tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58228432024-03-08T05:47:51.675-05:00the other white meat: think pork, not pinkThis odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1062125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-85177039276292452792008-11-11T21:29:00.003-05:002008-11-11T21:32:44.281-05:00I Am Crazywoman, Here Me Staple!I believe I am going crazy, as evidenced by the fact I have begun stapling floral upholstery fabric to everything. Our apartment looks like an eighty year old woman who was once a gardener, tried her hand at interior decorating.<br /><br />Flowers in prints, fabrics and sketches are slowly overtaking. I think I need to learn how to self-edit. Especially because most of them tend to be clashing and in shades of yellow and orange that were popular over thirty years ago.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-8083014831520879792008-11-10T18:36:00.001-05:002008-11-10T18:37:34.772-05:00Question::What is the difference between selfishness and emotional abuse? Are they the same? Or varying degrees of one another?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-16006022533222152742008-11-05T19:56:00.002-05:002008-11-05T20:07:53.849-05:00Reading::<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51DnBjfs49L._SL500_AA240_.jpg"></a><br /><div><div><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/21zkL69qjEL._SL500_BO2,204,203,200_AA219_PIsitb-sticker-dp-arrow,TopRight,-24,-23_SH20_OU01_.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/21zkL69qjEL._SL500_BO2,204,203,200_AA219_PIsitb-sticker-dp-arrow,TopRight,-24,-23_SH20_OU01_.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>I just finished this tasty read. I stumbled upon it while purusing the bookstore. The Husband had taken me there as a consolation prize after he had fallen ill on our "date day". He knew that giving me something fun to read would console me and keep me indoors to tend his fevered brow. </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>I found his book fascinating, a bit long winded in passages pertaining to the (super) ancienct history of some sushi ingredient. But it was so informative. As a lover of sushi and someone who declares they could consume it three times a day (I so could) this book was full of tons of interesting tidbits. (Did you know soy sauce used to be the condiment of only the rich and wealthy?) Not just about sushi in general, but the culture of sushi, how it was brought to the United States and bastardized in the process.<br /></div><div>Hooray! Bastardization! Nothing reads better than a good tale of Americans who like mayonaise and how the incorporate it into everything. Mmmm. Mayonaise. </div><br /><div>This book really encourages me to try to discover authentic sushi chefs. And while I may not completely forsake my incorrect sushi habits, because being a sushi purist is quite a bit of work from the looks of it, at least I'll be conciencious of them.</div><div> </div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-71853460775775238062008-10-30T17:31:00.002-04:002008-10-30T17:41:33.889-04:00The Politics Of Stir FryGrowing up, there were two sides of food taste in our family. There were those that sided with my mother, that meant you liked stir-fry, ethnic food and lots of vegetables. There was my father's side, where you liked meat and potatoes, meat and potatoes or MORE meat and potatoes. I resided firmly in my father's camp. Feed my boiled potatoes and baked chicken for weeks on end and I was a happy, happy girl. Feed me stir-fry and I wanted to curl up in a sobbing little ball. I could never understand WHY we couldn't eat potatoes and meat every night. It was so TASTY! And heck, it was so CHEAP. This was a slight source of tension to my parents when my father would sit down to a meal he considered to be "rabbit food". I would not so quietly side with my father.<br /><br />Somewhere in life, where I am not exactly sure, I crossed over to the dark side. I became a lover of sprouts, weird vegetables and trying strange and mysterious foods. Of course, I married someone in the opposing camp. He's getting to be quite good at trying new things, but is at first glance, quite opposed to all things new. Let me be fair, it isn't so much the trying of new things as it is change. My dearest darling husband loathes change, paticularly in food.<br /><br />While at first I found it beyond frustrating, I now find it exceedingly amusing. Things do come full circle. And all the grief I gave my mother, I am almost regretting. But not quite, because if I hadn't, I wouldn't be so prepared to deal with him.<br /><br />Compromise is a beautiful thing.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-54467702692940329102008-10-21T18:07:00.000-04:002008-10-21T18:08:23.464-04:00MarriageIs interesting.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-73307123169820638252008-07-20T16:59:00.003-04:002008-07-20T17:05:53.428-04:00a word the the universesometimes i believe it would be wholly refreshing to scream "fuck you" to the universe. but i don't for fear karma will come nipping at the heels of said rantings and give me what for. however, i have never been more tempted to wield a guttural string of curses towards the sky.