Lots and lots of cakes, and on top of all that, my buddies from Cali crashed in NY for two nights when they got bumped off their flight to Spain.
I haven't seen this group in many years. I've hung out with their sister a few times whenever she comes into the city, but I have not seen this bunch since I was still with my husband. Their little boy, whom I remember at the age of 6, just graduated high school and is now an 18 year old. He drives a BMW.
It took a little bit of work to move my schedule around. I had cake orders every single day this week, and two on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Still, I made sure they had something to eat, got into Manhattan okay, found their hotel, and had everything they needed to be comfortable.
Technically, last Friday was supposed to be my day off, but because I've been late every single day this month, I had to come in to make up some hours. I also had to make a cake that night when I got home at 2am. I did it. I went to work. I snuck out of work. Met up with them again and took them all over town. I had to keep the entertainment PG-13 because of the kids, but overall it was a fun time.
At the end of the trip their 18 year old was practically hanging off me, and their 5 year old little girl was my new best friend. I always worry that I don't have the right temperature for little kids. I mean, I'm not over-the-top playful and I tend to speak to them as if they are mature adults rather than little humans with a whole lot of life left to learn. But, given enough time, they warm up to me so well that their parents are pretty much prying them off me. I guess, I'm still a functioning female afterall with that procreation gene firmly intact! Who knew?
By the time I was dropping them off at JFK Saturday morning, they were begging me again to come with them to Spain, and then the Canary Islands. They insisted the ticket was covered (through family connections) and the timeshare was secure, except for Spain, where they have property already. All I would need to pay for is my own food and entertainment.
I did consider it. Day job be damned, I kept telling myself! I have my passport. I have a small bag. I have it all. Why don't I just go. Fuck this place!
But, that would mean fucking over the one-year-old's Abby Caddabby cake for Saturday afternoon, and my friend's birthday cupcakes for Saturday night, the 60th wedding anniversary cupcake tower on Sunday morning, and the Hunger Games mini banana bread for my friend's other bookclub meeting for Sunday night. It's not the money I would be losing out on. It's the people I would let down, and the fact that I would be ruining my reputation by fucking them over for my own selfishness.
I couldn't do it. I WANTED to do it, but I don't think I could really live with myself if I did that to someone, let alone all these people who expected me to come through.
It made me rethink a lot of things. Why haven't I opened up my own place here in NY? It's not about the money or the responsibility. I have many investors willing to front me the cash. It's the tether. It would be the embodiment of a physical ball and chain tied to my ankle, keeping me trapped here for God-knows how long!
My friends hounded me again about moving out West, with them. They promised free living. They promised help with my business and introducing me to the right connections in order to get it off the ground FAST and successfully. They also insisted I meet a handful of men they know who are all financially capable of "taking care" of me.
I don't want to be taken cared of. I'm capable, dammit.
I had to read the whole Fifty Shades trilogy this past week to get ready for my book club meeting next week. Even with the promise about a book with kinky fuckery, this series was God-awful. Bad writing. Bad characters. Clichéd scenarios and situations. (What do you expect from a book based on Twilight fan fiction?)
I was always really proud of my last long-term relationship when it came to our bed-play. (We may have been an awful couple and terrible friends, but we were great fuckers.) Without crossing the line into a fetish lifestyle, we were both sexually charged beings with kinks that toed the fringe of dangerous and rough. The things we said to each other, the looks we shared, the knowing-smiles that touched our lips while out in public which hinted at being in on a secret that the rest of the sheeple population would never understand; it made me feel like we shared this special, unique bond that all the porn in the world couldn't trump.
Well, Fifty Shades just took my little sexual trophy from that relationship and knocked it off its pedestal. Not only did I recognize annoying traits in the lead woman that I often exhibited, myself, but the entire way their kinky fuckery went down pushed my special sexual bond with my ex into that glaring shelf in the library called "Clichéd Lust". Fifty Shades of Grey along with its two subsequent follow-ups was written by a woman with a 13 year-old's talent for writing fantasy- what she thinks sex and love should be. An interesting idea; but poorly executed and annoyingly simple......Just like my kinky-fuckery-relationship. How could I have been so disillusioned to think I had something special with someone, when all along it was just another fuck-fest with me as the co-star instead of some other chick? It's like the kid's roles in the Griswald Family movies- every movie has a new set of actors playing the kids, but that's okay because no one is watching to really see the kids anyway. It's the franchise- the genre.
After putting down the last book of this trilogy, I had to sit down and really reassess what I'm working with here. I don't want to be another dumb cliché of what I think I want to be. I thought I was some awesome sexual goddess in the bedroom because of the extremes that I enjoyed and my ability to find suitable bed partners to enjoy them with. But, really, if some idiot in Europe can write a book like Fifty Shades and have millions and millions of stupid housewives mewling over this trite garbage, then I suppose I'm not such a sexual goddess afterall.
The realization was staggeringly disappointing. I feel like my favorite superhero just took off his mask and shattered the illusion of grandeur I had of him. I feel like someone walked over to my jewelry box, picked up my most prized gemstone and smashed it in front of me to prove it was only glass and not some rare, precious jewel that I always thought it was.
It made me question everything I thought about myself and my life. It made me wonder if I really want to do this cake thing forever. And if I do, how am I going to go see the world like I've always wanted? I could be writing this post from the mother fucking Canary Islands right now, for fuck's sake! I could be in a bathing suit, sipping a tropical juice, and looking out over the water from my balcony. Well, it would be a whole other post, then, wouldn't it?
I think I've been planning my goals using a clichéd idea of what life should be as a measuring stick.
I don't do clichés very well. it all starts off well enough, until the role gets boring and I need to break out into something a-typical.
I was a typical domineering wife while I was married to that loser.
I was a typical "timid" housewife-like female when I was with Joel in order to make him feel like he wore the man-pants in our partnership.
I was a typical trainwreck in the relationship after Joel, because it felt like that's the light I was pictured in to the people involved in that catastrophe.
When do I stop being what people want me to be, and just be me? But, then again, what the fuck is "me" exactly? A little bit of all those things, right? Dominant, persistent control freak with a soft creamy center of submissive "take care of me" female wiles on the inside, covered by a lusty candy shell of sexual deviant. All packaged in a shiny wrapper of a lost survivor struggling to succeed.
Is that an accurate description of what you get if you pick me up off the shelf and stash me in your pocket?
I loved seeing my friends again. They had a great time with me. I'm proud that I carried through with my commitments and didn't bail on my customers all for a free vacation on the other side of the world. But, after it's all said and done- I'm unhappy and I can't point to one thing right now that I can change in order to make myself happy. Which means, all the goals and the "I want to..." is probably not going to make me happy, either.
Someone once told me that if I don't know what I'm looking for, go exploring because sometimes you end up stumbling on something you never knew you'd ever want.
I think I need to go exploring.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Self-Serving
I don't know if my title is completely aprapro to what I'm referring to, but whatever. I'll change it later if I have to.
I was surfing the net this evening and came across some blogs making fun of this bride, who sang down the aisle for her own wedding. One article called it "The Worst Wedding Ever".
I watched it. I didn't think it was that bad. I mean, she has a great voice. She's pretty. I know the song. I get it. She doesn't have a father to walk her down the aisle, and this song fits perfectly in her magical little romance story. Cool. I didn't think it was the worst wedding ever. I mean, I am the kind of girl who gets teary-eyed at ANY wedding, but don't most people?
I watched it again, trying to find out why so many people thought it sucked. Here's what I came up with.
Well, for one thing, her husband didn't look all that surprised to see his woman come out with a mic instead of a bouquet. No one in the church looked surprised. No one stood up. No one was snapping pics. No one looked impressed or happy she was doing such an awesome job....on her own bridal march....at her own wedding. Then, there was that choreographed paced walk by her hubby towards her so they could meet in the middle and the whole 10 people watching could get a nice view of her serenade to their upcoming nuptials.
After the 2nd viewing, I figured it all out.
Well, for one thing, I'm sure she's a pro. Her voice is amazing, she has the cameras set up to catch her at every angle, and then there's that silly march down the aisle her fiance does to meet her in the middle, and the rehearsed hand-holding. Any sense of surprise or spontaneity is thrown out the window because I'm assuming people were expecting this to happen.
This is a sad, lovey-dovy song for Christ's sake! There should be tissues out and tears messing up make-up. Nothing. This is also a young, good-looking couple. Statistics say that people like this are supposed to have an entourage of equally young, good-looking friends. Where's the posse at? And another thing. It's her wedding! Why does she look so hard when they throw open those doors? no softness or tears or excitement. It was too.....cold. Again, it felt rehearsed.
Well, it all comes back to her being a pro, I think. I mean, think about all the awesome singers that get married. Maybe some of them performed some personalized song to their new life-partner, but not while they're walking down the aisle. That's usually reserved for a special spotlight moment during the reception. And I've been to weddings where a live singer replaced the "Here Comes the Bride" jingle, but I've not been to one where the groom or bride did it themselves.
I suppose it would be the equivalent of someone like me making my own wedding cake or birthday cake. Not only would it be the epitome of narcissism and blatant self-promotion, but what does it say about me to take on such a monster task the day I have to prepare for my own special moment- whatever that may be?
How do people feel about this sort of thing? I know artsy couples who do their own photography or their own artwork. Architects who build their own homes are often praised instead of ridiculed when it comes to their trade.
Someone had said that the spotlight is already on the bride the entire wedding. How much more accolades does she need to feel special? It reminds me of this chick that I know who made her parents rent out some ridiculous Sweet 16 space for a party they could ill-afford. It was very expensive. It couldn't accommodate all her guests. And it didn't have much of a dance floor. However, this girl was so determined to utilize the venue's Rome & Juliet style balcony and the catwalk and sweeping staircase in order to make her grand entrance with a bedazzled mic as she sang some song she had been practicing for months for this special moment. It's not that a girl shouldn't feel awesome on her special day, but that's just it. the say is special. the party is special. the custom-made dress, the food, the fancy invites- it was all special. Did the need of a gaudy grand entrance really worth the extra expense for the tiny space and her drama queen debut? I guess it was since her mom pretty much sold off jewelry and begged relations for spare change in order to pay for it all. Someone has described the whole fiasco as self-serving.
I'm not going to lie. I feel great when my pastries take the spotlight at someone's big day. I feel good. I feel special. And I feel like my efforts became a permanent part of a day that will exist forever in their memories. As time goes on, though, my eye has gotten better and I spot my imperfections more keenly than I used to. My stuff isn't magazine-worthy. They aren't flawless or perfect yet. And it makes me cringe and want to disappear into the ground. Suddenly, I don't feel so great standing in that fucking spotlight.
It's just strange, isn't it? No one demeans a bride who makes her own dress if she is a designer. Although, I've seen some homemade wedding ensembles and they were REALLLLLLY not pleasing to the eye. This wasn't the case, though, with this bride. Her voice kicked ass.
I guess, from my best summation, due to the lack of emotion, the lack of guests, and obvious uber-planning; maybe they don't have that many friends. Maybe she's a professional singer with a sensational voice but a shitty personality? I know, personally, if I wanted to gift my husband-to-be with an amazing song, I probably would have planned it a as a surprise and I wouldn't have picked the church as the place to do it. Then again, that's just me.
Lesson learned: I will NOT be making my own cake for my wedding or birthday.
I was surfing the net this evening and came across some blogs making fun of this bride, who sang down the aisle for her own wedding. One article called it "The Worst Wedding Ever".
I watched it. I didn't think it was that bad. I mean, she has a great voice. She's pretty. I know the song. I get it. She doesn't have a father to walk her down the aisle, and this song fits perfectly in her magical little romance story. Cool. I didn't think it was the worst wedding ever. I mean, I am the kind of girl who gets teary-eyed at ANY wedding, but don't most people?
I watched it again, trying to find out why so many people thought it sucked. Here's what I came up with.
Well, for one thing, her husband didn't look all that surprised to see his woman come out with a mic instead of a bouquet. No one in the church looked surprised. No one stood up. No one was snapping pics. No one looked impressed or happy she was doing such an awesome job....on her own bridal march....at her own wedding. Then, there was that choreographed paced walk by her hubby towards her so they could meet in the middle and the whole 10 people watching could get a nice view of her serenade to their upcoming nuptials.
After the 2nd viewing, I figured it all out.
Well, for one thing, I'm sure she's a pro. Her voice is amazing, she has the cameras set up to catch her at every angle, and then there's that silly march down the aisle her fiance does to meet her in the middle, and the rehearsed hand-holding. Any sense of surprise or spontaneity is thrown out the window because I'm assuming people were expecting this to happen.
This is a sad, lovey-dovy song for Christ's sake! There should be tissues out and tears messing up make-up. Nothing. This is also a young, good-looking couple. Statistics say that people like this are supposed to have an entourage of equally young, good-looking friends. Where's the posse at? And another thing. It's her wedding! Why does she look so hard when they throw open those doors? no softness or tears or excitement. It was too.....cold. Again, it felt rehearsed.
Well, it all comes back to her being a pro, I think. I mean, think about all the awesome singers that get married. Maybe some of them performed some personalized song to their new life-partner, but not while they're walking down the aisle. That's usually reserved for a special spotlight moment during the reception. And I've been to weddings where a live singer replaced the "Here Comes the Bride" jingle, but I've not been to one where the groom or bride did it themselves.
I suppose it would be the equivalent of someone like me making my own wedding cake or birthday cake. Not only would it be the epitome of narcissism and blatant self-promotion, but what does it say about me to take on such a monster task the day I have to prepare for my own special moment- whatever that may be?
How do people feel about this sort of thing? I know artsy couples who do their own photography or their own artwork. Architects who build their own homes are often praised instead of ridiculed when it comes to their trade.
Someone had said that the spotlight is already on the bride the entire wedding. How much more accolades does she need to feel special? It reminds me of this chick that I know who made her parents rent out some ridiculous Sweet 16 space for a party they could ill-afford. It was very expensive. It couldn't accommodate all her guests. And it didn't have much of a dance floor. However, this girl was so determined to utilize the venue's Rome & Juliet style balcony and the catwalk and sweeping staircase in order to make her grand entrance with a bedazzled mic as she sang some song she had been practicing for months for this special moment. It's not that a girl shouldn't feel awesome on her special day, but that's just it. the say is special. the party is special. the custom-made dress, the food, the fancy invites- it was all special. Did the need of a gaudy grand entrance really worth the extra expense for the tiny space and her drama queen debut? I guess it was since her mom pretty much sold off jewelry and begged relations for spare change in order to pay for it all. Someone has described the whole fiasco as self-serving.
I'm not going to lie. I feel great when my pastries take the spotlight at someone's big day. I feel good. I feel special. And I feel like my efforts became a permanent part of a day that will exist forever in their memories. As time goes on, though, my eye has gotten better and I spot my imperfections more keenly than I used to. My stuff isn't magazine-worthy. They aren't flawless or perfect yet. And it makes me cringe and want to disappear into the ground. Suddenly, I don't feel so great standing in that fucking spotlight.
It's just strange, isn't it? No one demeans a bride who makes her own dress if she is a designer. Although, I've seen some homemade wedding ensembles and they were REALLLLLLY not pleasing to the eye. This wasn't the case, though, with this bride. Her voice kicked ass.
I guess, from my best summation, due to the lack of emotion, the lack of guests, and obvious uber-planning; maybe they don't have that many friends. Maybe she's a professional singer with a sensational voice but a shitty personality? I know, personally, if I wanted to gift my husband-to-be with an amazing song, I probably would have planned it a as a surprise and I wouldn't have picked the church as the place to do it. Then again, that's just me.
Lesson learned: I will NOT be making my own cake for my wedding or birthday.
Friday, June 15, 2012
With a Fizzle
Sometime within the last few days, my little business blog crept up over 30,000 views.
I wish I had noticed so I could give it proper pomp and ceremony, but I have been so busy the last few weeks, it slipped right by me.
