Everyone knows about Murphy, right? He's the guy who makes sure that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. He's been hanging out by my side for so long that he appears as my shadow! He's put forth a mighty game plan; I'll give 'im that... Let me explain.
My ever-faithful computer acquired a hitch in its giddy-up just after Thanksgiving. I tried to avert the impending doom by beseeching my computer savvy friends about what might be happening with the gaggle of wires inside the HP box next to my desk--to no avail. It died a fairly ugly death. And because my finances are so depleted because of my cruddy job, I couldn't just go out and "pick up a new one." The fact that the Christmas season was approaching did not help my panic over money. How the hell was I supposed to make it all happen? I secured a small loan from my best friend for a computer and decided the little shopping I would do would be put on my one and only credit card. What I didn't know is that there was a force stronger than Murphy working on my behalf.
Several of my online friends (who I actually know from our bi-annual get-togethers over the last few years) told me about a guy they knew who had some cheap computers. After much phoning about what I could afford, they said they'd take care of choosing the correct computer and get it shipped to me. Woohoo! Finally a break! As it turns out, the group of guys I moderate several forums with (which includes the guys I mentioned) decided to take up a collection and GIVE me a computer for Christmas. Isn't that fantastic?! Yes it is. But that's not all they did. Since the donations were so generous, they had extra money. A lot of extra money. I don't know why everyone didn't just reduce their pledges, but they didn't. Instead, they immediately jumped to, "What else can we get her?" So, they got me an iPod nano and a money order that covered my Christmas gifts so I wouldn't have to put them on my credit card!
Now, I could tell you I was blown away by this amazing generosity (because I was blown away by this amazing generosity). Telling you that, however, could never describe the way this group of exceptional men changed my sadness and worry into joy and belief. Yes Virginia (Suz), there IS a Santa Claus. And he is this group of brothers you were lucky enough to find on the internet. I cried for days at the selfless act of the surprise these guys put together for me. When I sit down at my desk to play online, or work on my website, or spruce up my almost lost resume, or jot a note to a friend, well--I know how I got here. It makes me smile every time because I know I have truly awesome friends who cared enough to get me back to them. They are beyond wonderful, and I love them.
As if that wasn't a big enough shove to get Murphy out the door, I encountered even more good luck! My best friend won a jackpot tinkering at the casino on a day off. A BIG jackpot!! Because she too, knows the struggle I've had with my job that just isn't cutting it, I received a care package in the mail with a hefty amount of cash included among the luxury bath items. Wow! Thanks to her, coming up with my rent will not be difficult. These things happen to other people, not me. Confused, but grateful, I take these gifts humbly.
After such a stellar couple of weeks, I was settling into the fact that I really do have great friends. I was busy counting my blessings among the days of working as hard as I could to pay my bills. Then the third horseshoe fell from the sky via a phone call from my best friend after the Giants beat the Cowboys. Ms. Jackpot bought us tickets to the NFC Championship game!! Oh yes she did!! We actually crossed that one off the bucket list. It was the third coldest game in NFL history, a terrible ending to an exciting game that featured four lead changes, but we witnessed it firsthand. Incredible. It would've been nicer if we had actually won that game (which we had so many chances to do), but going to Lambeau Field, EVER, is a phenomenal event. She flew in for a whirlwind weekend, extending the fairy tale that has been my existence the last month. Truly exceptional series of events.
I can't help but wonder if the Packer's loss is somehow the end of this karmic ride for me, too. Did we freeze out all the warm karma in the -24 degree wind chill last Sunday? Has my karma been squandered, leaving no room for a job upgrade? (Tongue-in-cheek here, folks. I'm not really ungrateful)! I actually made a comment wondering if I had used up all my good karma with these latest good fortunes. A friend told me, quite sincerely, that he felt I had been screwed out of so many good things for so long that this was just a small catch up of what I was due. Awwwww.
What will February bring? I'm not sure. But at least my rent is paid and I can play online with my great buddies. I have a resume again. My spirits are better than they have been at this point in our winters than they have been in a long time. I am lucky. I am loved. I will overcome these financial issues. To my amazing friends: Thank you. You mean the world to me. To Murphy: You can't win. Go home.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Monday, November 12, 2007
"Kathleen's Geraniums"
So many odd little things are creeping into my days.
I've been financially stressed lately. I think I've not made a secret about that. My very best friend and cheerleader, who just moved thousands of miles from here, sent me a gift card to go find something great for my new home. That simple act of kindness brought tears to my eyes when I opened the letter from Seattle.
I had two thoughts for this unexpected gift of decoration. I wanted to get either a swag to go over my mirror in my bedroom, or a wonderful print in a nice frame for one of my big tall walls. Since it was a substantial gift card, I opted for Choice Two. I searched the racks of prints on several occasions, carving out time between my two jobs. I refused to make a hurried choice, as I don't often splurge on nice stuff. Finally, on the third trip, I knew I had enough time and poring over of the selection available to make my choice.
Every time I had looked, one artist's paintings captured my attention. It wasn't that I was looking for her paintings, rather I'd see a picture I liked, and it was always by this same woman--Carol Rowan. I finally settled on "Kathleen's Geraniums." Choosing a frame is a whole 'nother story that I won't bore you with...just know that I could not get the frame I wanted or the matting I wanted. I settled on a workable frame and no mat, knowing I can change those things later when I'm back on my feet and find the perfect matches.
This story actually begins here! I was so excited by having this art project in front of me that I actually sat on my living room floor at midnight after a double shift. I just had to see this put together. As I was putting the print into its frame, I thought to myself that I should look at the tag on the wrapping one last time to make sure I knew who the artist was and what the name of the print was. I cannot tell you why it clicked in my head when I looked at the plastic sticker in that particular moment, but a light bulb went off.
Carol Rowan. Carol Rowan? Could this be the artist I think it could be? I immediately dropped the project at hand and walked (quickly) to the computer. A Google of Carol Rowan brought back astounding news. "Carol Rowan works and lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where she transforms her surroundings into luminous portraits of color and light. ..."
My heart skipped a beat and I stared at the screen slack-jawed. I have been to this woman's house and she has fed me dinner. On Sunday Dinner night, reserved for family and friends. It's a tradition. She is a wonderful hostess, amazing cook, and has one of the warmest, most inviting homes I have ever been in.
How, you ask? This is Aunt Carol. My former best friend's Aunt Carol. She took me to Family Dinner one October evening long ago. We had a wonderful autumn dinner with pumpkin soup and other scrumptious food. I've always remembered and cherished that evening. Aunt Carol stood at the stove, laughing and chatting with the small group who had gathered to feast upon her cheer and warmth. Her cozy living room with a fireplace and so many wonderful paintings on the wall kept me entertained while I listened to the banter from the dining room and kitchen. One could be comfortable here for many days. She is quite a remarkable woman.
