'll take my three or four good ones, hold them close, and feel comfortable knowing that i don't have to pretend to make sense to them.
i guess that's not all that irrational, maybe i'm too morose for witticisms today.
ps. i can't stop laughing at the fact that i haven't changed the batteries on one of fuss's singy toys and every five minutes or so i now hear 'if you're happy and you know it clap your hands' in that drawn out, demonic, warble voice.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
safety first
the moon has moved about half-way through it's cycle, so that must mean it's time for me to prepare myself for the task before me. yes, i'm talking about going into to work today, that strange place where i move in slow motion (slower than usual) and it takes every ounce of my being concentrating on not getting hurt every second that i'm there.
professional kitchens are set up for disasters. add one hapless klutz like me to the big, scary equipment, knives a-plenty, and the fire balls that the older-than-dirt gas stove makes whenever you try to turn a burner on, and you've got a psa for what not to do while attempting to cook.
so today i thought i'd remind myself of some of my past mistakes in hopes of not repeating them. since i barely ever work any more, i have to be extra vigilant about keeping my clumsiness in check.
let's see, i definitely fell head first into one of those mega-sized garbage cans and did the whole cartoon-esque legs wiggling above the rim for help move. of course this happened in the summer so that the bruise on my arm that looked like a hand print was visible and forced me to say 'no, my boyfriend is not the violent type, i just fell in a garbage can' eliciting that sideways head-tilt from people who aren't sure if i need a domestic abuse hotline number. but since i figure that can only happen to a person once in their life, i'm probably in the clear with that.
i should also try to avoid burning myself. a friend once wrote my name out in bacardi 151 and then lit it on fire and i leaned in with my long ass hair to blow it out like a candle. well, that didn't really happen at work, but it happened, so whatever, i own the story and can use it anywhere. same goes for the time i was driving and a lit cigarette butt (um, i don't smoke) managed to get tangled in my hair and smolder away for a good ten minutes because i thought i had a bad tire that was making that gross rubbery smell. so maybe i don't have to worry about people throwing their discarded butts at my hair while i'm at work, or do i? i know they passed that law and all, but it still surprises me how many chefs smoke in professional kitchens. and no, i don't want to tell you where because some of the places i know this to occur in happen to make delicious food and no one's perfect right?
further in the vein of 'not burning myself' falls grabbing the handle of a pot that just came out an oven, or stirring hot rice so aggressively that a few angry clumps weld to my hand skin.
there have also been many, many knife slips in my culinary career so far, but i have since learned that the sharper i keep my knife the less likely it is to slip, or the more likely it is to cut really deeply when i do slip. which means my awesome knife sharpening skills i learned from the knife master at korin in tribeca are most often put to use when caring for my knife after cutting off a chunk of fingernail.
so if i avoid fire and knives, and garbage cans that look extra dangerous (just to be safe), what does that leave for me to actually do at work? sitting by the espresso machine mainlining lattes sounds about right, until i find a way to make that menacing too.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
yo mama did what?!
throughout my interesting and fun-filled day of blog surfing i've seen this image popping up repeatedly. even more surprising was seeing my name mentioned at the end of miss yvonne's post about her tag.i will now confess my lameness and share that i googled the word 'meme' to see what all the fuss was about. i stopped reading the definition somewhere after i saw the word 'memeticists'.
but now that i realize that it's just a way to talk about myself, i'm totally into it. i thought for a second about trying to pull off that whole 'this is so wack but i guess i'll do it anyway, to be a sport' thing but really, that's not me.
so thanks miss yvonne, for making me feel liked for a hot minute. i don't even care if i incur a horrific backlash when i reveal some of my innermost truths.
1. a few years ago, a very dear friend and i tried to get a new catch phrase started. whenever we really liked something we would say 'that's so my balls!' because it was fun to say balls. then we figured out that we never had balls and were never going to be able to grow balls, so it began to feel more like a cruel joke on us.
