Tire is fixed. Douche Bag is still out there.

Today was the day that I got my tire fixed. I showed up and after a ridiculous amount of confusion wherein they thought they didn't have to fix my tire? Oh, no, the rim is just bent to shit, but that rubber tire is just fine. Isn't this what you do for a living? How do I get this when you don't? 

Anyway, I walked over to an Indian buffet for lunch and then proceeded to sit and wait for a stupid amount of time. I was reading Harry Potter on my Kindle because that's how I roll. But, mostly, I was people watching. Or, I should say, people listening. It always kind of fascinates me to sit and people watch in a place that everyone comes to. It's not like, say, and Indian Buffet. You can expect a certain kind of people there. Same with certain stores. But, everyone gets oil changes and buys tires. Well, almost everyone. You get the point.

So, there was a fire fighter that has gone through 30 cars in 23 years. It seemed very obvious to the man at the desk as to why he would go so through so many cars, but I was left baffled. Did he accidentally catch them all on fire? Is there some fireman's code that you only buy shitty cars that won't last long? Does anyone have any idea why it is obvious that a fire fighter would go through that many cars? 

There were also your run of the mill people like me, who needed some routine maintenance done. My favorite was the guy getting his oil changed on his lunch hour who was watching the The Real Housewives of the OC with great fascination. Why this was playing at a tire shop is beyond me. I don't judge.

The worst, though, was the guy who walked in in shorts (it is 37 degrees outside) and a T-shirt with the most obviously spray tanned legs I have ever seen in my entire life. He was frantically wandering around on his cell phone yelling at people and getting visibly agitated by every phone call he got. He then proceeded to try to show off to me with all of the after market things he was buying for his Mercedes. All I could think over and over was DOUCHE BAG. Yet, he kept on talking to me. I couldn't stop staring at his awkwardly orange legs and frosted tips. 

Then he proceeded to talk to the guy at the counter FOREVER about how small the rims he was buying were and how he wanted to get larger rims and blah blah blah. Then, when my car was done, he made some condescending remark about my "nice little Mazda." 

Suck it douche. You have spent more on your car then I have on my house. Who wins in life? I do!

I simply can't wait until I go back for my next oil change. 

Today's Theme: No boundaries.

So, I went to the gyno today. (Sorry all male readers. Deal.) My gyno happens to have music piped into the rooms so that you can listen to some soft rock while waiting to have your vagina violated by uncomfortably cold steel. Today? The song was Seal's "Kiss From a Rose." In case you forgot the lyrics, you can read them here. Let's just say not the best choice of song for your gynecological pleasure. Seriously.

Because of my schedule, I needed to switch birth control because the whole take a pill at the same time of the day thing wasn't really working for me. And all this world needs is a baby erratic running around screaming inappropriate things. Seriously. The world is not ready. The doc suggested that Nuva Ring that you shove in your vag and tada, no babies. I was immediately on board because this means I only have to deal with actively preventing babies once a month instead of everyday. 

She gave me samples and said to let her know how it goes. 

I get home and tell the boy about the new birth control. Yeah, you can guess where this is going.

"Do I get to watch you put it in?"

"No"

"Can I put it in for you?"

"No"

"Will I feel it when we have sex?"

"No"

As I get out the pamphlet to read the instructions..."Ooh, are there pictures?"

"We are not making a birth control related porn here! You cannot see the pictures!"

"I bet there are instructional videos on YouTube."

Dear. Lord.

Rim Job. Come on, I had to.

I am on the prowl for a new rim. I am not sure if any of you have ever had to find parts for your car at salvage yards, but this is my second time on this lovely journey. The first time, a homeless guy or group of homeless guys REALLY wanted my stereo and took a hammer to my dashboard. I had to replace said dashboard. I made one phone call, boom, I had a new dashboard.

I expected this process to be the same this time around. Two things are different; I drive a newer car and God hates me.

I have called no less than 10 salvage yards. I have gotten a wide variety of responses, all of them basically saying that no, they did not have the rim. I got called princess. I got asked if I was single after being told I had a real nice voice. I got hung up on twice.

There were also some very unhelpful people who grunted at me. Apparently this business is not built on customer service. 

Let's just say the online junkyards are getting my business this time. If any of you happen to have a Mazda 3 17 inch silver rim you aren't using, you know, call me.