So, please join me in celebrating QueenieCakes.com 's 30,389th view as of right now!!!!
WOOHOO!!! You go on with your bad self, little blog! =)
I wish I had noticed so I could give it proper pomp and ceremony, but I have been so busy the last few weeks, it slipped right by me.
So, please join me in celebrating QueenieCakes.com 's 30,389th view as of right now!!!!
WOOHOO!!! You go on with your bad self, little blog! =)
Monday, June 11, 2012
The Correlation Between Insomnia & Anxiety
Well, this article explains a whole lot, doesn't it? Just from my own observations as a malfunctioning sleeper, I can say anxiety levels do go all haywire when my brain is missing large amounts of REM sleep. Besides the general debilitation of my cognitive functions when I can't get any shut-eye, I'm an emotional wreck- nervous, jittery, paranoid, and certainly anxious. Glad to see that it wasn't all in my head.
Link to the article I'm talking about here.
Link to the article I'm talking about here.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Out of Line
Who wants to stay in line anyway?
So, at the day job, we had one of those important meetings with important people sitting in on it. As we wrapped up the reports, that back-stabbing , ass-kissing, brown-nosing Office Cunt let it slip out how she was poaching on the work my company is contracted for. Everyone sat around in silence as this girl nervous-giggled her way through some "suggestions" she had. Everyone sat there like this bitch just invented sliced bread, but I couldn't take it anymore.
Knowing full well that this shit may very well put that last nail in my coffin here, I went off on a snarky tantrum. I've already got the wheels in motion for something new so I'm not TOO scared about it. Worried? Yeah. Completely shitting my pants, but a little excited because it's that kick off the edge that I need to jump this sinking ship.
Anyway, I spoke up. I blasted this girl for not giving the full story on what was going on with the accounts (confidential stuff I'm not allowed to disclose to the general public, but also really boring shit you wouldn't be interested in anyway). I went on to say that if she was going to sit there and attack the work of another contractor, which I think is pretty shady considering she works for a competing contacting firm, then she needs to take a step back. I made it really clear that I didn't appreciate the clandestine meetings these people have been having, and no one was fooled by her fake smiles and bullshit facade.
Too far?
No one said anything for a long time. The look on my face wasn't professional. There was nothing but pure disgust written there towards everyone in the room.
Ok, 33 year-old Katherine can't go around cursing out annoying co-workers and glaring down her superiors. I'm just so tired of this fucking hamster wheel. Do I have a trade that I can make money off of? Yeah, I do, but I'm not really THERE yet and I need this piece of shit job to cover the expenses.
All I know is, right now, right at this very moment I fucking hate everything and everyone. Corporate America is composed of the mindless zombies who do the grunt work, lecherous middle management brown-nosers who will shoot you in the leg and feed you to the zombies in order to get ahead themselves, and the sacred 1% sitting on top of it all reaping the benefits of the work done by the sheep below. I fucking HATE it.
So, at the day job, we had one of those important meetings with important people sitting in on it. As we wrapped up the reports, that back-stabbing , ass-kissing, brown-nosing Office Cunt let it slip out how she was poaching on the work my company is contracted for. Everyone sat around in silence as this girl nervous-giggled her way through some "suggestions" she had. Everyone sat there like this bitch just invented sliced bread, but I couldn't take it anymore.
Knowing full well that this shit may very well put that last nail in my coffin here, I went off on a snarky tantrum. I've already got the wheels in motion for something new so I'm not TOO scared about it. Worried? Yeah. Completely shitting my pants, but a little excited because it's that kick off the edge that I need to jump this sinking ship.
Anyway, I spoke up. I blasted this girl for not giving the full story on what was going on with the accounts (confidential stuff I'm not allowed to disclose to the general public, but also really boring shit you wouldn't be interested in anyway). I went on to say that if she was going to sit there and attack the work of another contractor, which I think is pretty shady considering she works for a competing contacting firm, then she needs to take a step back. I made it really clear that I didn't appreciate the clandestine meetings these people have been having, and no one was fooled by her fake smiles and bullshit facade.
Too far?
No one said anything for a long time. The look on my face wasn't professional. There was nothing but pure disgust written there towards everyone in the room.
Ok, 33 year-old Katherine can't go around cursing out annoying co-workers and glaring down her superiors. I'm just so tired of this fucking hamster wheel. Do I have a trade that I can make money off of? Yeah, I do, but I'm not really THERE yet and I need this piece of shit job to cover the expenses.
All I know is, right now, right at this very moment I fucking hate everything and everyone. Corporate America is composed of the mindless zombies who do the grunt work, lecherous middle management brown-nosers who will shoot you in the leg and feed you to the zombies in order to get ahead themselves, and the sacred 1% sitting on top of it all reaping the benefits of the work done by the sheep below. I fucking HATE it.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Enough is Never Enough
So, I know I haven't written in about a week, but I just needed time to rest and collect my thoughts. I did survive my cake-making marathon, and they all came out pretty good. There were a few that I felt could have been better if I had a little more talent and a little more time, but overall I'm really proud of myself.
Delivery two cakes uptown last weekend, I employed my ex; Joel. It was a long-ass ride, with him opting to drive through Manhattan from the 59th St bridge ALL the way to 190th St, uptown. Despite me telling him to use the West Side Highway or the Henry Hudson Parkway, he insisted on going slow and steady through town and my blood was boiling.
I couldn't blow up at him because he showed up at 3pm, even though I told him 4pm, the day before, and he waited on me till 6:30- the time I was ready with the cakes. He was about to leave when I came running out with the first box.
I know he wanted to lecture me on my poor time management. Nothing gives this man greater pleasure than telling me what's wrong with with me. It was a trait I hated when we were together, and I didn't warm up to it now that we're apart. As much as I wanted to blow up and tell him what he could do with this antiquated opinions, I needed his help for this delivery and I had to keep my mouth shut until the cakes were handed off safe and sound.
"You know what your problem is..." he began with his usual, heavy accented drawl; a smile on his face because he was going to savor the lecture I was forced to listen to because he knew I didn't have any other choice.
"No, but I bet you're gonna tell me, aren't you?" I rolled my eyes, bracing myself against whatever bullshit opinion he was about to unload......again.
"You think you know everything. You think you got all the answers. You think you're all alone in everything, but the fact of the matter is you need people to help you because you're not good enough yet. And it eats you up inside like acid because you know this and you can't admit it." He paused to look for a reaction. When I kept quiet, and blankly stared out the window, he kept going. "I mean, that artist you used to fuck...did any of the talent come out of his dick and into you? You got a little better, but you've got a ways to go if you think you're ever gonna be as good as a real bakery. Just because a few people like your cakes don't make them good enough to be in magazines. Are you even filtering the cakes you put up on your website or you just asking your computer guy to throw up any old picture?"
"I don't have a computer guy; I do it all myself."
"Oh, that's surprising. You never even wanted a website unless someone else made it for you. Wasn't that what you were going to pay Bobby to do for you?" He asked, referring to his son.
"It's not because I wasn't capable of learning how to do it. I was trying to give him a paying gig, to save myself some time and to help him out. It's not my fault your son had better things to do with his time. And I think I did ok with what little I know about it, and I only had a couple of people help me out. You're trying to make me feel useless, and I'm not gonna let you sit there and call me that."
"You said it, not me."
There was a stretch of silence. He had a smug look on his face, and I was clenching my fists, trying not to sock him in the face while we drove. It took every ounce of strength and patience I had inside me not to beat him over the head with the Club.
"You think you're better than everyone." He continued once he was over the bridge. "You think you deserve more because you think you work harder. Yeah, you can work pretty hard, but you wouldn't be where you are today if I didn't put you there."
"Yes, yes, yes," I blurted out, having heard this shit a million times already. "The next tattoo I get will be a testament to ALL the help you've given me, Joel. Don't worry, you'll get your fucking credit."
"Did you get rid of my tattoo yet?" He asked, leering at me. I didn't answer him. "Tell me. Is it still there? Is it? Tell me. Why won't you answer?" I hated this because I knew what was coming.
When I still didn't respond, he reached over, hooking his fingers into the waistband of my pants, and tried tugging them down to get a look at my ink. Without hesitation, I smacked him hard across the face. He pulled back, looking stunned and furious.
"How would your girlfriend like to know how touchy you get whenever you're around me?"
I saw the whites of his knuckles as he gripped the wheel. After a few minutes, he mumbled out an apology.
"You're not someone who hates being touched," he added in his defense, pretty much negating his shoddy apology. "I saw your pictures all over facebook with your white boy. He seemed pretty touchy and I didn't see any pictures of you smacking him across the face. Still the violent type, eh? Maybe you should get back with your husband so you can both go at it again cuz that's what you like."
"I choose who gets to touch me, not you." I shouted at him. "Your right to lay a finger on me is long gone. If you want to touch someone, go home to your leather-skinned, saggy-tit girlfriend. You've been with her just as long as you were ever with me, so I guess you found a suitable replacement. Just because I don't have a boyfriend right now doesn't give you a right to touch me. I don't give a shit how much you think you've done for me. I'm not paying you with sex."
The rest of the ride was silent. I delivered, and was tempted to take the train home, but there was no train nearby. No trains and no cabs. On the way back, he tried to pretend nothing happened.
"Do you know why you and me didn't work, boo?" I didn't answer him. "None of it was good enough. I gave you everything you wanted, and more. You asked for a ring, I bought you the biggest one in the store, and you didn't want it. You asked for a car, and I made sure we had 3 ready to go. You asked for a home and I made sure you always had one- bigger than any other place you've ever lived. You were never happy. You wanted to start your own business, and I flooded you with customers. You were never happy. None of it made you happy. Ever. It's never enough for you. You can't just stay content."
"No, I can't. I can't stay at the same level and be happy there. I'm always going to want the next thing; a new goal. I'm not going to apologize for that."
"I would'v eventually given you what you really wanted- new car, new house, Hawaii....I just needed time, and you wouldn't let up on me."
"It was never going to happen with you, Joel."
"Why not?"
"Because you're happy being mediocre and I'm not. You're fine filling up your tank halfway, and I'm always going to want it completely filled up. I'm always going to want to strive for something harder to get than the last thing I just got, and you're fine fixing something that's broken."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing...for you."
"That's your problem. Enough is never enough."
"Why the hell would I settle for just enough when I know I can get what I really want if I work harder?"
"Because you don't know what you really want. So, no matter how hard you work, you're never gonna get it. It's always changing, so you'll never stop working. And you'll never be happy."
I didn't respond.
"You're right," he said, pulling up in front of my house. "Our time really is over."
"Yeah. Here's your money. Thanks."
(I had maybe three or four extra paragraphs after this point, but it either didn't get saved or Blogger ate it. I'll try and recall everything to the best of my ability, but it's like 24 hrs later, so who knows?)
Does he have a point? Does my inability to settle on any ONE goal kill any hope for happiness dead in its tracks? Maybe. Was he entirely wrong about what happened to us? When we first got together, I was saddled with a moocher husband who lived off all the money I made and spent all the credit under my name all willy-nilly without a single thought to our financial futures or goal. He had no goals. My ex-husband lived in the now and NOW meant he bought whatever my high credit limits could afford.
Joel was a breath of fresh air with his work ethic and his staunch ability to achieve his goals. The only problem I had was that his bar wasn't set as high as mine. Did he get me a car, like he said he would? Sure. But, it was second or third hand, and it was in his name. He made it functional for me and he made it easy enough for me to use when I needed it, but it wasn't really mine outright. He secured us a home. Okay, again it was in his name only, and I had to agree to leave Astoria and move out to Woodhaven; a neighborhood that wasn't exactly the Mecca I was coming from. Vacations? Sure, he delivered on that, too. Only, we worked gigs while we were "on" vacation, so a week's worth of R & R really only turned out to be 2 days.
If I pushed for the "better", with a solid fight, I know I would get him to agree with me. But, he is not a man of material values. Why buy a home when he was perfectly fine renting. Why buy a new car when used ones can be restored "like-new"? Why goto Hawaii if Florida was just as hot and had some ocean around it, at a fraction of the cost? Joel would have been content opening a deli and making cash hand over hand. I didn't want a deli. I wanted......more.
This is what he meant. I'm not a greedy person. I made him return a 10 thousand dollar engagement ring because spending that much cash on a rock is impractical for someone like me. I was flattered he thought I was worth it, but at the end of the day, he put the 8 grand back in his account for a rainy day. I never demanded expensive dinners or crazy thousand dollar handbags because that just isn't my style. Not that I wouldn't have appreciated it, but the man worked hard and to blow it on frivolous stuff like that doesn't make me happy.
When he says he tried to make me happy; he was telling the truth. He did. Fancy dinners. Fancy luxury gifts. Fancy jewelry. The only problem with that is that I'm not a fancy girl.
His assessment struck a raw nerve. He tried, but the truth of the matter is that even if he provided everything I asked him for to the letter, the fact that we had glaring discrepancies within our life-plans would have lead to a downfall somewhere down the line. I was willing to give up so much of what I wanted to make my square peg fit into the round hole he cut out for me, but I'm not the type to sit back and endure it as a martyr.
Maybe he's right. Maybe I don't have all the answers regarding what I really want. Maybe I don't know for sure where I want to end up and what I want to be doing once I get there. But, I know I'll work hard until I do, and I'm never going to let someone take away my right to decide for myself what's right for me.
No one is going to touch me if I don't want to be touched. No one is going to belittle me as a person or as a baker. No one is going to gut me the way I have let all these men cut away at my self-worth and value all these years.
Maybe I'll never have the huge social circle of semi-celebrities my ex husband had, or the strength and street-hustle Joey has, or even an ounce of the artistic ability the last one had. But, for whatever reason, I'm uniquely me, and I'm not going to apologize for not settling on a life that wasn't right for me. I shouldn't feel bad leaving a man who used and abused me, a man who kept me in a gilded cage and only let me out under his supervision, or a man who felt the compelled to lie to me to keep me "happy". Shaky foundation never support strong structures. Believe me, I've had enough cakes collapse on me to know that golden rule- a weak base and un-level layers will bring down a cake faster than an earthquake.
I was feeling badly that I've been dating the last couple of years and haven't found anyone up to par. But, that's one less break-up I'll have to go through, one less dinner for me to walk out of, and one less family I'll have to meet and try to impress. Forcing something that isn't a good fit hasn't been fruitful in the past, and it isn't going to be any better for me now.
I have the freedom to go where I want in this life without the burden of a partner or kids to shape the decisions I make for myself. While I do sometimes feel envious of my friends' new families and chapters, I feel okay knowing it isn't right for me at this point, and maybe someday it will or it won't, but that's ok, too.
No, enough is never enough, but I like it that way.
Delivery two cakes uptown last weekend, I employed my ex; Joel. It was a long-ass ride, with him opting to drive through Manhattan from the 59th St bridge ALL the way to 190th St, uptown. Despite me telling him to use the West Side Highway or the Henry Hudson Parkway, he insisted on going slow and steady through town and my blood was boiling.
I couldn't blow up at him because he showed up at 3pm, even though I told him 4pm, the day before, and he waited on me till 6:30- the time I was ready with the cakes. He was about to leave when I came running out with the first box.
I know he wanted to lecture me on my poor time management. Nothing gives this man greater pleasure than telling me what's wrong with with me. It was a trait I hated when we were together, and I didn't warm up to it now that we're apart. As much as I wanted to blow up and tell him what he could do with this antiquated opinions, I needed his help for this delivery and I had to keep my mouth shut until the cakes were handed off safe and sound.
"You know what your problem is..." he began with his usual, heavy accented drawl; a smile on his face because he was going to savor the lecture I was forced to listen to because he knew I didn't have any other choice.
"No, but I bet you're gonna tell me, aren't you?" I rolled my eyes, bracing myself against whatever bullshit opinion he was about to unload......again.
