I really should have posted this yesterday...

Yesterday was a big day for this country. It is a traumatic day for a lot of this country. It is a day of mourning, a day of remembrance, a humbling day. 

I am not going to write a post about 9/11. Well, I am sort of going to write a post about 9/11. This post is totally about 9/11.

Tini posted on Facebook, and I quote, 

"As I read everyone's status updates today, I realize something. Either none of these people really felt the way they're saying when the towers fell, or, the more likely option, I'm just a bad American. I remember being angry that footage of the attacks was monopolizing the air time on like, every channel. I realize that now I would respond differently, that I would recognize the profound impact the attacks would have my country and my people. However, at the time, I just wanted to veg out in front of my favorite after school specials. I'm just being real here."

I don't fault what he said. He was being honest. I believe he was 11 when it happened, so obviously his response is not going to be the same as someone like me, who was days from turning 20. I was an adult. An adult who was devastated and terrified. 

What was also shocking was that most of the responses he got (from his peers...who are his age) were equally indifferent to the day. 

It is surreal to me that someone a mere 9 or so years younger than me can have such a different impression. When we are together, a part of me feels older, yes, but it's not like we don't have a blast. It's not like he isn't a close friend of mine. It is strange that the experience of 9/11 is such a different one. I just assume everyone is as affected as I was. It is strange that this particular day is the first time I have really felt the age in our friendship.

I remember thinking it wasn't real. I remember tears streaming down my face as I watched the second plane hit. I remember being scared to stay in the city and driving to my parents house 30 miles away. I remember watching Air Force One fly over their house. 

Our country was under attack. And it was horrifying. I don't support war. I probably never will, even though I logically understand the reason for it. I don't have an alternative solution, I just don't like violence as a means to end violence. But, on that day, I felt cornered and vulnerable and if someone said, this will never happen again if we go to war, I am not sure I wouldn't have jumped on that band wagon. I would have regretted it, but that day made me feel like nothing I have ever experienced before or after. 

Someone compared it to Columbine and I disagreed. That was teenage boys. This was a terrorist group attacking us. Who knows how many educated adult males willing to die to to bring down our country. To kill our citizens. 

The man who killed Osama bin Laden was interviewed on 60 minutes this week. He was humble and respectful, but the story of finding him, of killing him, left me with chills. It was closure. And as much as I abhor violence, this was a justified end. 

(Yes, the conspiratorial theorist in me doesn't believe a word of it, but the hopeful me wants it all to be true.)

It blows my mind that people I am friends with have little emotional ties to this day. It blows my mind that my children will read about it in history books and never really understand it. 

I suppose my mother feels the same way about the JFK assassination. And generations before about tragedies that happened in their lifetimes. 

I will never, ever forget the feeling of that day. Or how surreal it felt, 11 years later, to find out that not everyone feels the same.

Drunken Quotes with Tini

"Did I just ask questions about your "TMI" story? You know you are good friends when you ask questions. Also I may have boundary issues." 

***

"Weight loss is like puberty, it changes the way you masturbate."

"YOU MIGHT SECRETLY BE RON JEREMY."

"Talk to me in six months. I may be Ron Jeremy in six months."

***

"I need a shot and a beer."

"I was going to make my drink first."

"So, it's all about you now?"

"Yes."

***

"I don't feel like a lot of people put you on the pedestal I put you on."

***

"He is your friend. Not the keeper of your penis."

***

"Why am I a gay man?"

"I need you to be a gay man."

"But, I am not a man!"

"It doesn't matter. I need you to be a gay man."

***

"I remember when my mom was 4'11". Wait, she's still 4'11". 

Who's the boss? Vagina.

Ever since my Toast to Rockstar, I have noticed some new faces around here. Well, more hits on my blog anyway. While I somewhat track that shit, I rarely take the time to see if it is just a few of you getting bored and going through archives or actual new followers. But, I checked. New people! Hi new people. Welcome. I am obnoxious. You have been warned. 

Josey, your awesomeness is just oozing it's way over here.

