From the bottom of my blog.
Thank you,
Erin Ice Water Beckman
beckmanrant.wordpress.com
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
THIS BLOGGER HAS MOVED!
In the spirit of my 3 year anniversary around the corner I thought it might be time to start a new blog on a more grownup blogging industry standard website. So please come check out the new blog! And PLEASE sign up to be a follower. You have all been so awesome over the last 3 years.
From the bottom of my blog.
Thank you,
Erin Ice Water Beckman
beckmanrant.wordpress.com
From the bottom of my blog.
Thank you,
Erin Ice Water Beckman
beckmanrant.wordpress.com
Friday, June 29, 2012
Yelp! Sucks!
In my 32 years on this earth, I have spent 17 of them working in a restaurant and/or bar. My first restaurant job was waitressing (I say waitressing, and not serving because in this case the connotation is right on the money) at a Steak & Shake. It started as what I thought would be an easy summer job, and I quickly realized that serving is actually really high stress , and you have to have severe multitasking skills. Turns out, I was awesome at it. You had to "perform" to a certain degree, and I loved the act. I would watch as all the other 15 and 16 year old summer hires would drop like flies. I enjoyed this, especially because it left me with my pick of the shifts. I took a lot of pride in the fact that I had what it took to cut the mustard in the rat race of waitressing..ridiculous I know, but it was nice to be good at something. And unless you have done it, and have done it for a high volume establishment, you have NO idea.
Most of the summer hires would quit within the first 3 weeks. Because I kept showing up, got the least amount of complaints, and loved going home with a fist full of cash, I began to be favored with the management. I also had the bonus of getting life lessons like, how to recognize a stoner/meth head/alcoholic, how to not be/be a stoner/meth head/alcoholic. Wonderful nuggets of wisdom like how there are lots of different ways in which to ingest tobacco, and that even though when you get off work all your friends have already been partying for several hours, and you show up smelling like fryer grease and cheap menthol cigarettes, it is somehow all worth it. I left every night that summer with around $100.00. $75.00 was what I made legitimately, and the other $25 I made from bribing the meth heads for their side work. I worked about 4 to 5 nights a week. That is a lot of money for a 16 year old to make a week when she has no bills, and no responsibility. I never had a debt with Columbia House,(that is a joke intended for the audience of people born between 1965 and 1979. ) I had a beautiful man made tan, acrylic nails that would put some of the Real Jersey Housewives to shame, and more cheap clothes from Famous Barr than one could wish for. It was a simpler tackier time in my life then.
That S&S I worked at was open 24 hours, and my shift ended anywhere from 9pm to sometimes 3am, so for me it was like not having a curfew. I was totally hooked. My parents had to force me to quit in the fall when school started back up.
I was very fortunate to have my first experiences in the industry before the ever prevalent internet. There was no Google, no facebook, no twitter. In fact if I remember correctly there were no search engines. There were chat rooms and AOL. If you wanted to know something about say a Mercedes, you played "www dot roulette". Type in www. Mercedes.com and keep your fingers crossed that they have a web page. If they did ten minutes later when your dial up connection had loaded the page, you may be looking at 15 minutes before you actually find the model you were talking about. We still used the library, and if a customer was a jerk, you could kind of tell them so. And yes, you are probably a jerk sometimes. And sometimes I was the jerk. I was 16! I spilled coffee on a woman once by total accident, and she chewed out the GM, and as soon as she walked out the door we all died laughing about how she had called her genitals her "beaver" and how I had allegedly burnt it off. Despite the fact that she was fine, and it was an accident, she was given a coupon or something, and we never heard from her again. No one worried about this woman telling a billion people she doesn't know, that the establishments staff is incompetent, or that there was a 15 min wait on her food even after her crotch was molested by hot java.
These were the glory days. Sure we knew she would tell her 10 friends in the world, but who cared. By the time she wasted her breath, the most any one would get out of the story would be that last year, some dumb waitress there spilled coffee on their friend. Now don't get me wrong. I felt terrible that this happened, but by no means was I afraid I would be fired, fined, or sued. The business would most likely not be affected by this. I say all this to say...
Yelp sucks! I understand that all you "Yelpers" out there feel as though your hours of lazy couch dwelling with the channel tuned to the Food Network makes you a foodie. Maybe it is your dedication to Anthony Bourdain, or the fact that you were the first of your friends to eat organic that makes you think you are one of the culinary advanced? Or you believe yourself to have the wit of a John Stewart or David Sedaris. Aside from the fact that you are not an expert, there used to be no immediate outlet for consumers with sub par intellect, and mediocre palettes to unleash their droll views on polenta! Oh no. If you wanted to be a food critic, you had to keep a journal for years, You had to have a LOT of extra cash to throw around for long periods of time, visiting several different establishments on Saturday nights. It entailed glad handing concierge and hostesses, and meeting and interviewing Chefs. Word of mouth was simply that...word of mouth. Or if you were good and somehow managed to get your years worth of notes and food journals to an editor, then perhaps you were one in a million that got to work for a paper or magazine. But trust me you earned that position at that point. Your opinion was respected because people found your views to be consistent with reality. Not because your phone app asked your opinion.
Since the invention of Yelp, it has done terrible things to empower our already spoiled society. First it has allowed anyone with an IP address to put their stupid 2 cents out there for everyone to see, and elevate their already inflated sense of self. ( Yes, I am aware of the irony as I type this blog. haha very funny!) Secondly, it has given them something to threaten establishments with, and Yelp has done nothing but further perpetuate this by rating it's "Yelpers" as beginners, elites, and VIP members. Forgive me if I am wrong but isn't membership free? And is it fair that all you need to gain extra elite status with Yelp, is to review review review. So if you are a jerk, the more of a ridiculous jerk you are, the MORE say you get? Rewarding the blowhards with publishing their drivel on the establishments parking lot, or how the hostess wore too much makeup. This is insane.
Essentially what Yelp! has done is equip any and all asshats who go out to eat to rate establishments, a freedom that should not be indulged by the masses. Hear me out. Having a desktop makes you no more qualified to be a food critic, than playing guitar makes me a Beatle. I'm not even going to start about the irony of how most of these so called (self proclaimed) "food critics' are generally hipsters that pride themselves about how they attend farmers markets, local pet stores, and neighborhood ice cream shops, appearing to be pro local small business. However, they then turn around, and because they didn't like the decor of the new local bistro, the server didn't kiss their ass, or the creme brulee was too soft, they in a huff climb on their literary high horses, locked and loaded with their fully equipped $1500 Mac Notebook (curtousey of their corporate job) to the nearest chain Starbucks to blog/yelp! about the audacity the small business just had. How dare they call themselves "french inspired" when the they don't even have crepes on the menu! How dare that owner/family man, local, city tax paying american THINK he has what it takes to own a restaurant! After all we yelpers are here to "SUPPORT SMALL BUSINESS! We are the 99% you know." But you Mr. Restuarant owner are a nobody failure because my tattooed self inflated ego says I know better since cooking channel tells me I am qualified to say so! Never mind the fact that I just discovered cheeses like Borsin, Goat, Manchego and Gruyere in the last five years, I am the authority on all things cheese now!
Now you may think that I am being too hard on them, and that for the most part people blog responsibly on Yelp!, except for a few bad apples with impossible standards. I would agree with you if it wasn't for self experience. The truth is this..Yelp! IS a powerful tool. I have worked for many restaurants that have kowtowed to the demands of the Yelp! elite. And this is where all my hostililly comes from. If you have had a bad experience at a locally owned business it is completely in your rights to go on Yelp! and say so. It is freedom of speach and I fully support that (obviously if you are reading my blog you know that!!) BUT, I consider it unAmerican, cruel and counter productive, especially in the city of St. Louis, to not give a small business a fair shot. You should be doing any and all you can to support the life of a small business. After all, especially in THIS city, no one is coming here!! Factories and corporate jobs are dwindling, leaving or shutting down. So if you like jobs, we have to provide them to our own people! It is the only hope we have to combat the crime, detritous and vaccancy of so many local nieghborhoods. So speak up! Physically! To the owners/ managers, while you are there. Give them a chance to fix things. And if you do speak up, and they fix it, give them the amount of frickin stars you would have, had you not had the problem. It was addressed and fixed. Drop it!
When you go on Yelp! and tell potential tourists or metro east conumers that have come to the city, to stay away from a local business because you were unsatsified with the service (could be isolated), or the expantion of the menu left not enough vegetarian items for you, ( you have no business calling yourself a foodie if you don't eat meat. I'm sorry. You're not.) you are killing the local flavor that a small business is trying to bring to our fair lady city, as well as continuing a reputation that we have been fighting against since the 70s. St. Louis's downtown is ghostly, and the scariest part is there is something like 200,000 more people living within the city limits now then there was when I moved here 10 years ago.
We are all brought up to believe that the little guy has the power. Unite! Protest! Be heard!..forget it all if we prefer to be faceless villians on Yelp!
Not to mention the local economy. If you are a yelper and you found your server to be less than perfect, you go on Yelp! and describe said sever as "white girl with short blonde hair, eye brow pierceing and a tatoo of a pinup girl on her forearm" and go on to state that she was "rude". She was "over whelmed and didnt visit the table enough". Or she "wasn't knowledgeable enough about the drink menu." She "forgot to refill my iced T." This is how the aftermath falls out...