"You think you know everything. You think you got all the answers. You think you're all alone in everything, but the fact of the matter is you need people to help you because you're not good enough yet. And it eats you up inside like acid because you know this and you can't admit it." He paused to look for a reaction. When I kept quiet, and blankly stared out the window, he kept going. "I mean, that artist you used to fuck...did any of the talent come out of his dick and into you? You got a little better, but you've got a ways to go if you think you're ever gonna be as good as a real bakery. Just because a few people like your cakes don't make them good enough to be in magazines. Are you even filtering the cakes you put up on your website or you just asking your computer guy to throw up any old picture?"
"I don't have a computer guy; I do it all myself."
"Oh, that's surprising. You never even wanted a website unless someone else made it for you. Wasn't that what you were going to pay Bobby to do for you?" He asked, referring to his son.
"It's not because I wasn't capable of learning how to do it. I was trying to give him a paying gig, to save myself some time and to help him out. It's not my fault your son had better things to do with his time. And I think I did ok with what little I know about it, and I only had a couple of people help me out. You're trying to make me feel useless, and I'm not gonna let you sit there and call me that."
"You said it, not me."
There was a stretch of silence. He had a smug look on his face, and I was clenching my fists, trying not to sock him in the face while we drove. It took every ounce of strength and patience I had inside me not to beat him over the head with the Club.
"You think you're better than everyone." He continued once he was over the bridge. "You think you deserve more because you think you work harder. Yeah, you can work pretty hard, but you wouldn't be where you are today if I didn't put you there."
"Yes, yes, yes," I blurted out, having heard this shit a million times already. "The next tattoo I get will be a testament to ALL the help you've given me, Joel. Don't worry, you'll get your fucking credit."
"Did you get rid of my tattoo yet?" He asked, leering at me. I didn't answer him. "Tell me. Is it still there? Is it? Tell me. Why won't you answer?" I hated this because I knew what was coming.
When I still didn't respond, he reached over, hooking his fingers into the waistband of my pants, and tried tugging them down to get a look at my ink. Without hesitation, I smacked him hard across the face. He pulled back, looking stunned and furious.
"How would your girlfriend like to know how touchy you get whenever you're around me?"
I saw the whites of his knuckles as he gripped the wheel. After a few minutes, he mumbled out an apology.
"You're not someone who hates being touched," he added in his defense, pretty much negating his shoddy apology. "I saw your pictures all over facebook with your white boy. He seemed pretty touchy and I didn't see any pictures of you smacking him across the face. Still the violent type, eh? Maybe you should get back with your husband so you can both go at it again cuz that's what you like."
"I choose who gets to touch me, not you." I shouted at him. "Your right to lay a finger on me is long gone. If you want to touch someone, go home to your leather-skinned, saggy-tit girlfriend. You've been with her just as long as you were ever with me, so I guess you found a suitable replacement. Just because I don't have a boyfriend right now doesn't give you a right to touch me. I don't give a shit how much you think you've done for me. I'm not paying you with sex."
The rest of the ride was silent. I delivered, and was tempted to take the train home, but there was no train nearby. No trains and no cabs. On the way back, he tried to pretend nothing happened.
"Do you know why you and me didn't work, boo?" I didn't answer him. "None of it was good enough. I gave you everything you wanted, and more. You asked for a ring, I bought you the biggest one in the store, and you didn't want it. You asked for a car, and I made sure we had 3 ready to go. You asked for a home and I made sure you always had one- bigger than any other place you've ever lived. You were never happy. You wanted to start your own business, and I flooded you with customers. You were never happy. None of it made you happy. Ever. It's never enough for you. You can't just stay content."
"No, I can't. I can't stay at the same level and be happy there. I'm always going to want the next thing; a new goal. I'm not going to apologize for that."
"I would'v eventually given you what you really wanted- new car, new house, Hawaii....I just needed time, and you wouldn't let up on me."
"It was never going to happen with you, Joel."
"Why not?"
"Because you're happy being mediocre and I'm not. You're fine filling up your tank halfway, and I'm always going to want it completely filled up. I'm always going to want to strive for something harder to get than the last thing I just got, and you're fine fixing something that's broken."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing...for you."
"That's your problem. Enough is never enough."
"Why the hell would I settle for just enough when I know I can get what I really want if I work harder?"
"Because you don't know what you really want. So, no matter how hard you work, you're never gonna get it. It's always changing, so you'll never stop working. And you'll never be happy."
I didn't respond.
"You're right," he said, pulling up in front of my house. "Our time really is over."
"Yeah. Here's your money. Thanks."
(I had maybe three or four extra paragraphs after this point, but it either didn't get saved or Blogger ate it. I'll try and recall everything to the best of my ability, but it's like 24 hrs later, so who knows?)
Does he have a point? Does my inability to settle on any ONE goal kill any hope for happiness dead in its tracks? Maybe. Was he entirely wrong about what happened to us? When we first got together, I was saddled with a moocher husband who lived off all the money I made and spent all the credit under my name all willy-nilly without a single thought to our financial futures or goal. He had no goals. My ex-husband lived in the now and NOW meant he bought whatever my high credit limits could afford.
Joel was a breath of fresh air with his work ethic and his staunch ability to achieve his goals. The only problem I had was that his bar wasn't set as high as mine. Did he get me a car, like he said he would? Sure. But, it was second or third hand, and it was in his name. He made it functional for me and he made it easy enough for me to use when I needed it, but it wasn't really mine outright. He secured us a home. Okay, again it was in his name only, and I had to agree to leave Astoria and move out to Woodhaven; a neighborhood that wasn't exactly the Mecca I was coming from. Vacations? Sure, he delivered on that, too. Only, we worked gigs while we were "on" vacation, so a week's worth of R & R really only turned out to be 2 days.
If I pushed for the "better", with a solid fight, I know I would get him to agree with me. But, he is not a man of material values. Why buy a home when he was perfectly fine renting. Why buy a new car when used ones can be restored "like-new"? Why goto Hawaii if Florida was just as hot and had some ocean around it, at a fraction of the cost? Joel would have been content opening a deli and making cash hand over hand. I didn't want a deli. I wanted......more.
This is what he meant. I'm not a greedy person. I made him return a 10 thousand dollar engagement ring because spending that much cash on a rock is impractical for someone like me. I was flattered he thought I was worth it, but at the end of the day, he put the 8 grand back in his account for a rainy day. I never demanded expensive dinners or crazy thousand dollar handbags because that just isn't my style. Not that I wouldn't have appreciated it, but the man worked hard and to blow it on frivolous stuff like that doesn't make me happy.
When he says he tried to make me happy; he was telling the truth. He did. Fancy dinners. Fancy luxury gifts. Fancy jewelry. The only problem with that is that I'm not a fancy girl.
His assessment struck a raw nerve. He tried, but the truth of the matter is that even if he provided everything I asked him for to the letter, the fact that we had glaring discrepancies within our life-plans would have lead to a downfall somewhere down the line. I was willing to give up so much of what I wanted to make my square peg fit into the round hole he cut out for me, but I'm not the type to sit back and endure it as a martyr.
Maybe he's right. Maybe I don't have all the answers regarding what I really want. Maybe I don't know for sure where I want to end up and what I want to be doing once I get there. But, I know I'll work hard until I do, and I'm never going to let someone take away my right to decide for myself what's right for me.
No one is going to touch me if I don't want to be touched. No one is going to belittle me as a person or as a baker. No one is going to gut me the way I have let all these men cut away at my self-worth and value all these years.
Maybe I'll never have the huge social circle of semi-celebrities my ex husband had, or the strength and street-hustle Joey has, or even an ounce of the artistic ability the last one had. But, for whatever reason, I'm uniquely me, and I'm not going to apologize for not settling on a life that wasn't right for me. I shouldn't feel bad leaving a man who used and abused me, a man who kept me in a gilded cage and only let me out under his supervision, or a man who felt the compelled to lie to me to keep me "happy". Shaky foundation never support strong structures. Believe me, I've had enough cakes collapse on me to know that golden rule- a weak base and un-level layers will bring down a cake faster than an earthquake.
I was feeling badly that I've been dating the last couple of years and haven't found anyone up to par. But, that's one less break-up I'll have to go through, one less dinner for me to walk out of, and one less family I'll have to meet and try to impress. Forcing something that isn't a good fit hasn't been fruitful in the past, and it isn't going to be any better for me now.
I have the freedom to go where I want in this life without the burden of a partner or kids to shape the decisions I make for myself. While I do sometimes feel envious of my friends' new families and chapters, I feel okay knowing it isn't right for me at this point, and maybe someday it will or it won't, but that's ok, too.
No, enough is never enough, but I like it that way.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Wiggle While I Work
I know I'm supposed to write about my cakes, but last night was the last night of my 19 cake stretch, and I'm exhausted. No sleep till Brooklyn, right?
I can barely string together my sentences so I'm just going to post some of the media I play while I'm working. I'm moving my old TV down to the Dungeon, to join my old dvd/vcr player. Since I haven't done that yet, I usually just have a portable harddrive hooked up to my netbook and I listen to movies or music or audio books. Here is some of the stuff I usually listen to:
My all-time favorite Pixar film, followed by Monsters, Inc. I know this movie almost word for word, and it gives me a time frame on how much time I have left to decorate. If I'm not wrapping things up by the time Linguine is giving his press conference, then I'm in the weeds. Besides being executed exceptionally well, as is the unwavering style of PIXAR, this movie does indeed detail the real kitchen experience. Besides having the stations worked out perfectly and explained without fault, Collette's badassery is spot-on as it is the attitude of any successful woman in a male-dominated field. She can't just be good at what she does. She needs to be the best, have the biggest balls, and trash any sense of female wiles in her. My favorite thing about her, besides her perfectly cut purple-hued hair? The very faint burn scars I spot on her wrist- the mark of any real chef that works in a real kitchen. Well done, Pixar!
This is my other movie love- Tim Burton. He does have many other movies that are in this style of stop-motion film making. Why do I like this while I'm working? Well, I've seen it so many times, I also use it as a gauge for time. If I'm still not nearly done when Emily says "Hopscotch" then I'm going to be in trouble. (I usually am in trouble.) The music, another particularly recognizable score by Danny Elfman, is catchy. It keeps me awake while I'm working in the crazy night hours. It's peppy. And call me a mush, but I just dig Johnny Depp's fake English accent. Around the holidays, I'll put this film to the side and put on the Nightmare Before Christmas. Why not? While I'm punching out holly leaves and rolling berries out of fondant, I may as well get in the mood. Tim Burton movies are lovely company to keep in the bowels of the Dungeon when I have no one to help me work in the wee hours of the morn.
I love audiobooks. I love books. If I had more "me" time, I'd be laying in bed with a super-long starw dipped into an endless glass of ice-cold Coke with a box of Cookie Crisp cereal handy, with mountains of books surrounding me. I'd never have to get up for anything....Well. Almost anything. Audiobooks have been my Godsend. I've gotten most of my "reading" done because of them. I never used to like them, until someone gave me a copy of the audio version of World War Z. With a star-studded cast of actors doing the reading, this book came alive. Since then, my late-night activities have included many audio versions of very long, time consuming books being downloaded onto my hard drives. My buddy Mal turned me onto the Dresden Files while we were wandering around Comic Con 2010. We were at the Buzzy Media booth, and I was having a good laugh at the witty tee shirts, when he told me I should really give the Dresden Files a spin. Described as an Urban Fantasy about a modern-day Wizard For Hire making his way through Chicago, battling supernatural forces, it was not my first choice. Later that day, the group of people I was with was leeringly enjoying James Marsters in the flesh (That would be Spike, from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.) He was nice enough, and I downloaded the available 12 books in one shot. WOW! Awesome. Enthralling! James certainly brings this series to life. I've been painstakingly listening at a snails pace. The 13th book was just released (read by a different actor, much to my consternation), and I'm up tp book 7. I hate waiting for a new book to drop, especially when they leave you at a cliff hanger. Right now, this is my favorite audiobook series.
Speaking of audiobooks, I'm sure you've all watched the Game of Throne series on HBO. "Game of Thrones" is actually the first book in a series called "A Song of Ice and Fire". After watching the first episode on HBO and seeing it was based on a book, I googled and found this audiobook series. Luckily for me, the 5th audiobook was just released as I finished up the 4th one. They are loooooong. It took me several hours to listen to them all, and there was a change in actor doing the reading, as well, which I did not like at all, but what can you do about these things? Long road trip? Maybe you've got a ton of hours in front of you where your mind needs to be occupied with something else other than music. I say, give this series a spin. It's gotten me through many tedious cake nights in the Dungeon.
I'll do a separate post about music another time. "Wiggle While I Work" kind of referred to the tunes I listen to while I'm working, but I'm pooped and I want to go home and pass out.
I can barely string together my sentences so I'm just going to post some of the media I play while I'm working. I'm moving my old TV down to the Dungeon, to join my old dvd/vcr player. Since I haven't done that yet, I usually just have a portable harddrive hooked up to my netbook and I listen to movies or music or audio books. Here is some of the stuff I usually listen to:
I love audiobooks. I love books. If I had more "me" time, I'd be laying in bed with a super-long starw dipped into an endless glass of ice-cold Coke with a box of Cookie Crisp cereal handy, with mountains of books surrounding me. I'd never have to get up for anything....Well. Almost anything. Audiobooks have been my Godsend. I've gotten most of my "reading" done because of them. I never used to like them, until someone gave me a copy of the audio version of World War Z. With a star-studded cast of actors doing the reading, this book came alive. Since then, my late-night activities have included many audio versions of very long, time consuming books being downloaded onto my hard drives. My buddy Mal turned me onto the Dresden Files while we were wandering around Comic Con 2010. We were at the Buzzy Media booth, and I was having a good laugh at the witty tee shirts, when he told me I should really give the Dresden Files a spin. Described as an Urban Fantasy about a modern-day Wizard For Hire making his way through Chicago, battling supernatural forces, it was not my first choice. Later that day, the group of people I was with was leeringly enjoying James Marsters in the flesh (That would be Spike, from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.) He was nice enough, and I downloaded the available 12 books in one shot. WOW! Awesome. Enthralling! James certainly brings this series to life. I've been painstakingly listening at a snails pace. The 13th book was just released (read by a different actor, much to my consternation), and I'm up tp book 7. I hate waiting for a new book to drop, especially when they leave you at a cliff hanger. Right now, this is my favorite audiobook series.
Speaking of audiobooks, I'm sure you've all watched the Game of Throne series on HBO. "Game of Thrones" is actually the first book in a series called "A Song of Ice and Fire". After watching the first episode on HBO and seeing it was based on a book, I googled and found this audiobook series. Luckily for me, the 5th audiobook was just released as I finished up the 4th one. They are loooooong. It took me several hours to listen to them all, and there was a change in actor doing the reading, as well, which I did not like at all, but what can you do about these things? Long road trip? Maybe you've got a ton of hours in front of you where your mind needs to be occupied with something else other than music. I say, give this series a spin. It's gotten me through many tedious cake nights in the Dungeon.
I'll do a separate post about music another time. "Wiggle While I Work" kind of referred to the tunes I listen to while I'm working, but I'm pooped and I want to go home and pass out.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
I'm Still Here
It's been a crazy week!
I personally baked and decorated 15 different cake orders over the last 7 days. That's a new personal best for me!!
I can go into each individual account of each cake, but that's boring and some of them were pretty easy compared to the interesting ones. I'll start this post off by saying that I learned a lot about myself.
I'll write a separate post about each of the special cakes I did with more detail, but I can't do it now. Fucking day job.
All I can say is that I did it. I didn't think I'd be able to, but I fucking did it!!!! Holy balls!!!! =)
I'm still here.....
I personally baked and decorated 15 different cake orders over the last 7 days. That's a new personal best for me!!
I can go into each individual account of each cake, but that's boring and some of them were pretty easy compared to the interesting ones. I'll start this post off by saying that I learned a lot about myself.
- When I really do hunker down and prep properly, I am fucking amazing. My cakes bake perfectly. I have fewer waste because I'm not tossing out overcooked or under-baked food. And there is less time spend cutting down the cake to make it perfect for stacking.