And I bought one of her paintings, completely oblivious to it being her! Remarkable, in and of itself, don't you think? Her paintings exhibit warmth and cheer; they are feel-good flowers and scenes in which you want to be surrounded. Go look, really!
http://www.prints.com/art.php/Carol_Rowan/?artist_id=2696&page=1-6 (Sorry, I cannot get this to be a clickable link).
Thank you, Aunt Carol. For dinner and conversation so long ago. And for making my kitchen a warmer, more beautiful place.
Friday, November 02, 2007
So This is How We Do It?
"Wanna play?" Kyle asked, sensing the interest I had in the blackjack game that was passing the time as we stood around a tray on a tray jack in the kitchen as the doors opened without customers. "Hell yeah, I have quarters," I answered, reaching in my pocket for a portion of the pittance I've been hording. Cheap fun! And somehow, in this wild parallel universe I've mistakenly planted myself in, I felt at ease with these two twenty-something young men who each had a turn training me when I took this job six weeks ago. Not only was it an easy camaraderie, it felt good, really good, to be standing with these guys, playing a card game for quarters.
I've been a stressed out loner these last weeks. Feeling like I belonged, was one of the gang for a few minutes, was a healing experience today in an otherwise complicated and messy life. Thank God for a cheap trip to the mechanic. Thank God for a few moments of feeling like maybe I am likeable. And thank God one more day of this current hell is over. At least there were a few blessings to be found.
Talking to a friend yesterday, she told me that my ability to make enough money to pay my bills never crossed her mind, never entered any equation either of us thought might be hard about this move for me. But it has become the overwhelming factor that chokes me every moment of every day while I struggle through another minimally-sat section at not one, but two restaurants now. So, that's two strikes, right? Friends and family assure me (daily) that I'll be okay, that this is just a phase, that things will even out. Yes, they probably will. Let's face it, at this point, it can't get much worse. There's still an underlying doubt that ping-pongs itself every minute of every day in my mind. Have I lost my ability to make an educated judgment about a restaurant's ability to make money? Am I so stupid (or old??) that I can't grasp what I should be doing to save myself from this quandary I've engulfed myself in, albeit unintentionally? Unintentionally. Ha. Who would intentionally position herself into two consecutive jobs that cannot sustain her modest lifestyle? And this is the crux of the matter: What the hell am I doing? Am I too old? Am I too cocky with 25 years experience? Do I not understand you have to start at the bottom?
No. I don't know anybody in the restaurant business who would be happy with $8-10 an hour average in nice restaurants. I've chosen nice places; really, I have. And still, I've chosen unwisely. One place gives managers sections (with booths!) while I earn a whole four tables (no booths) for my lunch shift efforts. The manager, of course, shows up from the office with an apron on at straight up noon after the opening duties have been finished, then disappears without doing any of the after lunch side work. Of course. I was promised a certain amount each week when I explained my current situation and the need for more customers...more money. Four shifts this week haven't touched a third of that. And managers are getting better sections than me. Say hello to my little friend Murphy.
To say that I am disappointed and frustrated wouldn't quite do my emotions the justice they deserve. I have a valid fear. I have bills to make. Count among my blessings the great manager at my first mistake (which is actually better than my second mistake) who is willing to give me my hours back. Uh-huh. I knew not burning bridges was a good choice. And it proves that I still have a shred of intelligence buried somewhere and left intact. Even so, maybe it's time for me to suck it up and find that 9-5 job that doesn't have the Russian Roulette factor where you never know what you'll make.
I don't have any answers these days. All I can do is be thankful for a car that still runs and doesn't seem to be in imminent danger of leaving me stranded. Find some glory in shagging a couple of wannabe's out of a few bucks in quarters. Let there be joy in the arriving home to a place whose rent is paid for at least this month. What lies ahead is a mystery. Gifts come from nowhere.
A friend trying to cheer me up said this: "I am so sorry for your bad luck on your jobs, but for some reason I think there is music in the air! No not the concerts in Oshkosh, but a special position coming up. You'll know when you hear it."
Please let it be so!
I've been a stressed out loner these last weeks. Feeling like I belonged, was one of the gang for a few minutes, was a healing experience today in an otherwise complicated and messy life. Thank God for a cheap trip to the mechanic. Thank God for a few moments of feeling like maybe I am likeable. And thank God one more day of this current hell is over. At least there were a few blessings to be found.
Talking to a friend yesterday, she told me that my ability to make enough money to pay my bills never crossed her mind, never entered any equation either of us thought might be hard about this move for me. But it has become the overwhelming factor that chokes me every moment of every day while I struggle through another minimally-sat section at not one, but two restaurants now. So, that's two strikes, right? Friends and family assure me (daily) that I'll be okay, that this is just a phase, that things will even out. Yes, they probably will. Let's face it, at this point, it can't get much worse. There's still an underlying doubt that ping-pongs itself every minute of every day in my mind. Have I lost my ability to make an educated judgment about a restaurant's ability to make money? Am I so stupid (or old??) that I can't grasp what I should be doing to save myself from this quandary I've engulfed myself in, albeit unintentionally? Unintentionally. Ha. Who would intentionally position herself into two consecutive jobs that cannot sustain her modest lifestyle? And this is the crux of the matter: What the hell am I doing? Am I too old? Am I too cocky with 25 years experience? Do I not understand you have to start at the bottom?
No. I don't know anybody in the restaurant business who would be happy with $8-10 an hour average in nice restaurants. I've chosen nice places; really, I have. And still, I've chosen unwisely. One place gives managers sections (with booths!) while I earn a whole four tables (no booths) for my lunch shift efforts. The manager, of course, shows up from the office with an apron on at straight up noon after the opening duties have been finished, then disappears without doing any of the after lunch side work. Of course. I was promised a certain amount each week when I explained my current situation and the need for more customers...more money. Four shifts this week haven't touched a third of that. And managers are getting better sections than me. Say hello to my little friend Murphy.
To say that I am disappointed and frustrated wouldn't quite do my emotions the justice they deserve. I have a valid fear. I have bills to make. Count among my blessings the great manager at my first mistake (which is actually better than my second mistake) who is willing to give me my hours back. Uh-huh. I knew not burning bridges was a good choice. And it proves that I still have a shred of intelligence buried somewhere and left intact. Even so, maybe it's time for me to suck it up and find that 9-5 job that doesn't have the Russian Roulette factor where you never know what you'll make.
I don't have any answers these days. All I can do is be thankful for a car that still runs and doesn't seem to be in imminent danger of leaving me stranded. Find some glory in shagging a couple of wannabe's out of a few bucks in quarters. Let there be joy in the arriving home to a place whose rent is paid for at least this month. What lies ahead is a mystery. Gifts come from nowhere.
A friend trying to cheer me up said this: "I am so sorry for your bad luck on your jobs, but for some reason I think there is music in the air! No not the concerts in Oshkosh, but a special position coming up. You'll know when you hear it."
