Who needs days off?

Not me, apparently. All I want to do is go to bed and stay there, but work keeps getting in the way.

Don't you hate that?

Copious amounts of sleep........oh, how I covet it. Days filled with doing nothing--or, barring the act of 'nothing', something fun that I want to do. I want to have a day where I can do fun things and not have them marred by work, grocery shopping, general cattiness, etc.

Being a grown up sucks.

*********************************

I have to work new years eve and day. Nothing says "Welcome, 2008!" like sweating in the wait station.

I suppose its fitting. How did you spend New Years? The same way I spent Last Year.

*********************************

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope its prosperous, joyous, and filled with appropriate blessings. No inappropriate blessings, however--Fuck that!

Stabby Stab

Well, Christmas is over and I am more pleased than anyone would guess.

Grinch, anyone?

As soon as New Years comes and goes, all I have to complain about is Valentines Day (A friend of mine is having her husband served with divorce papers on V-day. I find this to be more hilarious than I probably should. Before you judge--you don't know the husband.)

Anyway.

The only remotely interesting things that happened on Christmas itself were the fact that I ate two full dinners, made dessert for 20 with no eggs (shortbread!), and made T's mother openly sob when I honestly answered her question about my baptism.

I was never baptized. I'm ok with this. I don't plan on being baptized anytime soon, and this made T's very catholic mother sob openly. Mostly due to reasons she vocalized as my never knowing the "light and way of God's love", which I can respect.
Sigh.

*******************************

Christmas Eve was as painless as waiting tables on a holiday can be. Need I say more?

*******************************

My mother, who seems to not have ever met me before, sent me jewelry she proudly purchased at a pawn shop. It's not the pawn shop, nor the jewelry as a concept that is the problem, but her choice of jewelry itself. Lots of.....feathers.

This is the woman that when I was 18 purchased me Winnie the Pooh everything.

*******************************

I went to a large town south of here today to get my nails done and do some shopping, as everything is in sale. As soon as I crossed county lines, it began to snow. Not a big deal.

While I was getting my nails done, my floor captain calls. Wants to know if I can cover a shift for a girl who is stuck at her house due to the snow......in the town I am currently in. I inform her that I, too, am in this town......if the snow is that bad, should I really be the one chosen for the position?

Yes.

So I drove in the worst driving conditions I have seen in this state. It took me over an hour to finish a drive that normally takes 20 minutes.

I arrive. I call work to tell them that I will be there ASAP.

"Oh, don't come in. We took care of it."

Ah, risking life and limb for a "No Thank You" and a plunger.

Christmas Hangover (Thanks, Santa!)

My family Christmas was, I guess, a success.

There was no fighting, no under-handed comments, no passive aggressive activity.

Probably because we all got fucking plastered and the assholes in the family left early.

Most of you know, I'm sure, that I don't really drink all that much. A glass of wine here and there, two if something terrible is happening.

I had between seven and twelveteen last night. (Yes, twelveteen is a word.)

See, my aptly named Uncle Dick was buying. We had wine at the house, we had wine at the restaurant, we had wine, wine, wine. And we drank ALL OF IT.

I had not seen my cousins since my father's funeral. I had not seen a close friend of the family in over two years. We were talking, laughing, enjoying ourselves over a few glasses of wine at dinner. (and before.)

When we returned to chez cousin, and the assholes (and one good person) left, the drinking began again in earnest. Now we could discuss the inner workings of the family, be frank and honest with one another--and the wine just went down so easily!

We awoke this morning with roaring, tangible hangovers.

Merry Christmas--who didn't see this coming?

*****************************

In other news, I am so fucking fed up with the assholes in my family I have informed them that I am moving the fuck out.

I'm not sure where I'm going, but I have three out of state offers of places to go, and daily they look more tempting.

You can wait tables anywhere, I keep telling myself.

*****************************

I will probably not be able to post again until after Christmas proper, as my job apparently wants me dead and in the ground by February.

I hope you all have Merry Christmases and a Happy New Year.

(And will someone tell me where I should move?)

The Aftermath

So my company Christmas party was Tuesday.

Several firsts came of this evening, and I will do my best to describe them clearly.

The party was at a lodge some 20 or so miles from our workplace. I had never been there, and the description given to me by my coworkers was "Turn right on the goat trail before you get to the huge Casino". Indeed, it was up a goat trail of sorts--but very nice.

I went with members of the kitchen staff, as T had to work and would not be able to attend. It was sort of like going to prom, but only ten or more years later, and on the company dime.

Speaking of the company dime, we had to pay for drinks. (Not that big of a deal, but still, we were promised that we wouldn't have to.) This did not stop most of the Food and Beverage department from getting tanked, but more on that later.

We had a lovely meal, salmon, spiral ham (I loves me some ham.), Caesar salad. It was weird to eat while sitting at a table in front of my coworkers--I see these people every day, share meals with them regularly--but normally, we are standing over a trash can or the dish pit, taking huge bites and not chewing all the way so we can go wait on people/cook. But it was nice.

The portion of the party that everyone looks forward to are the door prizes. Gift certificates, meals at upscale restaurants, kitchen gadgets--all the way to full paid vacations to Disney Land. At least, those were the gifts in the years prior.

This year, well, they took a different approach.

The Executive Chef won a garbage bag full of toilet paper. The Banquet Coordinator, who is retiring in two weeks and has worked for this company 20 years won a broom. The Catering Coordinator won a whisk broom.

When my number was called to claim my prize, upon getting to my feet I threw my arms in the air like I stuck the landing at the Olympics. (People are still teasing me for receiving the biggest cheer/applause) What did I win, my friends?

A Plunger.

Merry Fucking Christmas.

***********************************

After the grand prize winning was over (PLUNGER?????) we went to the casino to gamble a little and watch management get wasted.

I went straight to the bar, knowing where everyone would be. I sat with the kitchen staff from both restaurants, including my Executive Chef. I had one drink. (Remember that. We all know what I lush I am anyway, but remember, one drink.) A good chunk of the people I am sitting with are totally obliterated, but there are two people (the two that rode with me) who don't drink at all. I had, say it with me now, One Drink.

We got cut off. (That's a first for me! Never been cut off before, and definitely not with my boss.)

They were going to cut off the two people that rode with me, and they were all about it until we were informed that if you are wearing the "No More For Me!" Sticker, you can't drive off the lot. I already had it on--if they had them too we would have been stuck getting a room at the casino. Luckily, one of the other servers was causing such a fuss that they kind of ignored the rest of us.

We left, but apparently everyone else was escorted out. Hilarity.

**********************************


I will not be joining my family for Christmas this year because I have to work. They rearranged schedules so that I can attend--as strangely kind as this is considering who we are talking about--Now I have to buy them all presents. Lord.

************************************


I stole this from Brian, who is a stronger man than I with the not smoking.

Five Things
Five Things I Just Don’t Get:
1) Child or Animal Abuse
2) Our Health care System
3) Chick Flicks
4) Pinochle
5) Normal Christmas Gifts

Five Things, Other Than Money, I Wish I Had More Of:
1) Paid Vacation
2) Patience
3) Self Discipline
4) Answers
5) Time

Five Least Favorite Words or Phrases:
1) Oh, my freakin GOD! (In the Valley Girl voice)
2) This is unacceptable!
3) Panties
4) Nuh-Uh!
5) Can we have separate checks?

Five Famous People I’ve Spoken With In Person:
1) The Presidents of the USA (Can that count as more than one?)
2) KD Lang
3) The lead singer of Train whose name I didn't care to remember
4) David Sedaris
5) Sweet Mother Sound System

Five Things I Do Nearly Daily That I Don’t Enjoy:
1) Work
2) Get up before noon
3) Smile at people I want to scream at
4) Quietly stress about my life
5) Floss

Five Things I Have Actually Done That Sound Like Lies:
1) Danced on a bar, multiple times
2) Went repelling off a dam (anyone who knows me will say this is amazing)
3) Waited on KD Lang
4) Had Thanksgiving with the Presidents of the USA
5) Not been fired for insubordination, ever. (Knock wood.)


And, well, thats it.

The house of sisterly resentment

well, my family left yesterday.

Thank....god.

Don't get me wrong--I like my sisters alright....but over long periods of time, and when they start doing things I hate (that I have already addressed with them several times, I will get there in a minute), well, it's time to leave, thanks.

They arrived this week because we were meeting with the hospital about my father's death. Always pleasant--definitely something I was not looking forward to.

Anyway, the meeting was fine, and I managed to make all four panel members cry (The CEO, community advocate, risk management person and the head of the ER department) without intending to. The CEO asked us how we deal with our grief--and instead of saying nothing/telling the man to mind his own, they piped right up about how they are in counselling and so on. One sister made mention of the fact that I, the youngest by 24 years, was the one to see him fall and see him die, to sign the paperwork that gave consent for the DNR, and took care of him for two years prior to his death....

All heads turn to me. Wanting to know what I have done to de-grief myself. Up until this point, I had uttered probably three sentences the entire meeting.

"Me? I haven't done anything. I still live in his house, I sleep in his bed. I drive his cars. Every morning when I get out of bed my feet land on the bloodstain where his head was when we found him the night he died. I receive phone calls asking for him. I work a lot, to try to keep busy, but the majority of my customers are friends of his and all they want to do is talk about him. I am 25 years old and this is the second parental figure I have lost in a traumatic way. I am young, still a child by most people's standards, but I have seen grief and trauma that most people twice my age have not. So you ask me what I have done to try and deal with the pain....And I have done nothing. It will either heal over time or it won't, but no matter what happens, I have to keep moving forward, so that's what I'm doing."

