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 xxxtitsxxx | |
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the PSE turned twenty-seven on Tuesday. we celebrated by having cake for breakfast and going horseback riding. [see yesterday's post] we were through riding horses a little before 3:00pm. what's next!?! the PSE and i decided we ought to take lunch. we had to rush over to horseback riding because there was a storm-a-brewin', and we didn't have time for a proper breakfast. the PSE gets ornery if she doesn't eat in the morning because, apparently, she has no self control. we ate birthday cake for breakfast before we left, but that just leads to sugar-belly and that can make things worse. so, for the PSE's temperament, we decided to go take breakfast. we went to an Italian restaurant we like and split a salad and a bruschetta. we didn't want to have anything big because i had made us plans for a proper birthday supper. lunch came to $16. after lunch the PSE and i went back to our apartment to lay around for forty-five minutes. going outside and doing things is exhausting. also, we smelled like horses and could use a change of cloths. we stripped down to our underpants and curled up into bed to cuddle and pet each other for a while, drinking water and recuperating from a hard afternoon of sitting still while a horse ran us all around. around 4:30pm the PSE's grandmother called. not to wish her a happy birthday but to say that she was watching “the weather news” and that the tornado that just killed a dozen Oklahoma school children was heading our way. the storm never came. “do you know what today is, grandma?” the PSE asked. with some nudges, the old woman finally remembered it was her favorite granddaughter's special day. [at least, i assume the PSE is her favorite. if you consider not being a drug addict or a prostitute grounds for favoritism.] the PSE's grandmother cried for a few minutes, she is surprisingly sentimental for a mean old woman, then, finally, the PSE was able to get her off the phone. comforting the elderly is a shitty way to spend your birthday. the PSE's grandmother's mistaken birthday call was the best the PSE got. her Deadbeat Dad, her Idiot Brother and her trashy friend The Gibbler forgot her. or they didn't care enough to waste long-distance minutes. [is that still a thing? people worried about their minutes? do people have unlimited calling yet?] to their credit, my Parents sent the PSE a card and a check for $50. i think $50 is a little cheep for what amounts to a daughter-in-law, but it's better then the PSE”s own kin do for her, so i can't complain. by the time the PSE got off the line with her grandma, we were ready to go back out again. on to Part Two of her special birthday surprise. i decided to take us to a Color Me Mine to paint our own pottery. i'd been to a few birthday parties at Color Me Mine when i was seven and remember having a good-enough time. why not do it now that the PSE is twenty-seven? originally i wanted us to get to play in a clay studio, to be able to make whatever the hell we wanted form scratch, but i called all the clay studios in town and they wouldn't sell us studio time unsupervised. they all wanted to give us classes and it's no fun getting talked-at by some art fart so i figured the next best thing would be to color me mine. the PSE and i surveyed the selection of unfinished pottery and both decided to make plates. because the bear holding the ice cream cone and the Parisian dog dressed in beret and ascot just didn't speak to us. we took our plates to a quiet corner of the Color Me Mine and started painting. i jumped right in, but the PSE sat there for no less then a half hour, unsure of what to do. the PSE is a really great technical artist [for a novice] but she is shit at thinking artistically. whereas i have plenty of great, artistic ideas but the total and complete lack of ability to do anything with any of them. i don't know who is worse off. i fired off suggestions to the PSE, but she didn't like most of them. finally, i suggested a list of her favorite cuss words. she wrote them around the border of the plate and then i offered “and how 'bout a stinking shit in the middle? with flies?” and she did that. it came out pretty nice. we sat there at our table brainstorming cusswords for a while. all the regulars were there, piss, shit, fuck, crap, motherfucker, cocksucker, but then we started to run out and had to get creative. if you look at the picture below, you'll see 'butthole party.' that one still makes me laugh out loud. up at the paint station where they keep all the paints, i started chatting with a middle-aged woman out for an arts-and-crafts night with her girlfriends. because i'm a chatty bastard. i asked her what she was doing and she showed me a dumb-ass picture of a flower she was painting on a bowl, then she looked over at the PSE's plate and laughed, then got self conscious, then judgmental. “butthole party” she said, with disapproval thick in her voice “that's very creative.” and she walked back to her table disgusted and upset for the rest of the evening. i decided to draw myself because i love drawing myself because i am an egomaniac. so, i did myself in my pajamas, sitting on my sofa, using the plate i just made. note, i am eating what appears to be chicken legs out of a bowl marked 'FOOD'. in real life, i would never eat chicken legs.  we spent a surprising three and a half hours at the Color Me Mine. we closed the place down at 8:00pm. fortunately, we were just putting the finishing touches on our masterpieces and we didn't have to leave anything unfinished. the Color Me Mine bill came to $49.63. $47.63 plus a $2 tip. i don't know what the overweight counter girl did to think she deserves a tip, but on my credit card receipt there was a line marked 'Gratuity' and what am i gonna do, write in 'zero'? our tableware will be ready to pick up on Sunday afternoon. after our arts-and-crafts adventure, the PSE and i drove straight to the Four Seasons downtown where we had reservations at their finest restaurant, one of the nicest places in Austin. the PSE and i had been there once before on my 30th birthday but i was too adventurous with my entree and i ended up eating crab and goose liver foie gras by accident and i spent my birthday evening throwing up into the bathroom sink. it might very well have been food poisoning froman airport chicken salad sandwich i ate a few nights previous, but the thought of that foie gras's gross, slimy texture kept repeating in my head. i wanted to give the place another try, they have a good reputation and it's not their fault i ordered something so gross [although they could have been a lot more descriptive in the menu] so i booked us a table for two. we sat outside on a quiet stretch along the Colorado river, under the starlight. that storm everybody was so concerned about never materialized. our menus were customized to read 'Happy Birthday,' because when i booked the reservation, the hostess asked if i was celebrating anything special. later on in the meal, the hostess came back with out two customized Happy Birthday menus wrapped up with a ribbon. “a keepsake!” she said, and handed them to the PSE. that was fucking weird. the PSE and i ordered a potato-onion soup and an iceberg wedge salad to split. the salad was good, the soup was odd. it has sauerkraut and pork belly. for our entrees i went with a simple filet mignon, very rare, and a side of garlic aioli mashed potatoes. the PSE had beef cheek. neither one of us had ever had beef cheek before but our server said it was like braised short rib so she figured she would give it a try. she did not like it. she described it with a fart noise and made an unimpressed face. the PSE also ordered a side of macaroni and cheese because the PSE has macaroni and cheese everywhere she goes. she said it was gross, that the top layer was like a scab. my filet should have been good, in theory, it came with a medley of sauces, chimichurri, chili butter and season salt, but all three of those were fucking gross and sitting there at the table i started to feel a little queasy again. i normally have an iron stomach [my intestines are a different story] but i couldn't finish my meat. i took it home, though, and pounded it down on my sofa later that evening. maybe it is psychosomatic. either way, we'll never go back there again. our dinner came to $120.19, $144.19 with tip. we did not take desert because we had a CRAPHOLE!!!! ice cream cake waiting for us at the house. since we were at the Four Seasons, however, we decided to take a nice walk along the Colorado river and stopped to lay down in a hammock they had set up for a while. the PSE cuddled up on me and we laid there, under the stars that we couldn't really see because of the clouds overhead, and enjoyed the quiet of the evening for a half hour or so. then we went home, ate our leftovers, ate some more cake, and retired to bed. technically the PSE is due a birthday BJ, but she was on the rag and besides, we haven't honored that custom in years. cunnilingus is gross. happy birthday, PSE! i love you!!! //[love, TITS]
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 customers_suck
elphane_uk | |
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I hope this post is allowed, as it features sucky customers, I'm just not actually serving them. Or anyone else for that matter. I had a landline put in at home about 6 months ago. It turns out though my 'new' number last used for a local pub, the owners of which didn't bother to go online and change any info on websites when they changed it. It is also nearly the same as the number of ANOTHER local pub, just two numbers swapped round (theirs end 274, mine ends 247). So this has lead to some interesting calls. I spent all day a few months back going through every result on Google that had my number listed as the number for the first pub, which has helped somewhat, but I still get mis dialed calls for the other pub. I find it all kind of hilarious as I work for a totally different local pub. Now on most calls I get the people are nice and polite about it, but this morning I had a real humdinger. I was in the bathroom, when my phone rang. I didn't make it down it time, and it went to my messaging service. When I checked my messages it was a call for the pub with a similar number to mine, and as it seemed an important call about accommodation for tonight, I called the lady who had left the message back to tell her she had mixed the number up. It went straight through to her voicemail, so I left a polite message telling her she'd dialed the wrong number and pointing out she'd called '247' not '274' and left it at that. My good deed done for the day, right? Wrong. About ten minutes later she calls me back and yells at me that I need to have my number changed as it's MY fault she called the wrong place. If my number wasn't similar it wouldn't have gone through and she'd have known there and then her mistake, not ten minutes later. And how dare I call her personal number, I must be a weirdo. I simply told her I wanted to make sure she didn't turn up to the pub tonight to find she didn't have accommodation after all and I thought I was being helpful. Which according to her I wasn't, I was just being weird. I don't think I'll be helpful anymore. A minor annoyance about this whole issue though is when people calling for the pub that used to have my number find out it's changed they ask me what the new number is. Which I don't know. And they can be a bit snotty about that. I should find it out I guess. And in case anyone is wondering why I don't have my number changed, it would be more of a pain to inform everyone with my number that it's been changed than it is to get these calls a few times a week. Current Location: Home
Currently feeling: amused
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xxxtitsxxx | |
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on Tuesday the PSE turned twenty-seven.
the PSE is afraid that i am going to leave her one day because of how old she is, when we got together she was eighteen and i am a sucker for teenage girls [legal teenage girls, cops] but whatever, the PSE wears twenty-seven well.
she is even prettier and more charming now then she was when she was eighteen, nineteen, twenty.
but mostly that's because she's had more time for my personality to rub off on her.
the point being, [perhaps surprisingly] i don't think of the PSE as being old. the PSE is just right.
so, let's celebrate her special day!
here's to managing to stay alive, PSE!
days and weeks and months before the PSE's birthday i always start to grumble and grouse.
“don't expect anything from me, PSE, you've got nothing coming.”
i do this for two reasons; because i genuinely hate having to think about other people, but also because i want to lower the PSE's expectations.
it's a deliberate stratify. if i lower the PSE's expectations for what her birthday will be like, then anything that i do end up doing will be all that much more special.
so, i shit on the PSE's day for weeks and months at a time, just to give her one day that is better then she expected.
when i think about it like that, it's kind of a dick plan.
and i guess i shouldn't say that i genuinely hate having to think about other people, when i do pull off a good birthday for the PSE i feel good and proud of myself.
also, it's fun to do fun stuff.
but i grew up in a household where birthdays earned little more then a cheap card and a polite comment and the only holiday we celebrated was Hanukkah [and every Jew will tell you Hanukkah is just a pair of socks and a roll of quarters for eight disappointing nights] so i come from a real pomp and circumstance deficit.
my Father's birthday and Mother's Day just passed with very little fanfare and if i had my way, so would the PSE's birthday, but she expects a big production, she demands to be indulged, so i do it for her because that is what good boyfriends do.
and i like doing it once it's actually done and i'm glad the PSE expects it, but it isn't in my nature.
the PSE's birthday started at 11:15am when my alarm went off, i got up, got dressed real quick and drove to the ice cream store down the street to pick up a cake.
i put a lot of work into trying to get the PSE a good cake, but nothing worked out.
i got into a fight at the bakery up the street because they refused to make a whole strawberry shortcake cake that we like, even though they'll make them by the slice.
“just put eight fucking slices together and sell it to me!” i shouted at the cake boss, but he refused.
then i thought it might be fun to get an erotic cake, a cake in the shape of the PSE laying naked, spread-eagle, floppity labia and all, but surprisingly, Austin doesn't have many erotic patisseries.
you would think Austin would be an erotic bakery kind of a town, but if they have them here, they are not on the Google.
i finally had to settle for an ice cream cake from a local ColdStone Creamery knockoff.
strawberry shortcake ice cream with 'CRAPHOLE!!!!' written on the top in frosting.
it came to $40 and turned out to not even be that good.
back at the house the PSE and i had ice cream cake for breakfast then the PSE got herself ready for the day while i paced around the apartment, impatiently.
goddamn, birthday girl, how long does it take to wash your fucking face! we've got places to be.
the plan [the first part of the plan] was to go horseback riding.
originally i scheduled our horseback riding appointment for 4:30pm but on Monday night i got a call from the horse lady who said that the tornado that destroyed Oklahoma was turning south and that we ought to reschedule so we don't get sucked up into the funnel.
she wanted to push it back a day but the PSE's birthday was Tuesday and that wouldn't do.
she agreed to meet us at 12:30 but that meant hurrying the PSE out the fucking door.
we got to the lady's ranch out in the county around 12:45 which is close enough.
i paid the woman $130 dollars, cash, and she showed the PSE and i how to ride horses.
i fucking love riding horses.
i rode horses five or six times twenty years ago and i remember it being awesome, but i haven't had the opportunity to do it again because horsemanship is a rich man's game.
the PSE took me horseback riding for one of my birthdays back in Albuquerque but that wasn't so much proper riding as it was sitting on a horse's back while it walked around in a line.
i made sure when i booked our riding appointment that the PSE and i would be able to drive the horses ourselves with very little supervision.
“shit yeah,” the woman told me “if your money is green, you can do whatever the fuck you want with my horses for an hour and a half.”
the PSE and i showed up at the woman's house, and she came waddling out, a great big fat woman, and she took us to her barn and [after cash up front] put helmets on our heads.
then she walked us over to a stable where she had two horses waiting for us, Cinnamon for me and Half-Moon for the PSE.
Half-Moon was bigger and i thought that was going to be the horse i would ride, but after a surprisingly short amount of time, the horse lady told me “you seem like a pushy asshole” and paired me with Cinnamon because she is more easy-going.
Half-Moon was a strong-willed horse and if i got paired with him, we would have fought the entire time.
so, the PSE got saddled with Half-Moon who, it turned, really was something of a dick.
for twenty minutes, the horse-lady gave us a tutorial of how to ride a horse.
it's all kinda self-explanatory, but she showed us anyway.
i took to the stuff right away. the PSE had a much more difficult time.
i didn't have any qualm about kicking a horse in the ribs to get her to move or about jerking it's head around when i wanted her to turn, they are professionals, that is what they do, but the PSE was a lot more timid.
the horse lady kept yelling at her “you're riding a horse, not just sitting up there looking around.”
it took the PSE a while to find her inner horse-whisperer, but eventually she summed up enough strength to be able to get Half-Moon to respect her.
sorta. not really.
once the horse-lady taught us the basics, we were free to go out and ride.
the horse-lady owns four or six acres of weeds and brush and told us we were free to go clip-clopping around as we pleased while she went back to her house and took a nap.
for an hour and twenty minutes the PSE and i road.
i was in the lead because horses are pack animals and Half-Moon would follow Cinnamon and Cinnamon would listen to me.
for the most part.
but that didn't stop both the PSE and me from getting all scratched up on our arms and flanks from passing too close to trees and branches and thickets.
fucking watch where you're going, Cinnamon!
we also got sunburns pretty bad.
it was cloudy and overcast out what with the hurricane coming in, but the sun cam through enough to cook both of our shoulders.
i was wearing my new tank-top, too, so now i have a tan line like a fat girl in a tankini.
the worst part, though, is probably the bruises the PSE and i have on our grundles.
our guiches. our taints. our perineums.
when we were actually out riding all the bouncing about wasn't so bad [for me. the PSE complained a whole bunch] but now, a few days later, i'm walking funny and it hurts to sit for a while.
still, the physical damages were nothing compared to how awesome it was to be outside, riding arround on galloping horses.
it was a fucking thrill for me.
the PSE, i think, could take it or leave it.
after an hour and twenty minutes, the PSE's horse started to head back to the barn.
it was hot out and he was sick of having to be a fucking horse.
the PSE tried to get him to turn around but he would rear and buck and open his mouth to show all his fearsome horse-teeth.
it was kinda scarey.
the horse-lady warned us that the horses might try to make an executive decision to turn back on their own and that if they did, we should be firm with them, but the PSE isn't very good at being firm, so we headed back to the barn ten minutes early.
i made up the time by riding Cinnamon in circles on the horse-lady's front lawn until it was time to dismount.
the horse-lady had us help her hose down our horses then, with a final pat on the rear and a “good boy!” the PSE and i were off to our next birthday activity, leaving our new horse-friends to graze grass and shit heaps like it's no big deal.
horses are awesome!
//[love, TITS]
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xxxtitsxxx | |
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i woke up at 2:30pm Saturday afternoon.
after working for a week straight at Wayne Gretzky Middle School, it was nice to finally get to sleep in.
i could have kept sleeping, i had at least another three hours in me, but the Dog decided to jump up into bed to stand on top of my sleeping corpse.
this is bad, Bad Dog!, but i figured i ought to wake up anyway because the PSE was already up.
i called to the PSE and we all had a family cuddle in the bed for a while until it was time to get up and start the day.
first thing, the PSE and i decided to take Dog out for a nice walk around the neighborhood.
when i work all week Dog gets neglected because the PSE can't play with the Dog by herself so we had to get dressed and take the little princess for a walk.
we walked down to a grassy field four blocks away from our apartment.
Dog made it down to the field okay, but she ran out of steam for the return trip.
her hair is really short, we just had it cut, but the summer sun is getting hotter and apparently it's too hard to walk eight fucking blocks.
fortunately, Dog is small so the PSE and i could carry her the rest of the way home.
cradled in our arms like a baby, sun beating down on her belly, head lolling, tongue hanging out of her mouth like a dead Dog.
to be fair, if i only weighed sixteen pounds, i would expect the PSE to carry me back home when i got tired, too.
walking to the field, the PSE and i found that the allies running behind our house all the way to the park had been vandalized with InfoWars bumper-stickers.
stuck to everything, lampposts, dumpsters, buildings, shrubbery.
they were all over the place, no less then three in any direction you might look.
the PSE and i decided to make a game of removing them all as we walked because A) it's fun to hunt for things but more importantly, B) fuck Alex Jones.
i mean, i hate the government as much as anybody, but i don't like the way Alex Jones and his guys hate the government. there is a right way and a wrong way to hate the government and these paranoid assholes are doing it wrong.
the whole time the PSE and i were hunting bumper-stickers i kept imagining some InfoWars asshole coming back to admire his work and getting all outraged and indignant “OMAMA DID THIS!!!!!!!!”
we must have pulled up and thrown out no less then three dozen InfoWars bumper-stickers in the four block walk down to the field.
how much are these idiot zealots spending in bumper stickers, 'cause you know Alex Jones isn't giving them away?
hysteria is the greatest marketing tool.
back from our walk, the PSE and i fucked around the house for a while, then, around 7:30pm, we got dressed to go out to H&M.
in case you aren't a girl in your mid-twenties, H&M is a department store.
like Sears, only they don't sell power-tools or Macy's only your mom doesn't shop there.
i am aware that H&M exists because both exMate Lindsay and my friend Jamie the Meathead have told me about it.
i don't recall why they were talking to me about department stores or what could make they think that that is a subject i am interested in, but all i know about H&M is that it is the kind of place where Lindsay and Meathead go shopping so, it is a store for sloppy girls.
i am not a girl and the PSE is not sloppy, but for some reason, we had to go there anyway.
because there was shopping to do.
i needed to buy a belt [see yesterday's post; RE: chasing a cricket] and two pairs of swim trunks.
i do not like to buy new things, i prefer to make new things because why spend money for shit when you can just do it yourself, but as ethical as i am, i am also lazy and good-for-nothing and i tend to rely on the PSE for all my DIY needs.
i outsource my ethics to the PSE.
the PSE put on a good effort to make me some swim trunks to wear for our cruise in a few weeks, but it was apparently too hard for her [or she lost interest, or just gave up or whatever] so she decided it would be easier to give in and buy the things.
i don't know why that meant we had to go to H&M, i mean, they sell belts and swim trunks at the thrift store, don't they? but the PSE decided we would got to H&M so we went to H&M.
when i was working last Friday as a Security Guard at Wayne Gretzky middle school, i got to talking to a pain-in-the-ass kid named Guillermo who was in In-School Suspension all day.
among the other things he listed for his weekend plans [the ISS lady asked him, not me,] he said “my mom's taking me shopping for bathing suits. i do not want to go.”
“my girlfriend's taking me shopping for bathing suits,” i told him “i don't want to go, either.”
but in the end, we both got stuck going shopping for bathing suits.
life can be hard sometimes.
the H&M is in a great big outdoor upscale mall they have here.
it is a destination spot for high school girls and housewives who want to tell themselves they are rich window-shopping at the Burberry and getting spritzed with free perfume samples at Neiman-Marcus.
it would be a nice place to walk around if it wasn't so crowded with yups all the time.
we made our way to the H&M and were both overwhelmed by the press of humanity shopping inside.
the PSE and i aren't proper agoraphobes but we don't leave the house very often and when we do, it can be too much.
all these unfortunate-looking women buzzing around, holding up outfits, trying in vain to fool somebody into thinking they aren't ugly. trying to fill the hole in their life with retail.
it was simultaneously depressing and obnoxious.
but it wasn't just sad older women, either.
for the first time in as long as we've been in Austin, the PSE and i saw a bunch of Punks.
this is what The Punks do, apparently. they shop at H&M.
i've always like The Punks, [like i like the Old Dirty Bastard or dogs in sweaters, i wouldn't do it myself, but good for them,] but honestly if this is what punk rock has come to, then perhaps punk ought to just go ahead and die already like so many people have been suggesting.
i wanted to tell the overly-made-up girls that they would loose their credibility if they weren't at least shoplifting, but i don't talk to people anymore, so i left them alone and went upstairs to the Men's department where things were a bit less raucous.
upstairs was a swarm of beautiful, hip Gay men walking around rubbing my noise in how pretty they are.
it's a good thing i am ninety-percent ego because if i didn't think so uncommonly high of myself, my big fat belly, sloppy t-shirt and greasy hair could really make me feel self conscious.
for a half hour i followed the PSE around as she picked out cloths for me and periodically we went into the fitting room to try things on.
i ended up securing a new belt, overpriced but vegan, and two plain-colored swim trunks, both shades of blue. they are short, which is in style now, but i always like showing off my mid-thighs.
i also picked myself out a tank-top. sherbert-colored horizontal stripes.
i am not a tank-top guy, i am overweight and my arms have no definition whatsoever, but i have always wanted to be brave enough to make a tank-top work and i figured i would go for it.
it's the summer of fuck-it-why-not!
[note: yesterday, Tuesday, i wore my tank top out for the first time. i felt wonderful!]
our H&M bill came to $46.30. that's a lot of money to spend on four things!
after H&M the PSE and i took a walk around the great big outdoor mall for a while.
it was late and the crowds had thinned a bit.
we found ourselves at a storefront with two Tesla Motors electric cars in it.
one was a little sports car, the other a sedan.
a perky, friendly woman with a grotesque mole on her face came over and spent the next twenty minutes telling us all about how awesome Tesla electric cars are.
the thing about electric cars is that they are all small and cramped and made of plastic, and fuck the environment if i can't put my seat all the way back, but apparently the engineers at Tesla figured out a way to make an all-electric car that can accommodate the American penchant for spreading out.
inside, the Tesla Model S was as roomy and well-apportioned as any premium luxury car i've ever been in. it is the only electric car i have ever seen that i would drive.
maybe i can be 'environmentally conscious' after all, now that i've found an electric car that isn't totally fucking gay.
the mole-face spokes-modle told the PSE and i how the thing works [just a motor attached to the real-wheel drive axle, no belts, no hoses, no nothin'] and talked to us about battery life.
it can get you 300 miles and takes ten hours to reach a full battery charge.
the biggest flaw in the system is that the Tesla Model S has to be maintained by official Tesla service stations once a year. it's not like regular grease monkeys, motorheads and Mexicans know how the fuck an electric car works.
and they only have official service stations in places where people are rich and liberal. if you live over three hundred miles from LA or San Francisco or Portland or Austin or Boulder or the East Coast, you're pretty much screwed.
still, who wants to live anywhere where people aren't rich and liberal. i'm sold. sign me up.
the spokes-model refused to tell me how much the Tesla Model S sells for [she ave me a bunch of horse shit about Texas law] but referred me to their website.
the basic, cheapest Tesla Model S i could buy would coat me $71,000, but that's with cloth seats.
if i'm gonna buy a $71,000 car, i expect some comfortable suede.
to get a Model S the way i would want it, with the touch-screen navigation system and the sound system and the leather seats, it would run me $103,400.
and that's why Tesla Motors won't make it. there are only so many stupid rich people in the world.
they need to start selling Teslas at a loss. make up for the lower price-point with volume.
sell a Tesla for $42,000 and maybe people will consider it [not me, but you know, people,] but at $103,400, that's just a fucking joke.
we left the Tesla store when they started to lock up around 9:00pm.
for supper we went to an Italian restaurant we like and sat outside, eating salad, bruschetta and an Italian wedding soup.
it was a pretty good night.
//[love, TITS]
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childfree
big_fat_toad | |
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I think it would be interesting to investigate if people who chose not no have kids have common personality traits.
Here is something about me. I can say I am a natural childfree, I mean I never wanted children, never was fond of them, and never even played with dolls as a child. I can't say my personality is very unusual, there are some people like me who have kids, but I think there are traits which are related to my CF choice.
I have a large personal space. Not that I am a "loner": I get alone with people in general, have good work relationship and a healthy social life. I work in the field of science, and most of my work requires concentration, attention to the details, and adhering to certain routines. As I like to say, developing a good routine is a half of success. However, I prefer to work with a team of strong professionals and do not like to teach. It is very hard for me to explain how to do something, even if I do it very well on my own. In social life, I had never been a party animal (well, maybe a little bit in my teen years). I prefer quiet gathering with some kind of intellectual or sporting activity. Of sports, I prefer shooting sport (bull's eye is the best), because it involves a lot of focus and concentration. Also I do some running and cycling, usually alone, since a companion would distract me and the quality of my workout would diminish. I need considerable amount of time to be alone, which I use for reading, doing crafts, or just thinking. I may enjoy a significant other to sit nearby in silence, but do not appreciate a conversation. I also like to travel alone, and feel great going to vacation accompanied just by myself.
At the same time, I easily make contact with other people, especially those I meet while traveling. Communicating with family members is difficult for me. Why is that? Because when communicating with strangers, I don't feel pressured. Strangers don't care much about me, don't try to make me to live their way, but tend to talk about themselves and share interesting stories. I really enjoy talking with people who have unusual life experiences. I like to listen. In contrast, family members feel that blood relationship gives them a right to impose their believes and norms on me, to dig into my personal life, to ask questions I consider simply tactless or impolite, and to repeatedly raise subjects I already openly refused to discuss.
I am a cat person. Cats make a mutual agreement with you. Cats are independent and keep their distance. Cats are quiet. Cats don't require discipline and, most importantly, are not hierarchical. I am not a fan of dogs because you have to train them and you have to show them who is the boss. A dog is either a leader or a slave. A cat is a partner. I just hate disciplining someone, I hate conflicts, I hate bossing around. I let people and animals live and expect the same from them.
I don't like to rush. I wake up early to have enough time to sit and slowly eat a good breakfast before work. Pushing me results in a disaster. I start panicing, forget things, mess everything up, and never get anything done. I don't lime to be interrupted when eating, especially in the morning. So, when I eat my breakfast and plan a day, my phone is off. Too bad if you need me right now... Nothing is more important than a tasty, nourishing breakfast eaten in comfort.
I don't have close friends, although have a lot of acquaintances. Just don't like to be close with someone. Close friendship means too much responsibilities. You will have to listen to someone's whining, and I don't like that.
I avoid responsibilities and obligations at all costs. My job is enough. My life credo is simplification. I don't own a house because I don't want to be responsible for mortgage and maintenance. Renting is much better. Just pay a rent and call a landlord if your pipe cracked. Ideally, I want to live in a large southern city in a full service apartment, where someone does everything and you only pay. I don't have a feeling of "home", to me anyplace where I stay is a home, and most of my life is outside of it. Also I am a 100% urban person. I like city life not only because of convinience of public transportation and all the beauties of civilization nearby, but also because in a city people are by far less involved with their neighbors than in rural area. I really don't like the mentality of watching after someone. I don't need anyone to watch after me, and will never watch after another person. Mind your business.
Importantly, I am extremely sensitive to pain and physical discomfort. All my teeth extractions were done with sedation. For my recent sterilization surgery, I made sure they will load me with all the comfort meds they have on board, and give me prescriptions for all those meds. I rejected two surgeons of whom I heared they don't pay enough attention to comfort, and had chosen the one who does. Even in everyday life, if I did not get enough sleep, or am hungry, you better stay away for your own safety ;) I simply would not be able to deal with horrors of pregnancy and birth, and with craziness of having an infant at home.
in short, I think my unwillingness to have kids is related to: large personal space, feeling burdened by close emotional contacts, bad teaching abilities, adherance to certain routines, tendency to avoid responsibilities, lack of feeling of "home", and inability to tolerate physical discomfort.
Is there something in you what you think is a base for your decision to be CF?
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picturing_food
layers_of_eli | |
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Gooey butter cake is already completely insane, buttery, and delicious, but when you add Biscoff Cookie Spread, things get serious. I thought up this combo when working on my beloved Gooey Butter Cake theme and it is a real crowd-pleaser! But I ate most of it myself. No judging. 
( recipe + photo of cake textureCollapse )To read about validation and why we should do it, see the perils of not validating others (through a surprisingly tense toilet paper conversation), and see more photos, please head over to Willow Bird Baking! x-posted to food_porn, picturing_food, cooking, bakebakebakeTags: food
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xxxtitsxxx | |
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last Monday morning i got a call from an English teacher at Wayne Gretzky Middle School asking if i could work for her on Friday.
i like when people call to request me specifically. it makes me feel like i'm doing a good job and that i have earned a good reputation.
i said i would be happy to work for her, but when i showed up on Friday morning, the Substitute Coordinator Liz told me that she had switched me to work the Security Guard position.
“is that okay?” she asked, perfunctorily.
“yeah, sure, sure” i grumbled, though it really wasn't. i prefer to be in a classroom when i substitute.
i mean, being a Security Guard is fine and all, mostly it means i get to hang out in the In-School Suspension room and fuck around on my computer, but it is more enjoyable to be interacting with children.
but still, i get paid the same thing either way and i like to let Liz know that i am a worker.
i got rope-a-doped into being the Security Guard on Friday because i got rope-a-doped into being the Security Guard on Thursday because i got rope-a-doped into being the Security Guard on Wednesday.
i didn't want to do any of the Security Guard work but they kept asking and i kept saying okay.
i thought i would finally get to spend Friday in front of a classroom, but i got switch-a-rooed again.
somebody signed up to work the Security Guard job on Friday but it was just some guy who took the job off the system on the internet and he didn't know the complexities of what being a Security Guard at an affluent middle school is all about.
mostly, it's making sure the flags are up at the start of the day and walking the hallways for a few minutes every hour to watch for horseplay.
apparently that was too much for this fucking new guy so they sent him to the English class and i had to do a third day as the sheriff of middle school. whatever.
i got up at 7:15am because i didn't know i was going to have to be security and thought i could sleep in for a few minutes because teachers can afford to come in a bit late.
i got dressed, kissed my loved ones and drove to Wayne Gretzky one more fucking time.
as i was walking in, i ran into one of the assistant principals who was wearing some of the loudest, gaudiest argyle pants i have ever seen in my life.
if he put on a scally cap he might have been in a Christian Ska band in 1996.
“jesus, those are some loud pants!” i said, “are you going golfing?”
he said he wasn't and i think i made him feel bad. perhaps it's not a good idea to bully the assistant principal at the one school in town where i want to work.
i walked in, signed in at the office, found out i had been reassigned and cussed quietly to myself.
i grabbed the Security Guard's walkie-talkie, went out back to count the buses the way the Security Guard is supposed to do, then, once all buses were accounted for, i went up to the 8th Grade hallway to scowl at the asshole who was working my job in the English room.
he got to spend the day playing an audio tape of somebody reading The Diary Of Ann Frank while the kids were supposed to read along for eight fucking periods while i had to walk around, being busy. bastard scab.
after the 8:15am bell rang i walked the halls for a while, making sure all the doors were locked and that there were no armed intruders in the building.
down in the 6th Grade hallway i found a cricket, a giant Texas-size cricket and i stopped to pick him up and put him outside.
middle school kids are notoriously thoughtless and i knew if the critter was still in the building by the time the Second Period bell rang, he would get trampled.
even worse, some cruel little shit boy would likely go out of his way to squash him.
so i chased the cricket around for a while, he was hard to catch because of all the jumping, but i got him eventually and carried him outside to chuck him in a bush.
i couldn't feel good about myself for too long, however, because in the process of saving the cricket's life, i busted my belt.
it was only 8:25am. i had to spend the whole rest of the day hitching up my pants every few minutes for fear that i would get arrested for indecent exposure at a middle school.
the ISS lady suggested i check the lost and found for a belt but the only one i found was a teeny-tiny girls belt and wouldn’t do me any good.
there was also a pair of sweat pants in there that might have fit me, but i don't know how the administration would feel about their security guard walking around with LOVE PINK written across my ass.
beltless, i returned to the In-School Suspension room to set myself up for the day.
i started writing the day's LiveJournal but about halfway through Period One, the walkie-talkie crackled to let the ISS Monitor know that she would be receiving a customer for the day.
it was a boy i had several times when i was doing the In-School Suspension job, a sassy Mexican 7th Grader, the school's only pain-in-the-ass.
fortunately the boy would be the ISS lady's problem, not mine, but unfortunately, i had been hanging out in the ISS room, which meant i had would have to deal with him whenever i wasn't out walking the halls.
i took some comfort in seeing that little Guillermo was just as obnoxious, disrespectful and insubordinate with the regular ISS Monitor as he was with me when i was filling in for her.
she didn't have any way to control him either and, if anything, he was a little more wild and obnoxious with her then he was with me.
whenever i had the misfortune of being in charge of Guillermo i would do my best to make him do the work he was assigned or to make him sit still or shut the fuck up.
the ISS lady tried all that, but she would also let him mess around, too, and he took advantage of that.
i think the ISS lady was embarrassed to have me in the room to see how she couldn't control the boy properly like she was supposed to.
i know i would be embarrassed to have somebody else see just how impotent i was in the face of a misbehaving child, but i let the ISS lady know i sympathized with her.
if it were up to me we would send little Guillermo off to juvie for a while to either learn to be quiet and respectful or to just jump right in to institutionalized gang life, but the district has rules about who you can send to juvie and why and the administration doesn't think sass is a good enough reason to ruin a child's life.
but really, Principal McVicker, you're not the one who has to take this kid's shit all day long.
i spent Periods One, Two and Three mostly hanging around the ISS room.
when little Guillermo would get too obnoxious i would take a walk around the halls but i always came back to sit and write LiveJournals and try to fuck around on my computer.
it wasn't easy with the little shit talking all the time.
during Period Three he told me “damn, you must be rich.”
because i had a four year old laptop with a crack in the plastic casing and a two year old I-Phone.
“i mean, you dress like you rich.”
i dress like i'm rich? really!?!
apparently my hand-me-down button-up shirts from my Dad and collection of cardigan sweaters from the thrift store are a mark of wealth and taste to little Guillermo.
“i mean, the other teachers, they don't dress like that.”
and he was right. most of the other teachers dress like slobs.
everyday is casual Friday. everyday is people-you-might-see-at-a-bus-stop Friday.
it's a sad day when i win Best Dressed.
during Period Seven, Guillermo told the ISS lady and me about his dad who got stabbed to death at a Halloween party while his mother was giving birth to him.
it's a sad story, but not sad enough to excuse or justify him acting like a little shit all the time.
they eventually caught his father's murdered and he's doing time somewhere.
his grandmother used to follow the guy's whereabouts, when he gets transferred to different facilities and when he is eligible for parole, but she just recently died.
i told little Guillermo that it's his job to follow that stuff now to make sure his father's murderer never gets let out of prison.
“you've got to write to the Department of Corrections, you've got to write to the Department of Probation of Parole.”
he seemed to understand that that was his responsibility now, but i don't know if he will do it.
i hope he does. vengeance is a virtue.
after Period Three i went to the cafeteria to run the lunches. everything went well.
back in the ISS room for Period Six i got to talking to the ISS lady who told me and Guillermo about a painting she found several years ago when she was dating a guy who restored houses.
she was helping him out and she was in an old house, cleaning it out, and she came across a painting that caught her eye.
not because she is a connoisseur, but because it was in a big, gilt frame and it looked expensive.
the ISS lady took the painting home with her and began doing research to see what it's deal was and that sent her on a six-year adventure of talking to art historians and collectors and Catholic Bishops and researchers
the ISS lady decided she had a painting of a woman named María de Jesús de Ágreda, who was a Spanish woman from the 17th Century who was supposed to have magic powers.
from her convent in Ágreda, Spain, she was supposed to have astral-projected herself over to New Mexico and west Texas to harass the local Natives and pester them about Jesus.
for this, she was beatified by the Catholic church and is waiting on sainthood.
nobody religious or secular could confirm that the painting was definitely of this medieval nag, but the ISS lady is dead certain.
she talks about the painting with such pride and affection and it sure did send her on a really neat adventure of discovery, but when i asked her “if it does turn out to be an important painting and somebody does offer you any real money for it, would you sell?” she said “hell yes!” without a thought.
because having a spiritual connection is nice, but cash is king.
i spent Periods Seven talking to Guillermo about his dead dad and Period Eight trying to write LiveJournals.
at the end of the day i went outside to set up traffic cones and help the Assistant Principal and the school cop direct parent traffic. i was done with my duty at 3:50pm.
as i was walking out the door, into my weekend, the Substitute Coordinator called me into the office.
she handed me a $10 gift card for Starbucks. it was Substitute Appreciation week
thanks, Liz! it's nice to be appreciated.
//[love, TITS]
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picturing_food
layers_of_eli | |
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I was recently inspired (by Michelle Bernstein, who is my BFF. Not really. But she did talk to me. I promise. Go look at it on my blog.) to get a little more creative with salad. I took a beloved, traditional dish — the lobster roll — and transformed it into a lower carb salad version that was a little lighter on the mayonnaise and butter. The tangy, fresh lobster salad on the bright butter lettuce felt so springy and happy, but the garlic butter croutons were the piéce de resistance. Mike sliced up some juicy watermelon for dessert, making this a quintessential (and amazing) spring meal. 
( recipe + photo of my dessert :)Collapse )To see Michelle Bernstein giving us salad tips (!!! I'm a little star-struck.), read about my salad troubles, and see more photos, please head over to Willow Bird Baking! x-posted to food_porn, picturing_food, cooking, cookingupastormTags: food
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xxxtitsxxx | |
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i worked as a substitute Security Guard on Wednesday.
i didn't want to, i was planing on working a nice, easy half-day in the afternoon as an orchestra sub, but the regular school Security Guard had to go spend a long weekend off at Marine Corps sleepaway camp and wanted me to cover for him.
i told him i was already booked, but that didn't stop him from fixing things with the school's Substitute Coordinator for me to fill in for him.
he wasn't trying to be a dick, i just think that he thinks i like to work.
he is mistaken.
on Wednesday afternoon, as i was heading out the door at the end of the day, the Substitute Coordinator asked if i could work another day.
i said i would, because i am a sucker.
this is supposed to be mu summer vacation, i called it early, but i just can't seem to get vacationing right.
my alarm went off at 7:07am Thursday morning.
when you're the security guard, you've got to get to school early to help set everything up.
i got dressed in a teacher costume, which would have to double as a security costume, kissed the PSE and the Dog goodbye, and drove off to Wayne Gretzky Middle School.
i got to the building at 7:43am, before they even unlock the building, and had to be buzzed inside.
i signed in at the office and grabbed a walkie-talkie off the Security Guard's desk.
only, i didn't set my stuff down at the Security Guard desk. i didn't want to spend all day in the office.
i set myself up in the In-School Suspension room where i can fuck around on the internet in peace.
well, not necessarily in peace, the ISS lady would be in there and she talks a lot, but she is friendly and it's better to put up with her jibber-jabbering then to be judged by the office ladies.
the first thing the school security guard does in the morning is count the school busses as they roll in.
it's the same job i used to do as the ISS Monitor when i was doing that job, only it's done in the mornings.
so i went outside and i counted the buses and out there with me as a special ed. teacher who was waiting for the short-bus to come in so she could take her special-needs flock upstairs.
the special ed. teacher is one of the few people at the school who i don't get along with.
i don't think it's because she doesn't like me personally, but she deals with retarded and autistic people all day long and as a consequence, comes off as condescending, humorless and bossy.
or maybe she just thinks i'm incompetent.
either way, i don't like the way she talks to me and i was content to ignore her, but after a while of standing around outside together, she came over and started talking at me.
i asked her just exactly what she does in special ed. and she told me her specialty was to work with the Autistic kids.
“how long ya been in the Autism business?” i asked, because that's a funny question.
she corrected me that she wasn't in the 'Autism business' she was in the “helping every child succeed business” and i almost snapped at her but i recovered and said “yeah, okay” and we went back to watching the buses in silence.
with all the buses accounted for, i went back inside and started making the rounds.
i watched the kids scramble into their classrooms, then, after the first bell of the day rang at 8:15, i walked around and checked every bathroom [for what? i don't know. it's jut what we do] and checked every external door to make sure they were all secure.
then i went out to the parking lot and secured a gate closed and double-check that the flags have been raised by the kids who are in charge of doing that, so everybody knows the school is technically a part of America.
getting to go outside is one of the best parts of the security job.
by about 8:30am i had done everything that the security guard is supposed to do, so i went to the In-School Suspension room where i planed on hanging out all day and set up my laptop.
i spent the better part of the next half hour fucking around, writing LiveJournals.
a few minutes before the end of Period One i went to go take a position in one of the hallways and watch the kids move along to their next class.
when boys would horseplay or girls would cluster to gossip, i would say “knock it off” or “move along” and they would knock it off or move along.
i also started to notice an inordinate number of people requesting high fives or hand pounds.
“hay, Mr. T! pound it!”
and i would pound it.
and it made me feel important doing it.
look at all these people who like me!!!
and that is sad and a bit creepy, but i think it would be most people's natural reaction.
back in the ISS room, the ISS Monitor and i spent Periods Two and Three, [with a break in the middle for me to supervise the passing period and slap some more high fives] assembling end-of-the-year presents from the administration to the teachers.
it's nice that after all their long, hard work for very little pay and no appreciation from the community, that the administration and the district would slip the teachers a little something extra to show their appreciation and gratitude for all that a teacher does.
the consolation prize was a book called Rethinking Homework an academic text as dry and boring as it sounds, with a pencil that says 'Wayne Gretzky Middle School' tied to it with ribbon.
that is their big thank you.
the fucking administration couldn't spring for a gift card?
it was my job, along with the ISS lady's, to tie the pencil to the book with ribbon.
i would have rather been writing LiveJournals on my laptop, but it was nice to have busywork to do.
as we worked, the ISS Lady, who is a fucking idiot, told me all about her family.
her granddad is a Pakistani, her mother was English and her father was Mexican.
she has been trying to track own her Pakistani grandfather who ran out on her mother's family fifty years ago, because his last name is Singh and there are a lot of wealthy Singhs out there.
“we could be oil rich!”
i don't know if Pakistan is known for their oil reserves and there must be a half a billion Singhs out there, but i didn't want to shit on this poor woman's dreams.
talking about stupid daydreams about reconnecting with long-lost family, i told the ISS lady about how i tried to track down the woman who gave birth to me and how she never got around to writing me back because she is a fucking cunt.
“well, you don't know what her deal is,” the ISS Lady tried to console me, “it could be painful for her. you don't know why she put you up for adoption. she could have been raped. it could have been her brother, or her dad.”
right, thanks, dingdong.
i am not the inbred product of incestuous rape.
the airhead didn't really even realize she was being insulting, so i didn't take it as such.
after Period Three it was time to go to the cafeteria to supervise the lunches.
on Wednesday i ran the show all by myself, making the announcements, yelling at kids, but this time one of the Assistant Principals and the school cop were also in the cafeteria so i played second fiddle.
there was also a parent volunteer who came to take the kids outside to run around so i spent most of my time outside with her, enjoying the sunshine.
i look forward to the parent volunteers just as much as the kids do. getting outside is important to me.
during 7th Grade lunch, as i was watching kids scream and run and play in the parking lot, i overheard one of the Assistant Principals crackling to the school cop over the walkie-talkie about some kids who were exhibiting some suspicious cookie-related behavior.
apparently they were passing each other cookies and being real sneaky about it.
the A.P. and the cop were on the case of the cookie crook.
they eventually spring their trap and scooped up a wide dragnet of offenders but by the end of the lunch, when i asked the Assistant Principal what was going on, he said the investigation did not yield any hard evidence of wrongdoing.
the kids had all most likely obtained their cookies through legal means but were playing 'make the adults think we're up to something' because that's a fun game to play.
one i used to play myself when i was a kid.
after supervising all three lunches i retired back to the ISS room, exhausted from chasing kids around under the hot sun all day.
normally, 6th Period is when i take my lunch, but i didn't have any lunch to eat on Thursday.
my normal lunch if a bag of popcorn and some fruit, bananas or oranges or both, but i finished my last bag of popcorn on Wednesday and we didn't have any fruit in the house and the PSE hadn't been shopping in forever because the PSE is a lazy sack a lot of the time.
so, she sent me off to work with no lunch.
the ISS lady noticed that i wasn't eating and asked why and when i told her about my negligent home life, she offered me a chocolate milk and a package of peanut butter cookies.
which i took, gratefully.
peanut butter cookies and chocolate milk never taste as god as when you are fucking starving and desperate.
thanks, ISS lady! i like you!
i spent Seventh and Eighth periods hanging around the ISS room, writing LiveJournal.
halfway through Eighth Period i went out to the front parking lot to set up the traffic cones for the end-of-the-day parent car stampede but when the bell rang at 3:30, the Assistant Principal said they didn't need me to help outside directing traffic like i did on Wednesday.
the security guard always helps out with traffic duty and i took it as a bit of a personal insult, but i didn't mind getting to leave twenty minutes early.
//[love, TITS]
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