I can't live without water, food, and air. And that's about it.

I am currently watching a recorded in the theater version of Breaking Dawn. Like, someone stood up in front of the camera at one point. It is a terrible recording. Which is fitting. It is a terrible movie.

Here is the thing. I read all the books because I read. Everything. Post of the FOUR bookshelves we bought that don't quite fit all my books coming soon. And that doesn't count the thousands I have for my kindle. I couldn't NOT read it. It was entertaining when the story did not have Bella and Edward in it. So, barely at all. 

I posted something on Facebook the other day that about sums it up for me...When Hermione loses the love of her live, she continues trying to save the world. When Bella loses the love of her life, she curls up in a ball in the forest for hours. I would much rather be like Hermione.

Anyway, so terrible copy of the movie. On top of terrible copy of the movie, the boy spent the first 30 minutes making TERRIBLE vampire jokes. Like "oh, gee, I hope she doesn't get bitten," and then giggled to himself. I was forced to banish him from the room until the movie was over. 

I forgot why I was posting this other than to say, I really dislike this entire franchise. I dislike the never ending love and the "I can't live without you." How about, I choose not to live without you? How about I don't want to live without you? 

Yes, there are certain scenes that are romantic and sweet. There are parts of the book that are romantic and funny, in a poorly written kind of way. 

Give me wizards and strong women over shiny, sparkly vampires and I can't live without you any day. 

And if I ever have little girls, fuck Snow White and Prince Charming. We will write our own fairy tales together.  And we will read hundreds of books together. And if they ever want to read Twilight, fine. But, there will be a long sit down talking about how love is important, but so is independence. And, for the love of God, CHOOSE THE WOLF. Yeesh.

It is a wonder I have friends at all.

Hi. It's me again, your obnoxious neighbor who won't shut up about the Whitman's down the street not mowing their yard.

That metaphor was terrible.

I am about to bitch about the American food system. WHAT? ME? Never. Psht. 

Read This:

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/12/27/bacteria-1-f-d-a-0/?ref=opinion

It's not long. And I know I post this guy's stuff all the time. And I know that I am obnoxiously opinionated. But, if just one of you picks up the antibiotic free chicken at the store instead of something from Purdue. Or Tyson. Or one of the other conglomerates that is poisoning our country, then I made a difference.

Buy local. Buy antibiotic free. I know it's expensive, believe me, I know. But it's worth it.

Rant over. Please resume your regularly scheduled reading of people who are not opinionated ass holes.

Don't mock my organizational excitement.

1. Have you ever seen "Extreme Couponing" on TLC? Holy. Balls. I just watched some dude buy 1200 12 oz bottles of Lipton Iced Tea. FOR FREE. I only started watching this because I know someone who kind of coupons, at least compared to these people. Sometimes I cut out coupons and leave them in my wallet...but that probably doesn't count. 
2. Go out and buy Archer Farms Tex Mex Trail Mix RIGHT NOW. Go. That is the Target food brand for those of you that don't know. NOW GO.
3. If you do go buy some, also pick up some Tums. Spicy, spicy shit. And if you are anything like me, you will eat almost the whole container. OK...the whole container.
4. It is that time of year when there is NOTHING to do. Everyone hibernates and only leaves when they have to...TV sucks...I get restless being inside all the time...work will be slow. Blech. Next Blog Title? How To Sort Your Lint.
5. I am going to start Zumba after the first of the year. It is not a New Years Resolution, the boy just has the rest of the year off and will point and laugh at me while I fumble through the latin dance moves. And by fumble I mean trip over my own feet, fall down, and just give up and do jumping jacks until the video is over.
6. Don't forget the Tums. There is a hole in my stomach in the shape of a salsa corn stick.
7. I hate when people name drop. Like, hey, I have cooked for P. Diddy. Awesome for you...did he like the food? Because that is all that really matters. Anybody who tries hard enough can get the catering gig. 
8. The other day at the store this woman was FLIPPING out because the meat counter was grinding more meat for the ground beef sale. I calmly stood by and watched her unravel, playing on my phone while the butcher did his job. The husband looks at me, looks at her, and says; "Why can't you be cool like her?" I literally saw his murder play out in her head. Wrong move, buddy. Wrong move.
9. I found my book of crosswords and can't put it down. I love doing crosswords and Sudoku and shit. It keeps me from eating an entire pound of Tex Mex Trail Mix while watching TV and whining because my toes are cold. Oh, yeah. You know you want to live with me.
10. Due to the flood, we are remodeling the basement. Which means we are rearranging the whole house so that the "man cave" can be as amazing as possible. Or some shit. All my books are moving to the guest room and I get to organize them. Suggestions on an organizational style? I have two 5 shelf bookshelves and two 3 shelf bookshelves. I just can't decide! By category? By read and unread? By author? Alphabetically? What is the easiest to maintain? Although I must admit, my default "by size" is awfully tempting.

One Should Not Stalk One's Own Blog

I don't know how to open here! You guys! I accidentally, intentionally clicked on that whole google "who is stalking your ass" link on blogger. Why? Why did I do this? 

Ever since telling my story on violence unsilenced weird shit has happened. I expected an influx of people reading, briefly, then I expected them to realize I was a raving lunatic and lose interest. Which, some of them did. Some of them stuck around. (Hi! I love you for sticking around.) 

Then I looked at the sources of my readers and was all..wait, what? Pinterest (my tattoo, which I kind of love that it is linked) and links from comments on blogs I have never even heard of, and a link to this post which I wrote a year ago. And people trying to figure out who I am. Two people, in fact. Unless you are searching from two different IP's.

Here's the thing...I love all of you. I really do. New and old alike. I want to know all of you. 

But, please don't try to figure out who I am. I mean...get to know me, and I will tell you. I am not THAT private. I wrote a very private piece on a website meant for these kind of confessions. I chose to reveal to my readers that I wrote this. I realize that I made a public declaration on a public site. But, googling "who is erratictheblog?" is a little creepy. Please stop. Become a part of all of this, become a part of this site and you will know exactly who I am. Everyone who comments regularly has met me in real life or at the very least knows my real name and plans to meet me in real life. 

On a more hilarious note, here is what people searched to find me:

Stupid Ohio

Baby Giraffe laying down

Cee Lo Arms

Diagnose My Anxiety

Erratic Shoes

Fuck Insurance

Fucking Sinus Infection

Holy Statutory Rape, Batman

It was erratic

Penis Vagina

I would like to imagine the disappointment on someone's face when my blog comes up for the last one...I am pretty sure that was NOT in fact their intention.

