I love Beef Jerky

>> Sunday, May 10, 2009

I used to work at this vegan restaurant in Minneapolis. It was short lived; I lied on my application when I applied. I promised that I didn’t eat meat. Actually, I am a voracious carnivore. They fired me when they found out I was sneaking beef jerky on my break in the broom closet.

The job was interesting. I am a people watcher, and it was definitely a great spot to watch. One day I was finishing my shift and hanging back rolling some silverware, near a back booth; a man sat alone watching a table across the restaurant from the top of his menu. Three giggling women had already ordered and seemed to be enjoying a Trio Sampler (Pesto, hummus & olive tapenade served with flax crackers). The man had mentioned he was waiting for friends and asked for a glass of water.

A stocky red-head rounded the corner, walked quickly over, and slowly lowering himself to the table. “Geez, John, what is this place,” he whispered.

“What? It’s a restaurant… see,” John motioned, “people eating.”

John’s guest smirked, “Yeah, I see that. What are they eating?” His face was scrunched up as he tried to make out what was on other customer’s plates.

“It appears to be food, Ruben,”

“Always the smart ass,” Ruben shot, “Come here often, do you?”

“Um,” John paused, “I have never been here before.” He tried to be inconspicuous and glance at the other table over Ruben’s left shoulder but he took notice and turned to look behind him. “Is Franco coming?” John asked. Ruben screwed up his face as John continued, “I thought he was coming with you.”

Ruben grabbed for John’s water and said, “You thought wrong,” guzzled the whole glass without breaking eye contact with John, and slammed it on the table. He picked up the delicate menu and began looking it over. After a moment he huffed, “I don’t think I can eat anything here…” Ruben made a weird clicking noise and threw the menu on the table. “It’s going to give me the shits. I just know it.”

John rolled his eyes and sighed. Another man rounded the corner, tall and slim with very untidy hair and clothing. John stood up and waved, “Franco!”

Franco walked over to the table and gave Ruben a nasty glare before he turned to John and said, “There you are.” He grabbed John’s hand firmly and shook it. Franco grit his teeth and smiled, “I had to take the bus,” before turning to Ruben to acknowledge him with a nod, “Ruby.”

“Freakshow,” Ruben responded.

“Thanks for the ride, asshole,” Franco sneered.

A large smile spread over Ruben’s face, “Don’t mention it.”

John gave them looks of great irritation and Franco sidled into the booth next to John. “I have never been here before… I’m starving” Franco said as he grabbed the menu off the table, “Er…Um… What’s hummus?”

“It’s some kind of dip or something,” said John sneaking looks at the girls again while Rubin drummed his fingers on the table.

“Oh… eh, no burgers?” Franco grumbled.

“No burgers, “ Ruben sang.

“Right… no meat here,” John pointed out.

“No meat,” Ruben continued.

Franco turned to John seriously, “What’s going on here, John?”

John looked for a moment at Franco, opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and looked away. Shyly John replied, “I overheard a girl I work with on the phone today; she is eating here. “ Ruben whipped his head from side to side. John motioned to the girls’ table, “Over there… no, over there. Christ! Don’t look. Just look.”

Franco just smiled while John looked at them both questioningly. “So,” Ruben started, “you dragged us to this place, without an edible lick of food on the menu, so you can stalk this girl?”

“I’m not stalking, Rube,” John replied, “I was just curious as to whom she might be meeting here.”

“Why didn’t you just ask her at work if she was seeing someone? I guess this ruins your ‘I’m a successful Architect’ line,” Ruben smirked. “She knows you’re working in a shitty call center because she works in the same shitty call center.”

John shot Ruben a nasty look, while Franco continued to gawk at the table. “Well,” he said, “looks like she is just meeting some friends… no dudes.”

“No Dudes, Frankie,” Ruben added, “Does that matter? What if she is a lesbian?”

“She’s not a lesbian,” John interrupted, “I saw her making out with this guy from the fourth floor.”

Franco smiled and shook his head, “I wish I had your job.”

“Not at work,” John stammered, “at her… um… house.” His face grew extremely red.

“You… freaking… stalker.” Ruben pronounced each word crisp and perfectly clear, and allowed them to soak in before continuing, “You’re mom (‘rest in peace Mrs. Warrington’) would roll over in her grave if she knew you were peeping into girls’ windows.” He shook his head with shame.

John snorted and rolled his eyes, “Whatever.”

“Just go talk to the girl,” Ruben insisted.

John stood up, mumbled, “fine,” and walked over. Ruben and Franco stared at each other for a long time without blinking; apparently trying to communicate telepathically. Ruben would drum his fingers on the table, Franco would tap his feet, and both would chance a look at John talking to the lovely blonde haired girl now standing by her table.

When John finally returned to the table, his friends were hungry for information, “Well…” they said in unison.

John shook his head, “she had no idea who I was, so I told her I was… a… um… successful architect. What? I was nervous and it just came out. Anyway, it doesn’t matter because she is going to dinner with me tomorrow night.” He was beaming.

“Johnny,” Franco asked rather reluctantly, “You think she will notice you at work; now that you have introduced yourself?”