All four people are crying. I am confused. As we are leaving the meeting, the CEO hugs me (?) and says--"You cannot blame yourself. You did everything right, and we were the ones that messed up. None of this is your fault."

What do you say to that? 'I know!', 'Thanks!'. Jesus.

My sisters are just tickled that I performed the way I was "supposed to". I just told the truth.

***********************************

Anyway, my one sister is a control freak. Her favorite thing to do is to wait until I am out of the house and then re-organize everything to her standards, so that I cannot find anything for months after her departure. She has done this time and time again, and I have asked her not to time and time again.

She did it again this week while I was at work, and I am ready to kill her. I can't find my kitchen! I mean, the room is there, but all my shit--mail, knick knacky stuff, my files, pay stubs, recipes etc., are missing. Its not like this stuff was jumbled in piles on the counter--I had organized it all into folders before their arrival.

Oh, and a bunch of dad's shit is missing now, too.

I am not happy.

Open Letters

An open letter to my mother:

Dear Mom,

Please don't call me at 6am. I know that we have been over this before, that you are awake that early and know that I am home. However, home and 'up and ready to talk' are two different things. When I do not answer the phone at 6am, due to the fact that I am unconscious, please refrain from screaming my name into the answering machine until it times out and then do it all over again until I answer. Nothing you have to say can possibly be that important--that is the phone call hysteria you give when there is an emergency. There is never an emergency, and when there is, you lie to me about it. Stop crying answering machine wolf.

Also, and I know this is a difficult point for you to understand, I have a job. That means that I spend hours away from home for money--and if I stop doing that, I will stop having money. I know that you don't understand because you haven't worked a day in over thirty years, but please, bear with me.

Thanks, Mom. Love you.

An open letter to my coworkers:

Dear Coworkers,

Please stop acting like you are bipolar. This edge-of-your-seat work environment is not a good time. Happy today? Sad? Angry? Aggressive? WHO KNOWS! Spin the magic wheel and find out.....

Thanks, and Merry Christmas.

An open letter to my family,

Dear Family,

I'm not coming for Christmas this year. I have to work Christmas Eve and the day after Christmas--I am not driving through horrible traffic to eat dinner with you people and then drive through horrible traffic back again. (2 hours each way w/o horrible traffic) I'm sure you won't miss me a bit--someone else's ass can be in all the pictures this year.

Thanks, and I doubt if I will ever see most of you again.

An open letter to the man that sold me my car:

Dear man that sold me my car,

You are weird.

Please take down the photo on your flikr account of T and I you took when I bought the car. That's just weird.

Plus, I look like I have a really, really big nose, and I don't. I'm wondering how this happened.

But it's still really weird.

Thanks--Did I mention you are really weird?

Let's not, but say we....didn't?

I nearly sobbed, openly, at work today.

Apparently, due to the fuckup of my old boss, I am not eligible for health insurance for another 6 months.

In what world is it normal to have to wait 18 months, minimum, for insurance? Not this one.

I can't be mad with the current management. I can, however, be irate with the previous.

I can also be irate with one of my coworkers, who, as far as I'm concerned, can go straight to fucking hell. That statement is not enough for the rage I am feeling at the moment.

The White Death Comes From Above

It's snowing. A lot. I know that some of my readers (Brian) are currently undergoing far, far worse snow/weather craziness than we are out here....but shit, man! It doesn't snow here--like, ever. And if it does, its melty. It doesn't stick, really, for more than a day or two--and if it does the world comes to a screeching and abrupt halt. People out here are wildly unprepared for snow driving. It's common sense! (In my mind, anyway.But I lived in a snow covered state for a number of years.)

Out here, this is the thought process when driving in the snow.

"It's snowing! I better park my car on the side of the freeway and walk and then be surprised when my car is impounded/smashed to bits!"

"It's snowing! I better just drive like I normally do (80 mph) and then be surprised to find myself in the ditch!

"It's snowing! I better slam on my brakes every four feet!"

Sigh.

My coworkers who live in another county are shacking up with me. It's kind of nice to see them outside of work, but also kind of weird to see them in their jammies/underpants. I slept on my couch last night, and when a buddy of mine (Hi!) woke me up to tell me he was leaving.....things didn't go so well. I was dead, I mean, DEAD asleep, and apparently we had a really interesting conversation.

"Hey, I'm taking off, so you can go sleep in the bed if you want, ok?"

"Hrmphwahrslnslhg. Ishernshalsnbts. Yeahsleepwalithczhwlr."

I woke up a few hours later totally confused as to why I was not in my bed. Also with a completely dead arm, which is always nice to wake up to.

Anyway, if I don't post for a while, or email, or anything, it's because my cable/power is out. Not dead, just cold and cut off from society.

But I got my car. And I love it. LOVE.



And so on.

"It's like being in college again!"

I went to my company's 401(k) meeting today.

One hour.

One hour filled with a barrage of financial information--a power point presentation, a packet of paperwork, and the sudden need to know how to do something.

It was very confusing.

It was like being in college again, only I was being paid to be there.

Seriously--I walked into the meeting room, (set classroom style, of course) sat down, looked over my packet and was suddenly blasted into the "I really need to pay attention to this but my god is it boring" frame of mind. You would look away from the presenters for what seemed to be a millisecond, to readjust your spot in your seat, get a different piece of paper from the packet, something--and suddenly, you are no longer on the same page as the rest of the 'class'. They've switched topics! I missed the lead-in! I'm confused!

It was funny, in a "my financial future is riding on this" sort of way.

***************************************

I am tired. So what else is new.

All I want to do is sleep, read, eat things that will make me fat. This is not a good thing.

Anyway.....yeah. I think I am off to bed, to worry about my financial future. (But I have a 401(k) now! I are a grow-ed up!)

Your Space

I, along with the rest of America, have a myspace profile.

I started this profile when I moved back to this part of the country--and good things have come of it. For instance:

I met T again.

I was reconnected with A, who I then introduced to F, and now they are married. (Hooray!)

I have unending amounts of gossip and/or updates about coworkers, exboyfriends, exfriends and the like.

I also have a way of showing the aforementioned group (in a very passive aggressive way, mind) that I am doing better than they are, so there. (aside from the coworkers. They know everything about me anyway.)

Anyway.

Sometime early this morning, my site was 'phished'. Typically, you have to give out your password for this to happen,and I have no recollection of doing this, but whatever. (maybe I have taken to sleepdrinking again. who knows.)

So I woke up this morning, lit a cigarette, made coffee. Checked my email, then wandered over to myspace.

There was a sub-sonic BOOM as I did so.

Messages from almost all of my friends--mostly telling me that I had been phished and had been hurling spam comments at them since the early hours. (I even attempted to comment on my own page, apparently, which is something I'm rather proud of as I didn't know it was possible.)

Also, there were a few replies to a bulletin "I" had posted, with the title, "I'm easy! Let's hook up tonight!" Most of these were to inform me I had been phished.

Several, however, were not.

It would seem that there are people I know that like that idea--When told I was easy and would love to hook up with all 50-some odd people I know, they took this as the gospel and basically just wanted to know when.

As flattered as I am, I had to send replies to these messages and inform them that, well, I'm not that easy.

There are some embarrassed people in the world right now, my friends. Embarrassed.

I am quietly giggling to myself. (does that make me a bad person?)

************************************************

Let's talk about Thanksgiving.

We all know my feelings on the holidays. We all know my feelings on the general public as a whole. With that in mind....

It was less of a clusterfuck than I thought it would be. It was not as easy as I had hoped.

Basically, I have a question.

If you decide to eat out on Thanksgiving, which I understand (no cooking, no dishes), one would think that you would understand/expect that you are not going to get the private, intimate family dinner that you normally would at home. Right?

We had some pissed off people. Pissed off that they were eating in a room with 20 strangers. Pissed off that the stuffing had mushrooms, not sausage, which is how their mother made it. Pissed off that the party of 30 was being noisy, pissed off that the four course meal did not include macaroni and cheese.

I'm sorry, America, but I am not a member of your family. I don't know your grandmother's stuffing recipe--and neither does the chef. I don't know, or care, about your family dynamic, and won't readjust restaurant seating so you aren't within ten feet of your sister. What I do know is this:

You elected to come to a restaurant for a special holiday meal. I will do everything in my power to ensure that it is enjoyable for you, within reason. I know that I am tired, hot, starving, and in dire need of a bathroom break. I will take pictures of your family, I will refill your martini 14 times, I will smile and nod and laugh at your jokes. I am a server, and this is my job.

My job, however, is not to babysit your children or drunk aunt. It is not to pass messages between you and whichever family member you are not speaking to. Sorry.

I had a woman ask me why I was working on thanksgiving. I told her that, well, in the restaurant business, that's how things go sometimes. She then said to me...And I'm serious, here, "What, you would rather make money than be with your family?"

I looked at her and said, "Ma'am, I don't have any family. It's this or sit at home in my apartment."

(Now, this is a lie. I have family. I have friends. I had about 5 places I could have gone to eat dinner. But I was working. But she doesn't need to know that.)

Could she just leave it there? No.

"No family! But you're so young! No one?"

"Well, the family I do have lives far away and we are pretty much estranged." (true.)

"No wonder you became a waitress, then."

I really, really love my job sometimes.

Hooray!

It's my 100th Post!

I bought a car!

For real this time, I hope. I pick it up Saturday.

And I am officially BROKE. Like, BROKEBROKE.

It's going to be a lean christmas.

But here it is!



It has such low mileage and was so amazingly taken care of...its still under warranty for 2 years or 35,000 miles and still has the new car smell.