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. 

Also, Holy Statutory Rape, Batman. Because, shit. That is EXACTLY what this blog is about.

Indian Feast

My dad doesn't like "things." He likes events, quality time. Last summer for his birthday we took him on a Taco Truck Tour. This year for Christmas I made him a 6 course Indian tasting menu. Indian is his favorite. It went so smoothly I thought it was a trap. Tini, who helped me do the prep Friday night, made the comment that I was going to wake up to a missing stove because he couldn't believe it. 

So, without further ado, here are the pictures.

Since we don't have a kitchen table, the boy brought a card table from work. I think the table turned out quite pretty. Except for the candle that is clearly falling over. Thankfully we got that in the picture.

Deep Fried Chickpeas with homemade garam masala. That is my dad waiting ever so patiently to refill his bowl.

Cauliflower Pakora with Cilantro-Mint Chutney. This is not he prettiest plate of the day. I was pretty unhappy with it.

Carrot Ginger Soup. And a close up of the menu.

Spinach Salad with toasted cumin seeds.

Chicken Tikka Masala over Pea and Cilantro Basmati Rice.

I don't know how to describe this. It is called a ricotta cheese cake, but it was more like a cookie. It was spiced with cardamom pods, pistachios, and almonds. Delicious.

I hope all of you have a holiday filled with delicious food and even more delicious memories.

As Josey would say...HFS

Has something ever just slapped you in the face? You are sitting there, living life as normal, and a realization just completely takes you off guard. You doubt it, you are in total disbelief, but suddenly, it is real. It is everything.

I am a chef.

I do not have the title, mind you.

But, I am a chef.

I have dishes that I CREATED on restaurant menus. Top 10 in the city rated menus.

I am putting together menu's for special occasions...restaurant week. Christmas Eve. New Years Eve.

The owner of my restaurant comes to me when he is in a desperate situation for menu ideas. When nobody else comes through.

I have increased our lunch business with new ideas, awesome features, and just plain good food.

Holy Shit.

You guys...holy shit.

So, so many things

This is going to be a long one. I suggest grabbing yourself a drink and putting on your comfy pants. Or no pants. But, if your laptop gets hot like mine, at least a blanket. Singed thighs are never a good thing.

Last weekend I went back to StL for Christmas with my mom's side of the family. The weekend started with a 6 am flight. SIX O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING. I am not a morning person. Getting up at 4 am was not pleasant. 

Then the boy and I met Bradshaw for lunch, which was all kinds of awesome. For whatever reason, these encounters always make me ridiculously nervous. It is easy to hide behind a computer and a smart ass blog. It is much harder to be in person and enjoy someone's company. Both times I have hung out with Bradshaw, 30 seconds into it, I have remembered why we are friends in the first place because it is always like we have been friends for a decade and see each other every day. I love this.

The usual craziness of my family ensued. My grandmother is on some sort of anti-China campaign and refuses to use, buy, eat, or be near anything made in China. This led to us frantically unwrapping all her presents and removing various made from china stickers and blacking out the same labels on boxes. All made in Argentina. Yep. Sure thing. Some favorite quotes from the weekend;

"Sometimes I am just walking and I forget I have feet." (After falling over for absolutely no reason.)

"You know, I never noticed, but you have no ass." (To my mother's husband)

There were more, but neither the boy nor I can remember them. The crazy ass apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I am afraid. I think I am slowly turning into her.

Saturday night, we went out for my sister's birthday/her friend's birthday. It was this little microbrewery and it was AMAZING. They had a girl scout cookie beer that tasted just like a thin mint. The rest of their beers were pretty delicious too. It was literally a guy who bought a bar and put the brewing equipment in what would normally be the office. It was really cool to see someone so small time doing so well. The place was packed.

Sunday we went to brunch at her house and she pulled out all of my art from when I was a kid. Like, two years old. I have been taking art classes since I was old enough to hold a paint brush. There is one called "Might be a Bird" and one called "Mosquito." It was quite funny to see paint strewn all over a page and my grandmother's interpretations. 

Work has been kind of odd this week, a weird mix of slow during the busy times and busy during the slow times. Super frustrating.

I am also making a 6 course Indian meal for my dad as his Christmas present. I am pretty nervous because I feel extremely unprepared. Mostly because I haven't prepared. So, work needs to stop being an ass hole and give me some time to work on some of this shit. It is always nice to do your testing on someone else's dime.

So, there is the update of Christmas #1 and why I will be very absent through the rest of this week. However...I will definitely be posting all of the pictures of the dinner on the 24th!

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday, whatever it is you celebrate. 

Shit I Say

I know I am probably super late sharing this, but I just saw it on another blog and DIED. I say all of this. And the number of times I call and ask people if they are near a computer is ridiculous. 

I got tagged, y'all.

I should never ever ever say y'all again. Sorry about that.

But, I did. Get tagged. I never get tagged. Mostly because I feel like people assume that I am too angry to care? Or too snarky? I like being called snarky. Or insane. Because those are all valid assumptions. It's mostly because I never get tagged. Which is totally fine, because I don't want my blog to become an entire blog of responding to things I am tagged in. Ha. Who am I kidding? There are not that many readers and I have zero follow through. But, I am going to respond to this one.

It is from Amy who started following me, then I started following her, and here we are. I assume she was one of the many new followers from Josey.  I just started reading Amy, who I assume just started reading me too? I think. God, I fail at this shit. Blanket apology to everyone, ever. I never comment, I never respond to comments, but I do read. I read every word all of you write. Sorry I am, once again, a giant ass hole. I love you. So, thank you Amy, for tagging me and I look forward to getting to know you better, but still probably not commenting. Again...ass hole.

There are rules and shit.

1. Thank the person that sent it to you. I totally did that! Thanks Amy!
2. List 7 things people may not know about you. Eek. I am such a private person. Ha! I almost choked on my beer just typing that.
3. Pass the award on to 15 other bloggers. I am probably not going to do this one. I certainly do not have 15 people I read that would be willing to participate.

Here we go....

