Update/state of disunion

Hi. So, last Saturday marked me being on this planet for 51 years. It also marked the day I found out an old friend from DC was stabbed to death in a small park in San Fernando, Ca. (RIP Fred.) It was also a day protesting Nazis inspired a member of their ranks to drive his car into counter protesters, killing a person. Killing a person. Killing a person for demonstrating how she feels. As with most terrorist killings, like so many before, people died doing simply what they believed they were allowed to do without fearing death: fly home from a city, go to school, go to church, go to a nightclub, go to work, go to a demonstration. I have reached my limit with this bullshit, and honestly, am paralyzed by what to do about it. I live paycheck-to-paycheck in a world I care less and less about. My great fear is that the terrorists (all of them) are winning. I find myself among humans who I care less and less about (which in and of itself is terrifying), even in this "liberal bubble" of Seattle. It's liberal if you work at a technology firm. Or provide professional service to technology firms. But you are out of luck if you are a craftsperson, a tradesperson, or, heaven forbid; a service worker. The evil work of dividing us and fomenting hatred is devious and insidious and I feel like it's a toothache of the soul - you keep seeing this crap, hearing the hate. I hate the hate, and all it does is shrink my heart. I feel like the goddamn Grinch, except everyday is Xmas eve now. The inequality has reached a point in this country where clearly something is going to give. Will it be a second civil war? What does civil war look like in 2017? Our first civil war killed more Americans than any other war in our history - how many will die this time? And for what? Plenty of other countries with longer histories than ours, built on much more stringent rules than ours, faced these questions. Now is our time. I can't even motivate myself to do my daily journaling anymore - so many people now are screaming into the internet, that it doesn't feel like my voice makes a dent here. Perhaps that is the point: stop screaming (or rambling on) into the void, and start communicating with people about things you care about. I find that when I do talk to actual humans in my life, the thoughts come tumbling out, sometimes random, sometimes flooding with rage and frustration. I am unsure how to use these emotions - which is depressing, because once upon a time writing gave me solace, and strength. Now, solace comes from hours in the park with my dog. Literally, that is the only time I feel at ease. Even now, writing this I can't even find the words to explain how disgusted I am by the racism displayed by people who call themselves American. It is simply not ok. The Confederacy lost. The Nazis lost. The same people who scream about how the "libtards" need to "shut up and accept that they lost the election" are screaming (and have been for years) about stupid status erected under false pretenses (who fucking builds monuments to failure? those status represent one thing: messaging to people that racists will not go quietly into the void. It's that simple) to begin with. See, I have been uneasy with the confederate flag my entire life, and I was born and raised in California. Lived on the West Coast - except for a brief 5-year stint in WDC; and because of my chosen lifestyle (DIY punk rock, working in kitchens) I have always been surrounded by a melting pot of people; where there were certainly old racist folks (my grandparents were full of slanderous terms for Latinos and Asians) there was still an understanding that America was the Land of the Free, and ultimately, even if you disagree with someone's lifestyle, you let them go ahead and do what they do: AS LONG AS THEY DON'T HURT OR KILL ANYONE WHILE DOING IT. Remember the show "Dukes of Hazard"? God I hated that show. Even at nine years old, I knew to be embarrassed by those stupid backward hicks. Everyone bitches and moans about how "good ol' boys" are a solid piece of our history. Are they? I thought we fought a war about smashing those ass-backward ideas y'all. My parents were blue-collar raised, and though my dad ended up in a white collar job, he loved and cherished the country ranch lifestyle. My mother adored Glen Campbell and John Denver...and somehow I nurtured a seed of distaste for any of that "southern yahoo" bullshit. I believed all the hillbilly archetypes growing up - it wasn't until I moved back East where the Confederacy's legacy was palpable that I realized: the racism isn't in the accent, or the zipcode. It's in the idea that a small clutch of people (mostly White males, but plenty of the white females who mate with them) feel, to paraphrase Jon Stewart a few months ago: that they own America, that they know what's right, that they are the defenders of the country. Why are there Confederate monuments in Washington State? Why are schools named after failed Confederate Generals? The civil war was fought over slavery - it says so in the secession documents. The Union Army won. We are the United States of America. How about this, racists? How about YOU leave the country if you don't like it. Get on a goddamn boat or plane or whatever, just like your religious nutball forefathers did, and go find somewhere else to be - because America is THE melting pot. It's not easy to get along with people you disagree with, but it's part of the agreement you make being an American. I may not like you, but I'm not gonna kill you. I don't care if there is a Washington Monument, or a Lincoln or Jefferson one, to be honest. All I want are museums so that we can warehouse the relics from our past and marvel at how far we've come. Not live today whining about the "good ol' days". I have always been uncomfortable being reminded that White people held Black people as property, that White people killed the Native tribes who lived on this continent long before their pox-ridden ships showed up, that White people abused Chinese people and used them as indentured workers to build the railroad system that built fortunes for the rich White families who began to run this country of ours. White legislators interred Japanese Americans. What is "White" anyway? Italian, German, French, Irish, Scandinavian, Serbian, Spanish? White is a skin tone, it is not a damn heritage. Where you are from, regional differences are important, they are defining of your personality. They do not, however, entitle you to success, or superiority. I have found some rays of hope though. Thanks to the internet, one of my favorite persons is helpfully weaning my intolerance for that shitty southern dialect:

Liberal Redneck - Virginia is for Lovers, Not Nazis#Charlottesville #LoveYall pic.twitter.com/TsNrRVjyS3

— Trae Crowder (@traecrowder) August 13, 2017

(I encourage you to check out all his stuff, he's funny, smart, and a voice you don't hear much in this current state of America.) I will work to stay focused on the difference between political beliefs versus human values/morals. The unfortunate fact is that while both sides are not equal in their tendency to violence (actual statistics prove this to be true - even a quick survey of the POTUS rallies, where people of color were beaten to cheers (from the president elect in most cases); while rallies featuring the "antifa" usually result in property damage and thrown bottles rather than hospital visits. Yes, yes, I know: what about the attack on those poor legislators in DC? It was a poorly planned attack, obviously. And to be blunt, for a change the targets weren't innocent people. They were people who have literally passed (or aided passing) laws that restrict civil rights for certain Americans, but that being said, they should be able to conduct practice for their annual baseball game without fear of gunfire. Though maybe, since the rest of us apparently have to go about our daily lives worrying about being killed by a random angry white guy with a gun ((again more often than not the bad guy is a single, white male)) maybe they should know how that feels as well). Trump is not my president. He is THE president, however, so he is accountable to all of us. He represents all of us. Pence too. The govenrment is made up of three branches for a reason, and we are seeing that reason in full color right now. Participate. Listen to people, think before you type, before you like, before you call names. Then, if you are sure of your beliefs, say it loud, say it proud. Racism is not ok. We are all created equal, the founding fathers had the theory right, even if they hadn't perfected it yet. Let's be the democratic experiment that fucking works. Not another chapter of xenophobic paranoia. Please. I have a puggle to raise in this world, and I want her to keep trusting humans

I am not gonna lie. I have thought a half million times ways to start writing here, documenting my rage and honest disbelief in the failure of the American public as a whole to act in a humane caring way for JUST 24 HOURS. But it appears all IS lost. I cannot with this fucked up country anymore that literally is allowing police officers to shoot black people WHO ARE FOLLOWING THE RULES. I don't know where to start with anyone; family, friend or foe, who somehow thinks they can justify any of this. At all. It's ridiculous and I cannot help but wonder if the people who watched the Nazis take power felt the way I do now. It is not ok to behave in this way. It is not ok to treat fellow Americans this way. It is not ok to allow elected officials to misrepresent us this way. WHAT DO WE DO? People will start doing random violent shit now. They have nothing to lose. Or very little to lose. Or worse, if they go to jail, they will at least have a dry place to sleep at night and a toilet to use. Yes, I am serious. This is a crisis. People are giving up. The next step is suicide bombers here. You know why? Because people who do not believe they have anything to live for, will die for any idea that gives them hope. Or worse, comfort. People don't blow themselves up just because they hope for a better afterlife - they do it because their current life is horrific, or desolate, or painful. So. As you watch the Republicans tear healthcare (and I didn't have it for a decade before the ACA) away from people, give tax breaks to big business and real estate moguls, and allow the 1% to crush its foot on our necks just a little bit more, people will start losing their shit. Because it's all that's left. They will lose their minds because they have nothing else. Not because of the opioid crisis, you idiots, because of the futility of being an American.