Just a few random updates. I pre-scheduled the wordless week, so that is just sort of mixing in with my regular old blog posts because, well, I can't feel my finger. Makes typing really easy. Kill the nerve endings and it doesn't hurt to type anymore. Yay? Probably not. I also can't bend it anymore, making me think I may have damaged a tendon. Yay? None of this is good news. I have a giant life lesson for all of you - don't do anything I do ever. EVER. It will only end poorly and with mutilated body parts. You should see the burn scars on my arms. Dear. Lord.

I met another accident prone chef the other day and we were exchanging horror stories. In his 10 year career he has done way more damage than me. Which, you know, hope for the future! Less appendages! More scars! I can't wait. Art is worth it, right? I think so.

There was some marathon today. I didn't run in it. Or walk in it. Or even pretend that I would ever do either of these things. Instead I made stock, homemade granola, hung out with Tini, and drank some wine. This is how I exercise. I should write a diet book.

Tini wore a shirt I made him, which is an all around hilarious story. We were on the phone one day and he was telling me about this woman at the deli he frequents and how she tells him grossly inappropriate things about her. One time the conversation led to her vagina. I don't remember the exact statement she made, but I said, "I mean, what does she think, hey, this guy is gay, I should tell him about my vagina." 

To which Tini responded, "THAT HAS TO BE A T-SHIRT."

Naturally, I made it into one. The shirt is powder blue with a rainbow that covers his chest. Underneath the rainbow, it says "I'm gay. Tell me about your vagina." Tini has worn this shirt around me several times and I have never noticed until today. That shirt is awesome. So, I drug him with me to the grocery store wearing this shirt and most people paid no notice. Except one woman who started laughing hysterically and said "I love your shirt." Tini then declared the woman his new best friend. Of course he did. Oh, to bring joy to random strangers with our inappropriate sense of humor. It's kind of our thing.

I am feeling restless without a second job, only working about 40 hours a week. It feels weird. I don't like the free time. I want to be working. So, tomorrow I am going to amp up the job hunt. There is a local smokehouse/brewery that is hiring. I would kill to work there. Seriously. I absolutely love their food, love their beer. I don't see how this could not work out perfectly for me. Let's hope I can pick up about 20 hours a week there. And not damage any more appendages in the process.

The boy got the new iPhone on Friday because, you know, fanboy. There is a program on the new OS called Siri that is sort of like a voice activated google. You can ask it anything, like where to dispose of a dead body, and it gives you an answer. He was trying to get Siri used to certain commands...telling it I was his girlfriend, who his mom was, etc. He asked the phone who his boss was, expecting to have to input data into the phone to tell it. Nope. It came right up with all my contact information. 

It's official...the machines are taking over.

Can't. Believe. I. Am. Posting. This. Nonsense.

Hey, you guys...I had a weird day. So, this is not 30 posts of anything other than how Erratic had a crazy fucking day. Most of it was self induced stupidity because I have not slept since Tuesday. 

So...fairly normal day full of fairly normal things. Then I get to work. And it was like someone slipped me acid.

1. I cut my finger on a knife. That was laying on a table. By rubbing my finger against the blade while wrapping cheese. Seriously.

2. I stabbed a chicken. With a different knife. On accident. Just, kind of, stabbed it. People should not give me knives when I have not gotten adequate sleep. (Note: the chicken was dead)

3. I cut my finger open trussing a chicken. Blood. Rope. Yeah. (Note: it was a different chicken)

4. I ran into, that I remember, a wall, the rotisserie, multiple coworkers, and the Hobart. The last one was with my head. Just ran right into it. Been working there four months. It has always been there.

THEN! Have you seen "The Middle"? I don't really like it. But, the kid what whispers cracks me the fuck up and today at work somebody did it! I looked over and she was mumbling to herself that she hated when she couldn't say words. Queue scene.

Erratic: What word can't you say?

Weird Girl: Pork and Cheese

Erratic: Like a cheese flavored pork or a pork flavored cheese?

Weird Girl: No. Pork and Cheese.

Erratic: I just keep hearing Pork and Cheese. Spell it for me.

Weird Girl: Pouss...I don't know how to spell it.

