This morning I decided it had been far too long since I had hung out and head-banged with the favorite sons of Kentucky, Black Stone Cherry, so, I bought a ticket to their show this weekend. Since its at a club and there are three other bands, the ticket wasn’t very much.
Although I’m well acquainted with where Indiana lies on the map, I was a little uncertain as to how far South Bend is from my quaint little burg. How about 7 1/2 hours. No sweat, right? I mean, that’s an hour less than Atlanta and a full 8 1/2 hours less than my most major roadtrip of 16 hours to New Orleans.
There is the slight problem of not knowing if I’m off on Saturday. Another slight problem in that Douchebag said he needed to talk to me. My guess is… yeah, he’s not going to want his custodial time this weekend or he’s just going to call and harass me about something he didn’t like about something Nate said or did or something I said or did. Whatev. Then there’s the issue of GAS PRICES being $3.75 a gallon in good ole West By God Virginia, although I’ve heard they are $.20 cheaper in every surrounding state. Then I look ahead and think… “Damn, gas could be well over $4.00 a gallon by the time true concert season kicks in…”
I might have forgotten to mention that Black Stone Cherry AND Alice in Chains are recording new music. While I’m certain BSC is going to tour (in addition to what they’re doing now), I’m not so sure about Alice, although my fevered wish is that they tour TOGETHER. Orgasm, peeps, or-gas-mmmmmmmmmmm. Not to mention I could consolidate my trips and spend less money.
So, I have a ticket to the BSC/Sevendust show in South Bend, Indiana for Saturday evening. Don’t know if I’m going to make it, but I got the ticket.
That’s how you make a decision without making a decision.
With, like, a real live guy, who is cute and funny and single? Yeah, I kinda do. Or do I? Well, see, he works at my local convenience store in addition to helping his Mom run a local hotel and having his own business. He has an amazing personality and cracks me up everytime I’m in there. He does a spot-on imitation of a stereotypical Indian convenience store purveyor, which I guess is okay, considering he’s of Indian descent and obviously enjoys poking fun at his own. Once I saw his last name, I was very familiar with it as a fairly influential local family.
I found out more about him today. When Nate and I went into the store, Nick was there, but in dress clothes instead of his normal convenience store attire. I was most appreciative and let him know. In return, he came around the counter and put his arm around me. Hmmmmm… He and Nate were teasing back and forth, and of course my yard ape darling son doesn’t know when to stop so I had to stop him and practically carry him out of the store.
I wasn’t very happy about that. Its not everyday that a really cute, funny, single, hot, ambitious (young?) guy makes an effort to chat me up, especially looking and smelling that good! I jerked a knot in Nate’s ass and tightened it all the way to the grocery store. As Nate and I are standing in the frozen food section (because Momma’s brought home the bacon, but Sara Lee can fry it up), I notice Nick at the end of the aisle. He stops and looks at me and smiles, asking if I’m following him. I pointed out that Nate and I had left before he did and maybe he’s following me.
We start chatting again and Nate starts his, “Hey, you’re paying attention to my Mom and that makes me jealous” scenario until he suddenly decides that knot in his ass still hurts and maybe he should, you know, calm the hell down and find something else to occupy his time. This is when I find out that Nick has been in the Marine Corp, is a certified sous chef, and actually worked with my boss at The Greenbrier Hotel. What a coincidence.
Further, he starts giving me a hard time because I’m not buying “real” food to cook, just fast food in a box. I said, “I serve people all day, I’m entitled not to slave over a hot stove.” This brought up him saying that he would be happy to come over and cook me dinner. Now, this is very telling to me. First, he didn’t just jump off the diving board and ask me out, but did put on a good game with the “I’ll make you first class Indian food”… at your place. Not sure where he’s been for a while but mentioned he has just moved back to the area and when I mentioned his dad he shook his head and said, “No, I help my Mom.” This leads me to believe he probably lives with Mom.
I haven’t had a lot of success with men who still live with Mommy. But, he’s so patient with Nate and still willing to engage me in conversation and make an effort, I’ll overlook that for the moment. Plus, did I mention he’s very cute and he makes me laugh and he can cook?
I’m feelin’ it, ya’ll. Are ya’ll feelin’ it? Cuz, I’m feelin’ it. I’m just wondering how old he is. I’m putting him 25-30. Hopefully, closer to 30. Right now, I’m feelin’ 28. Oh, well, we’ll see what happens.
I’d be pissed too, Miley, if someone printed a picture of me in which I looked like an anorexic drug addict. Just don’t let life imitate art, Sweetpea, and all will be well.