<br /><br />the charmingness of living in a small town, particularly a small town where you grow up, quickly wears off. particularly when the unpleasant past (though, you didn't think it THAT awful) and the contented present collide. when fate arranges that a disgruntled ex meets the present someone. unfortunately, it's of all the ex's the one that apparently bears the most bitterness--for what i am completely unsure, since he is the one that broke it off.<br /><br />it's actually quite humorous. a man who got no more than a few chaste kisses and many good times is posting the banner of my scarlet letterhood. perhaps he feels jilted because i have not grown old clinging to the hope of his return? or maybe it is a streak of unhappiness because he's really just an unhappy person? or perhaps he just had the sudden realization he really was a very bad kisser.<br /><br />to think of the nice things i've said of him since.<br /><br />well, universe, you owe me royally is all i can say.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-73640327570024003032008-07-03T10:16:00.002-04:002008-07-03T10:26:34.102-04:00fat and happy or skinny and bitchy. those, m'dear are the options.having lost fourteen pounds and narrowed my rather large arse down a size, i find my waistline expanding as i settle comfortably in the routine of a relationship. this must be stopped.<br /><br />i haven't forced myself to find the time to go out and find things to do, so i've been burying myself in heaps of books and achieving massive amounts of reading. recommendations for the list are highly welcome.<br /><br />i've observed that the cost of eating out in salisbury is comporable to that of in pittsburgh. i find this fascinating and puzzling.<br /><br />this is truly the godforsaken midwest--i don't care what anyone else tells me. people here have horrible hair, bad clothes and eat vast amounts of pork. even with said expanding ass, my eating habits are considered "healthy".<br /><br />when it snows, and i refuse to go outside for six months straight--i fully intend on weighing four hundred pounds by spring, from toast and tea alone.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-31224653570014655892008-02-04T13:59:00.000-05:002008-02-04T14:00:28.711-05:00Leaky EyesI find tears leaking out of my eyes whenever I think about work.<br /><br />This does not bode well.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-67761572651904307092008-01-26T18:24:00.000-05:002008-01-26T18:34:30.451-05:00Why I Believe I May Bear Children, YetWhen I was young, I am told, I was unbelievably kind, compassionate and caring. I loved children, kittens, puppies and babies. I would cuddle, kiss and cajole them to happiness. Somewhere between now and then, I became a cold and heartless bitch. <br /><br />Children, as a whole, irritate me. I don't mind when they are quiet and well-mannered little munchkins who giggle at the appropriate moments. But they rather vex me when they start wiping their dirty hands on your white wool pants. When they continually interrupt your conversation with screaming. When little tyrants who manage to monopolize the attention of a crowd with their rantings and tantrums. <br /><br />However. The exception, is my nephew. Perhaps this is why parents tolerate reproduction. But, my ten year old nephew is the most hilarious little person that ever was. (I say "little" because not only is he small for his age, but I will always think of him as a tiny babe.) He tolerate me trying to be a cool auntie. He tends to give me his frank opinion "Yes, that makes you look fat." He does not allow me to embarrass him "No. You cannot sign my spelling paper "Auntie Sarah" It's too embarrassing." Why is it embarrassing? Because I have crazy red hair, his friend explains. However, to the same friend, he carefully corrects the pronunciation of the word "Auntie". Not like the insect, he tells him, but with a longer, more British sound to the word. He eats my mac and cheese with delight, even when it's awful. He giggles mischievously when we decide to get into trouble. And, whenever he finds out we get to spend time together, he acts like he was just told he was the godson of Willy Wonka. "Really?! YOU'RE SPENDING THE NIGHT? How cool!"<br /><br />This is why people continue to reproduce. Because they have unabashed, awesome little fans. Who happen to be miniature versions of themselves.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-9632109108695870242008-01-02T12:03:00.001-05:002008-01-10T12:28:07.987-05:00Going Vegan, For All The Wrong ReasonsI was raised by a mother who had our entire family on the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fit_for_life">Fit For Life</a> diet. I was eleven, I dropped ten pounds. Our mother was obsessed with healthy eating, alternative medicine and generally being the crazy mom. Since the tender age of eight, I've known that cows milk was "cow puss" (the theory being that cows expelled all their waste and dead white blood cells through milk) and that the only thing even remotely allowable was goats milk. I've had goat cheese, goat yogurt and warm goats milk. I've been the kid, who for snack time, brought seaweed for everyone to munch on. I've had grilled cheese sandwiches snatched out of my fingers by the well meaning friends of my mother. It was POISON! How could they let us eat POISON?! She tried to get our whole family to do the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hallelujah_diet">Hallelujah diet</a>, but we had to draw the line somewhere. <br /><br />The ally in our rebellion was our father. A solid meat and potatoes kind of guy, who groaned at coming home to dinners of meatless stir-fry's and mountains of salad. Give the man a piece of boiled chicken and a cold potato and he couldn't be happier. Whenever I got to eat "normal" food, I'd eat with gusto. So I trained myself into the bad habit of eating allot of what I liked, when it was available. Similar to, say, a survivor of the Great Depression. Gobbling up whatever was in sight (and tasty!) as to assure myself of my momentary happiness. I swore up and down I would never be a "crunchy" health lover. (I also held a special place of loathing for all those people who wore Birkenstock's and valued substance over style.)