Posts Tagged ‘life’

Ho. Lee. Cow.

I am SORE. Not fun sore. SORE sore.

Tonight was my first night working a section by myself (third day, no shadowing, I RAWK!) and it was insanely busy. Normally we have a menu, plus a daily special, that residents can order from. Tonight, however, was “Theme Night”. Set menu. Only two choices in main dishes, starches, veggies and desserts. Truth be told, it was swank.

The meal started with smoked salmon with a dill cream sauce, then they got a shrimp bisque that was to die for, followed by a salad our manager (from here on out known as JD) got from Bon Apetit  (the December issue if you’re a curious little foodie). Entrees were either rack of lamb or sea bass. Starches were mashed yukon gold potatoes with leeks and garlic or Hassleback potatoes (which looked better than they do in this blog’s pic but that’s the best I could do). Vegetables were roasted root vegetables (onions, carrots, parsnips, etc) or wilted spinach with almonds. For dessert they had white chocolate tiramisu or cappuccino creme brulee. The residents started the night with wine and cheese outside the dining room, and then migrated in.

Told you it was swank.

On a normal night we can put in our orders via computer and tell the chefs when we want them. Not tonight. Tonight, as soon as it went in, it came up. The chefs were not playing.

The sections are usually just four tables, my section was four tables at the farthest end of the dining room. This meant a lot of dodging other waitstaff and residents. And because everything was served in a specific order, it also meant a lot of running back and forth.

I messed up the order for the first table (I wasn’t sure what to put certain items in as). They all wanted the root vegetables and ended up with spinach. JD, bless his big Greek heart, helped me a lot with that one. He ran back into the kitchen and got their vegetables for me. After that, though I was pretty well on a roll.

At one point we ran out of salads, then at the same time salad dressing. Then we were out of soup cups. This set me back with my last table so they ended up not getting their meal until late. Oops.

The great thing is that most of these residents are really cool people. They’re really involved in the day-to-day functions of the facility (it’s independent care, which means they can take care of themselves but need a little help now and then) and as soon as they found out I was new they cut me some serious slack.

Unfortunately today I finally discovered the downside of my new job: it’s taking the time I normally spend with The Kid.

I work from 4pm-8pm. The Kid gets out of school at 3:20. This means as soon as I pick her up, I drop her off and split; and as soon as I get home, it’s her bedtime. The Man sent me a text message this morning telling me that she cried last night because she missed me.

She’s used to having me around during the evenings. Even when I worked at the shawarma shack I was home by 5:30 and the rest of the night was spent together.  Now the job takes away that time. I decided to talk to her teacher about spending a few days in the classroom as a volunteer. This way I’ll be spending some extra time with her and she’ll feel special because her mom is in the room.

BTW, my kid will be student of the week in her classroom next week. Rawk on. 🙂

First Day

So..today was my first day at work. YIPPEEEE! I was trained by a guy that I later found out was quitting. That was a bummer. I made sure to find out why he was quitting. It basically boiled down to the fact that because he moved he was now driving an hour to get to work. Yeah I totally get why he is quitting. He annoyed me a bit. He did everything as though it bored him or was beneath him. My other coworkers are a very cool bunch. So far.

Today happened to be a fairly slow day, which was good. It sucks when you’re running around like mad on your first day. You don’t get to learn your job the way you’re supposed to like that.

The residents were really nice. It was a little disconcerting at first. It’s been a long time since I worked with the elderly. Working in restaurants usually means dealing with people under the age of 65 90% of the time. Still it’s good to be back in a kitchen. Sure it’s hot, stuffy and humid as hell. But I’m totally comfortable in kitchens. It’s where I started my working life. It makes sense that when I was having a hard time finding a job I’d be back in one.

The main downside to the whole night was the fact that I lost an amethyst that was in the ring I was wearing.

Now, before any of you get it into your pretty little heads that this is some sort of “omen”, it’s not. I knew the setting was loose and I was stupid enough to wear it anyway. I feel bad because 1. it was a graduation gift from my mom and 2. I REALLY liked that one. Next gem and jewelry show I’m going to see if I can snag another one and have it reset.

I ended the night with a lovely soreness in my legs that let me know I was getting a little out of practice on the waitressing tip. I probably won’t be able to move in the morning, but that’s ok. I love the soreness that comes from a hard days’ (or evenings’ as it were) work.