Please let it be so!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Menu Choices
The parking lot was full. A misty rain spritzed me as I walked to the door. Attentively, I looked for clues to this restaurant's character. There was a cheerful hum among the guests in the crowded foyer. A plain, teen-aged girl with straight hair stood at the podium. (She reminded me of myself 30 years ago). Behind her was the quarterback of the business. You could see it on this woman. She had jet black hair, shortly coiffed, dressed smartly, and carried that air of authority. This was the woman who had the knowledge and the power to make things happen in this Italian restaurant. Yes, this was going to be an interesting meal.
While the parties ahead of me were seated, I took the opportunity to use the bathroom. Not upscale, but clean, and I noted that the motion-sensored towel dispenser fed a generous amount of toweling for drying your hands. I like that. No reason to be stingy with the toweling so your guests have to stand there and wave their hands at the machine to get enough to actually dry their hands. Good start. Now back to that busy waiting area.
I had to wait another minute or two, but the dark-haired Italian woman seated me then, and assured me that Mackenzie would be with me in just a few minutes. Indeed, she was. She was pleasant, not overbearing in her service, and left me alone without ignoring my dining needs. Very nice. The service staff wore khaki pants/skirts/shorts with forest green polos and white shoes. Interesting. I could see that the management was relaxed about the bottom half of the uniform. If it was khaki-colored, it counted. I like that in a management.
There were four servers and one bartender in a very small bar. There was a smoking and nonsmoking side. Rare, these days. There was no busperson, but I noticed the stringy-haired hostess and the efficient woman were very helpful in clearing and readying tables. The boss lady also took food out to tables, and helped where needed. Very put together woman. I saw in her the ability to manage and multitask with a smile on her face. She appeared to me to be seasoned and professional. I liked her. So did the servers.
I enjoyed that there was a high counter the chefs worked behind. They'd set up finished plates for servers to whisk away to hungry customers. No kitchen doors or corners to plot and navigate your way through to your waiting table. I like that, as well. If one was keeping score, one might say I liked how this place felt. It was buzzing with a dinner hour crowd with minimum staff who worked well together. Very nice. I'd grade it a B, overall.
When I finished my meal, it was the managing woman who asked if needed my leftovers boxed up. She coolly let my server know that I was ready for a box. My server appeared, wrapped my food, and brought my check promptly after my dessert refusal. After I paid, I took my time getting my coat back on so that I could watch the workings a little longer. When I did exit, the goddess who was probably the owner was busy cutting focaccia bread, but she still sent me out the door with a "thank you." Extremely well executed. Bravo!
I don't know if this will be the restaurant that replaces the poor choice I made when I moved a month ago, but I do know I like how they operate a whole lot more than the way my chain restaurant does. I hate that I can't make enough money in a place that I trained for three weeks at before I ever got on the floor. I hate that 5% of my sales go to tip share for people who aren't taking care of me. I hate that I work harder than any of the servers there and they are half my age. Who should be running circles around whom? I hate that I'm scrambling in my new life. Most of all, I hate that I don't have enough confidence in my understanding of restaurants to know if what I pick next will net enough business and tips to pay my bills. Strap yourselves in readers: There's a crisis and I'm back to the blah, blah, blah!
While the parties ahead of me were seated, I took the opportunity to use the bathroom. Not upscale, but clean, and I noted that the motion-sensored towel dispenser fed a generous amount of toweling for drying your hands. I like that. No reason to be stingy with the toweling so your guests have to stand there and wave their hands at the machine to get enough to actually dry their hands. Good start. Now back to that busy waiting area.
I had to wait another minute or two, but the dark-haired Italian woman seated me then, and assured me that Mackenzie would be with me in just a few minutes. Indeed, she was. She was pleasant, not overbearing in her service, and left me alone without ignoring my dining needs. Very nice. The service staff wore khaki pants/skirts/shorts with forest green polos and white shoes. Interesting. I could see that the management was relaxed about the bottom half of the uniform. If it was khaki-colored, it counted. I like that in a management.
There were four servers and one bartender in a very small bar. There was a smoking and nonsmoking side. Rare, these days. There was no busperson, but I noticed the stringy-haired hostess and the efficient woman were very helpful in clearing and readying tables. The boss lady also took food out to tables, and helped where needed. Very put together woman. I saw in her the ability to manage and multitask with a smile on her face. She appeared to me to be seasoned and professional. I liked her. So did the servers.
I enjoyed that there was a high counter the chefs worked behind. They'd set up finished plates for servers to whisk away to hungry customers. No kitchen doors or corners to plot and navigate your way through to your waiting table. I like that, as well. If one was keeping score, one might say I liked how this place felt. It was buzzing with a dinner hour crowd with minimum staff who worked well together. Very nice. I'd grade it a B, overall.
When I finished my meal, it was the managing woman who asked if needed my leftovers boxed up. She coolly let my server know that I was ready for a box. My server appeared, wrapped my food, and brought my check promptly after my dessert refusal. After I paid, I took my time getting my coat back on so that I could watch the workings a little longer. When I did exit, the goddess who was probably the owner was busy cutting focaccia bread, but she still sent me out the door with a "thank you." Extremely well executed. Bravo!
I don't know if this will be the restaurant that replaces the poor choice I made when I moved a month ago, but I do know I like how they operate a whole lot more than the way my chain restaurant does. I hate that I can't make enough money in a place that I trained for three weeks at before I ever got on the floor. I hate that 5% of my sales go to tip share for people who aren't taking care of me. I hate that I work harder than any of the servers there and they are half my age. Who should be running circles around whom? I hate that I'm scrambling in my new life. Most of all, I hate that I don't have enough confidence in my understanding of restaurants to know if what I pick next will net enough business and tips to pay my bills. Strap yourselves in readers: There's a crisis and I'm back to the blah, blah, blah!
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Blessings and Bitches
I had to do some errands the other day. I saw a Kentucky Fried Chicken and thought it was the perfect lunch stop. Fast, easy, and good-tasting. When I walked in and saw several people waiting for to pick up their food, it made me a little nervous about how fast this would be. After all, they weren't all that busy, yet two people were waiting to order, and two more were waiting for food to be put on a tray so they could eat.
I haven't had KFC for awhile so I shook off my trepidation and put myself behind the folks waiting to order. It wasn't all that bad of a wait time to order, but the food waiters were stacking up to the left. All this waiting gave me plenty of time to read (over and over and over) the sign that hung under the menu behind the counter. "The Colonel's Promise: To serve the best food with the fastest, friendliest service." Uh-huh.
I waited about 10 minutes while a large black woman painstakingly fulfilled each order that her counterpart put through the computer. She'd get one item, look back to a board above her that we couldn't see, then do it again until an order was finally complete. She would then trudge over to the counter and put the finished tray on it without so much as a word to anyone. Luckily, we were all watching her and knew just when she was working on our own lunch orders. The place was getting busier, so it was great to be that far ahead in the fulfillment process.
