Pizza is cooling and I have a glass of white wine. The young girls downstairs have people over and there are shoes piled on the landing but they're quiet so far. It is 7:00 pm, the time when I usually get out of work. It feels so much later!
We were invited to one party but it's on the other side of a city - 30 minute drive through drunk town, $40 cab or an hour long train ride. We decided to stay in. We have stayed in for the past four years and it is holding strong as our tradition! That pizza smells good. I need to go investigate.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Bitching and Moaning
I am working up the energy to leave the house and do anything at all today. My sister has gone to visit my Mom and they invited me to drive down but they cannot understand that I can't just take off a few days with no notice. It always pisses me off a little. I like my life but I have always worked hard and had tough jobs. My sister has never worked much and has always had the luckiest jobs ever. She worked at a tiny deli in high school where the old lady owner would make her sandwiches and send her to watch soap operas in the back room. I worked at a deli in high school too. The managers told me I was old enough to work a meat slicer and how often to scrub out the bathrooms. Every so often, Mom and Sis casually mention we should all take a few days off next week. Wouldn't that be fun? It would be fun. It really would...but I have plans to sit at work and grind my teeth.
I am feeling the creepy crawlies again. W says of my relationship with this job, "It's nice but you aren't going to marry it." Maybe this job has begun leaving the bathroom door open. Some people find the right one right away. Some settle and accept a job for what it is. I can't. I've got to fight on and believe there is a job for me that I will like. I am not quite there yet. My business cards came in last week. The box was the size of a microwave. I saw all those cards and thought, "How in the hell am I going to pass all those out before I leave." That's when my brain knew I wasn't cut out to stay too long. Maybe a year? That's July. I don't want to run away blindly and if we buy a house, I can't. I am learning that it's just as hard to work for a small company. Sometimes I hate all four personalities.
What I would like:
Much less commute.
A fucking lunch hour. I haven't had an actual hour ever.
A set and unwavering schedule. No surprises. No events. No hosting parties after hours.
Boundaries! I would like to tell any asshole customer who asks me why I'm still wearing so many clothes exactly what I think of him. Next job will need to include less drinking.
A place to move up or a next step...plus an escape route.
I am feeling the creepy crawlies again. W says of my relationship with this job, "It's nice but you aren't going to marry it." Maybe this job has begun leaving the bathroom door open. Some people find the right one right away. Some settle and accept a job for what it is. I can't. I've got to fight on and believe there is a job for me that I will like. I am not quite there yet. My business cards came in last week. The box was the size of a microwave. I saw all those cards and thought, "How in the hell am I going to pass all those out before I leave." That's when my brain knew I wasn't cut out to stay too long. Maybe a year? That's July. I don't want to run away blindly and if we buy a house, I can't. I am learning that it's just as hard to work for a small company. Sometimes I hate all four personalities.
What I would like:
Much less commute.
A fucking lunch hour. I haven't had an actual hour ever.
A set and unwavering schedule. No surprises. No events. No hosting parties after hours.
Boundaries! I would like to tell any asshole customer who asks me why I'm still wearing so many clothes exactly what I think of him. Next job will need to include less drinking.
A place to move up or a next step...plus an escape route.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
2009 ~ resolutions are lame but goals are ok, right?
Things to do in the new year, an incomplete an unstructured list.
Learn how to cook Indian food. Class? Good cookbook? I don't know yet.
Go back to improv class.
Lose, like, a million pounds and never drink on weeknights. (voted least likely to succeed)
Paint more often.
Spend time with the baby whenever I can.
Begin a garden.
Do something good for Mom.
Love Bill even more and show it.
Think some more about what I might love to do for a career.
Host a vegetarian cooking show.
Go sailing.
Learn how to cook Indian food. Class? Good cookbook? I don't know yet.
Go back to improv class.
Lose, like, a million pounds and never drink on weeknights. (voted least likely to succeed)
Paint more often.
Spend time with the baby whenever I can.
Begin a garden.
Do something good for Mom.
Love Bill even more and show it.
Think some more about what I might love to do for a career.
Host a vegetarian cooking show.
Go sailing.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Pierogi
My mother's mother was Polish and I think something very strong was carried on that DNA. Mom and I joke that it's a love of Brussels sprouts and cabbage, but I think there's an even deeper love of thrifty cooking. Today I worked on something I've tried before-delicious pierogies.
I had big plans to start and finish that teeny bit of Christmas shopping that requires leaving the computer. I really did. I started out well, but a negative wind chill and stinging cheeks defeated me once I walked to my favorite neighborhood boutique and found it closed. I wasn't about to go anywhere but home. I required a hot bath and that's exactly what I got.
I've made pierogies before and Bill loves them. They're a favorite childhood comfort food of his. They cost nothing per dozen and they occupy one's hands for hours. I always have on hand the dough ingredients except sour cream. Once I read that plain yogurt works just as well and I always have plain yogurt in the fridge. Every time, I google pierogi recipe to get the dough. You'd think I could write down, "5 cups flour, 2 eggs, 2 teaspoons salt, 4 tablespoons yogurt or sour cream and 1 cup water - mix and let rest one hour." As of yet, I cannot.
Pierogi fillings have always been dictated by what's in the house. I've never intentionally shopped for a filling. Like omelets or soup, dumplings seem designed to use up bits and pieces that wouldn't amount to anything without a new wrapper and some extra fried onion. Today, we had lots of material to work with; slowly aging new potatoes, drying chives, half a red cabbage, cheeses, beans, dried herbs and more. I developed three new fillings: sauerkraut-chard-and-cream, mashed potato-cheese and red cabbage-garlic. I resisted adding tofu to anything. By four o'clock I made almost one hundred little dumplings. Like last time, the first dozen were a little awkward and lumpy but once I hit my stride, I was rolling and filling like a pro.
My secret technique is that I hand roll each one. I take a jaw breaker sized bit of dough onto my floured counter and roll it into a stretchy little circle with my favorite rolling device, my tall double shot glass. I never use it to pour shots (who takes a shot at home? Wooo kitchen!) but it makes great pierogi skins.
I boil them for ten minutes and then saute in butter and fried onions. They are so good, so buttery, so caloric and so inexpensive. Extra yogurt and some applesauce makes a whole dinner. I feel like a thrifty pioneer when I look at my bags of frozen guys just waiting for a weeknight dinner. I wish I could slap a bow on one and give it to Bill's sister in law. I still need to go shopping for gifts.
I had big plans to start and finish that teeny bit of Christmas shopping that requires leaving the computer. I really did. I started out well, but a negative wind chill and stinging cheeks defeated me once I walked to my favorite neighborhood boutique and found it closed. I wasn't about to go anywhere but home. I required a hot bath and that's exactly what I got.
I've made pierogies before and Bill loves them. They're a favorite childhood comfort food of his. They cost nothing per dozen and they occupy one's hands for hours. I always have on hand the dough ingredients except sour cream. Once I read that plain yogurt works just as well and I always have plain yogurt in the fridge. Every time, I google pierogi recipe to get the dough. You'd think I could write down, "5 cups flour, 2 eggs, 2 teaspoons salt, 4 tablespoons yogurt or sour cream and 1 cup water - mix and let rest one hour." As of yet, I cannot.
Pierogi fillings have always been dictated by what's in the house. I've never intentionally shopped for a filling. Like omelets or soup, dumplings seem designed to use up bits and pieces that wouldn't amount to anything without a new wrapper and some extra fried onion. Today, we had lots of material to work with; slowly aging new potatoes, drying chives, half a red cabbage, cheeses, beans, dried herbs and more. I developed three new fillings: sauerkraut-chard-and-cream, mashed potato-cheese and red cabbage-garlic. I resisted adding tofu to anything. By four o'clock I made almost one hundred little dumplings. Like last time, the first dozen were a little awkward and lumpy but once I hit my stride, I was rolling and filling like a pro.
My secret technique is that I hand roll each one. I take a jaw breaker sized bit of dough onto my floured counter and roll it into a stretchy little circle with my favorite rolling device, my tall double shot glass. I never use it to pour shots (who takes a shot at home? Wooo kitchen!) but it makes great pierogi skins.
I boil them for ten minutes and then saute in butter and fried onions. They are so good, so buttery, so caloric and so inexpensive. Extra yogurt and some applesauce makes a whole dinner. I feel like a thrifty pioneer when I look at my bags of frozen guys just waiting for a weeknight dinner. I wish I could slap a bow on one and give it to Bill's sister in law. I still need to go shopping for gifts.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Open Letter to the Douche Bags of America
Dear Holiday Shopper,
Feel free to do your shopping whenever you want but if you want a retail employee to do your choosing for you and then expect them to make cards with personalized greetings and handle the shippping for you, do your damn shopping early. Oh, and adopting a snotty tone to inform said employee that there are a whole whopping five days until Christmas does not magically make our UPS guy get your package to the coast without you paying extra. Nor does it make me like you very much.
Merry Christmas!
Me
Feel free to do your shopping whenever you want but if you want a retail employee to do your choosing for you and then expect them to make cards with personalized greetings and handle the shippping for you, do your damn shopping early. Oh, and adopting a snotty tone to inform said employee that there are a whole whopping five days until Christmas does not magically make our UPS guy get your package to the coast without you paying extra. Nor does it make me like you very much.
Merry Christmas!
Me
Thursday, December 18, 2008
A Recipe for a Thursday Night
I never manage to put up any recipes, so I thought I would try to document dinner. This is not special other than high fat content, but it was dinner tonight.