2. i would love to be a vegetarian, except that i still get confused about all the different kinds of vegetarians/vegans/whatever there are and i'm afraid of aligning myself with the 'less cool' group of restrictive eaters.
3. i'm obsessed with my tiny head. it's my favorite physical feature.
4. i spent bags and bags of money to go to a fancy culinary school and now the only cooking i do is for my six month old baby. oh wait, yeah, i work about once every fortnight at a catering company too.
5. the picture of the kiddies on my header is actually an original oil painting of me and my brother, done by my nana, that is currently hanging in my living room. it's always been an enigma to me because it's dated 1979, which was the year i was born. my brother wasn't born until 1981. the scary part is that that is EXACTLY how we looked as children, round about five and seven years old. i've tried to get nana to clarify the date question but to no avail.
6. b and i talk about our dog's ass way too much. we're convinced that he can make us millions of dollars because he has the most fascinating pattern of butt swirls that look just like an owl's face (butt swirls being the technical term for the hairs around his little pooter), and no the actual hole is not in the owl's face, the swirls fall beneath that. i tried to take a picture to illustrate this point, but i was so grossed out and crampy from hysterically laughing that there was no way i was going to succeed.
7. i can't lie. my physical reaction to telling a lie has not evolved since i was about four years old. sweat palms, big cheese grin, nervous laughter, shakes, all occurring at the same time.
8. i love really loud concerts. i love really loud concerts in really small and really smelly dirthole bars. the louder the better. no one wants to hear me singing along.
9. weird money is the most obscene thing anyone could make me touch. i define weird money as any coin of monetary value that is one other than the standard penny, nickel, dime, or quarter. i don't understand why they circulate, can we please just smelt them all away to weird money hell already?
10. i'm actually a really happy person. (cue barf sounds) sorry, but it's true.
and i guess that's as good as anything to end with right? right. so whom do i tag? seeing as i'm a relatively new blogger, i think i'll keep this one in the family, because if anyone's going to get annoyed with me sending this i can handle burn ups from them. so there's my dear friend kristine, my husband brian, b's sister bridget, and preacherman (even though you're technically not family, i love hearing stories about things you do when drunk, i mean, things you do everyday :) ).
note: for those of you (b) who haven't heard of this fun little game of tag i'll explain--
the objective here is when you are tagged to post ten things about yourself that we don't already know and then tag ten (or four) other people to do the same.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
when blogger's block attacks
i've been in a slump lately. somewhere between returning to work for exactly nine hours and then finding out i'm not working again for another two weeks, and making mass quantities of baby food for little miss, i began to think that i've actually run out of interesting things to say.in the past three days i've had several rejected posts. some have made it almost to the publish button, only to be deleted at the very last second. rather than over think the shit of out every little detail, as is my normal custom, this time i decided to just throw out some of my ideas in list form and see if there are any bites:
1. discuss why people who want to live 'off the grid' really annoy me
2. explain my extreme aversion to 'weird money'
3. share my experience of sheer terror when i thought that i had an old pair of contacts actually fused to my eyeballs
4. talk about how addicted i am to specialty beer and how i've always wanted to brew my own yet most likely never will
5. tell someone (anonymously, of course) about how i can't be friends with her anymore because she makes me into a hypocrite
i completely understand if the consensus is to wait for me to be struck with some other miraculous inspiration. hopefully i'll be back to my true form soon. in the meantime, i won't beg, but i'll ask nicely, don't give up on me yet.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
i want to call this post anything other than 'lazy sunday' even though it really is
after my first shift back at work, in the bronx no less, i find myself sitting here suffering from a severe lack of intelligent things to say.
so i thought i'd be lazy and just throw out a link for your viewing pleasure. i still can't stop laughing at this one. b just proclaimed the tone of the day to be 'man, if you do couchie right, it'll sure do you right.'
on that note, just look.
so i thought i'd be lazy and just throw out a link for your viewing pleasure. i still can't stop laughing at this one. b just proclaimed the tone of the day to be 'man, if you do couchie right, it'll sure do you right.'
on that note, just look.