And look at our new baby! Please welcome Tango to the family!
As you can tell, he’s having a hard time fitting in, can’t rest at all, very anxious. I was washing dishes yesterday and he was asleep on Nate’s shirt. I saw him wake up and when I looked down he was sitting at my feet. He meowed and I picked him up, went in and sat down on the couch, and he immediately assumed a position on my lap, and promptly fell back asleep.
Not spoiled at all either, the little fuzzbucket. And, as you can tell, I won the name war. Tango really does fit him.
Speaking of family, how about this flock of turkeys on my parents’ farm? The tom even graced us with an honest-to- goodness gobble as he strutted his hot turkey stuff. He’s beautiful, isn’t he? Makes my mouth water. Sorry, no Spring gobbler season in the county my folks live in.
The Top 20 on my iTunes:
- Crashed by Daughtry from Daughtry
- Keep The Light On by Jerry Cantrell from Boggy Depot
- Down in a Hole by Alice in Chains from MTV Unplugged
- Bleed the Freak by Alice in Chains from Facelift
- Sea of Sorrow by Alice in Chains from Facelift
- Anger Rising by Jerry Cantrell from Degredation Trip – Volume 2
- Dam That River by Alice in Chains from Dirt
- Feels Like Tonight by Daughtry from Daughtry
- She Was My Girl by Jerry Cantrell from Degredation Trip – Volume 2
- Whale & Wasp by Alice in Chains from Jar of Flies
- No Excuses by Alice in Chains from Jar of Flies
- Don’t Follow by Alice in Chains from Jar of Flies
- I Can’t Remember by Alice in Chains from Facelift
- What I Want by Daughtry featuring Slash from Daughtry
- Settling Down by Jerry Cantrell from Boggy Depot
- Dickeye by Jerry Cantrell from Boggy Depot
- Cut You In by Jerry Cantrell from Boggy Depot
- Breakdown by Daughtry from Daughtry
- There and Back Again by Daughtry from Daughtry
- My Song by Jerry Cantrell from Boggy Depot
As you can tell, Nate has some mild influence over my iTunes. Lucky for me, he doesn’t have the password to my iTunes account or that list would include the aforementioned Ms. Cyrus, The Jonas Brothers (GAG, okay?), Flo Rida, and Finger Eleven. Oh wait, I like Finger Eleven. Not that I’m not a fan of Daughtry and Crashed in particular, but I think this counter is a little skewed. Surely I’ve listed to Anger Rising half a million times by now.
Now, for the embarassing part… No. 21 is High on You by Survivor. If its going to be Survivor, at least be Eye of the Tiger.
Anywho, as I was telling Nate to either amscray or help me pick up around our favorite pigsty, he paused long enough to hand me a pin he had found before, well, amscraying. It said: A clean house is a sign of a wasted life. As if I needed any positive reinforcement not to pack and parcel the plethora of p(s)hit we have in this palace and sever the pith of the python of pack-ratting. While I’m it, I’ll also slaughter the English language and pet a pussy.
Nate and I had a lovely, Jeff-free weekend. I’ll drink to that!
I’m so mean.
I did find the perfect quote to describe my forced interaction relationship with Jeff.
Every time I look at you I get a fierce desire to be lonesome. – Oscar Levant
So, Beanie asked me when she was here yesterday if he’s always like this when he’s drinking. I had to inform of her of the awful truth. He’s not drinking. He’s merely back with The Girlfriend. You know, the one who says we have a thang. No honey, that’s not a thang. I’m not sure how she can mistake the “look of love” and the look of “I wish I was vomiting Drano from my nose” when dealing with her little precious ray of sunshine.
See, this is how it went… before Nate and I left on our sojourn to the Southwest, Jeff had started stalking harassing calling The Girlfriend again. Seems he used his time wisely because by the time we got back, I was basically mud. To prove his love to The Skank Girlfriend he can’t be nice to me, and not only that, he also has to attack me, hoping to goad me into a confrontation because that’s the only relationship he can have with me now. So, any interaction is better than none, in his book, and he has to make me look bad in front of The Girlfriend, you know, to prove his love.
And you know what, it bothers me. Not because he’s an idiot, but because I am. I have struggled for almost 12 years to have a civil relationship with this man so we can present a united front in raising our son and he has the audacity to cart that off to hell in a handbag every chance he gets. It gets lonely on the high road, folks. In a nutshell, I’m tired of trying.