Start two pans: put a big skillet on a low flame and a large pan of water on a high flame. Tear up some lettuce and leave it to soak in a bowl of cold water, so all the grit can sink away. Melt a teaspoon of butter and a teaspoon of olive oil together in the skillet. Mince and a add a couple cloves of garlic. Chop up half a red bell pepper, a few cherry tomatoes and one regular can of artichoke hearts. Add those the the skillet and turn it to a medium flame. Suddenly decide to add some herbs de provence. Scoot the veggies to the sides to of a the skillet and put a big pinch of the herbs in a tiny bit of extra oil you pour into the center. Give it a minute then stir up everything. Once the water in the pot boils, add a HUGE pinch of salt and drop in some pasta. Boil until the pasta is one minute away from cooked. Drain lazily and dump into veggies in the skillet adding a good splash of cooking water along with the pasta. Throw on about a quarter cup of grated parmesan cheese. Toss. Find that leftover heavy cream in the fridge and add a few tablespoons (or however much a slow dribble around the pan amounts to). Turn off the burner and toss a couple times. Leave alone. Pull the lettuce from the water, don't dump the grit back onto the leaves. Spin in your small 'everyday' salad spinner (different from the big mama dinner party sized one you got the Christmas you learned not to ask for the same things from different people) Decide that since you already added the cream, you might as well do it right and loosen the now clumpy sauce with another dribble of cream. Go to town with the tongs one final time. Look at plain lettuce and decide that tonight, that's enough. It is fancy lettuce after all. Pull a dressing from the fridge door. Grab a few plates and serve. Yummy salad and pasta is quite successful. Boyfriends enjoy it too. Sit back and revel in your cleverness. Ignore the dirty skillet moping on the from burner. Pour a glass of wine and watch 30 Rock. Be fabulous.
Start two pans: put a big skillet on a low flame and a large pan of water on a high flame. Tear up some lettuce and leave it to soak in a bowl of cold water, so all the grit can sink away. Melt a teaspoon of butter and a teaspoon of olive oil together in the skillet. Mince and a add a couple cloves of garlic. Chop up half a red bell pepper, a few cherry tomatoes and one regular can of artichoke hearts. Add those the the skillet and turn it to a medium flame. Suddenly decide to add some herbs de provence. Scoot the veggies to the sides to of a the skillet and put a big pinch of the herbs in a tiny bit of extra oil you pour into the center. Give it a minute then stir up everything. Once the water in the pot boils, add a HUGE pinch of salt and drop in some pasta. Boil until the pasta is one minute away from cooked. Drain lazily and dump into veggies in the skillet adding a good splash of cooking water along with the pasta. Throw on about a quarter cup of grated parmesan cheese. Toss. Find that leftover heavy cream in the fridge and add a few tablespoons (or however much a slow dribble around the pan amounts to). Turn off the burner and toss a couple times. Leave alone. Pull the lettuce from the water, don't dump the grit back onto the leaves. Spin in your small 'everyday' salad spinner (different from the big mama dinner party sized one you got the Christmas you learned not to ask for the same things from different people) Decide that since you already added the cream, you might as well do it right and loosen the now clumpy sauce with another dribble of cream. Go to town with the tongs one final time. Look at plain lettuce and decide that tonight, that's enough. It is fancy lettuce after all. Pull a dressing from the fridge door. Grab a few plates and serve. Yummy salad and pasta is quite successful. Boyfriends enjoy it too. Sit back and revel in your cleverness. Ignore the dirty skillet moping on the from burner. Pour a glass of wine and watch 30 Rock. Be fabulous.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Gluttony
Oh my god, I am so lazy. I am sitting at my computer with my muscles aching from atrophy and eating a chocolate muffin instead of exercising. The muffin isn't even that good. And I'm drinking some Albarino. And I'm preheating the oven to make some fake chicken nuggets. And I don't care. Today, I will pop the buttons off my pants and roll my body to the toilet to pee if I have to. I cannot stop eating crap. I must stay sober enough to meet up with another couple for food and drinks in a few hours. Awesome.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Hormones
Somewhere between insanity and boredom, there is a sweet spot where I like my job. I move around and get things done. I am busy and time passes easily. I finally get into a swing now.
After yesterday, where my hormones and one ill timed mistake made me psycho for an hour...and after two days of sickness before that, I was grateful for a day that was easy. I ended the day lining gift boxes with tissue paper. Three of us stood, working like elves and talking.
This month has been busy with news. So many couples have gotten engaged this month. I can think of five right now and there may be someone I'm forgetting. I have become jealous and my desire to someday be married has moved into a desire to get married already, jeez. I decided that I wasn't going to push my boyfriend a long time ago. I want both of us to be ready and want to get married. That doesn't mean that he doesn't know. I've told him I am ready but I don't want to constantly mention it like a couple women I know. Last week we celebrated our four year anniversary. I got a new camera...which I love. I really do and I really knew he wasn't going to propose. We've discussed money and we want to buy a house first. It's not like I was let down. I just felt like a girlie girl for the first time.
After yesterday, where my hormones and one ill timed mistake made me psycho for an hour...and after two days of sickness before that, I was grateful for a day that was easy. I ended the day lining gift boxes with tissue paper. Three of us stood, working like elves and talking.
This month has been busy with news. So many couples have gotten engaged this month. I can think of five right now and there may be someone I'm forgetting. I have become jealous and my desire to someday be married has moved into a desire to get married already, jeez. I decided that I wasn't going to push my boyfriend a long time ago. I want both of us to be ready and want to get married. That doesn't mean that he doesn't know. I've told him I am ready but I don't want to constantly mention it like a couple women I know. Last week we celebrated our four year anniversary. I got a new camera...which I love. I really do and I really knew he wasn't going to propose. We've discussed money and we want to buy a house first. It's not like I was let down. I just felt like a girlie girl for the first time.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Holidailies Late
December 7 ~ If you could change, undo or modify one decision in your past, which would it be and why?
I know this answer in an instant. The real answer. The big one. I would have never, ever, ever started smoking. I quit about a year ago and I am one of the converted. I can't stand cigarette smoke any more. So, I already changed that decision and for the purposes of this answer, it doesn't count.
I may be the only person I know who feels this way but I wish I hadn't waited so damn long to get out there, have sex, get my heart broken and all that crap. I guarded myself for years. I hated high school and there is not a single person I think I should have dated that I didn't. I also spent the first 3 and a half years of college celibate, bitter and barely dating. I wish I had a few more glory days stories. I wish I had the confidence I have now to say Fuck it and wear a bikini or ask him out. Even the mistakes. I wish I had those. I never had a one night stand. I don't have big regrets and I am glad I did it this way. I got everything I have now out of the deal. Still, if I travelled back in time to whisper something in my own ear it would be, "Lighten the hell up. Mom is right. You are beautiful and you can have whatever you want if you claim it. Don't wait. Don't wish. Don't pine. Claim it and it's yours."
I have to remember to whisper this in my own ear now. I am still so young after all.
I know this answer in an instant. The real answer. The big one. I would have never, ever, ever started smoking. I quit about a year ago and I am one of the converted. I can't stand cigarette smoke any more. So, I already changed that decision and for the purposes of this answer, it doesn't count.
I may be the only person I know who feels this way but I wish I hadn't waited so damn long to get out there, have sex, get my heart broken and all that crap. I guarded myself for years. I hated high school and there is not a single person I think I should have dated that I didn't. I also spent the first 3 and a half years of college celibate, bitter and barely dating. I wish I had a few more glory days stories. I wish I had the confidence I have now to say Fuck it and wear a bikini or ask him out. Even the mistakes. I wish I had those. I never had a one night stand. I don't have big regrets and I am glad I did it this way. I got everything I have now out of the deal. Still, if I travelled back in time to whisper something in my own ear it would be, "Lighten the hell up. Mom is right. You are beautiful and you can have whatever you want if you claim it. Don't wait. Don't wish. Don't pine. Claim it and it's yours."
I have to remember to whisper this in my own ear now. I am still so young after all.
Holidailies Late
December 6 ~Your most vivid memory from last year's holiday season.
Wow. I am trying to pull up a vivid memory and so much is muted about last winter. Last year was a tough one. I was winding down and frustrated at my job. I was unsure and somewhat unhappy. I think I let a lot of the year pass in a blur. I decided to host a gathering in December. My good friend Rhi, my sister, her baby, my father and his girlfriend (the other baby)all came. It was my first meat free Christmas and I made a veggie lasagna. Dad's girlfriend, Cheryl, was annoying as ever in her special ditzy way. Rhi was staying here and met the baby for the first time. She was just learning to walk and wore a diaper around the overheated apartment. I had my first ever cold sore - so nasty. Everyone was chatting all afternoon and we ended up sitting on the floor talking, even though the couch was right there. That day was an eye in the storm. I relaxed and laughed. I felt the way the commercials tell us we are supposed to feel. In my messy apartment with the baby running around naked and a Hodge podge of guests, I felt the best I felt in a long time.
Wow. I am trying to pull up a vivid memory and so much is muted about last winter. Last year was a tough one. I was winding down and frustrated at my job. I was unsure and somewhat unhappy. I think I let a lot of the year pass in a blur. I decided to host a gathering in December. My good friend Rhi, my sister, her baby, my father and his girlfriend (the other baby)all came. It was my first meat free Christmas and I made a veggie lasagna. Dad's girlfriend, Cheryl, was annoying as ever in her special ditzy way. Rhi was staying here and met the baby for the first time. She was just learning to walk and wore a diaper around the overheated apartment. I had my first ever cold sore - so nasty. Everyone was chatting all afternoon and we ended up sitting on the floor talking, even though the couch was right there. That day was an eye in the storm. I relaxed and laughed. I felt the way the commercials tell us we are supposed to feel. In my messy apartment with the baby running around naked and a Hodge podge of guests, I felt the best I felt in a long time.
Holidailies Late
December 5 ~ Introduce Yourself
It is perfect that I introduce myself two days late. I am not a procrastinator so much as I make sudden decisions to do things. It doesn't matter if the due date has passed or if I need to pull some strings to get in. I am a firm decision maker. Decisions don't come easily, but once they are made, they stick.
