On The Record

I am sitting at my computer with this really cool "vinyl to cd" record player that you hook up to your computer. It's DN's. She bought it to convert her own vinyl, but kept others in mind when purchasing it. It will surely make the rounds of her family and friends. But for now, it's mine to play with, learn about, work the bugs out of....

I'm enjoying this blast into the past. I finally set this thing up after hearing "Blister in the Sun" by the Violent Femmes (no, they are not violent, nor are they femmes) on Charlie FM, not once, but twice in the last week. . I specifically got determined to learn this machine after remembering how much I love, love, love this album. I'm listening to it now, and ohhhhh, the college days memories this is bringing back. I used to have a cassette walkman blasting while I traipsed the campus. This music was often the beat to which I climbed the hill at UW-Eau Claire.

I so love this album. It is spectacular. It is extraordinary. It reminds me of Erik, who introduced me to this off the wall, beautiful music. I saw them live on my campus (for cheap!) in their hey day. I would not have thought then, nor now, that this music would be something I love so much, but it truly is! Here is a sample song, which is not, by the way, safe at work--or for children.

Several Updates

Rather than editing each blog individually, here is some new information to keep all apprised of breaking developments in the previous several blog entries.

It has been pointed out to me by a "reliable source" that Eve, Eve the Apple Thieve could not be the elderly neighbor, as she is not well enough to toddle over and steal the fruit of her neighbor's lawns. I have also been told that if she did, a pie would, indeed, appear. This means I have to to watch the walkers. I am also willing to bet that the apples she found on the ground were earwig-infested and unedible. The joke is on her, eh?

(Yes, Osh, you can freeze apples, but they are only good for baking).

We had another bug incident with Mrs. Kisses. It was almost the exact scenario as last time except I arrived at the scene of the crime as she was licking her lips this time. I hope that she passes this phase quickly. Momma doesn't like bugs.

Sunday morning at work brought my first blowout with Pam (formerly known as The Skank). Let me preface the story with the news that we are still speaking to one another, and it's really no big deal. Breakfast was abnormal this week. You could have shot a cannon through the place at 9:00am, which is not typical at all. By 10:30am, all hell had broken loose, so much so that the kitchen was taking 45 minutes to get breakfast out. This is a restaurant nightmare!

Fast forward to a synchronized pick up of orders between me and Pam. I was taking my last plate when she announced, "That's mine!" The usual "no, it's not, yes it is" ensued. In the end, she won. I was hot about it because I knew it went with my gentleman's prime rib breakfast, but what could I do? The kitchen hopped on getting me the food I needed, but I still had to deliver his wife's breakfast and his prime without its sides. I assured him it would be out shortly. I also apologized profusely. Several minutes later, I saw Pam coming back to the kitchen with her large tray of food empty, except for one plate. One very familiar looking plate.

When we reached the kitchen, safely behind the scenes of the angry breakfasters, she tried to give me the plate, saying, "This isn't mine." YA THINK?? I informed her, at that point, that I did not want that plate of food now that she had paraded it through the dining room and it was cold. She kept shoving the plate at me saying, "It's not mine though." I was as frustrated as everyone trying to get the food out and I lost it.

"You were so hell-bent on taking that fucking plate when I told you it was mine!!"

She didn't have anything to say. The boss was walking by as this exchange was taking place. I saw a smile spread across his face as I went to bat for my tables.

The new breakfast was getting done about then, so I took the fresh plate to my patron. A few minutes later when I checked on them, his wife told me she wanted his breakfast comped. I agreed, and went to print the ticket to take it to a manager to void off of it. You can only imagine my surprise when his prime rib breakfast wasn't on the ticket!!

Whoops!

However, I had a lot of screwy things going on with my tickets. I would punch things in that would not print out at the bar. And how could my plate be right from the kitchen if I had not punched it in? Murphy was having some fun on the avenue Sunday morning. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!

And those are your updates for today!!

I'll Take a Twist with That

The new job is going well. Business is picking up as the heartbeat of the city begins to beat steadily to the drum of the UW marching band back in town. I'm not used to the upside down "busy time" that is the norm here in a college town, and starts as the weather cools off but cools off when the mercury goes up. Nope, I'm used to the resort swell in the summer and the staples that get us through the rest of the year. While it's refreshing to be making better money as the summer ends, it's downright annoying dealing with some of the people who have such power over how my evening plays out. I'm talking about the co-worker pool. Some of my first impressions were right on, but a few of them have done a loopty loop of the 180 degree variety.

