Saturday, March 28, 2009

22 Years Today...

Being the full fledged sappy romantic I am, I'm going to make my own anniversary card for my husband today. I've spent some time looking for appropriate graphics and have shortlisted this pic. It's called a Potato Heart Mutation.

I'm struggling a bit with the inside poetic text but here's what I've got so far...

'On this day of celebration,
Be my Potato Heart Mutation!'

I think it'll make him swoon. (Hmmm, I wonder if there might be a market for these kind of cards somewhere...?)

Saturday, March 21, 2009

This is What I'm Going to Do Today...

Paint it Black - three embossed wallpapered walls in my house, I have an entire gallon. Nothing shall escape the touch of darkness!

(Did I mention my husband's away on a church retreat? Buahahahahahaaa!)

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

It was a looooong shift at the restaurant today. I know there's harder jobs in life than serving people stuff, (like omg, nursing or shoveling snow at -41 degrees!) but I think being a server, like any job, takes it's own unique kind of toll on you. It's not always easy, after your 50th trek from the front to the back of the restaurant, to smilingly and graciously deliver ketchup, ice, or more creamers to people who may or may not appreciate your effort.

We try to analyze at the restaurant, what it is that makes job so trying at times. We run a community soup and sandwich service, so along with regular customers, we deal with a variety of street people, alot of whom are bitter. I had a woman like that today, lashing out about our 'take out' only policy again. I wanted to shout, 'C'mon, it's a FREE lunch!', but I simply walked away. You can't argue unthankfulness out of people.

We had another table of very nice British people this afternoon. They liked the food, they liked the place, they liked the service - and yet they tipped $1.56 on a $40 luncheon. Tipping of course is optional, an expression of thankfulness - but it's worth bearing in mind, that a meager tip is something of an insult to a server. We would have just rather done it for free.

I drove home today a little deflated about it all. As I rounded the corner to my street, I saw a kid whiz by on a bike. He was waving his hands wildly, smiling broadly and goofily throwing kisses toward my car. It took me a second to recognize him as my own son. I had a sudden rush of warmth, and yes, I guess you could call it joy, at the sight of him. And everything else faded away.

You know, I think it's true. The best things in life are absolutely free.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

So this christmas just passed, I finally stepped to the ranks of people who actually own a pair of pyjama pants. I've fought long and hard all my life to never wear real sleepwear. There's something just sooo, 'vulnerable' about them. Maybe I've seen too many action movies where the main character sleeps gun in hand and leaps from sleep into adrenalinated action. How silly it would be to wearing pyjamas pants. My life isn't exactly an action movie, but, geez, I can always hope...

This christmas however, changed things for me. I was given a pair of turquoise blue, polar fleece pyjama pants with large pale blue polar bears and snowflakes on them. So out of character were they, I nearly threw them out several times. It took me over a month to even try them on. But omg - once I did, I discovered the most comfortable lounging clothing in the world! (And I like to lounge.) I still never sleep in them, mind you, cuz you never know about that action movie thing - but for hanging out on a rainy day when no ones going to see you, awesome. I'm not much of an fan of the current trend of pyjama pants at work, school, or to shop etc, but if that's your style statement, so be it.

I had to see my daughter off yesterday to Cuba. I weighed the odds of being caught in the van in my atrocious pj's and decided to risk it. As I stepped out of the van to hug her good bye in front of her friends house, she waved me frantically back into the vehicle. 'MOM, those pants! Get back in the van!'

I watched her walk to the door a little wistfully. She's growing up so fast. But man, she sure looked fine in those baggy grey sweatpants hanging 2/3's of the way down her butt, with her shiny athletic shorts poking out looking very much like black satin underwear...

Style, either you have it or you don't.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Well, after my 10th $25 parking ticket yesterday, I think it's time to admit the parking meter woman has finally won. I'm going to city hall tomorrow to give away $250 and terminate the war. I guess while I'm at it, I should case out a new legal parking spot as well. I feel like Randall Patrick McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest, when Nurse Ratchett and the shock doctors lobotomized poor Randall into ultimate submission...

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Friday, March 6, 2009

Socially Appropriate...

So a red card client came into the restaurant the other day. I know him well now and over time have come to dread his arrival. While we have many clients on the program who are pleasant and use our lunch program out of real need, there are others who sport $300 watches, designer clothing and verbally abuse us when they come in. This guy was the latter.

One of the issues we've had to address is the constant tension of running a viable business while also providing a service to the street community. Ideally, we'd like to do both - though I'm becoming more and more convinced the two are not mutually compatible. The street people, perhaps justly so, are sometimes offended by our 'take out' only policy, but it's alarming to business clientelle to sit at a table beside someone with who lives day to day on the street and bears all the evidence of it.

Back to the guy...after first trying to negiotate a better deal for himself on his lunch and accusing us of making money off his back (we only cover costs anyhow) he complained loudly, 'Why can't we sit in this place to eat?! What?! Do you think we're GERMS or something?!?!'

I'm only glad I didn't have to respond to him, because after a year and half of swallowing this kind of crap, I wanted to retort, 'No I don't think you're a Germ at all - I think you're a 'effing CANCER!'

But that wouldn't have exactly been socially appropriate, would it...

Wednesday, March 4, 2009


Last week when my daughter & I went for our tattoo consult, on a whim I decided to get another piercing. The young guy who did it, Mike, was a testimony to his craft. His own ears were double pierced with holes so large you could stick your middle finger through them. I counted at least 10 tattoos on his exposed body, and can only imagine what lay beneath his very punk clothing. His artfully straightened hair poked randomly through his backwards baseball cap. Mike's overall appearance made a statement. He was not a conformist.

As he pulled my hair back from my ears, he commented just a little disapprovingly, 'Wow, you have biiiiig hair. Why don't you straighten it?'

'Well,' I responded, once the unexpected jolt of criticism diminished, 'I guess I just don't want to spend my life straightening my hair to fit in.'


Isn't it interesting that even the subculture has a set of standards to conform to?