I am Charker. It sounds like a infomercial product but it's just a contraction of my many names. I picked it on a whim (theme developing) when I created my blog a few months ago. My friend, Tom, read something I wrote and said, "You're a good writer. You should start a blog." So I did. I haven't told anyone about it and probably no one reads it at all. I like that. I just write out whatever I want without any worry that someone I know is reading. That's why I am Charker. It is me, but unGoogleable.
I am almost twenty-eight. I work in a wine store because I gave up a corporatey sales position earlier this year. I am still unsure about how much I love my job but getting out of the other job was the best decision ever, so I am glad.
I have a boyfriend and he is wonderful. We have been dating for four years and we are looking at real estate in the suburbs. We are officially old now.
My biggest passion in life is food. I love to cook and read cook books and research anything about the history of food. (Did you know man has been eating food since the beginning of time? History of food always sounds funyy as if people just learned to shove crap in their mouths one day.) I absorb all that crap like a sponge. It is maybe odd that I gave up meat a couple years ago, so my food choices are more limited. I love not eating meat - feel better physically and ethically. I still pig out on seafood, so I would never call myself a vegetarian. I have a pet peeve about people who label themselves as veggie but eat seafood. A fish is equal to one animal just like a cow or a chicken. Don't get me started on those who don't eat red meat and think they have some special title... So, basically, I am passionate about food. This shows in my kitchen and on my ass; I am not so skinny at all. I am not super fat either. I am midwestern medium which is rural thin and coastal obese. I am trying to document more recipes to track my successes and failures. This proves difficult as most "recipes" would include directions like, "Cook over medium heat until its time to change the laundry. Look and see if you should add some more liquid. Pour in one coffee cup full of water. Look again. Walk away and let cook while you check email."
So, that's as much as you need to know about me to get started.
It is perfect that I introduce myself two days late. I am not a procrastinator so much as I make sudden decisions to do things. It doesn't matter if the due date has passed or if I need to pull some strings to get in. I am a firm decision maker. Decisions don't come easily, but once they are made, they stick.
I am Charker. It sounds like a infomercial product but it's just a contraction of my many names. I picked it on a whim (theme developing) when I created my blog a few months ago. My friend, Tom, read something I wrote and said, "You're a good writer. You should start a blog." So I did. I haven't told anyone about it and probably no one reads it at all. I like that. I just write out whatever I want without any worry that someone I know is reading. That's why I am Charker. It is me, but unGoogleable.
I am almost twenty-eight. I work in a wine store because I gave up a corporatey sales position earlier this year. I am still unsure about how much I love my job but getting out of the other job was the best decision ever, so I am glad.
I have a boyfriend and he is wonderful. We have been dating for four years and we are looking at real estate in the suburbs. We are officially old now.
My biggest passion in life is food. I love to cook and read cook books and research anything about the history of food. (Did you know man has been eating food since the beginning of time? History of food always sounds funyy as if people just learned to shove crap in their mouths one day.) I absorb all that crap like a sponge. It is maybe odd that I gave up meat a couple years ago, so my food choices are more limited. I love not eating meat - feel better physically and ethically. I still pig out on seafood, so I would never call myself a vegetarian. I have a pet peeve about people who label themselves as veggie but eat seafood. A fish is equal to one animal just like a cow or a chicken. Don't get me started on those who don't eat red meat and think they have some special title... So, basically, I am passionate about food. This shows in my kitchen and on my ass; I am not so skinny at all. I am not super fat either. I am midwestern medium which is rural thin and coastal obese. I am trying to document more recipes to track my successes and failures. This proves difficult as most "recipes" would include directions like, "Cook over medium heat until its time to change the laundry. Look and see if you should add some more liquid. Pour in one coffee cup full of water. Look again. Walk away and let cook while you check email."
So, that's as much as you need to know about me to get started.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Planning Brunch
I just opened a bottle of Mollydooker Goosebumps Sparkling Shiraz. I've been eyeing it since summer, wondering what sparkling Shiraz might be like. Everyone at work said don't bother. One said gross. One said odd. Then I heard a guy rave about this exact wine on a podcast of the Splendid Table and I thought it was fate. He described it as a perfect burger wine. What everyone should have said was that it tastes exactly like carbonated Shiraz that you've felt compelled to chill. Yep, cold fizzy Shiraz. It reminds me of concord grape juice a little. Only, I like concord grape juice more.
I've been planning to include some recipes so I have a record of my experiments and just in case anyone else ever reads this, they'll know I do more than half ass it at work and bitch. I haven't been cooking much. I am working six day weeks through Christmas, so my opportunities are limited. I am hosting a brunch this Sunday and I am excited. It will be me, my family and my mother's friend. Probably eight people. I have set the following menu:
Crab and artichoke quiche (crab and artichokes from a can . I am not made of money.)baked eggs with cheese (I am making just a bit for the little niece and in case anyone doesn't eat crab)
mini bagels
cream cheese and chives
smoked salmon
fruit salad with pineapple, mango, raspberries, blueberries and honey-lime syrup.
coffee
mimosas! (made with a much less purple sparkling wine)
My mother might bring sweet muffins if she and her granddaughter feel like baking the night before.
I think I need to add some type of potatoes - roasted I imagine with some onion. I might skip that. Or maybe add a green salad to move into brunch-lunch rather than brunch-breakfast. I did my shopping tonight. Tomorrow I prep.
So, I hate the wine less now. If I make it through half a glass of anything, I sort of like it. I just do not get it - like unfamiliar yet unintersting ethnic food. It is odd but I will drink it until my teeth are purple and I dump thhe rest down the drain. You can't waste wine - even if its free.
I've been planning to include some recipes so I have a record of my experiments and just in case anyone else ever reads this, they'll know I do more than half ass it at work and bitch. I haven't been cooking much. I am working six day weeks through Christmas, so my opportunities are limited. I am hosting a brunch this Sunday and I am excited. It will be me, my family and my mother's friend. Probably eight people. I have set the following menu:
Crab and artichoke quiche (crab and artichokes from a can . I am not made of money.)baked eggs with cheese (I am making just a bit for the little niece and in case anyone doesn't eat crab)
mini bagels
cream cheese and chives
smoked salmon
fruit salad with pineapple, mango, raspberries, blueberries and honey-lime syrup.
coffee
mimosas! (made with a much less purple sparkling wine)
My mother might bring sweet muffins if she and her granddaughter feel like baking the night before.
I think I need to add some type of potatoes - roasted I imagine with some onion. I might skip that. Or maybe add a green salad to move into brunch-lunch rather than brunch-breakfast. I did my shopping tonight. Tomorrow I prep.
So, I hate the wine less now. If I make it through half a glass of anything, I sort of like it. I just do not get it - like unfamiliar yet unintersting ethnic food. It is odd but I will drink it until my teeth are purple and I dump thhe rest down the drain. You can't waste wine - even if its free.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Today is the first day of the rest of your job.
So, my month of six day weeks until Christmas started out OK. Busy enough day but not rushed. It's the first real snowfall of the year. I finished everything I need to finish and I left. God, I love this job sometimes. No crying in the shower. No bleary eyed exhaustion. Just regular working and then regular going home. Hello home!
Thursday, November 27, 2008
I am thankful for ibuprofen and elastic waistbands.
It is Thanksgiving and my ovaries are celebrating, wildly. They've shaken themselves into spasms of delight. Oh, I adore being a girl.
Luckily, we have liquid gel ibuprofen and nothing do do but bake and go to Grandma's house at three. I've got four dishes working, only two they're expecting, but I was motivated to make cranberry relish and a corn pudding (experimental and only going to the party if it turns out) on a whim. They know I'm bringing a butternut squash dish and green bean casserole.
The apartment smells great and I am guessing this will be one of those periods where I inhale food constantly. Today I can do that without shame. I am totally wearing my fat jeans.
Last week, my cold sore returned. This one is nasty. I had hoped it would be gone by today but it cracked and bled this morning. So I am bloated, crusty lipped and tender over every square inch of my body. I thank God I had the day off. If I were working in this state, I would snap or cry. Strangely, my psycho hormones have not been acting up all week. I didn't drink at all for two or three days and I gulped water. I think this health stuff actually works. I felt really good. Of course I drank a bottle of sauvignon blanc last night, so the ibuprofen is working double duty.
I wish I could throw a paper bag over my head and call it a day. I don't want anyone to actually look at me.
Luckily, we have liquid gel ibuprofen and nothing do do but bake and go to Grandma's house at three. I've got four dishes working, only two they're expecting, but I was motivated to make cranberry relish and a corn pudding (experimental and only going to the party if it turns out) on a whim. They know I'm bringing a butternut squash dish and green bean casserole.
The apartment smells great and I am guessing this will be one of those periods where I inhale food constantly. Today I can do that without shame. I am totally wearing my fat jeans.
Last week, my cold sore returned. This one is nasty. I had hoped it would be gone by today but it cracked and bled this morning. So I am bloated, crusty lipped and tender over every square inch of my body. I thank God I had the day off. If I were working in this state, I would snap or cry. Strangely, my psycho hormones have not been acting up all week. I didn't drink at all for two or three days and I gulped water. I think this health stuff actually works. I felt really good. Of course I drank a bottle of sauvignon blanc last night, so the ibuprofen is working double duty.
I wish I could throw a paper bag over my head and call it a day. I don't want anyone to actually look at me.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Brief Update
Work is draining my life force this week. I'm on the slow climb that leads to the holiday season. I need to make my body and mind accustomed to the unbelievable multitasking. It's bizarre. So many phones ring and so much shit happens in every minute. I could pledge my first born to a person and totally mean it one minute. The next minute, I have no idea what happened. Worse, if I don't write it down, it never happened. I really hope I'm shipping something to correspond with every credit card I've swiped.
Tomorrow will be a festival of crazyness - a fiftieth birthday celebration taking place in the store during normal business hours. Employees will be trashed and customers worse. My job is so wierd.
