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.