This particular servers name is lets say Agnes. Agnes is usually a great server. This particular day the kitchen is short handed, and the restaurant manager didn't anticipate the charter bus that pulled up with no reservation, and therefore underestimated the volume of business for the night, leaving the floor with too many tables per server. One of the servers didnt show up, so she is given triple the normal amount of tables to take care of. Also, her boyfriend dumped her last night, and her car broke down on the way to work. NOW, your Yelp! review has done the following....
Got the one server who showed up to work dispite having had a real crap day fired. You just contributed to the loss of a job.
The manager screamed at for under-staffing.
Chef was reemed about ticket times putting him in a less than happy mood. Then spends the rest of that night cooking from a perspective of a paycheck instead of a love and passion for cooking, giving future customers a less than best experience.
And a meeting is called for all staff members to retake a training course retraining them on their menu knowledge (without pay)
ALL this because the yelper "says" so.
I even have more respect for the Yelper elite who at least try to throw their unmerited authority around to get free food, then I do a yelper who says nothing while at the restaurant and goes home and gives the establishment 1 star. Restaurants are only as good as the feedback...FEEDBACK, not blind egotistic complaining. If you had a hair in your food, (gross I know, but it happens everywhere!!) it is up to you to tell your server. If you are unsatisfied with the ticket time on your food (amount of time from when you ordered till it arrives on your table) it is your responsiblility to tell the server to alert the management.
I have had the pleasure of working for small business owners who actually care about ratings. When we are given a basement review they contact the World of Warcraft playing jerk and offer them a second chance to prove them wrong for free. Now THAT, really burns my ass! Staff doesn't generally eat or drink for free. They don't get Christmas bonuses, and are paid very little. But the Yelp! complainers? Oh we are rolling out the free red carpet for. Should we really reward the middle aged single male living in his mothers basement a free meal, because he found the cocktail menu TOO expansive? NO! But we do. Yelp has far too much power. The start scores are cummlative, so for every 5 star review if you have a 1 star, it will set your average at 2 1/2 stars even though you perform 90% of your business at 5 stars.
All in all unless you have actually waited on tables, leave the service alone unless it is atrocious. Alert a manager, but I find it unfair to comment on a restaurants reputation, simply because you were unhappy with a server. If you dont like the decor, sure state it if you think anyone values your taste, after all I am sure between food network commercials you switch over the HGTV so I suppose you are an expert on interior design as well. If the food is awful, please be my guest to warn customers, but if it wasn't awful but simply a matter of your steak being overdone, then maybe say something like this.
"This place tends to over cook steaks", or "order less done than you want"..or generally very busy, not a date like place. Better for lunches..sure, but ripping on a business like Gail Simmons? No.
I have eaten at Le Bernardin, and I dont even consider myself a "foodie" so just stop it. And if you have never heard of Le Bernardin, you aren't one either.
Mrs. Newlywed Out!
Most of the summer hires would quit within the first 3 weeks. Because I kept showing up, got the least amount of complaints, and loved going home with a fist full of cash, I began to be favored with the management. I also had the bonus of getting life lessons like, how to recognize a stoner/meth head/alcoholic, how to not be/be a stoner/meth head/alcoholic. Wonderful nuggets of wisdom like how there are lots of different ways in which to ingest tobacco, and that even though when you get off work all your friends have already been partying for several hours, and you show up smelling like fryer grease and cheap menthol cigarettes, it is somehow all worth it. I left every night that summer with around $100.00. $75.00 was what I made legitimately, and the other $25 I made from bribing the meth heads for their side work. I worked about 4 to 5 nights a week. That is a lot of money for a 16 year old to make a week when she has no bills, and no responsibility. I never had a debt with Columbia House,(that is a joke intended for the audience of people born between 1965 and 1979. ) I had a beautiful man made tan, acrylic nails that would put some of the Real Jersey Housewives to shame, and more cheap clothes from Famous Barr than one could wish for. It was a simpler tackier time in my life then.
That S&S I worked at was open 24 hours, and my shift ended anywhere from 9pm to sometimes 3am, so for me it was like not having a curfew. I was totally hooked. My parents had to force me to quit in the fall when school started back up.
I was very fortunate to have my first experiences in the industry before the ever prevalent internet. There was no Google, no facebook, no twitter. In fact if I remember correctly there were no search engines. There were chat rooms and AOL. If you wanted to know something about say a Mercedes, you played "www dot roulette". Type in www. Mercedes.com and keep your fingers crossed that they have a web page. If they did ten minutes later when your dial up connection had loaded the page, you may be looking at 15 minutes before you actually find the model you were talking about. We still used the library, and if a customer was a jerk, you could kind of tell them so. And yes, you are probably a jerk sometimes. And sometimes I was the jerk. I was 16! I spilled coffee on a woman once by total accident, and she chewed out the GM, and as soon as she walked out the door we all died laughing about how she had called her genitals her "beaver" and how I had allegedly burnt it off. Despite the fact that she was fine, and it was an accident, she was given a coupon or something, and we never heard from her again. No one worried about this woman telling a billion people she doesn't know, that the establishments staff is incompetent, or that there was a 15 min wait on her food even after her crotch was molested by hot java.
These were the glory days. Sure we knew she would tell her 10 friends in the world, but who cared. By the time she wasted her breath, the most any one would get out of the story would be that last year, some dumb waitress there spilled coffee on their friend. Now don't get me wrong. I felt terrible that this happened, but by no means was I afraid I would be fired, fined, or sued. The business would most likely not be affected by this. I say all this to say...
Yelp sucks! I understand that all you "Yelpers" out there feel as though your hours of lazy couch dwelling with the channel tuned to the Food Network makes you a foodie. Maybe it is your dedication to Anthony Bourdain, or the fact that you were the first of your friends to eat organic that makes you think you are one of the culinary advanced? Or you believe yourself to have the wit of a John Stewart or David Sedaris. Aside from the fact that you are not an expert, there used to be no immediate outlet for consumers with sub par intellect, and mediocre palettes to unleash their droll views on polenta! Oh no. If you wanted to be a food critic, you had to keep a journal for years, You had to have a LOT of extra cash to throw around for long periods of time, visiting several different establishments on Saturday nights. It entailed glad handing concierge and hostesses, and meeting and interviewing Chefs. Word of mouth was simply that...word of mouth. Or if you were good and somehow managed to get your years worth of notes and food journals to an editor, then perhaps you were one in a million that got to work for a paper or magazine. But trust me you earned that position at that point. Your opinion was respected because people found your views to be consistent with reality. Not because your phone app asked your opinion.
Since the invention of Yelp, it has done terrible things to empower our already spoiled society. First it has allowed anyone with an IP address to put their stupid 2 cents out there for everyone to see, and elevate their already inflated sense of self. ( Yes, I am aware of the irony as I type this blog. haha very funny!) Secondly, it has given them something to threaten establishments with, and Yelp has done nothing but further perpetuate this by rating it's "Yelpers" as beginners, elites, and VIP members. Forgive me if I am wrong but isn't membership free? And is it fair that all you need to gain extra elite status with Yelp, is to review review review. So if you are a jerk, the more of a ridiculous jerk you are, the MORE say you get? Rewarding the blowhards with publishing their drivel on the establishments parking lot, or how the hostess wore too much makeup. This is insane.
Essentially what Yelp! has done is equip any and all asshats who go out to eat to rate establishments, a freedom that should not be indulged by the masses. Hear me out. Having a desktop makes you no more qualified to be a food critic, than playing guitar makes me a Beatle. I'm not even going to start about the irony of how most of these so called (self proclaimed) "food critics' are generally hipsters that pride themselves about how they attend farmers markets, local pet stores, and neighborhood ice cream shops, appearing to be pro local small business. However, they then turn around, and because they didn't like the decor of the new local bistro, the server didn't kiss their ass, or the creme brulee was too soft, they in a huff climb on their literary high horses, locked and loaded with their fully equipped $1500 Mac Notebook (curtousey of their corporate job) to the nearest chain Starbucks to blog/yelp! about the audacity the small business just had. How dare they call themselves "french inspired" when the they don't even have crepes on the menu! How dare that owner/family man, local, city tax paying american THINK he has what it takes to own a restaurant! After all we yelpers are here to "SUPPORT SMALL BUSINESS! We are the 99% you know." But you Mr. Restuarant owner are a nobody failure because my tattooed self inflated ego says I know better since cooking channel tells me I am qualified to say so! Never mind the fact that I just discovered cheeses like Borsin, Goat, Manchego and Gruyere in the last five years, I am the authority on all things cheese now!