again with the punk rock

For better or worse I feel I have to note this crazy dream my 50-year-old-self had last night. Or at least the part I remember before waking up. I was living in a group house (though an amazingly well-lit and located one, with views of an ocean cliff from one side of the bathroom, and a house next door that apparently contained all the old Dischord/Positive Force geriatrics out the windows on the other side of the room. I mention the windows, because apparently, in a hurry to shower and get to college (YEP, APPARENTLY MY SUBCONSCIOUS IS PISSED I DIDN'T FINISH SCHOOL)I managed to knock over what was a very layered and punk rock shower curtain and rod. As I scrambled to fix it, I yelled for my old pal Hillary (one of the few female housemates I ever had back in the punk rock days) whose voice emanated from the hallway to help me rebuild it. At the same time, a group of punk rock people, who were outfitted in costumes like you'd see at a new orleans funeral, started gathering outside the window in front of the door to the house next door. In ran my current puggle puppy, who immediately headed for all the people outside, and when I went to get her to come back, I overheard that the reason they were there was because Brian Baker (of Minor Threat) had died. This led me to wake up and immediately search the internet to find out if he indeed was dead. My life has taken a weird turn.

....aannnnnnnd, I'm between gigs again.

Luckily, I've got this to keep me busy. For only the second time in my life, I have been released unceremoniously from my position at a place I genuinely thought for a hot minute was gonna be my home for a while. However, much like my marriage, we were together for all the wrong reasons, and I sadly ignored red flags...again. Anyway.

and, this.

So this is what is cool right now. #puggleoverlord

*sigh*

Here's what I know: when you type my name, preceded with the word "chef" you get a shit-ton (yes, that's a fucking technical term, I am at wit's end here) of hits. when you hit the name of my replacement, who has ONE hot restaurant under her belt on her resume (and then a bunch of whatever PDX places AS IF ANYONE CARES) but nothing else. No community involvement (oh, look, not only did I work in some awesome restaurants in Fresno, but I worked with the farmers, participated in events, etc, etc, etc) nothing but gloss. But, oddly, I got demoted for not being creative enough, not firing someone, and near as I can tell: for not being a big enough synchophant. Whatever. I am at the end of my tether with this restaurant, and like ALL the others, it is at the 7 month mark. I have tried all that I know, and now spend my days being treated as if the decade I've spent in kitchens; not to mention the decade+ I've spent IN OTHER REAL LIFE JOBS AND LIFE EXPERIENCES NEVER EXISTED. I have literally been told how to tell if a cake is done by using a metal cake tester. I have watched a coworker (who graduated pastry school, a feat I did not accomplish) be told that a syrup "needs to boil to reduce" (it was citrus, generally, people who respect citrus let it go low and slow to avoid a horrible metallic finish) I have been treated AS IF I haven't had the honor to work with some of California's finest chefs (including serving fucking Alice Waters, etc) I am grinding my teeth currently, because I am mature enough to recognize what is going on: this is a high school-esque social strata thing - that is, I don't know enough "name" people here. The reality is that I have worked with some of the best people, here and in other, real life cities. Even when I didn't know I was into food, I was learning (points won starving on tour in Europe). But whatever. I will not cave. I will not quit. I will demand they let me go, if they thing I don't have the ability. I grant them: I don't want to work 12-hour days, I have a puppy I love and am sick of games. I like to learn, but refuse to be patronized. So we'll see what happens next. Will they have the nerve to actually fire me, after they've asked me to stay after bringing in a new pastry chef. in the words of the immortal Schmidt: "I can do this ALL DAY" The reality is: this isn't my first, second, or even third job. This is my second career, eighth job, fourth lead position, so....uh...as Bill Wallby would sing:" B_L_O_W_M_E" ("beeeee/elllllllllll/ohhhhhhhh/dubbbbleyooooooooooo/emmmmmmmmm/eeeeeeee :blowme!") (yes edited)

this, now.