Other Dude: Are you trying to say Portuguese?

Weird Girl: YES! (AND THEN THE BEST THING EVER HAPPENED...She put her head down and whispered...pork and cheese.)

Erratic: I know a dude from Portugal that is hearing this story. There is just no way around that one.

Other Dude...Hours Later: Remember when weird girl couldn't say Portuguese. (Queue hilarious laughter)

I really hope that wasn't a "you had to be there" moment, because I just peed a little typing it.

So, then I left work and was driving home and LITERALLY FORGOT TO TURN. Like, just didn't turn. Almost drove off the road. Because I was too tired to remember to turn the car. Wasn't dozing off. Eyes were wide open. Just forgot to turn. Rumble strips seriously saved my life.

THEN. I get off at the exit that I almost drove off of and my entire road is closed. Four lane road, double lane. Closed. This means...prepare to judge me...I HAVE NO ACCESS TO FAST FOOD. Except McDonalds which I am over. I have no food. I just spent an 8 hour shift on my feet with absolutely no food and I was starving. STARVING. And could not get food. Like, the path to make it happen would have been ridiculous for 1:00 am. 

I would like to state for the record that I KNOW IT IS BAD FOR YOU TO EAT AT 1:00 AM. Please stop telling me this, universe. I get it. I shouldn't do it because Oprah and God said so. But, you know what, I am fucking hungry. And I am losing weight. SO SUCK IT UNIVERSE.

Anywho...I came home and made organic boxed macaroni and cheese. After spending hours in my CLASSICAL FRENCH COOKING SCHOOL. Escoffier literally jumped out of his coffin and punched a baby. As the noodles were boiling, I glanced at the refrigerator and saw this lovely note Tini left me when he stayed over the weekend:

I chuckled, grabbed the milk, put it back in the fridge, grabbed the heavy cream and literally said, as I was pouring it on the macaroni noodles "this one's for my homies." Then I swore to never be my friend because I was such a tool. Then I mentally high-fived Escoffier and vowed never to tell anyone about any of this. I fail at self vows.

Neil Catrick Harris approved. Note: I let him do this long enough to take a picture. I AM PART OF THE PROBLEM. Then I sprayed him with a water bottle.

P.S.I sincerely hope that this post makes sense. I am not even going back and rereading it. I am that scared of what I just wrote.

P.P.S. At what age do the 1:00 AM terrorize everything in a 100 mile radius kitten crazies end? Because, for reals, he just tried to amputate my foot.

P.P.P.S. I am going to bed. Please still love me tomorrow.

Always put alcohol in your coffee

I am writing a blog post in response to a blog post. This is too much for a comment and such a huge part of my life too, I wanted to share it here.

Read Tini's post here:

http://soliloquyofwhimsy.blogspot.com/2010/02/im-drinking-coffee-and-theres-not-even.html

I woke up this morning and felt five steps to the left. I just wasn't right, things just weren't right. I got to school at almost the exact same time as Tini, in fact we were on the phone when I parked next to him. I went through the motions and I barely looked at him all day. I couldn't. I was scared I would see it in his eyes and I would just lose it. So, I kept myself busy. I took the responsibility of red neck and buried myself in it, making certain everyone was on task at all times. I made sure Tini was working on things I was not.

This was probably a dick move on my part, I realize this. But, today wasn't goodbye for me. Tini sang and danced his way into my life forever and I know that I will see him. And soon. I am sad that it won't be everyday and I am scared to face school without him. But, today was emotional for him. Today was a day that I knew would be hard for him and I didn't want to be the person to make him cry. I didn't want to be the person that made today a huge event. If someone else had, I would have been there for him in a nano second. I was never far away and was sure to keep an eye on him, even when we were cleaning in different kitchens.

I walked out of the building, one of the only times in 16 weeks, without him. I got in my car and I burst into tears. I drove home and felt like an ass hole that I just let him walk into that office alone to sign the papers that, temporarily, ended his dream. But, I knew I couldn't be there. I knew it would only be worse if I was there, sobbing like a baby. I knew it would be that much harder.