<br /><br />So, now that I've moved out of the house, eaten every thing I could possibly want and gained thirty pounds past my ideal weight, I've rather fallen in like with the idea of eating healthy. Possibly even trying to eat Vegan. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore good food. Adore it. And dairy will be the hardest thing for me to give up. I love, love, love dairy. Seriously, I could exist eating only cream cheese smeared on crackers piled with onions. Or really, cheese and crackers for life.<br /><br />But lately, I've been gravitating towards the idea of healthy eating. Entertaining the idea of at least venturing to go vegan for a month. However, given my extremely bad eating habits and my propensity for making sweeping proclamations that I promptly break, I think I'll start of slow. Cut out meat, then eggs, then dairy. Slowly.<br /><br />This is strictly for health purposes and has nothing to do with saving animals. I believe, firmly, it is perfectly fine to kill animals for meat, leather, decoration and/or sport. I will happily continue wearing leather, keeping my dog on a leash and entertaining the idea of mounting a deer head on my wall.<br /><br />I do, very much, want to see if improving my diet improves my general sense of well-being, energy and waistline. As it is, I normally kick off my day with a cup of tea and then probably don't eat until I get home that night, where I make up for my lack of eating throughout the day by inhaling whatever I can lay my little paws on.<br /><br />Really, tragic.<br /><br />This whole "resolution of health" makes me laugh simply because life really does come full circle. (I am not, however, brave enough to yet tell my mother. She will impress upon me tofu recipes and the incessant nagging that really I'm not completely healthy until I eat only raw fruits and vegetables.)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-4372493646384245392007-12-24T14:38:00.000-05:002008-01-10T12:28:18.648-05:00My Name Is Porkchop And I Apparently Attract CrimeYes, well, me and the boys in blue down at the station are becoming fast friends. First, there was the break in at the office, where the ONLY thing taken was my laptop. Then there was my arrest. Then there was the drawn out process of getting my gun/car/cookie sheet back from the police. Then there was the thievery of my wallet.<br /><br />It's almost comical. But I still feel strangely violated. A stranger rifling through my car looking for money, upending my purse, ripping through my glove compartment. I would rather enjoy curling up and whimpering like a puppy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-83567973424006399462007-12-20T15:46:00.000-05:002008-01-26T18:21:58.433-05:00A Snippet Of SunshineThis past Sunday I voluntarily went to church for the first time in a very, very long time. I was rather excited, simply for the reason that I have never <span style="font-style:italic;">wanted</span> to go to church and this stage in my life is a very long time coming.<br /><br />It wasn't that I wanted to go to church to feel better or to atone for my sins, but I wanted to go to church to learn and to meet other believers with the same questions. <br /><br />I went, but almost left immediately. I didn't realize that Sunday School followed the morning worship and felt frightfully out of place. I didn't know where to go, didn't know anyone to sit with. I was awkward and uncomfortable. But I persevered, had a lovely time and afterwards met the assistant pastor. I vowed to go back for the next few weeks, because I think it's unfair to judge the church on a singular Sunday.<br /><br />I tried going to the Wednesday night Bible study, but apparently it wasn't held at the church. So I showed up to a cold, dark church. <br /><br />This morning, I was picking up a book that I had recommended to my sister, when checking out, I got to chatting with the cashier about John Piper and how he had changed my understanding of grace. She looked at me slightly quizzically and asked where I was going to church. I mentioned I was trying out a church, and said the name. She delightedly exclaimed "I go there! Why haven't I seen you?!" Because I just started?<br /><br />She scribbled down her number, took mine and declared I must sit with them this Sunday. Or, if I fancy a cup of coffee, to call her. She'd love to discuss Piper with me.<br /><br />I felt so welcomed. I hope I can do the same for a newcomer in church someday.