For starters, remember The Skank? Guess what? She likes me. She really, really likes me. I'm guessing she's one of those Banshee types that feels the need to puff up her feathers so the new person understands that this is her territory, and you can't have any. What I've found in most cases at the place on the avenue is that everyone pretty much likes me. I have heard from almost every single person there, "You are a good worker." The veterans, the servers I work with in the back dining room, the boss, the new girls. "You are a good worker." I don't fill the ice and stay until all of the cleaning is done to make friends though. This is how I approach my job. If everyone just did his job, the whole process would be smooth as old scotch. As the new girl, I do bite my tongue to avoid the lecture about how they could all be doing their work like I do mine and we'd all benefit. Nope. I'm responsible for me and how I perform. I'm not changing the world serving food, but at least I can sleep well at night knowing I did my work to the best of my ability. I guess that impressed "The Skank" (who we shouldn't call that anymore)! The funniest part of the becoming friends with her is that we have a lot of common threads that tie us to one another. Who knew? Maybe the most hysterical part of our similarities is the constant confusion among our tables. Her tables stop me when I am going by to request drinks or more rolls. "I'm not your waitress," I said the first few times it happened. It happened again on Friday night. I knew exactly who their waitress was this time, and assured the gentleman that I would get "Pam" (her new 'not real' name).

That's funny stuff if you ask me. I was so prepared to just hate her and avoid her. She actually seemed to seek me out as the weeks passed. This is one gal I'm glad I was wrong about. It's a lot easier working with people you actually enjoy talking to during the side work portion of your evening.

And then there's the bane of my existence at the place on the avenue. Picture Norm's (from Cheers) head, Chris Farley's body, and Dan Dierdorf's personality all rolled up into one fat, stupid, annoying man. Think of the laziest person you ever worked with who grated on your last nerve because they were so inept at doing what needed to be done. That guy who just chats with people with no regard to a timely completion of the task at hand. This is the man from whom I have to wait impatiently for drinks, the return of my change on the check, or the credit card receipt. At the end of the night, when I'm weary and want to clear my paperwork (something that would take me three minutes if I could do it myself), and get out the door for the commute home I spend 20 minutes begging him to run a report, give me my credit card slips, pay me out on my tips.

Last night, HE messed up one of my tickets but couldn't even figure out that he had reopened it and rung it up wrong. He made like it was my fault because he couldn't understand that separate tickets at the same table might actually be almost exact to one another. That added 10 minutes to my already 20 minute checkout time.

Tonight, he was busy chatting it up about fantasy football with a bud at the bar and couldn't get his fat ass working on drinks or the accumulating checks he needed to ring up. When I got impatient with him, he lashed out at me telling me he could only do one thing at a time. (Too bad he couldn't put selling drinks at the top of that list while he was punched in, huh?) When I pointed out that I'd been waiting 10 minutes for two glasses of wine, he said, "Contrary to what you might believe, you are not the only waitress here." Not being one to back down, I pointed out that he seemed to have plenty of time to talk fantasy football while I waited.

It wasn't pretty. Still, I heard him telling MY joke that I told the boss to his customers as I was heading out tonight.

The sunny, perky blond who bartends is a girl I used to have on my banquet team when I supervised at a country club. She cried when I left, telling me I was the best boss she ever had. She pulled me aside after the spat and told me if I needed something and Beast Boy (that's a good name for him, and one I won't have to change) was giving me problems to just come down to her end for it. HA! She guards me like a labrador. Smile.

If you take away the headbutting issues as a funny tale to tell, there's really a simple explanation. Oddly, it parallels the Brett Favre/Ted Thompson debaucle. You see, the boss likes me a lot. This Beast Boy knows this because the boss is pretty vocal about employees he thinks are great. Mr. Inept must feel threatened by my efficiency. I know one of the things the big boss noticed about me is that I am speedy about picking up my drinks. Lazy Ass can't keep up with my pace because he is too busy being, well, lazy. This is a real threat to that male ego crap that goes on. Much like Ted Thompson, Beast Boy can't stand that there is a star in his midst who is taking away any of his [perceived] glory. He can kiss my ass because my expectations aren't going down anytime soon. I'll be the one running backwards up the hill while he huffs and puffs, telling him that he can make it. You can do it, Beast Boy. Mix up that martini. I've got the olive.

He's so lame. He actually comes through the open end of the bar with food for his customers, yelling at those of us standing there waiting for drinks, etc, "MOVE!" Nice tact there, pal. There's not a couth bone in his body. The man couldn't spell the word polite, much less exercise its meaning. He costs that place so much in lost revenue, I don't know why the boss wants him to stay so badly. Between the lag time in getting drinks out, and the extra time we are punched in waiting for him to wield his power over us, it's a ridiculous amount of monetary loss. Perhaps in time, me and the Favre-lovin' boss will have a conversation about beasts and budgets.