I. Love. It.

So, to all those close to me.....

I'm sorry. It's going to be a lean, lean christmas, mostly because I bought myself a really great present.

I hope you understand. Please wish me luck! (I'm terrified of this not working out. Terrified. But I do love to second guess myself.)

Round the Table

Every year at thanksgiving dinner, my mother would force the practice of telling everyone what you are/were thankful for the previous year to everyone else.

I hated this.

I really, really hated this when I was about 13-17 years of age. I'm sure you can all understand.

But now that I am an adult, and facing the first thanksgiving without the opportunity to see my family (there have been t-days in the past where I CHOSE to not see them, this time there is no choice involved, as I am working all day tomorrow, which causes me a sort of irritation and mental crabbiness that I can't really articulate--but at least I don't have to cook. And I am thankful for that, baby), I have been thinking about what I am thankful for.

In attempts to keep this post from being some trite piece of crap that babbles on about how much I love my family and friends, how thankful I am to have a home, and heat, and food and shoes and all that--Well, all that stuff is true, but I'm not going there. (But I am very thankful for those things.)

I am thankful for large parties in my restaurant that don't want separate checks.

I am thankful for polar fleece sheets, and which ever genius that invented them.

I am thankful for the opportunities that I have in this day and age.

I am thankful for the fact that I live somewhere where it is NOT SNOWING RIGHT NOW.

I am thankful for coffee, shokinag drinking chocolate, splenda and cool whip.

I am thankful for hydrogen peroxide.

I am thankful for people that know when to listen, know when to speak up, and know when to just pretend.

I am thankful for my ability to lose 50 pounds this year (F and A--Twenty since you wed! 20! We need to digitally re-touch your wedding photos!)

Mostly, I am thankful that every morning I wake up, and know, (no matter how horrible I'm feeling) that someone in my life is thinking of me and hopes that I am happy today. Someone. May be the strange man that comes into the restaurant and just eats oyster crackers and watches women's volleyball, but still.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

*Insert Sexual Purring Sound Here*

Welcome, Googlers. It gives me great pleasure to have titles and/or content that I know will bring forth the strangest google-search results, like, ever.

Anyway.

Thanksgiving.

It's this week, as we all know. I, thankfully, am working all the live long day, and therefore get to miss any strangeness that my family has to offer.

This will be the first holiday celebrated without my father being alive. This will be the first holiday ever spent without either of my parents in attendance. I'm kind of glad to be spending it with a bunch of people that are too lazy or rich to cook for themselves, lest I fall into a deep, introspective depression.

As you all may remember from my Christmas post from last year (Go look it up yourselves. Sorry.), my family is not well known for their "sharing of the love", come the holidays. Thanksgiving usually involves me doing a whole lot of cooking, followed by 13 minutes of eating, and then an argument about dishes. Oh, and we mustn't forget the back seat driving.

Back Seat Driving is a familial trait on my father's side that runs rampant like freaking wildfire through all of us. It applies to any or all activities usually done alone. Driving, of course, but solitaire, crossword puzzles,jigsaw puzzles, cooking, cleaning, knitting, reading,.....anything is game. Someone attempts to do one of the aforementioned activities in the same city block as any member of my family, and suddenly.....You have an audience. Just, well, just standing there. Periodically offering a grunt, point of a finger, or sigh of direction. It annoys everyone to NO END--but we all do it. I like to think that long, long ago, in the home country, someone did this, and out of revenge, it was done back, and back again. And the retaliation continued, across the mighty Atlantic, through the generations. We are teaching it to the younger generations now--Not because it's annoying, but because we take pride in our heritage!

My father was Grand Freaking Master of the Back Seat Drive. (I would love to see the sash that comes with that title.) From the very earliest dregs of memory I have, he was doing this, and far, far better than the rest of us.

My mother, an overly opinionated woman herself, was a complete stranger to the BSD. My father did this to her nearly daily twenty years ago, and she still, STILL talks about it.

And here is a little example.

My father loved Rachel Ray. Loved her. Watched her three times a week while he was at dialysis, owned her cookbooks, and demanded that I make her recipes on a regular basis. Sure.

He decided that after watching a particularly enthralling episode of "Thirty Minute Meals", wherein Ms.Ray creates Moroccan Lamb with Cous Cous that I would reenact this meal for him in our own kitchen.

(Aside:Whoever designed the kitchen in my house was an idiot who had never cooked a meal or done a dish in their lives. It is the smallest, most strangely laid out kitchen I have ever had in my life. You can't get to the garbage if the dishwasher is open, can't get to the sink if the fridge is open, can't get to the cabinets if anyone else is even considering being in the kitchen at all--This is truly, truly a one-butt kitchen. And therefore, prime BSD real estate. Not only are you driving the person mad simply with your presence, you are COMPLETELY IN THE FREAKING WAY AT ALL TIMES. Oh yes.)

So I take a leg of lamb, and am preparing to debone it. This isn't a big deal to me, as I lived in a state where you kill your food or starve, and have dressed out and butchered and packaged plenty of animals. Deboning a lamb leg is nothing.

I get the knives out, the bowl for the cubes of meat I will finish with, the plastic cutting board. The Lamb.

I make the first cut. Suddenly, my father is standing over my shoulder. (For an old guy, he was quick there till the very end. Especially if he needed to be.) I peer back at him, he declines to make eye contact. (This is an important part of the BSD. If you make eye contact, you are opening yourself up to being asked to leave. If you pretend you just happened to be passing through, and aren't conscious of what you are doing as horribly, horribly annoying, you're free.)

The deboning continues. I make a small pile of detritus next to the cutting board, continue to add cubes of lamb to the bowl.

I finish.

My father suddenly claps a hand on my shoulder, nearly causing me to stab myself. "Good job, Babe! Well done!", he says.

"Thanks, dad. I appreciate the help."

(This is something you must always say at the end of a particularly long BSD. You are passive-aggressively acknowledging the annoyance factor, and letting the person know that you are ready for them to GET THE HELL AWAY FROM YOU!)

This particular BSD is very important. This was the first, and only, time my father took part in a BSD and kept his mouth shut. Didn't grunt, offer advice, sigh, cough, or groan. Nothing. He just stood behind me and watched me debone the lamb.

I was annoyed then. Kind of tickled when he told me I had done well, as he was a man sparse with compliments.

As much as now I wish I could have him stand behind me and berate me, even, just to have him back, I know I cannot. He lives on through the memories, and the sharing of the stories I have about him.

But how hilariously wonderful would it be for me to serve a thanksgiving dinner and then BSD the table? Family Pride, baby. Family Pride.

Call Now! Operators are standing by!

Know how I keep mentioning how much I loathe my job? How it wears on me, the gossip, the in fighting, the drama? The seemingly bottomless immaturity?

I got a promotion.

No, excuse me, a "promotion". Air quotes, as it were. No increase in pay. No real benefit, at all, really. But I got a title. Sigh.

I got this title because no one wants to work banquets, because no one makes money on banquets anymore since the gratuity policy has been changed. Management is proposing a new banquet gratuity policy, wherein people with titles are required to be at both restaurants at all times to facilitate the implementation of the new policies.

Therefore, as the current title holder at the other restaurant wishes to have a life.....I come in. I am currently the holder of this title one day a week at the restaurant I normally work in, and now will be firmly clasping this title to my chest 3 out of the four days I work.

Fucking kill me.

I didn't really get asked if I wanted this title. The options were me or the girl that hasn't read a book since the third grade--Management went with me, thereby going against all patterns in their decision making history up to this point.

Pretty much what happened was I was told that I was going to do this so that everyone can make more money. Not me, however. I cannot get an increase in pay, even though the other holders of this title did. No, I will not be given the same responsibilities that they have--so I will continue to make minimum wage. (Plus tips.) I'm the relief pitcher. The lesser of 24 evils. The most competent incompetent in the house, as it were. Someone needs to do this, so that everyone else will be happy, so that the bitching will cease.

And under the bus I go.

Can you tell I'm not thrilled? I mean, a job is a job. But I hate the other restaurant. I don't want to waltz in there, and have the girls that have been there for so long resent the fact that I now hold this title and they don't. Whatever.

I'm in it for the benefits package. Shhh, don't tell. :)

Not really worth the wait

Yeah, so I was away from the computer for about ten days.

No really good reason. Staying with T. There is no internet there. Working too much. No internet there, either.

I just ate almost half of a container of coolwhip with a spoon for dinner.

Disgusted? I am.

The "ladies" (I use that term loosely) I work with have invited me (ME! GRANDMA!) out to the bar tonight. I think I may go, just to assuage some of the rumors that have been going around work. But I can't help but think they have nebulous plans.

Will I ever trust people again? Mah.

All I really want to do is sleep and watch COPS. And eat more coolwhip. (Still gross.)

Depressin' and Stressin'

Happy Not Halloween.

I worked, in costume, as the "Ghost of the restaurant where I work Past"--I wore my old work uniform that everyone hated.

No one got it that didn't work for the company a year ago.

Whatever.

Work is becoming more arduous as time passes. But that's any job, isn't it?

The in-fighting, the gossip, the not being able to trust anyone, the high school mentality. I hate it. Really. Being stabbed in the back just because you are there is not good.

On my day to be "in charge" (not that I get paid any more to do this, of course, like all the other 'in charge' people) I worked a double shift, and we got HOSED we were so busy during happy hour. My least favorite employee is supposed to be coming in to cover the shift of my favorite employee at 5 pm.

She didn't show until almost 6:30.