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-86971165983424263662007-12-10T00:50:00.000-05:002008-01-26T18:49:41.497-05:00Where Is The Line?As a single woman in business, more often than not, you're subjected to compromising situations. As a single woman in business with morals and scruples you are frequently put into very awkward situations. You've got to accept rolling with the punches and not rocking the boat to a certain extent. Hell, I learned that a long time ago. You can't whine and whimper at every inappropriate made. You can't expect preferential treatment. You've got to learn to be one of the guys and be able to dish out, take it and not give a damn. <br /><br />This week I was constantly being subjected to married men who were propositioning me. Which, given the scarcity of women at the conference, was hardly surprising. However, a comment someone made to me got me to thinking, where do you draw the line? When do you rock the boat and when do you just take it?<br /><br />"It" being inappropriate comments, however slight. Disrespect of space and comfort level. When is it worth it to make a point and tell the letches to bug off? What is the trade off point of being "one of the boys" and being respected as a woman? Are the two mutually exclusive?<br /><br />And while I have done absolutely nothing I am ashamed of, I still feel like after this week I need a good flea dip and delousing. <br /><br />I don't really have answers for any of it, but it does have me thinking.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-75085132519999037542007-11-28T16:22:00.000-05:002008-01-26T18:50:14.064-05:00Never Say NeverJust yesterday I was saying my life was dull and I had nothing to blog about. Well, that was yesterday. <br /><br />Last night, as I was sitting in the back of a police car with handcuffs digging into my wrists, I thought "Well, this is might bloggable."<br /><br />The Short Version (the long version will come later): I was accidentally driving on a suspended license (which they can arrest you for) but also had a handgun in the car (I DO have a permit). However, life is swell, because the arresting officer had the hots for my sister. The supervising officer had the hots for my other sister.<br /><br />Moral of the Story: keep your sisters hot and you will stay out of trouble.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-43585602513885952762007-11-27T16:04:00.001-05:002008-01-26T18:50:47.250-05:00MissingI miss blogging.<br /><br />I miss people telling me I'm funny. I miss having funny stories to tell. I miss thinking "I totally have to blog this" and knowing that the humor of the moment will be enjoyed and carried on by a few more people. <br /><br />Unfortunately, in the past eight months, I've been unable to blog anything work related, given the nature and position of my work. I have more people under me and wouldn't want them to find this blog because, well, let's face it. That would be weird. And yes, in the past few months, I did have a very close call. <br /><br />Also, in the past year, I've changed quite a bit. I've become, dare I say it, kinder! Granted, I'm no Mother Theresa, but I went a whole week with house guests without insulting anyone. Can you imagine that a mere <a href="http://purewhitemeat.blogspot.com/2005/11/hell-hath-no-fury-like-woman-stuck.html">two years ago</a>? Me either.<br /><br />I'm afraid I've become frightfully dull. I no longer try to mow children down who are getting on school buses, I drink more tea that I used to and even do things like eat healthy and workout regularly. In short, I'm becoming quite pedestrian and boring.<br /><br />However. In spite of all that, I've decided I want to start blogging, simply because it's nice and I miss it. And I don't really give two figs if anyone finds me funny.<br /><br />That's what I say now.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-81215351536891440532007-11-02T16:26:00.000-04:002008-01-26T18:53:27.199-05:00Why God, Why?Discussion regarding all the ugly wives of rich men we see. <br /><br />Joy: "Do you really want your life value wrapped in cupcakes?!"<br /><br />Sarah: pause. "Um, yeah, actually, I'd be ok with that."<br /><br />Joy: pause "Yeah. Me too, actually. The whole femanatzi superhero thing wears a little thin after awhile."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-67164726405733813502007-10-08T16:36:00.000-04:002008-01-26T19:04:44.838-05:00Natural Selection Clearly Isn't WorkingI'm sitting here on the world's longest conference call ever. This is with owners of other businesses, people who are supposedly smart and successful. People who should know how to use a mute button. Or, simply log into the call.<br /><br />But no, we have wasted at least twenty minutes explaining to people how to log into the call, how to use mute buttons and how to generally do the things you learn to do IN THE FIRST TWO WEEKS ON A JOB. As in the first two weeks on a job STRAIGHT OUT OF COLLEGE.<br /><br />People. Seriously. Use the mute button. I do not want to hear your dog barking, your kids singing or your heavy breathing.<br /><br />I find it amazing you manage to cross the street safely on your own.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-31401859411648317042007-08-13T10:26:00.000-04:002008-01-26T19:11:33.574-05:00Why Men Hate Me (and/or) My Hate Of New JerseyA conversation from earlier this morning:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: ok, so i will be in DC on sun<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: how lovely for you<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: and i thinking on my way home i could stop off to see a good friend, namely, you.