1. In high school, I was something of an artist. I had a private show at the University City Library in St. Louis and was published in many local papers. The photograph in my header I took in Puerto Rico. Obviously it has been fucked with a tad. I can paint, make pottery, make handmade books, collage, and write poetry. My poetry has also been published, but I won't tell where! If I were not a chef, I would be a writer or a photographer. 
2. I have seven million and one scrap booking supplies in my basement. I have not touched a scrap book in years, but people keep buying them for me, so I stockpile. I have NO idea what to do with it all. I keep telling myself if I ever have kids, I will want all of it. 
3. When I was little, I taught myself how to read by memorizing words instead of sounding them out phonetically. When I entered kindergarten, my teacher had me tested for several learning disabilities, including autism and mental retardation, because I couldn't learn to read phonetically. Needless to say, all those tests came back proving that I was in fact above the average intelligence and just a stubborn ass hole.
4. I used to travel around with my grandmother doing art shows as a kid (her art, not mine.) While in Milwaukee, I got to see Jeffrey Dahmer's apartment after he was arrested and before it was demolished. I may not believe in God, but that single experience has made me believe in evil. I can't even explain what standing in front of that apartment felt like. I have been obsessed with reading about serial killers ever since. I want to understand what makes them different than you and me.
5. I was arrested when I was 17 years old for underage possession of tobacco. There was a warrant out for my arrest for a while, until I hired a friend's mom to show up for my court date and take care of it. The arrest was made two weeks before I turned 18. (note: I no longer smoke)
6. I have a total of two stepbrothers and 4 stepsisters. I have never met one of my stepbrothers. I am not close to any of them, although I did briefly live with my stepsister when I first moved to Ohio. 
7. When I was in second grade, two kids were not allowed to be in the bathroom together, so we had a boys ruler and a girls ruler we had to put on our desk if we were in the bathroom. My teacher accidentally misplaced the girls ruler, but insisted someone was in the bathroom. She made me wait so long, I wet my pants. In my brownie uniform. I ran out of the class in tears.

There you have it. If you would like to participate, well, do it. It was kind of fun, I must admit. Except for the peeing my pants. That shit was HILARIOUS...now.

Daring to rise up from the ash

I have three tattoos. The first I got for my 21st birthday with Krackle. It is a Celtic symbol that means divine inspiration and knowledge. I love it because it reminds me of her.

The second tattoo is a long story that I never told here. It is essentially for my dad. One day I will share. Today is about the third tattoo. 

This is the third tattoo:

Big Jed and I went and got them today. She got a picture of her baby girls feet and their names, a picture I will let her share. I debated what I wanted...and decided on a Phoenix with their first initials. Sophia and Avelina, S and A. Which is funny if you know me and know my real name. It was important to me that this was her story, so I wanted something subtle. But, I also wanted to remember them and to have a part of her always with me.

I decided on a Phoenix because of an Ani Difranco song. The song doesn't necessarily fit the situation, but it has always touched me and spoken a lot about who I am. If you know the song, I sort of chopped it up to give you the parts that I am talking about.

Squint your eyes and look closer

I am not between you and your ambition

I am a poster girl with no poster.

I am thirty two flavors and then some

And I am beyond your peripheral vision

So you might want to turn your head

Cause some day you are gonna get hungry

And eat most of the words you just said

And God help you if you are an ugly girl

Course too pretty is also your doom

Because everyone harbors a secret hatred

For the prettiest girl in the room

And God help if you are a phoenix

And you dare to rise up from the ash

A thousand eyes will smolder with jealously

While you are just flying there.

The first tattoo is on my back, the second on my wrist, the third on my left calf. Let me tell you something about tattoos...they don't really hurt on your back or your arm. THEY FUCKING HURT ON YOUR LEG. Holy hell do they hurt. The tattoo took an hour and a half too, where as the other two are smaller and took less than an hour combined. 

Regardless, I am in love with it. It is everything I wanted. 

I am now going to go hobble into the kitchen and make myself some food. Oh, yes, I said hobble. Yay for leg tattoos.

Unsilenced

I know I am a little late as this technically should have ran on the 8th, but to all my readers not on EST, I am so on time. Hell yes.

Maggie asked people to reach out and I am going to. I am not going to say much or follow the script posted on the site. 

I am just going to say this. That website helped ME. It helped me find a voice. It helped me feel like other people were out there that understood. That didn't think I was overreacting or being over sensitive. That realized everything that happened to me changed me.

Someone you know has gone through some sort of abuse. The statistic is 1 in 3 women. Think about that...you know someone that has been abused, is being abused, or will be abused. This is huge. 

The people that read this blog have huge hearts and are amazing people, man and woman alike. Look for the signs. Reach out to someone. Lend a supportive ear. Nobody is saying change the world. You all heard my story and said amazing, supportive things. 

I love you all so much. And if you are the 1 in 3, know that I will be there. Know that I will love you, unconditionally. That I believe you. That I will do anything to be there for you.

Unsilenced. It is important.

http://www.blogher.com/unsilencing-violence-helping-abuse-survivors-tell-their-story

BABY!!!!

Josey had her baby!!!! 

Big Jed texted me at work, probably because I don't have internet access and she knew I would want to know. She is considerate like that. 

So, I am standing at the hand sink and look at my phone and squealed and jumped up and down.

All three guys on the line were just staring at me. 

"My friend had her baby! I am so excited!"

To which one of them responds, "stop making girl noises," and another one says, "who broke Erratic?"

I laughed and one of the guys asked if I was going to cancel my plans for the evening and go see the baby.

"Well, she lives in Colorado, so no. And I have never actually met her in person. But, I feel like I have known her forever. We met on the internet?" As I am telling this story, my voice is faltering as the looks keep getting stranger and stranger from the guys. 

"You do know that was out loud, right? And that "no" would have been an appropriate answer?"

Sigh. Sometimes the awkward just spills out. I can't help it. I have to share.

Congrats Josey! I am so happy you finally have your baby girl in your arms.

Shit The Boy Says While Going Through My Books

You have a giant pop up book. About a girl. (queue dancing with said book)

Why do you have a book about social problems? You were going to be a social worker? I can see you being compassionate but every once in a while you would just go the fuck off on someone.

Do you need your 2006 annual international fuel ethanol workshop program guide. Also, is there something you aren't telling me?

It is going to take 8 boxes to box up one of my bookshelves. I may have a problem...and in his defense he has only had like 3 hours of sleep. But I can't stop laughing.

Fucking fuck. Rant.

We had to rip up carpet.

And lock the animals out.

Who are now freaking out because OMG EVERYTHING IS HAPPENING IN THAT ROOM RIGHT NOW.

The water isn't stopping.

I am WIRED and have to go into work early tomorrow.

Fuck this mother fucking day. 

I just needed to rant.

We can't afford to fix this and the condo association has pretty much declared they are out of money. 