Now you may think that I am being too hard on them, and that for the most part people blog responsibly on Yelp!, except for a few bad apples with impossible standards. I would agree with you if it wasn't for self experience. The truth is this..Yelp! IS a powerful tool. I have worked for many restaurants that have kowtowed to the demands of the Yelp! elite. And this is where all my hostililly comes from. If you have had a bad experience at a locally owned business it is completely in your rights to go on Yelp! and say so. It is freedom of speach and I fully support that (obviously if you are reading my blog you know that!!) BUT, I consider it unAmerican, cruel and counter productive, especially in the city of St. Louis, to not give a small business a fair shot. You should be doing any and all you can to support the life of a small business. After all, especially in THIS city, no one is coming here!! Factories and corporate jobs are dwindling, leaving or shutting down. So if you like jobs, we have to provide them to our own people! It is the only hope we have to combat the crime, detritous and vaccancy of so many local nieghborhoods. So speak up! Physically! To the owners/ managers, while you are there. Give them a chance to fix things. And if you do speak up, and they fix it, give them the amount of frickin stars you would have, had you not had the problem. It was addressed and fixed. Drop it!
When you go on Yelp! and tell potential tourists or metro east conumers that have come to the city, to stay away from a local business because you were unsatsified with the service (could be isolated), or the expantion of the menu left not enough vegetarian items for you, ( you have no business calling yourself a foodie if you don't eat meat. I'm sorry. You're not.) you are killing the local flavor that a small business is trying to bring to our fair lady city, as well as continuing a reputation that we have been fighting against since the 70s. St. Louis's downtown is ghostly, and the scariest part is there is something like 200,000 more people living within the city limits now then there was when I moved here 10 years ago.
We are all brought up to believe that the little guy has the power. Unite! Protest! Be heard!..forget it all if we prefer to be faceless villians on Yelp!
Not to mention the local economy. If you are a yelper and you found your server to be less than perfect, you go on Yelp! and describe said sever as "white girl with short blonde hair, eye brow pierceing and a tatoo of a pinup girl on her forearm" and go on to state that she was "rude". She was "over whelmed and didnt visit the table enough". Or she "wasn't knowledgeable enough about the drink menu." She "forgot to refill my iced T." This is how the aftermath falls out...
This particular servers name is lets say Agnes. Agnes is usually a great server. This particular day the kitchen is short handed, and the restaurant manager didn't anticipate the charter bus that pulled up with no reservation, and therefore underestimated the volume of business for the night, leaving the floor with too many tables per server. One of the servers didnt show up, so she is given triple the normal amount of tables to take care of. Also, her boyfriend dumped her last night, and her car broke down on the way to work. NOW, your Yelp! review has done the following....
Got the one server who showed up to work dispite having had a real crap day fired. You just contributed to the loss of a job.
The manager screamed at for under-staffing.
Chef was reemed about ticket times putting him in a less than happy mood. Then spends the rest of that night cooking from a perspective of a paycheck instead of a love and passion for cooking, giving future customers a less than best experience.
And a meeting is called for all staff members to retake a training course retraining them on their menu knowledge (without pay)
ALL this because the yelper "says" so.
I even have more respect for the Yelper elite who at least try to throw their unmerited authority around to get free food, then I do a yelper who says nothing while at the restaurant and goes home and gives the establishment 1 star. Restaurants are only as good as the feedback...FEEDBACK, not blind egotistic complaining. If you had a hair in your food, (gross I know, but it happens everywhere!!) it is up to you to tell your server. If you are unsatisfied with the ticket time on your food (amount of time from when you ordered till it arrives on your table) it is your responsiblility to tell the server to alert the management.
I have had the pleasure of working for small business owners who actually care about ratings. When we are given a basement review they contact the World of Warcraft playing jerk and offer them a second chance to prove them wrong for free. Now THAT, really burns my ass! Staff doesn't generally eat or drink for free. They don't get Christmas bonuses, and are paid very little. But the Yelp! complainers? Oh we are rolling out the free red carpet for. Should we really reward the middle aged single male living in his mothers basement a free meal, because he found the cocktail menu TOO expansive? NO! But we do. Yelp has far too much power. The start scores are cummlative, so for every 5 star review if you have a 1 star, it will set your average at 2 1/2 stars even though you perform 90% of your business at 5 stars.
All in all unless you have actually waited on tables, leave the service alone unless it is atrocious. Alert a manager, but I find it unfair to comment on a restaurants reputation, simply because you were unhappy with a server. If you dont like the decor, sure state it if you think anyone values your taste, after all I am sure between food network commercials you switch over the HGTV so I suppose you are an expert on interior design as well. If the food is awful, please be my guest to warn customers, but if it wasn't awful but simply a matter of your steak being overdone, then maybe say something like this.
"This place tends to over cook steaks", or "order less done than you want"..or generally very busy, not a date like place. Better for lunches..sure, but ripping on a business like Gail Simmons? No.
I have eaten at Le Bernardin, and I dont even consider myself a "foodie" so just stop it. And if you have never heard of Le Bernardin, you aren't one either.
Mrs. Newlywed Out!
Valentines Day: a Look Throughout History
Valentines day and I have always had a bit of a tumultuous realtionship. I have always understood that the day was a bit of non sense being that my parents raised us Assembly's of God and we were not to believe in anything that was Catholic. So if it had the name "Saint" in front of it, and it did not refer to a city, or bank holday it did not exist. Now if the church had a function, then we were alowed to pretend that we cared, but only if we made baked goods and didn't play cards, dance, or show any interest in boys beyond sitting in the Chapel together. Mostly the church Valentines Day functions were offered as a savvy alternative to the worldly Valentines that would involve the possibilty of sex after dinner. These were more like family functions with lots and lots of couples sitting at giant folding tables with red plastic table clothes. There were plenty of kids in the "nursery" or the "childrens church" while the adults had a potluck. At some point someone would take pictures of the couples in the largest wicker chair you have ever seen, with a satin red heart in the background. The back of this chair was as big as most area rugs and anything that involved church pictures, holidays, or tiara crownings were captured in time in this very chair. Seriously I Googled big wicker 1970s chair and this popped up. This is the chair.
Sure at school we enjoyed chocolate if it was brought for "the whole class", and many times because my mother didn't want us to feel left out from the rest of the school, ( we were already screwed out of All Hallows Eve mind you) so she would throw caution to the wind and let us participate in Valentines exchange. This is where all the kids in your class bring cheap drug store Valentines for one another. The kind that come 6 to a sheet, and are perforated so you can simply sign the back and rip off the next one. They always smelled nauseatingly like candies hearts and doll hair.
Nowit was important to be very careful which ones you gave to whom. I remember specifically in the 3rd grade, and instance when everyone was all hopped up on candy and chocolate, and all dressed in red and when asked to return to our seats as everyone passed out their valentines. The usual were put in our decorated Kleenex "mailboxes". From the girls, Minnie with a hand mirror..
"Happy Valentines Day you gorgeous thing you!"
From the boys...Ducktales boys saying "Have an Adventurous Valentines!"
Maybe you were lucky and got one with Dopey hugging a stump, or a Chip and Dale that simply said "Happy Valentines" but what you were really looking for was the ONE valentine that would say. "Be Mine"..That was it. That was all the girls wanted. 8 years old, and I knew if I didn't nail one down soon, I would be destined to be alone all through middle school.
They came and came. One after another of the stupid "friendly" Valentines..then it happened..I got the one with Minnie and Mickey kissing..I turned it over and it said " Kiss me and be my Valentine!" Signed...Jesse. Now Jesse wasn't what I would call my ideal. I mean common, he had crazy dark red hair. He was a little chubby, and covered in freckles, but hey! Who was I to be picky? Red was digging my action and strange as we was, he was still much cuter than the boys at the church. In fact for my age group there were exactly 3 cute boys at church. The one wanted nothing to do with me and the other 2 were my cousins. My options were very grim.
I swaggered up to Red Jesse and said "Hey". I was playing it cool. We had exchanged some witty banter a couple times over my wordfind in highlights magazine, but there was nothing relationship solid. I remember from reading one of those magazines at the Doctors office awaiting my allergy shots, that I would need to find something we would have in common if this relationship was to work. I racked my brain for something to talk about. Two days later the news had circulated that I had received the coveted "Be Mine!" Valentine. At recess I went to discuss our new relationship and social calendar with Jesse. As soon as I got close to him he started screaming at me to leave him alone. I looked at him confused, then down at my clip board and checklist of things we may have in common. He shoved me down into the rocks while all the other boys laughed at me. It was very dramatic and scaring. I chose to break it off with Jesse then. I also told everyone that when he urinated, it was pink because he had too much red dye in his system. I was very proud of this lie.
Fourth grade. First boyfriend. We rode the bus together, he lived in the super wealthy neighborhood, and his Mother made gifts for all the girls in his class. I was the only girl in a class other than his homeroom that got a gift. Teasing began as the news circled wildly. By the time we loaded the bus home, he had punched me in the nose, pushed me down and laughed at me. I was done with Valentines. No joke. I was beginning to think that all the red hearts were expressing empathy for all the bleeding I seemed to be doing on this holiday. I was 10 years old, and never attended school on Valentines Day again. Not even in college.
My senior year of high school my long term abusive high school boyfriend picked this wonderful holiday to tell me that he did not love me. He also said he didn't really like me all that much. And that him being away at college he didn't want a long distance relationship. (His college was less than an hour away.) I saw him two days later with his new girlfriend. She lived across the street from him in our hometown. He was a real coveted piece of classy that one.
