During my 1.5 year stint as a steakhouse waitress, I managed to acquire one whole phone number. Well, 1 and a half if you count the 16 year-old who insisted on handing me his seven digits while his absolutely mortified mother tried to convince him that I was way too old for him, therefore making the blossoming relationship illegal (and me almost a predator!).
And it was a good thing she talked some sense into him, because let me tell you I was ready to hand in my apron and run off to Mexico with the kid right then and there if he asked me to.
The REAL phone number was scribbled on the back of a receipt. And, if I remember correctly, the tip was about 10%. Scoff. Mutter. Scoff, scoff.
Sure, there were times when I preyed upon unsuspecting males, but I had a definite type. Worn Chuck Taylors, mousy hair, black t-shirts, optional acne, metal-studded leather belts. You know, the sort of single teenager who didn't know if he wanted to be a rockstar or play Halo for the rest of his life. He was my victim. Especially if he came out in groups of three or more.
Alls I had to do was be really really mean and sarcastic, while showing my love through endlessly abundant complementary rolls.
They'd each pay for their $10 or $12 meal with a twenty and tell me to keep the change. And I'd come away from that table with thirty or so dollars.
It was beautiful. And shameless. And quite lucrative.
So this evening, as I walked to my car from Cold Stone (had to cash in on my complementary birthday sundae!), I almost didn't hear the guy call from across the parking lot.
"Excuse me."
Walk, walk.
"Excuse me."
I turned around, ready to say "No, you can't use my phone", or "No, I can't give you a ride" but instead he said this,
"Can I have your phone number?"
Uh. "Sorry," I said, "I'm married."
And as soon as the words came out of my mouth, I felt like I was lying to the guy. And I suddenly wished I'd have accompanied it with a "I'm sure you're a nice guy, but . . ." or a "you know, I hate to say this, I really do, but . . ." because somehow those sorts of intros make it seem less like I'm lying (and scared! and annoyed!) and more like had things been different, the guy would have had a fighting chance.
And then I realized that the New Year is days away and the schmuck probably just needed a date.
Well, he certainly has a few things to learn about choosing your prey.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
A Tale of Procrastination
In an epic act of procrastination, I was going to provide you with a photo of me climbing out of a sarcophagus.
And in an even epic-er act of procrastination, I just spent 20 minutes tearing the apartment apart, looking for the envelope of photos from my trip to Turkey that I may procure my sarcophagus photograph and retell the epic story of how I climbed into the tomb, got really freaked out, climbed out of a tomb, and then thought my camera had been cursed by evil spirits--or the awakened dead.
Stephen King would have been proud. As would Stephanie Meyer.
But alas! The photograph has been misplaced, meaning one thing:
Though I tried to avoid a New Year Resolution List that included "tidiness" and "organization", I have been bested.
New Year Resolution #14 - sort through, weed out, and pitch all of my crap (while simultaneously finding homes for the few items that are less like crap and more worth keeping).
In the meantime, here is a photo of the ancient clock tower in Antalya whose nearby trash can was bombed by terrorists during my first week there!
And in an even epic-er act of procrastination, I just spent 20 minutes tearing the apartment apart, looking for the envelope of photos from my trip to Turkey that I may procure my sarcophagus photograph and retell the epic story of how I climbed into the tomb, got really freaked out, climbed out of a tomb, and then thought my camera had been cursed by evil spirits--or the awakened dead.
Stephen King would have been proud. As would Stephanie Meyer.
But alas! The photograph has been misplaced, meaning one thing:
Though I tried to avoid a New Year Resolution List that included "tidiness" and "organization", I have been bested.
New Year Resolution #14 - sort through, weed out, and pitch all of my crap (while simultaneously finding homes for the few items that are less like crap and more worth keeping).
In the meantime, here is a photo of the ancient clock tower in Antalya whose nearby trash can was bombed by terrorists during my first week there!
Sunday, December 27, 2009
The Middle Ages - Mayan Prophecies
It's official. I'm 26 years old. I've been this now for five days. And as I mentioned before, I totally recognize that it's not the end of the world. I get that. But it doesn't settle right with me.
And I can't help but wonder if the Mayans foresaw my aging angst.
The Mayan calendar, in all its precision and epic ahead-of-its-time-ness, simply stops at year 2012. Now while they may have simply gotten tired of making the calendar and set the project aside for the next generation to pick up, there are those that believe that the year 2012 is actually a prediction of sorts. An end of the world prediction, if you will.
The actual Doomsday is set to hit December 21 or December 23 of 2012.
And I find this quite uncanny.
Could it be that the Mayans foresaw my December 22, 1983 birth and subsequent uncomfortableness with turning thirty?
Could it be that they agreed my reaching such an age would prove cataclysmic? Catastrophic? And maybe even apocalyptic?
Could it be that my aging angst has such pull on galactic revolutions, my frustration with turning thirty will align the stars in a way that will bring the world to an end?
And could it be that the Mayans were understanding enough to know that, since my birthday already contends for popularity with Christmas, the last thing I would want would be for it to contend with an end of the world prediction? Therefore, making the targeted date fall on either the day BEFORE or the day AFTER my 29th birthday and eliminating the possibility of turning thirty alltogether?
Hmmm...
That's some powerful stuff to think about.
Perhaps now I'll be given credence when lamenting over nearing the thirties.
And I can't help but wonder if the Mayans foresaw my aging angst.
The Mayan calendar, in all its precision and epic ahead-of-its-time-ness, simply stops at year 2012. Now while they may have simply gotten tired of making the calendar and set the project aside for the next generation to pick up, there are those that believe that the year 2012 is actually a prediction of sorts. An end of the world prediction, if you will.
The actual Doomsday is set to hit December 21 or December 23 of 2012.
And I find this quite uncanny.
Could it be that the Mayans foresaw my December 22, 1983 birth and subsequent uncomfortableness with turning thirty?
Could it be that they agreed my reaching such an age would prove cataclysmic? Catastrophic? And maybe even apocalyptic?
Could it be that my aging angst has such pull on galactic revolutions, my frustration with turning thirty will align the stars in a way that will bring the world to an end?
And could it be that the Mayans were understanding enough to know that, since my birthday already contends for popularity with Christmas, the last thing I would want would be for it to contend with an end of the world prediction? Therefore, making the targeted date fall on either the day BEFORE or the day AFTER my 29th birthday and eliminating the possibility of turning thirty alltogether?
Hmmm...
That's some powerful stuff to think about.
Perhaps now I'll be given credence when lamenting over nearing the thirties.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Theological Warfare
"Why did you break up with him?" I asked my friend.
"Well, there were some major issues. He was 35, for one," she answered.
"Mmm."
"And he also didn't believe we are born with a sin nature."
Some couples struggle with theological differences. Tad and I like to joke about ours. I mean the whole Calvinist / Free Will thing is way too easy to make fun of.
At one point the other day, Tad busted out with this crazy G-R-A-C-E acronym (God's Riches At Christ's Expense) and expected me to identify. I had no idea what he was doing. Or saying. This was way beyond WWJD or FROG. I had never heard it before in my life.
He was astonished.
“Sorry, but we weren’t all about Grace and Mercy like you Baptists,” was my response.
“Oh, that’s right,” Tad said, “You were all about losing your salvation.”
“No, no,” I corrected, “We were all about . . .”
I threw my head back and in my best Mel Gibson/Braveheart voice yelled:
Freeeeedom!!!
Because I knew topping off the discussion with a war-hero, action movie reference would make me a shoe-in for the win.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
No "L"
An example of white trash Christmas decor:
It was propped up in someone's yard, lit like a marquee by thousands of appropriately colored lights.
And I struggled to understand its meaning. Come, follow my thought process:
What? Bad "L"? Wrong "L"?
No, it has to be No "L". No . . . no Leh, leh, lesbians?
That doesn't make sense. Why would someone say no to lesbians and not gays?
Then maybe it's No LGBTs?
No. People aren't that cruel . . . are they?
No . . . No Lawyers?
Why would someone say that?
Good point. Maybe they hate a certain family whose last name starts with "L". Like No Linderman's Allowed!
No?
No Loitering? That one is at least plausible.
Or maybe it's not a letter thing at all. Maybe that "L" is really a right angle. Like No 90 Degrees! As though they're cheering for the cold.
. . .
I cannot be this stupid. Think, think, THINK!
No "L"
No "L"
No "el"
No el
Noel.
Dumb.
It was propped up in someone's yard, lit like a marquee by thousands of appropriately colored lights.
And I struggled to understand its meaning. Come, follow my thought process:
What? Bad "L"? Wrong "L"?
No, it has to be No "L". No . . . no Leh, leh, lesbians?
That doesn't make sense. Why would someone say no to lesbians and not gays?
Then maybe it's No LGBTs?
No. People aren't that cruel . . . are they?
No . . . No Lawyers?
Why would someone say that?
Good point. Maybe they hate a certain family whose last name starts with "L". Like No Linderman's Allowed!
No?
No Loitering? That one is at least plausible.
Or maybe it's not a letter thing at all. Maybe that "L" is really a right angle. Like No 90 Degrees! As though they're cheering for the cold.
. . .
I cannot be this stupid. Think, think, THINK!
No "L"
No "L"
No "el"
No el
Noel.
Dumb.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Honeymoon's Over: Day 237
Him: Do you still like our Christmas tree?
Her: Yeah, do you?
Him: Yeah. I'll like it even more when I add a few additional ornaments.
Her: Nope.
Him: Yeah, it'll be awesome.
Her: Nope, there's no room.
Him: I'll sneak them on when you don't know so that you won't notice.
Her: Oh, I'll notice.
Him: I'm not so sure. Well, maybe only the ones that make noises when you turn the lights on.
Her: Then I guess I'll have to put your action figures in weird poses*.
*Overly effeminate or childlike stances that are strikingly unmasculine
Him: Nooooooooooooooooo!
Her: Yes.
Him: That's not proportional.
Her: That's very proportional.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Recipe: Sweet Basil Turkey Burgers
Introducing my first ever mostly my own recipe!
I’m a wimp, relying on tried and true concoctions and Betty Crocker-backed guarantees for my baking and cooking inspiration. But not today! Today, I present my very own recipe:
Sweet Basil Turkey Burgers
Sounds so menu-worthy, does it not?
Serving: makes 2 burgers
INGREDIENTS
Half pound of lean ground turkey
Six shakes of salt
Five shakes of pepper
A penny’s worth of dried basil, plus two shakes
A quarter’s worth of olive oil
Three cloves of garlic
3 T of diced onion (more, if you’re an onion fan)
Blue cheese dressing
DIRECTIONS
In a small bowl, shake in the salt and pepper. In your hand, pour about a penny’s worth of dried basil. Crush with your fingers as you allow it to fall into the bowl. Feel free to add a shake or two more of basil, if you feel up to the challenge. Pour about a quarter’s worth of olive oil into the bowl and swirl it around so that it eats up the salt, pepper and basil.
On a small cutting board, shell three garlic cloves, smack them with the side of your gigantic knife, and mince. Once the garlic is in pieces that you think you can deal with, add it to the bowl of oil and seasonings.
Crumble the meat into the bowl. This probably isn’t necessary. You could probably just dump in the slab as a whole, but I like to think that crumbling it helps it to more easily mix the seasonings into the innermost parts of the meat.
With your BARE HANDS, squish and squash the meat (without gagging) until you either can’t take it anymore or feel as though the mixture is mixed enough (keep in mind you want to have garlic pieces INSIDE the patties and not just outside them).
(Here is a picture to show you what this looks like, though I warn you it is not for pregnant women, small children, or the faint of heart):
Dice a chunk of onion. Feel free to use the same knife and board that you used for the garlic. Set aside (doesn’t that sound SO recipe-ish?).
Divide the meat equally and form into patties. Remember, flatness and thinness is key to avoiding the common patty plump syndrome (a condition in which your patties swell when cooked and turn into balls of meat instead of patties).
In a medium sized skillet (also very official sounding!), on medium heat, place the patties. And, because I am gross and don’t care about safety, I toss the onion in the pan as well, being very careful to keep it away from the juicing meat. (If this is going to kill me, please let me know so that I can have my parents take out a life insurance policy on me. Thank you.)
After about five minutes, flip the patties. And stir around the onions a little (you should poke at the onions every once in awhile as the meat cooks).
After another five or so minutes, flip them again. Once they are done juicing (i.e. juice is no longer pouring from the and the pan has pretty much dried up and turned the juices into crusties), they are done.
Place the patties on hamburger buns.
Turn off the heat and swish around the onions in the crusties at the bottom of the pan. Sounds gross, but you must keep in mind that gravy is really no different.
Top the turkey burgers with a good dose of onion, depending on the consumer’s preference. Drizzle a bit of bottled, store-bought blue cheese over the onions and the burger, keeping in mind that as it heats, it may become runny. So, it’s best to drizzle near the middle of the burger and don’t go overboard with the drizzling.
Put the top of the bun on top of the burger and voila!
I’m a wimp, relying on tried and true concoctions and Betty Crocker-backed guarantees for my baking and cooking inspiration. But not today! Today, I present my very own recipe:
Sweet Basil Turkey Burgers
Sounds so menu-worthy, does it not?
Serving: makes 2 burgers
INGREDIENTS
Half pound of lean ground turkey
Six shakes of salt
Five shakes of pepper
A penny’s worth of dried basil, plus two shakes
A quarter’s worth of olive oil
Three cloves of garlic
3 T of diced onion (more, if you’re an onion fan)
Blue cheese dressing
DIRECTIONS
In a small bowl, shake in the salt and pepper. In your hand, pour about a penny’s worth of dried basil. Crush with your fingers as you allow it to fall into the bowl. Feel free to add a shake or two more of basil, if you feel up to the challenge. Pour about a quarter’s worth of olive oil into the bowl and swirl it around so that it eats up the salt, pepper and basil.
On a small cutting board, shell three garlic cloves, smack them with the side of your gigantic knife, and mince. Once the garlic is in pieces that you think you can deal with, add it to the bowl of oil and seasonings.
Crumble the meat into the bowl. This probably isn’t necessary. You could probably just dump in the slab as a whole, but I like to think that crumbling it helps it to more easily mix the seasonings into the innermost parts of the meat.
With your BARE HANDS, squish and squash the meat (without gagging) until you either can’t take it anymore or feel as though the mixture is mixed enough (keep in mind you want to have garlic pieces INSIDE the patties and not just outside them).
(Here is a picture to show you what this looks like, though I warn you it is not for pregnant women, small children, or the faint of heart):
Dice a chunk of onion. Feel free to use the same knife and board that you used for the garlic. Set aside (doesn’t that sound SO recipe-ish?).
Divide the meat equally and form into patties. Remember, flatness and thinness is key to avoiding the common patty plump syndrome (a condition in which your patties swell when cooked and turn into balls of meat instead of patties).
In a medium sized skillet (also very official sounding!), on medium heat, place the patties. And, because I am gross and don’t care about safety, I toss the onion in the pan as well, being very careful to keep it away from the juicing meat. (If this is going to kill me, please let me know so that I can have my parents take out a life insurance policy on me. Thank you.)
After about five minutes, flip the patties. And stir around the onions a little (you should poke at the onions every once in awhile as the meat cooks).
After another five or so minutes, flip them again. Once they are done juicing (i.e. juice is no longer pouring from the and the pan has pretty much dried up and turned the juices into crusties), they are done.
Place the patties on hamburger buns.
Turn off the heat and swish around the onions in the crusties at the bottom of the pan. Sounds gross, but you must keep in mind that gravy is really no different.
Top the turkey burgers with a good dose of onion, depending on the consumer’s preference. Drizzle a bit of bottled, store-bought blue cheese over the onions and the burger, keeping in mind that as it heats, it may become runny. So, it’s best to drizzle near the middle of the burger and don’t go overboard with the drizzling.
Put the top of the bun on top of the burger and voila!
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