I need to win the lottery and sell this leaking shit hole and move to the city so I can have a new leaking shit hole.

I love my home.

Fuck. I am pissed. And giving up. And pissed.

Fuck.

And you thought YOU were having a bad day.

The Boy: "Short Dog peed on the floor down here."

Erratic: "Probably because it is raining and he wouldn't go out."

The Boy: "Holy shit, that is a lot of pee." (as he is carrying carpet squares outside to be hosed down tomorrow)

Erratic: "MmmHmm. Pee. Yep."

The Boy: "Wait a minute, the whole basement is wet. HOLY SHIT, I JUST LEFT A WET FOOTPRINT IN THE CARPET."

Erratic: "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." (opening bottle of wine, pouring big girl glass)

The Boy: "IT ISN'T JUST DRIPPING ANYMORE."

Erratic: "Yep, that is definitely a stream of water." (chugging wine)

The Boy: "We need to move this book case. Can you help me?"

Erratic: "No, no, NO. STOP. MOVING. THE. BOOK. CASE."

Bookcase collapses into approximately 7 million pieces, strewing books everywhere. I walk upstairs and take a shot of Jack.

Fuck. My. Life.

The Plague

So...the plague has hit work. Well, more specifically, chicken pox. Let me start at the beginning.

The General Manager of our restaurant came in one day and when I glanced at him, I squealed and said "What the fuck happened to your face?" Because his face was covered in what I believed to be hives. He also thought they were hives and we went through his entire Thanksgiving weekend trying to figure out what he came into contact with. We were on WebMD because not only was he covered in hives, he had a fever. 

Now, this is where all of you should say "AND HE CAME TO WORK?" Which is exactly what I was yelling at him for a good hour before I convinced him to quarantine himself to the basement office. I am not even kidding. I would not let him be seen by the public. 

He went to the doctor and called in...chicken pox. Huh. Well, I have had chicken pox, so I am good. Everyone has had chicken pox. Surely this will not spread like wildfire through the entire restaurant.

We had another one of the front of house managers call in today with, you guessed it, chicken pox. There are three other people that have never had it, two of which work in the kitchen. There are only five of us in the kitchen. This is essentially half our staff. 

I find this weird because when I was growing up, everyone had chicken pox parties. Have a friend with chicken pox? Well, you march right over there and rub yourself all over them, young lady. And just to be safe, lick a pox. OK, my mother never told me to lick them. That's gross. When my sister and I had them, we had neighborhood kids coming through the house like we were some sort of circus act hoping to get exposed. Am I the only person who went through this?

Clearly no one I work with did.

I looked up some statistics...less than 5% of adults are at risk of contracting chicken pox either because they have been vaccinated or had it as a child.

So, what are the chances that there are FIVE people at my work that fit into this 5%? 

Also, if all five of these people are gone at the same time, my life is going to get very difficult very fast.

Bah Humbug

Bradshaw is decorating her tree today and posting the progress on Twitter.

Big Jed just put up her tree.

Krackle is posting Christmas pics of the kids.

I helped decorate my parent's house Thanksgiving weekend.

All the neighbors have lights out and trees shining in their windows.

Maybe it is because our families are all going to be gone this year.

Maybe it is because we already bought our Christmas present to each other.

Maybe it's just because I am a big, fucking giant Scrooge.

I want to decorate the house and feel in the Christmas spirit, I really do.

It just isn't in me this year. And it's kind of depressing.

Bah Humbug.

The post where I discover that I am the problem.

I have this thing with blogs. If you make it hard for me to read, or are constantly posting ridiculously long entries that are boring, or have 15 million archives that I don't have time to read and it is impossible for me to just jump in...yeah. I am not going to keep reading you. I'm just not. 

Someone today said that having a conversation with me is like diffusing a bomb. There is very limited time for it to happen before my ADD takes over and I have moved on. I don't know that I actually have ADD. I was told once that if I can read a book for more than an hour, I don't have ADD. YET. It is nearly impossible for me to carry on a conversation sometimes because there is so much shit in my head. 

I am digressing here. My blogging pet peeve and pretty much a guarantee I won't read you anymore...putting only a little blurb of your blog on my reader and making me click on it to read more. I read 99% of my blogs from my phone. So, if not only do you make me click, but your site isn't mobile friendly, you are pretty much dead to me.

But, there is this blog that I love that is like this. It is fairly new blog about the drinking scene in the city. Everything from what our local distilleries are doing, lists of local Christmas ales and bars with the best happy hours. It is an awesome site. But, I find myself just marking it all as read and moving on because I don't want to click on the damn website. And the website takes FOREVER to load. FOREVER. Because it has flash! FLASH! The sin of all sins. Who uses flash? Gah!

It is so frustrating because it is like this site is made for me. It is everything I want to know about beer/wine/liquor. And it is helpful to my job because we only carry local microbrews, so knowing what is out there is key. 

I tried leaving them unread until I am at my computer. Just now I had 30 unread posts from them. I took one look at that list and just marked them as read. 

I realize this is a ridiculously long and boring blog post and I am pretty much a giant hypocrite, but it made me so mad. Two weeks of alcohol knowledge I will never know. Life is sad.

What are your blogging pet peeves? I am curious. Also, I probably do all of them.

Stupid Winter in Stupid Ohio is STUPID.

This is the time of year when I want to curl up in a ball on the couch and never leave the house. I don't think I have seasonal affective disorder or anything. I just hate the dreary, cold, Ohio winters. But, I have shit I need to get done. Like running errands. And grocery shopping. When it is nice outside, it is perfectly reasonable to come home from work, change, and go back out. Yet, here I am on the couch fully dressed justifying not going out. I have frozen vegetables and all that pork and rice, I could easily make a delicious meal out of that. And I can totally go get the stuff to make Christmas presents this weekend. And that beer/wine is not going to drink itself. Well, it's settled. I am staying home!

See. This is what I do. And I am trying REALLY hard to not do this. It is 5:30. Yes, it is pitch black outside and raining, but it is 5:30. The boy will not be home for dinner until around 7 or 8. I have tons of time to accomplish this tonight.

But, I. DON'T. WANNA.

Welcome to December through March with Erratic. It's just months of convincing myself that Ramen and frozen peas is a perfectly acceptable adult meal and Amazon has lovely, not homemade presents I could buy and have delivered in just two short days.

Amazon sells groceries, right? I think I may be on to something here....

Thanksgiving Roundup

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. Here is a brief summary of mine.

Wednesday - Airports. More airports. Delayed flights. Airports. Yay! 