Meanwhile, things are good. It's the natural evolution to understand and adapt to your surroundings. I got a call from a resume I flung out about six months ago. I went in to talk to the lady, and even did a 3-hour orientation last week. She went on vacation after that. I regret to be informing her, upon her return, that I was being stupid about taking a part-time job that had no guarantee of being better, for a job that is becoming pretty darn reliable. And reliable is something that has been sorely amiss in my life here in the last year. I'm staying put to make sure the Beast doesn't rest on his laurels. Besides, my boss said we can wear #4 Jets jerseys on game day if we want to. Why would I leave an idyllic job like that?

Eve Takes a Bite

So I get up this morning and feed the kittehs, make my coffee, and head to the living room to fire up the computer and stereo. I never close my windows or my shades at night because the cool air makes it nice in here. Can you imagine my surprise when I get over to my double windows and see somebody in my yard?

We have an apple tree that ripens early. Last year I kind of missed the peak of apple season because they were almost done when I arrived. Mind you, this is my apple tree. I specifically asked the landlord when I came to look at the place if the apple tree was "ours" or the neighbor's. It's really the mark of where "our" property ends and theirs begins. I went out there earlier in the week and grabbed a whole bunch of them. They attract those earwigs, who burrow into them, making them unfit to eat so I wanted to get them before they infested the crop. I froze about four bags of apples for pies or crisps later in the fall.

There's still more on the tree. They drop almost daily. My neighbor downstairs who shares "our" tree may want some so I am being considerate not to take them all. And I've offered some to my neighbor on the other side of me if she wants some for herself or family. They are great to eat as is. And I really am determined not to let the earwigs have them this year like they did last year.

When I saw the sweet old lady who lives on that side of the yard coming from the garage side of my property, I had to do a double take before I hit the stereo "on" button. "What is she doing in my yard??" I watched from my upstairs perch with her oblivious to my keen eye. She proceeded to pick up apples that had fallen overnight, and take her booty back to her house. She had a small brown square thing in one hand too, which I could not identify, but whatever it was, she got from near my garage. Maybe it was a bird's nest? I don't know, but this is pretty brash behavior for a woman I've never even seen.

I don't really mind sharing "our" apples, and I'll give her the fact that her husband has to mow under some of the tree branches from their side of the lawn. But, wouldn't you pop over and say, "Hey, I'm gonna take a few apples for a pie. Is that cool?" She wasn't even taking them from her side of the lawn; she was squarely in my yard! I used to like these people. They are quite elderly, but still together, apparently healthy (healthy enough to take a morning walk in their neighbor's yard to steal apples!), and continue to take care of their sizable home independently.

She disappeared under the considerable branches of the tree and the hedges in her own yard, so I wasn't able to confirm that it was the woman next door. Was a morning walker so tempted by the apple that she had to have a bite? This is Eve all over again. What kind of curses will we be forced to endure by this forbidden fruit thief? Whoever it was may have started a whole new set of sins, that I, at the very least, will have to deal with.

Damn the luck!

Nano Therapy

At Least She Ate It

I thought I was ready to talk about the Packers, but it turns out I'm still feeling pretty pissed off and betrayed. So, to get back into the blog swing, I present you with a cute, cuddly kitty story. Or not.

Mrs. Kisses has developed a diva syndrome. She is mad. She's the youngest. The only girl. The only fat one in the family. I think she's developed some issues because of some perceived injustices to her fragile ego. She doesn't eat wet food, so when I feed the old guys I don't even do a dish for her anymore. If she does happen to wander into the kitchen at breakfast time, I sometimes give her a few bites in a bowl of her own. She licks it, and walks away. Not interested in the food, but there's always the test of how much the momma loves her. She vies for the spot that Punkin has occupied for 15 years next to me in the bed. Yes, I shoo her away and pat my hand to a more appropriate place for her to lay her fat ass when we sleep. She usually concedes, but there are problems if Punkie is late to bed.

Are these valid gripes for the chubby one? I don't know, but she has certainly come up with plenty of tactics to combat these horrible actions. She uses some mean intimidation on the boys. They "play" but she bites--hard. She chases them. She kind of stalks them. Last night Punkie was doing that cat walk where they walk real slow and look straight ahead, hoping that the offending creature doesn't see them sidling away. It was kind of funny, but really pretty sad seeing him trying to get away from her. It made me wonder what she pulls when I'm not here. Mister Moo had a little knot of fur in the middle of his back. I was brushing it out when Mrs. Kisses noticed that Mister Moo was getting some attention with the brush. I alternated my efforts, but Mister Moo just ran away because he (apparently) didn't want to face the wrath of Misses Pisses in the aftermath of the attention he was receiving.