First year of college I was dating a sweet guy named Saul. He was a quite a bit older than me, and imagine the horror I experienced, when after our Valentines Day dinner he brought me back to his place to meet his adorable cats, and eat the dessert he had made that I would be allergic to. Chocolate covered strawberries. We opened a bottle of Lambrusco. (thought we were classy drinking carbonated wine!) I am horribally allergic to strawberries. But I thought maybe I had outgrown it, because I had recently added back other fruits to my diet that I had formally been allergic to. Long story short, I ate the strawberries, went to the bathroom, had a lady issue...20 minutes later we were kissing, and I had to stop and beg my boyfriend to take me home because my lady bits had swelled to twice their size. And not in a good way. I had a serious allergic reaction. I fake a migraine. I then have to tell my Dad, because my sister has the car and I need a ride to the emergency room. Humiliation at its absolute best.
Later in college I was in a serious relationship with a long term boyfriend named Brad. He had a whole break my streak of bad Valentines Days strategy night planned. Dinner and dancing. We were in love and I was so crazy with anticipation! Boom 2 days before Valentines Day a piece of glass finds its way into my eye, and I once again end up in the emergency room this time with a severe laceraion to my cornea. Valentines was spent wearing an eye patch that made me look like a pirate, on the couch with a frozen pizza, and watching a terrible Martin Lawerence movie.
Final boyfriend before my husband, was a very very tall and very very dumb drink of Kool Aid named..well we will call him Blob. I introduced him to my sister at my job. The two of them sat chatting it up over a cocktail while I was working. My sister later told me that he was asking all kinds of questions about what to get me for Valentines Day. I had only been dating him a few weeks. I was totally stressing now.
"I have to buy him a gift? We barely know each other!"
She answers "Well you don't have to, but he's buying you some cool stuff. "
I spent the next three days obsessing about what to buy him. I came up with 2 very thoughtful, and inexpensive gifts. He had invited me to join him for dinner at a restaurant near by after work, but I should meet him at his house. I show up at 7pm, the agreed upon time, and sat on the couch with his two very nice, but very stoned roommates. At 9pm I sent him a message saying I thought I should probably just go. He said he was sorry, that he was caught up at work, and he would be there soon. I stayed seated with the two thoughtful gifts in my lap, their red bows judging me with every passing minute. I was trying to make conversation with the stoned strangers whose names, hometowns, occupation and aspirations I now know. 10pm he shows up. Restaurant was closed. He had bought no gifts.
When I met my husband I was relieved and irritated when he uttered the words " I don't do Valentines Day". Irritated that I would just seriously have to give up on Valentines Day. Set it free. Once I did I felt a pretty serious sense of relief. We did find ourselves out to dinner this Valentines Day simply because we both happened to have the night off and wanted to go out to dinner and a gallery opening. We went to one of our favorite restaurants and we very disappointed with the jacked up holiday prices and TINY portions. Below is the entree..Yeah! The ENTREE. We both got drunk because of lack of food! This was butter poached lobster claw on a tablespoon of crab salad, 2 blood orange slices and crispy fennel. 4 bites tops.
We had a lovely night laughing at the ridiculousness that is the Hallmark holiday, and vowed to continue to ignore the holiday together.
Happy Valentines Day Everyone! (or if you're like me, happy national call in sick day!)
Sure at school we enjoyed chocolate if it was brought for "the whole class", and many times because my mother didn't want us to feel left out from the rest of the school, ( we were already screwed out of All Hallows Eve mind you) so she would throw caution to the wind and let us participate in Valentines exchange. This is where all the kids in your class bring cheap drug store Valentines for one another. The kind that come 6 to a sheet, and are perforated so you can simply sign the back and rip off the next one. They always smelled nauseatingly like candies hearts and doll hair.
Nowit was important to be very careful which ones you gave to whom. I remember specifically in the 3rd grade, and instance when everyone was all hopped up on candy and chocolate, and all dressed in red and when asked to return to our seats as everyone passed out their valentines. The usual were put in our decorated Kleenex "mailboxes". From the girls, Minnie with a hand mirror..
"Happy Valentines Day you gorgeous thing you!"
From the boys...Ducktales boys saying "Have an Adventurous Valentines!"
Maybe you were lucky and got one with Dopey hugging a stump, or a Chip and Dale that simply said "Happy Valentines" but what you were really looking for was the ONE valentine that would say. "Be Mine"..That was it. That was all the girls wanted. 8 years old, and I knew if I didn't nail one down soon, I would be destined to be alone all through middle school.
They came and came. One after another of the stupid "friendly" Valentines..then it happened..I got the one with Minnie and Mickey kissing..I turned it over and it said " Kiss me and be my Valentine!" Signed...Jesse. Now Jesse wasn't what I would call my ideal. I mean common, he had crazy dark red hair. He was a little chubby, and covered in freckles, but hey! Who was I to be picky? Red was digging my action and strange as we was, he was still much cuter than the boys at the church. In fact for my age group there were exactly 3 cute boys at church. The one wanted nothing to do with me and the other 2 were my cousins. My options were very grim.
I swaggered up to Red Jesse and said "Hey". I was playing it cool. We had exchanged some witty banter a couple times over my wordfind in highlights magazine, but there was nothing relationship solid. I remember from reading one of those magazines at the Doctors office awaiting my allergy shots, that I would need to find something we would have in common if this relationship was to work. I racked my brain for something to talk about. Two days later the news had circulated that I had received the coveted "Be Mine!" Valentine. At recess I went to discuss our new relationship and social calendar with Jesse. As soon as I got close to him he started screaming at me to leave him alone. I looked at him confused, then down at my clip board and checklist of things we may have in common. He shoved me down into the rocks while all the other boys laughed at me. It was very dramatic and scaring. I chose to break it off with Jesse then. I also told everyone that when he urinated, it was pink because he had too much red dye in his system. I was very proud of this lie.
Fourth grade. First boyfriend. We rode the bus together, he lived in the super wealthy neighborhood, and his Mother made gifts for all the girls in his class. I was the only girl in a class other than his homeroom that got a gift. Teasing began as the news circled wildly. By the time we loaded the bus home, he had punched me in the nose, pushed me down and laughed at me. I was done with Valentines. No joke. I was beginning to think that all the red hearts were expressing empathy for all the bleeding I seemed to be doing on this holiday. I was 10 years old, and never attended school on Valentines Day again. Not even in college.
My senior year of high school my long term abusive high school boyfriend picked this wonderful holiday to tell me that he did not love me. He also said he didn't really like me all that much. And that him being away at college he didn't want a long distance relationship. (His college was less than an hour away.) I saw him two days later with his new girlfriend. She lived across the street from him in our hometown. He was a real coveted piece of classy that one.
First year of college I was dating a sweet guy named Saul. He was a quite a bit older than me, and imagine the horror I experienced, when after our Valentines Day dinner he brought me back to his place to meet his adorable cats, and eat the dessert he had made that I would be allergic to. Chocolate covered strawberries. We opened a bottle of Lambrusco. (thought we were classy drinking carbonated wine!) I am horribally allergic to strawberries. But I thought maybe I had outgrown it, because I had recently added back other fruits to my diet that I had formally been allergic to. Long story short, I ate the strawberries, went to the bathroom, had a lady issue...20 minutes later we were kissing, and I had to stop and beg my boyfriend to take me home because my lady bits had swelled to twice their size. And not in a good way. I had a serious allergic reaction. I fake a migraine. I then have to tell my Dad, because my sister has the car and I need a ride to the emergency room. Humiliation at its absolute best.
Later in college I was in a serious relationship with a long term boyfriend named Brad. He had a whole break my streak of bad Valentines Days strategy night planned. Dinner and dancing. We were in love and I was so crazy with anticipation! Boom 2 days before Valentines Day a piece of glass finds its way into my eye, and I once again end up in the emergency room this time with a severe laceraion to my cornea. Valentines was spent wearing an eye patch that made me look like a pirate, on the couch with a frozen pizza, and watching a terrible Martin Lawerence movie.
Final boyfriend before my husband, was a very very tall and very very dumb drink of Kool Aid named..well we will call him Blob. I introduced him to my sister at my job. The two of them sat chatting it up over a cocktail while I was working. My sister later told me that he was asking all kinds of questions about what to get me for Valentines Day. I had only been dating him a few weeks. I was totally stressing now.
"I have to buy him a gift? We barely know each other!"
She answers "Well you don't have to, but he's buying you some cool stuff. "
I spent the next three days obsessing about what to buy him. I came up with 2 very thoughtful, and inexpensive gifts. He had invited me to join him for dinner at a restaurant near by after work, but I should meet him at his house. I show up at 7pm, the agreed upon time, and sat on the couch with his two very nice, but very stoned roommates. At 9pm I sent him a message saying I thought I should probably just go. He said he was sorry, that he was caught up at work, and he would be there soon. I stayed seated with the two thoughtful gifts in my lap, their red bows judging me with every passing minute. I was trying to make conversation with the stoned strangers whose names, hometowns, occupation and aspirations I now know. 10pm he shows up. Restaurant was closed. He had bought no gifts.
