Tuesday, May 17, 2011

today's "stuff that doesn't suck"

8.99 special at PHOP
my son now has a driver's license anbd has agreed to be my errand boy.
afternoon Margaritas... homemade and FANTASTIC,
I did not have to buy a prom dress, shoes, jewelry, nails or hair-dos.
days and days of rain mean days and days of not watering the garden.
when it stops raining, it won't be raining anymore.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Friday, May 13, 2011

today sucked

If it could go wrong, it did.
A hummingbird got trapped in the greenhouse. The poor thing made the most pathetic squeak. While I'm trying to "gently persuade" the sweet little squeaker to go out the door, Steve, my sweet little black cat finds his way out the door. This is what's known as "All hell breaking loose". You see, we live in the woods and our cats are not allowed outside. Outdoor cats here = FOOD.
So, I go into the pantry and find my super-secret-emergency-cat-bribe. (canned food) The hummer is still crashing into the windows and squeaking while I place the bribe just inside the doorway. All of thirty seconds later, Steve is back in the safety of the house. PHEW! One down...
I grab a clear plant tray cover and gently push the bird toward the open door. After ten minutes of sweat dripping panic, he's free...as a... well, you know. He's free! I close the door, hug Steve and sit down at the pc to have a much needed cup of joe and spend some time searching Craigslist for a car.
No way.... it can't be...
A Saab convertable... loaded, leather, woodgrain, low miles, IN MY PRICE RANGE! And, it's in the next town over. I don't even have to drive an hour to be disappointed at a "small" oil leak or bald tires... Can it be?!
I email immediately and get a response. I can see it today until 5:30 or tomorrow at 8 am. The cool thing about selling my car is that it means I have no car during the day, so I have to wiat until tomorrow. I am pumped, all day long imagining myself with my Jackie-O scarf and shades, cruising around in my convertable non-gas guzzler. Until... I get the email telling me that someone has come to see the car and is buying it. Sorry, first come, first serve. It's all over. No car for me. Back to searching the crappy car ads, with this wrong and that needing replacement.
It's been a rough week. My oldest got his license and drove off... all by himself. He got fitted for a tux that he will wear on THE BIG DATE (prom). I won't be dropping him off or picking him up. I had no idea it would feel this way. I cried. I drank too much wine and cried a whole lot more. I got over it, laughed some, and took some aspirin in the morning.
I missed "Girls night out" because I didn't have a ride and I live so far outof the way, no one's offering to come and get me. So, I sat here pouting about my losses. My youth, his youth, the car, the night out. It's all gone and all I can do is watch it all go. Too bad I drank all that wine earlier in the week...
Then, the phone rings. The car buyer backed out. It's mine, I can pick it up at 8am. The, a text..."I love you Mom, YTB" (you're the best)
It's going to be ok.
I need to go get my scarf ready for tomorrow.

Friday, May 6, 2011


Listening to the boys on NPR today made me think about ambition and attitude, and most of all writing. I try to come here and write as often as my crazy brain will allow, but is it enough? I blog because I want to keep the flow going, by force, if neccessary. I write nonsense here, really. Nothing that will ever turn into anything more than internet babble.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Did you know?

Porcupines can climb trees? Me, either!
This one did, when a 90 lb. dog came chasing after. He must have decided that the quill thing was too big a chance to take. The poor thing stayed up there for 3 1/2 hours.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