She's a bitch! Who knew?

So, today she must have thought she found the perfect way to leap into first place with the Momma. Mind you, she has NEVER brought me anything as the leader of the den. Punkie brings me toy mouses all the time. Mister Moo treads lightly around the outskirts of being part of the family, choosing to sleep on the floor in front of the couch instead of actually making the leap of faith to vie for a cozy spot on the couch. Mrs. Kisses chooses the best place and makes it her own. She generally acts like the Garfield cat around here. But, today! The door was propped open for the kitties to enjoy some inside-outside freedom on my day off, as usual. Sitting at the computer on the other side of the house, I heard a strange mewing. Punkie was in his favorite spot, Mister Moo was sprawled out in front of the stereo speakers like he usually is...Mrs. Kisses is making those noises??

I walked back to the hallway to see if a strange cat had entered through the open door. Mrs. Kisses was sitting in the middle of the hallway, standing proudly over something I couldn't see at the bottom of the stairs by the bathroom door. "Oh God, what do you have?" I asked her fearfully. She looked at me proudly. I carefully leaned over the steps to see what kind of horror she had brought in. It was a substantial little thing. I couldn't really see what it was, except I saw that it had wings and a heaving little blackish body. My first guess was a hummingbird, though I had no idea how she might have caught one! I went back to turn the hall light on for a better look. When I came back and looked, I could see it was something weird. Fatter than a dragonfly with shorter wings, but definitely not a hummingbird. (Whew)!!

I went to get my camera, which was plugged into the computer for some picture transfers. Of course it wouldn't turn on! I tried to get a picture of the weird bug that beast of a feline brought in to present to me, but the camera would not turn on! I stood there fighting with the camera, pleading it to turn on so I could capture Mrs. Kisses moment of glory--to no avail. Meanwhile, she ate the bug.

At least I didn't have to try to flick it out the door.

The Dad Day

I'm having kind of an unproductive week with the circus around Lambeau bringing me down. I'm infuriated over the front office of the Green Bay Packers. I'm bewildered by the amount of what is apparently ego and pride that is preventing the return of Brett Favre to the Packers. It's all very consuming if you let it be. And I let it be. In the midst of that all-consuming frustration and anger, I forgot a very important date yesterday.

It's not like five years ago when a big shooting star marked this day for me after an evening with my girlfriends who happily toasted with me. Nope, yesterday was all about listening to sports radio, ranting via this blog, and getting to work on time. After work, I got a call from my ex-husband. He didn't waste any time telling me his bad news. His dad, who he had a strained relationship with, died last night. We knew it would happen soon, so it wasn't really a big shock, but it is still a stark reality when it does happen.

Pa, as we called him, was always pretty good to me, even if he wasn't stellar with his son. We kept in touch after the divorce, just as I keep in touch with my ex-husband. I seldom burn any bridges, so it's not uncommon for me to remain part of that family. I still have their last name, and I still consider them to be part of my family. I'm sad to hear of the news of Milton's passing, but I realize that Pa had a very long life. We even chuckled a little during the short conversation since we both know that Pa escaped death several times. He battled colon cancer, and won. He survived a car crash that killed his wife. He had two hip replacements as a result of that crash, and has walked with a rod in his leg since then. I'm sure he used up a few other lives in the years before I knew him. There's the stories of him driving home (moons ago, of course) after being at the bar when a cop would pull him over and tell him that he shouldn't be driving. The cop would give him a ride home to make sure he made it safely. LOL, it's not that way anymore, is it?

So next week, I will assume the role of the wife of Dean once more, and be part of the family who will honor the patriarch. I'll survive the pseudo pleasantries with the sister I loathe. I'll banter with the youngest brother of my ex-husband with whom we always spent so much time. Perhaps his ex-wife will attend too--it's just that kind of family.

It was several hours after this phone call bearing the news of my father-in-law's death that I realized what July 31st also means to me! It was my dad's birthday yesterday. I can't believe it slipped from my memory. There are so many dates around this time of the year. Next Thursday is the anniversary of his death. Monday is the anniversary of my parents' wedding.

It occurred to me how odd it is that one dad died on another dad's birthday. Life is like that, I guess. And it happens in the midst of the other perceived dramas that play out in our mundane lives. Next week will bring a focus on dads again. It's good to remember where we came from and where we've been. For that, I thank those dads who have been in my life. I honor you today, tomorrow, next week, and forever.

Rest in peace, Pa. Rest in peace, Daddy.