Begin again begin again

My triumphant return to the blog world begins with my current obsession.

Just 'cause you're an MC doesn't mean that you get to be an asshole.

So I work in this restaurant. This awesome restaurant with great food and great wine and amazing cocktails and a swank-ass ambiance. This restaurant is also known for its late night scene, happy hour, drunk ass people. I've always thought this to be a strange collision of atmospheres, but whatever keeps food in my belly and liquor through my liver, right?

This weekend we tried something new. We brought in this big-deal DJ and turned the front area into a night club scene at 10pm. This is not really my thing, but again, it'$ really not up to u$ employee$ and I'm ju$t happy to have hour$ and blah blah blah $$$$$.

What have we learned? Music brings out a weird side of people. The exhausted servers who got their asses handed to them for the last six hours wiggle their bodies to the music as they walk through the restaurant. The bartenders, still in the weeds, high-five when good songs come on and sing at the top of their lungs as they pour from the tap, splashing beer everywhere. The kitchen staff at the tapas bar teach each other dance moves and wave their utensils around. It's sweet relief from the awful faux-Spanish elevator fucking music that we listen to every goddamn day.

And then there are the intoxicated. Drunk men in suits flailing their arms around as if to save themselves from drowning. Girls in extraordinarily tight clothing attempting to dance but can't really move as much as they could if they were wearing sweatpants. Let's all yell the lyrics to 80s songs as LOUD AS WE CAN BECAUSE RICK ASTLEY BRINGS EVERYONE TOGETHER.

I have no point. It's a weird scene.

272022

What did I learn my first week at school?

-I hate perspective drawing. Looks like G1 Drawing & Perspective is gonna suck for me.

-When you're 18, it's okay to have an 8am breakfast of Hawaiian Punch and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Am I old?

-Artists can teach, but they may not be teachers. My syllabuses are riddled with spelling and grammatical errors. Good lord.

-6:30am isn't the hard part. Noon is the hard part. Well, closing at the bar that night is the hard part.

-All graphite pencils are not created equal. Furthermore, all erasers are not created equal, and also completely suck, depending on the graphite pencil used. This shit better come in handy someday.

-I have absolutely zero interest in making friends with my classmates. ZERO.

-Easy way to spice up a boring project? Add a pop culture reference.

School is going quite well, thanks for asking.

Babes.

3:45 am.

Cold meatball sub, delivered an hour and a half ago. American Spirit Ultra-Light, bummed from a boss for the price of an over-zealous errand and light physical/verbal abuse. A long ride home with my new male counterparts.

Bartending is a boys' club. I fit in pretty well.

I Have a New Job.

I have a new job -

both my Bosses love me.

They buy me drinks after work and have a desire to pinch my cheeks.

They teach me because they want me to learn and care

and in turn, they make me want to learn and care.

I strive to do my best because

both my Bosses love me.

I have a new job -

I'm actually making Money.

I work long hours

I lift heavy objects

I get down and dirty with the dishwasher

I work hard for it because

I'm actually making Money.

I have a new job -

I have a new Disposition.

I no longer feel a heavy oppression poisoning my extracurriculars

I have a light and happy heart

I smile. A lot.

Spring feels springier because

I have a new Disposition.

The moral of this poem is

be nice to every single person you've ever met

in your entire life

because sometime

maybe even three years later

they may offer you a job that

you never

ever

ever

EVER

would have gotten on your own.

2011 - the year I make desserts.

I've only made two so far this year -- one success, one... less than success.

The first, a chocolate mousse, care of Julia Child.


The boyfriend came over to dinner a few weeks ago. I made an excellent coq au vin, which I affectionately refer to as Purple Chicken. Quite good, chicken with bacon, mushrooms, assorted aromatic veggies, and a sauce made from red wine. I made the chocolate mousse for dessert, which was fucking great. I used rum, espresso, and the wife's vanilla sugar, and it was, for lack of a more accurate descriptor, perfect. I didn't get an "after" picture, as it would only consist of two adorable people shoving puffy chocolate into their mouths at top speed.

The second, a raspberry soufflé, from the Good Housekeeping cookbook.

I was cooking for said boyfriend again last night, made a pretty good pasta dish with bacon (see a theme?) and peas and onions and a bunch of cheese. I was going to make the soufflé for dessert, but we ended up having brie for a starter and were pretty wrapped up in a Dexter marathon, so I decided to make it upon arriving home this afternoon.