A lot of our classmates sent me texts asking me to tell him bye, that they just didn't have a chance to say it. One of them made me promise I would give him their number. We all talk, constantly, about how much we are going to miss him. About how he is the glue that holds this group together. We joke constantly that he should get a lawn chair, a cooler, and an umbrella and just sit in front of the windows watching us cook. We joke about him coming up and sitting with us in the lunchroom between classes.

He may weave his way out of some of their lives, but there are more people than he thinks that won't ever forget him. And won't have to. Because he will be back in the fall and stop in our class, just like we will stop in his.

When I read his post, my heart broke for him all over again. And maybe I didn't handle this right, maybe I needed to show up on his door step with a bottle of jack and make him feel like P-Diddy. I chose to let him feel this, in his way, because that is what I would have needed. I hope that was the right decision.

Tini, I love you. Don't feel lost. You are just temporarily derailed.

Suddenly, I see my future...

Crisis averted. The week from hell is over. I panicked a little bit, admittedly. It just seems like sometimes I am sitting around on my couch twiddling my thumbs and the very next day a giant avalanche of shit falls from the sky. Can someone please tell the universe to space this shit out a bit? Because, really, it would help out a lot.

I got a 98% in my math class, which is not saying much. At one point, we were literally just counting votes. Counting, people, counting. I played bejeweled on my phone through that entire class. I never paid attention. Not once.

I killed my practicals and exam in kitchen, so I am fairly certain I got an A in that class. And the presentation that caused 4, 012 panic attacks? Tini made it his bitch. All I did was click through it (during the actual presentation) and he did all the talking and rocked it. I think it was by far the best one in our class. So, I panicked for nothing. You are all allowed to say I told you so and then scream WOULD YOU STOP FUCKING PANICKING ALL THE TIME at me. I deserve it.

On a totally unrelated note, my job is weird. Old people are weird. First of all, they are all devout republicans. This happened tonight:

Old Guy: Did you hear about that article in the paper that described what hell was like?

Old Lady: (giggling) No, what is it like?

Old Guy: A bunch of Democrats running the country. Oh, wait (hysterical laughter)

Insert me gritting my teeth and fake chuckling. Like, even if I wasn't a democrat, that joke would have been horrible. And they say things like "I don't even recognize America now that the blacks are running things." I know that they are harmless and if they were my age, they wouldn't feel that way. My grandparents say some really off color things too, they just don't know better and don't care to learn. But, I still cringe when I hear it.

Well, last night was happy hour. It was my first happy hour and, just wow. You know what is worse than sober old people? Drunk old people. One of my tables had me give them "just a little sip" like 14 times. By the end of the night, she had to be helped out of the dining room.

There is this one lady, though, that cracks me up EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. A lot of them have walkers, which I really think are just portable tables. They always have papers, mail, keys, or whatever on their little emergency seats. Except one resident. Every night, this little tiny lady with her bright red walker and four wine glasses strolls in. She was the first resident to remember my name and walks by and squeezes my arm every single night. She asks me how culinary school is and, if she is in my section, asks me what to order because "I know these things." I think we are kindred souls, because when I am 90 and living in a nursing home, you better believe that the wine will be flowing.

The best part of all? She always has a backup bottle in the basket under the seat. My kind of lady.

Nervous Breakdown: The Summary

I have sat down to write a blog post every day since my last one. Honestly? So much has happened in the past few days, I don't know where to start, or even if I can start.

This weekend was our catering event for our school menu project. We made an 8 course meal for 12 people. Each course contained 2 - 3 dishes. It was somewhere between a success and failure. The food was good...the worst rating we got was "fair." I can live with that. But, our timing was absolutely fucking horrible and I was a little embarrassed about that. All in all, though, I will put it in the win category. Tini and I worked a little on Thursday, all night Friday, and over 13 hours on Saturday. It was exhausting and the exact reason I will NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER be a caterer. Ever. In case you wanted to ask me to cater something, just don't. It won't happen. I would rather stab a baby. Or 12. Catering = dead babies. Remember that. Always.