In other news. I pulled the entire front of my hair into a barette today. I haven't done that since last spring when I allowed Jason to cut the pixie cut of doom. I will have real girl's hair by spring. I can feel it!
Tomorrow will be a festival of crazyness - a fiftieth birthday celebration taking place in the store during normal business hours. Employees will be trashed and customers worse. My job is so wierd.
In other news. I pulled the entire front of my hair into a barette today. I haven't done that since last spring when I allowed Jason to cut the pixie cut of doom. I will have real girl's hair by spring. I can feel it!
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Tired
I had a very long day for a Sunday. Bill can't drive so I took him to work. We left at 7:30 and I had purple teeth and wine breath from dinner Saturday. Still, I decided to swing around the city and visit my sister's place instead of going home and adding miles to a long enough trip. My mother was visiting and the reason I'd been drunk on wine the previous night. She was already at my sister's place. Mom wakes up at 4 am or some similar ungodly hour every day. I prefer eight hours minimum. I've been told I need "to get over that," as if proper sleep is a drug habit. I toughed it out to see everybody and spent the day with my fabulous niece who babbles in full sentances constantly. She takes me by the hand to play and is extremely, extremely energetic. We put her down for her afternoon nap and she cried when I told her I had to go bye-bye while she slept.
I skipped writing class to hang at home with Bill tonight. I surprised him and picked him up. His commute is less than twenty miles but two trains are spaced so it takes two hours on a Sunday. It is a pain in the ass to drive out there but it's a lot easier on my end than his. I bought groceries and made a delicous dinner: shrimp with garlic and ginger, rice with onions and almonds and sauteed broccoli rabe. I even did the dishes.
We got home and I managed to take a shower and brush my teeth only twelve hours late. I stole all the hot water and just leaned against the wall with the stream on my back. I cannot believe I've driven well over a hundred city miles in the last day and a half. I cannot believe how smart and wonderful my niece is. It's 8:30 now and I'm having a beer. My class has another half hour left but I could be snoring in twenty minutes.
I skipped writing class to hang at home with Bill tonight. I surprised him and picked him up. His commute is less than twenty miles but two trains are spaced so it takes two hours on a Sunday. It is a pain in the ass to drive out there but it's a lot easier on my end than his. I bought groceries and made a delicous dinner: shrimp with garlic and ginger, rice with onions and almonds and sauteed broccoli rabe. I even did the dishes.
We got home and I managed to take a shower and brush my teeth only twelve hours late. I stole all the hot water and just leaned against the wall with the stream on my back. I cannot believe I've driven well over a hundred city miles in the last day and a half. I cannot believe how smart and wonderful my niece is. It's 8:30 now and I'm having a beer. My class has another half hour left but I could be snoring in twenty minutes.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Merle
"Oh, what is it? What is it?!" she wailed.
"What is what?" I asked.
"I can't remember the name of it. Chateau Poo-poo. That wine? The one I want it was right here. Where is it? I just saw it."
"Poujeaux? Pommerol? Petrus?"
"NO! The one I found. The one for my lawyer. I just finished physical therapy. I'm so tired."
"I can imagine."
"They make me do the eliptical."
"Even I hate the eliptical. Good for you."
"Chateau-poo-poo pants?"
"Oh, the Chateauneuf-du-Pape from last time?"
"Yes! Why are you hiding it from me?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. It's right over here. Let me hold your bags."
"You're so good to me. When are you going to marry your boyfriend?"
"Maybe next year. We want to buy a house first."
"You know Harold married me after three months. We were dating and he said 'That's it. We're getting married or it's over.'"
"He must have loved you instantly."
"Oh, he did. You know he's dead now."
"Yes, I know."
"I have his wines. I should put them up for auction. I really should. I don't know what he would want me to do with them."
"I think you should do whatever you want with them."
"Maybe I'll give them to my son. I think I'll leave now. You don't want an old lady ruining your day."
"No, you're no trouble at all."
"No, I'll leave. I'm tired. Walk me to my car. I'm so cold."
"Of course."
"What is what?" I asked.
"I can't remember the name of it. Chateau Poo-poo. That wine? The one I want it was right here. Where is it? I just saw it."
"Poujeaux? Pommerol? Petrus?"
"NO! The one I found. The one for my lawyer. I just finished physical therapy. I'm so tired."
"I can imagine."
"They make me do the eliptical."
"Even I hate the eliptical. Good for you."
"Chateau-poo-poo pants?"
"Oh, the Chateauneuf-du-Pape from last time?"
"Yes! Why are you hiding it from me?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. It's right over here. Let me hold your bags."
"You're so good to me. When are you going to marry your boyfriend?"
"Maybe next year. We want to buy a house first."
"You know Harold married me after three months. We were dating and he said 'That's it. We're getting married or it's over.'"
"He must have loved you instantly."
"Oh, he did. You know he's dead now."
"Yes, I know."
"I have his wines. I should put them up for auction. I really should. I don't know what he would want me to do with them."
"I think you should do whatever you want with them."
"Maybe I'll give them to my son. I think I'll leave now. You don't want an old lady ruining your day."
"No, you're no trouble at all."
"No, I'll leave. I'm tired. Walk me to my car. I'm so cold."
"Of course."
Sunday, November 9, 2008
The Snob Bakes
My mother calls me her Nancy Reagan daughter. If you heard the tone of voice she uses when she says it, you would be certain that this is not a compliment. I was born the week Reagan was inaugurated and my life has always been tied up with his presidency in my mother's mind.
I am the family priss. I see things too often as black and white, whereas my mother sees the world in a soft gray haze. It never helped that my sister was rebelliously cool from age two. She was the one insisting on wearing a Hawaiian print t shirt instead of a dress and I was off crying that we wouldn't match in our Sears portraits.
If you looked into my messy cheap apartment or saw me on the street, you would see a scatterbrained and entirely normal woman in her late twenties. Still, the role chosen at birth sticks in Mom's brain.
I have deviated so far from that role but one thing keeps pulling me back. I am a total snob on a few fronts. I am a food snob (tm my best friend W). I am a restaurant snob. I am a party snob. Working in restaurants and hotels will do it to you but I've always been this way. It's the reason I ended up in those restaurants and hotels.
This explanation leads up to today. I drove Bill to work and was wide awake. I was thinking of a fun activity to do on a Sunday at 8:00 am that didn't involve Jesus and I decided to go to Whole Foods while it's still empty. Being a recent young person turned old person, I had no idea what time a supermarket opens. Luckily, it opens at 8:00. I was car number four in the parking lot.
I had decided to try pie again. I made a very good first berry pie over the summer but I wanted to surprise Bill with pecan. He likes desserts in general but his favorite flavor is sugar. The sweeter the better and I thought pecan pie was the perfect thing. For it I bought a premade pie crust. Oh, did you think I meant cut-frozen-butter-with-two-knives pie? Silly me, I wanted to make it's-my-day-off-lazy-smells-good pie. I also bought dreaded High Fructose Karo syrup for the first time. (What is with those stupid commercials anyway?) .
The couple in front of me at the check out had about a dozen of the really cool guilt inducing reusable bags in all bright colors. They were buying organic produce that they carried, unbagged, to the register. I imagined they were the happiest and nicest people ever - shopping early to have plenty of time to volunteer. I was buying four types of sugar while the sun was barely up. They won, hands down. Ringing up my processed crap and bulk nuts with no hip cloth bag, my inner snob twitched.
Still, I smiled and bought my fructose, sucrose, dextrose and molasses. I went home a made pie. While the pie was finishing and I spent a few minutes peeking to be sure the crust didn't burn, I thought of how nice a freshly baked something would be-right now. But, it was 11:00 am. I had to save the pie for Bill and that meant after 9:00 pm when I get back from writing class. I wanted something hot right now.
I dug around the pantry. It's pretty deep. I recently found some beef soup purchased before I gave up meat in February 2007. I pulled out a little box of Jif pizza crust. It required water and five minutes to make dough. I was thrilled. Two convenience foods on my day off? Two carbtastic dishes made together? My snob yelled from within but I suppressed her with fantasies of surprising Bill with a note that says, "Your dinner's in the fridge. Heat in a 350 degree oven for ten minutes. Love Ya!" How fucking cute, right? Just like a housewife off on an evening adventure.
So, I made four small calzones. I steamed the last of the aging broccoli and mixed in cottage cheese, shredded cheddar, basil, parmesan and garlic. These were not authentic in any way, but I was winging it. The dough was too sticky and I kneaded in flour. It wasn't relaxed or risen, but the box said it was ready, I shoved the filling in, pinched and baked. They turned out great. Each one leaked somewhere, but after baking for only 15 minutes, the ooze was gooey and only browning on the edges. Man, is baked cheese good. I ate two as soon as they were cool enough to only burn me slightly. I wrapped two in foil and put them in the fridge, so later tonight I can write that note.
I think I am always wishing to be perfect. Wishing I were skinny or acclaimed or wealthy. I want a marker of my goodness that will show to everyone. I want to feel worthy of what I already have. I have so much love and such good things in my life. I couldn't want anything else and yet I do, all the time. I want to be better. I want to be comfortable. I want to win but have everyone like me and I want to do it without trying.
It seems that the only thing I actually do instead of wanting, is cook stuff. That makes me happy.
I am the family priss. I see things too often as black and white, whereas my mother sees the world in a soft gray haze. It never helped that my sister was rebelliously cool from age two. She was the one insisting on wearing a Hawaiian print t shirt instead of a dress and I was off crying that we wouldn't match in our Sears portraits.
If you looked into my messy cheap apartment or saw me on the street, you would see a scatterbrained and entirely normal woman in her late twenties. Still, the role chosen at birth sticks in Mom's brain.
