Balance

I am struggling to find balance. To balance what I want and being somebody that other people can have in their lives. Work and school are what they are. I can't change my hours, or the fact that I am at school 30 hours a week and work 40 hours a week. I can't change the fact that those two things are really the only things in my existence right now. They are all consuming.

The boy needs me to try to conform to a schedule where we are awake at the same times. We are home a lot, but one of the two of us is sleeping. I want to wind down with a few beers when I get home. I want to have time to decompress. I don't want to go to bed when I get home.

My friends need me to be available during normal hours, not at midnight. They need me to be able to meet them for cocktails and to catch up during times when it is convenient for them. I want to call them at midnight when I get off work and catch up. I don't want to call them when I am driving from one to the other or on break at school. I want to use those times to decompress. To have some me time before I am thrust into situations where I am required to communicate.

As a blogger, I want to tell you all the stories, but this industry is so fucking terminology centric. Like, I had a funny story the other day about mire poix and I started blogging it, but after I spent a paragraph explaining what mire poix is, the story just didn't seem funny anymore. You all need me to be relate-able, to be someone who tells funny stories about work. Someone who can talk about my life and share with all of you.

I don't know what to do to change this. I don't know how to be this person anymore, but I really really want to be someone who can still have my old life and my new one. I want the best of both worlds.

It's a balance I haven't figured out and I apologize. To all of you, to my friends whether Internet or not. I am trying. I am not giving up this blog, I don't care if I do a terminology list on the side so you all know what I am talking about and can laugh along with me. I will figure this out.

However, something really cool is happening. Tomorrow night my class is preparing the meal for the American Culinary Foundation meeting here in town. I am really excited and completely plan on a post tomorrow full of pictures.

For the record, mire poix is the combination of onions, carrots, and celery (2:1:1) that is the basis for most sauces and stocks in French cooking. The whole point of the story was knowing that you need to cut your mire poix based on the cooking time - small for short, big for long - so you don't end up with mush. In hindsight, the story may not have been that funny. I laughed my fucking ass off, but it may have been a "you had to be there" kind of moment. I really just miss blogging.

My Cold, Dead Heart.

Someone told me today that my Facebook posts made me sound like I was about to slit my wrists.

You all get that I am happy, right? I mean, I am angry and bitter in general, but happy? I felt like everyone knew that. I have problems, but shit, who doesn't? It just took me by surprise, because, I mean, it's me. I am not exactly a positive, today is a beautiful day kind of person.

So, I posted this on Facebook:

I was told tonight that all my Facebook posts are negative. So, hearts and rainbows and shit. I fail at being positive, even though I am happy as hell.

Here are the responses I got:

My favorite is the my little pony. Also, I left Big Jed's picture up for your amusement. That shit is the funniest graffiti ever.

I am not a hippie, but this country is full of ass holes.

You know how I always say I don't want to talk politics on this blog and then I go right on and do it anyway because it's my blog? I am about to do that again. I am not even sure this is a political issue as much as a social issue. And when I discuss social/political issues, I stay away from the "I am right, you are wrong" mentality because I try hard not to be an asshole. Even if I think you are wrong, it is your right to be wrong.

On this issue, though, if you don't agree with me, you are wrong. Very wrong.

The issue is building a mosque near ground zero. To be exact, the issue is people who have an issue with it. I don't understand. A handful of really bad people from the same cultural background did a really bad thing. I do not understand how this means that all Muslims are evil and bad. Muslims died in the towers too. Or does no one realize that? They have every single fucking right to worship near the sight of that tragedy. Just as much of a right as anyone else.

Here's the thing. It's discrimination. It's not right. And it pisses me off.

Maybe I am a closet hippie or something, but why all the hate? Why is it so hard to just accept that we are all different and that is OK?

Let them worship wherever they see fit. It is their right and I don't want to live in a country where they can't. It makes me stabby. Which is probably proof that I am not a closet hippie.

This week...

I cut my finger.

I got stitches for the first time in my life.

I had some sort of allergic reaction to the tetanus shot I got in the ER, which resulted in vomiting, a fever, disorientation, and a lump on my arm that is still there a week later.

I experienced said stitched finger being crushed by one of my fellow students, literally bringing me to my knees and to tears. Two things quite rare for me.

The check engine light came on in my car.

I got out of work an hour and a half late both Friday and Saturday because the restaurant had two record breaking nights in a row. (Good for the company, but we were not prepared.)

I fell down the stairs at work, bruising the entire left side of my body. It looks like someone implanted half a cantaloupe on my thigh.