Thursday - My cousin's wife's brother-in-law was stabbed and killed Wednesday night, so Thanksgiving was a tad somber. He was only 26 and it was just a random crime while he was waiting for a cab outside of a bar. They have the man in custody and hopefully justice will be served. Other than that, my niece who I have not seen in about 5 years was in town. I should clarify - step niece. We spent a lot of time together and took about an hour walk where we just talked. I wish her life wasn't so hard, but holy shit, she is an amazing kid.

Friday - Another drunken decorating success! At some point I drunkenly recited an X-rated version of A Night Before Christmas to a room full of about 20 people. My dad laughed so hard he fell over. There is supposedly video. I will do my best to figure out how to post just the sound. Once I hear it and make sure I didn't sound like a total fucking moron.

Saturday - We lost to Michigan for the first time in 7 years...on a nostalgic note, the last time we lost to them, Facebook didn't exist. Nor did iPhones. These facts make me feel better. Stupid Maize and Blue.

Sunday - Our anniversary is on Tuesday, so we went out to dinner and then to the Blue Jackets game versus the St. Louis Blues (WE WON!) Yes, I am still a Blues girl at heart. And I completely thought of Bradshaw the whole time. There was a crazy drunk guy who looked like he fell out of 1976 two rows in front of us who was also a Blues fan. Clearly, Bradshaw was the better choice in ally.

Random Weekend Thoughts - My cousin's twins are possibly the cutest things ever. Big Jed knitted them Sock Monkey hats and my cousin bought them matching outfits for Drunken Decorating. They are just so amazingly independent and well behaved. Probably because they have damn good parents. I fall in love with them more and more every time I see them.

My cousin (the boy one, not the one with twins) taught my cat how to fetch. There is stuffed football making appearances in my dreams now. NCH will not let this game die.

I cooked the food for Drunken Decorating and it was a hit. I realize that this seems obvious to some of you, but I often am amazed that I can do this. It felt good to have other people agree.

The wake is today and the funeral tomorrow for my cousin's brother in law. I don't pray, so I would never ask you to do so. But, good thoughts her way. Her family needs this during this senseless tragedy. I feel so bad for her.

My sister only threw a few temper tantrums, but was generally pleasant. I found myself happy to see her. She even talked about having kids...which...sort of made me fear for humanity. But, baby steps. It was a good trip.

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving full of loving family, hilarity, and comfort. Oh, and cats that can't fetch.

Dinner Follow-Up

I know that almost zero of you care about this, but I have to gush. And I almost did it on Facebook, except I tagged the restaurant in the post and I felt like a total food dweeb.

My dinner this evening was absolutely balls to the wall, epic, fucking awesome. 

We started with Oysters on the half shell that had an AMAZING cocktail sauce that tasted nothing like generic shrimp cocktail sauce. Imagine that with the sweetness of pomegranate. It was just unreal. I can take or leave oysters...this was probably the single greatest bite of food that I have had in a year. I am not even kidding.

Then we moved on to escargot cassoulet. Now...if you have never had escargot, I am judging you. It is delicious. Not in an acquired taste way either. I only excuse you if you do not like the texture of mushrooms because they are very similar. In place of the normal garlic, butter sauce that accompanies escargot, it was a creamy butter sauce with sauteed greens. It was very very different and something I would order again.

Then we had their signature salad that was a blue cheese cream dressing with candied walnuts. It was divine.

Here is where I am going to get you all on board, or at least the bacon lovers.

Pork three ways.

First was the ham and beans. Meh. It was OK. I don't particularly like baked beans. And they are one of those dishes that I think in order to stay true to, have a very typical flavor I don't love.

Then came the country pork rib with an ancho chili sauce. It was smoky and moist and I ate every bite of it.

THEN. The smoked pork belly. It quite literally melted in my mouth. I wanted to coat my entire body in it and die. It was decadent in the absolute best of ways.

I got to-go dessert for the boy, a dolce de leche panna cotta with homemade doughnut holes. He was equally impressed.

I am so full I am questioning if I am going to throw up all over my living room, while also having that delicious light-headedness that a great meal brings. If you have never gotten "food drunk," well, I feel sorry for you. Symptoms may also include the meat sweats.

I absolutely adore my culinary life.

Changing the Subject

Thank you all for your comments and support. I love you all so very much.

Now, we are going to move past all that so I can put it back into the little tiny box in the corner of my very cluttered head where I like to keep it. K?

I should be cleaning. I am not, in fact, cleaning. I am trying desperately to come up with a blog post because then I can say, well, it's not like I was doing NOTHING. I was blogging! That's productive! I get shit done.

I totally don't get shit done.

When Krackle and I lived together, we would give ourselves deadlines. Like, at 7:00 I am going to get up and make dinner. 7:00 would turn into pizza delivery. We were terrible at actually meeting these deadlines when we had something to do. Krackle and Big Jed were over for dinner last Friday and she asked if I still did this. I hadn't thought about the fact that it all started with the two of us, but, yes, I TOTALLY still do that. So does she. We have ruined each other forever.

Right now, I have a goal of 5:00 to get up and clean for the onslaught of family coming in town tomorrow.

You guys, Thanksgiving is two days away. I have no idea how it snuck up on me, but it did. And I don't like it.

I believe that there will be close to 30 people here for the actual meal on Thursday, which I am thankfully not cooking. Because, just, no. But, this means we have a house full again, which is totally fine because nobody is bringing dogs. And my sister threw a big enough temper tantrum that she does not have to stay here. Oh, the temper tantrums. Apparently staying at my house is the equivalent of a homeless shelter. Who knew? Here I thought I had a lovely home. Biotch.

Tonight I am going out to dinner with a friend and I am so excited to not cook, I don't have words. Sipping wine and having someone else do the work is a luxury I am never willing to give up. It is my favorite thing ever.

So, did I adequately change the subject? Good. 

I will be MIA until after the infamous Michigan/Ohio State game, so all of you have a wonderful holiday full of mimosa's and perfectly cooked turkey. I'll see you on the flip side. (Also, I promise never to say "see you on the flip side again.)

My Story

 

A part of me can't really believe that I did it.

I don't talk about what happened back then because it isn't who I am now. I don't talk about it because I don't want sympathy. More importantly, I don't want pity. I am a happy person. I am a strong person. Just like every single one of us, I have my baggage, my bullshit. It is not who I am. It doesn't define me. And it is really important to me that it doesn't.