I got home to find The Kid already knocked out, The Man on his way to bed for a pre-midnight shift nap and beat-toy wanting to drop by and chat after the local group’s monthly dinner (which I missed 😦 ). beat-toy bought me the Two Knotty Boy’s book as a gift (and probably as a hint too), but he had it shipped to his house instead of mine, which meant he had to drop it off. The Man is still a little uneasy about this aspect of my personality, but he’s becoming a little more accepting about it. While I was chatting with beat-toy (in his car, since The Kid was sleep), The Man sent me a message asking if beat-toy was my sub. I had to laugh. I told him no, he’s a sub, but not mine specifically.

beat-toy and I are actually pretty good friends, if you put the other stuff aside. We bitch and moan to each other about how much life sucks. He’s a really good guy. Problem is he doesn’t have enough patience in himself, or confidence. My ultimate goal is to help him gain some. No small task, but then I never went for the easy wins.

Orientation

So yesterday I did my orientation for the new job (we’ll call it GH). It lasted from 9am to 130pm and I was exhausted and hungry by the end. They served coffee (which was weak) and muffins, but that was it. No lunch. Just hours of overview and paperwork. On the upside, my ID pic doesn’t look too bad.

Because of my positions hours, I don’t qualify for health, dental, or vision benefits. However that’s easily remedied by simply picking up another shift on a permanent basis. But that will come with time. What I am eligible for are all the kick ass perks that come with being an employee at GH. I get to use their exercise room, I can set an appointment for a massage and have the payment ($55 for an hour or $35 for a half an hour) deducted from my paycheck. They have a foundation which awards scholarships to employees that want to go back to school (SCORE!). I have access to the hair salon (yeah, not doing that though). Not to mention a lot of stuff that the residents association does a yearly monetary gift to employees.

The job, the facility, the employees. Everything feels so damn GOOD. I hope it stays that way.

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Stories from the Shawarma Shack

This week started with a whimper and ended with a WTF.

Mondays are typically slow. This Monday was no different. I’ll save you the snore fest and sum it up by saying that it was barely worth the gas I spent driving there. Except that this little red haired girl © Charlie Brown showed up and said she was a new hire. Excellent. We need more waitstaff (sort of). Welcome aboard, I’ll show you the basics before R (The Boss’ oldest daughter) gives you your full training. Red tells me her girl-friend had started the day before. Gravy! Now roll the silverware.

Tuesday I had the day off. Which meant I ran around like mad until it was time for me to get The Kid from school. Then I took a nap. I’m so lame.

Wednesday was slow. Except for a girl from a local group that I’m active in showing up to work and discussing her boy toy’s (her words not mine) aversion to food in general and the reason behind it (and there’s a good reason behind it), it was pretty boring (see why I don’t blog about work? Not a damn thing happens).

R comes in and as we’re closing out my shift she starts grumbling about her dad giving her two bisexuals and telling her to train them. I had to stop myself from laughing too loud. My boss’ idea of a qualified employee is young and female. Being bisexual, if he had actually known about it at the time of hiring, would probably have been the cherry on his sundae. I don’t call him a Greasy Rat Bastard for nothing. I laughed and mentioned that Red had said her girlfriend was working here, but I thought that she meant girl-friend, not girlfriend. I asked R how she knew they were bi. She says they told her and that were making out in the parking lot.

*pause*

Making out? Neither of them drive, so that means they were standing in full view of everyone driving past.

Now let me state now, I have absolutely no issue with anyone being anything other than straight. Do what makes you happy. However, I do have a problem with people getting happy at work. It’s just not professional. We may not be Tavern On The Green but you don’t make out standing in the middle of the parking lot of the job you just got. It’s just not kosher. Plus, not all of our customers really appreciate girl-girl action. Ann Arbor might be a major liberal city, but there are still enough McCain/Palin signs around to remind you that conservatives still exist within city limits.

Thursday, I came in late and pissed off. Very pissed off. The Man drove me to work so he could run some errands during the day. Apparently, if I tell him at 1015 that I want to leave in 5 minutes, that means I want to leave at 1030, which is the time that I’m supposed to BE at work. It started slow, mostly take out orders, which is pretty normal since we open around the beginning of people’s lunch. My cook, Mo, was on his cell phone for most the day, yakking away, loud as hell, in Arabic. Which meant anytime there was a lull in orders he’d go out back to talk more, which meant I had to go find his ass so people wouldn’t be waiting forever for their food.