I have deviated so far from that role but one thing keeps pulling me back. I am a total snob on a few fronts. I am a food snob (tm my best friend W). I am a restaurant snob. I am a party snob. Working in restaurants and hotels will do it to you but I've always been this way. It's the reason I ended up in those restaurants and hotels.
This explanation leads up to today. I drove Bill to work and was wide awake. I was thinking of a fun activity to do on a Sunday at 8:00 am that didn't involve Jesus and I decided to go to Whole Foods while it's still empty. Being a recent young person turned old person, I had no idea what time a supermarket opens. Luckily, it opens at 8:00. I was car number four in the parking lot.
I had decided to try pie again. I made a very good first berry pie over the summer but I wanted to surprise Bill with pecan. He likes desserts in general but his favorite flavor is sugar. The sweeter the better and I thought pecan pie was the perfect thing. For it I bought a premade pie crust. Oh, did you think I meant cut-frozen-butter-with-two-knives pie? Silly me, I wanted to make it's-my-day-off-lazy-smells-good pie. I also bought dreaded High Fructose Karo syrup for the first time. (What is with those stupid commercials anyway?) .
The couple in front of me at the check out had about a dozen of the really cool guilt inducing reusable bags in all bright colors. They were buying organic produce that they carried, unbagged, to the register. I imagined they were the happiest and nicest people ever - shopping early to have plenty of time to volunteer. I was buying four types of sugar while the sun was barely up. They won, hands down. Ringing up my processed crap and bulk nuts with no hip cloth bag, my inner snob twitched.
Still, I smiled and bought my fructose, sucrose, dextrose and molasses. I went home a made pie. While the pie was finishing and I spent a few minutes peeking to be sure the crust didn't burn, I thought of how nice a freshly baked something would be-right now. But, it was 11:00 am. I had to save the pie for Bill and that meant after 9:00 pm when I get back from writing class. I wanted something hot right now.
I dug around the pantry. It's pretty deep. I recently found some beef soup purchased before I gave up meat in February 2007. I pulled out a little box of Jif pizza crust. It required water and five minutes to make dough. I was thrilled. Two convenience foods on my day off? Two carbtastic dishes made together? My snob yelled from within but I suppressed her with fantasies of surprising Bill with a note that says, "Your dinner's in the fridge. Heat in a 350 degree oven for ten minutes. Love Ya!" How fucking cute, right? Just like a housewife off on an evening adventure.
So, I made four small calzones. I steamed the last of the aging broccoli and mixed in cottage cheese, shredded cheddar, basil, parmesan and garlic. These were not authentic in any way, but I was winging it. The dough was too sticky and I kneaded in flour. It wasn't relaxed or risen, but the box said it was ready, I shoved the filling in, pinched and baked. They turned out great. Each one leaked somewhere, but after baking for only 15 minutes, the ooze was gooey and only browning on the edges. Man, is baked cheese good. I ate two as soon as they were cool enough to only burn me slightly. I wrapped two in foil and put them in the fridge, so later tonight I can write that note.
I think I am always wishing to be perfect. Wishing I were skinny or acclaimed or wealthy. I want a marker of my goodness that will show to everyone. I want to feel worthy of what I already have. I have so much love and such good things in my life. I couldn't want anything else and yet I do, all the time. I want to be better. I want to be comfortable. I want to win but have everyone like me and I want to do it without trying.
It seems that the only thing I actually do instead of wanting, is cook stuff. That makes me happy.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Making Dinner
I'm making dinner right now. Bill has started his new schedule and I'm cooking for one on Mondays. I am actually really excited tonight. Last year I made a stuffed squash with lots of sage, white wine and parmesan in the filling. The combo was fantastic - sweet, acidic, cheesy- so I am trying to recreate it. I don't have a squash but I have one little sweet potato, so I'm making a sage, garlic, sweet potato and parmesan rice pilaf. I am ten minutes away from knowing if it is awesome or not.
Work beat me down today. I have worked there for three months and I am already the one in charge when management leaves. Whatever. I've got a key and a teeny bit of authority. I was managing big projects before this job, so remembering to lock up doesn't scare me. Still, every yahoo waited until the owner left to call and bitch about things I don't even understand. It was a stressful afternoon - but it's over.
I was forced, absolutely forced to open a new bottle of wine to add a splash to my dinner, so I have a lovely glass of 04 Jadot Chablis right now. It hits the spot.
Work beat me down today. I have worked there for three months and I am already the one in charge when management leaves. Whatever. I've got a key and a teeny bit of authority. I was managing big projects before this job, so remembering to lock up doesn't scare me. Still, every yahoo waited until the owner left to call and bitch about things I don't even understand. It was a stressful afternoon - but it's over.
I was forced, absolutely forced to open a new bottle of wine to add a splash to my dinner, so I have a lovely glass of 04 Jadot Chablis right now. It hits the spot.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Fucking Coincidence
There were two men I knew.
One was a retired car dealer who moved to Arizona and had to be six and a half feet tall. I met him once, when travelling, and though I was only the girlfriend of the son of his son's new wife, he was so kind to me. He was loud and charming and probably had been a wonderful salesman. He made me feel right at home. We watched bad reality TV together and commented on the contestants.
The other was an immigrant who raised five kids and supported them by cooking in kitchens all around Chicago. He later retired and helped his wife open a beauty shop. None of his kids or his wife ever learned to cook because he made delicious and elaborate meals for every occasion. His six grandkids all called him Pops. He loved my sister instantly. She was an outsider and not Catholic. He spoke very little English and she doesn't know Spanish, but he loved her and adored the granddaughter she brought into his life.
Both were older and both we sick with painful diseases. They lived half a continent away from one another and I might be the only person in the world who knew them both. Both were good fathers and both had loving marraiges that lasted decades. Both died today - the same damn day, and left those wives, children and grandchildren heartbroken. If two people I knew had babies on the same day, I would call it a miracle, but this is a cruel blow. The world gives but it takes away. So, Parker and Jose, wherever you are, your families love you so very much.
One was a retired car dealer who moved to Arizona and had to be six and a half feet tall. I met him once, when travelling, and though I was only the girlfriend of the son of his son's new wife, he was so kind to me. He was loud and charming and probably had been a wonderful salesman. He made me feel right at home. We watched bad reality TV together and commented on the contestants.
The other was an immigrant who raised five kids and supported them by cooking in kitchens all around Chicago. He later retired and helped his wife open a beauty shop. None of his kids or his wife ever learned to cook because he made delicious and elaborate meals for every occasion. His six grandkids all called him Pops. He loved my sister instantly. She was an outsider and not Catholic. He spoke very little English and she doesn't know Spanish, but he loved her and adored the granddaughter she brought into his life.
Both were older and both we sick with painful diseases. They lived half a continent away from one another and I might be the only person in the world who knew them both. Both were good fathers and both had loving marraiges that lasted decades. Both died today - the same damn day, and left those wives, children and grandchildren heartbroken. If two people I knew had babies on the same day, I would call it a miracle, but this is a cruel blow. The world gives but it takes away. So, Parker and Jose, wherever you are, your families love you so very much.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Full Moon
I hope it is the full moon. I have been tense, pissy and mentally clouded all day. I cannot keep up with the fairly simple demands of my job. I forgot details and put down papers and walked away. I was a true space cadet. That wouldn't matter too much if I didn't have to drive on the highway to get home.
The car and I are each still whole, so that's great. I almost got hit by an SUV and a I later almost hit a car. By almost hit, I don't mean had to break or swerve. I mean I was centimeters away driving at top speeds. Both could have been fatal and I defied the laws of physics by not grinding into that SUV as we both merged into the center lane from opposite sides. It was lovely.
Home is empty with Bill out for his Tuesday night pool playing. I checked my email and read the message boards on a website I frequent. I think I need to cut that out. First, the snob in me doesn't want to spend that much energy invested in cyberspace. The judgemental part of me doesn't think it's healthy to rely on the internet for social satisfaction. The pissy part of me wants to tell a few morons a few things about the real world and the very fact that I can get so upset about the words of strangers tells me I've crossed a boundary and need to check myself.
I don't really have any friends close by, at least not any more. It is so much harder after college. Bill grew up a few miles away, so he has plenty of childhood friends around. I don't have that anymore and it can be hard.
The car and I are each still whole, so that's great. I almost got hit by an SUV and a I later almost hit a car. By almost hit, I don't mean had to break or swerve. I mean I was centimeters away driving at top speeds. Both could have been fatal and I defied the laws of physics by not grinding into that SUV as we both merged into the center lane from opposite sides. It was lovely.
Home is empty with Bill out for his Tuesday night pool playing. I checked my email and read the message boards on a website I frequent. I think I need to cut that out. First, the snob in me doesn't want to spend that much energy invested in cyberspace. The judgemental part of me doesn't think it's healthy to rely on the internet for social satisfaction. The pissy part of me wants to tell a few morons a few things about the real world and the very fact that I can get so upset about the words of strangers tells me I've crossed a boundary and need to check myself.
I don't really have any friends close by, at least not any more. It is so much harder after college. Bill grew up a few miles away, so he has plenty of childhood friends around. I don't have that anymore and it can be hard.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Pissy
Today, I'm sad. Bill has legal troubles and I am selfishly angry about them - very angry. We need that money to buy a house and get married. I have money issues already. Seeing our plans float further into the future because of money makes me want to rip out my eyeballs. I have no idea where my job is going. I feel it's secure, but what do I know?
I feel like crying.
I feel like crying.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
In an effort to actually track my days...
Today was a beautiful fall day. We took a walk and I bought new canvases to paint on. We went to dinner with my accross the hall neighbor. The "institution" Italian restaurant in the neighborhood was having an off night - rubbery calamari and Bill's vodka sauce was not good. Our server was a straight up beeotch too. Still, no dishes to wash and we are home early for ANTM and Project Runway. I'm about to crack open a bottle of Chablis. I've got my feed-the-birds cardigan ready since it isn't quite time to turn on the heat. I love Wednesdays. I really do.