I debated sharing this here. For a long time. This story was submitted months ago, but there is a long list of people who have stories to tell. When I got the email from Maggie, I thought I was going to have a panic attack. Oh. This is happening. I am doing this.

I chose to tell my story because I have never told it before. Not in it's entirety. I have told bits and pieces and not to many people at all. I have never told anyone of any kind of authority. I did not speak up. I did not do anything to stop what was happening. To me, my mother, my stepsisters.

Maybe I give a voice to someone who felt just like me.

Maybe I make someone feel less alone.

Maybe I feel less alone.

Regardless, it happened. I am stronger because of it, and weaker as well.

I am broken and whole.

Happy and sad.

But, please don't feel sorry for me. I don't want your pity. I simply want to say, that, yes, these things happened to me. It doesn't change the person you know, the person who blogs here. It's a small part of a very complicated, very erratic person.

http://violenceunsilenced.com/erratic/

Fucking, Fuck. Brave.

Someone said to me once that we all come from something...this someone may have been on Law & Order SVU. What? They are my friends. Right?

I would like to note that I am a little intoxicated. On accident! Not on accident. Ugh. I feel like I am telling my mom about the time I broke curfew to meet a boy.

I come from something. I decided to tell a very small part of the story of where I come from. But an important part...a life changing part.

My story will be told on Monday. I want to scream and cry and curl up into a little ball. Bravery sucks. Stay tuned.

http://violenceunsilenced.com/

Someone distract me from food.

RESTAURANT WEEK IS OVER. Hordes of local foodies are at home experimenting in their own mother fucking kitchens instead of eating at my restaurant!

To say we were busy was an understatement. Our restaurant seats about 50. We can squeeze in 60. It's a very small restaurant. We made $30,000 in one week. That is HUGE for a restaurant of our size. HUGE. It felt like a blur.

This week one of my coworkers had a death in the family, so it is going to be another crazy week. No, I didn't forget about all of you. Or my adventures in the pork deal of the year. I haven't cooked a meal at home in two weeks. All that is floating in my mind is pancetta and lemon aioli and how to make that into a delicious sandwich for the feature tomorrow.

What are you all up to?

Oh, hey, soap box. I am going to spend some time on you today.

I am sure all of you have heard about the Penn State drama. If you haven't heard about it, I recommend packing a bag and leaving your cave for a day to read up. I will wait.

I live in Columbus, OH. And, yes, I realize that I my anonymity fails. I am one post away from posting a picture of myself in front of my house holding a sign with my social security number on it. What can I say? I know most of you in real life anyway. Also, my identity sucks. I am willing to trade.

Most of the people I have encountered on Facebook are upset because of the way he is leaving, the terrible downfall of a great coach. A legend's reputation tarnished. 

Dear Everyone,

HE ALLOWED A MAN TO CONTINUE RAPING CHILDREN.

Love,

Common Sense.

Oh, he told his superior, you say? Bullshit. Not good enough. Bull Fucking Shit.

Wait, you say. Wasn't MY city and MY team recently involved in a scandal? Oh, yes, we were. We traded free tattoos for sports memorabilia. And our couch was forced to resign. A coach who overlooked some kids being kids.

CHILD. RAPE.

Ugh. This world. Joe Paterno should be prosecuted as an accessory to rape. Everyone who knew should be prosecuted. There are a lot of crimes that are somewhat understandably overlooked. THIS. SHOULD. NEVER. BE. ONE. OF. THEM. Ever. 

Innocent children.

So, if you are one of the people who sympathize with Paterno or think his end in college football is sad, please stop reading this blog.

I may be crass and inappropriate. I may be a terrible person with a room reserved in hell. 

But, I would never, ever, ever allow someone to hurt a child. I would never stand back and do nothing. I would never do what Joe Paterno did.

I talk about vagina's too much.

This week is going to kill me. 12 hour days of getting my ass handed to me, or as my kitchen crew prefers to call it, bending over and taking it in the ass with no lube. Sorry, guys. Kitchens are crass. Today's theme was seeing how many baby raping jokes they could make before I snapped and went off. The answer, in case you are wondering, is they never made me snap. I did, however, lose all faith in humanity halfway through the first joke.

I am getting off track here. I started this with a point...

The culinary field is primarily male. In fact, I am the only woman who works in our kitchen. Well, there is this one girl who works like 10 hours a week, but whatever. I don't count her because I never see her.

Our pastry chef is also a woman. And she frequently says things to me like "us women have to stick together" and "it's a man's world in the kitchen, so we have to have each others backs."

Here's the thing. No. No I don't. I have her back because I respect her. Because she works her ass off and is really, really fucking good at what she does. 

I am also white. So, how fucked would it be for me to be like, hey, other white people, we have to stick together? 

Answer: THAT IS COMPLETELY FUCKED.

I have been asked at every single job interview I have had if I can "handle it." Do you think men get asked this? Nope. They sure don't. "Is the language going to bother you?" FUCK NO. And never ask me that again.

You know what is not going to change it? Us women folk sticking together. It's going to change by me showing up every single day and blowing those mother fuckers out of the water. By working twice as hard, being twice as good. Eventually, they will stop being surprised when I make good food. Eventually, they will not ask if I can handle something. 

Today, I was the only person in the kitchen who knew how to make polenta. One of the sous chef's mumbled under his breath how it pissed him off that I was a better cook than him. Fuck yes I am. When you are at home playing whatever new video game is out, I am reading cook books and making food. 

I have his back. I have my entire team's back. 

But, I am sure as fuck not going to have your back just because we both have a vagina. I will, however, ask you for a tampon if I forgot one. THAT is a reason to have vagina camaraderie. 

Press 2 If you want to bash your head in with the phone.

I think my finger may be infected. Well, that is not totally true. Everyone else thinks my finger may be infected and now I am getting paranoid. I think it is new skin and scar tissue, not redness and swelling. It doesn't hurt. Whatever. The moral of the story is that I was fear-mongered into going to get it checked out. Now, before you call me crazy, you should know that I have been getting staph infections since I was about 11. Anytime I get any kind of major cut, I freak out about getting a staph infection in it. So, I am normally a wee bit paranoid about flesh wounds.

I decide to go to the local urgent care. I gather my workers compensation paperwork and off I go. Now some of you may already be shaking your head at me, but in my defense, I had more faith in our medical system.