When she did, I had not opened the upstairs section of the restaurant nor had I been able to send the lunch crew home, because that would entail leaving one server alone in a bar FULL of people. Not acceptable.

Now, this person, who is my least favorite....She really, really is my least favorite. She is a bitch. Really. Like, this is not my humble opinion--she's a bitch. Two faced. Openly admits to talking shit behind people's backs, because she can. Refuses to adhere to any work ethic on days when I'm in charge--because it's me. (Granted, she has been there longer than I. But still. It's not like I'm marching around barking orders at people. If shit goes down, it's my ass. That's pretty much it.) I don't love it.

Anyway, she rolls in, and in front of the restaurant manager, pulls me aside and says, "I need to leave early. {policy states that the first one in the door is the first one out--Me.} I'm sick, I have class tomorrow, and I'm leaving at eight. I don't care if you work upstairs or down, but I am leaving."

To which I responded?

"Least Favorite? I have ten tables. I don't give a shit where you work--just get your ass in the game. There are six people upstairs waiting to be seated--either get up there and take care of them or take my ten tables. But do it now."

She then stands there for ten minutes, doing nothing.

Finally, she says to me, "Did you decide where you wanted to work?"

I nearly killed her.

"Just go upstairs!"

Things slow down rapidly after happy hour ends. I send the lunch crew home, after nearly weeping at them for how wonderful they are. I get the other server squared away and caught up, and then made an executive decision.

I walk upstairs, to least favorite.

She's sitting in the wait station, on the phone.

I start talking to her, even though she is obviously busy. Ha, ha.

"Hey, since you're so sick, go home."

"What?"

"If you are as sick as you say you are, and as exhausted with your other job--I appreciate you being willing to cover for Favorite, but Other Server and I have it under control. Just go. I will take your table."

"I don't want you to be mad at me! But, you know, you do owe me, after all."

Thank god I didn't have anything sharp near me.

"Just. Go. Home."

So she did. Twenty minutes later.

She was on the clock for less than thirty minutes. WHY EVEN SHOW THE FUCK UP????

Sigh.

*************************

There are aspects of my life that I don't discuss on the blog. Hell, I don't really discuss them, period. But especially not on the blog. And these things are really, really bad right now. And so I am stressed and depressed.

Sorry for that little teaser.

Retarded....er.

Is the word my coworker used to describe the act of being stoned.

Anyone who has smoked pot knows this is a rather apt description.

************************

I was talking to a friend of mine last night, who every time I talk to her one of us winds up peeing from laughing so hard (such gems as "Cute girls don't eat pussy!" are the culprits), and she came up with a statement that made me choke from laughing.

I told her about how sometimes I find myself saying and/or doing things (usually at work and out of frustration--story to follow) that I know are wildly inappropriate, but I just can't stop myself.

Her response?

"Most people call that being drunk."

************************

So I was at work, and it was slow. Really, really slow. Like, I haven't had a table in hours kind of slow.

Two middle aged women come in, and sit down. I give them menus, water, and silverware. Take drink orders. Deliver accordingly.

Enough time passes that it is appropriate for me to ask them if they were ready to order, which they were. Sorta.

One woman points to an item on the menu, which has the word "Chicken" in the title. She points to it, and says, "This doesn't have meat in it, does it?", to which I responded, "Chicken."

"No! No, see? Here underneath (she points to the description portion of the menu), it doesn't say anything about meat."

"Chicken, ma'am. There's chicken in the Chicken Appetizer."

She argues some more, totally unwilling to admit and/or notice that she is using the word "chicken" while talking to me.

Suddenly, I explode.

"CHICKEN!", I bark. "THERE'S CHICKEN IN THE CHICKEN APPETIZER!"

The two women look at me like I have just admitted to being a Nazi sympathizer.

I realize my error. I know I need to do something to cover my ass.

I laugh. A forced, half maniacal laugh.

They laugh with me. And order the chicken appetizer.

Note to the public as a whole:

When eating in a restuarant.....

READ THE FUCKING MENU! This isn't a MENSA exam! Third grade reading level required! Please! Your server will begin to bleed in her brain if she has to explain something WRITTEN IN FRONT OF YOU again, and again, and again, and again......

Got Wood? Or, Reasons I Wish I Was a Dude

I am cheap. Hopelessly, tirelessly cheap. I loves me a bargain.....almost to my own detriment. I will go without something seemingly necessary to the rest of the planet to save myself a dime (and yet I smoke....Hrm, there's $100 a month or so I could be saving) and will not complain.

I have electric baseboard heat here at Chez Laundry. This was acceptable when my father was alive, as he required instant, constant heat. Damn the expense, as he would say. We had a wood burning stove as back up for when the power went out (All freaking winter here) and for 'ambiance'.

Since my father has died, I have fully embraced the "fuck the electric company" attitude. I sit in the dark more often than not, and run only necessary equipment all the time. Computer, refrigerator, water heater. Things like this.

I purchased 1/2 a cord of wood from a coworkers husband a few days ago, and had it delivered.

Side bar! I am well versed in wood. When I was living in close proximity to my mother, every freaking weekend my buddy and I would go out in thigh deep snow and cut down trees, then cut them into rounds, then haul the rounds, then split and stack the rounds, then burn them, and then the next weekend.....you see a pattern forming here. I have pretty much nothing but resentment in my heart for cutting firewood, and the idea of having it delivered, ready to stack, to my home, seemed like an extravagance.

So the wood is delivered. I am tickled beyond belief. My coworkers husband? Not so much. See, there is a flight of stairs that needs to be traversed to get to my "wood stacking area", also known as the empty spot by my front door/exterior closet. (used by my neighbors as a patio/storage for barbecue. Fuck that noise! Wood, baby!) I see no problem hauling wood up a flight of stairs to fill a closet. Granted, I had spent that entire morning emptying the closet of last years remnants of wood, stacking and sorting it...without gloves. (I'm so fucking brilliant sometimes. Really. I went to get gloves before J arrived with more wood, however. Logic.)

Anyway, J devises a plan involving planks of wood, pieces of kindling and a wheelbarrow with a hole in it for the wood movement. It works, and I am doubly tickled. (It doesn't take much, you see.)

So we haul. We stack. We carry. I absolutely destroy my fake nails. DESTROY. It was Black-Metal screaming DESTRUCTION. Seriously.

At about the half way mark, I have to pee. I inform J of this, and leave him outside with a cup of coffee and a promise that I will be right back.

I go into the bathroom, admire my destroyed hands, and pee.

And realize that I have started my period. And all the supplies as such are in the other bathroom. With much swearing, I get up, go to the other bathroom, obtain the materials, change my underwear, take care of business.

Walk back outside to J, who is kind of staring off into space. I'm sure he thought I was vomiting or had my intestines fall out because I was gone for so long.

We finish.

J leaves.

I go back inside, after admiring my beautiful wood pile and GINORMOUS pile of cedar kindling (oh, cedar kindling, how I would marry you if I could), and wash my mangled hands.

Then I began thinking.....

Guys don't have to worry about shit like that! They don't have to think about breaking their nails while out in the nature! Don't have to have tampons in their trucks, just in case!

I am such a tomboy in some ways. I resent my period in ways I can't really articulate. But how fitting is it that my tomboy ass would have to hit the pause button while stacking firewood to go deal with her period. Sigh.

TMI? Probably.

I went and had my nails fixed today. I look like a porn star again. (at least my hands do--my tits aren't big enough for porn.) (Welcome, porn googlers!) I told my friend of my wood tribulations, and he said, straight faced, of course, "Too bad the little asian ladies at the salon can't fix your period for you too, huh?"

I thought it was funny. And I love my ladies at the salon. But I would love them more if they could do that, too.

The Smell of Unwashed Human

My hours have been slashed at work. SLASHED. This is a nice reprieve from the 60+ hours I was working any given week a month ago, but it's slightly confusing to have all this time all of a sudden. And no money.

Typically, when I have days off and I am a busy person, my days off are spent filled with just as much hustle and bustle as the rest of the time.

Not so at the moment. I lay on my couch, watching Ninja Warrior on G4 (have you seen this show? So, so rediculous. Cheaters is another favorite.), drinking coffee and....not bathing. Just laying around. After running my ass off for so long making sure that everything was taken care of for everyone else, to have time to myself....It means that not a whole hell of a lot is getting done. Eating, bathing, cleaning, laundry, nothing. A lot of loafing.

Kind of embarrassing when people come over, however.

I made jambalaya last night, with great success. Considering I had never made it before and didn't really have a recipe, I doubt that any cajuns would approve, but us yankees liked it quite a bit. Gets filed under the "There's five pounds of meat in this. Not counting the shrimp. Eat Hearty.".

Well, Super Troopers is calling from the other room.

Father Logic

I have switched to menthol cigarettes.

My father always told me that if it is hot outside or you are sick, you switch to menthols. Don't quit, for chrissakes, just menthol it.

Anyone that knew my father knows that this is dad logic. This is the same man that came up with "It's 5pm in England. Screw the tea, I want some bourbon!" (we live on the west coast. You do the time zone math.) Anyway, so menthols it is.

I'm really getting tired of being sick. I know that I have been sick for so long (like, oh, since dad died!) because of emotional and physical exhaustion...I get the hint. I'm over it. Really. Now I am coughing like my mother (I'm sure the menthols aren't contributing to that at all) and my throat hurts. Most of the people that I know that have this cold have had it for about a month. It just.....hangs.....on. I don't love it.

I hate it when the people whose blogs I read don't repost often enough for my reading pleasure. And yet I do the same thing. Sorry, everyone. Double standards for everyone! Hooray!