Around 3 I had a rush. 10 people came in pretty much at the same time. Completely unexpected, though not wholly unwelcome (except the chick who stiffed me. She’s unwelcome). Near the end of my shift, before R came in, Red’s girlfriend calls, “I won’t be able to keep working there. I’m exhausted and I keep working like this I won’t be able to get my school work done.”

*pause*

That has to be the lamest fucking excuse to quit ever. She’s exhausted? She worked TWICE since being hired. That’s it. Two days. That’s her whole damn training period. But she’s exhausted? She had someone working with her so she wasn’t being swamped with customers. But she’s exhausted. GTFOOHWTBS.

I wake up at 645 (though I don’t actually get out of bed until 700), get The Kid clean, dressed, and off to school (she eats breakfast there). Then I go to work where I run around (or stand around) for 6.5 hours dealing with an idiot boss and customers who seem to enjoy annoying the hell out of me with their stupid petty requests for shit that doesn’t even come with their order. Come home, make dinner, take care of The Kid, check her school assignments, praise her for the work she’s done (and let’s not go into what I have to go through when she’s sick), make sure The Man has what he needs for work, deal with email, messages, blogs and I don’t get to actually wind down until after 10pm. If The Man works a midnight shift, I stay up until he leaves (1145pm), then I’m still up chatting with friends that I haven’t had a chance to actually talk to all day because I was busy. Then it’s bedtime and up at 645 to do it all over again.

But she’s exhausted.

Kiss. My. Ass.

Her shift was 5.5 hours. That’s it. You don’t even get a damn lunch break unless you work 8. She worked a grand total of 11 hours this week. But she’s exhausted.

I told R when she came in, one of my regular customers was at the counter when I told her. He works full time and goes to school full time. He laughed and said she needed to get over it. R is a high school student, oldest of four kids (which means she basically does the parenting when The Boss isn’t around…The Boss is divorced and Mom lives in another state) and works in her dad’s restaurant after school. She just rolled her eyes.

Red quit too. I had a feeling they weren’t going to stay around long. Neither of them had waitressing experience, and neither of them had ever actually been to the restaurant to eat. They just saw a help wanted sign and came in. Red couldn’t identify any of the items we have on the menu except for a few of our salads and hummus. That’s it. Red’s excuse for quitting was that it was too far to walk and she couldn’t afford the bus (her bus fare would have been two dollars every day she worked, plus since she was working night shift, someone could have given her a lift, so it would have been just one). Her and her GF came in to give R a birthday present (Thursday was her birthday), and Red was using a walking stick that was too long for her and hobbling rather dramatically saying that her knee was swelling froma childhood injury and that it hurt to even stand none the less walk.

She applied for a job as a waitress knowing that she was going to be doing a lot of walking and standing. WTF. Another lame ass excuse if you ask me. What fucking waitress SITS? If all we did was sit all day we wouldn’t have to wear ugly, comfortable shoes. We could wear the cute, but highly uncomfortable ones designed for women who don’t do a lot of walking.

So we’re down two waitresses who probably would have sucked as waitresses anyway. They’ll go get jobs at the mall or something now. Good riddance.

Economic crisis? What economic crisis?

I listen to NPR a lot, especially at work. So I hear about all the stuff going down on Wall Street all day. And, if I may be so blunt, who really gives a fuck?

Fact is, I’ve been broke. Most of my life has been spent in an economic crisis. It’s called Detroit. Man up bitches.

These rich folks stressing out about stocks? Try stressing out about keeping your fridge stocked with something other than potpies.

These suburbanites are finding it harder to shop at Banana Republic? And? My ass finds it hard to shop at Old Navy. Now what?

Whole Foods? What’s that? I expect that when I buy food-unless it’s frozen, canned, or meat-it’s going to be whole. I don’t buy apples with sections cut out of them. I don’t buy a half a carrot. All my food is whole. GTFOOH.

You want a solution to higher gas costs? Move the hell out the burbs, closer to your job and take the damn bus. One dollar gets you a ride and a transfer and you’ll get where you need to go. Bus not reliable? Get a bike. Nuff said.