I ate my lunch quietly, keeping an eye on the progress at the counter. I was inwardly giggling at the sign the corporate gurus thought would be every customer's quality assurance guarantee. There wasn't anything friendly or fast about the staff here. And the food was up to snuff of what the Colonel would want, but somehow it was a little disappointing after such a long wait. Part of the charm is the "fast" part of the promise, isn't it?
Just as I was finishing my lunch, the obvious happened. Someone's *I've Waited Long Enough* meter went sky high, and the plodding putter-togetherer behind the counter got blasted. "I've been waiting forever and you just gave them their order before mine. I ordered before them. What is taking so long for my order here?" The lady who was working so diligently and painfully slowly snapped then. I swear, people, that was all the lady waiting for her food said. The woman behind the counter said, "Quit being a bitch. I didn't know your order was first." This began the shoutfest that ensued. The customer was called a fucking bitch in the next rebuttle yell. And then the drive-thru gal had to come over to try to calm the tempers. The customer was explaining what happened when the black chick jumped in to call her some more names, to which the customer replied, "Why don't you shut up? I'm trying to tell her what happened!"
I was finished with lunch by this time. I thoroughly enjoyed watching the whole place focus in on these three women, and chuckled to myself as I left. It was gonna happen with the turtle pace that was slowing everyone's day down. I wondered if I should have jotted down that 800 number at the bottom of the Colonel's Promise sign so I could make sure this restaurant was checked for that quality guarantee. I wonder if that slow woman still works there?
In the blessings department, I have to tell you three readers that I am moving. It falls more under the "hidden blessings" category though. My landlady (who used to be a friend) freaked out earlier this month. She told me on the first that she'd like me to stay here as long as I want to because I take really good care of the place. Two days later she was standing in my kitchen screaming about having 30 days to vacate. Alrighty then. I've decided to take a month or so to decide what I want to do. I think my time in this town may be over. I'm working on some exciting things that could change my outlook, and have kept the perspective on this move as one of a blessing, not a disaster.
While it's true that I like to plan things and be completely prepared for major changes, I'm thankful that I have a great place to land while I transition and research my next move. Belongings in storage is not a fun prospect, but this too shall pass. Meanwhile, the blessings and the bitches seem to even each other out.
I haven't had KFC for awhile so I shook off my trepidation and put myself behind the folks waiting to order. It wasn't all that bad of a wait time to order, but the food waiters were stacking up to the left. All this waiting gave me plenty of time to read (over and over and over) the sign that hung under the menu behind the counter. "The Colonel's Promise: To serve the best food with the fastest, friendliest service." Uh-huh.
I waited about 10 minutes while a large black woman painstakingly fulfilled each order that her counterpart put through the computer. She'd get one item, look back to a board above her that we couldn't see, then do it again until an order was finally complete. She would then trudge over to the counter and put the finished tray on it without so much as a word to anyone. Luckily, we were all watching her and knew just when she was working on our own lunch orders. The place was getting busier, so it was great to be that far ahead in the fulfillment process.
I ate my lunch quietly, keeping an eye on the progress at the counter. I was inwardly giggling at the sign the corporate gurus thought would be every customer's quality assurance guarantee. There wasn't anything friendly or fast about the staff here. And the food was up to snuff of what the Colonel would want, but somehow it was a little disappointing after such a long wait. Part of the charm is the "fast" part of the promise, isn't it?
Just as I was finishing my lunch, the obvious happened. Someone's *I've Waited Long Enough* meter went sky high, and the plodding putter-togetherer behind the counter got blasted. "I've been waiting forever and you just gave them their order before mine. I ordered before them. What is taking so long for my order here?" The lady who was working so diligently and painfully slowly snapped then. I swear, people, that was all the lady waiting for her food said. The woman behind the counter said, "Quit being a bitch. I didn't know your order was first." This began the shoutfest that ensued. The customer was called a fucking bitch in the next rebuttle yell. And then the drive-thru gal had to come over to try to calm the tempers. The customer was explaining what happened when the black chick jumped in to call her some more names, to which the customer replied, "Why don't you shut up? I'm trying to tell her what happened!"
I was finished with lunch by this time. I thoroughly enjoyed watching the whole place focus in on these three women, and chuckled to myself as I left. It was gonna happen with the turtle pace that was slowing everyone's day down. I wondered if I should have jotted down that 800 number at the bottom of the Colonel's Promise sign so I could make sure this restaurant was checked for that quality guarantee. I wonder if that slow woman still works there?
In the blessings department, I have to tell you three readers that I am moving. It falls more under the "hidden blessings" category though. My landlady (who used to be a friend) freaked out earlier this month. She told me on the first that she'd like me to stay here as long as I want to because I take really good care of the place. Two days later she was standing in my kitchen screaming about having 30 days to vacate. Alrighty then. I've decided to take a month or so to decide what I want to do. I think my time in this town may be over. I'm working on some exciting things that could change my outlook, and have kept the perspective on this move as one of a blessing, not a disaster.
While it's true that I like to plan things and be completely prepared for major changes, I'm thankful that I have a great place to land while I transition and research my next move. Belongings in storage is not a fun prospect, but this too shall pass. Meanwhile, the blessings and the bitches seem to even each other out.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Keen Observations
Let's face it. We all go through midlife crises. (That's the plural of crisis, right)? I'm doing it full-throttle, oh yes I am. Some days just seem more indecisive than others. I have a host of issues on the table as I venture into this summer season that I love so much. I believe--yes I do--that if this was winter, I might actually be depressed by all that is on my mind. But with bright sunny skies to greet me, warm breezes floating through windows that stay open day and night, and a schedule that allows me to enjoy those warm summer days, how can I be unhappy?
I was chatting with a longtime friend a few weeks ago. He was telling me about a girl he used to love. They had to split apart so she could go far away to care for an ailing mother. A series of miscommunication and bad timing cost them the relationship that might have been. While he'd wondered about her for years, he had moved on with his life, and is happily married with a child now. The same kind of odd fate that had ripped them apart brought them together briefly not long ago. He was trying to relate the feelings that talking to her again evoked. He is without regret, yet there's a sad overtone to finally knowing what happened to the girl he once loved. I think knowing she is sad, knowing she is missing him, understanding that she would like to return to the love they once shared, is a bullet wound that carries a pain we must endure once the gun has been shot.
It makes me wonder what things I might regret as I get older. I believe I have plenty of losses that I could regret if I so chose to regret. But I'm like E, I refuse to reenact an old love affair that obviously can't work for me now. Ha. It doesn't mean I don't do the same thing he did until a few weeks ago. I wonder what ever happened to the Mark's I knew in college (two guys named Mark?)!! I truly loved three guys in college, but the timing wasn't right. We might have made beautiful families together. Then again, we might be fighting over custody weekends and holidays.