Hello world. I have, as usual, made a huge life change that has kept me away from the keyboard (also, there was a bit of the whole "lack of keyboard" as well) - but I am now, once again the guardian of a canine. This is a Puggle, a beagle-pug mix that my mother had adopted before realizing 2 weeks in that an 8-week old puppy is a a pretty steep hill for a 70-year-old to climb, even if she is a self-proclaimed "dog lady". I couldn't bear the idea of having this pup go to the shelter, so I went ahead and fast-tracked my returning to Puppytown plans. It's been a much rougher ride this time around. Previously, I had the single smartest and compassionate (towards me, at least) dog ever. I was also 20 years younger, and much more socially active and had a job that mostly had me staring at a computer or standing in front of a machine. Not anymore. I spend 8-10 hours a day mixing doughs, shaping bread, doing intricate dessert prep, etc. I am a lot more jaded. This Puggle, on the other hand is the single happiest dog i've ever encountered. She loves everything. Everything is a game, except sleeping. Sleeping is for sissies, apparently. Anyway, today is the first morning I've had with her that she hasn't been camped in my lap, or demanding attention and that i could write a little. it's been good to have a dog in my life again, and the wealth of people who i've encountered has been amazing already. Previously dog-parks were pointless, the previous Grey Overlord merely needed open space where we could play frisbee, or miles of places to walk. The Puggle Overlord likes to meet her minions, will play with all dogs (even, god help her, Corgies) loves attention from passersby (we had one woman cross a street against traffic squeeing "ohmigod, she's so cute i HAD to come over - can i pet her??) and thus is a whole other dog handling experience. Also, as we inhabit an apartment on the 12th floor, trips outside are a bit more involved (including dodging the neighborhood ephemera) and that has thrown a bit of a twist into the narrative. Anyway, just a quick note to myself to maybe get back on track again here - there's much to dissect, and the job is approaching month six without much trauma, so i'm hoping to get back on track....right after i finish this New Girl binge....

Mamnoon. Welcome.

I havn't posted in a while for several real reasons (as opposed to the paranoid nonsense that has previously kept me from documenting my life, as it rolls along). The first is a technical thing: the band-aid laptop SG gave me for cheap finally died - the fan went belly-up, followed shortly by the screen. Its fine, but watching netflix on the iphone4 is making my head hurt. Additionally, typing blogposts on the crappy typepad is irritating. Many a witty post is lost to the ether because i gave up the big-thumb battle.

That said; the other reason is that i genuinely like where i work. I'd say love, but i don't want to jinx it. As i reiterated to Chef today, it is an amazing pleasure to be working with people who are CONSTANTLY trying to improve. How can this taste better? How can the production be better, simpler, more consistant? What if we do this? How about this? This didn't work, what should we do next? This is an issue, how will we deal with it? What is this? Who is taking this on? All these questions get answered. I've never been a part of a team so willing to solve problems. My first 4 weeks, I'm now realizing I was in a state of shock. Now, everyday I thank these owners for givng me the chance to do awesome stuff every day, for the challenge of a cuisine I am unfamiliar with, for a team that is supportive, but not enabling. For a place to go every day that is welcoming, challenging and creative. And, it should be said, on the surface, I never expected this to be a good fit, and oddly, it turns out to be the best fit ever. I really, very much enjoy working for these owners, and with this chef. Long road travelled, but SO well worth it.