All I’m saying is that, right now, broke folks could make a killing “coaching” rich people how to be broke (they have life coaches, SAT coaches, interviewing coaches, and coaches for everything else, why the hell not a brokeness coach?).

Broke people, the tables are a-turnin. Don’t miss out on this opportunity. We’ll teach them the difference between the designer consignment shop and the salvation army. Sav-A-Lot/Aldi’s will have their own training section. We’ll have to teach them the art of making their own damn coffee. There will be sections called

  • “No, you don’t need the new Apple i-whatever. The one you bought 4 months ago still works just fine.”
  • “$500 jeans look exactly the same as $20 jeans and you don’t sound as stupid when you tell people how much you spent on them.”

And,

  • “Your Hummer is a waste of money and a clear indication about the size of your penis, now get your ass a Honda and stop being an insecure pussy.”
  • “Don’t throw away that chicken grease! You can use it at least two more times.”

Yep, broke people, it’s our time to shine.

The First Week of The Job + Sometimes life really sucks

So I started my new job on the 18th. Because my boss is amazingly cheap, training days are unpaid (yes, that’s legal). I had worked there before, I only really needed a refresher on the cash register. Monday and Wednesday were my official “training days” not that I needed training on Wednesday, but like I said my boss is a cheap bastard (the man knows how much each individual napkin costs, he’s that cheap) and nothing is cheaper than free labor.

Noe before I get into anything, let me give you the cast of characters:

There’s S1. A cute little 16 year old girl who acts like a cute little 16 year old girl, which makes me ever so happy that she normally works the second shift because I’d have to strangle her happy peppy ass one day.

S2 is her sister. S2 is older than S1 by a year, however she seemed to have missed the happy peppy train that S1 caught. She’s also not quite as cute.

Cook. He’s the cook. He’s also a pretty good singer. Or at least he can carry a tune while singing in Arabic. I have no clue what any of what he’s singing translates to. It could well be some Arabic version of Baa Baa Black Sheep and you have to really suck to fuck that song up.

The Amazing Beulah, or TAB for short. She’s a dishwasher. I gave her that name because she looks like she could well have been some middle eastern female wrestler at some point in her life. She’s bulky (not fat, but very square) and she scares the hell out of me. Plus I don’t think she likes me too much.

Boss. This should be pretty obvious. He’s the boss. He’s also the owner of the restaurant and a tight fisted penny pincher. I defy his miserliness with no problem because I need my damn tips. Screw his overhead, I got bills.

Mo. A waiter/cook/manager. He’s a bit younger than me. S1 has a crush on him and flirts with him as often as possible. He happily flirts back. Apparently no one has made clear to him just year that here in the US, a 26 year old guy can go to jail for messing with a 16 year old girl. I wonder if I should tell him….NAH!

Mel. A waitress. I’ve met her once. She mostly works night shift on days that I don’t work at all. She probably won’t get much mention.

Ok, I should also state that besides me, S1, S2, and Mel, everyone there is Arab and speaks Arabic as their native language.  This means most days it’s just me and a gang of Arabs, and when they don’t want me to know something, they start chatting away in Arabic. I’m not yet convinced that they’re talking about me, but then again you never know. My conversational Arabic is limited to a few…impolite words.

Anyway, back to my story.

S1 “trained” me my first day, though I figured out more by myself the second day (working with Mo) than I did with her. Day one’s tips were ok. S1 and I split the tables so I would have made more if we hadn’t. Day two’s tips…meh. Again, table splitting with Mo.

Thursday and Friday I had off. My legs and feet were thankful. By the end of Wedsnesday I felt like my legs had been beaten and not in the fun way. Adidas are definitely NOT waitressing shoes.

Saturday was the worst fucking day of waitressing I’ve ever had. Ever. And I’ve done a lot of waitressing. In the course of 7 hours, I made $4. From take out orders. We had not one sit down order. I worked with S2 that day. Four hours after opening, Boss came in bitching at us because we were sitting around (what did he expect us to do). I came pretty close to telling him to kiss my ass, but held back. S2 had to leave early, which she discussed with Mo, but Mo failed to discuss this with Boss. Mo also failed to call me or leave me a note saying that I was supposed to be training S2. Apparently S2 didn’t know this either. I didn’t find out until after S2 had left for the day. Fucking yay.