Self Pity

Today I am feeling sorry for myself. It was bittersweet walking out of school today. One of my favorite Chef's gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and I almost burst into tears. I vowed to hold it together, to not cry. I didn't want to be that person. 

I cried the whole way home.

Last night, on my way home from work at 1:30 am, I hit a pot hole and my tire blew out, destroying the rim. I don't have money to fix it, really. That money was supposed to go to something else.

Because of my car thing, I was struggling to find a ride to the happy hour I planned to celebrate my last day of school. It ended up working out with me going to work with the boy for a while, which is not ideal, but a solution none the less.

I don't know why the culmination of these three things had me a blubbering, self pitying mess, but they did. I cried like a baby and now have to ice down my eyes so they aren't a puffy mess later. I always wonder if the hemorrhoid cream thing works...

I am going to go take a nap and stop fucking crying. I am going to put on my game face and drink with the people who love me and celebrate the end of a really awesome journey.

I am going to stop feeling sorry for myself.

I Can't Even Believe It!!

I took my last final today. No more school. Forever. I am officially done. And in celebration, I am going to take a nap.

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St. Patrick's Day

I work about 200 feet from an Irish Pub at an outdoor mall that had a pub crawl for St. Patrick's Day. Let's just say the night was interesting. If by interesting I mean drunken.

Walking into work, I witnessed a man old enough to be my father puking in the bushes in front of Starbucks. He gave me a thumbs up. My coworker witnessed a man puking in the parking garage. There was lots of puke.

On the first trash run of the night (oh, there were many) a man dressed like a leprechaun asked me to race him. He also had a neon green beard. I totally raced him. I won. He almost died.

A very drunk, very large man fell over on the sidewalk. His friend stripper danced on top of him in a flashing shamrock hat.

The dumpster glowed from the green bud light bottles, glow sticks, and various flashing paraphernalia.

Somebody puked on our very nice, very expensive wood floor. We sell $6 craft beers and $9 mixed drinks. Not exactly a puke on the floor kind of place.

We only scheduled one bar tender. WHAT THE FUCK, MAN? She almost died. Like 12 times.

I am sure that there were plenty other shenanigans I did not witness because I had to, you know, work. 

Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone! Hope yours was puke free and full of lots of flashing shamrock accessories.

Cheating

Sometimes I feel like I am leading a double life. Not in a cool action movie kind of way. And there is no "other family" somewhere that misses their mommy. Not that there is a family anywhere that calls me mommy. Right.

I spend so much time with so many people that nobody from my old life knows. Or even knows about. I refrain from telling stories here because what is hilarious to us, will probably be stupid to you. For example, one of the grill guys, who I call boo, spent all of last night trying to gross me out by describing one of our other coworkers covered in mayonnaise. We laughed so hard it hurt. We have created these weird relationships forged during late nights where we are all exhausted and crabby. Relationships that are spent drinking beer and eating greasy bar food while everyone else I love is sleeping. We blow off steam and bitch about work and laugh and then go home to our respective lives that we will never really share with any of those people. There are exceptions, obviously. C, for one. But, for the most part, none of those people will ever know anyone in my personal life.

I think it was different when I worked 9 - 5. There were happy hours that significant others would come to. It was easy to get everyone together, easy to be a part of each other's lives. Often it was a good thing, sometimes it wasn't. Sometimes friendships were forced because of these circumstances. 

There are people at work that I care about. That I call friends. But, when I am out at 1:30 in the morning winding down from the night, I sometimes feel like I am cheating on my old life. Like I am cheating on my friends and family. That I should be home. But home is three animals and a sleeping boy. I can't laugh and blow off steam at home. I've tried. The dogs just give me "that" look and go back to bed. And NCH meows at me and runs off to plan his next assault on the bathroom rugs.

I am hoping when I am done with school I am able to find a better balance, to get some semblance of normal back to my life. To be able to go out and blow off steam without guilt, to see my loved ones more. But, I am really, really scared that I won't. 

Androidify

It looks exactly like me! Except for the total lack of eyeballs and lips. I totally have lips.

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Happy Birthday Baby!

I wanted to go out, he wanted to stay in. His request was steak and potatoes. I threw in cheesy cauliflower for good measure. Oh, and a terrible quality photo because I was too excited to eat.