I don't know. When I say to my friends, "I'm not where I thought I'd be at this point in my life" they all point out that none of us are where we thought we'd be. "Who is?" they scream at me. Well, probably none of us. And I'm not whining because I have a plethora of blessings I embrace each day. I do miss the fact that I never had kids. (More circumstantial happenings...) I have days when I truly miss my ex. (I also have days that I'm so relieved I'm not with him)! I wish my job offered benefits or a 401k. I wish I had health care. I wish I had a more steady paycheck instead of two combined jobs that are not 'for sure' in the amount earned. I worry about my elderly years. I don't have children who will care for me, but I wasn't shallow enough to buy into the American Dream of having kids for the sake of having kids, even after I knew I was setting myself up to become a ward of the state who would likely be tossed into a low-grade facility at age 75. Is it any wonder I throw out the crass, "I know, I'm trying as hard as I can" in answer to the redundant chastising about how that cigarette I'm lighting up will kill me? Sometimes I just tell the scolder that it's really my only vice and without it, I'd be perfect. ;)
Seriously though, where are we supposed to draw the line between happily doing okay and not even close? Is it bad that I sit online and chat with friends (or sometimes just read) while I have a few 'wind down' cocktails? Am I an alcoholic for doing that? Because I have to say...there's a whole lot of other bigger issues I'd like to address and clean up in my life before I worry about smoking and drinking. I'm the most moderate person I know. I'm also my own best critic, so if you think you need to tell me about how I'm fucking up, you can save your nicotene-free breath on that spiel. I already know, thank you.
I know that I want more. I know that I'm capable of more. I know that I have some decisions to make very soon. What I don't know is what I'll decide. In the interim of moving forward, I've decided that whatever is coming is an adventure and an opportunity, not a thing to be dreaded. I admit, that kind of thinking is a little outside of the box for me, but I'm up for it. I believe the palette in front of me is offering up some colors I haven't seen before. I've been mulling my life long enough. I have a clear understanding of my past. I concede the failures and believe that I am better equipped now to make solid decisions for the second half of my life than I have ever been. I'll wake up tomorrow with the sun glinting through the shades beckoning me to partake in the day that is waiting. And you can bet your ass that I'm all over that!
Giggity! Giggity! Giggity! ;)
I was chatting with a longtime friend a few weeks ago. He was telling me about a girl he used to love. They had to split apart so she could go far away to care for an ailing mother. A series of miscommunication and bad timing cost them the relationship that might have been. While he'd wondered about her for years, he had moved on with his life, and is happily married with a child now. The same kind of odd fate that had ripped them apart brought them together briefly not long ago. He was trying to relate the feelings that talking to her again evoked. He is without regret, yet there's a sad overtone to finally knowing what happened to the girl he once loved. I think knowing she is sad, knowing she is missing him, understanding that she would like to return to the love they once shared, is a bullet wound that carries a pain we must endure once the gun has been shot.
It makes me wonder what things I might regret as I get older. I believe I have plenty of losses that I could regret if I so chose to regret. But I'm like E, I refuse to reenact an old love affair that obviously can't work for me now. Ha. It doesn't mean I don't do the same thing he did until a few weeks ago. I wonder what ever happened to the Mark's I knew in college (two guys named Mark?)!! I truly loved three guys in college, but the timing wasn't right. We might have made beautiful families together. Then again, we might be fighting over custody weekends and holidays.
I don't know. When I say to my friends, "I'm not where I thought I'd be at this point in my life" they all point out that none of us are where we thought we'd be. "Who is?" they scream at me. Well, probably none of us. And I'm not whining because I have a plethora of blessings I embrace each day. I do miss the fact that I never had kids. (More circumstantial happenings...) I have days when I truly miss my ex. (I also have days that I'm so relieved I'm not with him)! I wish my job offered benefits or a 401k. I wish I had health care. I wish I had a more steady paycheck instead of two combined jobs that are not 'for sure' in the amount earned. I worry about my elderly years. I don't have children who will care for me, but I wasn't shallow enough to buy into the American Dream of having kids for the sake of having kids, even after I knew I was setting myself up to become a ward of the state who would likely be tossed into a low-grade facility at age 75. Is it any wonder I throw out the crass, "I know, I'm trying as hard as I can" in answer to the redundant chastising about how that cigarette I'm lighting up will kill me?
Seriously though, where are we supposed to draw the line between happily doing okay and not even close? Is it bad that I sit online and chat with friends (or sometimes just read) while I have a few 'wind down' cocktails? Am I an alcoholic for doing that? Because I have to say...there's a whole lot of other bigger issues I'd like to address and clean up in my life before I worry about smoking and drinking. I'm the most moderate person I know. I'm also my own best critic, so if you think you need to tell me about how I'm fucking up, you can save your nicotene-free breath on that spiel. I already know, thank you.
I know that I want more. I know that I'm capable of more. I know that I have some decisions to make very soon. What I don't know is what I'll decide. In the interim of moving forward, I've decided that whatever is coming is an adventure and an opportunity, not a thing to be dreaded. I admit, that kind of thinking is a little outside of the box for me, but I'm up for it. I believe the palette in front of me is offering up some colors I haven't seen before. I've been mulling my life long enough. I have a clear understanding of my past. I concede the failures and believe that I am better equipped now to make solid decisions for the second half of my life than I have ever been. I'll wake up tomorrow with the sun glinting through the shades beckoning me to partake in the day that is waiting. And you can bet your ass that I'm all over that!
Giggity! Giggity! Giggity! ;)
Friday, June 01, 2007
Tidbits from the Last Week of May
So many little things crept into this week that I felt it was time for a mixed bag blog. In no particular order, here are the things that tickled, touched, or tormented me this week.
I was shopping the other day and found myself next to an older gentleman in the dairy section. We seemed to be ambling at the same pace through the variety of milk products and rounded the outskirts of the area together. I stopped to get some margarine when an elderly woman walked up to him carrying a can of something from somewhere else in the store. As she approached him, her voice lifted like that of a newlywed and she cooed at him, "There you are, baby. I thought you might be getting milk." I glanced over and was astonished to see this elderly couple coming back together among the eggs and cheese in such a tender way. The woman's kindness to a man who has surely been her mate for decades touched me. I hope we can all remember that even a five minute separation gives us the opportunity to let our best friend know that we are happy to see them again.
I waited on two 10-year olds who wanted to be "grown-up" and not eat with their parents. The parents sat across the dining room in another server's section, so the girls were on their own. When I approached the table the girls squirmed with delight at the prospect of being served like adults. They ordered kiddie cocktails and mozzarella sticks for an appetizer. They clearly wanted to make this an evening to remember and take full advantage of milking the experience. Hey, no problems there, I found it cute.
It was cute until I stood at the table for a full minute waiting for the miniature blond to get off of her cell phone. When she ignored me and kept talking to the person who was supposed to go to the movie gallery to rent her and her cohort some movies for later, I walked away. Trust me, it was hard not to fly into a tirade, but I held my composure. I walked into the kitchen and vented about being blown off by a ten-year old on a cell phone, exclaiming, "That's a first!" I hope it's a last too. It was downright humiliating and degrading. Parents are really teaching their children to be restaurant snobs early these days, aren't they? I can't even comment on this further, or it will turn into a full-blown blog of its own. Wow.