My sister's baby (at 21 months) is learning defiance and choosing daddy this week. "Help please! No Mommy, Daddy!" and "All done Daddy. No Mommy." My poor sister. I think it makes her a little sad to be number two for the first time ever.
My sister's baby (at 21 months) is learning defiance and choosing daddy this week. "Help please! No Mommy, Daddy!" and "All done Daddy. No Mommy." My poor sister. I think it makes her a little sad to be number two for the first time ever.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Future Me
For two years now, I have written an email to myself and had it delivered exactly one year later, as part of a "time capsule" project. Each letter has been addressed "Dear Future Me." I wrote about my baby sister becoming a mother, wishing myself to stop smoking for good (YAY, I really did that) and my boyfriend.
When I imagined my life when I was young, there were a few important factors that defined the grownup I wanted to be.
They are: art, open outdoor space, dogs, cooking, comfort, love, freedom, creativity...
I could probably go on for pages but I will spare anyone who reads this. I am not me unless I can spread out and be creative. I am not me unless I can mess around the schedule and make my own. Today, I felt like me a bit.
I went to a wine tasting on behalf of the job. I was uncomfortable once I arrived. I felt mentally clouded and totally uncool. Everyone seemed to know one another and they were all fakey-fakey. I had slight high school flashbacks. Look at me, the fattest girl here and the most dowdy! The men were all metro and wearing ties and sweaters with jeans. The girls were ditzy but thin and drawing attention. I was the one in flats and pants - yet again.
Still, I force myself to smile and talk to a few strangers. I could have networked a bit more, but this was an honestly douchey crowd. I made the best of it and left.
What felt awesome was the afternoon to myself. I had a few extra hours. I walked and shopped the Goodwill. I contemplated Halloween costumes. I made dinner at a leisurely pace. I drank wine while cooking and talked to my sister on the phone.
Sometimes I think my standards are wacky and sometimes I think I am so blessed. Does anyone really want more than to cook for a loving partner and talk on the phone and drink wine and walk around the city for a few hours every day?
One thing I never ever ever imagined as a young girl was real romantic love. I was a pessimist from adolescence. A boy name Charles blew me off when we had a distinct plan to go see Con Air. Guys at school would ask me about my slutty best friend or sexy baby sister or trigonometry. My mother was the world's bitterest divorcee. My deck was stacked for misery and I accepted it. I spent much of college in women's' studies classrooms and rejecting any cocktails purchased for me at bars. I fell for conceited jerks and cried when they dated skinny morons. I was fairly textbook for man issues.
I lucked out so much with my boyfriend. Sometimes, I think I used up all my luck and I am now cursed for career and such. See, I got the best and most attractive man I have ever met to fall in love with me. Sometimes, I think this far exceeds my lifetime allowance of happy points and as such I am doomed to never find my path in life.
For every youthful fantasy of happiness I created, there was never a man in the picture. When I fell in love with Bill, three plus years ago, I had to readjust mentally. It was a couple years into our relationship that I realized that someday, when we had children, we would both get a say in the way our kids were raised. Ridiculous, yes - but I had never seen two parents work together. That realization floored me and as a person who has worried about the implications of string theory since I was twelve, I like to consider my contingencies well thought out. I had imagined children but never imagined a dad in the picture. I had even imagined a wedding but never imagined a marriage. I guess I just assumed romances would always end (cough, cough, my issues, cough).
So, as I adjust to keeping Bill forever. I wish and I hope and I finally imagine a future me who isn't the tough and independent woman of my adolescent fantasies. She is similar in many ways but happier and softer too. Her independence is loose and free, not hard and defiant. Future me will not be the exact replica of the woman I imagined when I was a teenager. That can be scary when I realize my outline has disappeared.
When I imagined my life when I was young, there were a few important factors that defined the grownup I wanted to be.
They are: art, open outdoor space, dogs, cooking, comfort, love, freedom, creativity...
I could probably go on for pages but I will spare anyone who reads this. I am not me unless I can spread out and be creative. I am not me unless I can mess around the schedule and make my own. Today, I felt like me a bit.
I went to a wine tasting on behalf of the job. I was uncomfortable once I arrived. I felt mentally clouded and totally uncool. Everyone seemed to know one another and they were all fakey-fakey. I had slight high school flashbacks. Look at me, the fattest girl here and the most dowdy! The men were all metro and wearing ties and sweaters with jeans. The girls were ditzy but thin and drawing attention. I was the one in flats and pants - yet again.
Still, I force myself to smile and talk to a few strangers. I could have networked a bit more, but this was an honestly douchey crowd. I made the best of it and left.
What felt awesome was the afternoon to myself. I had a few extra hours. I walked and shopped the Goodwill. I contemplated Halloween costumes. I made dinner at a leisurely pace. I drank wine while cooking and talked to my sister on the phone.
Sometimes I think my standards are wacky and sometimes I think I am so blessed. Does anyone really want more than to cook for a loving partner and talk on the phone and drink wine and walk around the city for a few hours every day?
One thing I never ever ever imagined as a young girl was real romantic love. I was a pessimist from adolescence. A boy name Charles blew me off when we had a distinct plan to go see Con Air. Guys at school would ask me about my slutty best friend or sexy baby sister or trigonometry. My mother was the world's bitterest divorcee. My deck was stacked for misery and I accepted it. I spent much of college in women's' studies classrooms and rejecting any cocktails purchased for me at bars. I fell for conceited jerks and cried when they dated skinny morons. I was fairly textbook for man issues.
I lucked out so much with my boyfriend. Sometimes, I think I used up all my luck and I am now cursed for career and such. See, I got the best and most attractive man I have ever met to fall in love with me. Sometimes, I think this far exceeds my lifetime allowance of happy points and as such I am doomed to never find my path in life.
For every youthful fantasy of happiness I created, there was never a man in the picture. When I fell in love with Bill, three plus years ago, I had to readjust mentally. It was a couple years into our relationship that I realized that someday, when we had children, we would both get a say in the way our kids were raised. Ridiculous, yes - but I had never seen two parents work together. That realization floored me and as a person who has worried about the implications of string theory since I was twelve, I like to consider my contingencies well thought out. I had imagined children but never imagined a dad in the picture. I had even imagined a wedding but never imagined a marriage. I guess I just assumed romances would always end (cough, cough, my issues, cough).
So, as I adjust to keeping Bill forever. I wish and I hope and I finally imagine a future me who isn't the tough and independent woman of my adolescent fantasies. She is similar in many ways but happier and softer too. Her independence is loose and free, not hard and defiant. Future me will not be the exact replica of the woman I imagined when I was a teenager. That can be scary when I realize my outline has disappeared.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
New Boss
I am getting used to my new boss now. I like him very much, but as I am a moody person who needs coffee and alone time, I am confused by his strange and sparkling happiness that is always mellow and kind. I distrust such behavior as a rule and tend to think of such people as fakers.
It seems his enthusiasm is genuine. He has bestowed some nice responsibilities on me like writing fun marketing stuff and attending interesting and non-horrible events. I am getting excited about work type things. That hasn't happened in a long time. I am feeling less and less dormant.
He has not dumped crap in my lap on a Friday or called me out for things I know nothing about or suggested there is a proper way to staple paper or any of the behaviors I accepted as normal from my old boss. It is weird that as much as I prefer the new boss in almost every way, there was something very soothing about the fact that only I could stand my old boss. I felt tougher than the average girl. I think I might actually have issues I didn't know about!
My long probationary period ended months early as the new boss announced he liked me and would give me health insurance early. On the very same day I received mail from my last bleep of an employer - the one I ran away from - about benefits. It seems I wasn't removed from a mailing list.
It gave me the chills to see that letter. I thought about what I would be doing if I were still at that job. First, I would still be at work. 9 to 9 was my basic schedule. I could certainly work longer if it was required, but never shorter. I would be dressed in a designer suit, purchased by the company. I might even be on one of the auxiliary boards they so heavily recommended for me. I would be morphing into a person I don't want to me. For a while I thought I could be an event manager and party planner and avoid the mold of Gold Coast bitchery...but no one can. It is so weird to witness. I wish I could explain but after sixty hour weeks of witnessing it, I couldn't reconcile it within myself, much less explain it in words.
So, in my totally opposite direction of a new job, I tend to stick a Bic ballpoint pen behind my ear at all times. I often carry a clipboard and chat with strangers. I have taken to wearing cardigans and keeping lip gloss in my pocket. I feel like a combo of an old lady and a teenager. That feels a much more appropriate self image than some sort of glamorous city woman in stilettos. I am attending wine tastings and wearing tights again. I am leaving my suits in the closet and wearing flats every day. I am rolling my eyes in solidarity with my new coworkers and growing out the evil pixie cut. Oh, the hair is floppy and gross right now. If ever there was a hairstyle that looked pubescent, I have that. It is so fucking awkward it hurts to look at. A bobby pin and headband can try and help, but I've got to grin and bear this phase, hoping I turn out pretty. I am optimistic that if my life were a movie, this period would be the montage with catchy music. I would look frazzled but poised and before the song ended I would look around I realize I was getting to be happy again.
It seems his enthusiasm is genuine. He has bestowed some nice responsibilities on me like writing fun marketing stuff and attending interesting and non-horrible events. I am getting excited about work type things. That hasn't happened in a long time. I am feeling less and less dormant.
He has not dumped crap in my lap on a Friday or called me out for things I know nothing about or suggested there is a proper way to staple paper or any of the behaviors I accepted as normal from my old boss. It is weird that as much as I prefer the new boss in almost every way, there was something very soothing about the fact that only I could stand my old boss. I felt tougher than the average girl. I think I might actually have issues I didn't know about!