Happy birthday, baby. I love you more everyday.

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Road Trip!

I am in the car driving to Indiana for my cousins baby shower with my stepmom. Apparently, I am drunk because the following things have come out of my mouth.

"Whopper for breakfast! Whopper for breakfast! Exit here!"

"Having only one ball changes a man."

"You have a pickle on your boob. PICKLE BOOB!" (Note: I pointed)

"Is that guy naked? Totally naked. Peter is getting some fresh air."

We havent even left Ohio yet. Dear. Lord.

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Happy, Excited, Happy!

I am freaking out right now. I am not sure why RIGHT NOW is the time this is all hitting, I mean, really hitting. I am two weeks from being done with school. You all know this because I, surprisingly, can't stop talking about it. On Monday I made my first step to becoming a chef. I went to Barnes and Noble and I bought myself a notebook. This notebook is dedicated to writing down my every culinary whim. Ideas of things to try. Notes on really good food I have eaten. A culinary journal, if you will. It is also the beginning of my recipe testing. The boy in his nerdy wonder is going to design me an online database to log all of this. In two weeks I get to start the journey that is becoming a chef. I get to develop my own recipes in my own kitchen. I get to cook my own food with my own twist. I get to cook what I want to cook.

No offense culinary school, but I am mother fucking sick of French food. I want some curry! I want habanero peppers. I want avocado and yucca. If you have never sliced a yucca (or cassava) on a mandolin and deep fried it, you have never lived. And, oh, while you are at it, let me develop a bad ass dipping sauce for that.

I texted Big Jed and said I was food geeking out. More like food fucking flipping out. I love it. I love all the ideas in my head and the excitement I feel to finally have time to explore them.

Fake Spring

It is starting to get nice here...or what I am referring to as fake spring. This is the second fake spring we have had and it almost killed me to put away the flip flops and get out the jackets. During first fake spring, we had the windows open and NCH sat at the windows and looked out, longingly. We assume he was dreaming of the days in the barn, but more than likely he was plotting a way to kill us in our sleep. 

During the current fake spring, he apparently stumbled upon an unknown stash of meth and took it all at once. He sits at the back door hunting birds that he can't quite get and then running around the house swatting the dogs in the face and causing mayhem. Then the boy gave him this weird Mardi Gras necklace that he found who knows where, which NCH proceeded to carry around all afternoon. Then the boy put it on him and it was like a fresh batch of meth we just cooked up. Dear. Lord.

During this meth binge, I also tried to wrap the presents for my cousin's baby shower. Somebody had to be involved through the whole process.

I would have posted an in focus picture, but that would have required him to stop trying to kill the present for 10 seconds. Also, I may have gone overboard on presents. The one hiding in the back has yet to be filled because it is handmade and has yet to be finished. But, oh, it will be filled.

So, in summary, spring is the same thing as meth, NCH loves Ohio, and this is the best gift bag ever.

Breaking News: Erratic is erratic and nobody is surprised.

Gah! You guys, I am still alive. And well. And alive. Just busy and overwhelmed and the usual bullshit that surrounds my life. So, here is a quick update and I promise not to be such an ass pirate going forward. Unless you want me to be an ass pirate. Then I will be more of an ass pirate. I have lost all meaning of what an ass pirate is. Dear. Lord.

School is done in three weeks. What's that? You didn't hear me. THREE MOTHER FUCKING FUCK FUCK WEEKS. Three. Weeks. It's like, I don't even know. I feel a little lost. I feel ecstatic. I feel nostalgic. I feel...just...different. I did this. I never follow through on anything in my life ever. My life is cluttered with half read books, half finished crochet projects, half watched TV shows, half everything. Well, lots of finished books. That was a bad example. But, to my point, I fail at follow through. And I did this. I feel proud too. Yep, definitely proud.

I am also freaking out a little because now all I have is this job. This job that is not fine dining, that is not revolutionary food, that is not the food I want to cook. So, I am plotting how to keep that in my life while still making a living. I want to keep learning food, keep growing. 

I also want people, when discussing food, to always pronounce herb like the delicious plant and not Herb like the creepy trailer park guy who harasses you in front of Wal-Mart. ESPECIALLY if you are in the industry.

That is all.

I love you guys. I miss you guys. I am sorry that I am so, heh, erratic. The end is near.