The tree and grass pollen has been atrocious this year, especially if you care how your car looks. Grrr. I have a new car that I would like to look lovely every second of the day. It's not gonna happen. I took it to the car wash one afternoon, and parked it smartly in my driveway, just a-gleamin' in the sun, only to see another film of the yellow pollen on it three hours later. I officially give up. Someone please ask the pollen gods to ease up, huh?
My sweetheart, who is never grumpy, was the biggest crab on the planet the other night. This was a complete role reversal for me to try to buoy him up and out of the bad mood that found him. It might also be a good reminder that I could knock that crap off anytime too because maybe cheering me up shouldn't be a full-time job. Point taken. And yet I've been just drained and out of it this week. I can barely find the energy to get anything accomplished. I made a comment at work the other day about not being recovered from the holiday weekend yet. Someone said, "Yeah, and you won't be until about September." Yep, let the tourist season begin. And may the grumpy season be gone.
A friend and I had an interesting discussion last week. I was bemoaning the fact that I seem to be taking after my grandmother with thinning hair. She's a bit younger than me, but she got it! Her reply is priceless. "I know," she said, "when I was younger I used to see the hair in the drain and think, 'how much hair do I have and now I see it and think how much hair am I losing?'"
The spiders have been behaving lately. The ants are moving in. It's humid, which I consider spider weather, but they've left me mostly to my home sweet home. And I haven't had to spray that darned stuff around the house, either. I am getting out the Terro though. I killed an ant tonight that had it been a spider, I would have been terrorized to swat. Yes, it was that big. If that family of ants moves in, I'm moving out. Yikes!
I'm working on a blog about the drama at work, but I'm not sure I will post it. It's so whiny. I would like to be hopeful and uplifting in my words to my two or three readers, but I know I'm not, so look for a post about some drama at work going up soon! ;) And enjoy the end of your week, friends!
I was shopping the other day and found myself next to an older gentleman in the dairy section. We seemed to be ambling at the same pace through the variety of milk products and rounded the outskirts of the area together. I stopped to get some margarine when an elderly woman walked up to him carrying a can of something from somewhere else in the store. As she approached him, her voice lifted like that of a newlywed and she cooed at him, "There you are, baby. I thought you might be getting milk." I glanced over and was astonished to see this elderly couple coming back together among the eggs and cheese in such a tender way. The woman's kindness to a man who has surely been her mate for decades touched me. I hope we can all remember that even a five minute separation gives us the opportunity to let our best friend know that we are happy to see them again.
I waited on two 10-year olds who wanted to be "grown-up" and not eat with their parents. The parents sat across the dining room in another server's section, so the girls were on their own. When I approached the table the girls squirmed with delight at the prospect of being served like adults. They ordered kiddie cocktails and mozzarella sticks for an appetizer. They clearly wanted to make this an evening to remember and take full advantage of milking the experience. Hey, no problems there, I found it cute.
It was cute until I stood at the table for a full minute waiting for the miniature blond to get off of her cell phone. When she ignored me and kept talking to the person who was supposed to go to the movie gallery to rent her and her cohort some movies for later, I walked away. Trust me, it was hard not to fly into a tirade, but I held my composure. I walked into the kitchen and vented about being blown off by a ten-year old on a cell phone, exclaiming, "That's a first!" I hope it's a last too. It was downright humiliating and degrading. Parents are really teaching their children to be restaurant snobs early these days, aren't they? I can't even comment on this further, or it will turn into a full-blown blog of its own. Wow.
The tree and grass pollen has been atrocious this year, especially if you care how your car looks. Grrr. I have a new car that I would like to look lovely every second of the day. It's not gonna happen. I took it to the car wash one afternoon, and parked it smartly in my driveway, just a-gleamin' in the sun, only to see another film of the yellow pollen on it three hours later. I officially give up. Someone please ask the pollen gods to ease up, huh?
My sweetheart, who is never grumpy, was the biggest crab on the planet the other night. This was a complete role reversal for me to try to buoy him up and out of the bad mood that found him. It might also be a good reminder that I could knock that crap off anytime too because maybe cheering me up shouldn't be a full-time job. Point taken. And yet I've been just drained and out of it this week. I can barely find the energy to get anything accomplished. I made a comment at work the other day about not being recovered from the holiday weekend yet. Someone said, "Yeah, and you won't be until about September." Yep, let the tourist season begin. And may the grumpy season be gone.
A friend and I had an interesting discussion last week. I was bemoaning the fact that I seem to be taking after my grandmother with thinning hair. She's a bit younger than me, but she got it! Her reply is priceless. "I know," she said, "when I was younger I used to see the hair in the drain and think, 'how much hair do I have and now I see it and think how much hair am I losing?'"
The spiders have been behaving lately. The ants are moving in. It's humid, which I consider spider weather, but they've left me mostly to my home sweet home. And I haven't had to spray that darned stuff around the house, either. I am getting out the Terro though. I killed an ant tonight that had it been a spider, I would have been terrorized to swat. Yes, it was that big. If that family of ants moves in, I'm moving out. Yikes!
I'm working on a blog about the drama at work, but I'm not sure I will post it. It's so whiny. I would like to be hopeful and uplifting in my words to my two or three readers, but I know I'm not, so look for a post about some drama at work going up soon! ;) And enjoy the end of your week, friends!
Friday, May 18, 2007
I'm Ranting Here
Work sucked tonight! It's not that the tips were awful or the night was extremely long. Work just sucked. It might be the allergies that have been kicking my ass have finally gotten to me. Sure, I thought on Monday...I could get through a day or two of feeling under the weather because the trees were furiously blooming, but now I'm just tired of feeling so non-functioning. And work sucked because of it.
I noticed right away that I was on the rampage. The slicer was a beast on tomatoes and onions, and the tomatoes were little so there were way too many of them to slice. I was behind after sparring with the slicing equipment and the hostess had people waiting in the hall so she wanted to open the doors early. To be totally honest, the issues at work have been escalating because of a few bad apples who are rotting the good apples' good attitudes. This alone makes work suck. Then again, in the spirit of honesty, I do love my job.
What do you get when you mix one part allergy with one part PMS and one part annoyance at the workplace? I'll tell you what you get. You get one crabby waitress. My first table needed time to look at the menu which was cool by me. However, when they were finally ready to order (and subsequently througout the meal), the woman felt compelled to explain every detail of why she needed to relay each message she gave me. Example: "I'd like it if you could bring us two more sour creams. I didn't get one [she said no when I asked if she wanted one in the ordering phase]and he shared some of his with me, but now we're out and I think we'd like a little extra in addition to the one I didn't get, so....if I could get two..." All she needed to say was, "Could you bring us two sour creams?" But nope. Everytime I dealt with her it was all about her snivelling. Whatever.