My boss said to me, after I poured 18 quarts of water on his shoe, that if next week isn't better, he is giving me paid leave until my luck changes.

I have wondered if other people have weeks like this...

It is far too late to be blogging...

There are certain types of people that I cannot handle. It's not even a matter of not getting along with them, I simply do not know how to respond to them in a way that is appropriate. I think everyone has these people in their life in one way or another. I know I do.

The person who throws everyone under the bus. Nothing is ever their fault, it is always some other person's fault. I am honest, if it is someone else's fault, I won't cover for them. But, I NEVER blame my bullshit on other people.

The person who thinks faster is always better. Seriously, have they not heard the bullshit about the tortoise? Slow and steady wins the race, fuckers. Not frantic. And you add wielding knives to that frantic energy and you are downright dangerous.

The person who is always trying to reinvent the wheel. Like, instead of just, say, chopping onions, they come up with this convoluted process that has so many steps it is ineffective. People have been chopping onions since before chef knives existed. Just improve your knife skills, douche.

People who are always right. I had this conversation today.

Me: Did you put water in the grease tray?

Fucker who is always right: Yes

Me: Really? Because the chickens are on fire.

FWIAR: No they're not.

Me: Then someone slipped acid in my water bottle. I see flames.

FWIAR: There is just a string on fire.

Me: Dude, the tray is on fucking fire. Are you getting baking soda or am I?

Manager: Are you aware that the chickens are on fire?

FWIAR: No they're not.

At that point, I threw my hands in the air and stormed out of the room to get baking soda.

The person who can't spell and refuses to ask. One of my jobs (because I am anal and wanted it) is to organize the walk-in at the end of the night. I am not even kidding, I have seen the following:

cheder (cheddar)

nin (nine)

palmo (pimento)

salry (celery)

grooyare (gruyere)

Needless to say I had an evening filled with all of the above and then some. I am so glad to be home enjoying a beer and blogging.

Any Day

I walk out, exhausted and drenched in sweat. My hair is plastered to my face. The night air feels like heaven. My feet ache and my body threatens to give out before I reach my car.

We all laugh, the guy in dish finally fell after nights of sliding around on the floor thinking he's a bad ass. All of our eyes reflect the exhaustion, yet are bright and happy. Our arms, uniquely chiseled. Our legs never restless late at night.

The drive home is agony, a boring end to a long day. Energy pumps through my veins, as exhaustion fights it.

The first beer tastes like perfection. Sweatpants feel like luxury.

I may be ready to collapse, but, fuck, I love my life.

Why does everything in my life snowball into a complete cluster fuck?

I WANT TO KILL A BABY. OK, no I don't. I would never ever actually murder an infant child. Or animal. I couldn't even kill the lobster, people. I am incapable of murder. Except today. TODAY, I could have murdered someone.

So, we all remember Fingergate 2010, right? Well, then I had a weird reaction to the tetanus shot and my arm swelled up like a baseball, had a fever, and vomited. I also remember almost nothing from Tuesday. Today at school, people told me that they were really worried because I was acting like some kind of lunatic yesterday. Awesome.

THEN. I went to work. You know the place where they pay you to be there and if you act like a lunatic, they tell you to never come back? Yeah. Burst into tears when my boss kind of, but not really, yelled at me. Then vomited and pretty much bolted. Also, I almost passed out after I almost cut off MY ENTIRE FUCKING FUCKITY FUCK FINGER ON A SLICER. Not even the bad finger. So, yes, if you are counting, I would be down to 8 3/4's fingers.

So, I walk into school today and am all, weeee! I'm normal again. Normal is fun. One more time. WEEEEE!

Then my fucking classmate smashed my fucking finger with her fucking knee into a stainless steel mother fucking table and I BURST INTO TEARS and ran out of the room. Where I proceeded to sob in the bathroom. And nobody came to check on me. Which made me cry harder because, nobody loved me. Then a very unexpected person came to check on me - still not the fucking cunt rag that smashed my finger - and made me laugh. Then I went back to class and iced it and cried more.

Sorry for the cunt rag. I have rage. And am inappropriate. Inappropriately ragey.

I felt like a complete fucking douche canoe. Like, seriously, I am a grown ass woman sobbing over my finger. But on a scale of 1 to 10, I rated the pain a 1 in the ER. When I cut off the tip of my finger. Table meet finger was about, oh, 432. She actually tore the cut, so, in my defense, fucking ouch. But, still.

So, yeah, today I get to want to murder babies. Tomorrow I will return to the regularly scheduled, socially acceptable hate of just wanting to murder stupid fucking idiots. And I will try to refrain from the c-word.