sprung

So, it's been a minute. I've let this venue go quiet - as I am want to do these days. It's been a couple of months of introspection, of trying to regain some interest, passion, and most of all, focus. Hasn't completely worked, but I've definitely set myself a bar. A while ago, while visiting SG, he mentioned how "proud" he was of me, walking away from a tech-y, graphics-y "career" (and I use that term as loosely as it is draped over that ramshackle debacle that was my life back "in the day") and choosing to go into cooking. That he didn't know if he'd have the courage to do something like that. I was flattered, and it set me to thinking. Why was/am I doing this? The pay is uniformly crap for someone who started as late as I did, and isn't in a management or corporate setting. There are no real vacations. It's physically taxing almost in every instance, (I have taken forearm scarification to a whole new level) and I am in my less-than-physical-prime-of-life. On that note, there's rarely health insurance, though I suppose the one upshot of TV chefs inspiring more people into the industry is that it is being offered more often after a certain amount of time of service. The list of challenges goes on: inflated chef egos, demanding customers, deluded owners, a marketplace that demands constant change and patrol.... So why do I do this? My plan was to spend my working hours doing what I enjoy. To be paid to work with food. I did as much due diligence as I could in the beginning, trying to make sure that I understood the repetition, the cleaning, the pressure, the schedule, the most mudnane parts of working in a kitchen. I wasn't a silly high-school kid with visions of Nigella Lawson in her head. Nope, I was much more a disgruntled thirty-something looking for a place to call home. That's how this thing started, me just wanting to find the place that I had read about so many talented people finding their calling at. I listened to people speak about why they cooked; was inspired by working with people who were starting new restaurants, who were becoming executive chefs for the first time; with people who had years of hard-core line-cook experience, who all still did it because of a certain jolt it gives you, a certain feeling you get feeding people. Which is why when I landed at 'zino after returning to Seattle it seemed aalmost perfect, the pantry-pastry gig, which morphed into a sous role. For a good year, it offered all I needed, but ultimately, the ownership, and inevitable sale of the business took it's toll. I floundered: do I go back to baking full-time? Am I too old for working 6 nights a week, arriving at 1pm, closing at midnight, and quelling the noise in my head for the next few hours with booze, only to get back on the treadmill again the next afternoon? Were the accolades of in-person guests a couple times a week enough to compensate for a wage that left me at basically poverty-level? Is this what I had envisioned? I decided baking has always been more profitable, more manageable, and thus my strength. I can't return to general managing anything, because to be honest, I am not one to wrangle someone else's cats anymore. So, I took a job with an old pal, thinking I'd learn more about breadmaking. I ended up working the fry station at brunch. Too old to waste precious more days of my life making fries, sauerkraut, and pancakes, I left and took a job at what seemed to be an adorable, successful, quirky cafe-restaurant-bar to lead their baking and pastry department. That ended up with me being told, more than ever in my career, that my shit isn't good enough. And by shit, I mean muffins, cookies, cakes and scones. I am good at that stuff. Hell, I'm great at scones especially.I dealt with a completely unorganized kitchen, an owner whose vanity exceeded everything I'd ever seen before (and I've seen some shit), and watched amounts of just not my food, but the executive chef and other cooks being trashed (not just verbally, literally, thrown in the garbage) on a whim. Cookies "too crisp" sandwiches where the mustard was "too spicy" it went on and on, and the staff was clearly weaned on dysfunction. I let my moral compass tarnish. Badly. I found myself saying "If they don't care, neither do i" and "Well that's how they want it" - things that made me feel bad inside. Made me feel like a failure. Made me forget all the postive feedback I have had over the years. I was convinced that I didn't have the skills I thought I did. Over fricking muffins and coffee cake and biscuits. Ridiculous. So, I, even though it was well under the six month line that i try to hold with new jobs, started sniffing around for new ones. It happened. At the risk of jinxing it (and I'm writing this in late-mid-may, but may not post it for a bit longer just in case): I found a home. One I would have never seen coming. A beautiful kitchen, amazingly humane owners, seasoned professionals with the highest levels of ethics, a walk-in with a floor you could eat off of, an executive chef who was once an exec pastry guy, so he doesn't discriminate his baking team...all of the things I had let go of dreaming about. I go in there, and I am back in the zone: what is the correct thing to do? Everyone cleans as they go. They all taste things, they talk to each other. There are hijinks, but it's in relation to getting stuff done. The chef freaks out about the right things, not perceived personal affronts. He doesn't spend hours arguing about a salad with the owners. There is a level of trust in this endeavor that I have always wanted. Granted - I work baking hours (a very sweet gig, now) and don't have to deal with service, which can be stressful - but overall, I am reinvigorated with the love I have for fine dining, for giving people the very best food they can have, and in this instance, because it is a cuisine that is new to me - it is exciting to taste and grow and create. Plus, I am working with an executive chef that can give me the pastry/baking guidance I have pretty much had to provide for myself, whether it was from my own research, or paying close attention to talented people around me and taking notes. This is the first time in a long while I have had someone hand me a bit of paper with the bones of a recipe on it, talk me through the method, and let me have at it: and be thrilled with the results. Twice in the last week, actually. The Namoura cake and a Mahlab-chocolate ice cream. The moral of this story, and one I hope not to forget by noting it here is: if you are unhappy, change something. Do not settle for less-than. Certainly, I could and should apply this to all aspects of my life - but for now, in this instance, this will do.