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: um, did you fail local geography?! oh wait. you're from Jersey. can't hold it against you, i suppose. or, i can and will and you can't do anything about it.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: what do you mean? that wasn't nice either<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: darling, no matter how badly you want to marry me, i will never stop making fun of New Jersey. it is in my blood! and it's my full-time hobby. whenever I have to fill out those stupid things to be introduced into new community events, etc. i put under the hobbies section "Mocker Of New Jersey" or "Personal Representative Of Death To All New Jersians"<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: new jersian? interesting, and clever.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: ok, enough.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: i even have a little speech prepared regarding what i think new jersey is good for. oh please, don't tell me you have fond feelings that run deep in your heart for new jersey<br /> the garden state!<br /> your one true love!<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: i live in philly, doesn't that count for something?!<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: not really.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: you are silly<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: no, it doesn't. my hate for new jersey runs deep. and it is just as much a part of me as my perfect breasts<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: u do have those<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: i mean, seriously, how the hell can you claim that as your home state when the state dance is the square dance?!<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: ENOUGH.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: and when you all have a STATE DINOSAUR<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: lets talk more about your breasts<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: no, this is more fun<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: send me a good morning monday pic of yourself<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: delaware has wisely chosen to avoid mockery and not have a state dinosaur. i mean, can you imagine chartering that bill?!<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: uhhh, no i couldn't<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: "hello, new jersians, i clearly have too much time on my hands, in between my busy schedule of killing people, overly gelling my hair and being obnoxious, so i thought i'd introduce a bill so we can proudly talk about our state dinosaur over dinner" "now, doesn't that sound lovely? and don't you respect me more as a public servant and leader?"<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: that is nice<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: i think so. if i ever run for office, that will be my first bill for sure. a NATIONAL dinosaur<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: so, in foreign policy we can remind people just how badass we are. WE HAVE A NATIONAL DINOSAUR and they DON'T. so they should be quaking in their very boots. fuck nuclear power. we've got dinosaurs!<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">boy</span>: i just wanted a monday morning pic of my friend porkchop.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span>: i think i'll send you a picture of a dinosaur.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-80052439868577971902007-08-06T11:36:00.000-04:002008-01-26T19:16:18.475-05:00I Don't UnderstandWhy I'm here sometimes. Or what life is all about. Or why it's so damn frustrating.<br /><br />I'm tired of being strong and independent. I want to be vulnerable.<br /><br />I might as well say I want a million dollars in gold doubloons.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-1168650632975002002007-01-12T20:05:00.000-05:002007-01-12T20:10:33.020-05:00I Can Say All This, Because, Occasionally Women Are Supposed To Get A Free Pass On Indecisiveness. Oh Womanhood! How I Hate Thee!I'm very careful. Very, very careful. I don't let people in. I am ambivilent, I am calculated, I do not care, people do not effect me.<br /><br />That's the pathway to a lonely life, and I know it. I've been trying to remedy my ways. But everytime I branch out, reach out, open up--I end up loathing myself for my vunerability.<br /><br />There is something to a life of cats and solitude. I think those little old ladies are on to something.<br />But even as I type that, I am ashamed of myself. While I may not be very good at relationships--I have a family who loves me and constantly reaches out to me. My little brother calls in to check on me, my Grandpa wants to help me paint my house, my Mother wants to come live with me and make me fresh vegetable juices--everyone wants to reach out to me. I must remember that reaching out isn't one way. I cannot hoard their love, I must love them back. If I can love them--I can choose to love others.<br /><br />And right there--I talked myself out of being a lonely old lady with cats.<br /><br />(I'll just get a dog.)