My 14 year-old daughter says to me yesterday, "You know what's cool about butts?"
"Lots of things?" I say after overpondering.
"Well, true, but the coolest thing about butts is that it's the sexy part on the body that everyone has."
"True, although I'm not sure that all butts qualify as sexy."
"I guess not," she concedes, "but at least they have the potential to be."
Gawd I love this kid.
She's actually kinda mean. But that is a rant for a different day.
So I was just having a little snack-attack and decided to bust out the Pineapple Coconut Haagen Dazs that was purchased just this last week. I put a scoop and a half into a medium-sized bowl (I know, in my last post I claimed to "almost never" eat my ice cream out of a dish...here's the sitch: if said ice cream is being consumed a la carte, then it is done so with a teaspoon directly from the carton; when said ice cream is on something or with something, it goes into a dish. kthx).
I then nuked me some Dulce de Leche sauce, busted up some pecan halves, and sliced up a banana for on top. (You think this is a glamorous snack? Ask my mean mom about the time I came home from school, in the seventh grade, and cooked myself up some lobster tails with drawn butter for a snack...).
But as I'm slicing my banana for the top 'o my snack fest, I have this really vivid memory of my mom slicing bananas for the top of my cereal and how I used to marvel at how incredibly fast she'd slice that banana and how she never cut her thumb that she'd use to stop the knife with (nevermind that it was a butter knife - I was pretty wee and all I knew was knife). My mom might have done some good stuff during my childhood, but what I remember when I think of her being amazing is how supah dupah fastly she'd cut that banana and how each and every slice appeared to be the exact same width and how they'd be so perfectly evenly sprinkled across my cereal.
Man, I seriously thought my mom was a culinary genius!
But then I grew up and became kinda culinary genius-ish myself. And I am sad to report that my mom ("whatsa risotto?" "is it EYE-talian?") don't know so much about cooking stuffs.
I am also sad to report that the superfast slicing of a banana is really fucking easy.
So, I'm a major whore for expensive ice cream. Shamelessly. And when I was at the Fred Meyer the other day and I had to cruise down the frozen confection aisle on my way out (*confession*: it was grossly out of my way to cruise the frozen goodness, but oh-so-worth-it). Hooray, they had the Haagen Dazs on sale two fer $6 (although it used to be two fer $5 - nothing slips by me, when it comes to ice cream) and it'd be a shame if I walked on by without getting me some of that action.
I peruse the flavors of the mostly picked over pints. Anyone conducting research on the favored flavors of euro-ice cream of the Hawthorne district would have some seriously concrete data here. My inner researcher began to wonder what the pickings over of another, very different, Portland neighborhood would reveal.
I instantly grabbed one of my warm weather faves, Pineapple Coconut, and let it fall into my red basket. Then, for my next pint, I stood there with the freezer door open, vacillating wildly between my other faves for a second choice.
Should I get Dulce de Leche (one of my all-time favorites)?
Coffee (an oldie, but a goodie)?
Creme Brulee?
A sorbet (nah, too healthy)?
Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough (hmmm, haven't had that one in awhile)?
Chocolate Peanut Butter?
Mango?
They seemed to be out of Pistachio (freakin' hippie neighborhood)...
I pick up the yummy Dulce de Leche and throw it into my basket.
I walk maybe two feet away from the freezer and make an about face, pulling the completely fogged-up freezer door back open. I put dear Dulce de Leche back in her spot and pick up Mango, thinking it will go nicely with the Pineapple Coconut (mmmm).
I'm maybe at the end of the aisle when I decide that I might not be in a fruity mood and should have one fruited option (thus, Pineapple Coconut) and one non-fruited option (thus, not Mango). I walk my logical self back down the aisle and re-reopen the freezer door, which is still fogged up.
I stand there for what probably looks to others like a ridiculously long time to make an ice cream-related decision.
At this point I must be literally weighing the pros and cons of each and every remaining flavor that has not had a quickie tour of the innards of my red grocery basket. After what feels like about ten minutes or so, I pressure myself into making a final decision because I'm mortified with myself for taking longer to pick out ice cream than it will take to eat it.
I grab the Chocolate Chip Cookie dough, throw it into the cart and quickly powerwalk toward the checkout. Now, at this point, you'd think I'd be more concerned about PTSD at the Fred Meyer checkout (see also this post) than whether or not I'd made the right decision in my ice cream purchases.
I hesitate for the briefest moment before plunking my embarassing array of goods (ice cream, these Little Debbies Ho-Ho-like things that were supposed to be Ding Dongs, and two bags of these awesome Cheetos "natural" white cheddar puffs - nope, not stoned), thinking maybe I should go back and swap out the Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream for something else.
Then I just came to my senses and paid the man and then got the hell out of there before I could change my mind again.
Flash forward to Sunday when I am touring wine country and sampling many many lovely pinot noirs with my beloved, along with Karen and Patrick. Somehow the subject of ice cream comes up and we end up talking about the Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough flavor.