We chase misprinted lies
We face the path of time
And yet I fight
And yet I fight
This battle all alone
No one to cry to
No place to call home
Nutshell – Alice in Chains (Jar of Flies)
He can go fuck himself.
And on that happy note, ya’ll have a great evening!
Has it already been a week since I posted? Geez, where does the time go? Oh yeah, in all that other stuff I do. How to recap the week… with strike-throughs.
Let’s see, Nate got in trouble at school again. This time he has after school detention. He uses this time to draw and play hangman. I feel as though he’s really learning a lesson about how to fuck off. Really, it was a bullshit call and I told the vice-principal that very thing. Jeff said I made an ass out of myself. I told him I prefer the term, “bitch.”
Speaking of that lying, conniving, manipulative, piece of shit Jeff, he started his shit about how if Nate doesn’t straighten up he’ll continue to pay child support but he won’t have anything to do with Nate. I wanted to ask him if that was a pre-emptive strike since Nate will probably make that decision for him when he’s older. Instead, I congratulated him on his superior parenting skills and how much that must have boosted Nate’s self-confidence and self-esteem. *snarl*
It only got better, children! Oh, yes, the insanity wasn’t anywhere near over. I called douchebag Jeff to remind him that he needed to pick Nate up on Friday after school and inquired as to whether he would keeping Nate Friday evening (as per our parenting plan) since I had to work until 8 or 9. I also told him that I had two tickets to the local baseball farm team if he wanted to take Nate, since it was his parenting time. This was all over voicemail, since fucktard Jeff couldn’t be bothered to answer my call.
He waited until he knew I would be on the floor so I couldn’t answer his call, to leave me a nice missive about how he would keep Nate Friday night, oh, and how I was welcome to pick Nate up early to take him to the baseball game but he didn’t feel as though Nate should be rewarded for his poor behavior and recent troubles at school. *Snort* This coming from the dickweed who wouldn’t back me on disciplining Nate when he was suspended. Matter of fact, he went out of his way to make sure he was extra nice to Nate following his suspension, until then, Nate was placed on detention… yeah.
I didn’t feel as though that was worthy of retort because he was just trying to get my back up, and I’ll be flayed, sprinkled with salt, and damned before that happens.
I picked Nate up Sunday at the appointed time. Nate had a bag full of computer games his dad had bought him at the church rummage sale for a dollar. Nate also proudly informed me, on the less than 15 minute ride home, that he got to do something that I had said we might do but didn’t do.
“Daddy took me to the circus!”
“Is that so?” I didn’t really mean for my voice to sound so evil. (Sort of like Glenn Close in “Fatal Attraction”)
Then Nate, who is too young to have ever seen “Fatal Attraction” and thus does not recognize the dangerous water in which he was treading, continues with his story and tells me that his dad didn’t have the money for the circus so he mentioned it to his elderly aunt, who would move Heaven and Earth for Nate, that he didn’t have the money and the tickets are *gasp* $75.00. Ya’ll know she whipped out a $100 to pay for Nate, cocksucker Jeff, and his girlfriend – the same girlfriend who accused him of having a thing with me after the fire, (1)she was my girl, used to be my world, I miss my girl, what a fine girl… even though I haven’t touched the man in almost 13 years, and the next time I touch him, it may just be to strangle the life out of him – to go to the effin’ circus, folks! That cost $41.25!
I think Nate learned some valuable lessons this weekend, don’t you? It gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling, or that may just be the wine I’ve been drinking since yesterday to ward off the overwhelming desire evil inclination to run him over with a freight train.
I’m sure he was just waiting on me to call him and tell him what a lousy piece of shit he was… so I didn’t. He’s been baiting me. Making little snide comments about how he’s not going to allow this situation with Nate and “you” to drive him to drink. Its all good, dickwad, I’ll take up the drinking part of it. Then, the phone call and then the whole scenario this weekend. Dangling that bait.
As Jerry would say,(2) “Thanks for tryin’,” emphasis on the deep voice laced with sarcasm.
And never fear, I acted completely shocked and perplexed that his sperm donor father would take Nate to the circus after his reaction to the tickets that I had for the baseball game (which were completely free and involved no manipulation or lying to the elderly to obtain). I appropriately ooohed and ahhhed at the video and pictures Nate took on his cellphone and then drank some Schmitt-Soehne. Nothing like a good German wine to take the edge off of the butcher knife I was sharpening. (3) Aim my smiling skull at you.