I slept last night without Ambien. Apparently drinking a pot of coffee does the same thing to my body as a sleeping pill. (I am SO NORMAL.)

Work is fine. Not making crap for money, as it has been totally slow. Aggravating as usual, however, what with all the in talking and back stabbing and dramadramadrama. This job makes me feel SO OLD. But the money is so, so worth it. I'm not making crap at the moment, like, a third of what I was three months ago, and it's still the best paying job I have ever had. Oh, yes, baby.

The F&B Christmas party is being planned. My manager was telling me about one that she planned for another company, where she had people sign up for karaoke months in advance, so that the "I don't want to go first!" fear didn't matter--it became a game of one-up-man-ship. When the fateful day came, everyone got totally wasted and they began randomly calling people from the list--but there was a surprise.

They did it Gong Show Style. Kitchen staff were drunkenly Gonging the executive chef, waitstaff gonging the accounting department--everyone wasted and nobody caring.

This can only end in tragedy in my company, but it is hilarious to imagine. Especially if you know the people I work with/for.

Pandemic

Everyone I work with is sick. Including me.

We all have the same bug. The head cold. Who knew shoving 12 people into a box for 60 hours a week at least would lead to germ spreading? Surprised I am not.

However, considering everyone who has eaten at our restaurant in the last week has had their food handled by at least three people with a cold, well....You do the math. We are vigorous hand washers and glove wearers.....but things happen. We aren't making out with eachother or the customers, but germs, well, are germs.

Kinda makes me giggle that homecoming weekend just passed. The local HS students can thank us later.

Anyway, I am currently trying to become addicted to my late fathers sleeping pills. It seems to be working.

Exhaustion

I hate working banquets.

See, they are good, because you make serious, serious money. Big, huge, fabulous money.

But they are bad, because something always goes terribly, terribly wrong. There always comes a point where you are either screaming into a telephone, screaming into the kitchen, running your ass off, or all three. (sometimes simultaneously.)

Tonight.....sucked. Worst banquet I have worked in months. (this is saying something. I worked one last week with a fever, and one the week before that is in at least the top five--I'll tell you about it sometime.)

This was supposed to be a cakewalk. it was a buffet, which is so, so nice, and I had a partner, which was going to make it even easier.

Not so.

They arrived, promptly, and we began to run cocktails for them. We asked them to take a seat at the appointed time--all the food was ready to go--and so they did.

Only, well, the guest count was off.

By seven.

They had seven more people than we thought they were going to--because someone had not taken into account the fact that there were children in the group. Nope, the "Twenty six adults and seven children" translated to paper as "Twenty six adults...hey, look at that big shiny thing over there....what?".

So now we have to scramble around and see if there is a way to fit seven more people into this room. No room for another table, no room for more chairs.....

While my partner and I were looking for a solution, the guests moved their own tables. Made their own way. This, as much as it makes things easier for us, is unacceptable. it opens us up for a lawsuit....

Anyway, the food comes out, after sitting in the hot box for thirty minutes (sweet!), and they eat.

Dessert time.

Out comes the dessert platter. We are then informed that they ordered a cake, special, from us. And this is also information that we didn't have.

So I go screaming up to the other restaurant in the golf cart (only the best for us!) in the middle of a freaking windstorm to steal some cake from them, to try and patch it together with the cake we have, to make it look like the cake they ordered.

There is another banquet going on at the same time, as well as normal restaurant business, so I got to put my pastry skills to work and decorate the damn thing, with only whipped cream. I take it out....

And they tell me that the cake they ordered was supposed to feed 30.

Fuck. Me.

But they were happy.

also, an aside:

All parents of small children under the age of 10--Corral your kids. Please. I poured a cup of boiling water on my chest to stop it from splashing your toddler in the face when he ran full bore into me, while you smiled and laughed. I was hit in the head with at least 4 paper airplanes while delivering coffee, while you smiled and laughed. Guests in the restaurant complained because your children were playing football in the hallway and lobby of the hotel, while you were no where to be found.

I don't get paid for that.

Anyway, I actually made it home before one am, so that is something to be celebrated.

I just may get some sleep.

"You totally had a mullet, didn't you?"

Question asked to one of my coworkers a few weeks ago, to which he responded with "Well....yeah. Is it that obvious?"

I thought it was funny. But then again, I know these people.

Hey, did you know that being horribly depressed but trying to mask it while working, especially while sleep deprived and stressed out can cause you to to really strange things?

Like, oh, sobbing uncontrollably in the middle of the bar you work in because there is an ASPCA commerical on the big screen TV, featuring the song "Angel" by Sarah McLaughlin as its soundtrack. Potentially unloved animals+Sappy chick music=I have to run from the restaurant floor, audibly crying.

Also:

Getting into a battle of wits with the Coast Guard. (Good fun, actually.)

Also:

Falling asleep in the breakroom.

Perhaps.....I should sleep more. Try and do my crying at home.

********************************

Moving on.

You know when you were a kid, and your parents would tell you that eating dessert before dinner is not an option, one pound candy bars cannot be eaten in one sitting, rolling in the mud in your Sunday best is not a good idea, and keeping your pants on in public is really a good idea?

At some point in your childhood, you answered, "When I'm a grown up, I'm going to {insert forbidden act here} all the time!", to which your parents would agree, and tell you that yes, as an adult you can take off your pants in the grocery store, stay up until 3am watching scary movies, and eat 9 pounds of chocolate, whenever you want. But not now.

I was reminded of this today, when I got home from work, threw a Lean Cuisine in the microwave, and proceeded to eat a diet ice cream sandwich while watching the plastic tray revolve. Dessert first.

I have a sweet tooth. Huge, huge sweet tooth. I can't eat a lot of candy, because my teeth are so sensitive, which is probably a blessing and the only thing keeping me from having to be lifted out of my house by a crane. But I loves me some dessert.

But I loves me some dessert BEFORE the meal. Granted, I have strange eating habits anyway (I can only eat one thing at a time. Like, on a plate full of food--the protein, starch and veggie--I will eat all the veggie, then all the starch, then the protein. No mixing, no trying all three things separately, always the veggie, starch and protein, that order, even if I don't like one of the items. I didn't know that I did this until I was eating out with a friend of mine who commented on it. I do it with casseroles and shit too--will pick out the veggies, eat them, then the starch, and so on. It's like I get mouth-sensory-overload if I don't do this--panic attack, almost. Weird.) but somehow, my tummy and mouth are happier if I start with sweet rather than end with it. Almost like my taste buds prefer the transition from sweet to savory than savory to sweet.

Anyway, so while I stood in my kitchen, clad in a bathrobe, eating ice cream and waiting for my lean cuisine, (all I need is a herd of cats to complete the equation, right?)I thought back to when I was a kid, and this was forbidden.

Now I'm a grown up, and, goddamnit, I will eat my ice cream first! Take that, Mom!

And sob hysterically at commericals while waiting tables. Ah, freedom.

Dude.

Problems with not listening to the radio, reading the news, watching any television besides the food network, or keeping in steady contact with those who feed your obscure taste in music (Please forgive me, Mr.N!):

You miss out on information like, oh, the fact that KMFDM has a new album out.

I never thought I would say this....but myspace told me. And I am happy.

Welcome back!

Ah, my old friend, Insomnia....how I haven't missed you one fucking bit.

It's 2:30am. I'm depressed. So what the fuck else is new.

warning:This post may and probably will contain bitter, self depreciating, semi confusing comments and remarks. proceed at your own risk.

How do you put a monetary figure on someones life? how do you ask to be compensated for the years they DON'T get to have--especially if they were sick?

My sisters are talking about this. they are using me, and my young age, non-marital status, childless, non fully college educated existence to pump up the potential sum my fathers few years left of life may have been worth. why? Why are they doing this? I'm confused, and saddened. what kind of money is it worth to me to have a father-daughter dance at my wedding? what if dad couldn't walk by then? he was on oxygen full time. what is it worth to me to have him hold his newest grandchild? to see me get my masters degree?

I don't want to ask these questions, as, well, I'm not going to have a father-daughter dance. He will never meet any more grandchildren, and will not pose for pictures with me in my collegiate cap and gown. it's worth nothing, and everything to me.

My sisters had all that. he met their kids, danced at their weddings, made speeches. Celebrated birthdays, holidays with them and their new families. Got to see his grandchildren grow up.

I don't get it. my step dad is dead, my dad is dead. My children will have no maternal grandfathers. they will know only pictures and stories of these men. They will never experience dad at his worst, calling names and being a racist. They will never hear the made up swear words, the dry wit, the laughter. have the virtues of german sports cars extolled upon them by the old man.

What is it worth to me? I would give anything I have to have my dad back. To be able to get up tomorrow morning and have him sitting in his chair, banging the newspaper at me to make him a drink. To have to rearrange my life to make sure that he was taken care of, to be on constant red alert that something may happen. I would give anything, everything to see him one more time and tell him I'm sorry--I'm sorry that he fell, that I didn't catch him or even try. that I didn't demand to talk to the doctor when I called the hospital, that I didn't spend every fucking moment I could with him before he died. That I worked 50 hour weeks while he sat at home alone up until the day he fucking died.

it breaks my fucking HEART to not have the old asshole around. Not sharing cigarettes, drinking martinis, telling dirty jokes. He drove me crazy, and I loved him.