When I met my husband I was relieved and irritated when he uttered the words " I don't do Valentines Day". Irritated that I would just seriously have to give up on Valentines Day. Set it free. Once I did I felt a pretty serious sense of relief. We did find ourselves out to dinner this Valentines Day simply because we both happened to have the night off and wanted to go out to dinner and a gallery opening. We went to one of our favorite restaurants and we very disappointed with the jacked up holiday prices and TINY portions. Below is the entree..Yeah! The ENTREE. We both got drunk because of lack of food! This was butter poached lobster claw on a tablespoon of crab salad, 2 blood orange slices and crispy fennel. 4 bites tops.
We had a lovely night laughing at the ridiculousness that is the Hallmark holiday, and vowed to continue to ignore the holiday together.
Happy Valentines Day Everyone! (or if you're like me, happy national call in sick day!)
The "New" Me
I am sure that many of you have noticed that I have not written a post in quite sometime. (By many of you, what I mean is "Hi Mom, look I'm back!") There are many excuses for this including things have sucked. I don't feel creative or funny when I am stressed out, and who wants to read some bitch moan on about her problems? Don't we all already have to do this for our friends enough? But here is the honest to God answer of why I have not made a post this year of 2012. I needed to make a change. A real one. And I did.
My husband and I took our annual trek to Orlando, FL for Christmas last year. We drove non stop the 16 hours back to St. Louis and in a blur, so that we could both be back to work. I was informed that I would not be allowed to be off work on New Years Eve. Not that they needed me mind you, just that if the New Year's Eve had to suck for them, it would need to suck for me too. Okay I don't know if that is true, but I feel like that is the case some of the time. This New Years Eve, I would be at work, for little reason, making little money when the ball dropped.
My wonderful husband who finds my place of employment to be the least of places that he finds "cool", behind "pretty much any other bar", and the toilet at home, graced me with his presence and came to meet me for a kiss just as the clock struck midnight. He of course left shortly after, and I had a lot of time to think. What would this year look like, this...2012.
I try to take a deep breath and am met with shallow breathing as I stare at the gleaming white object between my index and middle finger. Smoke is billowing in the air dancing in swirling lies of how "cool" and "relaxed" I must look. I was watching the smoke stretching as though even it is trying to run away from me as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I am pale. My eyes look dull. My skin is very dry and cracked from the dry winter air. My hair is lack luster. I have a "tire" of sorts around my mid section and my ass has gotten bigger and somehow flatter. My arms jiggle where there had once been defined muscle tone. My shoulders once broad from years of playing competitive sports were rounded. My posture was reminiscent of a man who lives in a bell tower in France. I stared at my reflection and could see the proverbial forked paths ahead of me. I could see what I was going to look like New Years Eve 2020 when I am 40 if I kept on this path of smoking, eating like crap, and never exercising. It is time to get serious about my health, and I know try as I have to live a healthy lifestyle and still smoke, even on a casual social smokers basis, it does NOT work. I am just one of those people who one or two is not gonna work for me. I go a month without smoking and then have one outside with friends, and the next thing you know I am asking people at stop lights for a lighter at 10pm so I can finish the pack I bought that afternoon.
It was time to say goodbye to all bad things and bad behavior. It was time for a change. 2012 is the year I focus on being my most authentic self. Finding a way to be proud of myself and my appearance again. And the first thing to go is the cigarettes. I cried. I really really cried. I would miss them. Or so I thought I would. But if I ever want to even think about having a baby someday, or not have cancer, or walk three flights of stair unchallenged, I would need to suck it up and quit. For the first time of many attempts to quit, I didn't save an emergency stash. I flushed the remaining half a pack I had. I went cold turkey for 2 days.
Day three I was an absolute animal. Angry, snarling, foaming at the mouth. Okay not foaming, but definitely depressed and unhappy. My husband calls me as he is stopping at the smoke shop to ask if I need anything. Meaning, "would you please smoke again? You're being a real pain in the ass." I asked him to buy one of those electronic cigarettes. That little beautiful invention saved my life!
I didn't use it as though I was a smoker. I used like a rescue inhaler. When my blood pressure would shoot through the roof, or a craving came on that was just too hard to bare I would use the e cigarette. It would occur to me every time that I wanted to throw in the towel and just bum a smoke from my husband that with this little invention, there are no longer any excuses. For ten years we smokers have complained that "If they would just invent something I could hold. Its not the smoking I'm addicted to, its the habit and having something to hold. That would help." Or "the patch doesn't work for me because you get all the nicotine at once. And for me its more of an oral fixation." And my personal favorite.."If they would just invent something that felt like a cigarette I could pull off of, I would quit for sure." Well guess what! Here it is! It even costs the same. So no excuses! Time to quit.
I have had two other friends recently quit using the electronic cigarettes. My friend Curtis is a writer. He would take his mental creative breaks with a trip outside to light up. He said, "I decided I was just going to use the e cigarette until I felt silly." It worked for him too. It worked so well that even when my husband called to tell me that the job he had worked at for the last 6 years had just let him go, I didn't light up. I sat smoke free as he told me that there would be no severance, no insurance, and not even a final full paycheck. Just a "Sorry cant afford your position anymore." Just peace out. This was in February. That was the defining moment. I figured if I could go through that without smoking, there would never be a good enough reason to smoke again.
To cope with the loss of nicotine, employment and to try and feel better about myself I got a lot more serious about yoga. It really helped me to manage stress and fine an outlet to put my anger. I also rededicated myself to my faith, and decided to undertake the challenge of reading the bible in its entirety in one year. What the heck, change one thing, might as well overhaul!
It has been 6 months tomorrow I have gone without smoking. My husband still doesn't have full time employment and I couldn't care less. God is showing me so much about myself, and how to trust in him as our financial source, not us. The lights are still on. We still have full access cable. Still have insurance and the car payment and rent are getting paid. This house hold has $40,000 less a year coming in. I make about $19,000 a year, and we are fine. In fact, we are almost out of debt. Now if that ain't a miracle I don't know what is! My husband is so much happier now too.
I gained 8 lbs when I quit, but have slowly turned the gain into muscle. No trainer, no diet, just Yoga/Pilates and a lot of cardio. My body looks better than it did in my 20s. I am so much more in tune with who I am, and how my actions affect others around me now. Don't get me wrong quitting sucked. My husband continues to smoke, (yes in the house) but thanks to the peace and patience that Jesus gives me (and 25 foot ceilings) it bothers me very little. I can now run 2 miles in under 18 minutes, and my skin and posture is better. I have a great ass and no more cellulite. The best part is I still eat...a lot! 2012 is finally kicking ass!
My husband and I took our annual trek to Orlando, FL for Christmas last year. We drove non stop the 16 hours back to St. Louis and in a blur, so that we could both be back to work. I was informed that I would not be allowed to be off work on New Years Eve. Not that they needed me mind you, just that if the New Year's Eve had to suck for them, it would need to suck for me too. Okay I don't know if that is true, but I feel like that is the case some of the time. This New Years Eve, I would be at work, for little reason, making little money when the ball dropped.
My wonderful husband who finds my place of employment to be the least of places that he finds "cool", behind "pretty much any other bar", and the toilet at home, graced me with his presence and came to meet me for a kiss just as the clock struck midnight. He of course left shortly after, and I had a lot of time to think. What would this year look like, this...2012.
I try to take a deep breath and am met with shallow breathing as I stare at the gleaming white object between my index and middle finger. Smoke is billowing in the air dancing in swirling lies of how "cool" and "relaxed" I must look. I was watching the smoke stretching as though even it is trying to run away from me as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I am pale. My eyes look dull. My skin is very dry and cracked from the dry winter air. My hair is lack luster. I have a "tire" of sorts around my mid section and my ass has gotten bigger and somehow flatter. My arms jiggle where there had once been defined muscle tone. My shoulders once broad from years of playing competitive sports were rounded. My posture was reminiscent of a man who lives in a bell tower in France. I stared at my reflection and could see the proverbial forked paths ahead of me. I could see what I was going to look like New Years Eve 2020 when I am 40 if I kept on this path of smoking, eating like crap, and never exercising. It is time to get serious about my health, and I know try as I have to live a healthy lifestyle and still smoke, even on a casual social smokers basis, it does NOT work. I am just one of those people who one or two is not gonna work for me. I go a month without smoking and then have one outside with friends, and the next thing you know I am asking people at stop lights for a lighter at 10pm so I can finish the pack I bought that afternoon.
It was time to say goodbye to all bad things and bad behavior. It was time for a change. 2012 is the year I focus on being my most authentic self. Finding a way to be proud of myself and my appearance again. And the first thing to go is the cigarettes. I cried. I really really cried. I would miss them. Or so I thought I would. But if I ever want to even think about having a baby someday, or not have cancer, or walk three flights of stair unchallenged, I would need to suck it up and quit. For the first time of many attempts to quit, I didn't save an emergency stash. I flushed the remaining half a pack I had. I went cold turkey for 2 days.
Day three I was an absolute animal. Angry, snarling, foaming at the mouth. Okay not foaming, but definitely depressed and unhappy. My husband calls me as he is stopping at the smoke shop to ask if I need anything. Meaning, "would you please smoke again? You're being a real pain in the ass." I asked him to buy one of those electronic cigarettes. That little beautiful invention saved my life!