- I'm getting better at multitasking, often handling three different tasks all at the same time. I mix up a batch of batter. While the Kitchenaide is going, I'm prepping pans. After it's in the oven, I'm cleaning the area and loading the dishwasher. Once everything is cleaned, I'm mixing frosting and cutting out fondant decor. My brain doesn't really function on a list-like system. I have to work really hard to focus on the task at hand, without being distracted off the job. It's been harder the last year or two to keep my concentration in check, but with a little more effort, it's doable.Who knew?
- When I know what I'm going to do to a cake, I can decorate the bitch pretty damn fast. I had a four layer red velvet, cut, filled, stacked, frosted, and covered in less than 10 minutes. Do you know what kind of feet that is for someone like me who can take damn near an hour just to roll out the fondant to the right thickness? I've also gotten to know my product a little better. Weather is NOT my friend. If it's too cold, the fondant won't be elastic. If it's too hot, it won't stay solid. I have to manipulate the temperature in my Dungeon, and if you have ever been down there with me on a hot summer night, you KNOW how fucking unbearable it is down there.
- I can charge more money for what I do, and I don't need to feel bad about it. After all the work I did, all the materials I bought, I'm only walking away with a marginal profit and that's just unacceptable. Seriously, my time is money and it's time to charge more money for my time.
I'll write a separate post about each of the special cakes I did with more detail, but I can't do it now. Fucking day job.
All I can say is that I did it. I didn't think I'd be able to, but I fucking did it!!!! Holy balls!!!! =)
I'm still here.....
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Off to a Rough Start
Last night I baked two 6" round cakes, two 8" round cakes, five 10" rounds cakes, and a small teddy bear for a baby shower cake I need to decorate tonight. I made two batches of fresh macerated strawberry filling and 8 batches of decorators white frosting in vanilla and in almond. I rolled and pressed 20 purple fondant pansies, and I managed to mop the floor when I was done decorating the 8" cake that I had to deliver today. (The one that the purple pansies were for.)
When I finished at 3:30am, I thought I could sneak in an hour nap before I had to get up to shower and jump on the bus before rush hour, but after waking up at 4am, and just sneaking in another 30 minutes, I awoke to see it was 9am.
Late? HA! After getting reamed out last week for my shoddy work performance, you'd think that it would light a fire under my ass to get to work on time. How can I when I cannot fall asleep at night, which then has me lagging into a coma-like state around 4am every single morning?
On top of that, I have a date at Veselka before the Garbage concert at Webster Hall with my new friend Michelle. She's cool people I happened to meet per chance on a wing night out with my cousin and her people. I've had this nagging headache since Friday. I don't know if it's coming from my teeth and radiating upward or if it's just some stress. I'm breaking out like a 13-year old, and NOTHING is making this headache abate.
I don't know if this is such a great start to my cake week. I have to decorate the 10" and the 6" cake tonight- in baby shower mode. I wanted to post the pictures to my website so I'm trying to come up with something original. I don't know if I can pull it off. I anticipate getting home around 1am, if I'm lucky. Thankfully, the strawberries and the icing is ready to go, but the creativity is sort of stopped up.
Since I'm transporting two cakes via subway, I really do need to get on before the rush hour. There are just too many people for my comfort. Leaving any later than 5:30am is just asking for trouble.
I'm going to switch to Motrin to see if that does anything for the headache. The Advil only managed to upset my tummy, and who the hell goes to a concert with a headache and an aching tummy?
When I finished at 3:30am, I thought I could sneak in an hour nap before I had to get up to shower and jump on the bus before rush hour, but after waking up at 4am, and just sneaking in another 30 minutes, I awoke to see it was 9am.
Late? HA! After getting reamed out last week for my shoddy work performance, you'd think that it would light a fire under my ass to get to work on time. How can I when I cannot fall asleep at night, which then has me lagging into a coma-like state around 4am every single morning?
On top of that, I have a date at Veselka before the Garbage concert at Webster Hall with my new friend Michelle. She's cool people I happened to meet per chance on a wing night out with my cousin and her people. I've had this nagging headache since Friday. I don't know if it's coming from my teeth and radiating upward or if it's just some stress. I'm breaking out like a 13-year old, and NOTHING is making this headache abate.
I don't know if this is such a great start to my cake week. I have to decorate the 10" and the 6" cake tonight- in baby shower mode. I wanted to post the pictures to my website so I'm trying to come up with something original. I don't know if I can pull it off. I anticipate getting home around 1am, if I'm lucky. Thankfully, the strawberries and the icing is ready to go, but the creativity is sort of stopped up.
Since I'm transporting two cakes via subway, I really do need to get on before the rush hour. There are just too many people for my comfort. Leaving any later than 5:30am is just asking for trouble.
I'm going to switch to Motrin to see if that does anything for the headache. The Advil only managed to upset my tummy, and who the hell goes to a concert with a headache and an aching tummy?
Monday, May 21, 2012
Spring Cleaning
Maybe with this weather, I should aptly call it Summer Cleaning.
I spent the better part of this weekend really scrubbing down the Dungeon. Sometimes it's just cluttered with stuff I haven't had time to put away, like ingredients. And sometimes I run out of time, and I go through the area like a tornado, taking out everything I need without putting it back. So, besides tidying up the stuff, I also took apart my actual food area, gave it a good scrubbing and ran the dishwasher like 5 times on things I haven't used in a while and needed a good cleaning.
By the time I was done, I smelled like bleach and soap. I used up a can of oven cleaner just to clean my oven door. It didn't do the job well enough, which means I need to make a Walmart run again in the near future. Sometimes I just get in these weird moods where everything needs to be perfect.
I most definitely am not the Martha Stewart of cleanliness. I'm a little lazy and cluttered. While I do work with food and my food area is always bleached down after I cook and my work surface is bleached and rinsed before I do any fondant work, I am surrounded by clutter.
In my past, I've been known to do a whirlwind cleaning job when I'm in times of stress. Unfortunately, it usually happens in other people's houses, moreso than my own, which sucks for me. My psychologist once labeled it as an erasure. I'm wiping out any trace of my existence in this person's world. It's kind of like saying, "Don't worry. When you open your eyes and look around, you won't see any hint of me."
This week is going to be crazy. I have 5 HUGE cakes to make, two of them in the middle of the work week. A work week where I have a date with Garbage at Webster Hall on Tuesday night, and another IMAX showing of the Avengers on Wednesday. This really isn't the smartest schedule, but sometimes I have the feeling that I'm not using my downtown very productively anyway, so I may have well burn that fucking candle at both ends.
Going through the stuff in the Dungeon, I came across boxes and boxes of stuff people have bought me throughout the years. A lot of it is baking related things that they thought I'd love. Unfortunately, a lot of the kitchy decorative baking things are not really useful in terms of function. I also have a mini pie maker by Emeril and my own ice cream cone maker. Why would I ever use these things?? The problem I have is that someone took the time and the money to buy me these things, and I wouldn't dream of getting rid of it or throwing it out.
But, they don't serve any function and they take up space. So, what do I do?
I often find metaphors in everything. I was a little upset this weekend over something that chapped my ass just a few points above annoyance. Without getting too personal, I had asked someone if the annual plans we had every year would still happen, and she said no. She didn't bother to tell me she made the same plans with a different group of people. Through the annoying world of social media, of course it got back to me in the most annoying way.
I tried not to get too personally upset about it. If someone doesn't want to waste time with you, then you just have to accept it and move on. Who wants to press their company on people who don't enjoy it? It sucks, but life isn't always roses, is it?
As I scrubbed the sugar off my Dungeon floor and sprayed the bleach mixture over every surface visible, I thought about the kitchen gifts people bought me. I can't get rid of them, but I can't use them. So, I keep them in neat little boxes and try to put them in a place that won't get in my way.
PERFECT!
This person who pissed me off, I can't get rid of her, but I will box her up and put her away in some corner out of my way. That way, I won't see things I don't want to see and my stupid little feelings won't get hurt over silly little rude comments. Through the genius of privacy controls, I can essentially put this person in a place where they are still there, but won't be visible to hurt me anymore.
I don't do this for everyone. In fact, my delete and block finger makes it very easy for me to eliminate people as quickly as I can delete a spelling error. It's not hate. I don't really hate anyone. Hate ends up eating away at the hater moreso than the hated. I think I'm just at a point in my life where I can identify people who only bring pain, and rather than let them stay there and keep causing pain, it's best to just let them do it as far away from me as possible.
When I was done scrubbing my Dungeon, I had three garbage bags full of junk. I had three empty containers of cleaning products and two empty paper towel rolls. I felt good. My Dungeon smelled of clean. My boxes of useless gifts were neatly piled out of the way, but close by for the reason of sentiment.
Growing up sucks sometimes, but I realized that not everything can be trashed and forgotten. Sometimes you hold on to things or to people because they did make you happy at one point, and it's better to remember them in that light rather than hate them because of their shortcomings. We all have shortcomings. I've had my victories as a cake maker, and I've had my failures. There are some people who will swear up and down that they will never order from me again because of one reason or another, and I don't blame them. I'm only human, afterall.
Because I couldn't do my supply run this past weekend, I'm going to have to do it tonight at the supermarket, and probably spend more than I intended. That sucks, but when you don't have a license or a car, it's hard to sit there and feel slighted by people who don't come through for you. Just another reason I really need to get my shit together.
Well, get this! I have signed up for some art lessons. Nothing formal or anything, but a local artist agreed to help me "draw" in order for me to have an easier time with my cake designs. I've bitched more than once about my inability to draw hindering my cake skills. He insists that I have talent, and I just need a little training. I doubt I have HIS talent, but if he can help me make better cakes, I'm willing to give it a shot and do the homework and everything. When someone is offering to help you improve your craft, you don't say no!
I've also signed a personal running trainer, something I didn't want to do, but it's part of my payment towards the art lesson. He told me it's easier to get a routine to get back in shape when you have someone else beside you trying to motivate you to stop being such a fatty.
I excited with my subtle little changes. I'm not really looking forward to the art lessons, because I know what my limits are as an "artist". I do believe that there are some skills you are just inherently born with, and when it comes to art- either you have it or you don't. I only have it up to a certain point. Any improvement he can help me make will be awesome, but I doubt I'll be working for Pixar anytime soon. (Because we all know Pixar gives out free Coke and cakes shaped like the characters in their movies to their employees every 3rd Friday of the month.) Man, what a gig!
I spent the better part of this weekend really scrubbing down the Dungeon. Sometimes it's just cluttered with stuff I haven't had time to put away, like ingredients. And sometimes I run out of time, and I go through the area like a tornado, taking out everything I need without putting it back. So, besides tidying up the stuff, I also took apart my actual food area, gave it a good scrubbing and ran the dishwasher like 5 times on things I haven't used in a while and needed a good cleaning.
By the time I was done, I smelled like bleach and soap. I used up a can of oven cleaner just to clean my oven door. It didn't do the job well enough, which means I need to make a Walmart run again in the near future. Sometimes I just get in these weird moods where everything needs to be perfect.
I most definitely am not the Martha Stewart of cleanliness. I'm a little lazy and cluttered. While I do work with food and my food area is always bleached down after I cook and my work surface is bleached and rinsed before I do any fondant work, I am surrounded by clutter.
In my past, I've been known to do a whirlwind cleaning job when I'm in times of stress. Unfortunately, it usually happens in other people's houses, moreso than my own, which sucks for me. My psychologist once labeled it as an erasure. I'm wiping out any trace of my existence in this person's world. It's kind of like saying, "Don't worry. When you open your eyes and look around, you won't see any hint of me."
This week is going to be crazy. I have 5 HUGE cakes to make, two of them in the middle of the work week. A work week where I have a date with Garbage at Webster Hall on Tuesday night, and another IMAX showing of the Avengers on Wednesday. This really isn't the smartest schedule, but sometimes I have the feeling that I'm not using my downtown very productively anyway, so I may have well burn that fucking candle at both ends.
Going through the stuff in the Dungeon, I came across boxes and boxes of stuff people have bought me throughout the years. A lot of it is baking related things that they thought I'd love. Unfortunately, a lot of the kitchy decorative baking things are not really useful in terms of function. I also have a mini pie maker by Emeril and my own ice cream cone maker. Why would I ever use these things?? The problem I have is that someone took the time and the money to buy me these things, and I wouldn't dream of getting rid of it or throwing it out.
But, they don't serve any function and they take up space. So, what do I do?
I often find metaphors in everything. I was a little upset this weekend over something that chapped my ass just a few points above annoyance. Without getting too personal, I had asked someone if the annual plans we had every year would still happen, and she said no. She didn't bother to tell me she made the same plans with a different group of people. Through the annoying world of social media, of course it got back to me in the most annoying way.
I tried not to get too personally upset about it. If someone doesn't want to waste time with you, then you just have to accept it and move on. Who wants to press their company on people who don't enjoy it? It sucks, but life isn't always roses, is it?
As I scrubbed the sugar off my Dungeon floor and sprayed the bleach mixture over every surface visible, I thought about the kitchen gifts people bought me. I can't get rid of them, but I can't use them. So, I keep them in neat little boxes and try to put them in a place that won't get in my way.
PERFECT!
This person who pissed me off, I can't get rid of her, but I will box her up and put her away in some corner out of my way. That way, I won't see things I don't want to see and my stupid little feelings won't get hurt over silly little rude comments. Through the genius of privacy controls, I can essentially put this person in a place where they are still there, but won't be visible to hurt me anymore.
I don't do this for everyone. In fact, my delete and block finger makes it very easy for me to eliminate people as quickly as I can delete a spelling error. It's not hate. I don't really hate anyone. Hate ends up eating away at the hater moreso than the hated. I think I'm just at a point in my life where I can identify people who only bring pain, and rather than let them stay there and keep causing pain, it's best to just let them do it as far away from me as possible.
When I was done scrubbing my Dungeon, I had three garbage bags full of junk. I had three empty containers of cleaning products and two empty paper towel rolls. I felt good. My Dungeon smelled of clean. My boxes of useless gifts were neatly piled out of the way, but close by for the reason of sentiment.
Growing up sucks sometimes, but I realized that not everything can be trashed and forgotten. Sometimes you hold on to things or to people because they did make you happy at one point, and it's better to remember them in that light rather than hate them because of their shortcomings. We all have shortcomings. I've had my victories as a cake maker, and I've had my failures. There are some people who will swear up and down that they will never order from me again because of one reason or another, and I don't blame them. I'm only human, afterall.
Because I couldn't do my supply run this past weekend, I'm going to have to do it tonight at the supermarket, and probably spend more than I intended. That sucks, but when you don't have a license or a car, it's hard to sit there and feel slighted by people who don't come through for you. Just another reason I really need to get my shit together.
Well, get this! I have signed up for some art lessons. Nothing formal or anything, but a local artist agreed to help me "draw" in order for me to have an easier time with my cake designs. I've bitched more than once about my inability to draw hindering my cake skills. He insists that I have talent, and I just need a little training. I doubt I have HIS talent, but if he can help me make better cakes, I'm willing to give it a shot and do the homework and everything. When someone is offering to help you improve your craft, you don't say no!
I've also signed a personal running trainer, something I didn't want to do, but it's part of my payment towards the art lesson. He told me it's easier to get a routine to get back in shape when you have someone else beside you trying to motivate you to stop being such a fatty.
I excited with my subtle little changes. I'm not really looking forward to the art lessons, because I know what my limits are as an "artist". I do believe that there are some skills you are just inherently born with, and when it comes to art- either you have it or you don't. I only have it up to a certain point. Any improvement he can help me make will be awesome, but I doubt I'll be working for Pixar anytime soon. (Because we all know Pixar gives out free Coke and cakes shaped like the characters in their movies to their employees every 3rd Friday of the month.) Man, what a gig!