We never had a good relationship until I moved back here--and then he got so sick, so fast. I didn't tell him I loved him before he died. I hadn't hugged him, kissed him, in years. Granted, we weren't an affectionate family....and had I known, I would have.....But when we had our last conversation, I didn't want him to know I was scared, because then he would have been scared too. He knew me well enough to know that if I was crying, if I told him I loved him, that something was really wrong. I didn't want his last moments to be filled with fear....I wanted him to be as comfortable as possible. I didn't know that he was going to die five minutes later. I had to lock myself in the hospital bathroom after he fell, because I was fucking hysterical. I didn't want dad to know.

I just miss my dad. i resent my sisters for just wanting the fucking money and not caring that he's gone....especially since they got all the memories I wont. that my kids won't. it hurts.

Explosions!

Why does really weird crap always happen to me? I mean, really.

I have been working hard on getting sick the last few days. Everyone I work with has had some malady or another lately, and it's only a matter of time before we cross contaminate each other and create new illnesses, which of course I fall victim too. I can't just get the cold, no, or the flu, I have to get the flold, or the colu (which sounds too much like a Lovecraft-ism for me, actually.)

basically, I felt like crap for the last 2 days. Not crappy enough not to go to work, but just like....crap. Tired, achy, sneezy, coughing. Crap. I powered through work, taking airborne and vitamins in a crusade to give myself kidney stones instead of getting sick. (And drinking lots of water, too. Peeing is my new hobby.)

Night before last, I am sitting in my bedroom, dicking around on the Internet and arguing with my immune system. Doing my thing. I have one of those oil diffusers--you know, the glass thing you put the candle under, which then heats up the little divot above it you have filled with scented oil. Yeah. That thing.

Anyway, I'm cheap and bought my oil at the Super Huge Discount Store for $1. It was working fine....Until.....

I'm typing away, and suddenly, there is a BANG! followed shortly by the sound of rain. I glance to my left, and everything, I mean EVERYTHING on that side of the room is covered in a fine sheen of Hazelnut vanilla scented oil. Which is also steaming hot.

What I figure happened was the oil evaporated most of the moisture out of it, and then formed a skin on the top, which then began to fill with steam/pressure from what was underneath it, and then it reached critical mass and exploded all over my bedroom.

This would be more funny if it hadn't blasted itself all over the ceiling. How the hell am I going to clean it up without moving all the furniture? I'm not.

There was another explosion yesterday.

My fever.

I slept and slept and slept, got up, showered, slept. Fixed my hair, slept. Drug my ass to work. Before I left, I took my temperature.

102.4.

So I took 4 tylenols and walked to work.

I walked in the door and informed everyone I walked into "Don't touch me, and wash your hands after you touch anything I touched--I'm burning 102 degree fever!"

Management accepted this information with a resounding "Good Job! Way to be a team player!"

I assume they meant my powering through it and still working.

Anyway, i was working a banquet last night, which is fine. Easy money.

These fuckers wouldn't leave. WOULD NOT LEAVE! Most of them went up and went to bed at 9:40 or so, AN HOUR AFTER THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO LEAVE, but the rest stayed. and stayed. and stayed. Ordered more bottles of wine.

It's about this time that I nearly lost it. I felt like ASS. FEVER. SICK. WANT TO GO HOME. everyone else has left, all the servers, the kitchen staff. It's just me, standing there, waiting for them to LEAVE SO I CAN.

I clear everything they aren't using. all glasses, napkins, silverware. One man orders another bottle of wine. I ask him if my clearing this stuff is a problem, he says no. I explain that I have to stay longer than they do, so, well, yeah....

He says, and I quote! "Well, good for you, honey! We're going to be here a while!".

I nearly hit him.

I called T and told him what was up. Unbeknownst to me, he was sitting in my house waiting for me, so he came down to the restaurant to wait for me/drive me home.

I grabbed him like I was drowning. the moment he touched me, he jumped back, put a hand to my forehead and said, "Jesus!", which I took to meant I was still burning a fever through the tylenol, and not that my hair had all fallen out or anything.

I made an executive decision.

I walked into the banquet room, and said,

"Gentlemen, would you be horribly offended if I left you here on your own? I have an 8 month old baby at home with the flu, and I would really like to get back to her."

I was met with a resounding "GO HOME!" from these men. I gave them more wine, and left.

To go take care of myself. (I really hope creating fake children to earn the sympathy of strangers isn't going to have me smote in any way.....I suppose we will see.)

Oh, and I'm feeling better today. I think I beat the fever. Hoping.

Always look on the bright side.......

One good thing about my job-----

I have been working at the other restaurant this week, and as much as I normally fucking hate it there....

I get to eat Filet Fucking Mignon every day for free. With blue cheese butter. Cooked just the way I like it--Bloody. With black pepper garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus. FREE. Bitches.

Considering the fact that since I have started living alone (nearly 2 months now) my diet has consisted of little more than slim fast, lean cuisine, peanut butter on a spoon and poptarts, this is a good thing. Oh, and diet soda. (as we speak, I have a jar of skippy sitting next to me with an Iced Tea spoon in it--better to reach the nooks and crannies with, you see.)

It's the small things in life.

What else....I slept the kind of sleep that people cry about, it's so beautiful, last night. I totally hit my stride--firing on all five cylinders and everything. For 13 hours. I had to be at work at 2pm and nearly overslept. In......deed.

These are the good things. Yes.

Also, this made me smile in more ways than I can really describe. It's a response to a newspaper article printed in Australia which lambasts homosexuality. (I also stole this from a myspace blog of someone that hates me. Weird.....but I site my sources!)

"Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your article, and will try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the other specific laws and how to follow them: When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them? I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her? I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness -Lev.15:19- 24. The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense. Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Kiwis, but not Fijians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Fijians? I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself? A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here? Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die? I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves? My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev. 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? - Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14) I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging."

Pseudo Meme

100 Odd or Interesting Things About Me......

(This is more of a commitment than one would think. 100 is a lot.)

1) I never learned to ride a bike properly.
2) Nor did I learn how to swim properly either.
3) Despite the fact that I don't swim well at ALL, unless you compare me to a rock, I spent most of my formative years aboard a boat.
3) I suffered from night terrors as a child, and, because this is me we are talking about here, am one of the small percentage of adults that didn't grow out of them.
4) I have no enamel on my back teeth, and have to have them sealed once a year.
5) My favorite colors are royal purple, sapphire blue and emerald green.
6) I am terrified of moths.
7) I prefer a car with a manual transmission.
8) I am lost without a book. I always have to have some book I'm working my way through in order to be totally sane.
9) I love British humor.
10) I love cooking complicated, intricate things.
11) I knit often, but haven't progressed past "advanced beginner". I started my first sock yesterday, and I already fear for those around me when it gets complicated.
12) I hate crying. I will go to great lengths to keep myself from doing so, even when I am alone.
13) Reality television makes me embarrassed.
14) I will go out of my way to try and get someone a gift that I know they will love, and am always confused when someone does the same for me.
15) I am a control freak about really strange things. The order in which I shower, for instance. (HAIR FIRST! ALWAYS!)
16) I love to try new food. I blame my parents for this, as I was required to at least taste something before I said I didn't like it. I hated it as a kid, but now am proud to say that I have eaten things like cougar (tastes like pork), octopus, (Not that great. Texture, mostly) and Ugly fruit (it really is ugly).
17) In that same vein, I have eaten live fish. I don't recommend it, no matter how much Korean hot sauce you put on them first.
18) My favorite books cause either a)learning to happen or b)are totally fucked up. I own everything Chuck Palahniuk has written, as well as multiple anthologies on religion, mythology and the history of bread making.
19) I am rarely jealous.
20) I judge people far, far too harshly sometimes, and not harshly enough the rest of the time. I need to find some middle ground.
21) The idea of having a child terrifies me because I fear it would feel about me the way I feel about my mother.
22) I trust hardly anyone, but will tell anyone anything about myself if they ask, fully expecting them to use it against me at some point.
23) Since I was a small child, I have wanted to be an author and an English teacher, as well as a pastry chef. I'm not sure how you can combine those three things into a lucrative career.
24) I only watch television if it is readily available. If it isn't, I often don't notice for a while.
25) After my father died, I didn't turn the television on for nearly 3 weeks simply because it wasn't on when I walked in the door and I forgot about it.
26) I love techno/house music. I also love industrial/metal music. This confuses most people.
27) I believe in having a strong work ethic, even if you hate your fucking job.
28) I have never had a job I loved.
29) I hated college.
30) I find myself dissatisfied with at least one thing in my life at all times.
31) I refuse to own anything that is dry-clean-only.
32) I will buy things that cannot go in the dishwasher, much to the distress of my late father.
33) Blue pens bother me more than they should.
34) I don't really believe in family.
35) Being genetically related to someone shouldn't mean you have to love them, or see them if you don't want to.
36) I am a firm believer in evolution and natural selection.
37) I believe in capital punishment, but feel that death row inmates should not be kept separate from other prisoners.
38) I always vote.
39) I don't trust police officers. The only ones I do I knew personally before I knew they were cops.
40) I know I don't trust the police because the cops where I used to live were crooked as all get out.
41) And they shot and killed my stepfather in my front yard, that may have something to do with it too.
42) Somehow I seem to be more traumatized by my father's death than my stepfathers, and I was far, far closer to my step dad.
43) Everyone in my immediate family has/has had a substance abuse problem of some kind.
44) Organized religion confuses me.
45) I get motion sickness terribly. I came into this as an adult.
46) I had the chickenpox twice.
47) I have never broken a bone.
48) The worst job I ever had was either in a library or a veterinary clinic. Tied.
49) I have only had one job I wasn't really good at.
50) I believe in karmic retribution.
51) I hate to shop for clothes.
52) I have more pairs of socks than I will ever need, yet buy more constantly.
53) I didn't have acne of any kind until I turned 19. It was like the zit switch got flipped on my 19th birthday or something.
54) Snow makes me angry.
55) Rain makes me happy.
56) I get sunburned when it's overcast.
57) If I could afford it, I would get braces.
58) My teeth are not horribly crooked in any way that effects the way I look, smile or talk.
59) My bite is wrong in about 48573 ways, which causes me to have tension headaches a lot.
60) Everyone in my family gets migraine headaches.
61) My favorite sports to watch are Hockey, Sailing, Soccer and Porn.
62) Anyone that tries to tell me that porn isn't a sport is wrong.
63) I would like to welcome everyone all the "Porn isn't a sport" googlers and the like to this site.
64) Eighties music makes me happy.
65) Eighties clothes being back in style does not.
66) Two of my sisters had catholic weddings. They are both atheists.
67) I have nieces and nephews that are older than me.
68) I am a cat person.
69) I hate flying.
70) I plan on travelling a lot in my life. Thank God for Xanax.
81) I am pro choice.
82) I am a bad cell phone owner. I don't take the phone with me very often, and when I do, I forget to turn it on. This is a recent development.
83) I believe that laughing will fix a lot of what's wrong with you.
84) The hardest class I took in college was Buddhism.
85) The most boring class I took in college was Archaeology.
86) The most interesting class I took in college was Human Sexuality. (also the most horrifying, actually.)
87) I took five years of Spanish, and forgot almost all of it.
88) I have six tattoos, one of which is readily visible.
89) The conservative retirees I wait on at work are typically tickled by the fact that I have tattoos.
90) That makes my brain hurt more than anything else.
91) I have no patience for most people.
92) I feel guilty when those close to me fuck up.
93) I drink water very, very rarely and I know that it is so bad for me to do that.
94) I secretly love Ludacris and Busta Rhymes.
95) Nascar makes me want to tear my own eyes out.
96) I don't like toast, but eat it anyway because it reminds me of my step dad.
97) I was raised on peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches instead of peanut butter and jelly.
98) I realized I was an adult about a year and a half ago.
99) I am anemic.
100) I watch the food network almost 100% of the time.