Sunday, day off. Yep. I only work three days a week for now. I’ll probably pick up more days after The Kid starts school.

Monday, it was just me. Well, me and the health inspector that showed up two weeks early. I called Boss to let him know, and he got there quick (why he doesn’t get his ass in that fast any other time is beyond me). She pointed out some stuff that I had a feeling she was going to point out, large containers of hummus and baba ganoush were dumped for being 5º to warm, cooked chicken had heat turned up under it for being 5º too cold. But beyond all that it was a pretty good day. Pulled a little under $40 in tips and was one damn happy camper (my tank and wallet were both on E thanks to Saturday’s bullshit). I treated myself to an Epsom salt bath soak. All was right with the world.

Tuesday I woke up with a phone call from my sister. She didn’t really want anything.  Just to chat. I hung up with her to go potty, if I had waited for her to decide to hang up first I’d have wet the damn bed. That woman doesn’t stop talking.

I got up, did my usual morning routine of coffee and some half assed breakfast along with checking email and RSS feeds.  Around noon my sister called, but my phone had been in the basement with me which meant I was roaming (an extra $2 if you’re with sprint). I took the phone upstairs and left it. She hadn’t left a message so it must not have been very important. I was quite mistaken.

I called her back 15 minutes later to hear her say “Aunt N*** died.”

I did a mental double take, “Wait…what?”

“Aunt N*** died.” she sniffled.

I still wasn’t really comprehending what she was telling me, “What? When? What happened?”

“They found her this morning. Grandma B**** talked to her last night before going to bed, this morning they found her dead.”

I was stunned. Completely blown back. This was my grandfather’s sister.

My greatgrandparents had 11 kids. My grandfather is oldest of them all. The youngest is younger than my 50 year old father. My greatgrandma (Grandma B****) just turned 88 this year, so yeah she was pretty young when she started (but that was about WW II, so it was pretty common). The aunt that died was one of the younger children. About mid-50s.

After I got my head together I drove to my sister’s house where I was greeted with hugs and kisses from The Kid (who is staying there until school starts, or until after xmas -which we don’t celebrate- if she has anything to say about it…she doesn’t). I instantly felt better. My sister and I watch novelas, munched on home made cookies and chatted while we waited for my mom to finish up her vet appointment so we could all go to visit my greatgrandma together (GGM and Aunt N lived next door to each other).

When we pulled up, we heard the most miraculous thing coming from the house: laughter. A few of my other aunts and uncles were there helping to get things set out (clothes for Aunt N, pictures so the mortuary would know how she looked). GGM was on the porch with some family friends (and family) chatting. It took me a bit to realise that she was the reason there was laughter and some lightness.

GGM is from Mississippi, she grew up during Jim Crow, and God only knows what she was subjected to as a black woman of the deep south. She’s nothing if not stoic. When I was 11, she watched her husband wither away to near nothing as pancreatic cancer slowly took his life. No doubt she cried, and cried hard. But she never asked for pity, or sympathy. She never used her husband’s disease or her widowhood to get something. She accepted his disease and death as being God’s will. And what struggles she had with God and that will privately, I don’t think we’ll ever know.

While at her house I watched her. She laughed and smiled and chatted like it was a normal day. But it wasn’t denial. It was acceptance. She told someone over the phone “Ain’t no use getting upset and beatin yourself up over it. God takes what’s His. Ain’t a thang we can do bout it.” Thus the family matriarch sets the tone for the next week until my Aunt’s funeral. And if my greatgrandfather’s funeral was any example, there will be no loss of dignity, no melodramatic moaning and wailing, no flinging of ones self over the body, no hollaring or carrying on. There will be mourning, dignified and quiet, but nothing to cause embarrassment. GGM will be the rule by which we measure ourselves that day.

After leaving there we went to an italian restaurant and indulged in desserts that are most fitting for three women in a state of mourning: rich, sweet and chocolate.

I eventually went to bed around 1am. How I managed to actually sleep is beyond me, but I did.