Flash forward to Sunday evening after wine tasting and I have a vicious hankering for something sweet. I remember the convo of earlier and head for the freezer to have myself some Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream.
Wha the fuh???????
After digging at least 35% of the way into the pint (I almost NEVER eat ice cream out of dishes), I have yet to encounter anything even remotely resembling chocolate chip cookie dough. Okay, well, that's a half-lie, as I did encounter approximately four randomly placed chocolate chips. I double check the label to make sure I hadn't purchased Vanilla Chip.
Nope, label says Cookie Dough on it, plain and simple. So where's my blasted cookie dough, then? I take my ice cream consumption very seriously and this is so not funny. I set the pint down on the counter so it can get all melty-like and I can then give it a proper probing. I figure the ice cream must have melted at some point and all of those heavy globs of cookie dough must have sunk to the bottom and then the ice cream was refrozen and nobody figured I'd be the wiser.
Well, the cookie dough globules were at the bottom alright - all freakin' TWO of 'em!!! Now, if I'd wanted Vanilla ice cream with a few scattered chips and only two miniscule dollops of cookie dough then, damn it, I would have purchased that. But I did not. I purchased Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough and what I got was a scanty imposter. I been robbed.
I can assure you that this most dissatisfied consumer will be contacting Haagen Dazs brass - stat - and informing them of the errors of their cheapass ways. Should I tell them that I have never ever stumbled upon such a calamity when indulging in Ben & Jerry's? Nah, I'll use that as a last resort after I give them an opportunity to make good.
Between tax refunds and birthday money, I'm prepping for something of a mini-shopping spree and, consulting my virtual wishlist:
iPod
digital camera
KitchenAid mixer
dutch oven
scanner
I decide to do some online searches for KitchenAid mixers to see if I can get a cheap one if I'm willing to have an ugly color (read pale pink). I then realize that there's no way in hell I'd buy a pale pink KitchenAid mixer - I'd have flashbacks of my Barbie-overload childhood to be sure. Then I see an awesome lime green one that I want most of all and it would look fabulous in my kitchen, which has white tile, stainless steel fridge, black counter-top appliances (coffee maker, grinder, espresso machine, convection oven) and paprika walls (yes, the color is really called "paprika" - it's a Miller Devine shade).
Anyway, I'm on Amazon comparing some prices and I realize that my search for "KitchenAid mixer" somehow turned up several non-mixer items, but that there are links available in categories such as: "all KitchenAid," "coffee and espresso," "mixers" and I click on "mixers."
And do you know what happens???
I get a page of recomendations of a couple of Bauhaus cds, a Joy Division cd, and a Tones on Tail cd - all of which I already own.
I even replicated the search thinking that I must've done something wrong or inadvertently hit a button, link or key that caused the snafu...But got the same results again.
Talk about randomness.
May 11 was the one-year anniversary of the death of my dear maternal grandmother (see also this post) and as I was speaking to my biodad (not to be confused with my dad, who is my dad - he raised me, taught me, helped me through school, has been emotionally supportive when I needed it most, helped me become me - he has done everything a father should do and so much more, but he was not the one to initially create me...hmm, I see my future Father's Day post here) on the telephone, he told me that his mother (who was, I think, 93 years old) was not doing so well and he believes her to be near the end.
Instantly, I thought to myself that it would be so bizarre if she passed on this day, the exact same day one year later than my maternal grandmother...but I did not utter that thought aloud, as it seemed inappropriate and somehow morbid. Instead, I offered words of support and assurance to my biodad (who I have really only known for about two and half years but, again, this is the subject of another post). I reminded him that she has lived a long, wonderful and happy life and is fortunate that she is still rather healthy and not in pain. He expressed regret that she never really got to know me and I was touched by this - it felt very kind and warm, hearing this.
This conversation reminded me of how important it is to value the people around us who really matter and to tell them that they are loved. I made a point of telling my wonderful wife and fabulous daughter how loved they are and how much I treasure them both. I vowed to myself that I will spend the summer devoting much quality time to those I love the most and that I will let my loved ones know how wonderful I think they are.
I have some regrets that I had some friction with my grandmother a few months before she passed away (I regrettably refer you to this post ) and am happy that I put that behind me and spent some quality time with her before she was gone.
Later that day, I learned that my paternal grandmother passed away earlier in the day. Yes, the exact same day (albeit one year later) that my maternal grandmother had passed away. So, to Dorothy, who I did not know very well at all, I remember you with warmth and love in my heart and may you rest in peace.
*A Grasshopper is a nasty drink that my grandmother used to concoct in the blender around Christmastime. On the day she died, last year, I bought all of the ingredients for this libation and proceeded to whip up a batch in her honor.
Grasshopper
1 1/2 oz. Green Creme de Menthe
3/4 oz. White Creme de Cacao
3 oz. half-and-half
Combine in blender with about one cup of ice. Blend until smooth and then pour into a parfait or margarita glass. Enjoy, if possible. (Note: does not glow in the dark).
I got carded at dinner tonight!!
Silly waitress. She looked at my driver's license for a LONG time, too. Was she high? I mean, I know that I don't look my age, but I certainly don't look like I'm under 21, for Pete's sake! 31 maybe, but not 21...
A friend of mine whose name I ought not mention says that I should join the "Minus Ten Club" in which all participants lie about their age, subtracting ten years from the real number. Eh, sure, why the hell not?
Yay for 30!
It is the end of the term right now, which means much time being spent doing MAJOR PROJECTS for both of my classes (those would be: LIS 537 "Construction of Indexing Languages" and LIS 580 "Management for Information Professionals") and not as much time doing really fun stuff like reading, keeping up on American Idol news, utilizing the gift certificates I received for my birthday, consuming libations with friends, cooking, bloggin', perfecting my Portland urban walking tour, going to the farmer's market, building my cd tower annex, painting the rest of our house, making Kombucha, washing my car, learning sign language and more Spanish, talking J into letting us get Netflix, shopping for super cool stuff on Etsy and yoga.
Alas, "Construction of Indexing Languages" is not as easy as it sounds and "Management for Information Professionals" is, indeed, as boring as it sounds (no, wait, even more so). Both classes involve ginormous group projects that have been the focus of the entire term. I HATE group projects! Invariably, there is always one member of the group who is a major slacker (as is the case in one of my groups) and there is always someone who is way too serious and creates stressful energy where it could be fun (as is the case in my other group). The lack of cohesion in both groups gets me down and I just want to do all of the work myself and not have to rely on other people.
Right now, the success or failure of one of the ginormous projects is dependent upon the least dependable group member(let's call her Cathy).
This is causing me to lose sleep and have aches in my tummy and my head. What if she doesn't come through? Should the rest of the group conspire to put a "plan B" in place? Should we just make stuff up and hope that the professor does not fact-check? I don't know Cathy that well and am not one hundred percent certain if this is her typical M.O.or if we just caught her on a bad term or something. She keeps making excuses as to why she hasn't done things and the rest of us have been picking up the slack (well, in all honesty, Heather's been doing most of the work - that girl should change her middle name to "Initiative"! Ooh, wait, I do not know Heather's middle name -although it seems as though she has told me this already- maybe it IS Initiative!?!?!).
Problem is, Cathy is our lifeline to our contact "mentor" who will review our management project and offer her professional opinion. But Cathy doesn't respond to emails, then Mentor is supposedly on vacation (a two-week one, of course), then Cathy is sick, and now it's the minimal email response again. I wonder what would happen if another member of the group were to contact Mentor...What would happen if we did that and Mentor had no idea what we were talking about? What if Cathy hasn't done ANY of the things she said she'd do and the rest of us are sitting here waiting for her to do her part in interviewing Mentor and it's not gonna happen? I sorta just wish I could fire Cathy - I know that sounds cruel, but -hell- it's a management class and we can't manage our project with her ineptitude.
In all fairness, she needs to be spoken to, just like a "problem employee" would be...Ugh. I don't want to be the one to have to do that, but it's not exactly fair to have anyone else do it just because I don't like to. And while I know that Heather is as frustrated with Cathy as I am, I'm not sure that Lita, our other group member, is as frustrated with Cathy as we are. I feel like I'm on the show Survivor and I'm creating alliances and wanting someone else voted off of the island.
So, should Heather and I approach Lita with our concerns and see how she feels about Cathy and, provided that she shares our frustrations, approach Cathy as a group? What if Lita feels differently? And how much more leighway should Cathy be given before we take action?
Have I mentioned that I hate group projects?
June 7th can not come soon enough.
For sale: one teen
Brainy, but spacey; will occasionally do chores if asked; remarkable eye-rolling skillz; can go from exuberant to mad/sad/bad in less than two seconds; likes animals (but none of the responsibilities that come along with having one); will consider all offers on some days.
I hadn’t really forgotten to get my mom a Mother’s Day gift; I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. And never mind that it was 10am ON Mother’s Day – I wasn’t going to her house until around 4pm anyway.
So I run to the Fred Meyer to pick up some vegetables to grill that evening at my mom’s – since my daughter, K, is a vegequarium* and I guarantee that the non-meat offerings will be minimal and carb-heavy, rather than fruit/vegetable heavy.
As I start to drive past the garden center, I notice all of the lovely fuchsia plants hanging from the eaves. My mom loves those and I get her one every year, so I make a note to self to stop by there after picking up my groceries and pick out a nice fuchsia plant for Mom.
With about $20 worth of grillable vegetables filling two plastic grocery bags, I roam the aisles of the garden center comparing each and every fuchsia plant so that I can give my Mom the best one there. I narrow it down to two: one of the purple and white color scheme and the other is purple and fuchsia. I decide that they call ‘em fuchsias for a reason and opt for the purple and fuchsia combo. I head toward the makeshift cashier area and stand behind a tall older gentleman with a shopping cart, who is being assisted by the cashier. I put the heavy and awkward fuchsia plant down on my left side, but continue to hold my two bags of groceries on my right.
After about five minutes, the older gentleman in front of me begins to steer his cart away back into the garden center and I realize that I should be standing on the other side of the makeshift cashier stand in order for the cashier to ring me up. I pick up my fuchsia plant and begin to walk toward the counter. But before I can do so, a man of 60 or so hanging onto his last smidgeon of hairline and what appears to be his teen daughter step in front of me with their purchase. When I notice that the cashier is helping them first, I decide to speak up for myself.
“Um, excuse me, am I invisible?”
“No, you’re a pushy bitch.” Receding Hairline clearly has an issue with women standing up for themselves.
“I was waiting in line long before you got here,” I asserted.
“No, you were standing over there,” he gestures to where I was originally standing, “and the line is supposed to be here,” he moves his pointing finger to indicate the spot about a foot and a half from where I was actually standing. Then he adds, “deal with it.”
Now, I have been on both sides of this equation and my experience has pretty much always been that when someone accidentally takes cuts and it’s pointed out to them, they apologize and gracefully allow the person who’d been waiting to go ahead. This has happened to me when I’ve spoken up before and it’s happened when I was oblivious to someone waiting before me. I was really astonished that this guy was not only determined to be helped first, but was calling me names and chewing me out. I just had to speak up.
“I feel really sorry for your wife.” Oh-oh, did I just say that out loud? I must’ve because all of a sudden, Receding Hairline was in my face.
“You know what you are?” clearly this was a rhetorical question, “You are a fucking cunt!”
Holy shit. The wife pity comment must’ve really hit home. I can’t believe he just called me that. I didn’t want this clown to escalate any further and, clearly, it doesn’t take much.
“Get away from me with your filthy mouth.”
He continued with his colorful expletives. Man, I must’ve hit the jackpot – the wife must really hate him and he knows it.
“Can’t you see there are children around here?” Still, the guy wouldn’t stop. I raised my voice at least one decibel.
“Shut up and get away from me. NOW.”
I don’t know if I caught him off-guard with my raised voice or if he just ran out of expletives to sling at me, but he finally turned around and stomped off. His teen daughter was already in the parking lot waiting for him. Was she embarrassed? Or does she think that this is how one resolves a conflict? The sad thing is that I really did feel sorry for this guy’s wife! Imagine being married to someone who can’t admit to being wrong, considers women who stand up for themselves to be pushy bitches, and is rather quick to spew a string of expletives at anyone who calls him on his rudeness…
I was a little bit addled after this. Not how I imagined my Mother’s Day to begin. Perhaps next year I’ll get my mother something different for Mother’s Day.
*Vegequarium = One who is pretty much a vegetarian, but also eats fish. K was in preschool when she decided to become a vegetarian because her best pal, Fritz, was a vegetarian and she didn’t want to hurt animals. Shortly after this decision was made, we asked her what she wanted for dinner one night and she said, “sushi”! I asked her if she’d decided not to be a vegetarian after all and she looked at me quizzically. I reminded her that sushi is fish, which could be considered an animal. She thought about this for a minute and then said, “since I love sushi, I guess I’ll be a vegequarium then.”
Driving home tonight I saw the most gorgeous huge full moon...and then it all made sense.
It was a weird night tonight at work - and not just in my section, either. Although I arrived at 4pm, ready to go, I didn't get my first table until 6:05pm and then we got hit.
Hard.
Within about 10-12 minutes, my entire section was full. Luckily, the first table knew what they wanted so I could get their order in right away, before the onslaught. The entire place was filling rapidly and our timid hostess was having difficulty asking folks to wait 5-10 minutes so that she could pace the waiters a little bit. A 20-top came in and was seated in the lower part of the dining room, adjacent to my section. Jason was going to take them, but asked me to take a couple of tables in his section so that he could manage the large group well. This put me at eight tables, with a ninth coming in 30 minutes. I was a pro and felt confident about picking up the slack. I appreciate that Jason had the good sense to know his limits.
I should have known that table 12 would not be smooth sailing when they asked me for water with no ice. I prefer my water this way, too, although I don't make a point of ordering it like this in restaurants. It's uncanny to me how often there is a direct correlation between those who order water with no ice and those who are high maintenance/demanding/difficult to deal with for whatever reason. Simply. Un. Canny.
And these three women at table 12, each representing a different generation, were no exception. Almost as if on cue with the sort of antics I might expect from such a table, the woman representing the middle generation (who got a B+ in assertiveness training at the local community college) says to me, "I know you're really busy, but is it going to take a long time to get our food after we order it?"
This is a loaded question if there ever was one. Naturally, she wants me to say "no, of course not" or maybe she thinks that, for whatever reason, I'll have the kitchen bump their order to the front because they seem to think that they deserve to eat sooner than the other 65-70 folks who came in the door at almost the exact same time.
There's no way in hell I'm telling them that it isn't likely to take very long. First of all, I have no idea what they intend to order and that will be a primary factor as to how quickly their order is ready. Any one of them orders anything even closely resembling a well-done steak and it's going to be awhile.
I glance over at the large party and notice that Jason has finished taking their order. The woman who is representing the older generation notices my glance. I look at her. She is facing me, but her eyes are all googly and going every which direction and I don't know where to look so I look at her nose.
"That's just horrible - why did you put those people there? They should be in a private room!"
Translated, this means that the large party is being too loud and it's bugging her. I opt to ignore her assertion since I'm certain that it'd be unwise to look at her nose and say, "What the hell do you expect me to do about it?" Her words are angry and it doesn't seem to occur to her that if these 20 folks were in the configuration of five tables of four, and making the same amount of noise, it probably wouldn't bother her. I try to focus on Middle Generation, as she is still waiting for a response from me.
"We're doing our best and - " I'm cut off in the middle of my response to her.
"Oh I know that." She's getting impatient with me.
So, let me get this straight. She knows we're busy. She knows we're doing our best. She is likely well aware that they haven't even hinted to me what they intend to order...and, yet, I'm expected to give her an accurate, yet optimistic, quote on the ETA of their dinners? Knowing full well that this is the perfect time to use the maybe-I-should-be-in-law-school-instead-of-librarian-school phrasing, I walk into her blatant trap.
"Well, it appears that this large group has already ordered and your order will likely follow theirs."
"I asked you a simple question. Can't you just answer it?" Oh jeez, now she's getting all indignant with me. This is never good.
"Ma'am, I did answer your question as honestly as possible. As soon as I take your order, I will give it to the kitchen and then it is out of my hands."
Middle Generation turns to the other two for their input.
"Well, what do you want to do?"
The woman representing Generation X, presumably her daughter, wants to stay and Old Crazy Eyes says something unintelligible. Middle Generation decides that they will, indeed, stay and I'm delighted when they order a salad course before their entrees so their entrees won't seem like they are taking a long time, even if they do. When, six to seven minutes later, I'm setting their soup and salads before them, Old Crazy Eyes turns to me and says, "Good girl! Now that's a good girl!" while her eyes go every which way.
I hate it when elderly people say this to me. I find it so condescending and inappropriate. I'm forty years old and I'm doing my job. And while I don't quite look forty (thankfully), a simple "thank you" will suffice nicely. Interestingly, this was one of the tables that Jason forfeited to me.
There are a lot of crazies in the restaurant tonight, though. A gentleman at one of my tables asked me if the government was eavesdropping on their conversation at the table, I was asked what a calzone was (Kellie Pickler, is that you??), I had someone order a glass of red wine with a splash of cranberry juice, and I had a woman from a table that wasn't even mine grab my arm as I was walking by, with another table's plates of food in my hands, and say, "I want to see what's on your neck" because she was apparently intrigued with one of my tattoos.
While it's true that I can request that the kitchen bump an order up ahead of others, to do so would mean that others will have to wait even longer for their food. And this is not a favor whose welcome I want to wear out, so I use it sparingly and am granted the request every time by our wonderful kitchen staff (who, yes, receives a cut of my tips). If they were regulars, and friendly or good tippers (or, better yet, both!), I'll consider asking this of a busy kitchen. But under these circumstances, I took my chances. As it turned out, they only waited about five minutes after finishing their salads before their entrees arrived. On a busy night, that's golden and I hope they were content with it.
When they were finished and I'd boxed up the uneaten solitary ravioli for table 12, I thanked them as I dropped the check and told them that I would take care of it whenever they were ready.
I kept a close watch and walked by their table, even though it was out of my way, several times to see if they were ready to pay. I suppose I shouldn't have been the least bit surprised when they got up from the table, check in hand, but with no sign of money or credit card on the check tray. I was able to intercept them before they got to the cash register that they seemed to think was stationed near the door and isn't (I don't work at Denny's!).
It all made so much more sense. And I remember thinking to myself, is it a full moon tonight or something???
So I'm almost officially 40 (5/9/06 at 1:14pm) and, so far, it doesn't hurt a bit. I thought 30 would hurt and it didn't, but 30's not old and, well, 40's kinda old. Oh well, I don't feel old yet and that's what really matters, right?
Anyway, I had a lovely party over the weekend for all of my friends to celebrate my aging fabulousness and, since some of my friends were unable to make it due to distance and illness and blasted homework, I thought I'd recreate some of the festivities here so they can attend vicariously. And, I suppose, those of you who did attend and wish to relive it, can do so as well! And those of you who don't know me and read my blog because, well, I don't know why you do, but I welcome you regardless, you can attend my virtual party as well.
The theme of the party was: come as what you wanted to be when you grew up (when you were little). I was a movie star attending the Academy Awards, J was a gas station attendant, Kira was a writer, Anthony was a magician, Galen was a pilot and so was Patrick, Karen was I Dream of Jeannie, Dennis was a philosopher, Dad and Jan were a cowboy and cowgirl respectively, Max was Wonder Woman, Jen was Strawberry Shortcake, Kristen was a construction worker, Julie was a punk rocker, Michael was a professor, Pat was a nuclear physicist, Damion was Daisy Duke, Diana was Madonna, the other Damien was a chef, Heather was supposed to be a gypsy but then showed up as a librarian, Sarah was perfect, Gregory couldn't come but dressed up as a Solid Gold Dancer at home, Whitney said she was coming as a tree and then didn't dress up, and several others didn't dress up 'cause they were shy or party poopers or whatever. Well, I'll give Laurie and Erique a break since they came directly from the airport and had been travelling all week - I'm just glad they came!
The party was held in a wonderful party room in a local Portland restaurant that had a fireplace, leather couches, comfy chairs adjacent to a bar, several cocktail tables for your dining pleasure (table tops were sprinkled with a variety of Hershey's kisses - including the yummy carmel ones!), and a big plasma screen tv on which we showed David Bowie videos and Brady Bunch reruns. We brought our own cds to play for the party and here is some of what we played:
Speaking of cds, we gave out a party favor to each and every guest (and some of the restaurant employees, too!) that was a compilation cd with one song from every year I've been alive. We named it "DJ Bad Kitty's Picks of a Lifetime" and here's what is on it:
1966: I Want You by Bob Dylan
1967: Happy Together by The Turtles
1968: Dear Prudence by The Beatles
1969: The Boxer by Simon & Garfunkel
1970: Cracklin' Rosie by Neil Diamond
1971: Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves by
1972: Walk on the Wild Side by Lou Reed
1973: Daniel by Elton John
1974: Band on the Run by Paul McCartney and Wings
1975: Fame by David Bowie
1976: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen
1977: Strawberry Letter 23 by The Brothes Johnson
1978: Take a Chance on Me by Abba
1979: A Message to You, Rudy by The Specials
1980: Love Will Tear Us Apart by The Joy Division
1981: Radio Free
1982: More Than This by Roxy Music
1983: Smalltown Boy by Bronski Beat
1984: Song to the Siren by This Mortal Coil
1985: Kiss Me on the Bus by The Replacements
1986: Real Wild Child by Iggy Pop
1987: Ahead by Wire
1988: Birthday by The Sugarcubes
1989: Here Comes Your Man by The Pixies
1990:Cuts You Up by Peter Murphy
1991: Until the End of the World by U2
1992: The Drowners by Suede
1993: Noel, Jonah and Me by The Spinanes
1994: Sour Times by Portishead
1995: Thirty Three by Smashing Pumpkins
1996: Is That All There Is? by John Parish and PJ Harvey
1997: Sleep on the Left Side by Cornershop
1998: Waltz #2 by Elliott Smith
1999:
2000: Good Fortune by PJ Harvey
2001: Mad World by Gary Jules
2002: Slow Burn by David Bowie
2003: The District Sleeps Alone Tonight by The Postal Service
2004: Run by Snow Patrol
2005: We Both Go Down Together by The Decemberists
2006: Twin Cinema by The New Pornographers
and the following Bonus Tracks (cause there was extra room that I didn't want to go to waste):
Soul Meets Body by Death Cab for Cutie
Thursday by Morphine
New Career in a New Town by David Bowie
Supernova by Liz Phair
Cannonball by Damien Rice
If She Wants Me by Belle & Sebastian
The Killing Jar by Siouxsie & the Banshees
Ball of Confusion by Love & Rockets
Crimson and Clover by Joan Jett
Tears Run Rings by Marc Almond
The food was awesome and looked beautiful! We had: cold tarragon poached salmon with an aioli dipping sauce, eggplant stuffed with goat cheese, an Isreali cous cous salad with kalamatas and roasted red bell peppers, a caprese salad, hot curried oysters, a gorgeous fresh fruit platter with tons of BERRIES, miniature spanakopita triangles, and an assortment of six or seven fabulous cheeses that included a Stilton with mango that was so delicious. And the cake, which we got from Polly's Cakes was to die for!!! It was the coolest looking cake ever...essentially if Dr. Seuss and the Mad Hatter got together and had a baby and it was a cake, it would be my birthday cake! Polly's Cakes have been featured on The Food Network and in several food magazines of note. Polly was very kind and down to earth and very easy to work with. Most importantly, the cake was delicious! One layer was chocolate cake with chocolate mousse filling and the other was a passionfruit-coconut cake with a coconut cream filling.
There were two games that we had going and people seemed to enjoy them both, even though some dubbed one of the games as "too hard." One was a photo board that J put together of a bunch of pictures of me over the years and ten of the pics had a post-it with a letter on it and folks were asked to put those ten in chronological order. And, nope, my dad didn't win this one (maybe it was too hard after all) - my friend, Heather, did! Her winning strategy was to gauge by the fashions above all else.
The other game was a quiz about me. It had 20 questions and the winner got 11 right! Here's the quiz:
If Bad Kitty were to go through the McDonald’s drive-thru, what sort of condiment would she want for her fries?
a) Ranch dressing
b) ketchup
c) mayonnaise
d) are you nuts? Bad Kitty wouldn’t be caught dead at the McDonald’s drive-thru!
How many tattoos does Bad Kitty have?_______ Tiebreaker: What are they and where are they located?
Bad Kitty drinks:
a) scotch
b) bourbon
c) gin
d) beer
e) yes
Where, other than
a) Seattle
b) Eugene
c) San Francisco
d) Los Angeles
Name one of Bad Kitty’s favorite flavors of ice cream (include brand):
What cheesy pop-culture tv show does Bad Kitty actually enjoy watching?
a) The OC
b) Family Guy
c) American Idol
d) That 70s Show
What get-rich-quick scheme did Bad Kitty consider when she was an undergrad?
a) selling her eggs
b) robbing a bank
c) Amway
d) Taking all of her books to Powell’s and selling them
Bad Kitty has met all but one of the following famous people. Which one has she never met?
a) Luke Perry
b) Courtney Love
c) Tom Selleck
d) Joaquin Phoenix
e) Ellen DeGeneres
What is Bad Kitty’s favorite color?
a) Royal blue
b) orange
c) green
d) magenta
Bad Kitty’s favorite strip-club in Portland is:
a) The Acropolis
b) The Dolphin
c) Sassy’s
d) Magic Garden
When in Vegas, Bad Kitty’s favorite table game is:
a) blackjack
b) roulette
c) craps
d) poker
Bad Kitty’s favorite “guilty pleasure” singer from her childhood is:
a) David Cassidy
b) Jim Croce
c) Don McLean
d) John Denver
One of Bad Kitty’s favorite writers is:
a) Iris Murdoch
b) John Steinbeck
c) Virginia Woolf
d) Anton Chekov
Bad Kitty’s favorite Broadway show is:
a) Oklahoma
b) A Chorus Line
c) 42nd Street
d) The Producers
Bad Kitty’s daughter was conceived via what combination:
a) Fellini films and a fine chianti
b) Andy Warhol films and tequila
c) Peter Greenaway films and gin martinis
d) David Lynch films and microbeer
Bad Kitty met her partner:
a) at a bowling alley
b) through a personals ad
c) at work
d) at a lesbian bar
Bad Kitty has worked at all but one of the following Portland restaurants:
a) The Heathman Hotel
b) Pazzo
c) Paparazzi
d) The airport Sheraton
e) The Chart House
f) Saucebox
g) Wild Abandon
Which of the following is Bad Kitty’s favorite Grateful Dead song?
a) Sugar Magnolia
b) Casey Jones
c) Truckin’
d) None of the above. There is only one Garcia she loves to hear sing and it's not Jerry!
Bad Kitty has fallen prey to all of the following fashion fads except:
a) leg warmers
b) 80s “sun” lightened big permed hair
c) Acid washed jeans
d) Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” girl look
e) Ray Ban sunglasses
Bad Kitty loves all of the following kitties except:
a) Hello
b) Patience Phillips (Catwoman)
c) Mortimer
d) Josie
So thanks for coming to my party! Happy Birthday to Me!
When I used to wait tables and tend bar at Le Glamour Hotel, we had more than our fair share of -shall we say- high society patrons. Many were well behaved and generous, thus making my work all the more worthwhile. However, it was the not-so-well-behaved of the financially elite who could ruin a night in no time flat.
Sometimes, serving several of these folks back-to-back could nearly send a poor waitron over the edge. The phrase "desparate times call for desparate measures" comes immediately to mind as I recall one especially condescending matron who came into the lounge with her well-heeled entourage late one busy holiday eve.
Whenever the symphony would let out, our lounge would go from empty to completely full in just over five minutes flat. And, since guests were not seated by a host, there was virtually no pacing involved in the filling of the tables - I would essentially be sat ten tables pretty much simultaneously. Unfortunately, those placing their derrieres in my section seemed to be completely oblivious of this fact. Worse still, nearly every single one of them would order a Spanish Coffee, which was one of the most time-consuming drinks to make. The trick for me, at this point, would be to get a few of my orders in to the bartender -pronto!- before the other servers' orders came in, so that at least a few of my tables would receive timely service. Nine times out of ten, though, this would backfire as I'd show up at my first-sat table just as their asses were hitting the leather of the chairs, eager to accommodate their beveragely wishes and they'd have a zillion questions to ask of me...or they'd hem and haw a bit, at which point I'd offer to come back so as not to rush them and they'd say "no, stay, we're ready to order!" with desparation in their voices as if they knew that if I left, it could easily be ten minutes before they saw me again. So I'd stay, only to be subjected to "hmmm, well, let me see....I think maybe....oh, tell me a little more about this chardonnay..."