I didn't use it as though I was a smoker. I used like a rescue inhaler. When my blood pressure would shoot through the roof, or a craving came on that was just too hard to bare I would use the e cigarette. It would occur to me every time that I wanted to throw in the towel and just bum a smoke from my husband that with this little invention, there are no longer any excuses. For ten years we smokers have complained that "If they would just invent something I could hold. Its not the smoking I'm addicted to, its the habit and having something to hold. That would help." Or "the patch doesn't work for me because you get all the nicotine at once. And for me its more of an oral fixation." And my personal favorite.."If they would just invent something that felt like a cigarette I could pull off of, I would quit for sure." Well guess what! Here it is! It even costs the same. So no excuses! Time to quit.
I have had two other friends recently quit using the electronic cigarettes. My friend Curtis is a writer. He would take his mental creative breaks with a trip outside to light up. He said, "I decided I was just going to use the e cigarette until I felt silly." It worked for him too. It worked so well that even when my husband called to tell me that the job he had worked at for the last 6 years had just let him go, I didn't light up. I sat smoke free as he told me that there would be no severance, no insurance, and not even a final full paycheck. Just a "Sorry cant afford your position anymore." Just peace out. This was in February. That was the defining moment. I figured if I could go through that without smoking, there would never be a good enough reason to smoke again.
To cope with the loss of nicotine, employment and to try and feel better about myself I got a lot more serious about yoga. It really helped me to manage stress and fine an outlet to put my anger. I also rededicated myself to my faith, and decided to undertake the challenge of reading the bible in its entirety in one year. What the heck, change one thing, might as well overhaul!
It has been 6 months tomorrow I have gone without smoking. My husband still doesn't have full time employment and I couldn't care less. God is showing me so much about myself, and how to trust in him as our financial source, not us. The lights are still on. We still have full access cable. Still have insurance and the car payment and rent are getting paid. This house hold has $40,000 less a year coming in. I make about $19,000 a year, and we are fine. In fact, we are almost out of debt. Now if that ain't a miracle I don't know what is! My husband is so much happier now too.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Pan Flute Suicide
In every relationship there comes a time in which the massage exchange goes from foreplay to work. Gone are those days where we used to massage each other for the simple reason that the other person's shoulders were in our field of vision. The urge to have any excuse to touch one another is no longer needed. Though I was prepared for this shift, it was proven even more difficult with the fact that my husband must be the planets only living person who hates to be rubbed.
Massages are something he has only asked for from me twice ever! Both times when he was in serious pain. I, on the other hand come from a long lineage of people who hold all of their stress in their shoulders, and at the end of most stressful days you can almost see gumball sized knots at the tops of my shoulder blades.
I do everything to try to avoid this pain that comes natural. I do yoga five times a week. I try ibuprofen, but sometimes a girl just needs a rub. This month has been extremely busy for me and my work and my gumballs were turning to baseballs. After asking my husband several times in a week for a massage and was met with the inevitable eye roll and sigh, he finally told me he would buy me a proper one from a professional. I was over the moon!
There is new massage chain that has opened on the main strip just blocks from my house. I gave them a call, and it seems that they were doing a promotion for a 90 minute massage for $58. I booked the appointment.
I arrived freshly showered and with no contacts in or makeup on. I was ready to do some relaxing. I meet my therapist and I am very skeptical since when meeting her hand for a shake, it felt like a dead fish. This did not bring confidence that she had the stuff to battle the baseballs. Non the less she showed me to my "room". I love how they called them rooms when we all know they are cubicals at best. I also find it funny that they always tell you to undress to the "level that you find comfortable". I wonder if anyone ever gets under the sheet in their pajamas, or simply remove their shoes. I am not shy, or particularly modest. I majored in figure study in college. So down to all natural I go. However, I was a little surprised at the very short time she gave me to do this, almost catching me in a position I only plan on my husband and the cats ever seeing me in. I quickly got under the sheets.
As she began I was thinking, "Okay, time to relax!" I took a very deep breath and was pleasantly aware that Vivaldi' "Spring" was playing on the sound system. I thought to myself, this is so nice! I love classical music and so prefer it over all those nonsense "relaxation" sounds. This was a thought I wish I had not had!
Immediately following Vivaldi began ocean sounds. This is very distracting to me. I know that most people love the beach, but having spent a lot of time in Florida the beach to me is not relaxing. Most of the time they are dirty. It takes awhile to get there. Then it rains. There is sand in every fashion of the word. You smell of dead fish and your skin if sensitive like mine, is dry, burning and rashy from the salt.
"Okay okay, focus! The ocean is beautiful! Just pretend your are at a nice roof top pool NEXT to the beach." I get my head back in the game and am enjoying the massage. After all it could be worse. It could be pan flutes......."Crap."
As the pan flute...song? begins my mind begins to explore who in the world thought that pan flutes are relaxing anyway? When I was a kid I remember going to Cahokia Mounds and being a little creep-ed out. I had a real hippy friend in college that practiced paganism and went to sweat lodges and all that, and it was not glamorous. She always smelled, and seemed to have the worse luck in the world. I mean God love the Native Americans and all, but all the rituals and dark spirits crap, when did people decide this belonged in a spa? Pan flute song ends. Thank God!
I am crossing my super relaxed phalanges that the next song is classical again. That was way to much to ask. It was my third worse fear. Sounds of a babbling brook.
"Great!..Great! Half an hour into the ninety minutes and I have to pee!" Plus I clearly have some sort of water issue. The sound of it running makes me think of three things. One, I have to pee. Two, the toilet is running again. Three, is the beach or drowning. I am at this point really trying to coach my mind. "Just ignore the music and sounds. Try to go to sleep."
A nice acoustic guitar begins. This is what I am talking about. It's a little folksy but that's okay. I will transform my mind to the hillsides of the Ozarks or..damn! Pan flute again! Really?! In what world does pan flute and acoustic guitar even sound good to someone? The song ends and I am longing for the days of beach sounds.
Next song is a nice piano ballad. Sounds beautiful. This is what I am talking about! The therapist asks me to turn over and as I do I hear the breathy low whistle again. I begin to picture the recording studio where all this music was recorded. I picture the pianist an Asian man in a tuxedo. The guitar guy with a long grey hair pony tail and dirty blue jeans. And the pan flute a full blooded Cherokee Indian with full head dress and peyote eyes. They all talk to the recording engineer and true the already racist thought I was having, the Native American guy will work for half what the other guys will per hour. So he just plays on everyone else's record.
It got more and more comical as the following songs would begin with a harp followed by the pan flute. Drum solo followed by pan flute. When the pan flute came on over a saxophone I actually laughed out loud. The therapist apologized for tickling me. I didnt have the heart to tell her it wasn't the massage, it was their atrocious taste in music.
All in all I did really enjoy the massage, but people come on! I can't be the only person in the world distracted by this nonsense. I will probably go back there someday, but this time I will be armed with an Ipod full of Bach, and Coltrane! Although I'm not positive, but I am pretty sure they never made a piece that included a pan flute.
Massages are something he has only asked for from me twice ever! Both times when he was in serious pain. I, on the other hand come from a long lineage of people who hold all of their stress in their shoulders, and at the end of most stressful days you can almost see gumball sized knots at the tops of my shoulder blades.
I do everything to try to avoid this pain that comes natural. I do yoga five times a week. I try ibuprofen, but sometimes a girl just needs a rub. This month has been extremely busy for me and my work and my gumballs were turning to baseballs. After asking my husband several times in a week for a massage and was met with the inevitable eye roll and sigh, he finally told me he would buy me a proper one from a professional. I was over the moon!
There is new massage chain that has opened on the main strip just blocks from my house. I gave them a call, and it seems that they were doing a promotion for a 90 minute massage for $58. I booked the appointment.
I arrived freshly showered and with no contacts in or makeup on. I was ready to do some relaxing. I meet my therapist and I am very skeptical since when meeting her hand for a shake, it felt like a dead fish. This did not bring confidence that she had the stuff to battle the baseballs. Non the less she showed me to my "room". I love how they called them rooms when we all know they are cubicals at best. I also find it funny that they always tell you to undress to the "level that you find comfortable". I wonder if anyone ever gets under the sheet in their pajamas, or simply remove their shoes. I am not shy, or particularly modest. I majored in figure study in college. So down to all natural I go. However, I was a little surprised at the very short time she gave me to do this, almost catching me in a position I only plan on my husband and the cats ever seeing me in. I quickly got under the sheets.
As she began I was thinking, "Okay, time to relax!" I took a very deep breath and was pleasantly aware that Vivaldi' "Spring" was playing on the sound system. I thought to myself, this is so nice! I love classical music and so prefer it over all those nonsense "relaxation" sounds. This was a thought I wish I had not had!
Immediately following Vivaldi began ocean sounds. This is very distracting to me. I know that most people love the beach, but having spent a lot of time in Florida the beach to me is not relaxing. Most of the time they are dirty. It takes awhile to get there. Then it rains. There is sand in every fashion of the word. You smell of dead fish and your skin if sensitive like mine, is dry, burning and rashy from the salt.