“She won’t” John replied.

“She won’t?” Ruben asked.

“Nope.” There was silence as John motioned the waitress for the check. His water would surely cost a small fee because he wasted space during the lunch rush, “Where do you guys have to be?” Both Ruben and Franco made it clear that their afternoons were free, so John went on, “want to go grab a burger?”

“Don’t you have to get back to work?” Franco asked.

“No, I quit. I texted my boss right after I programmed Sarah’s number into my phone.” John replied.

“Niiiiiice,” Ruben stood up and followed his friends out of the restaurant. John waved a last goodbye to Sarah as he walked out onto the sidewalk. Giggles consumed the girls’ table.

They were gone, so I finished rolling my silverware without distraction, clocked out, and left the building. On the way to my car, I saw that girl, Sarah, making out with one of her girlfriends up against a car in the parking lot.

It was a fun job, but I would never give up beef jerky for it.

This is my submission for The Protagonist game at: http://www.inspirationunderground.com/


Love or Sabotage?

>> Thursday, March 26, 2009

I went to college with a girl named Willow, and she called me the other day and told me she just left the man she swore was her soul mate. They had been dating for close to 2 years, and she was all for hopping on the marriage bandwagon until recently.

Markus’ world revolved around Willow, he would do anything she asked and more. I was floored when she said she left him. They were perfect for each other.

I listened as she explained the following to me:

Willow had purchased quite a few domains, and was working on multiple websites. She had been writing different articles and news posts on these websites, as well as building up traffic to these sites. Her intentions were to create an income from the ads she had placed on them.

Markus wanted to help, and would click on her ads in hopes of driving her profits up, but sadly he clicked too many. This caused the company to ban her from using their ads on her sites.

Willow was devastated. She was sure he was trying to sabotage her, so she left him.

I am not sure how this works into the whole "courtly love" thing, but I would say If you love someone, don’t try to be TOO helpful, they could misinterpret your “love” as sabotage

I will write more later

This is my contribution to Inpiration Underground Post: The Art of Courtly Love


My Super Power IS...

>> Saturday, March 21, 2009

I have to tell you a secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Promise?

I am a superhero.

I know, I know it sounds crazy (not me). I just realized this earlier today, and I have been marveling over it all day.

Of course, I CAN'T fly or shoot lazer beams out of my eyes.

I CAN'T see through walls, or hear my neighbors plotting to steal my morning paper.

I CAN'T run fast or jump high.

I CAN'T see into the future, or travel through time.


I CAN change out the toilet paper roll when it is empty!!!

I amaze my friends and family with this ability, and I can't believe I was completely oblivious to it until recently. It's kind of nice knowing I can do something EVERYONE else can't. Puts a smile on my face.

I'm awesome. I just need a cool name and fancy suit.
Any ideas?

This my post for Inspiration Underground's Jar Draw:1 "A Smile"


I <3 My Label Maker

>> Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Last week I finally broke down and bought a label maker. I have been eyeballing them for many years, but could never justify spending so much for something used to aid my failing memory.

I have had a good time with it the last few days. Mainly because I was bored in the new house, and I didn't want to go out and meet the neighbors yet (I do watch them from behind closed blinds). I have been labeling lots of things in my house. It's starting to freak Marvin out.

Last night at dinner he seemed really distressed as he glanced from "glass" to "fork" to "paper plate"

"Mary," Marvin whimpered, "I am worried about you."

I like it when he worries, and I knew where this was going. Before Marvin and I married, a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, I had a crazy Aunt Deidre. She was married, no kids, to my Uncle Kyle, they were both CPAs or something.

They argued a lot about arguing a lot.

She had this label maker that never left her side. It wasn't nice and sleek and digital like the one I just got. It was big and clumsy and you had to turn a dial and click the handle to press each letter/number into a thick tape.

Deidre was obsessed with her label maker. She would stay up all hours of the night labeling things and relabeling things, which brought about more arguing.

Kyle had to fly to Chicago for some sort of convention one weekend, and the whole time he was gone, she labeled all of their belongings "Yours" or "Mine". When Kyle got back and found my aunt sitting at the dining room table asleep, gripping her label maker tightly, he randomly switched the labels.

When Deidre woke up and found things in disarray, she flipped out. She threw herself about the house in a spastic fit and even foamed at the mouth. My uncle had to call the police, and they came and took her away.

The rest of my family has never forgiven Kyle for messing with her. She has been hospitalized ever since.


I just passed the butter and replied, "Marv, don't be silly. I'm not crazy Aunt Deidre."

This may have comforted him a little, but later I might have gotten a bit "edgy" when he tried to pry my label off the TV.

Tonight, I sleep with one eye open and my awesome new label maker tucked nicely between the matresses on my side of the bed. I don't think Marv has the nerve to mess with my labels.



Marvin was Hot... Sorta

>> Thursday, February 26, 2009

I have written before about how I was guilted into marrying my beloved Marvin. Well yes, he sort of conned me into it, but I was into him... at one point in time. I mean technically I still am, if you call it that. We are married, and we hang out; I like him alright.