Damn, I'm boring! Haha.

I don't understand.

Alright, please bear with me on this one, I'm talking about things I know nothing about again.

Recently, every time you turn on Spike TV, there is a commercial about being a father. Reminding the men of America to talk to their children, play with them, be there for them....basically, a commercial advertising the act of being a parent.

See, I'm not a parent, and I am definitely not a father.....but have we deteriorated so much as a society that we truly need a commercial like these?

I come from something of a "do it yourself" parenting style household--meaning that both of my biological parents were too busy either getting wasted or being as far away from home as possible--I was kinda in charge of myself from a reasonably young age. If these commercials had been around 20 or so years ago....Would it have made a difference in my life? Would I have had a more 'normal' childhood/adolescence? I doubt it very much.

But if these ads are working, and even just one kid's life is made better by them, then I support them wholeheartedly. As much as I find it rather depressing that we live in a nation that requires them.

Can I get a Hell Yes?

Ok, two posts in 10 minutes. Sorry.

I saw this on someones blog, and could NOT stop laughing. (I assume my late father is making good on his promise to save me a seat on the Trolley Car to hell--He's bringing the booze if I bring the smokes, E is in charge of the porn.) (Is is really weird that that was a running joke with me and dad? Not that hilarious now that he's dead. Anyway.)(If dad is making good on this promise, my laughter at this thing is basically getting my name embroidered on the seat next to his. Maybe an extra fan or something, as I assume we won't need blankets, as we are going to hell, after all.)

This is a poster found in San Fransisco, aimed towards gay men, who are the largest contributing population of recreational methamphetamine use (apparently) in that area. Apparently it is used prior to 'casual hook ups'. I am by no means an expert on this research, and I am not gay, a man, or a user of meth, so, well, there you have it.

But I do know funny.

This is funny.





Right?

At least you won't forget it. And that, my friends, is the goal of advertising, right?

Return!

Ok. So I have been hugely delinquent in my posting, but I was off on the WORST 'VACATION' EVER. (I'm thinking of trademarking that title, actually.)

Not all parts were bad. But the parts that were bad....well, they more than made up for the good parts.

I have started, and been working on, a post about our experience with the lovely hotel since my return from said hotel a week ago. Also, our trip to the ninth circle of hell, or the local auto mall(s). After about 2 paragraphs, I'm too irritated to continue.

(this means something. Irritation is usually my muse.)

I said something to a coworker today that I think is an accurate description of myself.

"I used to be painfully shy. Then I got pissed off and stayed that way."

And I sometimes wonder to myself why I have an ulcer and greying hair.

Anyway, all of that will be more fully explained later. For now....MEME!

(aside: The term "meme" makes me think {and laugh} about my old boss's children. to the four year old, a 'mimi' was a binkie, and to the 1 year old, it was a blankie. the baby would hold her blanket over her head like a ghost and wander around in circles saying to herself "mi-mi-mi-mi-mi........Mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi......" while her sister would wander around looking for her stolen binkie. Hilarity! Maybe you had to be there.)

A
Always: Find something to smile about. Sometimes harder than others.
Average:Is relative?
Age:25.52. Yes, I did the math. Officially closer to 30 than 20. Always the baby, right?

B
Beer: Is a good thing
Birthday: 3/12
Boast: I am thinner now than when I moved here. Bitches!

C
Crush: I would totally do the pretty boy that plays the green arrow on Smallville. And then make fun of the butt chin he is sporting.
Car: Please don't go there.
Cry: I need to allow myself more time for crying.

D
Days: Often spent watching the food network in my jammies, drinking coffee and dreading the hour when work is happening.
Dream:To be content, secure, happy, and financially stable. In Tuscany/a boat on the Mediterranean.
Dare: to keep kids off drugs? to eat adventurously! I love me some new food!
Drug: other than the periodic bout of emotional self flagellation, nothing.

E
Eggs: Don't much care for the eggs. Custard, however, is fair fucking game.
Email: I love it. I check it a lot. Send me an email.
Envy: Lifetime students.

F
Flavors: Not in combination, mind, but....Bleu Cheese, Roasted brussel sprouts with bacon, dungeness crab and CURRY! (and diet dr.pepper cherry vanilla. Sweet, sweet heroin.)
Favorites: Really good books, kitty cats, good photos, strong coffee, good Cabernet....flannel sheets!
Flaws: I smoke. I bottle my anger. I pick at my fingernails. This list would be very, very long.
Finicky:Not really. Control freak about my little life, but not finicky. Does that make sense?

G
Grateful: I am grateful for my intelligence, my red hair, my friends, the fact that I have food/clothing/running water/roof over my head......
Gifts: I can knit. I can cook like a motherfucker. I'm rather witty, sometimes.
Gum: Gum is reserved for when I try to quit smoking, therefore, I don't chew it.
Gross: Any kind of moldering food. I CANNOT DEAL.

H
Hair: is dark red and to my shoulders? Super curly but I beat that shit into submission with the straightening iron daily. Oh, and for another post--I haven't shampooed my hair in three weeks. I'm using this new cleansing conditioner....and it works.
Height: I am taller than average, but would like to be taller.
Happiest: Nook, Book, flannel. There it is. The recipe for happy, my friends.
Hate: intolerance of any kind.

I
Ice Cream: skinny cow.
Instrument: Bass clarinet.
Idols: People who live life totally honestly and without embarrassment--totally for themselves.
Independence: Thank you.

J
Jewelry: the St.Christopher's medal and the silver ring don't come off. Earrings change daily, and are usually very dangly and silver.
Jail: NO.
Jammies: Dad's Snohomish Tribes Tshirt and the ultimate jammie pants from target.

K
Kids: I love other people's children if they aren't brats.
Karaoke: I hate Thursdays. Almost as much as happy hour.
Kicks: Driving with loud music on, preferably Daft Punk, Fear Factory, Deftones, In Flames,or Tricky, lately.

L
Love: The blessings in my life.
Life: Ice skating uphill, mostly.
Lost: Not always a bad thing.

M
Milk: Don't do a lot of milk either. Again, with the custard.
Miss: Innocence.
Movies: if I can stay awake, sure!
Memory: Terrible.

N
Nails: They're fake. Sorry.
No: A word I could use more often.
Name: Chuck Palahniuk used it in a novel because he thought "It's the most horrible name for a woman ever."
Never: forget to preheat the oven

O
Ordinary: Shoe size.
One: reason I like my job
Office: HAHAHAHAHA.
Only: so much patience

P
Pet Peeves: lateness
Primal urge: Cull the herd.
Personality: Strong.
Pain: Red heads have a higher tolerance for pain, did you know that?

Q
Quick: to laugh
Quirk: I will push my glasses up my nose when they aren't on my face, so I just poke myself in the bridge of my nose. Super attractive.
Qualms: people who act like F&B workers are in a lower caste than they.
Quest: To be the best me I can be. (So, so, so cliche. Sorry.)

R
Reason: I can be overly logical sometimes. Is that possible?
Reality TV: HATE.
Rage: Mine's named Carl. He lives inside me all the time.
Regret:I try not to.

S
Season: Autumn.
Shoes: Running shoes or flip flops.
Silly: am i tired? Then probably.

T
Tattoos: Indeed.
Time: Did you know you can get a lot done if you don't sleep or eat?
Ticklish: I will tear your arm off.
Taste: Saturated colors, mostly. Modern, clean.
Torment: High heeled shoes.

