Fruition

So...

You know how I keep talking about going to school, to finally see through my vision and long term goal of becoming a pastry chef?

You know how there is a much better (in all ways) option than culinary arts school, but that I felt like my chances of attaining that option were slim to less than none?

I, well, I kinda sorta did it.

I got a pastry apprenticeship. I start ASAP.

I'm terrified, I'm excited, I'm nervous, I'm thrilled to no end. Mostly I'm scared that I'll fuck it up somehow, and my life's dream will be dashed and I will forever have no one but myself to blame.

Love

I've been thinking a lot lately about weddings, and love.

Not just because I'm getting married and Valentines day is right around the corner, bullshit holiday that it is.

No, I've been thinking about Prop. 8. About how religion hates them the gay for the most part.

About how the Catholics have made me feel like a complete piece of shit for not being one of 'them' during my pre-wedding stuff with T, but that they are still willing to grit their teeth and marry us...because I am a woman and T is a man.

I cannot imagine the pain, the rage I would feel if someone, any one--especially a government told me that I could not be granted marriage to T. Just feeling unaccepted, frowned upon and generally not approved of by T's church has been painful enough, but to be told that our love was unnatural, unworthy, illegal? I simply cannot imagine.

Everyone reading this--imagine it. Take your spouse, your lover, and the feelings you have for them and think about what it would be like to be told that those feelings were wrong, illegal, and immoral. To be told that your government would throw up road blocks and red tape in every way possible to keep your love hidden.

Love, between consenting adults, cannot be wrong. Hearts don't lie. Families are made, partners are found.

Love is the only holy thing I need in my life. To strip someone of that ability to love and be loved is a crime.



The first same-sex couple that was married in San Fransisco were two women named Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon. They had been together for almost 60 years when they wed. Think about that! 60 YEARS.

Del passed away shortly after her marriage--but she died a wife. She died before Ken Starr and the state of California decided that those 60 years didn't count. Which very well may have been a blessing, as sad and horrible a thing that is to say.

I can only hope that T and I will be together, as in love as we are today, in 60 years. That all of us who are married, will be married, will be that happy and in love. Mrs. Martin and Lyon should be an inspiration to everyone with love in their hearts.

Twilight

Today was my first 'day' at my new job.

......Yeah.

The cafe/bakery/whatever I will be working in here isn't open yet, so I have to travel an hour each way to be trained at the location that is open in a town south of here.

This means, in reality, that I am commuting 2 hours total to be trained to work in a restaurant that I won't be working in. If that makes sense. Nothing will be in the same places, there's different storage methods, different menu items.

Doesn't make a ton of sense to me, but whatever.

So I got up this morning at the CRACK, and had T drive me down to work (T got off of work when I woke up, so rather than sleep he drove me because he likes my being alive and my night blindness makes death a real possibility)where I walked in and realized several things:

1)My boss has no sense of humor.
2)My boss isn't a really nice person.
3)My boss thinks I'm a moron, and apparently didn't read my resume when she hired me.
4)#3 is possible because the other employees (whom I have met, there are plenty I have not) are very young, very immature and very....less than smart.

After my boss 'trained' me my saying things like 'This is a cold case! It keeps things cold! This is a coffee maker! It makes coffee!' and then said I smelled and had me sign a personality quiz that basically held me to my word about being a nice person, she left me with a nice girl who has worked her way up to the coveted position of weekday opener.

This girl just turned 21, loves the Twilight series, her boyfriend, and, apparently, text messaging.

She also found out that I will be 27 next month and said, "All the girls from the new store are old! Like, one is almost 30!"

Sigh.

Then her friend/coworker showed up and the two of them stood there and texted and laughed and didn't do anything while I did everything, which, while a good way to be trained, wasn't my favorite. Then I was informed that I would not be receiving tips for my work that day, drank a cup of coffee and lamented the fact that I CANNOT SMOKE while working.

Finally, when my shift was over, T picked me up and I came home and took an amazing and super intense nap.

I'm not feeling worse about the job....but not any better, either.

At All Things....

I suck.

I have no real reason to be blogging--sure, some funny/interesting/I'm entertained so of course you are too stuff happened, but I have no real drive to share it.

