tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22731675639992780992024-02-06T18:33:17.240-08:00Everything is GoodnowA Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-45865174646259471802012-03-31T20:12:00.003-07:002014-01-04T05:40:56.293-08:00Moscato<br />
Seeds<br />
The best friends<br />
Laughter<br />
Dog in love<br />
Three shot glasses and five beers in a handy pack!<br />
SaturdayA Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-59825011027144478422012-03-07T03:16:00.002-08:002012-03-07T03:22:22.656-08:00whooshPulling it together. Sounds simple enough. Another fresh start... I hope I am strong enough and have learned enough to GET IT. I feel like I am. and have. Lord knows I appreciate more than I ever have. All those books I read in the basement of Hampstead Place and all the promises I made to myself then are starting to make sense and be real. Just a couple more tweaks... <br />Last week, I had a moment that would surely make it to the final cut in the movie of my life. Today, I hope to have another.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-33444802142882407242012-02-18T17:14:00.000-08:002012-02-18T18:58:56.145-08:00really intersting stuff and total midlife babble<a href="http://onlyagame.wbur.org/2012/02/18/olympics-uber-alles">http://onlyagame.wbur.org/2012/02/18/olympics-uber-alles</a><br /><br />I can't tell you how interesting this story was to me. Interesting enough that I jumped out of the tub to share it. Okay, I didn't "jump" per say... that's kinda dangerous.<br />This story, for me, was about judging a human being as a human being (oh, we all judge, don't we?) and not as a religion or a color, which we are all so sick of. Injustice? yes. Lived and learned? Let's do. Please. And no human should expect any less from ANYONE EVER.<br />Then there's this... I'm fucking 40. 40! It's so cliche to question everything and lose your shit at 40. Don't forget to grow a ponytail, buy a sports car, get all zen and shit. <br />That's not exactly where I am... I think I did all that at 30, minus the ponytail plus one hot 21 year old plaything. I'm here. I'm half way through my life, IF I'm lucky enough to live to be 80. Cancer, car accidents, freak falls from odd places... all these punishments for whatever it is I think I did wrong.<br />So, now what? What the do I want to do? Having based my last 19 years on being a mother, I have no idea what else I want to do. I should say I have too many ideas. I have EVERY! Oh, 40... I thought you would just leave me the hell alone. Considering what I've been through so far, I feel like I've earned it.<a href="http://humanremodel.blogspot.com/2010/03/another-annoying-american-language.html"></a>A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-57001949983761911942012-01-22T03:38:00.000-08:002012-01-22T03:54:33.288-08:00I want an end piece!I don't write anymore. Not sure why. Time is a great excuse, but it's the one I despise most, and it's a lie. There's always time for what you want to make time for. It's the juice that's been missing. Plenty to say, the words just never being able to rise up. Til right now. <br />I've got myself a job that I hate in a place that I don't belong. I've got a paycheck and benefits. Yippiefuckingkaiyay. I've also now got the goal to find a new job. Maybe one that isn't so soul sucking. With paid holidays and a blue cross card, please.<br />My family is growing up and big changes are coming. J is facing a trip to Texas that he doesn't want to take. He's been trying to come up with every scary fact that a mother would cower from. Not working. And, he's still not working, so it's not looking good for him. He is finally trying to make contacts, but the effort may be too little too late when it comes to school. His diploma is questionable and I feel it's time to line him up for some tough love. Sometimes, people need that toughness to foster their own. <br />I seem to be the one who ends up doling out the tough love. It's my lot in life to have the brutal honesty gene. I see the hurt and anger on someone I love's face... but, I have to know that it's the right thing to do to help foster a change. Who is here to give me some of that? I wouldn't mind getting that push once or twice instead of giving it. I think. (too much)A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-13629473242319565892011-08-14T04:04:00.000-07:002011-08-14T04:08:34.761-07:00the open door has just closedYesterday, my car finally got fixed!
<br />It's going to rain for the next three days.
<br />I see a disturbing trend.
<br />
<br />
<br />The furrow in between my eyes is growing deeper. A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-91444966970876165272011-08-10T03:47:00.000-07:002011-08-10T03:54:50.666-07:00how long is a funk supposed to last?I feel trapped in my own head. And, my body doesn't feel good because of it.
<br />The tea is good, and instead of a five hour energy in the afternoon, an iced coffee works fine. Soon, I hope to wean completely off of caffeine. The thing is, I'm listless. I have the motivation to do absolutely nothing. I don't feel creative or inspired. I wash the clothes, hang them on the line, take them off the line, fluff them, fold them, distribute them. Fill the dishwasher, empty the dishwasher. Give this one a ride here, pick that one up there. It's all so boring. I'm supposed to feel grateful, but I don't. I feel anxious and annoyed.