Shortly after that while I was ringing in an order at the POS (which is near our Friday night fish and chicken buffet), a woman leaned in and asked, "Will they be bringing out more chicken?" Boy howdy, I wanted to say, "I'm sorry! We've exceeded our alotted amount of Friday Night Chicken and it's only 6:15pm!" I could have added, "there's a lot of fish though, so dig in!" What possesses people to ask such stupid questions? Obviously, what she wanted to know was how long she would have to wait for more chicken. Why didn't she just ask that?
My night continued on the path of aggravation when my section cleared out simultaneously and my hostess brought me two 4-tops and a 2-top within minutes of each other. By the time I got to the third seated table and tried to greet them and introduce myself, the woman had a sour face and blurted, "We are ready to order." Her tone infuriated me. I guess she was under that customer assumption that us servers are in the back eating Bon-Bons, even though it appears that our twin is dashing to the bar for drinks and serving salads that were punched in and sent by some ghost of a server that they can't see. I held back a snarl and informed the woman in my most neutral tone that I was working as fast as I could, "whatwouldyoulike?"
I skipped the extra pleasantries with most of my tables. Honestly, I didn't smile all that much. And believe it or not, it had less to do with my grumpy mood and more to do with the chapped upper lip and nose area that I've developed because of the excessive nose-blowing that's gone on. As luck (or stupidity) would have it, I left one of about seven tubes of lip balm I have scattered in coat pockets and my purse, car, etc in the pocket of the coat I wore earlier today. I went to work without lip balm!!! Nary a soul had anything until the late busgirl came in and finally had some to share. I actually started smiling more after that, I'm pretty sure. I've used that stuff four times writing this, just to give you an idea of how naked I was at work without anything to moisten that dry upper lip. I thought I might die.
The night went pretty fast and I'm glad to be home. I'm still a tad jealous that my best work friend got the first table in my section after I was cut and they had tenderloin and lobster. I guess when you go in crabby, you better find a way to sigh and laugh it off by the time that happens to you. I took solace and joy in my after work cigarette, meal, and cocktail while the closing girls slaved away. I've got a lot of nights ahead of me this week. You bet your ass I'm basking in an early night off.
Did I remember to take Table #18's extra rolls to them? Eh, who cares?!
I noticed right away that I was on the rampage. The slicer was a beast on tomatoes and onions, and the tomatoes were little so there were way too many of them to slice. I was behind after sparring with the slicing equipment and the hostess had people waiting in the hall so she wanted to open the doors early. To be totally honest, the issues at work have been escalating because of a few bad apples who are rotting the good apples' good attitudes. This alone makes work suck. Then again, in the spirit of honesty, I do love my job.
What do you get when you mix one part allergy with one part PMS and one part annoyance at the workplace? I'll tell you what you get. You get one crabby waitress. My first table needed time to look at the menu which was cool by me. However, when they were finally ready to order (and subsequently througout the meal), the woman felt compelled to explain every detail of why she needed to relay each message she gave me. Example: "I'd like it if you could bring us two more sour creams. I didn't get one [she said no when I asked if she wanted one in the ordering phase]and he shared some of his with me, but now we're out and I think we'd like a little extra in addition to the one I didn't get, so....if I could get two..." All she needed to say was, "Could you bring us two sour creams?" But nope. Everytime I dealt with her it was all about her snivelling. Whatever.
Shortly after that while I was ringing in an order at the POS (which is near our Friday night fish and chicken buffet), a woman leaned in and asked, "Will they be bringing out more chicken?" Boy howdy, I wanted to say, "I'm sorry! We've exceeded our alotted amount of Friday Night Chicken and it's only 6:15pm!" I could have added, "there's a lot of fish though, so dig in!" What possesses people to ask such stupid questions? Obviously, what she wanted to know was how long she would have to wait for more chicken. Why didn't she just ask that?
My night continued on the path of aggravation when my section cleared out simultaneously and my hostess brought me two 4-tops and a 2-top within minutes of each other. By the time I got to the third seated table and tried to greet them and introduce myself, the woman had a sour face and blurted, "We are ready to order." Her tone infuriated me. I guess she was under that customer assumption that us servers are in the back eating Bon-Bons, even though it appears that our twin is dashing to the bar for drinks and serving salads that were punched in and sent by some ghost of a server that they can't see. I held back a snarl and informed the woman in my most neutral tone that I was working as fast as I could, "whatwouldyoulike?"
I skipped the extra pleasantries with most of my tables. Honestly, I didn't smile all that much. And believe it or not, it had less to do with my grumpy mood and more to do with the chapped upper lip and nose area that I've developed because of the excessive nose-blowing that's gone on. As luck (or stupidity) would have it, I left one of about seven tubes of lip balm I have scattered in coat pockets and my purse, car, etc in the pocket of the coat I wore earlier today. I went to work without lip balm!!! Nary a soul had anything until the late busgirl came in and finally had some to share. I actually started smiling more after that, I'm pretty sure. I've used that stuff four times writing this, just to give you an idea of how naked I was at work without anything to moisten that dry upper lip. I thought I might die.
The night went pretty fast and I'm glad to be home. I'm still a tad jealous that my best work friend got the first table in my section after I was cut and they had tenderloin and lobster. I guess when you go in crabby, you better find a way to sigh and laugh it off by the time that happens to you. I took solace and joy in my after work cigarette, meal, and cocktail while the closing girls slaved away. I've got a lot of nights ahead of me this week. You bet your ass I'm basking in an early night off.
Did I remember to take Table #18's extra rolls to them? Eh, who cares?!
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Spider Returns
No, that's not a typo. I did mean "Spider Returns." Anyone who knows me knows that I'm pretty brash and bold, unafraid of hardly anything. Anything, that is, except spiders. I am the quintessential Little Miss Muffet. In other words, spiders scare the shit out of me.
My fear of spiders has actually decreased as I've gotten older, but I think that's only because I've had to be brave since I've lived alone a fair amount of my adult years. I've vowed to myself that I won't let a spider ruin my happy home. That being said, I have to admit to a few idiosyncratic tendencies. When I was little I put my shoes on and a big spider ran across my foot. Now I tap out my shoes before my feet enter them. Every time. Even in the winter. One time I took a shower and made the mistake of leaving my clothes on the floor and a spider was amongst them when I picked them up after my shower. Now, not only do I hang my clothes on a towel hook, I also shake out my towel before I dry myself after a shower. I've heard tales of spiders (and worse) in sleeping bags and beds, so I usually take a peek under the covers to see if there's any crawly things where I intend to lay down.
I have acquired some new habits recently. If I was not so scared of surfing pages where ugly, scary spiders pop in on my screen, I would search for the kind of spider that has made my home his home. Hell, we're not talking about one or two of these, I'm saying this sonofabitch brought every brother and lazy-assed ex father-in-law he ever had, plus every baby spider bearing female spider he could entice over with him. Damn! These things are appearing everywhere.