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-1168441616493522262007-01-10T09:55:00.000-05:002007-01-10T10:41:04.540-05:00oh! to be young again! and to eat gorilla sandwhiches with relish and abandon!At the tender age of eight, or so, my family owned and operated a small diner/restaurant. (This is also where the now quite famous story of the milk crate/cash register story occurred. if you are unfamiliar with this story, feel free to contact my father, he will be more than happy to share it with you.)<br /><br />It was also at this time we would rise at 4:00 am so our family could have devotions together before we trudged off to cook bacon and feed the masses. after we would finish our devotions--whatever children had been selected for the task of staffing the said diner would pile into the car and we would drive into the early morning darkness. Now, given the fact I was only eight I was frequently allowed to sleep on the way in and would nap in the car until 6 or so, when i would finally trundle into the kitchen to make pies. However, on Thursdays, my designated day for no sleep, i would have to go in. I was the chief chicken and dumpling maker. Chicken and dumplings, like time, wait for no man.<br /><br />National Public Radio always accompanied these early mornings. On the sleepy drive in, my father always had the radio tuned in to the droning, hypnotic voices of the announcer. Once we arrived and started cooking, the kitchen radio was always turned to NPR. i rather hated it. i thought it stupid. Every hour they would regurgitate the same news--in the same monotone voices--told slightly different. Even though I hated, hated, hated listening to the news, there was a certain comfort to it. It was the same thing--every morning. No matter how much I protested, we listened to the news. My sisters, of course, being the intelligent well-rounded teenagers that they were, would turn their noses at me and insist I enrich my mind.<br /><br />Until recently, I couldn't listen to NPR without wanting to instantly yawn and fall asleep. But other than the instant drowsiness that overtakes me when i hear the gentle monotone of the announcers, I am overwhelmed with a sense of warmth--more from being tucked into that tiny hot kitchen with three other people. up to my elbows in soapsuds or hovering over the stove stirring coconut cream pie filling, singeing my eyebrows off. Remembering those early mornings where I would make "gorilla sandwiches" with my father (two heels of bread, catsup, a sausage patty, a hash brown patty and a slice of American cheese) much to the chagrin of my health conscious mother. The restaurant was safe, we could eat whatever our little hearts created and we were treated like adults. When I listen to performance today, I am overcome with the desire to wrap an apron around my waist--well--more so around my whole body, directly under my armpits, with the strings tightly circling my body three or four times--punctuating the curve of my soft eight year old tummy. When I hear the hypnotic drone of the narrators’ voice, I’m young again and underestimated by the general public, but i have a family who believes in me and thinks my unconquerable.<br /><br />I listen to NPR every morning now. I’m still young. I still have a family who fiercely believes in me. I no longer singe my eyebrows off. I still make a mean pie. I’ve been tempered slightly since the restaurant days. I no longer glare at people when they ask me if I’m too young to take their money. Now I just smile graciously. But more than getting the news--I love being reminded what I come from and how much I have.<br /><br />Most importantly--a family who loves me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-1166810577609675152006-12-22T12:29:00.000-05:002006-12-22T13:02:57.670-05:00merry christmas to me! i'm in debt!i just signed the papers for my new home. while i am slightly excited--i feel like i am woefully behind on the real estate curve. thanks to my father and sister. pffffffbbbbbt. my sister didn't even SIGN for her first house. she casually signed power of attorney over to one of her minions who went and scribbled for her.<br /><br />the attorney was incredibly rude and condecensing. explaining words to me like i was a simple child. someone finally said "um, sir, she's a finance manager. she understands what you are saying." jackass. i was so annoyed that they used some attorney other than the attorney i requested, i was completely off my game. curses on them. may all their children be slighted and snubbed for whatever reason.<br /><br />so. merry christmas to me. i have a house that just may fall down around my ears. and i still get to pay for it. the bright side is--if i die, i have something to leave someone.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-1165547763095542842006-12-07T22:04:00.000-05:002006-12-07T22:16:03.133-05:00flashbacksdo you ever have those moments where you snap back to your life--six months ago? a year ago? you are suddenly transposed to a moment of vivid--and in my case possibly violent--emotion? for me, music normally takes me there.<br /><br />"bad day"--by daniel powter was my theme song early this year. BEFORE it hit the radio and it was just a free itunes download. how many a night did i trot myself home from work, put it on repeat and scream/beat/kick my way to sleep? too many. i remember the air, it was spring. a little cool, with the windows open and all the fresh smells pouring into the sparse living room.<br /><br />today some old rock ballad came on the radio that i hadn't heard in year. in fact, the last time i listened to it, my heart was bruised and i was quite sure i would never recover. am i the only one who enjoys the perspective of time?