Thursday, May 17, 2012
No Slacking At Home
So my meeting was short and sweet, and it was easy because the dude yelling at me does not have a mean bone in his body. His reason for calling me in? He was fighting for a work-at-home schedule for my team, but he was shot down because it was perceived that we were not working all day long.
People see my double screens. They're big and bright and I sit in a high traffic area. People walk by and see me browsing the net. They see me typing on blogs or on social network unnamed. Sometimes they even see me watching movies. That's very seldom now, because I do a lot of audio books during the day. Either way, all the beating around the bush he did boiled down to him asking me to be a little more diligent at work and more aware of the people lurking around me. He even hinted that supervisors are allowed to tap into our screens and watch what we do on the network all day long. Yes, the fuckers that be around here really do have all day to do nothing but sit there and spy on employees.
Like I said, he's a nice guy who's in a little over his head when it comes to being a hard ass. He wants me to help him out with his workload, under the guise of "showing them how productive I can be at work". Productive in getting HIS work done, is what he's trying to say. He wants me to take off my large cans (I've upgraded to headphones which are as big and gaudy as DJ cans) because the perception is that I'm not working when I have them on. (I'm probably NOT working- whether or not I have them on or off.) Like I said, my work is tedious, but anyone with a working brain can get it done.
I smiled, apologized if I have been unaware of my goofing off, and assured him he could send any work my way and I would get it done for him in record time.
I walked out of there, and I heard his sigh of relief, glad that I didn't put up a fight.
I was glad that he didn't bring up all my latenesses or the days I take off without letting anyone know. However, I know I'm skating on thin ice. I know I'm working on borrowed time. I'll do my best to do better around here, but let's face it. This isn't the place for me. I just need to hang on for another year to clear the debt. I'm nearly there.....Just one more year!
People see my double screens. They're big and bright and I sit in a high traffic area. People walk by and see me browsing the net. They see me typing on blogs or on social network unnamed. Sometimes they even see me watching movies. That's very seldom now, because I do a lot of audio books during the day. Either way, all the beating around the bush he did boiled down to him asking me to be a little more diligent at work and more aware of the people lurking around me. He even hinted that supervisors are allowed to tap into our screens and watch what we do on the network all day long. Yes, the fuckers that be around here really do have all day to do nothing but sit there and spy on employees.
Like I said, he's a nice guy who's in a little over his head when it comes to being a hard ass. He wants me to help him out with his workload, under the guise of "showing them how productive I can be at work". Productive in getting HIS work done, is what he's trying to say. He wants me to take off my large cans (I've upgraded to headphones which are as big and gaudy as DJ cans) because the perception is that I'm not working when I have them on. (I'm probably NOT working- whether or not I have them on or off.) Like I said, my work is tedious, but anyone with a working brain can get it done.
I smiled, apologized if I have been unaware of my goofing off, and assured him he could send any work my way and I would get it done for him in record time.
I walked out of there, and I heard his sigh of relief, glad that I didn't put up a fight.
I was glad that he didn't bring up all my latenesses or the days I take off without letting anyone know. However, I know I'm skating on thin ice. I know I'm working on borrowed time. I'll do my best to do better around here, but let's face it. This isn't the place for me. I just need to hang on for another year to clear the debt. I'm nearly there.....Just one more year!
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Spite Success
They tell us that our successes are ours, alone, and are not due to the influence or the benefits of others since we are the ones that actually perform what needs to be done in order to achieve the goal. It's not to say that there isn't gratitude due to those who have helped us along the way, but to look at your success and feel indebted to another is sort of benign.
It's a running gag in my family. No matter what anyone does, a certain aunt always steps in and preaches about people not being able to be where they are today if not for her help. Bow down and kiss the ring, because a simple thank you will not suffice.
My father subscribes to this backwards logic. He spent most of our lives here kissing his family's ass, making himself a bloody martyr all in the name of paying a debt he feels like he still owes them for having helped him get my mother and Troll here from the Philippines all those years ago. He's given them the time he should have been home with us, his health, his sleep, and I'm surprised he didn't offer up an offspring as an offering to their insatiable appetite for accolades.
There isn't much I don't do for my family when they ask it of me. There aren't many times I've turned my back when my help was needed or when a favor was wanted. However, they don't appreciate any of it, and at the end of the day it's as if I should be the one thanking them for the opportunity to do something nice for them.
I've already written about the rift I had with my father and his sibling after my uncle's death earlier this year. I felt how cold all those fuckers were when I went down to VA for my cousin's baby shower this month. I knew a lot of them didn't show up because of me, and I felt bad for my cousin because of it. But, my dad's family is full of assholes and he's one of them.
I know my work with cakes has come a long way since I started with my first lopsided catastrophe. I know I've learned a lot over the last few years and I've held myself to a higher standard since I started. In the beginning, I was grateful to my aunt for thinking of me when she heard about the culinary school program. I was happy they tried to encourage me, even when I felt like my efforts were useless.
I charge a lot more now. My cakes are written about on blogs and local newsletters. Strangers who have never met me pay me a couple of hundred dollars for my efforts. I get more gratitude and respect from 6 year olds who love their Yo Gabba Gabba cakes, than I do from my own family.
My family is a family of psychologically fucked-up, emotionally crippled vampires. They take and take and take and offer not one note of thanks or a nod of gratitude for any of my efforts. I don't need a stamp of approval from these fuckers to know I've done well, but their snide immature comments still bug me.
I don't mean just "bug" me where I get a tick of annoyance. I mean, I'm really so annoyed I want to take a closed fist to their mixed-race white-ish skin and summon a big, purple mark to let them know I was there.
No, of course violence isn't the answer. It's not like they would even understand the act anyway. They would be sitting there, with a black eye, bitching about how right they were about how low-brow I've been brought up by my "bitch mother".
Still, knowing they are a lost cause who will never see the light, part of me wants to do well in spite of them.I don't just mean, open my own place and be successful. I mean, I want to rule the fucking pastry world. I want my name and my picture on every fucking billboard on every fucking road they drive on when they come and go. I want commercials on every television time slot. I want my own show. I want my stuff in magazines so that when they're waiting on line at the grocery store buying their fucking Stop and Shop pound cake, they know that my hard work turned into something good.
I fucking hate my family. I'm surprised I have such loving cousins who were spawned from the loins of these assholes. Before they die, I want to prove that I managed to make life work out for me- DESPITE all of them. And as cold and as shallow as I sound, it's important to me.
I know they look at me like some sex-crazed emotional failure due to the divorce from the mistaken marriage and the two or three subsequent relationship failures after that. They knew about the miscarriage with Joel. I don't even know if they know about the abortions, but let's face it. Do we really need another generation of "Raffy's" crawling around out there (despite my awesome DNA)?
I may die unmarried and childless, but I know my business will thrive long after I'm gone. I know that will be my only burning reason I want to do well- to slap it into all their fucking faces that I may not be a college graduate or hold down a 6-figure salary from some accounting job, but I am more than they will ever hope to be in this lifetime, and I'm a better person than them.
I don't need to be richer. I don't need to have cuter kids. I just need to be a better person than they will ever hope to be. They can click their worn rosary beads together and kneel down before a clay statue of the Virgin Mary and do their prayers until their lips fall off- they are horrible people, and will I never turn out like they do.
At least, I hope I don't.
It's a running gag in my family. No matter what anyone does, a certain aunt always steps in and preaches about people not being able to be where they are today if not for her help. Bow down and kiss the ring, because a simple thank you will not suffice.
My father subscribes to this backwards logic. He spent most of our lives here kissing his family's ass, making himself a bloody martyr all in the name of paying a debt he feels like he still owes them for having helped him get my mother and Troll here from the Philippines all those years ago. He's given them the time he should have been home with us, his health, his sleep, and I'm surprised he didn't offer up an offspring as an offering to their insatiable appetite for accolades.
There isn't much I don't do for my family when they ask it of me. There aren't many times I've turned my back when my help was needed or when a favor was wanted. However, they don't appreciate any of it, and at the end of the day it's as if I should be the one thanking them for the opportunity to do something nice for them.
I've already written about the rift I had with my father and his sibling after my uncle's death earlier this year. I felt how cold all those fuckers were when I went down to VA for my cousin's baby shower this month. I knew a lot of them didn't show up because of me, and I felt bad for my cousin because of it. But, my dad's family is full of assholes and he's one of them.
I know my work with cakes has come a long way since I started with my first lopsided catastrophe. I know I've learned a lot over the last few years and I've held myself to a higher standard since I started. In the beginning, I was grateful to my aunt for thinking of me when she heard about the culinary school program. I was happy they tried to encourage me, even when I felt like my efforts were useless.
I charge a lot more now. My cakes are written about on blogs and local newsletters. Strangers who have never met me pay me a couple of hundred dollars for my efforts. I get more gratitude and respect from 6 year olds who love their Yo Gabba Gabba cakes, than I do from my own family.
My family is a family of psychologically fucked-up, emotionally crippled vampires. They take and take and take and offer not one note of thanks or a nod of gratitude for any of my efforts. I don't need a stamp of approval from these fuckers to know I've done well, but their snide immature comments still bug me.
I don't mean just "bug" me where I get a tick of annoyance. I mean, I'm really so annoyed I want to take a closed fist to their mixed-race white-ish skin and summon a big, purple mark to let them know I was there.
No, of course violence isn't the answer. It's not like they would even understand the act anyway. They would be sitting there, with a black eye, bitching about how right they were about how low-brow I've been brought up by my "bitch mother".
Still, knowing they are a lost cause who will never see the light, part of me wants to do well in spite of them.I don't just mean, open my own place and be successful. I mean, I want to rule the fucking pastry world. I want my name and my picture on every fucking billboard on every fucking road they drive on when they come and go. I want commercials on every television time slot. I want my own show. I want my stuff in magazines so that when they're waiting on line at the grocery store buying their fucking Stop and Shop pound cake, they know that my hard work turned into something good.
I fucking hate my family. I'm surprised I have such loving cousins who were spawned from the loins of these assholes. Before they die, I want to prove that I managed to make life work out for me- DESPITE all of them. And as cold and as shallow as I sound, it's important to me.
I know they look at me like some sex-crazed emotional failure due to the divorce from the mistaken marriage and the two or three subsequent relationship failures after that. They knew about the miscarriage with Joel. I don't even know if they know about the abortions, but let's face it. Do we really need another generation of "Raffy's" crawling around out there (despite my awesome DNA)?
I may die unmarried and childless, but I know my business will thrive long after I'm gone. I know that will be my only burning reason I want to do well- to slap it into all their fucking faces that I may not be a college graduate or hold down a 6-figure salary from some accounting job, but I am more than they will ever hope to be in this lifetime, and I'm a better person than them.
I don't need to be richer. I don't need to have cuter kids. I just need to be a better person than they will ever hope to be. They can click their worn rosary beads together and kneel down before a clay statue of the Virgin Mary and do their prayers until their lips fall off- they are horrible people, and will I never turn out like they do.
At least, I hope I don't.
Book Club: The Hunger Games
I was talked into a book club at work, and naturally I picked the book I most enjoyed reading. Out of 15 women, only 1 person was a negative Nelly about it. When the month was over and it was time to meet again to discuss the book, this is what I put together as my contribution as Host of the Month. (The esteemed title the person whose book we read gets to hold for one meeting.) That person is responsible for snacks for that meeting.
You know how I roll. ;-)
This was the first book club meeting, and since I went first I needed to set the bar high. The Hunger Games was an easy book to draw food ideas from because they spoke in detail about the various foods in the book.
The extra touches I added like the mini parachute packages and the cheese platters are just things I like to do. When you like doing something, it's no longer a chore. Everyone seemed to enjoy what I put together, and I had a really nice time thinking it all up. It kinda makes me wish it were my turn again!
Luckily, the other ladies told me they would be contracting their "turn" for host snacks out to me. Let's see if I can make a little money off this. To be honest, though, a lot of the books these other women picked were pretty boring. I'll see what food ideas I can pull out of them as I read.
As for me: SUCCESS
You know how I roll. ;-)
 |
| If you read the book, you know the Tributes are given gifts from their sponsors via parachute packages. Each one says: "May the odds be ever in your favor!" |
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| I brought snacks mentioned in the book: 3 different types of goat cheese, fresh basil leaves, 2 different types of berries, and some nuts & trail mix. I added little toast points to eat with the cheese, as well as a quince jam just to add a little something extra. THEY LOVED ALL OF IT AND FOUGHT OVER THE LAST BITS OF CHEESE!! |
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| The cookies are supposed to represent the cookies Peeta's dad gave Katniss when he said goodbye to her. |
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| Inside the parachute packages are mini loaves a bread, like what District 9 sent Katniss after what she did for Rue. |
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| They are actually mini loaves of banana cake and crumbled walnuts across the top. |
The extra touches I added like the mini parachute packages and the cheese platters are just things I like to do. When you like doing something, it's no longer a chore. Everyone seemed to enjoy what I put together, and I had a really nice time thinking it all up. It kinda makes me wish it were my turn again!
Luckily, the other ladies told me they would be contracting their "turn" for host snacks out to me. Let's see if I can make a little money off this. To be honest, though, a lot of the books these other women picked were pretty boring. I'll see what food ideas I can pull out of them as I read.
As for me: SUCCESS
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Where's My Motivation?
Have you ever had days where you just couldn't find your motivation? I'm having a month like that. I've been pushing things to the very last minute, which then has me rushing to finish and not do the best I can. I'm finding myself scaling back on my original ideas just to get the cake done, rather than doing it to the best of my ability.
I don't know if I am coming down with something which is cutting into my energy moreso than usual. I don't know if I'm getting ill and just too bummed to go to a doctor because I have to find a new one ever since mine left. Or maybe it's all just in my head.
All I know is that I'm laying in bed finding a million reasons why I don't want to get up and back right now, rather than sucking it up, pouring a Coke, and doing my thing.
I suck.
I don't know if I am coming down with something which is cutting into my energy moreso than usual. I don't know if I'm getting ill and just too bummed to go to a doctor because I have to find a new one ever since mine left. Or maybe it's all just in my head.
All I know is that I'm laying in bed finding a million reasons why I don't want to get up and back right now, rather than sucking it up, pouring a Coke, and doing my thing.
I suck.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Limits
I am always tickled when someone comes to me with some fantastic cake idea that no one else has really approached me with. My Ghostbusters Cake and my "Why U No Like" cake have been two of my most popular pop culture cakes with links and constantly daily hits each day from all around the world.
That same creative mind came back with the biggest challenge I've been handed so far in my Pop Culture Cake career. The Buddy Christ.
At first he wanted a two foot tall cake structure with all the bells and whistles the Buddy Christ sported in the movie Dogma. Dogma is certainly up there in the list of my cinema faves. Snarky view of Catholicism. Kevin Smith. Chris Rock. Jay Mewes. Ben & Matt. And mother fucking Alannis Morrisette as GOD. How the fuck can you NOT love this movie?
I was honest with him and told him I've never done a cake like this before and I doubted I had the talent to pull it off. He came back and asked for a flat, 2D pic on a cake. I agreed. After doing my cake research online I stumbled upon a pretty badass cake done by another baker. I don't know how much of it was actual cake and how much was structure and support. I decided that my cake should consist of a rice crispy treat & fondant Buddy Christ atop an actual cake painted as a pedestal. That seemed pretty fucking badass to me, and I priced it for him and pitched my idea.
My friend went wild. He fucking loved it.
The ball is in my court again. Shit. Did I mention I'm not an actual ARTIST- you know; someone who can look at something and render it well enough to be recognizable to the original? My own shit- sure I can come up with some pretty cakes that I made up in my own head. However, trying to emulate a popular icon or image is hard for me. Certain things can be traced or stenciled easily enough, like Ghostbusters. I struggled with "Why U No Like Me" because even though it's drawn badly- it's still stylized and drawn badly in a very specific way. I can't just go and draw some round head with a big nose with a furrowed brow my own way and just assume people knew what I was trying to copy. It took me two hours to free hand that fucking image, and it still wasn't prefect. Thankfully, it was recognizable enough to be successful.
Buddy Christ. I will have to build an armature out of wire and floral tape. I will have to make some rice crispy treats and slap them onto that armature to built enough support for the heavy fondant, and hope I made the wire part strong so that it won't bend and buckle under the weight of everything.
I've never built an armature before. I've not worked with rice crispy treats. I've never made a one-foot-tall ANYTHING to go on top of a cake. Man, how am I going to do this???
That same creative mind came back with the biggest challenge I've been handed so far in my Pop Culture Cake career. The Buddy Christ.
At first he wanted a two foot tall cake structure with all the bells and whistles the Buddy Christ sported in the movie Dogma. Dogma is certainly up there in the list of my cinema faves. Snarky view of Catholicism. Kevin Smith. Chris Rock. Jay Mewes. Ben & Matt. And mother fucking Alannis Morrisette as GOD. How the fuck can you NOT love this movie?
I was honest with him and told him I've never done a cake like this before and I doubted I had the talent to pull it off. He came back and asked for a flat, 2D pic on a cake. I agreed. After doing my cake research online I stumbled upon a pretty badass cake done by another baker. I don't know how much of it was actual cake and how much was structure and support. I decided that my cake should consist of a rice crispy treat & fondant Buddy Christ atop an actual cake painted as a pedestal. That seemed pretty fucking badass to me, and I priced it for him and pitched my idea.
My friend went wild. He fucking loved it.
The ball is in my court again. Shit. Did I mention I'm not an actual ARTIST- you know; someone who can look at something and render it well enough to be recognizable to the original? My own shit- sure I can come up with some pretty cakes that I made up in my own head. However, trying to emulate a popular icon or image is hard for me. Certain things can be traced or stenciled easily enough, like Ghostbusters. I struggled with "Why U No Like Me" because even though it's drawn badly- it's still stylized and drawn badly in a very specific way. I can't just go and draw some round head with a big nose with a furrowed brow my own way and just assume people knew what I was trying to copy. It took me two hours to free hand that fucking image, and it still wasn't prefect. Thankfully, it was recognizable enough to be successful.
Buddy Christ. I will have to build an armature out of wire and floral tape. I will have to make some rice crispy treats and slap them onto that armature to built enough support for the heavy fondant, and hope I made the wire part strong so that it won't bend and buckle under the weight of everything.
I've never built an armature before. I've not worked with rice crispy treats. I've never made a one-foot-tall ANYTHING to go on top of a cake. Man, how am I going to do this???
Monday, May 7, 2012
Good Deeds
I'm not one who can forget a slight easily. I can hold onto a grudge like a dying man grasping at the last wisps of life, as he's on the cusp of death. When it comes to slights of the heart, I can smile, bury the hatchet, and agree to be civil, but the hurt is still there; sort of festering like black mold.
Through my old friend's in Cali, a really old friend contacted me this morning asking if I knew someone who would be willing to do a mural in their nursery in preparation of their arriving bundle of joy. Their theme? Anime. Baby anime. She named a whole bunch of characters and such that I have no knowledge of, but they were directed at me because my Cali friends told them I was fucking an artist.
Correction: I WAS fucking an artist. (A few, in fact, over time.) Times have changed.
Anyway, they asked if I knew anyone who would be willing to come out to TX to do the deed because they had already spoken to a few potential artists from some local art school and they weren't too happy with anything they saw. At first I didn't think I heard her correctly. They were going to fly someone out to draw on their nursery walls? Seriously? Yes, they replied. All expenses paid. (I guess it really does pays to be a Republican in TX). However, they would prefer someone already in-state or near the West Coast.
As soon as they said it would take place in the Lone Star State, my stomach clenched in knots. I mean, holy hell! Why do I always end up in these moral predicaments?
I know 2 artists in TX. I have, indeed, fucked both of them at one point or another. And they are both fantastic artists, regardless whether or not they were fantastic for me. I put on my big girl panties, and told her this. Although both men have very distinct styles, they are both really awesome at what they do, and personally I leaned more towards the art of one rather than the other just because of personal preference, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and they would ultimately have to make that decision on their own. And ever after that, getting either one of these guys to agree to the gig and hammering out payment was all something she would have to do on her own. I really wanted as little to do with these transaction as possible.
I sent her links to both artists, prefacing that I didn't really know what either was currently up to, and whether or not they would take the job is between her and them- but I would send along a "head's up" note to let them know she would be contacting the one she liked better.
Within 5 minutes, she was calling me back gushing that her husband and her had really liked the one, and they saw a drawing of his that they would like to utilize in the design of the nursery, and if I wouldn't mind contacting him right away. Also, the fact that he would only be in San Antonio for another month lit a match under their ass to try and grab him as soon as possible. She said they were only half an hour away from San Antonio, and she took that as a sign that they made the right choice.
Personally, I would have gone with the other artist, but that's just my point of view. And really, considering that his network connection was coming from the likes of me would have probably earned them a very brisk refusal anyway.
The one they chose does lean more towards a Japanese style when it comes to his drawings. I mean, even the portrait he did of me back in school resembled sexy anime women moreso than me. If Anime is what they want, I understand why they wanted him. It's just not my cup of tea.
I sent a text to TX, and within an hour the artist and expecting parents were connected. San Antonio (as I will affectionately refer to the chosen one) was so stoked about the offer that he told them he would do it for free if they would just pay for his gas and meals and some beer while he worked. I guess he doesn't get many calls for this sort of thing considering the type of work he ultimately went with as his chosen line of employment.
They are meeting up tonight for dinner/drinks (none for the mommy-to-be, of course), and a view of the nursery so he could get started on sketches. They both keep thanking me, and in my belly I have a guilty rumble because it was one of those things I had to talk myself into doing to begin with. I could have easily said I lost touch with them, and I couldn't help her out. It wouldn't be a lie.
But, then I thought about all the jobs I had this weekend. My Avenger's night, Joe Rogan, and all the eating out I did was all paid for by gigs I got by someone being nice enough to connect me with a customer. No one had to give out my name or my card or my website. But, they took the time out and did so, and because of that I got paid and that money went to a lot of things I either needed or wanted.
What kind of a cold bitch would I be to tell a flat out lie and refuse to make a connection for someone else all in the name of avoiding an unpleasant interaction with someone who has been unpleasant towards me? Maybe this one mural will lead to other people wanting murals or end up in some local design look-book. Maybe he ends up meeting someone else who hands him a heap of artsy jobs that finally gives him the go-ahead to leap back into art; something he's always wanted to do. Or maybe he does one awesome mural that makes one family very happy; and his selfishness will ease away just enough for him to be a little less self-centered. That, in itself, would make it all worth it.
I try and do good every day I'm out and about, but the opportunities don't always present themselves, or doing "good" means doing something I really don't want to do. I think that's what makes the deed more meaningful; when you swallow your pride, put aside petty grudges, and do what's right- NO MATTER WHAT.
How many people can honestly say they can do that? Well, today, I did!
Through my old friend's in Cali, a really old friend contacted me this morning asking if I knew someone who would be willing to do a mural in their nursery in preparation of their arriving bundle of joy. Their theme? Anime. Baby anime. She named a whole bunch of characters and such that I have no knowledge of, but they were directed at me because my Cali friends told them I was fucking an artist.
Correction: I WAS fucking an artist. (A few, in fact, over time.) Times have changed.
Anyway, they asked if I knew anyone who would be willing to come out to TX to do the deed because they had already spoken to a few potential artists from some local art school and they weren't too happy with anything they saw. At first I didn't think I heard her correctly. They were going to fly someone out to draw on their nursery walls? Seriously? Yes, they replied. All expenses paid. (I guess it really does pays to be a Republican in TX). However, they would prefer someone already in-state or near the West Coast.
As soon as they said it would take place in the Lone Star State, my stomach clenched in knots. I mean, holy hell! Why do I always end up in these moral predicaments?
I know 2 artists in TX. I have, indeed, fucked both of them at one point or another. And they are both fantastic artists, regardless whether or not they were fantastic for me. I put on my big girl panties, and told her this. Although both men have very distinct styles, they are both really awesome at what they do, and personally I leaned more towards the art of one rather than the other just because of personal preference, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and they would ultimately have to make that decision on their own. And ever after that, getting either one of these guys to agree to the gig and hammering out payment was all something she would have to do on her own. I really wanted as little to do with these transaction as possible.
I sent her links to both artists, prefacing that I didn't really know what either was currently up to, and whether or not they would take the job is between her and them- but I would send along a "head's up" note to let them know she would be contacting the one she liked better.
Within 5 minutes, she was calling me back gushing that her husband and her had really liked the one, and they saw a drawing of his that they would like to utilize in the design of the nursery, and if I wouldn't mind contacting him right away. Also, the fact that he would only be in San Antonio for another month lit a match under their ass to try and grab him as soon as possible. She said they were only half an hour away from San Antonio, and she took that as a sign that they made the right choice.
Personally, I would have gone with the other artist, but that's just my point of view. And really, considering that his network connection was coming from the likes of me would have probably earned them a very brisk refusal anyway.
The one they chose does lean more towards a Japanese style when it comes to his drawings. I mean, even the portrait he did of me back in school resembled sexy anime women moreso than me. If Anime is what they want, I understand why they wanted him. It's just not my cup of tea.
I sent a text to TX, and within an hour the artist and expecting parents were connected. San Antonio (as I will affectionately refer to the chosen one) was so stoked about the offer that he told them he would do it for free if they would just pay for his gas and meals and some beer while he worked. I guess he doesn't get many calls for this sort of thing considering the type of work he ultimately went with as his chosen line of employment.
They are meeting up tonight for dinner/drinks (none for the mommy-to-be, of course), and a view of the nursery so he could get started on sketches. They both keep thanking me, and in my belly I have a guilty rumble because it was one of those things I had to talk myself into doing to begin with. I could have easily said I lost touch with them, and I couldn't help her out. It wouldn't be a lie.
But, then I thought about all the jobs I had this weekend. My Avenger's night, Joe Rogan, and all the eating out I did was all paid for by gigs I got by someone being nice enough to connect me with a customer. No one had to give out my name or my card or my website. But, they took the time out and did so, and because of that I got paid and that money went to a lot of things I either needed or wanted.
What kind of a cold bitch would I be to tell a flat out lie and refuse to make a connection for someone else all in the name of avoiding an unpleasant interaction with someone who has been unpleasant towards me? Maybe this one mural will lead to other people wanting murals or end up in some local design look-book. Maybe he ends up meeting someone else who hands him a heap of artsy jobs that finally gives him the go-ahead to leap back into art; something he's always wanted to do. Or maybe he does one awesome mural that makes one family very happy; and his selfishness will ease away just enough for him to be a little less self-centered. That, in itself, would make it all worth it.
I try and do good every day I'm out and about, but the opportunities don't always present themselves, or doing "good" means doing something I really don't want to do. I think that's what makes the deed more meaningful; when you swallow your pride, put aside petty grudges, and do what's right- NO MATTER WHAT.
How many people can honestly say they can do that? Well, today, I did!
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
YUCK!
My friend's apartment, although quite swanky and lovely, was about 100 degrees and this interview was taken at about 12:30am after scrambling to shoot the stunt cakes and find a new location. I look like ass and my cake is far from perfect, but I think my friend did a really nice job. I hope she gets a good grade....even though I look like ass!
Fumes
Hiya, readers. The baby shower was a success, but the cake was not as pretty as I would have liked it to be. My neice Harley (7 years old) decided she was going to be my sous chef and refused to let me decorate without her by my side every single minute I was in front of the cake. I gave her a few things to try and keep her busy so I could concentrate on making the cake as awesome as I would have envisioned but trying to tell a 7 year old to keep her hands off fondant is like putting a rainbow of playdough in front of a child and telling them they can't touch it. Not gonna happen.
Despite the fact that my cake tasted fantastic, as I was told by everyone except my douchebag relatives who were the subject of my scathing post not too long ago, it still looked like a cake that a 7 year old decorated. Balls. =( I'll see if someone has a pic I can put up later.
I did talk a little business, and I have been contracted to do 200 baked pieces (of my choice) for a grand. Imagine? A thousand friggin' dollars for my own product!!! And I get to travel to DC every other week. I couldn't be more happy. I'll be out of debt and on my own in no time! Granted, these are going to be a lot more sophisticated and larger than my normal ware, but it will be bigger than anything I have done thus far. Packaging will be key, and I'll be investing in some new equipment. I did a quick search and luckily it won't cost that much. Big things are in the works, and I never thought I would ever get to this point where people will actually, truly respect what I do as a professional and be willing to pay me accordingly. I'm still in disbelief how much better things are getting. I guess when you're at the bottom, there's no where to go but UP!
The Hunger Games luncheon I hosted today at my work book club was a big success. I made little "parachute packs" like in the book with a mini banana loaf cake inside, like the one District 9 sent down to Katniss after Rue's fate. I know it was multigrain bread, but who wants to eat a mini loaf of multigrain bread when you can have a mini banana cake? I also came in with 3 different kinds of goat cheese, basil leaves, dried cranberries, blackberries and raspberries. I also brought in a side of mini toasts and chocolate chips (from the Melark Bakery, of course). It was received really well, and I set the bar as high as it would go as far as hosting on the day your book is going to be discussed. As can be anticipated, there were one or two negative nelly's who thought I went overboard and didn't think it was fair to the other people who don't want to do all that. Whatever- I do what I want to do, when I want to do it, and I'm not going to dumb myself down to make someone else feel comfortable.
My friend took footage of my cake deco skills last night at my buddy Jeff's apartment in Forest Hills. He has one of those swanky apartments in the "Blue Light" building, as I like to refer to it. I call it that because every single balcony is illuminated with blue lights. It's one of the most expensive buildings in Forest Hills. The lobby has some grand and gaudy chandelier hanging in there. It looks like you're walking into the Four Seasons instead of an apartment building. We ended up there because our friend ended up flaking on us when it came time to shoot. The climate at my house made it unfit for filming. We were going to drive all the way out to Suffolk to film when she called and hedged. We dropped her like a bad habit and I scrambled to find another kitchen to use. Jeff was awesome enough to allow us to use his space- albeit a tiny kitchen. It was squeaky clean and we were wrapped in about 2 hours. Since he does film work and CGI stuff himself, he was able to help out my friend who was having problems with the equipment. All in all, every shot she took, ever soundbite, and every interview will be whittled down to 2 minutes. I wonder what will be left when it's all said and done?
Up this Saturday is TWO big cakes. I have a baby shower half sheet cake with a penguin made out of cake up top that I have to drive to Wantagh, and I have a 10" hat cake, fashioned in the style of the KY Derby. We'll see how my hat making skills fair.
Between now and then there's the midnight release of the Avengers that a huge group of us will be attending, and I have Joe Rogan on Friday night with another group of people. It doesn't look like I'll be getting any sleep till I get home Saturday afternoon. No biggie. I'll just cancel the date I had planned.
You know you've prioritized your business when making cakes trumps dating. Speaking of which, I did have a little hole inside because I hadn't seen my Doctor before he left for PA. However, he did call me on Friday, asking for one more night out before he left for good on Saturday. Unfortunately, I was already on my way to VA. Ah....life; you fickle bitch.
I was going to see a movie tonight, but it looks like I will be baking all my cakes in prep for Saturday. The lack of rest is certainly catching up to me, but I don't have time for a nap.At least the long train ride let's me get in a few Z's. Can't ask for much more than that!
Despite the fact that my cake tasted fantastic, as I was told by everyone except my douchebag relatives who were the subject of my scathing post not too long ago, it still looked like a cake that a 7 year old decorated. Balls. =( I'll see if someone has a pic I can put up later.
I did talk a little business, and I have been contracted to do 200 baked pieces (of my choice) for a grand. Imagine? A thousand friggin' dollars for my own product!!! And I get to travel to DC every other week. I couldn't be more happy. I'll be out of debt and on my own in no time! Granted, these are going to be a lot more sophisticated and larger than my normal ware, but it will be bigger than anything I have done thus far. Packaging will be key, and I'll be investing in some new equipment. I did a quick search and luckily it won't cost that much. Big things are in the works, and I never thought I would ever get to this point where people will actually, truly respect what I do as a professional and be willing to pay me accordingly. I'm still in disbelief how much better things are getting. I guess when you're at the bottom, there's no where to go but UP!
The Hunger Games luncheon I hosted today at my work book club was a big success. I made little "parachute packs" like in the book with a mini banana loaf cake inside, like the one District 9 sent down to Katniss after Rue's fate. I know it was multigrain bread, but who wants to eat a mini loaf of multigrain bread when you can have a mini banana cake? I also came in with 3 different kinds of goat cheese, basil leaves, dried cranberries, blackberries and raspberries. I also brought in a side of mini toasts and chocolate chips (from the Melark Bakery, of course). It was received really well, and I set the bar as high as it would go as far as hosting on the day your book is going to be discussed. As can be anticipated, there were one or two negative nelly's who thought I went overboard and didn't think it was fair to the other people who don't want to do all that. Whatever- I do what I want to do, when I want to do it, and I'm not going to dumb myself down to make someone else feel comfortable.
My friend took footage of my cake deco skills last night at my buddy Jeff's apartment in Forest Hills. He has one of those swanky apartments in the "Blue Light" building, as I like to refer to it. I call it that because every single balcony is illuminated with blue lights. It's one of the most expensive buildings in Forest Hills. The lobby has some grand and gaudy chandelier hanging in there. It looks like you're walking into the Four Seasons instead of an apartment building. We ended up there because our friend ended up flaking on us when it came time to shoot. The climate at my house made it unfit for filming. We were going to drive all the way out to Suffolk to film when she called and hedged. We dropped her like a bad habit and I scrambled to find another kitchen to use. Jeff was awesome enough to allow us to use his space- albeit a tiny kitchen. It was squeaky clean and we were wrapped in about 2 hours. Since he does film work and CGI stuff himself, he was able to help out my friend who was having problems with the equipment. All in all, every shot she took, ever soundbite, and every interview will be whittled down to 2 minutes. I wonder what will be left when it's all said and done?
Up this Saturday is TWO big cakes. I have a baby shower half sheet cake with a penguin made out of cake up top that I have to drive to Wantagh, and I have a 10" hat cake, fashioned in the style of the KY Derby. We'll see how my hat making skills fair.
Between now and then there's the midnight release of the Avengers that a huge group of us will be attending, and I have Joe Rogan on Friday night with another group of people. It doesn't look like I'll be getting any sleep till I get home Saturday afternoon. No biggie. I'll just cancel the date I had planned.
You know you've prioritized your business when making cakes trumps dating. Speaking of which, I did have a little hole inside because I hadn't seen my Doctor before he left for PA. However, he did call me on Friday, asking for one more night out before he left for good on Saturday. Unfortunately, I was already on my way to VA. Ah....life; you fickle bitch.
I was going to see a movie tonight, but it looks like I will be baking all my cakes in prep for Saturday. The lack of rest is certainly catching up to me, but I don't have time for a nap.At least the long train ride let's me get in a few Z's. Can't ask for much more than that!
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
I'm Ready For My Close-Up
Guess who's going to be video'd baking and making a cake from start to finish? Yours truly, that's who!!!!!
So, my friend is finishing up her last class for journalism and needed a subject for her thesis. Her professor was so impressed with my little cake site, he told her to film ME!!! ME!!!! Can you believe it? Who the heck would ever want my mug in front of a camera? I'm not exactly photogenic.
I'm excited and I'm flattered, and I hope I don't come off looking like a complete idiot. (It happens sometimes.)
So, my friend is finishing up her last class for journalism and needed a subject for her thesis. Her professor was so impressed with my little cake site, he told her to film ME!!! ME!!!! Can you believe it? Who the heck would ever want my mug in front of a camera? I'm not exactly photogenic.
I'm excited and I'm flattered, and I hope I don't come off looking like a complete idiot. (It happens sometimes.)
Monday, April 23, 2012
Just What the Doctor Ordered
My close friends know that I have had an unnatural crush on my primary care physician since I first found him about 7 or 8 years ago. He's young, smart, slim, handsome. I wouldn't call him muscle-bound and hot. He's attractive and handsome in a Dr. Who (10th Doctor, David Tennant) kind of way. In fact, my secret crush of David Tennant may have come about because of my "Doctor", but that's neither here nor there.
Well, I went back in last month for some kinks that I needed to iron out of my aging physique. We chatted as we normally do about life stuff, asking his normal sexual health questions that he starts every check-up with. I answered (that part I'll keep private) and then cracked a joke about the whole thing. Which then segwayed into my weight management and the 15 lbs I have still not been able to drop. We started in on restaurants, all the bad dates I've been on, and the money I'm not making in my business. I used all these factors as the reason my stubborn 15 lbs won't go away.
"Speaking of which," he put his laptop down and looked me dead in the eye very seriously. "I'm kind of in the same boat. Practicing medicine here in NY without a thousand patients is really expensive and I can't do it anymore. I got a very lucrative offer back in my home-state in PA and I'm going to take it."
Not really grasping what he was saying, or maybe I didn't want to understand what he was saying, I blurted out, "Well, your commute is going to be hell! How are you doing to see your patients here and work out of PA at the same time? Is it close, like the Poconos?"
He laughed at me and picked up what I was doing right away.
"Now you know I'm not commuting back and forth. I have to take it. I'm losing money living out here. My practice is growing at a snails pace. People here don't like me because I won't write out scripts like Halloween candy. I always wanted to go back home. This is a good thing."
"Not for me."
I thought I was only crying on the inside. But, my eyes were really welling up, I started to sniffle, and my lip was quivering like a five year old who just discovered Santa wasn't real. To say people walk in and out of my life would be an understatement. Lovers, friends, family...they all come and go and it gets to a point where the hurt left behind is more of a reflex reaction rather than an actual wound anymore. I refuse to believe that a heart can break time and time again and still be able to function as it should. I think the hurt is like blurting out a "bless you" after a sneeze, but not really believing that there's anything there to bless anyone else.
However, my Doctor is the one I come to when I'm broken. He's always there, when I make my appointment or try to get in for some emergency check. And he's patient. Because of everything I put myself through over the last several years, he's the ONLY one who's been there to heal me- for real. I guess I started looking at my Doctor in a more God-like way than most people would. The fact that he's easy on the eyes, incredibly smart, and always wears the right cologne doesn't make it any easier to detach.
He did the rest of the appointment and chattered the whole time about life in NY, and then he mentioned that even though he's been practicing all these years he's been here, he hasn't really done a lot of restaurant exploring. That's when the chef in me kicked in. I asked a million questions about where he's been and what's he's had and what he's liked. Then I asked a million questions about what he hasn't tried and why. Then, to my horror, he mentioned:
"Don't hate me, but I still haven't tried sushi." The look of shock on my face couldn't have been more pronounced. "I know, I know! But, it's always scared me, and I come from a straight meat and potatoes family. And none of the people I've met here have really pushed me to try it so...."
"So, you and I are going out for sushi before you leave." I don't know why I said it, but I probably would have said it to anyone I just met who admitted that they've ever tried something before. "If you really want something special before you go, and it's your first time, and as a tribute to Tribecca, since you work here and everything, I think you need to go to Megu. It's pricey, but not over-the-top credit-check-pricey. The quality is exceptional, and the service is spotless. I think for your Cherry Popping you need to go there."
I told you I can be pushy when it comes to food.
When we finished up with the medical stuff, and I paid my co-pay (Yes, I paid because business is business), and I was dressed again, my Doctor was suddenly standing up, facing me. He's usually really good about personal space and he doesn't do any superfluous touching because he's pretty strict about the whole patient/doctor thing. But, here he was standing within a breath of me.
"I think you're remarkable."
Oh. He does, does he? Is this how PA people say goodbye?
"So then stay in NY and you can be around my remarkable-ness all the time!"
"I can't do that. I already accepted the position and the wheels are already in motion for me to go. I wanted to ask, since this is the last time I'm going to be your physician, would you like to go with me to Megu? You're a professional and since you're giving it such great reviews, I'm guessing you would be a great guide to get me through my first sushi experience..."
"Your first sushi experience should be savored and enjoyed, not just endured or 'gotten through' as you so eloquently put it."
"See? That's what I mean! You turn into a whole other person when it comes to food. You're very no-nonsense and confident about it. I think that's great."
"It's what I know. I'm good at it. Would you stutter if someone asked you to tell them the difference between a paper cut and a staph-inspection?"
"Well, those things really aren't comparable. A paper cut may lead to a staph-infection, but you would never really mistake one for the other...I'm rambling. Yes, I understand what you're trying to say. Are you letting me down easy?"
Letting him down? Holy balls. My secret wet dream just happened: My hot doctor just asked me to go with him to one of my Holy Grail NYC restaurants! Now, was this a date or just a favor or a friend-thing or was I going to show up in my hottest dress to find him waiting for me with his girlfriend or wife or something? I didn't really think to ask. I didn't want to let this opportunity go. Like holding onto the last wisps of a fading dream, I wanted to capture it and grip the mist as long as I could.
"Tomorrow night, right? Yeah, I can swing that. I'll meet you there at 7?"
"Great! It's a date!"
A date? As if he was reading my mind, he leaned down and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. Before I could think of anything suave and witty to say, I took it a step further. Since this is my business/food blog, I'm going to edit here. There are things that were done and risks that were taken that strangers have not earned the right to be privy to. (That's a tale for a different blog!)
Fast forward to the next day, after a quick change at work, I walk down two blocks to find my Doctor waiting for me at the Megu Bar with a lychee martini waiting for me. It was still perfectly chilled, as if he spotted me walking down and had the bartender shake and pour just as I walked through the door. We sipped and talked food and exchanged pleasantries for about a10 minutes before going to the hostess. As relaxing and comforting this get-to-know-you session was, I was freaking out. This restaurant is known for it's rigid, adherence to punctuality, and I knew he made a reservation and I didn't want to miss dinner. I kept glancing towards the stairs to the dining area. Sensing my anxiety and nervousness, he laughed and said, "You really are very...uh...particular about reservations, aren't you?"
"Are you trying to find a polite way of calling me anal?"
"I'm sorry, I won't bring up things you told me in the office again....but you keep looking towards the hostess like we're going to be banished or something."
"I don't mean to." I know I'm anal about reservations, dammit! I won't rehash past scuffles I've had about missed reservations because those battles were indeed epic. "It's just that they are very particular about punctuality here."
"I know. I already spoke to them. They're all ready for us. As soon as you finish your drink, we'll head down there."
This should put me at ease and relax my anxiety about missing our reservations, but it doesn't. I gulp down he rest of my very smooth martini with one swift lift and tilt, and I'm ready for food.
I wish I had spent more time paying attention to the fantastic table my Doctor had secured for us; private but with a fantastic view of the rest of the dining room as well as the decor. Megu is one of the most beautiful restaurants I've ever been. This dinner marked my third time eating there, and each time is more breathtaking than the last when my eyes rake over the style. The chairs are fantastically cushioned and luxurious. The tables are ample and although this dining room can sit a good number of guest, you feel as though each table is in its own world.
To my delight, my Doctor had already requested the Umami menu, which is a 9 courses of whatever the chef decides to serve you, and with that the sake AND the wine pairing. Explaining that he wasn't sure what I would prefer, he decided that I could handle that much liquor along with all the food we were going to get. The fantastic Umami menu consisted of hand-pampered pieces of sashimi , Kobe beef, tempura and various other small bites served on small dishes equal to works of art. After the fourth course, it was clear that these plates were too tiny to be satisfying. He requested a menu and had me go to town on a few additions to this fantastic tasting. He asked the waiter to bring them along with the other courses before the dessert course. The waiter, although happy his tip would be bigger, kept stealing furtive glances at the manager and tried to explain that the Umami menu should be sampled on its own in order to experience the taste journey the chef was trying to convey. We considered this and decided to ask for the extra dishes to come after the Umami line-up, but still before the dessert. I don't think eating dessert after our own additions would really reroute the chef's journey all that much. The waiter looked relieved.
I went ahead and asked for the Habanero Scallop, the Spicy Seared Salmon Belly, and the Diamond Toro. To my utter surprise, he also asked for the Tajima Kobe Beef Chateaubriand, a $230 9oz piece of one of the best pieces of meat I have ever tasted in my entire life. When I questioned whether or not we really needed that piece of sacred, but unholy-expensive meat, he smiled and said, "I'm eating all this sushi for the first time, and I think I'm doing a pretty good job at it. Don't you think I deserve a nice piece of steak?"
What can I say about the food at Megu that I haven't said about other delicious creations that I've had at other fine NY establishments? It was all good. However, the portions are small and the prices are astronomical. I worried that the three extra rolls would be too much but after all that, he had me add three more sashimi pieces to our meal before dessert. I ordered the Uni & Quail Egg, the Tuna Seared Chu Toro, and when I hesitated for a moment on the third he chose the Osetra Caviar.
We rounded off the meal with the famous Lady M Green Tea Crepe. I've had it before and it was good. We also had some tea.
The excess of alcohol, food, and fine service did not compare to the never-falter conversation between the Doctor and myself. It's true, good food can really only be enjoyed in the company of someone as equally pleasing. Truly. He sampled and ate every single piece of raw fish set in front of him. If someone is going to have sushi for the first time, and is unsure whether or not he'll like it, taking him to one of the best Japanese restaurants in the city really helps introducing him to the daunting task. There were some that he enjoyed more than others, and the Uni was a texture he was fighting to like. I told him it was one of those things that chefs go nuts over. He politely said that maybe he would enjoy it the next time. Smartly, he would taste the sushi and then cleanse his palate with another type of dish between each one; like the Kobe beef or a piece of crispy asparagus. He chewed slowly, tasting every element of each dish, commenting on what he enjoyed and what he did not. He was surprised that he really liked the freshly grated Japanese wasabi. I warned him that not every sushi joint would import it's own fresh wasabi, and he should expect the neon green reconstituted paste in the future from other places- which is the norm. I've never had the pleasure of introducing a food to someone who had never tried it before and watch him savor each bite, consider the pros and cons, and make a truly educated opinion on whether he liked it or not, AND vowing to try the dishes he didn't like once again to make sure he really didn't like them. At the end of the night, he decided he loved sushi. Once again, I warned him that Megu is at the top of the food chain when it comes to sushi and he should not expect this level of quality from places that charge a fraction of the price he was paying here.
After Megu, he asked if I wanted another drink at the lounge above. I couldn't drink another drop of anything. He asked if I wanted dessert at any special place in the city. I couldn't fathom putting another taste of anything between my lips.
"What do we do now? I don't want tonight to end yet." If he was any other guy I would have taken that as a really cheeseball, douchebag line that guys throw out to get me to sleep with him. For the right guy on the right night- it would work.
Another edit. We found ourselves decked out in the super soft bath robes of the Duane Street Hotel. We watched old movies while cushioned on the softest sheets my skin has ever touched. I half-expected to wake up from some fantastic dream brought on by a fleeting thought right before drifting off to sleep. But, when I did wake up, I was still in this beautiful hotel room and my Doctor was laying there beside me.
I want my story to end with a paragraph telling you he decided to stay in New York and we have a date tonight. Life doesn't let me write too many tidy endings, though. Alas, the dinner was not something I have ever experienced before- the decadence, the price, and then the ending at the hotel- it's the stuff that movies are made of, but I am not exactly the type of girl cast as the leading lady. Why do I finally get to have a very lovely dream come true only to have it happen with the restriction that it can only last one night?
I finally did experience what "the other half" get to have. Ordering expensive meals without ever glancing at the prices. Sharing it with the epitome of the word "gentleman". And then ending with some romantic scene out of a classic love story at a very swanky boutique hotel. Money. Security. Love. Is this how that other half feels when they wake up every morning?
So, as it is, my ever-present sense of guilt is still reeling from the price. I didn't get to see the bill at all. All I know is that he barely glanced at it before tucking his credit card into the case. Here's a general idea of what he may have spent:
Umami 9-course Menu: $185 x2
Sake Pairing: $75 x2
6-Kind Wine Pairing: $90 x2
Habanero Scallop: $9 x2
Spicy Seared Salmon Belly: $18
Diamond Toro: $18
Tajima Kobe Beef Chateaubriand: $230
Uni & Quail Egg: $12 x2
Tuna Seared Chu Toro: $14 x2
Osetra Caviar: $36 x2
Green Tea Crepe: ???
Tea: $6 x2
Never, in my entire life, has anyone ever spent so much money to eat with me before. I know I didn't have to go back to the hotel with him after. I know doing so looks like I "paid" for my dinner in other ways. However, I go with my gut and my gut lead me to believe that every step I took that night was the right one. And, for me, it was.
It's been weeks now since this all happened. I wouldn't change a thing. He's on his way to PA for good. There were no promises made or silly "maybe's" thrown out there. I don't even know if I'm going to see him again before he leaves for good. It seems to be the norm that men I hold on a higher pedestal sort of slink out of town without a look backwards. I think it makes the goodbye easier to deal with and gives it more of a finality. I mean, my ex Kris, stopped by before heading out to TX a couple of months ago and that "closure" he wanted from me only seemed to fuel his need to call and text every other night to "talk". After the 3rd call, it seemed more like a long-distance lover calling to check in rather than a friend seeking an understanding voice on the other end of the line. I learned that some breaks are better made cleanly, without another thought of ever crossing paths again.
That's how I see my Doctor. I got what I wanted for the first time EVER. That never happens to people like me. There is always some hitch, some snag, a reason why it cannot be. I had the pinnacle of culinary experiences, allowing me to teach someone who was willing to learn, sample some of the most luxurious food this city has to offer without a thought to the cost, and ending it the way fairytales tell us those kinds of evenings should end. The glass slippers were awesome to wear- but for one night only. I put them back on the shelf I found them on, and I tied up my Converse in the light of the morning sun. But, I did so with a very content smile on my face.
Thanks, Doc.
Well, I went back in last month for some kinks that I needed to iron out of my aging physique. We chatted as we normally do about life stuff, asking his normal sexual health questions that he starts every check-up with. I answered (that part I'll keep private) and then cracked a joke about the whole thing. Which then segwayed into my weight management and the 15 lbs I have still not been able to drop. We started in on restaurants, all the bad dates I've been on, and the money I'm not making in my business. I used all these factors as the reason my stubborn 15 lbs won't go away.
"Speaking of which," he put his laptop down and looked me dead in the eye very seriously. "I'm kind of in the same boat. Practicing medicine here in NY without a thousand patients is really expensive and I can't do it anymore. I got a very lucrative offer back in my home-state in PA and I'm going to take it."
Not really grasping what he was saying, or maybe I didn't want to understand what he was saying, I blurted out, "Well, your commute is going to be hell! How are you doing to see your patients here and work out of PA at the same time? Is it close, like the Poconos?"
He laughed at me and picked up what I was doing right away.
"Now you know I'm not commuting back and forth. I have to take it. I'm losing money living out here. My practice is growing at a snails pace. People here don't like me because I won't write out scripts like Halloween candy. I always wanted to go back home. This is a good thing."
"Not for me."
I thought I was only crying on the inside. But, my eyes were really welling up, I started to sniffle, and my lip was quivering like a five year old who just discovered Santa wasn't real. To say people walk in and out of my life would be an understatement. Lovers, friends, family...they all come and go and it gets to a point where the hurt left behind is more of a reflex reaction rather than an actual wound anymore. I refuse to believe that a heart can break time and time again and still be able to function as it should. I think the hurt is like blurting out a "bless you" after a sneeze, but not really believing that there's anything there to bless anyone else.
However, my Doctor is the one I come to when I'm broken. He's always there, when I make my appointment or try to get in for some emergency check. And he's patient. Because of everything I put myself through over the last several years, he's the ONLY one who's been there to heal me- for real. I guess I started looking at my Doctor in a more God-like way than most people would. The fact that he's easy on the eyes, incredibly smart, and always wears the right cologne doesn't make it any easier to detach.
He did the rest of the appointment and chattered the whole time about life in NY, and then he mentioned that even though he's been practicing all these years he's been here, he hasn't really done a lot of restaurant exploring. That's when the chef in me kicked in. I asked a million questions about where he's been and what's he's had and what he's liked. Then I asked a million questions about what he hasn't tried and why. Then, to my horror, he mentioned:
"Don't hate me, but I still haven't tried sushi." The look of shock on my face couldn't have been more pronounced. "I know, I know! But, it's always scared me, and I come from a straight meat and potatoes family. And none of the people I've met here have really pushed me to try it so...."
"So, you and I are going out for sushi before you leave." I don't know why I said it, but I probably would have said it to anyone I just met who admitted that they've ever tried something before. "If you really want something special before you go, and it's your first time, and as a tribute to Tribecca, since you work here and everything, I think you need to go to Megu. It's pricey, but not over-the-top credit-check-pricey. The quality is exceptional, and the service is spotless. I think for your Cherry Popping you need to go there."
I told you I can be pushy when it comes to food.
When we finished up with the medical stuff, and I paid my co-pay (Yes, I paid because business is business), and I was dressed again, my Doctor was suddenly standing up, facing me. He's usually really good about personal space and he doesn't do any superfluous touching because he's pretty strict about the whole patient/doctor thing. But, here he was standing within a breath of me.
"I think you're remarkable."
Oh. He does, does he? Is this how PA people say goodbye?
"So then stay in NY and you can be around my remarkable-ness all the time!"
"I can't do that. I already accepted the position and the wheels are already in motion for me to go. I wanted to ask, since this is the last time I'm going to be your physician, would you like to go with me to Megu? You're a professional and since you're giving it such great reviews, I'm guessing you would be a great guide to get me through my first sushi experience..."
"Your first sushi experience should be savored and enjoyed, not just endured or 'gotten through' as you so eloquently put it."
"See? That's what I mean! You turn into a whole other person when it comes to food. You're very no-nonsense and confident about it. I think that's great."
"It's what I know. I'm good at it. Would you stutter if someone asked you to tell them the difference between a paper cut and a staph-inspection?"
"Well, those things really aren't comparable. A paper cut may lead to a staph-infection, but you would never really mistake one for the other...I'm rambling. Yes, I understand what you're trying to say. Are you letting me down easy?"
Letting him down? Holy balls. My secret wet dream just happened: My hot doctor just asked me to go with him to one of my Holy Grail NYC restaurants! Now, was this a date or just a favor or a friend-thing or was I going to show up in my hottest dress to find him waiting for me with his girlfriend or wife or something? I didn't really think to ask. I didn't want to let this opportunity go. Like holding onto the last wisps of a fading dream, I wanted to capture it and grip the mist as long as I could.
"Tomorrow night, right? Yeah, I can swing that. I'll meet you there at 7?"
"Great! It's a date!"
A date? As if he was reading my mind, he leaned down and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. Before I could think of anything suave and witty to say, I took it a step further. Since this is my business/food blog, I'm going to edit here. There are things that were done and risks that were taken that strangers have not earned the right to be privy to. (That's a tale for a different blog!)
Fast forward to the next day, after a quick change at work, I walk down two blocks to find my Doctor waiting for me at the Megu Bar with a lychee martini waiting for me. It was still perfectly chilled, as if he spotted me walking down and had the bartender shake and pour just as I walked through the door. We sipped and talked food and exchanged pleasantries for about a10 minutes before going to the hostess. As relaxing and comforting this get-to-know-you session was, I was freaking out. This restaurant is known for it's rigid, adherence to punctuality, and I knew he made a reservation and I didn't want to miss dinner. I kept glancing towards the stairs to the dining area. Sensing my anxiety and nervousness, he laughed and said, "You really are very...uh...particular about reservations, aren't you?"
"Are you trying to find a polite way of calling me anal?"
"I'm sorry, I won't bring up things you told me in the office again....but you keep looking towards the hostess like we're going to be banished or something."
"I don't mean to." I know I'm anal about reservations, dammit! I won't rehash past scuffles I've had about missed reservations because those battles were indeed epic. "It's just that they are very particular about punctuality here."
"I know. I already spoke to them. They're all ready for us. As soon as you finish your drink, we'll head down there."
This should put me at ease and relax my anxiety about missing our reservations, but it doesn't. I gulp down he rest of my very smooth martini with one swift lift and tilt, and I'm ready for food.
I wish I had spent more time paying attention to the fantastic table my Doctor had secured for us; private but with a fantastic view of the rest of the dining room as well as the decor. Megu is one of the most beautiful restaurants I've ever been. This dinner marked my third time eating there, and each time is more breathtaking than the last when my eyes rake over the style. The chairs are fantastically cushioned and luxurious. The tables are ample and although this dining room can sit a good number of guest, you feel as though each table is in its own world.
To my delight, my Doctor had already requested the Umami menu, which is a 9 courses of whatever the chef decides to serve you, and with that the sake AND the wine pairing. Explaining that he wasn't sure what I would prefer, he decided that I could handle that much liquor along with all the food we were going to get. The fantastic Umami menu consisted of hand-pampered pieces of sashimi , Kobe beef, tempura and various other small bites served on small dishes equal to works of art. After the fourth course, it was clear that these plates were too tiny to be satisfying. He requested a menu and had me go to town on a few additions to this fantastic tasting. He asked the waiter to bring them along with the other courses before the dessert course. The waiter, although happy his tip would be bigger, kept stealing furtive glances at the manager and tried to explain that the Umami menu should be sampled on its own in order to experience the taste journey the chef was trying to convey. We considered this and decided to ask for the extra dishes to come after the Umami line-up, but still before the dessert. I don't think eating dessert after our own additions would really reroute the chef's journey all that much. The waiter looked relieved.
I went ahead and asked for the Habanero Scallop, the Spicy Seared Salmon Belly, and the Diamond Toro. To my utter surprise, he also asked for the Tajima Kobe Beef Chateaubriand, a $230 9oz piece of one of the best pieces of meat I have ever tasted in my entire life. When I questioned whether or not we really needed that piece of sacred, but unholy-expensive meat, he smiled and said, "I'm eating all this sushi for the first time, and I think I'm doing a pretty good job at it. Don't you think I deserve a nice piece of steak?"
What can I say about the food at Megu that I haven't said about other delicious creations that I've had at other fine NY establishments? It was all good. However, the portions are small and the prices are astronomical. I worried that the three extra rolls would be too much but after all that, he had me add three more sashimi pieces to our meal before dessert. I ordered the Uni & Quail Egg, the Tuna Seared Chu Toro, and when I hesitated for a moment on the third he chose the Osetra Caviar.
We rounded off the meal with the famous Lady M Green Tea Crepe. I've had it before and it was good. We also had some tea.
The excess of alcohol, food, and fine service did not compare to the never-falter conversation between the Doctor and myself. It's true, good food can really only be enjoyed in the company of someone as equally pleasing. Truly. He sampled and ate every single piece of raw fish set in front of him. If someone is going to have sushi for the first time, and is unsure whether or not he'll like it, taking him to one of the best Japanese restaurants in the city really helps introducing him to the daunting task. There were some that he enjoyed more than others, and the Uni was a texture he was fighting to like. I told him it was one of those things that chefs go nuts over. He politely said that maybe he would enjoy it the next time. Smartly, he would taste the sushi and then cleanse his palate with another type of dish between each one; like the Kobe beef or a piece of crispy asparagus. He chewed slowly, tasting every element of each dish, commenting on what he enjoyed and what he did not. He was surprised that he really liked the freshly grated Japanese wasabi. I warned him that not every sushi joint would import it's own fresh wasabi, and he should expect the neon green reconstituted paste in the future from other places- which is the norm. I've never had the pleasure of introducing a food to someone who had never tried it before and watch him savor each bite, consider the pros and cons, and make a truly educated opinion on whether he liked it or not, AND vowing to try the dishes he didn't like once again to make sure he really didn't like them. At the end of the night, he decided he loved sushi. Once again, I warned him that Megu is at the top of the food chain when it comes to sushi and he should not expect this level of quality from places that charge a fraction of the price he was paying here.
After Megu, he asked if I wanted another drink at the lounge above. I couldn't drink another drop of anything. He asked if I wanted dessert at any special place in the city. I couldn't fathom putting another taste of anything between my lips.
"What do we do now? I don't want tonight to end yet." If he was any other guy I would have taken that as a really cheeseball, douchebag line that guys throw out to get me to sleep with him. For the right guy on the right night- it would work.
Another edit. We found ourselves decked out in the super soft bath robes of the Duane Street Hotel. We watched old movies while cushioned on the softest sheets my skin has ever touched. I half-expected to wake up from some fantastic dream brought on by a fleeting thought right before drifting off to sleep. But, when I did wake up, I was still in this beautiful hotel room and my Doctor was laying there beside me.
I want my story to end with a paragraph telling you he decided to stay in New York and we have a date tonight. Life doesn't let me write too many tidy endings, though. Alas, the dinner was not something I have ever experienced before- the decadence, the price, and then the ending at the hotel- it's the stuff that movies are made of, but I am not exactly the type of girl cast as the leading lady. Why do I finally get to have a very lovely dream come true only to have it happen with the restriction that it can only last one night?
I finally did experience what "the other half" get to have. Ordering expensive meals without ever glancing at the prices. Sharing it with the epitome of the word "gentleman". And then ending with some romantic scene out of a classic love story at a very swanky boutique hotel. Money. Security. Love. Is this how that other half feels when they wake up every morning?
So, as it is, my ever-present sense of guilt is still reeling from the price. I didn't get to see the bill at all. All I know is that he barely glanced at it before tucking his credit card into the case. Here's a general idea of what he may have spent:
Umami 9-course Menu: $185 x2
Sake Pairing: $75 x2
6-Kind Wine Pairing: $90 x2
Habanero Scallop: $9 x2
Spicy Seared Salmon Belly: $18
Diamond Toro: $18
Tajima Kobe Beef Chateaubriand: $230
Uni & Quail Egg: $12 x2
Tuna Seared Chu Toro: $14 x2
Osetra Caviar: $36 x2
Green Tea Crepe: ???
Tea: $6 x2
Never, in my entire life, has anyone ever spent so much money to eat with me before. I know I didn't have to go back to the hotel with him after. I know doing so looks like I "paid" for my dinner in other ways. However, I go with my gut and my gut lead me to believe that every step I took that night was the right one. And, for me, it was.
It's been weeks now since this all happened. I wouldn't change a thing. He's on his way to PA for good. There were no promises made or silly "maybe's" thrown out there. I don't even know if I'm going to see him again before he leaves for good. It seems to be the norm that men I hold on a higher pedestal sort of slink out of town without a look backwards. I think it makes the goodbye easier to deal with and gives it more of a finality. I mean, my ex Kris, stopped by before heading out to TX a couple of months ago and that "closure" he wanted from me only seemed to fuel his need to call and text every other night to "talk". After the 3rd call, it seemed more like a long-distance lover calling to check in rather than a friend seeking an understanding voice on the other end of the line. I learned that some breaks are better made cleanly, without another thought of ever crossing paths again.
That's how I see my Doctor. I got what I wanted for the first time EVER. That never happens to people like me. There is always some hitch, some snag, a reason why it cannot be. I had the pinnacle of culinary experiences, allowing me to teach someone who was willing to learn, sample some of the most luxurious food this city has to offer without a thought to the cost, and ending it the way fairytales tell us those kinds of evenings should end. The glass slippers were awesome to wear- but for one night only. I put them back on the shelf I found them on, and I tied up my Converse in the light of the morning sun. But, I did so with a very content smile on my face.
Thanks, Doc.
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