Today I refused to call off. I was going to go to work and stay there come hell or high water. Unfortunately it went down hill pretty fast. After the second cash paying customer I was completely out of 1s, 5s and 10s and Boss was nowhere to be found. Add to that the fact that I had four tables, all of whom would want to pay eventually, and the stress began to build. Then the credit card machine gave off an error message. Still no Boss. Still no change. More stress. Then I had a table that wanted a carrot juice. I’ve never made carrot juice. I had no idea how to hook up the juicer, neither did Cook. Once we got it together, there was no where that I could plug it up AND use it. After fighting with it, failing and having two people walk out unserved, I cracked. I went to the table and apologised profusely. Trying really hard not to cry. I did though. I had to explain to her that it wasn’t just the juice, but the juice on top of other problems plus the death of an aunt and I was sort of having a plainly crappy day.

Yes I looked like a flake, but at that moment I really didn’t care. I hurried back into the kitchen and composed myself (after crying a little more). Cook knew what was going on with me and called Mo to come in early to take over for me. Mo didn’t come in early (I kinda didn’t want to), but after that cry I felt a lot better. Carrot juice table paid and I gave them change out of my own wallet (oh, don’t worry I got my damn money back). I took care of my remaining tables (who had, fortunately, come in post-breakdown). I then snatch $40 from the till (all we had were 20s), ran to another pita joint down the street (which was doing more business than we were at the moment…and they were hiring…hmmmmm), got change and came back in time to find one table seated and a to go order that Cook had already started prepairing (God bless that man) I just had to ring it up.

After that, smooth sailing. I pulled in about $32 in tips. Eventually Boss showed up. He was mad about something having to do with the inspection. What exactly I don’t know. He was busy yelling at Cook at TAB in Arabic. After a while he cooled off a bit.

You know…now that I’m employed I can’t use the tag Unemployment Blues. I need a new one. But I can’t think of one. Dammit.

NKA4MT and Religion: a simple breakdown

Let me start by saying this: I respect your right to believe whatever you want to believe. If you want to believe there is no God or if you want to believe there are a hundred Gods, that’s fine by me. Why? Because it’s your life, not mine.

Now here is where I become a completely intolerant bitch: When you decide that I need to believe what you believe.

If you recall, I got a tad pissed off last week when someone decided that it was her duty to tell me how to raise my child. This person responded to a post in the local freecycle group (freecycle, btw, pwns craigslist when it comes to getting stuff you need, and crap you really don’t need but want anyway, for free) where I asked to borrow someone’s cake pans to make a cake for my daughter’s birthday. Her response was to basically tell me that I shouldn’t make a cake for my daughter just because it was her birthday (honestly, I wasn’t making it because it was her birthday, I was making it because she’s been asking since about May to have a red cake with chocolate icing and chocolate strawberries and red candles on top -we skipped the chocolate strawberries and I couldn’t find red candles so she got a number 5 candle instead and didn’t complain one bit). I nearly bled to death biting my tongue so as not to tell this woman where to shove her “example of our Lord, Jesus Christ”.

So let me break it down for folks: I’m not Christian. Do I have a faith and/or belief system? Yes. What is it? None of your damn business. Why is it none of your damn business? Because it’s my blog and I said so and of you don’t like it then you can just sod off. But, most importantly, I don’t talk about my faith because I don’t want people using me as an example of what such-and-such people are “really like”, nor do I want people making judgments on my fellow coreligionists based on what I say. My thoughts are my own, and while, yes, some of what I say may be a bit tinged with what I believe, for the most part I don’t used my faith to base my opinions on.

Was I ever a christian? Yes. I did quite a bit of sampling at the spiritual buffet table. When I was born I was baptised Unitarian. Of course I didn’t know this until I was about 13, and by then I had been Catholic for three years. However my reasons for being Catholic were decidedly less than spiritual. Keep in mind that I was ten when I made the decision, my priorities were not my eternal soul. I chose catholicism for that sip of (really bad) wine every sunday, and so I could be an alter server and go to Cedar Pointe every summer. See, that’s a 10 year old’s priorities. Imbibing things that are considered forbidden to us, and amusment parks.

In high school I took a more non-denominational turn when it came to christianity. A friend took me to her church’s youth night (a church I think is more like a cult considering how often the words “Pastor Butler said” comes out of the mouths of it’s parishoners and how they know more about the life of the Butler family than they do about the life of Jesus).