<br /><br />that's why i enjoy waltzes down memory lane. i am reminded that grace comes through again and again. in a year--i'll look at my troubles/worries/problems/general situtation and chuckle. i'll chide myelf for the lack of perspective and inability to see the grace of God. i'll roll my eyes at how caught up i was in the moment instead of the big picture. i'll be breathing and living a whole new set of challenges and problems. the worries of yesterday fading fast--and often the lessons of grace just as quickly.<br /><br />over and over i have to remind myelf HOW MUCH grace i have been given. it flows. it abounds. the blessings are unlimited. i've been given a brother who makes my heart swell with pride. i've been given a sister who awes me with her dedication and achievement. i've been given another sister who inspires me with her creativity and art. i've been given a father who believes that anything is within my grasp.i've been given a mother who loves me--in her own special quirky way. i've been given roots. i've been given a heritage. i've been afforded opportunities and priviledge. whenever i pause--from my worrying and whining--i am literally made speechless by the gifts i have been given.<br /><br />there are not words to express the swelling of my heart when it comes to all things related to my family. but that's why i've been given grace--and the rest of my life-- to show them how much they mean to me. they've always been there. unfortunately--due to mortality--they won't always be there. but i am forever grateful for them. one of the many, many gifts of grace from my heavenly father.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-1164859523507472932006-11-29T22:49:00.000-05:002006-11-29T23:05:27.416-05:00something i cannot reiterate enough:i have the coolest family--ever.<br /><br />please don't bother me with you petty arguements that your dysfunctional family who gets drunk together on holidays rivals our merry little band of ministrels. because, they just don't. i don't think i can ever express or describe how much i love my family. or how incredible i find them all. the just rock out with their, er, socks out.<br /><br />i love them all--equally of course. i will probably end up naming my kids after them all in some way shape or form, just because i'm odd like that. but today's featured member is fredd.<br /><br />fredd: where do i start with the kid? first off, see the two d's? that was his idea. something i have to say i think is super fantastic. fredd is paticularly near to my heart because i've watched him grow from the sniveling brat of a kid whom i used to beat the snot out of, into a brother who articulates his thoughts and challenges my ideas. someone i consider a friend. and someone who i can count on making my heart burst with pride everytime i talk about him. i guess it's the closest thing i'll have to parental pride until i start to force lil' tricycle motors out the ole' birth canal. don't ask me why, considering the closest thing i did to mother him was feed him unlimited amounts of potatoe soup. but, i feel a certain protectiveness regarding him and the harse elements of life, that, towards others i'd normally happily feed them to. for instance? swirling blades? sure kids, stick your fingers in! see what happens! with fredd? keep limbs far away please! see the love? see what i'm talking about? true motherly love right there. i want to name one of my kids fredd one day. actually it will be: fredderick. i love that. sometimes i cry because i miss him and his funniness. and i don't cry--really. crying is for sissies. but hey! i'll be a sissy for fredd. hmm. think that could be a shirt. anyway. when i say i love that kid fiercely--i mean it. he's within the very small limited group of people i would happily and cheerfully give a body organ/limb/skin graft/life to.* anyway. i miss him. that's that.<br /><br />*some restrictions do apply.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822843.post-1163563773772960552006-11-14T22:56:00.000-05:002006-11-14T23:09:34.203-05:00oh magnify the lord with medo you ever have those visits with friends where you just feel--edified?<br /><br />i spent this past weekend in the lovely south. with the most lovely katy~*. in a moment of sheer overabition i promised to make her wedding cake. i flew down to do sample cakes. a southern pound cake with a peach filling and cream frosting as well as a tiramisu cake which i had never made. ahaha. i packed the cake layers in my suitcase. as well as the peach filling, which leaked, and left me smelling vaguely jam-y for the rest of the weekend. barely made my flight. but spent the rest of the glorious weekend meeting katy's adorable and hilarious family. talking of weddings. speaking of happiness, life, dreams, clothes. being with katy challenged me. she everything i'm not. six feet tall and a size four. detail oriented. quietly patient. artistic. funky. i'm short. curvy. big picture. loud. the two of us made quite a pair. not just trying on clothes (which was insanely hilarious) but i left feeling so challenged. i need to be more detail oriented. i need to appreciate small things. i need to be able to praise people in their individuality.<br /><br />it's amazing when you have someone like that. you can pour everything forth, and yet feel filled.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3