We were childhood friends, so it's not like I always liked him. I did enjoy throwing rocks at his head as he drove past my house on his bike calling me names that rhymed with "stink" and "crap" (*sigh* always the poet).

In highschool, Marvin went through this punk rock phase, and for the most part he still enjoys the music, but definitely doesn't live the punk rock life. I remember the moment I actually thought I had a crush on him, sadly he looked a lot like Gary Oldman in Sid and Nancy.

Today he's a closer match for George Costanza from Seinfeild - add some tattoos and a tad more hair. Oh and a bit of height too... You know what I mean?

It's funny how we always turn into our parents. No matter how far out there we go we always round back onto this conservative pallet. Whether it be now or when we're playing checkers 30 years from now outside the retirement center.

For some reason, I can't picture a 75 year old man sitting at a table in his leather jacket with that hand sewn Dead Kennedys patch, spike-studded choker, and bone through his nose saying "king me, Rocko!" while throwing back some jim or jack and spitting while flipping the bird. That's one hell of a sentence!

People change. Marvin's changed. I mean, just last night when he got home from work, he sat down and watched the news. The second his butt hit the sofa and his feet hit the coffee table, his mouth dropped open and he was snoring. The children were bouncing on him like a trampoline and Seven was chewing his socks... nothing.

I watched the slide show in my head of the rise and fall of the punk rocker: the days he tramped in the pit, the excessive use of safety pins, and the spray painted combat boots. Marv's all domestic now. It sort of played out like some National Geographic documentary.

I am glad he turned out the way he did. Because if he spit on the kids, it would be my turn to do some stomping.


Cycle 259 day 2

>> Friday, February 20, 2009

As the days are numbered ONLY in terms of menstrual cycles, I can't help but acknowledge that I am getting older.... it sucks.

It's embarrassing getting old. I have watched a lot of Television, so I know what happens. I am pretty sure it will come out of nowhere, and I will be stricken old like being struck by lightning. It's going to be instantaneous, and more than likely I will be completely oblivious to it.

I will lose my hair, my memory, and most of all my fashion sense. That is if I had any to begin with, and I am thinking, "No, I did not." People will point, and if they don't, they will at least make mental notes about my driving, my posture, and/or my choice of lipstick color.

I already have a sickening foreboding. I decided to brace myself and prepare for it by taking preventative measures. I bought some firming/wrinkle cream. I hate that I did because all of the good stuff (well what I imagine is the good stuff) is incredibly expensive, so I opt for the generic. It smells funny, and after I put it on I can smell it all day.

All day the smell reminds me that I am getting old, and I often wonder if other people can smell it too. They probably can. The only reason it probably has a smell is so we older people can tell we put it on in the first place. I mean, I am grateful they do this with deodorant because I apply it out of habit, but it's not on my face.

Well. I can't tell it's firming anything, but I think Marvin is allergic (although he doesn't seem to mind the smell). I may be allergic too or maybe that is just the cream... working. Does the expensive stuff have a smell? Is your face suppose to swell and change colors? Let me know, so I can decide if it's worth forking over the extra cash.



>> Sunday, February 15, 2009

It's been a while since I had the chance to write you. It's been crazy around here, and on top of it all I may be having a nervous breakdown and/or suffering from menopause... I haven't quite decided yet. Probably both.

We moved; finally bought our own home instead of renting and over paying each month. The prices are amazing right now since most of the homes are foreclosed or in the pre-foreclosure phase. I do feel a little sorry for the homeowners who got duped into ARM loans, but it just goes to prove "if something sounds too good to be true... it probably is."

We had been renting for the past two years, and were quite happy doing so. Sadly due to a chain of events we were actually being evicted.

1. We have incredibly smart children.
2. Incredibly smart children like to experiment with science.
3. Mad Science.
4. I deal with a series of plumbing issues I think have to do with paper in the toilet and/or possibly the tub in the children's bathroom.
5. I call property manager to have someone sent over to investigate.
6. Property Manager/real estate agent sends husband instead of a professional.
7. Upon snaking the toilet in the children's bathroom, Manager's Hubby finds a science experiment gone horribly wrong.
8. Experiment has the head of Barbie, body of a squeaky dog, and Bioncle arms...
9. Real-estate-hubby is not impressed and uses a string of colorful words
10. thus exciting one three-legged dog (Seven likes to protect the ears of the innocent)
11. Which we were not suppose to have in the terms of our lease
12. Ta Da!!! Eviction Notice!

It's not all a bad thing really. We bought a house, bigger than what we were renting, for about $500 less a month. Holy Crap, right? The mad scientists can perform their experiments outside in our hugeASS backyard, and the doggy poop can sit a day or two before it's scooped (maybe less... if the scientist start getting wise ideas).

THE BEST PART OF MOVING THOUGH HAS TO BE... No Willoughby. Thank you, Thank you,and Thank you!!

There is a woman a couple of houses down that might be a relative. She has the same pinched face and flowery Mumu. Once I am settled and the last box is sent off to recycling, I might brave a meeting... no promises.


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