I walk in and start explaining what happened, where I got the stitches, etc. I DID NOT say anything about Worker's Comp purposefully because I went to this same place to attempt to get stitches out last time I cut myself and they refused. I planned on paying cash for this visit and sending the bill in. I also refuse to lie because, well, what's the point? She finally asked enough questions that I had to tell her it happened at work and yes, there was in fact a claim filed. She refused to give me medical care of any kind. She refused, really, to even discuss it further. She just continued to say that I needed to go back to the EMERGENCY ROOM where I was originally treated. Now. My finger is slightly red and a tiny bit swollen (I still think this is scar tissue.) There is not an open, pussing wound that screams "WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE" every time I look at it. This is not an emergency. The ER I went to was in the heart of downtown, so it is very busy all the time. With real emergencies. Violent ones. Not so much ouchies like I was walking in with. No. I would not go.

She said that I should have been recommended after care. I explained that I refused because I planned on taking out my own stitches. I never got the paperwork. I had nowhere to go other than the ER.

I told the woman, again, I would just pay cash. Pretend she didn't hear the term "workers comp." All I wanted was for someone to take two fucking seconds and say, yes, that could be an infection or nope, you are fine. If it was an infection, write me a 2 second prescription for an antibiotic and I would be on my merry little way. I didn't even care if I saw a doctor, I would trust a nurse. 

Refused. To. Even. Speak. To. Me. I was livid. What if I walked in and the stitches had been ripped out and I was bleeding everywhere? That is the closest medical facility to my house. I guarantee I would have been refused treatment. 

I was willing to pay the bill in full and accept full responsibility for it. I don't have health insurance, so there was no issue there. I just wanted to pay cash for a prescription or a simple "you are fine." 

Refused.

Tell me that there is something wrong with this...because I was BAFFLED. Totally confused. I needed medical assistance and was refused when I had more than enough money to pay the bill. The proper thing to do is go add to the patient load of an already busy ER so someone can look at a finger that is a little pink? Not to go to an urgent care with one family in the waiting room that has plenty of time to see me and take care of the problem. AND. The worker's comp card does not say there is a restriction. 

I was pissed. I still am pissed. I don't understand how medical care in this country can even claim to be slightly effective. 

What next, you ask? I am doing the only thing I think is reasonable. Wait until it gets worse. I am not going to a fucking ER unless I have a fucking emergency. And I sure as hell am not going to spend 16 hours on the phone with an office that is ONLY open while I am work. I can't just take a quick break and make a phone call. That isn't really the way my job works. I get zero breaks. Zero. I eat food hovering over a trash can in between rushes. There is no time to deal with "press 1 if you think we are ridiculous." 

Note: I do.

Beer and Food

This week has turned into craziness. Tonight we did a beer dinner at the restaurant for 20 people. Pictured above is the root vegetable salad with charred shrimp and trapist ale vinaigrette. Note: this is not my food. I just took a picture for the sake of bragging that I helped plate it.

Tomorrow we have a lunch for 45. Tomorrow night we have a benefit for the Columbus Public Library for 500 and I get to go and prep and serve the food. 

Today was a 12 hour day.

Tomorrow will easily be 15 hours.

You know what the difference is? I LOVE IT. LOVE IT, LOVE IT, LOVE IT. 

AND! AND! I got my very own mead pairing dinner in January. Fuckity Fuck! 

They made me march out in front of all 20 people as they applauded. It was humiliating. And kind of awesome.

Sorry to be all Braggity McBraggerson, but today was a long, good day. And I wanted to share with all of you. 

Also, NCH is high as balls right now on cat nip. 

Also, also I got to drink the beer. It was delicious.

More on the dumb

I decided to take one of those left brain/right brain tests. I am sure I have taken something similar over the years, but shockingly, cannot remember the results.

I think that this is pretty funny, so I decided to share. The results came back that I was 69% (heh. 69) right brained and 31% left brained.

Left Brain Percentages

50% Symbolic

27% Sequential

16% Linear

14% Verbal

7 % Reality Based

5% Logical

Right Brain Percentages

67% Random

57% Fantasy Oriented

34% Intuitive

25% Nonverbal

19% Concrete

12% Holistic

I am not going to copy and paste what these numbers mean because it is pretty repetitive...but essentially, what they all mean is that I am fantasy oriented and don't necessarily follow rules. I don't read directions. I tend to see the whole picture and do not do well when having to follow instructions step by step. I am better at starting with the whole and working backwards. I am good at expressing myself with words, but often over explain myself because I don't think I am saying it right or can't find the right words. When giving directions, I am more apt to tell someone to turn right at the home depot than to say "go 7 miles, then turn right." I do well when I am emotionally tied to something, but tend to not do well if I do not have an emotional investment in something. I rely more on my "gut" feeling than facts and tend to do things intuitively.

What do you guys think, does this sound like me?

The Dumb

I think I am slowly becoming stupid. I am not sure if I have finally killed all my brain cells or what is happening. I just know that the ole brain isn't what it used to be.

There is a family history of this. My grandmother is very much the way I am becoming. She is a brilliant artist and a very intelligent woman. But she is 112% right brained. She is always lost in her own head, never finishes her sentences, and has a tendency to create the world around her rather than just living in it as is. 

I am also very much like this. I noticed the sentence thing a few years ago. I will say things like "I really like balloons because" and then just never say why. I am onto another subject, in another world, something shiny has been spotted and my attention span is gone. Kaput. No more. Also, I hate balloons, so that was a terrible example.

People often say that reading my blog is like having a conversation with me. Except I get to proof read it and make sure it makes sense. So, those of you who don't know me in real life, imagine talking to me without editing capabilities. It can be odd. I am odd. 

I had a boyfriend when I was 17/18 that liked playing dungeon and dragons. I didn't really care for the game, but the story telling. Oh, the story telling. I would always be the story teller (I am sure there is an official name, I just don't know it) when we played and create these worlds, villages, adventures. It was my heaven. That relationship was filled with stupidity and immaturity, but I always look back fondly on staying up all night creating stories. My favorite character was a blacksmith named Sparky and he was hiding information for the King. Our characters desperately needed this information in order to set my sister free. Sparky would accidentally light his beard on fire whenever he got nervous and we were always helping him put it out. 

Weird, I know.

So, my head is always filled with this. Stories and fantasies and food and books. And it used to be filled with practical things too. Slowly but surely, those things are fading away. For example, I could not, for the life of me, remember if front wheel drive or rear wheel drive was better in snow. I live in Ohio. We get snow. I knew this once. Have bought cars based on these facts. I could not remember. I had to google it when I got home.

I have to write everything down. Often, I lose what I wrote those things down on.

I can never find my keys. Or my sunglasses. Or my hair tie. Or a list of 100 other things.