And he even though he’s known me for almost 15 years, assmunch always forgets that I’M NOT A MORNING PERSON and proceeds to call me at 6:30 this morning to let me know that “that little idiot forgot his medicine.” Newsflash: If you think I want to talk to your sorry ass this early in the morning, let alone see you, (4) YOU’RE FUCKING CRAZY. I informed him that I had extra medicine, because I’m so unprepared, and an angry drive to my house would not be necessary.
Again, I failed to mention that it was he who had distracted Nate from getting his (seizure) medicine because he was too busy telling me how his dog had gotten into Nate’s overnight bag and CHEWED UP Nate’s other medicine bottle, the one with the really expensive (and dangerous if ingested by dogs) medication. He better be glad she wasn’t actually able to break open the capsule or swallow said pill or said dog would be DEAD.
I also failed to mention that Nate can take his seizure medicine any time of day, unlike his other medication, which he MUST take in the morning. I had that medicine, but since his cumwad father can’t be bothered to learn about his medications, he keeps forgetting that, or so he says. I think he just wanted to see my lovely face this morning, which I promptly denied him.
I think that about covers life with Nate.
In other, unrelated, news, our new Assistant Manager put in her notice. As if I needed another reason to drink in celebration. As Jerry would say, “Thanks for tryin’.” *Hat tip* to Seamus and his hearth rollin’ bones for their accurate prediction.
This post was brought to you by:
Sarcasm, in all its glory;
Schmitt-Soehne Spaetlese Reisling;
Foul-mouthed former rockers Guns N’ Roses – (4) “You’re Crazy” from Appetite for Destruction;
Grunge gods Alice in Chains – lyrics of post title from “Man In The Box” and (3) “Sea of Sorrow” from Facelift; and;
Lord of the Riff, Mr. Jerry Cantrell – lyrics from (1) “She Was My Girl” and (2) “Thanks Anyway” from Degredation Trip – Volume 2, closing lyrics from “Between” from Boggy Depot.
It’s fair to say that in your eyes I’m wrong
And in my mind, that’s all right
* No rabbits were harmed in the writing of this post*
Well, things have been right interestin’ ’round ye olde pub recently. For the past two Mondays, somehow, I’ve only ended up with myself and a bartender on the floor. New Bartender last week, and Candyman this week. Good for tips, bad for just about everything else.
Add to the mix the new Assistant Manager and I’ve come very close to strangling a few people, well, maybe just her.
We probably got off on the wrong foot by her extolling her own virtues and copious experience. I wasn’t sure if I should curtsy or barf. It was definitely the wrong thing to do, especially since she has yet to back up anything she’s said. I’m all for giving people time to get their feet underneath them. Managing is a tough job. I should know, I do it everyday.
She lacks that go-getter attitude, about everything other than getting on my nerves. Look, honey, get out from behind the hostess stand and go serve some food, take an order, pour a drink, or otherwise, get the fuck out of my way and stop asking ME what you should be doing. In the rank of things, you’re a rung above me on the “Shit Rolls Downhill O-Meter” and frankly, I shake shit off like water, so watch out for the splatter.
This is how things are at ye olde pub. First, when I clock in every morning, I have a laundry list of positions I could choose from… server, bartender, bar back, back waiter, hostess, (and administration). The fact is, at ye olde pub, I’m all of those things everyday. All of us are all of those things, everyday. If it needs served, you serve it, if it needs poured, you pour it, if it needs bussed, you bus it, if it needs sat, you sit it, and on and on.
This does not mean you go up to the bartender and ask, “How can I help you so you can bus those tables?” Ummmm, bus the fucking table yourself! That’s what she needs help with! I told AM on Friday that regardless of how poor New Bartenders pre-bussing skills are, at this point, cuz I’m workin’ on it with her, it is still the responsibility of the lead server, me, and the AM, her, to insure that all tables are bussed, wiped, and re-sat. If I’m cleaning up my own mess, and AM is standing there yakking with her hands on her hips then… I’m sorry folks, not rocket science!
I guess some folks had mentioned she has an abrasive personality. I have heard her become a bit abrasive. Normally about nothing that I would deem to be overly important in the big scheme of things and I think that is to hide that she’s not entirely comfortable with a well-trained, knowledgeable staff who already have a strong leader down in the trenches with them. Meaning, we don’t need someone to tell us what to do, we need someone willing to wade down in the trenches with us when the going gets tough.
