Archive | July, 2010

will someone please get me OUT of food service? part II

27 Jul

okay. i am totally blessed in completely ungodlike, nonreligious ways. or so i think. how do i know?

condensed backstory: i believe that people believe in whatever higher power makes ideas of life and death safe and comfortable. and those beliefs don’t need to be tampered with by well meaning trespassers.

that said, i don’t join in prayer or say amen when people are praying around me nor does the opportunity arise. i don’t go to church. i moreso believe in the practice of yoga yet still don’t say namaste at the end of class. why. well, because the word translates, “i bow to you”. and i have my hands together like prayer in front of my  heart and i’m already bowing reverently. i’m doing it. why say it…redundant, you know? actions speak louder than words.

and yet, i still think i’m blessed:

three times in my life older, hip, successful, eclectic women have seen my potential, taken action and proposed offers i could not refuse. and to these women, i will forever be grateful. they epitomize the (ironically, biblical) story of teaching how to fish rather than handing out fish. they’ve afforded me opportunities with which i launch out of living or work situations from which my soul is being sucked…usually in its entirety into the vacuum of a parallel universe where parts of it are no doubt being dissected in a laboratory and tested on rats. buuuutttt…i need my soul here for now as i’ve things yet to accomplish.

so i’ve been grumbling for some time now about getting out of the grocery store. wanting to write and be published. employment is slim. i’ve applied for jobs i’m way overqualified for and haven‘t gotten them. like, dog walking. conversely, i’ve applied for jobs i’m a titch underqualified for and understandably haven’t gotten calls for those either.

so when this colorful woman i happen to be friends with from the coffee shop seeks me out at the grocery store while i’m working, hands me her card, offers me a job at her absolutely magical in-home preschool and then tells me that she and a friend are also brainstorming about another creative entrepreneurial venture (which i shall keep under wraps at the moment) and she’d like me to be in on it because I am “artistic and interesting” and she hates seeing me at the grocery store with the life being sucked out me…the freaking opportunity siren sounds and i know i’m blessed.

then when she tells me stories about traveling the world, sometimes with no money but it ends up okay because she’s innovative. and that she has only ever worked for someone else just once in her life but it has always worked out and she has always had plenty. she is following her heart. nurturing her life. she’s officially appealed to my inspired nomad writer heart and i know that being true to my talents and giving back with my actions is the only way i will thrive.

someone will get me out of food service…i think i am leaping off this hobo grocery train!!!

*[p.s. for those of you dying to know, the italiano will be out of the shop by friday!!! can’t wait.]


if i twittered, who would follow?

26 Jul

i’m awake 4 hours 30 minutes ago

fed cat. she ate. 4 hours 25 minutes ago

let dog out to crap 4 hours 15 minutes ago

he’s crapping 4 hours 14 minutes ago

cat in litterbox. she reeks. 4 hours 13 minutes ago

reading news, making tea, dog barking at back door 4 hours 7 minutes ago

turned computer on, poured tea, gonna use the can 4 hours 3 minutes ago

looking in mirror. time to pluck eyebrows again 4 hours 2 minutes ago

btw, everything came out fine! 4 hours 17 seconds ago

checking email, looking for bike parts on craigslist & writing 4 hours ago

still doing same thing 13 minutes ago

Got up, stretched, ate avocado & cashews 10 minutes ago

seriously…who cares!? 2 minutes ago

hate to be a pessimist. some things seem dumb.  am i missing something? 30 seconds ago

naughty madre

23 Jul

i have a friend who has a particularly naughty mother. he told me a story once about how she consoled him after a break up. she said: the best way to get over a break up is to get under another man. now, he’s not interested in men. but you get the picture. why publicize this tender tale?

because in order to get over the old french bike i had to get on top of a new one. meet the italiano:

1978ish italvega

unrequited bike

23 Jul

the alternate title to this post was, warning: never buy bikes from hoarders who sniff a lot. the other alternate title: listen to your gut. yet another: know something about what you’re buying. yeah, i could really go on and on…

soooo, the old french bike is gone, a short lived love affair. it wasn’t planned that way. we never plan it that way, do we? i bought her from this guy that lived on the same street i grew up on. a person is not honest by association. especially not association with a street you happened to live on growing up. his shadiness was apparent from the beginning, a rampant double-talker who would argue whatever side of the coin suited his sale. thinking it was no big whoop, i was just buying a bike from the guy, i ignored my doubt about his character. five things i should have paid attention to:

  1. his property was blanketed in unkempt, half finished projects.
  2. bikes, lawnmowers, tools, golf carts, etc.  littered everywhere in vast quantities.
  3. his dogs were covered in cysts and ticks.
  4. his incessant sniffing was reminiscent of people i used to know who enjoyed the snorting variety of narcotics…buuttt, never know. could be allergies…
  5. my own gut contorted when i spoke with him.

in my life, i attempt to veer from judgment as much as possible. but in general, anyone who doesn’t care for their property/home, their animals, or themselves (wherever the sniffing originated) is probably not going to maintain a bicycle. okay, so that’s my soapbox. in a nutshell, guy selling=untrustworthy.

long story short, after some debate he gave me my money back because he couldn’t fix it. tells me flippantly as he hands back the cash, don’t matter anyway. sniff…i  gotta gal in the city that’ll pay three twenty fer it. sniff. i congratulate him and take my money, relieved to be finished with the interaction. i go home to peruse craigslist and what do i find? he has the old french bike listed for twice the price, touting it’s perfection:

womans Motobecane Mixtee cute roadbike in like new condition – $240

selling a beautiful mixtee motobecane ten speed bike ,has new cables ,new tires .new tubes ,a new seat and brake pads the paint is pristine ,with no fading or rust this is one of the nicest vintage bikes of its kind around its is simply beautiful ,,no e mail just call #%*-0071, thank you ,,, a great bike and super value at 240 firm


um, yeah. liar, liar pants on fire!

lessons learned. at least i got my money back!

will someone please get me OUT of food service?