After high school (and quite a few VERY disappointing encounters with churches of varying denominations), I became more or less agnostic. I went to catholic church on easter and christmas, but that was like going to my grandparents house on those days: it was just something we did.

A very scary incident put me on the road to my current faith. If you know this story, then you me and you know what my faith is. If you don’t already know this story (or at least part of it), then chances are you’ll never really know. Suffice it to say, I’m not Christian.

That said, I hereby give fair warning: If you come on to my blog attempting to preach to me, I’ll cuss you out. Or delete your reply. Depends on how I feel that day. There is no free speech on my blog. You have no rights on my blog. This is a totalitarian dictatorship. China’s got nothing on me. NKA4M and ADOO15C are mine to do with whatever the hell I please so long as I don’t violate wordpress’s TOS. And, guess what, deleting your reply, TOTALLY within the bounds of TOS.

Oh, and, I delete links and URLs posted in replies. That pretty much goes for everyone. Don’t use my page to advertise your shit. If the link is in your name, it stays. If its in the reply, it gets deleted. Sorry, thems the breaks.

Get the fuck out of here with this bullshit!

Tomorrow is The Kid’s 5th birthday and she told me weeks ago that she wanted to have a red cake with chocolate icing. I can do that. No problem. Except I don’t have a cake pan (I lent it to someone who moved). And I just found that bit of information out today. And I’m broke. So I shoot a message to the two local Free-Cycle groups asking to borrow cake pans.

No response, I can deal with. But this? This is too damn much

if i may make a suggestion………..if we give gifts throughout the year ….then we would be following our perfect model……Jesus …..because he talked about the traditions and doctrins of this system which are created be man and not by God himself………the question is: would you rather be doing things that come from your heart on any given day or by some one telling you…. it’s ony authorized on a certain day, the Bible tells us “A name is better than good oil, and the day of death than the day of one’s being born ” Ecclesiastes 7:1…..that’s why we don’t know the true birth day of Jesus because he said that was not important to one’s life………but what is……..what type of name did we make with God……..this wasn’t meant to offend you and if that is what you thought…….i’m truly sorry……..it was just a friendly suggestion to look real close at your Bible and see if you see the same thing……..do have a blessed day……vrsp kandi

Now, my knee jerk reaction was “Bitch, who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? You don’t know one damn thing about me and you presume to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do for my daughter on her birthday. Kiss the length and width of my ass.”

But I didn’t. I was a good girl.

1. I’m not Christian. My religion, or lack thereof, is not your business.
2. I just want to make a cake for my daughter. That’s all.
3. You have no idea what I do for my family on a day to day basis. So
you can keep all your self-righteous preaching. Until you LIVE my
life, you don’t COMMENT on it.

That was as civil as I could have gotten under the circumstances. I just wanted to make my kid a cake and you want to preach to me about Jesus? Yeah. No.

I know she said she didn’t mean for it to be offensive, but I find it VERY offensive. You know nothing about me, or my life and you want to tell me how to live it? Hell no.  Hell no and kiss my ass, fuck you very much.

Sorry for all the cussing but you have no idea how much stuff like this irks me. I asked to borrow a cake pan not for a fucking sunday school lesson.

Drop a dime, get a grand

The Detroit News ran an article today talking about how Crime Stoppers is seeing a jump in tips due in Michigan due to the steadily falling economy and poor job market.

Sumayyah (read the Cast of Characters page), says it stinks of Orwellianism. Personally, if the only thing standing between me and my lights getting cut off is tipping the cops that it was RayRay up the street who robbed someone at gun point…fuck RayRay. You can say I’m a snitch, you can say I’m a sell out, but you can’t say I’m sitting in the dark.

A grand for a tip on a homicide that leads to an arrest. Forget all the moral stuff. Forget doing your duty as a good citizen of whatever city you live in. It’s a grand for making a phone call. Now, that may not sound like a lot to some folks, but that’s rent, electricity/gas, phone and cable with plenty left over for groceries.

So, once again, fuck RayRay.

And while I’m on the subject of crime and criminals: Black people…cut this shit out

(hat tip The Smoking)

WTF kind of Smurf do you skin for hair like that? More importantly, who the hell lied to her and said it was cute? Blue is not the same as blue-black.  Stop this shit now.

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