<br />I don't like this funk. I need to make some changes to rush it along. First the caffeine...A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-35873663718234760532011-08-07T04:33:00.001-07:002011-08-07T04:38:29.499-07:00no sugar tonight in my coffeeDay 1 no coffee, switched to tea. I had one cup of green tea with a small amount of sugar, no cream or milk. I figured since I have already had a nasty headache for the last few days, now would be a good time to make the switch. (lack of caffiene can cause a headache) I wonder hwo much caffiene is in the green tea?A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-51646158387271038572011-08-04T03:26:00.000-07:002011-08-04T03:33:33.328-07:00wake up!Put down that pill bottle and let it be. Let that kid go through the tough stages and learn and grow. Do the hard thing and push on through. What's different from needing to drink 14 beers every day or needing to pop 14 pills? Nothing but a doctor who drives a mercedes and lives in a bigger house than you and some laws made to make sure they keep on making money. <br />It's ok to question what they tell you. <br />Go on now, put some light back in those eyes, will ya?A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-74293062572855485552011-08-03T03:01:00.000-07:002011-08-03T03:07:15.554-07:00Isn't that an old Eagles song?When somebody loves you...<br />they accept you, all of you, even the crappy parts of your personality that show up from time to time.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-54996831200507866582011-08-01T03:23:00.000-07:002011-08-01T03:51:15.692-07:00must I?Had another great party this weekend. So fun! We had great food, great drinks, great laughs. An old friend came with her man of the month and her son, who was shy at first, but them ran, swam and even played drums with the tribe...for a minute, anyway. <br />You ever have one of those moments where you think that if you had the balls there would be an intervention right fucking now? I wish I were sober enough at that moment to say something more than "sorry" and "goodbye". Her date left, and I mean.. poof!... disappeared. We live in the middle of nowhere and this guy just couldn't take one more minute, so he high tailed it out of town. No goodbyes, no I don't feel well or I have to be somewhere else, just ran for it! I don't blame him. My friend was cocktailing and getting louder with each cup. Which is why I always offer to make drinks... I like to control the alcohol level. Hers was light, but she had a six pack hidden that she was chasing the tequila iced teas with. As soon as she figured out he was gone, she proceeded to announce that her date had ditched her to anyone in earshot and packed up her kid and dragged him out of there. Poor kid had made friends and was about to sit in on a session with the tribe. Not for one second did she consider his feelings. What it must be like to have your mother put on a dramatic scene and then drag you away from any fun you might be having. <br />I thought about that off and on all night. It didn't ruin my fun, but it made me think a lot about my parenting style. I get tisk tisks and eye rolls from other parents all the time, but it's the one area of my life that I have felt like a success in and I know damn well it's not luck that my kids are the well adjusted, friendly, polite young men that they are. Perfect, they are not. I chased my oldest and his boys away from the beer cooler more than once Saturday night. <br />What the hell is my point? I don't know, the coffee is finally kicking in, fog lifting. I just woke up thinking about how glad I was that even though there is angst in my house, I am fortunate to be able to have conversation with my kids, all the time, about everything. It's not forced, we don't call a meeting. They tell me how they fell, what they think.. and I listen. I tell them how I feel and what I think. We agree, we don't. I actually care how they feel about things, and adjust my actions for them often. I don't think that I'm the parent and it's my way of the highway. Their perspective matters to me, and they know it.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-66931417986173158062011-07-25T03:53:00.000-07:002011-07-25T03:54:45.976-07:00Day 1Detox day! No junk food, no bad habits, no toxic people.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-12367859934282396632011-07-22T03:21:00.000-07:002011-07-22T03:27:25.159-07:00happy place<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSV-MZT2wWUC2RwY7UC6-WS11S4Kbzw4O1OlOOJm5EhWAf_tlzk1UzXns-hPIxYT7Gl6bqJnO-DgnV0FgCtcwF-zZunCATDlwOg2S4BVY4lIgFPM8dbWURdSO4f3cz7N4cPOHaNGWUc_0/s1600/102_0785.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSV-MZT2wWUC2RwY7UC6-WS11S4Kbzw4O1OlOOJm5EhWAf_tlzk1UzXns-hPIxYT7Gl6bqJnO-DgnV0FgCtcwF-zZunCATDlwOg2S4BVY4lIgFPM8dbWURdSO4f3cz7N4cPOHaNGWUc_0/s320/102_0785.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632120509054639442" /></a><br />This year's veg garden. There's a separate squash/melon garden, but it's not pretty, so I didn't take a picture of it. I cannot wait for tomatoes to start turning color... especially since the sharpie-on-wood labeling system I used faded with the sun before there were flowers on the plants! I love surprises!A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-31802477369841722152011-07-20T03:39:00.000-07:002011-07-20T03:42:18.061-07:00toot!Yesterday, getting ready for his job interview, J was bemoaning the end of his childhood... "I can't believe it over!"<br />"Thanks, Mom, my childhood was the best! You made it awesome."<br />Boy, did I need this moment.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-32397119878606904352011-07-18T03:32:00.000-07:002011-07-18T03:41:56.789-07:00ponderingLife. It's meaning. When you don't have religion, this is bound to find you. Or maybe you just know. I don't. I mean, I know what's important. Family. To love and be loved. To do good. Is that all I'm supposed to do with my time here on earth? Is it really that simple?<br />One thing I know for sure, is this. We really only have ourselves to answer to. We might disappoint or hurt others, they may or may not forgive us. Life goes on. And, when your own heart breaks, it's really up to you how that is going to affect you, today and in the future. Right? Or, are we at the mercy of those around us to the point that we will treat others in a way that is derived from these experiences... without thought or responsibility? We are constantly being reprogrammed by our moments. By words, actions... our own, and others. <br />So deep this morning!A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-20720023109901835392011-07-12T11:03:00.000-07:002011-07-12T11:04:55.542-07:00smileI was reminded of the me that once was... could still be? I used to be so trusting and loving... I want to be her again. She was alot of fun.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-38795484466382774012011-07-11T03:20:00.000-07:002011-07-11T03:57:52.483-07:00theres that defining moment<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_AXN7ZhPMRI0m8a6G54hI7FHH9S3DLzjKyW1E0eP6D0x57AA3HiT4tmyVYjAQnMecenUy90tbwQYNEdVCMETGqsBa2jrnR2djXInYfctR3jwOS1MUidadzCLAkZ4GFWeLmmxAJ8sYs0/s1600/the+girlz%2521.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_AXN7ZhPMRI0m8a6G54hI7FHH9S3DLzjKyW1E0eP6D0x57AA3HiT4tmyVYjAQnMecenUy90tbwQYNEdVCMETGqsBa2jrnR2djXInYfctR3jwOS1MUidadzCLAkZ4GFWeLmmxAJ8sYs0/s320/the+girlz%2521.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628039376385034642" /></a><br /> This weekend we had a fabulous party with great friends. We had a fire that was jumped through by teenagers who wanted to be there and music was played by neighbors who welcomed our little one into their tribe for a jam session that still has my heart singing. We were so lucky to have new friends come and add more fun to our party! <br /> I woke up Sunday feeling blessed and alive! The cleaning, of course, was long and ridiculous. I have your sunglasses... and your clove cigars, which, truthfully, I am going to smoke. I still do that thing where I smoke when I drink and there are cigarettes around. So stupid... The cleaning was actually very good for my brain. I woke up before anyone else and had the chance to replay the evening in my head. There were some moments that bothered me. I was upset that someone at my party called me and my friends a "bunch of hippies". He peed in my frog pond, threw his butts in my yard... is there a name for that? Thinking back to anything I may have said or done to give this person cause to be disrespectful, I have to admit that I found something. I said that I thought people who drive caddilcas were douches. How fucking judgemental of me. It was a dumb thing to say, based on an earlier traffic occurance... I mouthed off in the car to myself, no big deal, but apparently I felt the need to say that to someone who actually drives a caddy. <br />Why can't I stop mouthing off? My whole life I have been in trouble for talking. I don't tell secrets, but I sure do seem to have enough opinion to never stop sharing. And, all over again, I'm that little girl in the desk in the hallway, worksheets in front of me, listening to class go on without her because she just can't shut the fuck up. <br />Funny to be talking about shutting up on as blog, where the whole idea is to share and put it out there... talk.<br />Then there's that little judgement problem. How dare this guy judge us as "hippies"? Really, just because we had music by a fire, good friends and laughter? I guess, he has as much right as I do to think he or anyone who drives a caddy a douche. And, really, I don't even think everyone who drives a caddy is a douche! Just that one guy who cut me off and smiled while he did it. And, now the meathead who came to my party and acted like an angry peakock. The thing is, I didn't even judge this guy based on his tight tshirt with bulging arms and goofy haircut. I was excited to meet my buddy's friend and it wasn't until he sucked down 8 coronas that the meathead came out. <br />So, did I judge unfairly? Because, as it tuned out, this guy was a total douche. <br />However, hippies, we are not. What is it with this generation that thinks hippies are anyone who doesn't dress like you? <br />HIPPIES: a person, especially of the late 1960s, who rejected established institutions and values and sought spontaneity, direct personal relations expressing love, and expanded consciousness, often expressed externally in the wearing of casual, folksy clothing and of beads, headbands, used garments, etc. <br />Were we at the same party?