I got a weird friend request on Facebook Friday, which led to me being distracted and distressed most of the weekend. I tried to hide it, but I just failed. It was my former step brother who used to sneak into the bathroom and watch me shower. His father was abusive to my mother. So, to say the least, the friend request was not welcome. I gave it a lot of thought and decided to see what he wanted. Turns out that was more members for his mother fucking Mafia. I unfriended him immediately. But, it made me decide to look up his sisters, whom I believe I was close to for those unspeakable years. One of them likened my sister and me to Anastasia and Drizella (Cinderella), which devastated me. To think I had a part in the pain that was all those years is something I have not yet reconciled. I don't know that I ever will. I had no idea, which I think makes it even worse. I was a kid too, but the fact that 13 years later she is still talking about that pain, specific to my mother (explainable), my sister and me, feels like a punch in the stomach. Typing this now is taking my breath away.

I had my first resident death at work. I only met him a few times before he was transferred to assisted living, but his wife I know well. I know that I need to put on a thick skin to this. I know that I have a lot more of these in my future. But, loss is loss. And watching my coworkers shrug it off as a normal occurrence is making it that much more tragic for me. These people, even the mean, crabby ones, are still people. Some one's mother, some one's wife, some one's daughter...and some of them I want to adopt as my own, and visit everyday and just love. Because they have no family. Nobody to visit. Nobody to bring them groceries or stop by for brunch on Sunday. It breaks my heart.

On top of all of this, it is finals week. My practical for Kitchen is a lot like the show Chopped...we get a cart of ingredients and have to make dishes from it. And I do not have a single day off this week. I will make it work, I always do. I am just a ball of stress and anxiety.

What scares me the most? Honestly? Tini leaving. This is his last term and I know that it is codependent and crazy, but I am going to fucking miss him. I know I will be OK and I know that we will hang out and get drunk and take inappropriate pictures and drunk dial people, but I will still miss him everyday.

I also found out that an old friend of mine has thrown his life away, which is tragic, but honestly doesn't affect me. What affects me is that he may be sleeping with a good friend of mine, who has no idea the STD's (and possibly AIDS) that he is infected with. I just don't know what to do. I called him, my good friend, but he did not return my call. And the thought of losing him, after all of this, to some stupid mother fucker who CHOSE to have unprotected sex with someone who is HIV positive makes me want to vomit. I will live on his fucking porch to make sure he is aware of this old friend's status. I refuse, REFUSE to let this happen. I know it is not my place and I know that I am violating every boundary in the book, but I love him too much not to violate him terribly. I am THAT kind of friend.

So, that is my nervous breakdown in a post. I am trying really hard to hold my shit together and I feel like I am failing at every turn.

Why does he never ask me to taste HIS food? Hm...

Sometimes secrets aren't yours to tell and sometimes you just have to put it out there. I have been weighing those two things for a few weeks now and have decided to share something here.

Tini is leaving school. I know that he has not been a huge part of this blog yet, but he has been a huge part of my life for the past 14 weeks. The very first day, we both tested out of math and had an hour to kill. We were fish out of water and, as I am prone to do, I found the biggest gayest fish and said, hey, let's go sit and talk. And we did. We talked about why we were there and the path that led us to CCI. To say that we have bonded is an understatement. We actually decided that we are codependent and probably cannot survive without each other.

He is the only one of my fellow students who reads this blog, the only one who I would ever want to read this blog. Financial reasons are forcing him to drop out until November. He will be back, and I know that. He will graduate and we will open a codependent restaurant and live in codependent bliss. But, I want him there with me. He is the only one who GETS food the way I get food. He is the only one who stands there, putting salt in grain by grain until it is perfect with me. He is the only one I trust to taste my food.

Yesterday, I walked up to him and asked to see his balls. Upon seeing his balls, I said, "Wow, those are some big balls." Then I poked his balls. And we giggled like school girls. Everyone else looked at me like I was crazy because I giggled every time someone said balls. He GETS it. (Matzo ball soup, by the way.)

I wanted to graduate with him. To experience all of this with him. I know that in the grand scheme of things, it's not a big deal. He'll be back and we'll "hey girl" in the hallway and he will be the biggest gayest person at my graduation, screaming his head off. And I will carry a sign that says "I will become a man for you" at his. He'll be the only one to laugh, and that is why we are friends.