My long probationary period ended months early as the new boss announced he liked me and would give me health insurance early. On the very same day I received mail from my last bleep of an employer - the one I ran away from - about benefits. It seems I wasn't removed from a mailing list.
It gave me the chills to see that letter. I thought about what I would be doing if I were still at that job. First, I would still be at work. 9 to 9 was my basic schedule. I could certainly work longer if it was required, but never shorter. I would be dressed in a designer suit, purchased by the company. I might even be on one of the auxiliary boards they so heavily recommended for me. I would be morphing into a person I don't want to me. For a while I thought I could be an event manager and party planner and avoid the mold of Gold Coast bitchery...but no one can. It is so weird to witness. I wish I could explain but after sixty hour weeks of witnessing it, I couldn't reconcile it within myself, much less explain it in words.
So, in my totally opposite direction of a new job, I tend to stick a Bic ballpoint pen behind my ear at all times. I often carry a clipboard and chat with strangers. I have taken to wearing cardigans and keeping lip gloss in my pocket. I feel like a combo of an old lady and a teenager. That feels a much more appropriate self image than some sort of glamorous city woman in stilettos. I am attending wine tastings and wearing tights again. I am leaving my suits in the closet and wearing flats every day. I am rolling my eyes in solidarity with my new coworkers and growing out the evil pixie cut. Oh, the hair is floppy and gross right now. If ever there was a hairstyle that looked pubescent, I have that. It is so fucking awkward it hurts to look at. A bobby pin and headband can try and help, but I've got to grin and bear this phase, hoping I turn out pretty. I am optimistic that if my life were a movie, this period would be the montage with catchy music. I would look frazzled but poised and before the song ended I would look around I realize I was getting to be happy again.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Babies
My niece is old enough for pigtails now. She is twenty months old and finally likes barrettes in her hair. She used to just rip them out. Today was a nice day. Mom was in town so she took me to my sister's suburb and we all went to brunch. We ladies of the family haven't been all together much since we increased to four.
My mother has a birthday this week and the baby turns twenty months. "Imagine," Mom said to me while pointing to the baby, "When you were this age, I was eight months pregnant with your sister."
"And when you were my age almost exactly, you were getting pregnant with me." I said it before I realized it's the truth. I am exactly the age at which my parents conceived me. As I recall, I grew up with some of the older parents of the kids my age.
I wonder if I am going to be an old Mom. My boyfriend hints around about engagement rings every once in a while but he also talks about changing jobs and I haven't seen evidence of any progress on either front. I know that a wedding isn't a prerequisite for a baby, but I don't think we would relax our prevention methods until we were married. We've discussed it and we want to stick to the lame traditional plan if possible.
I think all this turmoil and thinking is my biological clock making itself heard. We have agreed that we want kids by 35, but that's almost 8 years from now. I feel like I want them sooner. It's all my niece's fault for being the most wonderful, beautiful, captivating child in the universe.
My mother has a birthday this week and the baby turns twenty months. "Imagine," Mom said to me while pointing to the baby, "When you were this age, I was eight months pregnant with your sister."
"And when you were my age almost exactly, you were getting pregnant with me." I said it before I realized it's the truth. I am exactly the age at which my parents conceived me. As I recall, I grew up with some of the older parents of the kids my age.
I wonder if I am going to be an old Mom. My boyfriend hints around about engagement rings every once in a while but he also talks about changing jobs and I haven't seen evidence of any progress on either front. I know that a wedding isn't a prerequisite for a baby, but I don't think we would relax our prevention methods until we were married. We've discussed it and we want to stick to the lame traditional plan if possible.
I think all this turmoil and thinking is my biological clock making itself heard. We have agreed that we want kids by 35, but that's almost 8 years from now. I feel like I want them sooner. It's all my niece's fault for being the most wonderful, beautiful, captivating child in the universe.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Diet
For years, I have lived under the assumption that I have a "slow metabolism." My Mom is heavy and has hypothyroidism. Her Mom was heavy and had hypothyroidism too. My sister and dad are skinny no matter what, lucky bastards. I have always been heavier than I would like. Any glance at old photos shows me I was never unhealthy, I am just not skinny and I never will be. I am fleshy. Hypothyroidism has never shown up on my yearly blood work. I do get tested. If I am truthful, my worst health issue is laziness.
I have never really dieted. I love food too much. It can be my entire reason for a day. I will wake on Sundays thinking of dinner and where to shop for ingredients. I've worked around food for years in restaurants and a hotel. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway, my life revolves around food and I love that about it. Without that, I would not be me.
Still, the new job has brought change. I used to walk either four miles each way to work or "wimp out" and walk just one to the train. Now, I drive my car 27 miles and walk in from the parking lot. This has cut an easy dozen miles of walking out of my week. Now, I get home later and I am tired. I have been eating too much and drinking too much by my own lax standards. My boyfriend is taking responsibility for more dinners now and that means frozen pizza or Thai delivery. I am probably a bit situationaly depressed and that doesn't help. This is the perfect storm that has caused some straight up weight gain.
I think I have to do this dieting thing now, in some form or another. I was thinking of giving up grain based foods for a while. I think I could do that and stick to more salad and soups. I need to hold back the fat as well. Since I don't eat meat, that doesn't leave much. I have considered going vegan or raw for a bit as well. I am not a moderation girl. If it is around, I will finish it. I quit cigarettes and meat cold turkey, so I need to drop the junk that way too.
I refuse to follow any of the branded plans I know about. I will admit I am snobbish as hell about food and it's not going to happen. A cursory glance at a calorie info website revealed the horrors of my food from yesterday. Dark chocolate, mascarpone, three crab rangoons and cheddar cheese in one day is, I guess, bad for you. Oh, two bloody marys and five beers is bad too. How am I supposed to combat a hangover without fried foods I ask? Cruel world, why must the proportion of exercise required for good health be directly proportional to the amount of time I wish to spend eating and drinking and vice versa? I enjoy exercise in moderation and indulgence as a daily lifestyle habit. I did it backwards.
I have never really dieted. I love food too much. It can be my entire reason for a day. I will wake on Sundays thinking of dinner and where to shop for ingredients. I've worked around food for years in restaurants and a hotel. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway, my life revolves around food and I love that about it. Without that, I would not be me.
Still, the new job has brought change. I used to walk either four miles each way to work or "wimp out" and walk just one to the train. Now, I drive my car 27 miles and walk in from the parking lot. This has cut an easy dozen miles of walking out of my week. Now, I get home later and I am tired. I have been eating too much and drinking too much by my own lax standards. My boyfriend is taking responsibility for more dinners now and that means frozen pizza or Thai delivery. I am probably a bit situationaly depressed and that doesn't help. This is the perfect storm that has caused some straight up weight gain.
I think I have to do this dieting thing now, in some form or another. I was thinking of giving up grain based foods for a while. I think I could do that and stick to more salad and soups. I need to hold back the fat as well. Since I don't eat meat, that doesn't leave much. I have considered going vegan or raw for a bit as well. I am not a moderation girl. If it is around, I will finish it. I quit cigarettes and meat cold turkey, so I need to drop the junk that way too.
I refuse to follow any of the branded plans I know about. I will admit I am snobbish as hell about food and it's not going to happen. A cursory glance at a calorie info website revealed the horrors of my food from yesterday. Dark chocolate, mascarpone, three crab rangoons and cheddar cheese in one day is, I guess, bad for you. Oh, two bloody marys and five beers is bad too. How am I supposed to combat a hangover without fried foods I ask? Cruel world, why must the proportion of exercise required for good health be directly proportional to the amount of time I wish to spend eating and drinking and vice versa? I enjoy exercise in moderation and indulgence as a daily lifestyle habit. I did it backwards.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Old
Today I looked in the mirror and looked different than I used to. The horrid haircut is growing. I have gained weight. All this makes sense. It's what happens when you don't cut your hair or exercise. I feel older. People call me ma'am over the phone now. I used to get asked if my mommy was home well into my teens. My voice was always younger than my real age. I don't have any epiphany about this feeling or anything constructive to add. I just feel old.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Roommate
Today, a series of strange and wonderful events transpired at work and I ended up drinking a glass of 1989 Chateau Haut Brion while a nice man broke into my car and retrieved my keys. My boss said, "You might as well quit today. It's not going to get any better than this." I took my wine glass out to the parking lot to thank the nice man and sat down on an upturned wine crate near the dumpster in a good patch of sunshine. I closed my eyes for a few moments to make sure I would remember it. While working on Saturdays will never be my favorite thing, I've always managed to get good perks one way or another.
Back when I could barely tell a red from a white, I had a roommate who gave me a wine of the month membership for Christmas. We were twenty-three. He was a good but complicated roommate. He was the kind of guy who, on paper, was a dream. He was tall and cute enough, successful in his career. He was empathetic and kind. In reality and not on paper, he was the worst storyteller in the world. You could fall asleep listening to him and your heart would sink every time he piped up. He couldn't tell a joke, ever. He'd fuck up the timing or laugh on the punch line. He told the same stories, with the same phrasing and the same emphasis over and over. He told stories about his high school job and his father - terrible stories. He did the dishes though, always paid the bills and once walked to meet me at the bus stop when a creepy guy was staring me down on the bus. Together we created a tenuous little unit of lonely young people who helped each other out and shared pasta and toilet paper.
Following nature's laws of futility and annoyance, my roommate developed a crush on me. He never hit on me, but he started giving me gifts. He gave me pretty agate earrings on the fourth of July. He couldn't hide anything and began to stare at me dreamily. Our mutual friends started to notice. Even the way he said my name changed and it began to bug the hell out of me.