Being a server down today because Addy got sick, I was doing okay, especially knowing Owner Chef and Big Chef, and GM were all downstairs if I needed them, and were aware of the one server down scenario (and not being able to reach anyone else to come in), until we got our second wave and I filled up to 13 tables. One minute I was doing okay and the next minute I’m in the weeds. Candyman was away from the bar and somehow my cappucino got tossed to the side so I went back to make it and AM came back to the bar and said that one of my tables needed a check and it was a friend of mine. Yes, table 6 was a friend of mine, but table 5 had been waiting on their cappucino for 10 minutes (or more) and they WEREN’T friends of mine (Russians, from St. Petersburg, nice couple). I also had a former colleague at table 21 and a cousin at table 18, who jumped into my path and hugged me, profusely and loudly, yet, table 5 still needed their cappucino!
I told AM, quite abrasively, “If table 6 needs a check, then print it out!” She had the nerve to get snippy with me. Had I not had 12 or 13 tables, I would have said, “Woman, stop bothering me with insignificant shit like printing a damn check, which must be the easiest goddamn thing to do in this restaurant.” I almost had to walk her through the process from the bar! And I had just showed her how to run receipts on FRIDAY! And she’s been there for two weeks now! I’m sorry I didn’t get to spend time with Rusty, and I’m sorry I couldn’t present his check, at that point, I was lucky that everyone has a drink on the table and their order in the computer, something ELSE she wasn’t able to do correctly.
GM caught me in the downstairs office and we talked about the day. I told her, above all else, to be of any help to me, the AM has to be able to do the following: Know the menu front and back, take orders, enter orders, print checks, serve food, refill drinks, and bus tables. The first four she does unsatisfactorily, the fifth I’ve never seen her do, the sixth she has to be reminded to do, and the seventh, she doesn’t want to do at all.
So, well, that’s ye olde pub and such for today.
I bought a wish box in Arizona. I gathered a few trinkets while I was there and found myself taken by the turtle. Small wonder, given that it is a water animal and represents feminine power, earth, nature, fertility, and perhap the ability to defy death. Regardless, being the spiritual person I am, I have thought long and hard about what wish to put in the wish box.
You know the old adage, “Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it (all, and then some you don’t want”), at least according to old adages and Daughtry. Yes, I was quite selfish as I formulated the most precise, concise, and detailed wish imaginable, complete with back doors, chutes, ladders, moving staircases, and revolving bookshelves. It may have involved things about love and being loved and being able to love and letting go of fears and stuff like that.
But, the other day, after talking to Nate’s teacher about his continued lack of enthusiasm for school and his being suspended for “fighting” (and I say that with quotations because a true fight, IMHO, involves blood and bruises, neither of which occurred), I sat on my bed and said, “I just wish I could inspire my son to love school and achieve his highest potential.”
Funny ole world, ain’t it?
You see, I used my design method on that precise, concise, and detailed wish. You start with an idea, and then you build on that. Like writing a song. Start with a guitar riff, write some lyrics, add a bass line, crank out some drums; or a novel, layering your characters, weaving your story through the chapters; or my beading, adding a cabochon to a Swarovski to a particular weave to a particular woven chain.
Yet, even symphonies have solos and from chaos you can gain a lot of clarity.
I can’t say that my shoulders didn’t slump and had someone been there with me, they surely would have seen a lightbulb pop up over my head. The spirits have spoken and my wish will have to wait.
In other happenings in Peachville… we have a new assistant manager. Yeah. We’re off to a rocky start but I have hope. We have a new bartender who replaced Whiny and she’s a gem. I like her. Not that I don’t like the new AM, its just a little rocky right now.
I submitted my grant proposal for monetary assistance to offset the cost of my trip to Milwaukee. I guess you’ll find out when I find out.
That’s about it from Peachville. Good night and good luck.
The last of the lot… thanks Mikey for reminding me.
Fountain at Tlaquepaque
This looked eerily like a spaceship…
No, not a mural, but just a window to the outside world at Meteor Crater. It’s so beautiful looking out it looks like a picture.
Right over Nate’s shoulder is the girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford.
It was hot, dusty, dry, and windy at Homo’lovi ruins.
Old eagle/raven’s nest.
You can tell from the petroglyphs that rocks have fallen and this part was once must higher.
Amazing this photo turned out considering the winds were gusting 30-40 mph and I was holding onto part of the plant to take this pic.
The trip to Arizona was absolutely lovely. Even the barren landscapes were a thing of beauty. I noticed it most on our return drive from Pittsburgh to home. The trees, 99% deciduous, have not gotten their leaves, and it wasn’t until we returned to Southern WV that we found the dogwoods and forsythia blooming. The leaves of my rose bush are dark green again and the buds are just waiting to burst on Jeff’s cherry tree.
Spring, waiting to exhale. I could use a few Ponderosa pines around here.