"Okay okay, focus! The ocean is beautiful! Just pretend your are at a nice roof top pool NEXT to the beach." I get my head back in the game and am enjoying the massage. After all it could be worse. It could be pan flutes......."Crap."
As the pan flute...song? begins my mind begins to explore who in the world thought that pan flutes are relaxing anyway? When I was a kid I remember going to Cahokia Mounds and being a little creep-ed out. I had a real hippy friend in college that practiced paganism and went to sweat lodges and all that, and it was not glamorous. She always smelled, and seemed to have the worse luck in the world. I mean God love the Native Americans and all, but all the rituals and dark spirits crap, when did people decide this belonged in a spa? Pan flute song ends. Thank God!
I am crossing my super relaxed phalanges that the next song is classical again. That was way to much to ask. It was my third worse fear. Sounds of a babbling brook.
"Great!..Great! Half an hour into the ninety minutes and I have to pee!" Plus I clearly have some sort of water issue. The sound of it running makes me think of three things. One, I have to pee. Two, the toilet is running again. Three, is the beach or drowning. I am at this point really trying to coach my mind. "Just ignore the music and sounds. Try to go to sleep."
A nice acoustic guitar begins. This is what I am talking about. It's a little folksy but that's okay. I will transform my mind to the hillsides of the Ozarks or..damn! Pan flute again! Really?! In what world does pan flute and acoustic guitar even sound good to someone? The song ends and I am longing for the days of beach sounds.
Next song is a nice piano ballad. Sounds beautiful. This is what I am talking about! The therapist asks me to turn over and as I do I hear the breathy low whistle again. I begin to picture the recording studio where all this music was recorded. I picture the pianist an Asian man in a tuxedo. The guitar guy with a long grey hair pony tail and dirty blue jeans. And the pan flute a full blooded Cherokee Indian with full head dress and peyote eyes. They all talk to the recording engineer and true the already racist thought I was having, the Native American guy will work for half what the other guys will per hour. So he just plays on everyone else's record.
It got more and more comical as the following songs would begin with a harp followed by the pan flute. Drum solo followed by pan flute. When the pan flute came on over a saxophone I actually laughed out loud. The therapist apologized for tickling me. I didnt have the heart to tell her it wasn't the massage, it was their atrocious taste in music.
All in all I did really enjoy the massage, but people come on! I can't be the only person in the world distracted by this nonsense. I will probably go back there someday, but this time I will be armed with an Ipod full of Bach, and Coltrane! Although I'm not positive, but I am pretty sure they never made a piece that included a pan flute.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Murphy's Law
My wedding day was by far the best day of my life. I understand those that don't want to plan a wedding. I understand the pressure of the day, and to most eloping seems like the best course of action. I understand this, but there is really something to be said for saying those words in front of all the people that you love. The wedding is a trial of patience, and planning one together and working through all your differences in opinion, will teach you so much about each other, and what your life will be like together. And if I have taken away one thing from the big to do wedding, it is this. Do it. Because if you can get through planning one, the marriage is a breeze!
At the hotel we were all getting ready quickly, having our makeup done, by my very pregnant friend. My sister was doing my hair into what she calls her "Marie Antoinette meets New York City up-do." My nieces were admiring their dresses in the mirror, all was going well. I call down to the front desk and have them send up a bottle of champagne. Everyone is bustling around and laughing. It came time to put the dress on. Whose fitting had become somewhat of a trial. When I first got it, it was too small. Then I lost a bunch of weight and it was too big. Then I had it taken in, and it was very snug. I was sweating hoping that the filet mingnon I had for the rehearsal dinner hadn't set me over the edge. My niece is pulling with all her might to get that zipper up, and no budge. Then my sister came over and suggested that I put my arms up in the air. No dice. Finally after a ten minute struggle, my hands over my head and my face beet red from holding my breath it zips! I sigh and laugh in relief, I look at my gorgeous gown in the mirror, and mutter to it "you bitch."
I began the morning in wonderful spirits. I awoke after a good nights sleep, got my things together and my sister and I made our way to the hotel. We had decided that for photos ops, this was a superior plan to getting ready in the church basement. I am very happy that the photographer suggested this, since it turns out that the church that we were to be married in, was also having their annual "Free Turkey Dinner" in the basement. This would be driving in the hobos and less fortunate through the doors of the church while our string quartet would be playing. I made no fuss over this. Who doesn't love the smell of turkey? I for one think that gravy and phalaenopsis orchids should be a national treasure!
At the hotel we were all getting ready quickly, having our makeup done, by my very pregnant friend. My sister was doing my hair into what she calls her "Marie Antoinette meets New York City up-do." My nieces were admiring their dresses in the mirror, all was going well. I call down to the front desk and have them send up a bottle of champagne. Everyone is bustling around and laughing. It came time to put the dress on. Whose fitting had become somewhat of a trial. When I first got it, it was too small. Then I lost a bunch of weight and it was too big. Then I had it taken in, and it was very snug. I was sweating hoping that the filet mingnon I had for the rehearsal dinner hadn't set me over the edge. My niece is pulling with all her might to get that zipper up, and no budge. Then my sister came over and suggested that I put my arms up in the air. No dice. Finally after a ten minute struggle, my hands over my head and my face beet red from holding my breath it zips! I sigh and laugh in relief, I look at my gorgeous gown in the mirror, and mutter to it "you bitch."We finish getting ready and walk down to the main entrance and wait for my father to get the car to take us all to the church. We do about an hours worth of pictures outside in the beautiful park across the street. The photographers set up a nice little surprise moment for me to see the groom. As we are walking through the fallen autumn leaves, we glance across the park to see that there is another wedding party there. We laughed and made West Side Story comparisons. I have a picture of my brother in law impersonating Andy Samberg and yelling "We'll throw your wedding to the ground!" How dare they take their wedding pictures in this public park the same time as us!
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| We'll throw yo wedding to the ground! |
I am waiting in the wings of the sanctuary as a string quartet and my best friend on trumpet play several of our favorite songs by Elvis Costello. My palms are sweating, butterflies are all a flurry, and heart is pounding. I get stage fright , and always have. I was focusing on not tripping in my four inch Betsy Johnson shoes. To my families credit, no one asked if I was nervous. I think I may have thrown up if they did. But somehow they knew I was. I wasn't nervous about getting married, just about it going right. My sister tries to keep me calm. The quartet keeps playing. Out of the corner of my eye I see several guys from the wedding party out on the church steps running back and forth without their tuxedo jackets on. Appearing to be mingling with the guests of the turkey dinner. The quartet keeps playing. Then I see the best man running out of the church onto the steps, and now the quartet has run out of songs.
My best friend comes to the wing I am waiting in , and asks if they should repeat the set? I am freaking out now. What is the hold up! We have been waiting to start the ceremony for 20 minutes now. It seems that the confetti cannon that was suppose to blow as we exited the church had gone off accidentally. All the grooms men were outside on their hands and knees picking up tissue paper outside, and frantically stuffing it back into the cannon. Finally the ceremony begins.
My Dad walks me down the isle to "Maybe I'm Amazed" with my aunt on piano, the string quartet and my friend on trumpet. They rocked it! I was trying so hard not to cry and mess up my makeup. We begin the ceremony, and my father was the officiant. Next thing I know we are saying I do. It turns out that in the many many details there are, I forgot to inform him that we had written our own vows. I was trying to get his attention, but it was too late. Eh, oh well. The exact words aren't important, the content is what counts.
We had asked my brother in law to arrange God Only Knows by the beach boys for the communion. My whole family are professional singers. He never says no, but the week before the wedding he says, "I just don't know, this song is a monster! It changes keys like every measure, and arranging it for four singers will be really difficult. Maybe you should pick a different song." I think all couples have the songs that are really special to you. I couldn't even fathom another song that would work and mean the same. You get to a point where you just want people to make it happen. And thanks to him they did. The music was also given to the string quartet to accompany them, and when they got to the microphones to sing, the quartet shook their heads no. They totally bailed! My sweet sisters and two brother in laws being the professionals that they are, just looked at each other and did it anyway acapella. They sounded awesome too!
We walk out of the church to the song "Waterloo Sunset" by The Kinks and the cannon goes off, and it was beautiful! Shimmering white paper floating in the air, in some pictures it looks like snow. We reach the bottom steps to what was suppose to be a black Lincoln Towncar with a special edition bottle of Tattinger in it. The driver opens the door for me into what I believe was a Lincoln LS, which is about half the size of a town car. He was picking confetti off of me and brushing the seat with his hands like he was touching anthrax. My husband gets in the car and the driver says very short, "Where to?" My husband realizes that he left the champagne in the refrigerator at the church and asks the driver to jet down the alley quickly so he can grab it. As soon as the groom exits the car, the driver is furiously brushing the seats with his hand, and huffing and puffing as though the twenty bits of paper were red paint or bubble gum. When he gets back into the car he turns to me and says, "Well you know you can't drink that in here."
I said, "I'm sorry?"
He goes off on a tangent about how he doesn't have a licence for that, that because there is no partition it is a total non negotiable. Here it is, my especially special and stressful day, and this joker is treating me, the bride, like an agent from the IRS. I started to cry. I was so mad, and thinking to myself, well if you would have brought us Lincoln Towncar that we requested, there would be a partition! My husband gets back in the car, sees that I am crying, and becomes furious. I explain to my husband that the driver has been mean, and we cannot open the $300 bottle of champagne.