First I'd just see one or two skittering about on the ceiling while I was watching tv. This is okay, as long as they don't skitter above my head or over the furniture I'm sitting on. (You never know when they are going to lose that grip and have gravity beat them)! If one of them came down the wall far enough that I could get a clean shot with my "spider-killing shoe" then I'd run and get "the shoe" and kill the SOB. Really, not a big deal to kill a vagrant spider that is below shoulder level once in awhile. Do not expect me to hold my composure when I have "the shoe" in my hand and I'm on a chair trying to kill a spider on the ceiling. And don't ever give me shit because I can't take a whack at a spider on the wall that is above my head even though I can easily reach "the shoe" above my head and mark the wall with the spider's guts. I can't do it. And I won't even go into the inner hysterics I endure if the spider that's ruining my day is large and hairy. Suffice it to say that I will have trouble crawling into bed to sleep at the end of a day that involves a hairy spider. But I digress.
Like I said, the spiders that moved in were sporadically visible at first. Then (after the scouts came back unharmed I'm assuming), they started showing up everywhere! I'd open a cupboard and one would race up the inside of it. I'd take a bath and one would hover above me, ruining any chance of relaxation I was hoping to gain from my lavender bubbles. They'd appear from under the ledge of the counter while I was working in the kitchen. One morning I lifted the lid to pour water into the coffee maker and one darted around. I thought for sure coffee was going to be delayed while the scuba team tried to revive the kid, but his track abilities kicked in and he made a dash across the top of the machine and landed on the counter where I easily squashed him. Coffee was on time.
The spiders like to relax in the spot where the wall meets the ceiling, knowing damn well I can't get a shoe wedged in that space to take their lives. Except I did it anyway. A few got away shy a few legs, but I'm pretty sure they died or got smacked down later. (I'd like to think those ants that were attacking me last year might have had a hearty meal of him)! I had one of those spiders come flying out of the microwave one day. What in the hell happened to my little fairy tale house? These guys were threatening my existence here. I'd have a friend over for drinks after work, only to be mesmerized by the two dancing spiders having a prom all their own on the wall behind my chatty friend. "The shoe" came out, she sat still, and prom was over.
I went ballistic on these creepy crawlers about a week ago. I swept the whole house clear of spider webs and waited for the mad scramble. It worked. I think my best day was seven spider kills. I had gleaned the custom of scouring each room as I walked into it from the previous onslaught of spider bugaloo, so I was on double red high alert after the web-sweep. Finally, it seemed I had chased the few survivors to another abode. That is, until this morning when I went to feed my cats, and one popped up from under the ledge of the counter. I grabbed "the shoe" with a heavy heart and took him out without flinching.
I have one weapon left in my arsenal. It's a big jug of spider poison that will get sprayed around the outside of the house and in the corners inside the house. If they persist after that, I may get a holster made for "the shoe" and wear it to bed. I'm gonna change the last line of that nursery rhyme too:
Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey,
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her
So Miss Muffet blew him away
My fear of spiders has actually decreased as I've gotten older, but I think that's only because I've had to be brave since I've lived alone a fair amount of my adult years. I've vowed to myself that I won't let a spider ruin my happy home. That being said, I have to admit to a few idiosyncratic tendencies. When I was little I put my shoes on and a big spider ran across my foot. Now I tap out my shoes before my feet enter them. Every time. Even in the winter. One time I took a shower and made the mistake of leaving my clothes on the floor and a spider was amongst them when I picked them up after my shower. Now, not only do I hang my clothes on a towel hook, I also shake out my towel before I dry myself after a shower. I've heard tales of spiders (and worse) in sleeping bags and beds, so I usually take a peek under the covers to see if there's any crawly things where I intend to lay down.
I have acquired some new habits recently. If I was not so scared of surfing pages where ugly, scary spiders pop in on my screen, I would search for the kind of spider that has made my home his home. Hell, we're not talking about one or two of these, I'm saying this sonofabitch brought every brother and lazy-assed ex father-in-law he ever had, plus every baby spider bearing female spider he could entice over with him. Damn! These things are appearing everywhere.
First I'd just see one or two skittering about on the ceiling while I was watching tv. This is okay, as long as they don't skitter above my head or over the furniture I'm sitting on. (You never know when they are going to lose that grip and have gravity beat them)! If one of them came down the wall far enough that I could get a clean shot with my "spider-killing shoe" then I'd run and get "the shoe" and kill the SOB. Really, not a big deal to kill a vagrant spider that is below shoulder level once in awhile. Do not expect me to hold my composure when I have "the shoe" in my hand and I'm on a chair trying to kill a spider on the ceiling. And don't ever give me shit because I can't take a whack at a spider on the wall that is above my head even though I can easily reach "the shoe" above my head and mark the wall with the spider's guts. I can't do it. And I won't even go into the inner hysterics I endure if the spider that's ruining my day is large and hairy. Suffice it to say that I will have trouble crawling into bed to sleep at the end of a day that involves a hairy spider. But I digress.
Like I said, the spiders that moved in were sporadically visible at first. Then (after the scouts came back unharmed I'm assuming), they started showing up everywhere! I'd open a cupboard and one would race up the inside of it. I'd take a bath and one would hover above me, ruining any chance of relaxation I was hoping to gain from my lavender bubbles. They'd appear from under the ledge of the counter while I was working in the kitchen. One morning I lifted the lid to pour water into the coffee maker and one darted around. I thought for sure coffee was going to be delayed while the scuba team tried to revive the kid, but his track abilities kicked in and he made a dash across the top of the machine and landed on the counter where I easily squashed him. Coffee was on time.
The spiders like to relax in the spot where the wall meets the ceiling, knowing damn well I can't get a shoe wedged in that space to take their lives. Except I did it anyway. A few got away shy a few legs, but I'm pretty sure they died or got smacked down later. (I'd like to think those ants that were attacking me last year might have had a hearty meal of him)! I had one of those spiders come flying out of the microwave one day. What in the hell happened to my little fairy tale house? These guys were threatening my existence here. I'd have a friend over for drinks after work, only to be mesmerized by the two dancing spiders having a prom all their own on the wall behind my chatty friend. "The shoe" came out, she sat still, and prom was over.
I went ballistic on these creepy crawlers about a week ago. I swept the whole house clear of spider webs and waited for the mad scramble. It worked. I think my best day was seven spider kills. I had gleaned the custom of scouring each room as I walked into it from the previous onslaught of spider bugaloo, so I was on double red high alert after the web-sweep. Finally, it seemed I had chased the few survivors to another abode. That is, until this morning when I went to feed my cats, and one popped up from under the ledge of the counter. I grabbed "the shoe" with a heavy heart and took him out without flinching.
I have one weapon left in my arsenal. It's a big jug of spider poison that will get sprayed around the outside of the house and in the corners inside the house. If they persist after that, I may get a holster made for "the shoe" and wear it to bed. I'm gonna change the last line of that nursery rhyme too:
Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey,
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her
So Miss Muffet blew him away
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