Friday, April 3, 2009
can i really do this?
tomorrow is the big day, my return to work. i'm excited, anxious, and nonchalant all at the same time.
while i pretty much know what i'll be getting myself into, things will be a little different. last summer i was the raging preggo who was on a very long leash. in the food business, it's typically a big no-no to consume more of your product than you actually send out to your customers. try telling that to an eight months pregnant lady who's been on her swollen clownshoe feet for upwards of ten hours.
so i think that this time around i'm going to have a small list of goals i want to achieve as i re-enter the world of the working:
1. be the one who gets along with everyone (i.e. no shit-talking)
2. do at least one thing per shift to help that i wasn't asked to do
3. try not to go to the pastry department's dry storage and eat all their jellybeans
4. get better at ass-kissing for my boss's sake (he's one of those 'napoleon complex' types and could always use a few words of encouragement)
5. let someone else have a turn at cleaning out the short-term cooler (i called it 'the matching game' because there was always two of the same thing opened and you had to combine them, i loved it)
6. try not to use my broken spanglish with the dishwashers hoping they'll see how smart and considerate i am by attempting to speak in their own language while i'm really just making it harder for them to understand me
7. don't get annoyed when i ask for more responsibility and actually get it
i'm not sure how well i'll be able to stick to these guidelines, but i really am going to try. i may end up giving myself some form of dissociative disorder, polite and charming at work, bitchy loudmouth everywhere else.
that thought almost just made it more interesting.
update: i just remembered another item for my list:
8. do NOT nag the tool who borrowed my signed copy of the murray's cheese book, with all my favorite gourmet cheeses labeled and noted, and then ignored my fervent pleas to return it
while i pretty much know what i'll be getting myself into, things will be a little different. last summer i was the raging preggo who was on a very long leash. in the food business, it's typically a big no-no to consume more of your product than you actually send out to your customers. try telling that to an eight months pregnant lady who's been on her swollen clownshoe feet for upwards of ten hours.
so i think that this time around i'm going to have a small list of goals i want to achieve as i re-enter the world of the working:
1. be the one who gets along with everyone (i.e. no shit-talking)
2. do at least one thing per shift to help that i wasn't asked to do
3. try not to go to the pastry department's dry storage and eat all their jellybeans
4. get better at ass-kissing for my boss's sake (he's one of those 'napoleon complex' types and could always use a few words of encouragement)
5. let someone else have a turn at cleaning out the short-term cooler (i called it 'the matching game' because there was always two of the same thing opened and you had to combine them, i loved it)
6. try not to use my broken spanglish with the dishwashers hoping they'll see how smart and considerate i am by attempting to speak in their own language while i'm really just making it harder for them to understand me
7. don't get annoyed when i ask for more responsibility and actually get it
i'm not sure how well i'll be able to stick to these guidelines, but i really am going to try. i may end up giving myself some form of dissociative disorder, polite and charming at work, bitchy loudmouth everywhere else.
that thought almost just made it more interesting.
update: i just remembered another item for my list:
8. do NOT nag the tool who borrowed my signed copy of the murray's cheese book, with all my favorite gourmet cheeses labeled and noted, and then ignored my fervent pleas to return it
Thursday, April 2, 2009
you sure you don't want to change first?
as a nod to the many incongruities we experience every day, i offer you the following discussion about family portraits.
it all began this morning when my husband, who happens to be the funniest human being alive, showed me his corporate weekly rag with a huge photo of the newest new york regional director front and center. now i must say that this was interesting to me because the old big boss left in somewhat of a flurry of drama and mystique, as much as can be expected in the financial world anyway, and they found a new guy really, really quickly.
back to the photo. it's clearly professionally done. husband on the left, big toothy smile, one arm wrapped around wifey, the other lovingly resting on boy child's lap. oh yeah, and let's not leave out the most important detail, they all matched. mom and pop in pale blue button-downs, mom's collar open wide enough for you to see her glorious string of pearls. little boy, maybe only 18 months old, in his blue pinstriped polo shirt, complete with the little polo player logo shouting from his chest 'hey! hey you! we have more money than you!'