I went to my HOA meeting today and watched old people sling mud and name call for 6 hours. (I left early.) I got a lot of knitting done, at least.

I fell victim to what knitters refer to as 'stash enhancement', where you make several mistakes that all lead down the same slippery slope.

1)Go into a yarn store with no real mission in mind--browsing. Danger.

2)Have debit/credit card on person while browsing.

3)Do not bring logical person (i.e. Husband, etc) along to be the voice of reason.

1+2+3=I have a years worth of yarn at my house (at least), more came in the mail today, I bought some yesterday AND I spent $more than I would like to admit today.

NO MORE YARN. NO! No more yarn for me. Period. I have to be down to 1 (!!) skein of sock yarn before I purchase more. SO THERE. (Any bets on how long this lasts before I cave? I mean, really.)

I took part in a Ravelry swap, and my package arrived today. Getting things in the mail is nice.

I'm going to use that as an opportunity to let miss Circe know that her package will be mailed this Monday, hopefully. So long as I don't wander into any yarn stores on my way to the post orifice everything should be ok.

Also, go here. Then go here.

You now have enough time wasting ability to last you forever. You're welcome.

Woe Cake leads to a trip on the Wahmbulance

I got a job yesterday.

I am freaked out by this.

Yes, it's just weekends.

Yes, it has the potential for me to progress my beloved potential career as a pastry chef. Yes, it is money that is much needed by our household. Yes, it is very close to our house and I can walk there and the owner knows of my impending marriage and need to take time to deal with things of that nature.

But I fear.

I fear that I will hate the job, that the job will hate me. That I will have horrible coworkers again, that it will be akin to serving once more. I fear that I won't be any good.

At the same time, I hope.

I hope that I will be able to prove myself a worthwhile employee, that the manager will have heard my words telling her that I wish to become a pastry chef, will have heard the words that my references gave saying that I have real potential in that department, that I will be given the opportunity to shine.

I hope that this will happen and save me from having to spend money out the butt to go to college.

I'm always apprehensive before I start a job. I have had terrible experiences working in places like this, but I have to remember--this is not the same. This is not the same management, the same mission statement.

I'm just really tired of looking for the 'worst case scenario' in all things, my need to prepare myself for the worst so that I am never let down. Why can't I allow myself to be excited, to be happy that I finally have overcome the depressed job market in this county and we are going to have that much more money each month?

My anxiety--It sucks.

I need to just take all the negative feelings I've got, realize that they are potentially relevant, and then put them away and allow myself some optimism.

Travel Safely, Asshat

So T and I went south for a few days this week, to deliver a karaoke machine (Thanks, A) to my cousin.

T stayed up for 24 hours to drive us down there, because I am a spoiled princess and driving in the city makes me have an aneurysm.

We drove through the part of my state that was submerged in 10 feet of water not too long ago, and that was weird. Trees, trash, couches, chairs, what looked like a bear (and was probably something far less interesting) tires and general crap was everywhere along the highway. The rivers were swollen and coffee colored. The trees were stripped of leaves (I know it's winter but we're big on evergreens out here, people) half way up, showing where the water was.

Weird. Surreal.

T, being totally exhausted, was enjoying things like seeing a car being towed backwards, yet not seeing the tow truck and exclaiming "is that car driving backward? Oh my god!", seeing a moving truck with a mattress and two furniture dollys strapped to the back and saying "is that a backpack on that truck?".

We made it safely.

There was lots of eating, lots of singing, a trip to what I refer to as 'mecca' (A used bookstore with multiple floors that covers an entire city block), lots of waling, a successful ride on a city bus, and some really, really good sleep. Also, I got to play with my cousin's cats, so I was happy.

Then we went a wee bit north to see my friend E and his lady, G, who I taught to knit. Yes, that's right, the virus, it spreads. More food, more laughter, not so much sleep. (Futon. Yeah.)

Then, today, we came home. (Early, because I had an appointment that I will talk more about later.) We were nearly run off the road by a Mary**K car (that's gotta be towards the top of the list of stupid ways to go out), and then a rock flew into my windshield and took a chip out.