21 Jul

i am reading Ann Lamott’s, bird by bird…again. it is fabulous. even more exciting is that she is a local author (in my neck of the woods anyway). if you haven’t read this or any of her other work, do so immediately!

i am reading it partially to psyche myself up for NaNoWriMo (national novel writing month) and partially because i have been writing and making books pretty much since i understood the concept of stapling together a pile of paper and filling it up with words and pictures.

however, i work in food service. ergo, the plea: will someone please get me OUT of food service? short backstory: i worked in a grocery store out of highschool. quit, fed up with how ridiculous it was and decided to go to college. graduated, got a “real” job…teaching preschool for three years and then? exhausted by children, got back into food service.

it’s a vortex. food is nice. money is nice. customers create fodder. i want to write. all i want to do is write. and sometimes i feel resentful that this job is taking up my writing time. and sometimes i feel thankful and know that my time outside of my paying gig is precious and choose to use it for literary betterment.

in bird by bird, Ann says that her father (also a writer) advised the following:

“Do it every day for a while,” my father kept saying. “Do it as you would do scales on the piano. Do it by prearrangement with yourself. Do it as a debt of honor. And make a commitment to finishing things.”  –Ann Lamott, bird by bird

like how i call her “Ann” like we are on a first name basis and have freaking coffee and cannolis together or something? that would be cool. anyhow, i have to write to write, right? so i am taking the sage advice of someone else’s father. arranging with myself and finishing. another stipulation? fiction. i am practicing fiction. i shy away from it because of that i suck voice that sometimes happens. but i made a promise to myself on my birthday not long ago that this year i will fulfill goals and dreams by following through and working for what i want. also, i ran across this:

“If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading.”   –Lao Tzu

yikes! mayday! mayday!

and so i commit. and so i write. day by day. bird by bird. thanks Ann. coffee and cannolis sometime?

back alley bike doctor…

21 Jul

um, so some bad news. the old french bike is in the ER. i was taking her for a spin to the ymca for some yoga (me, not her. she was going to wait out at the bike racks and have some alone time). i got about two blocks from home when her pedals locked up. i almost flew over the handlebars. it was a real scene. now, i know from the bike shop that she has some issues with a really bent crankset.

you know why?  because someone thought it would be a good idea to use a wood screw in place of the proper bolt that holds everything together down there. and me, now knowing much more about bikes than i did when i bought her, realized it’s possible that my lack of knowledge was…taken advantage of.

oh, and the wood screw? it fell out. her chain was flying everywhere. so the guy i bought her from said if she didn’t work out to give him a call and he’d happily take her back and return my money. i don’t want to give her back. but, i get back home and i call.

he’s kind of a high strung guy…and he sniffs a lot. when i call he says, well let’s make it right! i got hundreds a’ bikes layin’ around this place! surely, there’s a part! sooo, i bring her and leave her there to be repaired.

i was due to pick her up today before work. i’m worried. i feel like i left her with some illegitimate back alley doctor and she’s going to come back all jacked up with jenky soldering, aluminum foil, string, and duct tape…possibly another wood screw.

apparently, the guy i bought her from just got home from several days vacation and planned to fix her this afternoon. i will be at work. so i called him back and requested that we fore go the work and i will take the money. reasoning? if what happened in the daylight with the chain happened at night on the dark part of the trail? no bueno. bike lights and all…no bueno. anyhow, we went round in circles and finally i agreed to pick her up tomorrow with the agreement that if anything else goes wrong i will get my money back, no circuitous debates.

okay, i’m whispering this behind my hand because i feel silly about loving this bike so much but…i really hope he does a good job. i actually miss her. and let me add a disclaimer…i’m not usually so mushy…except about certain things and beings:

(left to right: my dog wes, my cat teka, my bike freya oolong…just to name a few)

long for loose

19 Jul

Early to the appointment:
Enough time for tea
long for loose,
bags suffice

Lean over the silver electric kettle.
Sight of myself:
made convex by its rounded dome
audible rumblings within

Choose tea and scrutinize
distorted teapot reflection:
forehead, a shrunken comedic bulge
chin, an unrealistic recession

Tear packet
deliberately slow
decisive rip of fibers
giving way with satisfying ease
tea steeps and seeps into senses

Quotes on teabag tags:
like prizes
in boxes of cracker jacks or cocoa puffs:

Everything I did in my life
that was worthwhile
I caught hell for.

Yearning spreads fingers and
gathers what feels like my heart:
Let me out
of this stifling box or bubble,
I think,
to catch a little hell

Set down fear
just that easy
set it down, hesitation
an inert weapon,
no force. No threat
without a hand to hold it

an urge
to tear open each packet and
take wisdom like elixir
gulp answers to all that eludes
complete understanding

Dixie cup, reality enters:
cinnamon steam
reaches languidly
dog ears this reverie

The tiny face still peers at me
from the teapot: