Boy, do I have some Tales to Tell...
Friday, June 30, 2006
Connect to the sky
Future lovers Ride
there in mission style
Would you like to try?

Let me be your guide
Cut inside your pride
Future lovers hide
love inside their eyes.

Note to self: no wheat, no dairy, no sugar.... for the rest of the summer.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006
What happens when one of your very close friends becomes just another friend? Can we really use the excuse of "We just grew apart"? I recently experienced that. My friend "Rockets", "Medic", and I used to be close. We were actually three guys who spent a whole bunch of time together. We had met because we all worked for the same company. A friendship developed and evolved into something we called a sisterhood. We were so close that people who met us thought we had some sort of three-way boyfriend thing happening.

A few years into our sisterhood, I entered my long-term relationship. It had the usual strain of me being away from the sisterhood but eventually, I remembered that they are my family and I needed to go back. Medic also developed some serious health problems which brought the three of us very close. Medic had to leave NYC for calmer pastures. I continue to be part of his life albeit from 1000 miles away. Rockets, well, same ole, same ole.

Rockets has not changed at all. He continues to be the hard partying drunk that we all were 10 years ago. He no longer keeps in touch with Medic and occasionally does things with me. But, because he prefers to hang out in bars and drink, I have slowly refrained from hanging out with him. He actually once said that Medic and I were more fun when we were drunks and junkies. Nice, eh?

So, tomorrow, I am having lunch with Rockets. As usual, he wants to go to the same place that he always goes to. I told him we would meet in front of it but I wanted to go somewhere else where salmonella was not on the menu. As much as I have fun eating junk food, I have stopped because I can no longer endure the effect it has on my system.

I know Rockets will want to have cocktails after lunch. I will decline since I am headed to the Madonna concert that evening. He'll say that I was more fun when I was snorting crystal. I'll give him a dirty look. We'll say our goodbyes. And we'll meet again a few months down the road.

I hate that he continues to just destroy his body by drinking like mad. He doesn't think that he has a problem. I don't have the desire to even argue that out. He does have another friend who seems to be watching out for him. Not sure how that really works since the other friend has discovered the party circuit. I've tried to talk to him about his habits but to no avail. If he needs my help, he knows it's there. That's really all I can offer. Or want to offer.

I guess, we just grew apart. Later.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Last night (or this morning, depending on how you think about it), I went out dancing at the Roxy to celebrate Pride Weekend. What was supposed to be a small group of three, turned into a large group of eight. And, as some of you know, coordinating seven queens and a hag can be a bit daunting. Anyhoo, we make it to Roxy and I knew that a couple of the boys would not have as much fun as I do because they tend to like vocals. Although I enjoy vocals, I love great house/techno beats. So, I had a great time.

And as always, I basically separated from the group to head up on the stage and just tear it out. Some old school house was played. Also some remixes off the new Madonna album. Overall, some great beats. Nothing pleases me more, when it comes to dancing, than being able to ride the rhythms in front of the DJ. As a friend once said, get the DJ's attention and you'll vibe on each other. Not saying I did but I hadn't felt that high without enhancement in a long long long time.

Now, I'm off to brunch with my husband of almost nine years. Happy Pride Weekend. Be proud. Be vocal. Be you. Later.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Does anyone else out there have the following problem? First, some background. My building has a laundry room in the basement. All week long, access to the basement area is only between 9:00am and 11:00pm. Our co-op has decided on these hours for safety reasons. Which I agree with. But, back to the problem at hand: since we don't get access to the laundry room until 9:00am, some of us that get up early have to wait for the super to open it up. On some days, at 9:00am, there is a rush for laundry machines.

Here is my question: what is the etiquette when it comes to a shared laundry room? Is it rude for someone to take up all the washers (5 double loaders, 1 triple loader) and not offer another person a chance to do their laundry? And, if it is known that there tends to be quite a few people using the machines during the 9:00am-rush, don't you stagger your loads? Must you take up all 6 machines?

Also, when it comes to the dryers, if you have taken all five dryers, shouldn't it be common courtesy to make sure you are there to empty them out when they are done? Especially if you know that there are people waiting to use them? And, if said people waiting decide to take your dry laundry out, should you really have an attitude about it? Should you risk being shanked in the laundry room by an irate Filipino Queen?

Just wondering. Later.
Monday, June 19, 2006
The past week and a half has been stressful... at work. Even though I work for a Hippie-Love-Positive grocery store, it's not devoid of it's own set of sagas and dramas. And the past week has had it's moments. It's been so crazy that I have developed a cold sore... which I tend to get whenever stress insues. I hate it. I think I would rather have the cold.

The short of it all is that one of the Assistant Leaders of my team is a moron. I have not hidden my disdain for him or my apathy toward his banal decisions. I have more than been clear about how I think he really knows squat about how to run our team. The truth is that he is a politician. He knows how to talk his way into things and, let's face it, those types tend to say what most want to hear. I, fortunately, never suffer fools gladly.

So, moronic ASSistant Leader gets another position at another store for another team. I am more than glad he is going. As a matter of fact, I was so glad that my mood changed so drastically that a few co-workers asked me why I was so happy. I told them that I had taken my Prozac with a rum chaser and all was good. The people who know me, knew.

Yesterday, moronic ASSistant Leader comes to work and a bunch of my teammates went up to him to congratulate him, tell him that he will be missed, blah blah blah blah blah... I walked right past him, told him that I had adjusted my hours to avoid overtime, told him when I was leaving, then went back to work. One of my teammates asked me if I was going to miss moronic ASSistant Leader. I said, "No."

As I have grown older, I just can't bring myself to even be sympathetic to people I find stupid. I am sure I will say goodbye and wish him luck with his new position. But to say that I will miss him would mean that I actually found his contributions to my team valuable. Or useful. I also want to point out that I don't consider what he did for our team positive. Another teammate also noticed the hypocrisy of the other teammates. Here they are congratulating moronic ASSistant Leader when we all know that he is not liked by them. They all find him lazy. They find him useless. And they want him gone.

And he is. He has probably two weeks. Hopefully less. I can't wait. Anyone else would be better. It's interesting to me because he comes from a wealthy Long Island family. He aspires to work for the government as a politician of some sort. Earlier in his stint as moronic ASSistant Leader, he voiced his intentions to pursue a career in politics. I asked him why he was here if that is what he wanted. And like a true politician, he skirted the answer. I know that he hates working for a grocery store. He hates getting dirty. He hates lifting heavy things. He has no clue about food and products. He's a rich, white boy from the suburbs who is trying to escape his family's expectation of taking over their family trinket business. And rather than just say no and tell them that he wants to work in politics, he is working for a grocery store which he has no true interest in. Asshole.

Okay, I feel better. Later.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
The other day, after returning from a cardio session at the gym, I opened the refrigerator door to look for something to eat. I tend to be very hungry after any type of cardiovascular exercise. Looking into the fridge, I could not find anything I wanted to eat... except some white rice. Specifically, some basmati rice. I scooped some into a low bowl and zapped it in the microwave for a minute. As the rice heated up, I continued looking into the fridge to find something to eat with my basmati rice. As the minute ticked by, I decided that I would just eat the nice hot rice sprinkled with some sea salt. Ahhhhh, heaven!

I'm not sure what it is with rice and me. I have loved it since childhood. My mother used to scream at me when I would down a couple of bowls of salted rice. She would insist I eat it with some sort of protein or vegetable. When she wanted to punish me, she would take away my rice. I would cry for hours. This fact has now become a joke for my husband. When we eat anything that includes rice, he grabs it away from me, and says, "Okay, go ahead and cry." He gets a good laugh. I plan his death at that point.