I knew it was time to change, so I moved out and got my own place at the end of the lease. We slowly lost contact. The last time I saw him was a couple years ago at a barbecue when he introduced me to his date. She was dull and cutish. She laughed at his botched delivery and hung on every word of his God awful stories. She gave the precautionary stink eye that women do when they meet a date's female ex-roommate. The eye quickly judged if we ever slept together. The eye said, "You had your chance and yeah, I know you lived together. I know he says you were never involved, but just in case you didn't realize. He's mine now." It happened in a flash and I had to pretend I didn't see it at all. For the rest of the night, they just grinned at one another and I knew it then.
Yesterday, I got the wedding invitation in the mail. They're getting married at a winery in October. I will go and wish them the best.
My boyfriend and I have been together three and a half years and people (mostly parental people) have begun to ask about our marriage plans. It is funny for me to see other people with shorter relationships getting married, especially when I think they are a good match. It doesn't feel like our time just yet. Somehow, buying a house seems like the right move. A wedding doesn't. I feel like I would marry him tomorrow but that there's no rush. I do wish Roomie and Stink Eye the very best of luck.
Back when I could barely tell a red from a white, I had a roommate who gave me a wine of the month membership for Christmas. We were twenty-three. He was a good but complicated roommate. He was the kind of guy who, on paper, was a dream. He was tall and cute enough, successful in his career. He was empathetic and kind. In reality and not on paper, he was the worst storyteller in the world. You could fall asleep listening to him and your heart would sink every time he piped up. He couldn't tell a joke, ever. He'd fuck up the timing or laugh on the punch line. He told the same stories, with the same phrasing and the same emphasis over and over. He told stories about his high school job and his father - terrible stories. He did the dishes though, always paid the bills and once walked to meet me at the bus stop when a creepy guy was staring me down on the bus. Together we created a tenuous little unit of lonely young people who helped each other out and shared pasta and toilet paper.
Following nature's laws of futility and annoyance, my roommate developed a crush on me. He never hit on me, but he started giving me gifts. He gave me pretty agate earrings on the fourth of July. He couldn't hide anything and began to stare at me dreamily. Our mutual friends started to notice. Even the way he said my name changed and it began to bug the hell out of me.
I knew it was time to change, so I moved out and got my own place at the end of the lease. We slowly lost contact. The last time I saw him was a couple years ago at a barbecue when he introduced me to his date. She was dull and cutish. She laughed at his botched delivery and hung on every word of his God awful stories. She gave the precautionary stink eye that women do when they meet a date's female ex-roommate. The eye quickly judged if we ever slept together. The eye said, "You had your chance and yeah, I know you lived together. I know he says you were never involved, but just in case you didn't realize. He's mine now." It happened in a flash and I had to pretend I didn't see it at all. For the rest of the night, they just grinned at one another and I knew it then.
Yesterday, I got the wedding invitation in the mail. They're getting married at a winery in October. I will go and wish them the best.
My boyfriend and I have been together three and a half years and people (mostly parental people) have begun to ask about our marriage plans. It is funny for me to see other people with shorter relationships getting married, especially when I think they are a good match. It doesn't feel like our time just yet. Somehow, buying a house seems like the right move. A wedding doesn't. I feel like I would marry him tomorrow but that there's no rush. I do wish Roomie and Stink Eye the very best of luck.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
The blank page
My computer betrayed me. I installed updates just like I am supposed to and it decided to freak out and not restart. My boyfriend was called in. He tried set it to a previous setting or reverted it in some way to something and it worked again. It just lost many of my programs and all of my files. This leads to...
An ode to my hp
Seriously, I don't want to reinstall Word or dig up proof that I just bought Norton.
That is so boring.
I just want to email my girlfriends, find out who got ugly a la facebook and laugh at the trashy choices made on the babycenter name boards.
Is that not my right?
Oh, I also need to read a couple blogs of stangers I have followed for a few years, look up vegetarian recipes, fantasy job search and sometimes compose the perfect cover letter (my version of the perfect cheer).
I have to keep an eye on my hometown newspaper (recent story: Boy and Aunt Lost in Corn Field Found after Hour Long Search).
I also want to watch videos about animals when I am hormonal.
I want to play a Yahoo game that involves stacking every now and again.
I must have access to Google and IMBD, just so I can settle arguments with my boyfriend.
I need to read about our vice presidential nominees, lest I be tricked into assuming a person who also has a vagina might care about the rights I care about.
In short, computer, I need you to work so I am not forced to watch the college football that my loving boyfriend has claimed as his right.
Every cover letter I have sent in the last two years and every version of my resume is gone gone gone. I had: resume_communications, resume_creative, resume_lies, coverletter_ballsy, coverletter_namedrop and coverletter_desperate all lined up for cutting and pasteing. They are all gone. This absence feels like a relief. I always liked the idea of certain professions. I always thought I'd enjoy having clients, selling things and planning events, but I never enjoyed any of the components. I don't like long hours or networking. I don't know whose career I was inventing in my head as I kept pushing and pushing for these dumb jobs that go to rich guys' daughters every time. Then I got one and I quit. I quit quickly and decisively. My body practically created psychosomatic symptoms to keep me from going to the job.
That part of my computer held the baggage. It was shameful to see the reminder of all the effort I put in just to fail at a career I secretly regard as not good enough for me anyway. How twisted and adolescent of me to both long for a job and resent it at once. It is actually no surprise that all that stuff is gone. Chapters, doors, books, gates and metaphors have all been closing for me lately. As frightening as the possibility of losing something important is, the empty space is chance for a do over. So I say, hello blank page.
An ode to my hp
Seriously, I don't want to reinstall Word or dig up proof that I just bought Norton.
That is so boring.
I just want to email my girlfriends, find out who got ugly a la facebook and laugh at the trashy choices made on the babycenter name boards.
Is that not my right?
Oh, I also need to read a couple blogs of stangers I have followed for a few years, look up vegetarian recipes, fantasy job search and sometimes compose the perfect cover letter (my version of the perfect cheer).
I have to keep an eye on my hometown newspaper (recent story: Boy and Aunt Lost in Corn Field Found after Hour Long Search).
I also want to watch videos about animals when I am hormonal.
I want to play a Yahoo game that involves stacking every now and again.
I must have access to Google and IMBD, just so I can settle arguments with my boyfriend.
I need to read about our vice presidential nominees, lest I be tricked into assuming a person who also has a vagina might care about the rights I care about.
In short, computer, I need you to work so I am not forced to watch the college football that my loving boyfriend has claimed as his right.
Every cover letter I have sent in the last two years and every version of my resume is gone gone gone. I had: resume_communications, resume_creative, resume_lies, coverletter_ballsy, coverletter_namedrop and coverletter_desperate all lined up for cutting and pasteing. They are all gone. This absence feels like a relief. I always liked the idea of certain professions. I always thought I'd enjoy having clients, selling things and planning events, but I never enjoyed any of the components. I don't like long hours or networking. I don't know whose career I was inventing in my head as I kept pushing and pushing for these dumb jobs that go to rich guys' daughters every time. Then I got one and I quit. I quit quickly and decisively. My body practically created psychosomatic symptoms to keep me from going to the job.
That part of my computer held the baggage. It was shameful to see the reminder of all the effort I put in just to fail at a career I secretly regard as not good enough for me anyway. How twisted and adolescent of me to both long for a job and resent it at once. It is actually no surprise that all that stuff is gone. Chapters, doors, books, gates and metaphors have all been closing for me lately. As frightening as the possibility of losing something important is, the empty space is chance for a do over. So I say, hello blank page.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
The Tower
After three years of waiting around for a promotion at my old job, I got fed up and took a promotion with another company. I should have known better. The raise was too big. The smiles on my new bosses' faces were too wide. I asked my tarot cards and I pulled the Tower. I accepted the job and I hated it.
After three months of daily crying in the shower, I quit. I had no job lined up but I wasn't willing to let impending homelessness keep me this miserable. I geared up for financial hardship and prepaid a few months insurance. My two weeks notice passed as I created manuals and lists for the poor woman who replaced me. I left quietly.
The very next day, my friend's boss offered me a job in his wine shop. I would commute to a suburb and "help out" at the store. No title, no business cards, no suits. Until I hit unemployment, I would have never considered this job. It pays well, but I was wrapped up in ideas of retirement plans and PPOs. I was twenty-seven and healthy and afraid of making the slightest wrong choice and thus ending the world. This time, I didn't analyze or overthink it. I just needed some work, so I took it. That is how I ended up opting out of the corporate climb in twelve crazy weeks.
So, one month into the wine shop, I am here. The freshmen are moving into the dorms near my apartment and we are all walking around with the same bewildered looks on our faces. I'd blend into the crowd if I weren't ten years older than they are. What happens after your plans meet the Tower? What happens when the life you weren't exactly excited about but had come to terms with pursuing because it offered good stability and a chance to make lots of money gets so bad that you just walk away? I am going to find out and hopefully find out a lot more about what I actually want.
After three months of daily crying in the shower, I quit. I had no job lined up but I wasn't willing to let impending homelessness keep me this miserable. I geared up for financial hardship and prepaid a few months insurance. My two weeks notice passed as I created manuals and lists for the poor woman who replaced me. I left quietly.
The very next day, my friend's boss offered me a job in his wine shop. I would commute to a suburb and "help out" at the store. No title, no business cards, no suits. Until I hit unemployment, I would have never considered this job. It pays well, but I was wrapped up in ideas of retirement plans and PPOs. I was twenty-seven and healthy and afraid of making the slightest wrong choice and thus ending the world. This time, I didn't analyze or overthink it. I just needed some work, so I took it. That is how I ended up opting out of the corporate climb in twelve crazy weeks.
So, one month into the wine shop, I am here. The freshmen are moving into the dorms near my apartment and we are all walking around with the same bewildered looks on our faces. I'd blend into the crowd if I weren't ten years older than they are. What happens after your plans meet the Tower? What happens when the life you weren't exactly excited about but had come to terms with pursuing because it offered good stability and a chance to make lots of money gets so bad that you just walk away? I am going to find out and hopefully find out a lot more about what I actually want.
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