But, ask me what I put in the soup I made last week and I can tell you every ingredient town to the teaspoon. Ask me what the beef tenderloin at Barcelona tastes like and I can describe it in detail.

My grandmother's quirks drove me crazy as a kid. They still drive me crazy now. But, I see myself becoming more and more like her. I wish I could maintain that left brain thinking. I wish I had a good memory. But, once again, I find myself wishing that I have characteristics I simply do not. Setting myself up for failure.

So, you heard it here first...I think I have the dumb.

Pork Stir-Fry

This is a less complicated dish than last time with quite a delicious sauce, if I do say so myself. I like doing stir fry when I have tons of fresh veggies in the house that are going to go bad soon, in this case there were only three, though. 

If you have never had greens mixed into stir-fry you are missing out. The spicy/sweet sauce with bitter greens is sort of magnificent.

Pork Stir Fry

Sauce:

1 c. unsalted stock

1/4 c. cornstarch

1 T thai chili paste (double for extra spicy)

1 T hoison

1 c soy sauce

Stir Fry:

1 lb cubed pork loin (or whatever meat you have on hand)

1 c sliced red pepper

1 c sliced onion

1 c kale

1 t minced garlic

3 T corn starch

TT salt and pepper

1/4 c vegetable oil

Serve with rice.

To make the sauce, combine the cornstarch and stock. Whisk together until cornstarch is completely dissolved. Add remaining ingredients and mix well. Taste sauce. Add salt if necessary. Most Asian ingredients are pretty salty, so I rarely add any additional.

Heat pan on stove on high. Add vegetable oil when hot. This is important...the pan needs to be screaming hot, to the point where the oil is popping a little.

Dust pork with corn starch, salt, and pepper. Place in pan and sear on all sides, about 3 min. Add vegetables, cook for 1 minute. Add sauce. Let meat and vegetables cook in sauce until sauce is reduced, about 1 minute.

 Pre-sauce

Saucy

Serve over rice.

Brilliant

If you are friends with me on Facebook, I posted this there too. But, holy shit this looks amazing. Molecular gastronomy is not my thing...elevated comfort food is more my thing. But, I would love to spend a day in the mind of this man. I would love to learn how to do this shit. I would love to be brilliant enough to even THINK of doing this shit.

Digging deep for blog-worthy material, here.

1. I hung out with the new addition to the Krackle family, baby boy Krackle. I wanted to steal him. The cuteness was overwhelming.
2. They fired the chef at work. Apparently (and I will believe it when I see it) his money is being divided among the rest of the staff for all our hard work. Fingers crossed.
3. My cat is still trying to kill me.
4. For some reason, all I want to do is sleep. Like, right now, I want to be in bed. Sleeping. Weird, right? I am blaming the weather.
5. I need to start working out again. Or get a second job so I don't sit around on my ass so much. Or both. Can someone please motivate me? Pretty please? I am so bad at self motivation.
6. I am addicted to Family Feud on my iPhone. I only get 5 coins a day. It may be the end of me.
7. I have to cater a dinner for 15 - 20 people on a $50 budget. It is for a charity, which is why I am willing to do such a small budget. Anyone have any genius ideas? I have NO idea what to do that would be both good (I am not throwing hot dogs in a crock pot) and come close to the $50. I don't mind paying a little extra.
8. I have come to the conclusion that I am not getting feeling back in part of my finger. Also, nerve endings growing back is sort of terrible because it makes your finger feel not attached, but yet you can still feel it...sort of like it is just going to fall off. That is the best way I can explain it. Once again, I highly recommend NOT trying to cut off your finger.
9. Have you ever seen the Subaru commercial where they are at a high school reunion and the couple flashes back to a road trip in their Subaru? Because I LOVE that commercial. And it makes me feel like a giant dork. And I want to know if other people also love that commercial. It just makes me happy.
10. I don't really have a number 10. Let's be honest, number 9 was a stretch. I just miss you guys and wanted to say hey. I could have done with 5 random things today, me thinks.

The sound of frustration

I am watching a 30 year friendship unravel. I can't tell the story here, it is not my story to tell. My heart is breaking for both of them. I am angry with both of them. I only understand one side because only one of them is speaking to me. To us. To all of us. 

I want to scream at her, to tell her to just talk to us. I want to tell her to stop alienating everyone. I want to tell her to stop playing games on fucking Facebook and talk to a human being.

But, I can't.

30 years of memories. 

And it is all unraveling. I want to spill all the words of this story so you can all tell me what to do. I want to say everything I was sworn to secrecy about. I want to fix this.

It is not mine to fix. 

I am helpless and frustrated. 

And my mother fucking finger hurts.

Things I don't miss about working in an office

1. Theme Days....Hawaiin shirt day, funny hat day, wear your pajamas to work day, accidentally stab your boss in the face day.
2. Pooling money to get so and so a gift, even though you do not like them or think they deserve getting a gift in the first place.
3. Potlucks. I prefer to see the kitchen my food is cooked in. Or at least know that the health department is regulating it. Also, no, your buffalo chicken dip is not OUT OF THIS WORLD. It tastes like Frank's Red Hot and canned chicken.
4. Sitting at a desk all day. Ugh. Never again.
5. Huddles, Pow Wow's, or any other inane short team meeting thrown together by your boss to motivate you to really get shit done that week. 
6. Conference calls. Holy. Shit. Conference Calls. Really, just being on the phone in general.
7. The constant restructuring and moving and restructuring and moving...you know, fancy for we want to pay our CEO a ton of money and figure out a way for you to work for virtually free.
8. Working for the man. Ooh. I hate the man.
9. Email Forwards. I get virtually no email forwards. Nobody is asking me to fill out surveys. Nobody is forwarding me that stupid woman, Maxine, and her snarky comments. I AM FORWARD FREEEEEEEE.
10. Office Politics. Enough Said.

This was all inspired by a former coworker posting a picture of "crazy shirt day" at my old work. I almost stabbed myself repeatedly in the throat at the thought of ever having to do something like that again. Some days (mostly the ones when I pay bills) I question my decision...most days...not even a little.

Stitches are out!

Despite the grossness of this picture, it really looks much better. MUCH BETTER. The stitches were through the nail and as it was starting to grow, well, I will leave the rest up to your imagination. So, I took them out myself two days early. Meh. Who needs medical care?

Also, sorry if you get this twice in your feed. I tried to do it from my phone and failed. Another reason I miss my Android Phone...Google was much more supportive.