Meanwhile, my section is suddenly full and I am beginning to feel eyes boring into the back of my head. I rattle off a "little more about the chardonnay" while I take a quick scan of the room and seek out patrons who are known to tip well while remaining on the low maintanence side - they are the ones who will see me first. Although, in all honesty, if it were to come down to a mediocre tipper who treats me well and does not attempt to monopolize my time at the expense of others and a good tipper who is rude and demanding, I'm most likely to visit the mediocre tipper first: good behavior trumps good tips, for the most part, in my book.
A couple of the hemmers/hawers ask me for ice water and I seize that opportunity to escape their table, telling them that I'm going to get their ice water while the others decide. I make a quick stop at a table of regulars on my way back to the kitchen - they have the same thing every time and are nice folks who tip well - their order will be the first one in. I then gather enough ice waters for all of the hemmers/hawers because, invariably, if I return to the table with exactly the number of ice waters equalling the number of those who requested them, the power of suggestion will unleash itself and everyone else will want one - I'm better off bringing water to someone who doesn't really want it and saving myself the trip, as time is still key here.
I try to squeeze in an order here, an order there, and gently let people know that I'll be right with them. Really, the best way to handle zero to full in no time flat is to take orders in at least two trips. I've seen neophyte servers start at one end of their section and just start taking orders and then put all the orders into the computer and then wait and wait and wait for all of their drinks to be made because every single one of their orders was submitted last, behind every other server. Then their drinks are all up at once and they panic because it's too much all at once. Poor Lambchop almost had a panic attack one time with just this scenario.
I get my section a little bit better paced and things are calming down. The first table served pays and leaves and I bus their table quickly in hopes of another turn there. I'm making my way through my section offering another round to those who qualify. Thankfully, not everyone drinks at the same rate. The hemmers/hawers can't simply order another round of drinks - they all need to ask a bunch of questions and keep me sequestered at their table until they're good and ready to let me go. I dutifully answer their questions and try to keep things moving in a forward direction. After all, I have hot drinks coming up for some of my lower maintenance tables and I wish to deliver them promptly. I escape with their order just in time.
As I'm delivering their second round, an elegantly dressed 40-something society woman at the hemmer/hawer table slurs to me that she'd asked me for an ice water. Ew boy, somebody hit the bar during intermission at the symphony! I look at the table where each guest has a sweating glass of ice water, most of them barely touched, sitting before them.
"This one is yours," I say, gesturing to the glass that, if it were a snake it would've hissed at her to lay off the sauce. She then looks at the glass, then at me. With an ultra-stern expression on her face (this was before the popularity that is Botox), she condescendingly instructs to me that this (she then points to the glass for emphasis) is not ice water.
Um, okay, it's not? I'm thinking somebody also forgot to take her medication tonight. Where on earth do I go with this one? I really don't want to argue with this woman, but she just told me that ice water is not ice water and clearly wants me to do something about it. Something is very wrong with this picture and it's my job to figure out how to fix it without pissing anyone off. And, unfortunately for me, alcoholic society matrons can be a little bit touchy in times such as these.
Society matron interprets my brief silence and rapid contemplating as complete and utter cluelessness. She picks up the glass in question, holds it up and, raising her slurred words a notch higher, says sternly, "Do you see any ice here???"
The funny thing is that there IS ice in the glass and it's even making a clinking sound as she shakes the glass at me! At least now I know what she wants so I say, "Okay, why don't I take that water and get you some more ice."
As I'm reaching for the glass, she yanks it away, splashing water on the table and continues to hold it with a death-grip.
"No, a fresh glass of ice water. I don't want this glass," she says of the receptacle she is refusing me.
"Sure, okay," the words from my mouth say, while the bubble over my head says, "crazy bitch."
I go back to the kitchen and pull out the rack that holds the clean water glasses. It's empty. Oh crap. I ask the bartender for a bucket glass, all the while thinking that this woman is the type who will flip if I bring her ice water if a different type of glass than before (which also happens to be different from everyone else's at the table). The bartender tells me to hang on and I notice that he has about a dozen or so tickets lined up, all coffee drinks and espressos. Crap, crap, crap. As I'm looking around and trying to think fast, I see the round tray of glassware from the table I'd just recently bussed. My blood still boiling over the humiliation of being yelled at in the middle of my section, I grab a dirty water glass off of the tray and fill it with ice and water. My heart's pounding fast because, even though I've been pushed to the boiling point before by a customer, I'd never done anything quite like this. In fact, such things had never even occurred to me. But I knew that if I didn't get back to Society Matron soon with a new glass of ice water, there'd be more humiliation in store for me and I didn't deserve that. Nor did I have time for it.
I found that once the glass was safely on her table and out of my hands, the pleased look on her face erased any bit of guilt I was feeling. She was happy now, damn it, and -in a way- that was what really mattered. I really wanted to have a cherry on my sundae, so I strolled by the table and asked Society Matron how this glass of ice water was working out for her.
"It's perrrrrfect," she slurred.