U
Undress: For bathing.
Unpredictable: Some things in my life are
Unfortunate: wardrobe choices on SO. MANY. PEOPLE. It's like the white trash olympics out there, people!
Unforgettable: Mostly bad stuff with some good stuff sprinkled on. Like the weddings this year, those were good.

V
Vegetables: I love them
Virgin: Islands? Records?
Vacation: Dirty, filthy word.
Voice: Not as attractive as I think it is in my head.

W
Worst Habit: Smoking, cutting myself down
Wish: To be totally satisfied in every way
Waste: I try not to. Really.
Wander: I should do this more.

X
X-Rated: Can be hilarious.
X-Rays: The last real one I had, I threatened to kill the nurse. She moved my foot in a way it DID NOT WANT TO GO--hell, after that, did we even need to see if it was broken?
X-marks the spot: I got nothing.

Y
Year born: What's next, my ssn?
Yes: to diet pepsi
Yellow: My old kitchen! With the stenciled hummingbirds! SO UGLY.
Yearn: To get the masters degree

Z
Zodiac: Pisces
Zealous: with my pours when bartending. Ssssh, don't tell.
Zzzz: Oh, yes, baby.

Blink

I'm not buying the car.

Please re-surge the good vibes. Thanks.

Apparently, when the girl listed the car as "totally clean and sound! Just a few bumps on the back bumper!" she was either a)lying or b)an idiot. I'm going with the second one.

I told her I wanted the car inspected to see if any major mechanical work needed to be done, and that I would pay for it. She agreed. We also signed an agreement stating that if there was any major work that needed to be done, we would adjust the sale of the car accordingly.

She calls me with the results of the inspection, and says....

"I'm not really mechanically inclined, so i don't really know what this stuff means, but the timing belt needs replacing, the valve gasket covers are leaking, the water pump needs to be redone, one of the blades on the cooling fan is broken, the serpentine belt needs to be replaced and the coolant flushed. Call me!"

So I do. In a panic. I, also not mechanically inclined, but not an idiot, understand that the aforementioned things equal 1)Serious money and 2)I'm not paying this much money for a car that needs that much work.

So I call her. I explain that this is bad. That I will not buy the car unless these things are fixed.

She tells me she will replace the timing belt (apparently the only thing with an exclamation point next to it on her notes) and that's it.

I tell her I'm sorry, but I cannot buy this car for that price and need to get all that work done.

She tells me she will split the repairs with me.

I tell her, NO, she won't.

She tells me she will come down $900 in price.

Nope.

She then proceeds to start crying. (She is using this money to go to china in like, a week. Who doesn't sell their car for trip money until a week before?)
She can't afford the repairs, and she can't afford to take less than $900 off the price.

Sorry.

I tell her I understand, and that I truly am sorry. I genuinely want this car, but it is not feasible.

THEN! She gets mad.

"I just really wish I had a head's up. If I had known this car needed to be in perfect condition for you to pay full price for it, I would have shown it to other people."

Silence.

"I'm just being honest.", she tells me.

"You do know that you advertised this car for being in perfect condition with all the maintenance records up to date, and all services needed had been performed, right?", I tell her. "You do know that isn't the truth, now, right?"

"I'm in a real pickle (she actually said pickle.) now, that's all."

I told her that I would still pay for the inspection, which in my mind is fair. She then took my mailing address and hung up on me.

No Jetta for me.

Oh well. Such is my life. Nothing can be easy. I guess it's off the the Auto Mall, (also known as "The Eighth Circle of Hell") to go shopping. Kill me.

T's sister is getting married this weekend. T's car is dead, dead, dead. Bye Bye Jeep, it's been good knowing you. Sigh.

I'm not going to California for my vacation. I'm going....somewhere we haven't decided on yet. Car shopping, probably.

I hate my job and all things involved with it. So there.

Consider yourselves updated!

Ta-Da!

Oh, so that thing I didn't want to jinx myself over?

never fear, my darlings, here it is.



As of today....My new car. (Your good-vibe-oozeage worked! Thanks, guys!)

Oh, and the best part? It's a TDI. 50 mpg.

I pick it up next weekend.

Start thinking of names!

50+what?

I really, really wish that the payroll office at my job was not filled with morons.

Really.

Again with the missing hours! Again with the missing paystubs! Again!

Sigh.

Its a long story.

Hey--everyone needs to cross their fingers and wish me luck on the endeavour I am taking tomorrow--I don't want to jinx myself, so I'm not mentioning it.....yet. But I really, really, really want it to work. REALLY. Totally fucking awesome.

So ooze me some positive vibes, peeps!

The Unspoken Word

Some of you may know this.

A one-way-ticket to making me incredibly angry is to put words in my mouth, and then use them against me. Just putting words in my mouth will make me angry, actually. I am a very....outspoken person, usually, and won't mince my words--I say what I mean. Therefore, when someone takes those words, adds to them, and paints me as an asshole or attempts to 'guilt' me with them, well, it doesn't sit well.

Add in the fact that I finally have some time off without family, and I am fucking sick as hell with some tummy bug (damn you, tummy bug!) and your final result is....well, this post.

I have made it plain to both offending parties (Indeed. Two completely separate people, two completely separate instances, both yesterday, just what I need.) that this shit ain't gonna fly.....

And yet, it continues. The histrionics, the manipulation. Kill me.

One, of course, is my mother. surprise surprise!

Mom called me yesterday, and says to me, "I need to ask you something, and I know you're going to say no." (then why ask?)

"I need you to come here and help me pack and then drive to where you live." (approx 700 miles from where she is)

My response?

I burst into tears. I feel like SHIT--I'm sick, I'm tired, my fucking dad just fucking died, I have to do all this shit in regards to that, I didn't work for two weeks so I don't have any goddamn money, I have to work as much as I can because I'm taking a week off for T's sisters wedding, and the idea of going there and dealing with her (especially in a motor home. With three cats in it, as well as mom) just....well, I couldn't handle it.

Do you think hearing her daughter sob would be enough for her to say, "Oh, no, honey, don't do it. I understand, totally, that you have too much on your plate right now."

No.

She gets nasty, whilst I cry. "I'm not going to BEG!", "I know you don't want me there!", "Why can't you do this? I haven't seen you for so long!" and on, and on, and on, with the guilt.

I cried some more. Told her all of the aforementioned things. Told her that I didn't want anything bad to happen to her, that I would help her if I could, but I just can't right now.

Suddenly, her tone changes. Cold. (this is common when mom doesn't get her way.)

"I never get what I want! Never! How am I going to do this by myself?"

(Aside: There is no fucking way in hell that I would do this with her, even if I was healthy and all the other crap was going on. I went back there just over a year ago to help her pack because she was moving, and 'help' turned into T and I doing everything while she drank was was awful. She will just sit there and do nothing except get wasted and be abusive--and if I give her an inch she takes a mile. If I were to do this for her, she would want me to go back with her in the spring, go to Arizona with her after that, and of course, spend my own {nonexistent} money to get back. But I really don't want anything bad to happen to her.)

The crying continues, and she realizes that badgering is not making me mad, or change my mind, so she caves. She is kind again, and gets off the phone.

Twenty minutes later, the phone rings again. I answer.

"Oh. I was just going to leave a message."

Seriously? I was here 20 minutes ago, did you really thing I got my sick ass out of the house with no car in that little time?

I ask her what she needs.

"I want you to forget that we had that conversation. Forget that I even asked you. I am not going to be HOMELESS, so there's nothing for you to worry about."

Homeless? Who said anything about homeless? I ask.

"You!"

Wait.

Oh, nope, wasn't me, sorry.

"You did too!" (she does this a lot.)

Now, well, now we're fighting. I'm PISSED, now, that she is doing this. How dare she treat me like this? How dare she play down my fathers death and make it all about her? how dare she manipulate me now, or ever? Sure, I shouldn't have risen to the bait, but, well....I'm fallible.

I laid it out for her. Not that she listens, she just talks over the top of you.

"Mom, it's not all about you. I didn't say that you were going to be fucking homeless, and you know it. Stop making me out to be the bad guy--stop looking to me for someone to blame when you fail. You should have planned this out when you bought the fucking motor home. Stop taking the blame away from yourself in this being 'not your idea to ask me', its bullshit. You expect me to treat you like an adult when you continually act like a child, and yet you treat me like a piece of shit in return. I'm over it."

She yelled some, and I hung up.

This morning (I'M FUCKING SICK! HOW MANY TIMES TO I HAVE TO TELL THIS WOMAN THAT I AM SICK, THEREFORE SLEEPING, THEREFORE DON'T FUCKING CALL ME BECAUSE THE PHONE WILL WAKE ME UP?), bright and early, (7am) she calls and leaves a ridiculous message on the answering machine, babbling, and then at the end she says (AND I QUOTE!)

"Forget that I asked you. I have lost too much, I won't lose my kid too."

How sad. She lost me long, long ago, and doesn't know it.

I asked her, once, a while ago, if she knew anything about me. My favorite food, color, what my most treasured possession was.

Nope. No idea. No idea what I want to do with my life, no idea about the ins-and outs of T's and My's relationship, whether or not we have a good relationship, what our plans are, what kind of car I want to drive...nothing. I don't think she cares.

Is that normal?

Freedom

For the first time in three or more years, I can do anything I want and not have to worry about anyone else.

I can go to California in two weeks, and not stress the whole time.

I can go to T's sister's wedding, and have a great time.

It's totally foreign to me--Being able to go somewhere without telling anyone first, seeing if they need anything, telling them when I will be back. A life lived for myself.

My mom is now giving me the silent treatment because I won't give her another car.

Whatever. She's a child.