$60 later, the rock chip is fixed, kinda. But I still haven't heard from the auto body joint that is going to fix Master Sulu after his fight with the "NO CREDIT CARDS=CAR ACCIDENT" lady.

Hopefully there will be exciting news on the horizon.

Also, I would really like it if moving trucks wore backpacks. But that's just me.

The Exodus, and Glee

Have I blogged at all about our neighbors? The insanity? The crackheads vs. the bikers? The old people? The foreclosure, and the HS peeps?

Well. Now is the time.

Our house is surrounded by other houses, but not in such a way that our privacy is directly compromised. This, however, doesn't mean that our neighbors don't project their weirdness into our home.

Across the street from us is what we all lovingly refer to as "the crack house". These people scream at and then beat the shit out of each other all night, throw huge parties every night in the summer, listen to music at insane volumes and rev the engines on their cars before squealing out onto our street. They also have derelict cars on blocks next to the street, as well as a boat that, inexplicably, has a small refrigerator where the engine should be.

Now, don't get me wrong. Our yard is not always what it should be. I understand that cars stop going sometimes. (T's Jeep, for instance, has been parked in our driveway permanently for a good length of time.)

But being that we live in such close proximity to all these people, we try to go out of our way to make sure that we aren't driving down the property values of those around us. We don't have huge parties, we don't scream and yell at each other in the yard, etc. etc. etc.

Across from them (sorta kitty corner from us....) is a small house that is a rental. The current renters are bikers (at least they look like the uber-negative stereotype, which is how we named them), and they hate the people that live in the crack house. (I can respect that. Many a night have I sat in my house/garage with the phone in my hand, preparing to call the cops for a noise complaint. Usually someone beats me to it.) Now, the bikers aren't much better than the crack house, as they sit in their back yard, swilling god-knows-what, sitting in a makeshift pool in various states of undress, their stained wife beaters and tighty-whiteys wet and transparent over their large bellies and sagging breasts. (Now, I mean no bikers any disrespect. I have known many, and they were all delightful people.) They schreech at each other, swear, scream, yell and basically create a cacauphony of noise at all times. What's awesome is when they get into it with the crack house--no greater entertainment is found for free around here.

On the other side of the spectrum, the houses on either side of us are owned by really, really old people, whom I adore. Problem solved.

Behind us are the foreclosure, which was an eyesore and a half--when it was foreclosed on the people left the entire place filled with garbage and general clutter, so we could watch (over the jungle like yard, which shares a property line with us) the slow decay of the interior. The house was recently purchased by someone who is planning on renting it out, but, in his attempts to make it habitable again, has decided to do all the work himself. So when he gets off work every day, until 1 am or so, he is there, banging and mowing. Next to them, sharing the entire back side of our property line, is a married couple with two children. T and I went to high school with the female of this union.

Ok. With all that, on to the exodus.

Crack house: They're moving out! Renting, selling, whatever comes first. Yes, I know that the future tenants could be worse.....but.....The boat should be leaving. Our property value will come up. I can dig it.

The bikers: Have been silent as of late. Nary a peep. I don't even know if they still live there.

The old people: On one side, our neighbor passed away. It's a deeply sad thing, but he was in his 90's, and had full independence till the end. What more can someone ask for? His children have been at his house the entire month, clearing out his things. I have no idea what will become of the house. I just feel bad for his family.

The other old people: Love them. They're talking about moving to Oregon and want us to find someone to buy their house or buy it ourselves when the time comes. Again, sad. But Oregon is a good place, and they will be close to their grand kids.

Foreclosure: Midnight banging has stopped. Yard looks less like a jungle and more like a war torn plain. Improvement.

HS Neighbors: Don't live there anymore. Husband and son both have serious, yet unrelated illness. Again, sad. Both will recover totally, but geographic distance to decent medical facilities was a must.

So essentially? We're getting a whole new neighborhood, in one way or another. Our plans of 'hood domination are coming to fruition.

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

The yarn I ordered online arrived today. This thrills me.

I ordered a magazine online for a swap I'm doing with a knitting group online thing. The magazine arrived today, with a bonus--free copy of November 'Women's Health'. Thanks?

My life--it's boring. If I'm not bitching about my family/wedding, I'm talking about knitting or my neighbors. How much lamer can I get?