Because when absolutely NOBODY else in the room gets it, we are looking at each other and cracking the fuck up because we are both "there."

Has anyone ever licked gin off of YOUR coffee table? Ha! I win!

This weekend, I got together with some friends from school. We cooked one of the sauces on our practical exam today and had a few drinks.

I should amend that. We had A LOT of drinks. I would tell the whole story, but there is a reason we were ALL drunk...so that the very worst things we did would be forgotten in that alcohol haze. Or at least we would all be equally embarrassed and therefore equally inclined not to ever speak of it again. One of the underage very conservative girls from class wanted to come next time and we refused to allow it because she would be sober and therefore remember everything that happened.

So, I will summarize the evenings in a few key highlights to protect the innocent.

It took Tini an hour to prep 3 heads of lettuce. Also? He prepped 3 heads of lettuce for 4 people. I think he scrubbed each individual piece of lettuce with a very tiny toothbrush.

It took 3 chef apprentice's 3 hours to make a roast (which we, mostly me, overcooked), mashed potatoes, a salad, and a Chasseur sauce. We fail at life.

It looked like some sort of culinary tornado hit my kitchen and I am pissed I did not take pictures. The dishwasher was completely full and the sink was still stacked over the rim with dishes for the next load. It is quite possible we used every dish in my house.

Tini pulled the bottom of his shirt through the top of his shirt making a bra-like top. I have googled for an hour and cannot find a picture of this, so I hope you all know what I am talking about.

He then licked gin off of my coffee table.

We all woke up the next morning and stared at each other and mumbled something about our heads hurting and wanted to die. No one can be sure because nothing could be heard over the pain.

Oh, and Tini made cookies. This is the event that I find the hardest to explain.

It was a fun night. No, it was an awesome night. However, I am not 21 anymore. So, after a night at work where everyone steered clear of me and asked me if I was OK a zillion times I crashed and slept for 13 hours. I finally feel like a human being again. Sort of.

Final Count:

1/2 a bottle of gin

1 bottle of wine

a case of beer

Three people. Why do I feel like over half of my readers are talking to intervention about me RIGHT THIS SECOND?

What I would have tweeted had I not been in class all day.

It is too early for pompous douche bag professors.

Seriously, you can't get your writing over an 8th grade level? You graduated from high school, right?

Lithium. Does anyone have Lithium? We need to medicate this crazy ass bitch who keeps calling Alex Tracy.

HAHAHA AIDS carrot. A carrot that gives you aids. Funny shit. I mean, not funny. AIDS is not funny. Right.

I need a new team in kitchen. Because, seriously, I think these two just have crickets chirping in their heads.

STOP STARING AT ME AND DO SOMETHING. Why am I in charge? WHY? Tell those crickets to get their shit together.

Dude, I don't know if your sauce is the right thickness, needs more salt, parsley, whatever. It is my first time making it too.

Do you ever stop talking? For real, stop talking. Right now. Stop it.

I need to find Tini. He is my sanity today. WHERE THE FUCK DID TINI GO?

Tini is back, crisis averted.

Are you really making your sauce in a double boiler? I mean, really? The crickets just failed you.

Damn it, your cream spinach turned out better than mine. Maybe I need to try this double boiler thing...

OMG THIS KITCHEN IS FILTHY. Do these kids not understand the concept of cleaning up after yourself? Feeling stabby...

Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.

I would like to just eliminate this entire generation. Seriously, it may be worth it. Wait, am I in their generation? How do generations work?

I am going to assume I am not and go ahead with the eradication of everyone 18 - 20. Except the ones I like. Which is like, 2.

Stop bitching. You are sous chef, it is your job to yell at people. Get over it. But don't yell at me. I will stab you. In the face.

I honked at you because you drive a stupid car and I am crabby. Buy a lime green Volkswagen Beetle with a lei hanging from the rear view mirror, I honk at you.

I am now going to crawl into bed with my dogs and hope when I wake up I have faith in humanity once again.