<br />This whole silliness didn't ruin my fun, and, infact reminded me that being who you are, no matter who loves or doesn't love you, is worth it.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-84079706185774031822011-05-17T12:56:00.001-07:002011-05-17T13:08:42.054-07:00today's "stuff that doesn't suck"8.99 special at PHOP<br />my son now has a driver's license anbd has agreed to be my errand boy.<br />afternoon Margaritas... homemade and FANTASTIC,<br />I did not have to buy a prom dress, shoes, jewelry, nails or hair-dos.<br />days and days of rain mean days and days of not watering the garden.<br />when it stops raining, it won't be raining anymore.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-88567359600543482302011-05-15T03:56:00.000-07:002011-05-15T04:01:06.291-07:00stupid Murphy and his stupid lawsI bought my first convetible!<br />It's going to rain for the next 4 days.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-80973045667404872082011-05-13T17:47:00.000-07:002012-02-18T17:35:18.832-08:00today sucked<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf54IJrUVhzsgod89oVjwesvEsayyJ6ScKF-tAZbL9YvfZEYhMY_zSHpablnB3heUKPGpUbDH7FVz_7tAaE-DzPyA1thDznoD4ciJa_r-DqRpqQXUU2r_r1i3cNsx37RFUO49hagC8Kbs/s1600/005.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 274px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf54IJrUVhzsgod89oVjwesvEsayyJ6ScKF-tAZbL9YvfZEYhMY_zSHpablnB3heUKPGpUbDH7FVz_7tAaE-DzPyA1thDznoD4ciJa_r-DqRpqQXUU2r_r1i3cNsx37RFUO49hagC8Kbs/s320/005.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606368654130764162" /></a><br />If it could go wrong, it did. <br />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. <br />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...<br />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.<br />No way.... it can't be...<br />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?!<br />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. <br />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. <br />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...<br />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) <br />Breath.<br />It's going to be ok.<br />I need to go get my scarf ready for tomorrow.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-73979484023037698552011-05-12T12:57:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:41:26.970-07:00If you don't have anything nice to say....A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-44430915126958833142011-05-06T10:22:00.000-07:002012-02-18T17:41:52.132-08:00BeastyListening 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.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-78514380186083447172011-05-05T03:11:00.000-07:002011-05-05T03:16:06.160-07:00Did you know?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvUsAHUA0zlSnDpyw5jBvFg-ryMp7uDXYRea_L7DpqpDElllX5FPUG6mdRy5BCmEgjBdJaQj_i0u_r5ljMODTnQHPOGbiXjzPCgZuuSaGslRYcr1hQEh7DRR5ISh2gfn2kWQBHlYPhiY/s1600/018.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvUsAHUA0zlSnDpyw5jBvFg-ryMp7uDXYRea_L7DpqpDElllX5FPUG6mdRy5BCmEgjBdJaQj_i0u_r5ljMODTnQHPOGbiXjzPCgZuuSaGslRYcr1hQEh7DRR5ISh2gfn2kWQBHlYPhiY/s320/018.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603173130279294466" /></a><br />Porcupines can climb trees? Me, either! <br />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.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-66726039004831449702011-05-04T16:40:00.000-07:002011-05-04T17:17:06.561-07:00one more notchYay! 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.<br />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.<br />Silly girl.<br />Again.<br />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. <br />I'm good, dammit. Raising the monsters has brought multi-tasking to a whole new level... I can literally balance plates on my ankles.<br />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. <br />WHAT?!!!!!!<br />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. <br />Wasabi = Japanese hot mustard<br />WHAT?!!!!!<br />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.<br />Or... will I?<br />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.<br />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?<br />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. <br />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. <br />That felt good. Not as good as money in my pocket, but better than Japanese mustard.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-5454649630182196482011-05-01T03:31:00.000-07:002011-05-02T03:15:09.362-07:00why 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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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.<br />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.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273167563999278099.post-79725671517898404132011-04-28T00:55:00.000-07:002011-04-28T01:00:06.276-07:00What is in there?Without proper diet medicine is of no use, with proper diet medicine is of no need.<br />— Ancient Ayurvedic precept<br /><br />I get the feeling that if we start only eating foods that have 100% ingredients that we actually know what they are...<br />well, the whole world would change. Think about it.A Better Version of Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17824704873767852118noreply@blogger.com0