they look like the typical lexus-driving, golf club membership-holding, run-of-the-mill yuppies. when i pointed out the matching garb to my husband, hoping for a 'let's burn them up for being so lame' session, he surprised me with 'oh yeah, they all do that. you know, it's what you're supposed to DO for family portraits.'
to which i replied 'um, not OUR family portrait. ever. period. never ever. ok? you clear on that one? NEVER.'
b comes back at me with 'but they do that so you don't look like a douchebag in the picture.'
natural response, 'funny, because the end result is actually that you look like a douchebag in the picture.'
now this is the absolute last thing i would have expected from b. he continually spends his days dressing the part at his office, keeping his real personality under wraps. he then comes home in an explosion of hilarity, finally letting his true self emerge from the confinements of his job.
i won't mention the name of his company, for fear that the evil compliance officer (who won't even let b have a facebook account) will come running in here screaming about how many rules b's breaking for being human and not a drone. but suffice it to say that the b i know loves to come home and tell me about how bad he wants to tell big huge corporate land to suck it.
so maybe now that the shock of the portrait controversy is starting to hit you, i ask who's right here? as i ponder my own gut instinct to not falsify my family with an image that could cost a pretty penny and then lurk in our house for years and years to come, i wonder, am i being too quick to judge?
then just as i was sinking into a foggy gloom of doubt, b bends over to kiss the baby goodbye and says to me, 'fuck it, let's just all match her pink and brown flowery pajamas in our family portrait, 'cause that's a picture i'd hang in our living room.'
i almost teared up a little. that's the b i know and love.
it all began this morning when my husband, who happens to be the funniest human being alive, showed me his corporate weekly rag with a huge photo of the newest new york regional director front and center. now i must say that this was interesting to me because the old big boss left in somewhat of a flurry of drama and mystique, as much as can be expected in the financial world anyway, and they found a new guy really, really quickly.
back to the photo. it's clearly professionally done. husband on the left, big toothy smile, one arm wrapped around wifey, the other lovingly resting on boy child's lap. oh yeah, and let's not leave out the most important detail, they all matched. mom and pop in pale blue button-downs, mom's collar open wide enough for you to see her glorious string of pearls. little boy, maybe only 18 months old, in his blue pinstriped polo shirt, complete with the little polo player logo shouting from his chest 'hey! hey you! we have more money than you!'
they look like the typical lexus-driving, golf club membership-holding, run-of-the-mill yuppies. when i pointed out the matching garb to my husband, hoping for a 'let's burn them up for being so lame' session, he surprised me with 'oh yeah, they all do that. you know, it's what you're supposed to DO for family portraits.'
to which i replied 'um, not OUR family portrait. ever. period. never ever. ok? you clear on that one? NEVER.'
b comes back at me with 'but they do that so you don't look like a douchebag in the picture.'
natural response, 'funny, because the end result is actually that you look like a douchebag in the picture.'
now this is the absolute last thing i would have expected from b. he continually spends his days dressing the part at his office, keeping his real personality under wraps. he then comes home in an explosion of hilarity, finally letting his true self emerge from the confinements of his job.
i won't mention the name of his company, for fear that the evil compliance officer (who won't even let b have a facebook account) will come running in here screaming about how many rules b's breaking for being human and not a drone. but suffice it to say that the b i know loves to come home and tell me about how bad he wants to tell big huge corporate land to suck it.
so maybe now that the shock of the portrait controversy is starting to hit you, i ask who's right here? as i ponder my own gut instinct to not falsify my family with an image that could cost a pretty penny and then lurk in our house for years and years to come, i wonder, am i being too quick to judge?
then just as i was sinking into a foggy gloom of doubt, b bends over to kiss the baby goodbye and says to me, 'fuck it, let's just all match her pink and brown flowery pajamas in our family portrait, 'cause that's a picture i'd hang in our living room.'
i almost teared up a little. that's the b i know and love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