Anyway, back to the gloriously warm and tender kernels of white goodness... I love rice. I could eat rice every day of my life. I love it with food. I love it without. I love it short-grained and glutinous. I love it long-grained and separate. I can eat it parboiled. I can eat it in risotto. I can down some good paella. I love it when it is sticky with coconut milk. The one way I probably don't like rice is when it is sweet. Like in pudding. Nope. Keep it plain or savory. Sprinkle some soy sauce on it. I can eat the vinegar-seasoned sushi rice by the buckets. I love it with some wonderful Indian curry. What is Chinese stir-fry without rice? I can mix it into soups and stews. Chicken Adobo is made to be eaten with rice. Fry it up with some roast pork. Ahh... warm heavenly whiteness. Just you, some salt, a large bowl, and a spoon. Nothing else needed. Later.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
I ran into an ex-coworker and her quite-bigger-than-usual 8-month-old child. She had come into the store to buy some food and to just stop by to say hello to some old friends. After the initial gushing and greeting, I asked her how she was doing. Aside from a bout with post-partum depression and a 40-lb weight gain, she said things were looking better and that she and her baby's father were getting married. They were also planning on moving back to Europe since most of his business was happening there. Plus, on top of it all, she was looking to start a restaurant and it would be easier if they moved to Europe.

I decided to ask her more about her restaurant. She said that since she had invested so much time and energy into her culinary education, she did not want to waste it and wanted to become some kind of chef before she got too old. I told her that it's never too late to start. She said that she felt that it would be a waste of her education to not open a restaurant in the next two years. After a few more minutes of chatting, we said our goodbyes and I went back to work.

As I continued on my daily grind, one thing my ex-coworker said kept coming back to mind. Is it really a waste to not pursue something that you went to school for? Is it truly feasible to study something and only have one singular goal in mind? Or do you start off with a goal and learn about more possibilities as you go along? Isn't it a bit stiffling to just think that you are learning/studying something with the sole goal of say... opening a restaurant? Before 30?

I thought about this more and decided that what bothers me most about my ex-coworker words was how narrow-minded they were. She is only a few years younger than me (actually 30 years old) and for her to think that there is only one use for a culinary education and only worthwhile if that one use is fulfilled early on in life is very limiting. Especially since she claims to be and has always acted so zen and free-thinking. And for her to attach success as achieving a singular goal at an early age puts limits on herself that I used to have and now find unattractive in others.

I have often been asked why I work as a buyer for a grocery store. The answer has always been because I like working with food and like having normal work hours with benefits. The question is normally asked after people find out my educational background. For some reason, my college degree is supposed to dictate what I do in life. Fortunately, I don't have that narrow view on the world. Whenever I get into a discussion with some of my coworkers who are either in school or are going to school, inevitably, I advise them to learn as much as they can in school and, when they graduate, do something that you like to do and do it well, whenever, wherever, and whatever it is.

To me, going to school was all about learning. Learning about the subject I majored in. Learning about other subjects in the world. Learning about interacting with perfect strangers. Learning how to make those perfect strangers your friends and allies. School was always more than just learning how to do something then taking it out into the real world to make a buck. School was about growing up to become a functioning human being who enjoyed life outside and inside of the box. And, thankfully, I can and continue to enjoy life on both sides of those box walls. And without age limits.

Monday, June 05, 2006
I just got back from Naperville, Illinois. Mike and I went out there to celebrate his nephew's high school graduation. Three days in suburban Chicago is way more than enough. I grew up in suburbia. I honestly don't know how I did. The conspicuous consumption is absolutely amazing. Who really needs soft ice cream with two snickers bars blitzed into it? Boneless chicken wings? Have people become lazy about eating meat off the bone? Fat-free this, fat-free that. How about half the portions of what you shove down your gullet? Suburbia. Big cars. Big houses. Big asses.

We landed back in NYC at 1:05pm. I was so happy to be back in the City. Mike and I went out for sushi, saw the new X-men movie, and went shopping for wine. Had a nice big salad with our dinner. It's nice to be home. Later.
I'm just writing down some of the things that run through my head.

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Location: New York, New York, United States

Eating up the City before it eats me up. I'm a freelance cook who spends his free time working out, cooking for "my man", and wondering why the Right is so concerned about my bedroom.

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