It always comes back to this for me.

"Your work is to discover your work and then with all your heart to give yourself to it." - Buddha .

marketing your emotions

Well, that'll teach me to be all posi-emo and see things as half-full. 'Tis the season for remembering how happy everyone seems to be with their post-me partners. I'm furious, even though i know that it's a waste of percious moments of my life - but kyle being a luthier, being happy in love - that was all via me. i enabled that shit, and it pisses me off. meanwhile, i'm wrangling Jared who goes back and forth about digging me, then it's purely lust based. lately he seemed to be making  more of an effort, but of course then i'm sick, and then bleeding. argh. and soooo fat. unbelievably so. plus new job, though hip, is still a bit of a challenge, but i try to remember how hard branzino seemed at times. yeah. and then the delightful (and by delightful i mean not at all amusing lately) uriel is pushing all my buttons - because he's easier in bed than jared, likes to snuggle, but is a 25-year-old partying player who is literally a foot shorter than me...and this week he bailed on hanging out with me, and i....care only in the most abstract of ways for the same reason i can't go hang with Jared, i'm coughing up phlegm all the time, constantly blowing my nose, and need to not drink. (after two consecutive bottles of evan williams after no hard booze most of last month) - but fuck. i need to find a doctor. i need to get new contacts. i need to pay for parking. i need to pay my cali debt (am a month behind on that) plus my license is suspended, my tabs are expired - i need to get an id, but as usual am broke. i am skating on thin ice every time i get behind the wheel. to be honest, the least of my problems is my lack of a companion, and yet it's all i can think about: mike, kyle, graham, smitty, darren (dorothy), spencer, tom, fuck it seems like each and every male i've been involved with in the last 10 years is totally hooked up and happy. and me? i am, as always, adrift. whatever. fuck it. i'm gonna die soon anyway, dunno if it's a brain tumor, or cancer, or MS, but it's something, and it's happening. i guess i just wait until the catastrophic issue presents itself. i dunno. this is tedious. whining is tedious. i just wish someone would fucking show just a little appreciation occasionally. but i guess it's cause i don't? dunno.

Friday the 14th.

'tis the season, and all that.

notes from mid-stream

So, yeah, 2014. I'm not gonna give in to my typical inclination to say "another year of this mess." I do honestly feel like this year will be different. Not sure how, yet, as it's starting as so many of them have in the past: new job (or new home), old ghosts being laid to rest (another damn child brought into this world without a plan, but my hopes for The Stray are that this sets him on a path to achieve what I know he can), and new ones surfacing. I'm starting a(nother) new job on Saturday - and it's a better fit, at least I hope. It's keeping early hours, which has so far proven to (pretty much) keep me out of trouble. Unless, of course I make plans to "do" something, and then it all blows apart when old paths are traveled, and I ignore the lessons I should know by heart by now (stop drinking Beam straight up out of tumblers with guitarist/vocalists you harbor massive unrequited crushes on). Whatever. There have already been some angelic interventions, and my final days at the Pretzel Factory are of course lovely, which makes me panic and wonder if I'm making the right choice - but I know I am, because I need to be back in a place that has a manageable production schedule (like, not 800 people a night) and where what I do is noticed, not just by the morning kitchen manager, but by the guests. So: get up at 3:30am, and make stuff happen 4 days a week, and the other 3? Make stuff. Enjoy stuff. Enjoy the town i love. All of it. Gonna listen to the right voices this time :)

Bring on 2014

2013 is going out just like it came in: kicking & screaming and full of last-minute wonders and dissappoints. Entering this new one again, like I do, hopeful that i can make the changes i need to, and keep my head in the game.