one more notch

Yay! I got a bartending job! It's been 6 years since I've been on the other side of the bar. I'm pretty comfy on either side, but I like the side that puts money in my pocket rather than takes it out. So, off I went, last night, to the place that serves good sushi and even better Mai Tais.
Boo! Reality, as always, sets in and fucks everything up. I was worried that I might be too old, too haggard, too just not good enough. It never occurred to me that the job would suck and the people I would be working for would be absolute dirt bags.
Silly girl.
First, the bar manager, "Peter" calls me "honey" all night. Fine, he's clearly not really a Peter, so what the hell, I can be honey. It's not a derogatory term unless you're Gloria Steinem, and I am so far from her ideals that I could be on Mars to her Venus. The job is hard, with food service added to mixology and unmarked secret mixes that need memorizing. I'm hanging in, I can take a lot of crap before I crumble. I make it through a shift, serving chow mein and chicken fingers with scorpion bowls and love potion. I mastered the computerized cash register, the Keno, and the constant dinging of the machine that prints out the wait staff's drink orders.
I'm good, dammit. Raising the monsters has brought multi-tasking to a whole new level... I can literally balance plates on my ankles.
When it's time for me to clock out, I ask the manager how the tips will be split. Tips? Oh, no, no tips when you are training. In fact, no pay at all and you will need at least two weeks of training before you will be ready to be on your own.
So, let me get this straight... I will work for free for two weeks. I will mix drinks and serve food while another bartender watches me. I will earn $20 tips with my winning smile and gracious attitude and I will watch the leaning trainer count my bills and take them home. For two weeks?! I can understand three shifts, but two weeks is just downright abusive. Then, the manager hands me a printout of the possible mistakes I might make, to study. On sheet number two, there are definitions of sushi, sashimi, maki, tobiko and wasabi.
Wasabi = Japanese hot mustard
Now, I love sushi, sashimi, tobiko and especially wasabi. Wasabi is not mustard, not even close. It's Japanese horseradish. Now, this isn't such a big deal, really, except, well... it is! How can this Japanese woman hand me a list of facts that are not factual at all? I hate to be a stickler, but really, I have to study all this AND work for free? I do need the job, so I will suck it up and not correct the dummy who owns the place.
Or... will I?
I would have. I really would have. Then, she tells me that bartenders are not allowed to count their own tips, ever. She takes the tips into her office at the end of the night and counts them and gives them to you the next day. Huh? Having never heard of such a practice, I was a little stunned and didn't say a word. I just left, feeling a little defeated.
I didn't sleep well last night. I kept replaying all the Little things that bothered me, like the manager telling me my shirt was too low cut, even though it was a tee that came up to my collar bones. But, the money thing really bothered me. There's no way they're not stealing from their employees. Why else would they need to count your tips and not give them to you until the following day?
I paced around all morning. I hate those moments when things don't feel right, but, for whatever reason you hang in doubting your own intuition. Then, I came to the conclusion that I was being played a fool. I really hate feeling like someones fool. It's a job I've been working for far too long in my personal life and I'll be damned if I'm going to let a total stranger play me like this.
So, I called this afternoon and told the manager of false information that while I appreciated the opportunity, I decided that I do not want to work for them.
That felt good. Not as good as money in my pocket, but better than Japanese mustard.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

why bother?

There are days when I feel like I could take on a Roman Army to defend my beliefs... and then, there are days when it just doesn't seem worth the effort to say one single word. Lately, the latter days are multiplying like bunnies in springtime.
Too many battles lost and a sense that my game plan is as weak as my tired legs and back. What good have they done me, anyhow? Those damn legs keep walking down the wrong path and the connection between brain and body seems to have been all but severed, hanging on by a string that is only there for show and doesn't have any really connection to anything.
Did I once have dreams? Or, have I been wandering aimlessly through my own life, falling into holes and climbing out of them without really knowing how or why I fell in the first place. I'm feeling sullen. And, odd. Like I don't fit into my own body... and certainly not into my life.
Reflection...in the mirror, in the water, in my head. Who am I? I've come to the conclusion that the answer to that question changes with the tides and who stands with me. I am this for you and that for them. But, for me... who the hell am I? This, my 40th year on earth, and I still have no idea what I am doing, where I am going, or who the hell I really am.
How, as a mother and pseudo -wife , separate myself from those roles ad figure out who I am without upsetting the delicate balance that has kept me teetering (but, not falling too often) all these years? I want to be the mom who left her 5 boys and went to Paris for 3 years, in the middle of their upbringing, to study art and find herself. I want to be that actress, who didn't start her career until she was 40, because it was the first time she tried, and she was a great success immediately. I want to write the book, the best seller that lets me tell the truth and have people understand where I am coming from and want to go there with me. I want to be me, the me that doesn't hide for fear of disapproval... if only I can figure out just who "me" is.