My husbands face becomes very red. And he blows like Mt. St Helen's. I know that there was no white horse, or shiny armor, but through the very lengthy string of profanities that flowed out of his mouth to this driver, they felt like a defending of honor. It was very rescuing tactical. He demanded that he let us out of the car, and that he had no business talking to me like that, or making me cry on my wedding day. He said, "Turn around! We will just take our minivan!" We are not even one block away from the church, and the driver is saying that he will not let us out of the car until he gets paid. My husband throws $200 at him in disgust. It was much like one of those Italian mobsters throwing money at a hooker. $200 bucks to go 50 feet, and be abused. So there I stand in the parking lot of the church, in my wedding gown, watching as my family leaves one car at a time as my husband tries to find someone to drive us. My uncle yells from a car "Hey lady you need a ride?" I started laughing. This really is ridiculous! It is sinking in at this point that we did in fact just fire our driver. My brother in law comes outside smiling from ear to ear and tells me my chariot awaits. I laugh as we turn to look at our ten year old, very dirty, minivan with a scratched up fender. We brush the ashes from the seats, moving the grocery bags, and empty water bottles, and popped that champagne!
After taking many pictures downtown, we make our way to the hotel. When we arrive, there are easily 200 cars wrapping chaotically around the valet, which is now located at the west entrance blocking traffic, because the main entrance is undergoing renovation. Then I remembered that the reason our reception was moved to the rooftop was because Washington University was having their annual alumni dinner which had about 800 guests. 800 guests in fancy cocktail attire all wanting to valet park. After almost thirty minutes in line, we finally get out of the car, and there are about eight greeters in the foyer directing people. It turns out that the guest speaker for the dinner, has the same last name as my maiden last name. So in droves strange wealthy people are arriving up to the roof to my wedding reception. And my guests who say they are their for "maiden name party" are charged for valet thinking that they were their for the alumni dinner, and not the wedding reception. It was total chaos. What are the chances?
From there everything was late. The events director came to me and said that my guests were trying to do shots at the bar, this was not hotel policy, and that they would not do this. I laughed to myself. I am a bartender, of course my friends are trying to do shots! My best friend finds us in the hallway and expresses slightly slurred and uncomfortably loud that she had in fact gotten the bartender to make them shots.We got the reception started easily and hour and a half late. Then the toasts ran really long. Most of the food was cold. My DJ had to leave for another engagement, and the valet lost his car, subsequently getting him fired from his weekly gig. A friend worked the Ipod for the dances, and announced many of them in the form of a question.
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| The very swanky rooftop space we got from being kicked off the ballroom floor by the Alumni dinner. Talk about lucked out! |
"Now, the bride and the father?"
In the end it was the best day of my life! The best part about having things go wrong, is how you handle it. And I really couldn't care less. It was my wedding day, and if I fell in a cake or caught my dress on fire, it wouldn't matter because at the end of the day, I would be Mrs. Newlywed. I wouldn't change a thing! I had a blast, and it turns out, I think my favorite part was riding in my minivan, in a gown that cost more than the car, sipping $300 champagne and my brother driving us.
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| End of the night, barefoot and catastrophes over! |
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Air Pudding!
I understand that this economy is rough. We have all had to make sacrifices. Gone are the days of monthly pedicures and trips to Whole Paycheck. (Whole Foods) Even a day trip in the car seems silly with the way the gas prices are. I can fly to Orlando round trip twice in the amount of money it takes to drive there.
I have tried to be a conscientious consumer. We have all been told that we are killing the earth, blah blah blah. We have replaced a real reasonable amount of our household light bulbs with the ones that make us all look like Betty White. I always try to buy things on sale and use the occasional coupon. We are anal about recycling. I always carry my own grocery bags to the store. And when I do use plastic, I recycle it as well. I have not bought a paper towel in four years. (You can purchase lint free washable rags from any linen company for about 13 cents a piece.) If there was a reasonable and sanitary way to free myself from buying toilet paper, I would seriously consider it. Basically, if being green means cheaper for me, I'm on board.
What is frustrating, is that here we all are. Brushing our teeth with the water off, Turning up our thermostats when we leave the house. Doing everything to keep consumer prices down by keeping our usage conservative, and what do we get in return? Air pudding.
I'm sure that I am not the only one that is realizing that our consumer products that we all know and love and have been using for our entire lives are changing. God forbid the owners/stockholders/CEO's of these companies take a hit like the rest of us. Oh no! They have figured out a way to keep the cost of doing business to a minimum and raise their prices to boot! They are probably making more money than ever!
The "air pudding" effect is a phrase my husband coined to describe something as having substance, when in reality is superfluous. A good example would be Lady Gaga, or replacing actual product with literal air. It started small. The "Campbells" tomato soup that I have been eating for years as my once a month tomato soup and grilled cheese treat, was ruined by air. The soup used to come out of the can much like cranberry sauce. It was dense and expectantly so, since the can says on the label, "condensed soup". You could add a whole can of milk to it and get yummy creamy tomato soup. Now it pours out of the can like the milk your suppose to add to it. They added air, and there is probably all of 1/4 the original product in the can. And as long as we are on "Campbells", my mother has a couple of recipes that call for Cream of Chicken soup. The cream of chicken has not ONE piece of chicken in it. As well as pouring out of the can like something not far away from mucus. It is slimy, not creamy, and I am sure everyone has noticed the air pudding effect when asked to bring the green bean casserole to Thanksgiving.
Potato chips seems to cost twice the amount of money, and I don't think anyone is fooled by the big puffy bag. It has half the chips it used to. And your lucky if you get one whole actual potato in chip form, and not crumb. Air pudding.
I have used Colgate toothpaste for over a decade easily. The large tube used to last about 6 months and the small about 3. I brush my teeth twice a day, sometimes three. The last small tube of toothpaste I bought less than 5 weeks ago, I am struggling with to get the paste out. It looks like the tube is half full, but its all air pudding.
Not to be redundant, but after making my own tomato soup today out of cans of whole peeled tomatoes, I was putting my grilled cheese together with "Velveeta" (don't judge) and there was a giant hole in the middle of the brick. Air pudding!!
I read somewhere that when Frank Mars founded snickers in 1930 it did really well. In the 1960's however, the company came up with a business plan to make it the $2 billion dollar a year product that it is today. Make the candy bar just a little smaller every year. No one will notice a couple cementers a year. And raise the price versus cost a little every year. Remember when we were kids how big a Snickers bar was? It's easily half the size today! It's not as long, or as wide.
I know we are all suppose to really feel bad about things coming in big sizes since we as Americans can't seems to get off out ass a couple times a week and walk. There are all kinds of perfectly able bodied Americans that raise the prices at the grocery store by asking the shop to accommodate them with electronic scooter carts. Do you know that one year ago, I decided to keep track of how many people I see at the store with those carts that may be on crutches, or are elderly, or have cancer? You know what the percentage of those people is. 0%. I have seen more strong cancer patients rocking echo scarves on their bald heads walking with a basket than in a scooter cart.
These product companies are making us thin; they are pioneers! Look at us! Our product has less calories! Less saturated fat! Or even the newest bull crap on the nutrition wave "whole grains". Not that whole grains is crap, but I'll eat it in whole grain form like bread, or cracker. I don't want need or see necessary whole grain ice cream! But guess what, I'm not buying it. You don't care about me or my health. If you did, you would care about the economy and make the margins of profit the same, and not raise the price because your CEO can't afford his monthly hole in the water yacht excursion. And this is for you "Duncan Heins"! If I want whole grains, I will eat my normal salad and Triscuit lunch. Please don't change your bakery style blueberry muffin recipe to include "whole grains" only to disguise that you are now using chemically created sugar. Shame air pudding, shame.
We as the consumer deserve the right to our crappy food! It's comfort food, and hey Americans!, it's not meant to be eaten everyday. We have all seen the documentary "Supersize Me". And we all get it. The scooter folks get it, they just choose to ignore it. We aren't uneducated to the labels, so stop blaming obesity to that. In fact, I would like to see a fat tax. We tax other things that are bad for us. Why stop at cigarettes, and alcohol? We know they are bad for us, but darn it we are as entitled to them as we are our firearms. We are entitled to guns even though they kill people. Tax my potato chips another 30 cents, sure but keep the product the same. With 2 lbs of potatoes!
The rich people of the world are telling us that we the consumer are the problem. With our waste, and our gluttony. Well it looks like it may just be the opposite. Tell me Campbells folk, if you kept the product the same and sales went down, would that be green? I say yes it would. I think Al Gore would applaud your public school attending children, and your Mercedes trade in for a Prius.
No one even makes anything in the US anymore, so quit telling me I need to use one square of TP, while you continue to pollute the air with your factories of air pudding. So in closing, my middle finger to the product companies will be this. Tonight I will eat my final batch of blueberry air pudding muffins, and go back to making them from scratch. I will keep the water running while I brush my teeth, and used half a roll of toilet paper while extracting my "whole grain" product. Air pudding...up yours!
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