winter is here

Yeah, it's been a rough couple of weeks. Not settling in as well as I would like in the new gig. Sometimes, my ability to do it all actually can work against me - I've been wedged into less baking and more prep, and then this last week and a half, a station I just....hate. With all my heart and soul - I hate deep fryers. I mean, the good news is (I think) that I don't have to clean them. The bad news is, I have to fry stuff. And work brunch service. Making fried chicken, french fries, and, ostensibly, doughnuts.
Argh. This is what happens when you take a stand on something. About 6 years ago (post-Lantana) I made a promise to myself I would not do this. But, desperate for a paycheck and listening to the cooing sounds of a very sweet chef, I went ahead and let this new place slot me in where they need me most.
The problem remains: I am not 19. Every day that I can work is a gift, and I absolutely do not want to spend it frying shit (much less noshing on fries). Plus: brunch. Fuck that. I should not have left 'zino so quickly. Once again, I got too full of myself and put myself in a precarious position. On top of that, financially, and as usual right at xmas, i am fucked. i am in a deep dark hole money-wise and really don't have a lot of options. Will sell the car, but that isn't worth much, really all it will be good for is to keep me from having to pay to store it.
Yeah, bah, humbug. Dark times. There was a brief flash in october/november, but it's fizzled. I'm also sick again with whatever lingering bronchial infection i apparently carry all year.
Ugh. More later. What I need (ok, want), is about 4 straight shots of Jamie's a Pabst tall boy, & Dewie:

What I will have? Benadryl & getting up at 5am to be at work at 6am on a Sunday. SMH.

another chapter ends...

Last week I gave up. I typically will be stubborn as possible in these work situations, but this time, I just let go. Almost two years of keeping my head up, allowing for all the drama and fuck ups and chaos and malaise. Watching an awesome guy and talented chef transform into a dejected, angry guy. Watching amazing food go unnoticed by the owners, by the staff - luckily, our guests enjoyed it, and they let me know - which is probably why I survived there so long. I like kudos. I love to make people go "wow", it's just a thing with me.
So, when the owners let the chef go, and didn't tell me, didn't offer me the position, a pay increase, nothing, I was chagrined, to say the least. When I pushed the point of a pay increase and they avoided me, waffled and did a little dog and pony show, i realized i simply had no desire to work for them anymore. I love that restaurant, and I am crushed I won't see it succeed, but I had no choice in the self-respect area; I had to leave. I will miss the variety, the creativity and autonomy I enjoyed - but i won't miss the sketchiness of payday, the constant battle for coherent leadership, the pests riddling the restaurant. I won't miss the water leaking on the floor, or the broken tools. I will miss my pantry protoge, U, who I have become (as per usual) quite fond of, and I will miss having a place where friends, family, and favorite guests can visit me. I will lose a whole swath of people in this transition - but I can't keep limping along, demoralized in front of them all.
I flirted with another pastry position; applied, demoed some food, and was rebuffed. I know it wasn't my finest work (there are a few reasons why, but ultimately, it's the WHY wasn't it my finest work, when i needed it to absolutely be that, right then that will hound me. Sadly, I could barely afford to make what I did make, I have so poorly planned this little unpaid break) and so there is no surprise when I didn't hear back from him yesterday as planned. It's ok though, I have accepted a baking job, working with Scrap's old chauffeur, making buns, breads, doughs, desserts, and pretzels, loads and loads of pretzels.
So if you need me, I'll be on the Hill, doing that. In the daytime - which should knock my whole body into another state - no more vampire hours, no more drinking heavily at the end of every night, no more binge eating at 2 in the morning. who knows, maybe i can even rope myself back into daily meditation practice. However it turns out, as of 7am on Sunday morning, a new chapter begins....again.

story of my life...

though, i'd be lying if i said this wasn't on my mind...

so.good. always. stray or not, i am...in.

Watching old videos and stuff of older punk rock bands (that is, bands that were playing when we were) makes me realize this horrible thing: we didn't suck as much as I thought we did.
How much of a difference would it have made if I had believed as much in my band then as I do now in my bread pudding, my cheesecake, my fucking pizza, mustard, pickles, pate or whatever it is I FEED PEOPLE?
Yeah, that fucking hurts. I'm watching this again, through older eyes (again) and realizing that not only was I not as ugly as I thought I was, but....well, I didn't suck as much as I thought I did. I let those horrible, horrible scenester Rrrriot Grrls make me feel small. I let them do that. I didn't suck, and really, there was not a girl in a band like I was, when I was. So, I did what I could. I looked like I felt. I did what I did. Still doing that today. Just wish I'd figured this all out sooner. Kudos for kids who figure shit out early and don't addle their brains with questionable substances (still waiting for the nephews to ask those questions).
Go team.