The process began with a mild egg white/yolk separation issue, but I recovered well, until I realized that we don't have a soufflé dish. I put it in a bread pan, hoping for the best. However, when the timer buzzed, I pulled this from the oven:


What the fuck is that? A thousand gross zombie and flesh analogies come to mind, but they're too gross to verbalize. The bottom line is that my soufflé fell and it looks gross. I tried a bit of it, and while it's quite tasty, I am finding it difficult to want to continue eating it.

So one success, one not-so-success. The second does not deter me from further attempts, as I want to keep trying this out. Fear not, faithful friends, I have a solid workout routine to combat the increased sugar intake that this project is sure to include. (If the pictures are as gross as that last one, I won't post them. Probably.)

Empire Builder, Part II.

I woke up somewhere just outside of Hastings, right at the Minnesota version of the Bermuda Triangle where there is no phone service. I stared out the window, trying to figure out how long I'd been asleep. The dark trees stood out against the winter sky, tinged with a reddish glow of 10pm. The snow seemed like an ocean, encompassing everything around it, and the rare street lamp seemed to be surrounded by a gauzy haze. It was like a movie, a fairytale. Peaceful, serene, and sweet.

I was jolted from this storybook by a sharp lurch forward. Groggy and one foot still in the reverie, I was sure we had gone over a bump or something normal. I leaned back against my seat again, breathing deeply, concentrating on the string of street lamps that illuminated the darkness far off against the highway.

I was physically thrown forward by another jolt, as if kicked from behind. I glanced around at my fellow passengers for recognition, a sign that they were all as confused as I was by the sudden change in atmosphere. To my surprise, nobody seemed to notice, or if they noticed, they didn't care. I furrowed my brow, upset by the sharp and physical reminder that I was taking public transportation.

The third jolt was as if I'd been punched in the back of the head. At this point I had deduced that it was not, in fact, nature that was causing my uncomfortability. I sat straight up and turned around, staring into the large brown eyes of a small child. He giggled, flashing a horrific set of baby teeth at me. I looked to his legal guardian sleeping soundly next to him. Mouth agape, Oblivious Mother was snoring in such a way that indicated that she was mentally thousands of miles away from her terror of a kid. I gave him my professionally practiced Stink Eye and sat back into my seat. That look was surely that of children's nightmares - Scary Twentysomething on Amtrak Frightens Child with Just One Stare. I was satisfied with my retaliation.

The fourth jolt was just uncalled for, and vindictive, if you ask me. I turned back around, stared into the mischevious eyes and said very plainly, "Stop it. Stop it right now."

A quick snort from Oblivious Mother and she was immediately completely functional. "I'm sorry," she snapped, the fire of a dozen dragons in her breath, "what makes you think you can talk to him that way?" She cradled her nightmare of a misbehaved child into her body, as if I had physically attacked her spawn. Mama Bear woke up and she was pissed.

I stuttered for a second. I wasn't sure how to talk to Momzilla. If I had rationally explained the situation, chances were good that I would be the only one to see reason. The cheese would surely stand alone, because it was me versus her stupid kid.

I did the only thing I could think of to do - I apologized profusely for my rudeness. How dare I speak to your child!! How dare I think that I could even glance upon his face?? Oh, my dearest, most sincere of apologies, ma'am. I see the error of my ways and will forever be changed by this experience.

I sat back in a huff and stared down the child's reflection in the window. He knew better than to do it a fifth time, but I'm really not sure why. Was he scared of the crazy lady's overacting and sugary sweet apologies? Maybe I did the kid a favor. Be scared of phonies, young boy. And don't touch people on trains.

Empire Builder

I am on the train right now.

I wouldn't necessarily call myself a frequent passenger of the Amtrak, but I've taken it about a dozen times, which is about eleven times more than the majority of people that I know.

I've been contemplating my train circumstances for slightly over two hours now. Is this a good mode of transportation? Is it a well-kept secret in the twentysomething company I keep? Or is it just a very large vehicle filled with smelly people who talk loudly on their cell phones?

I know. I'll make a pros/cons list.

-PRO: it's incredibly easy to travel long distances alone.
-CON: it's easy for anyone to do. This includes my two least favorite demographics - large families with small children and the elderly.
-PRO: the trips are usually quite scenic. Right now, for example, it's a beautiful scene of snow-covered trees and quaint homes. It's like one of those paintings. By that guy.
-CON: I'm freezing.
-PRO: there is absolutely no hassle of waiting in line for security.
-CON: there is no security. At all. None.
-PRO: the stops are frequent enough that you can ride to a fair amount of places, but not too many that it slows the trip or make it annoying.
-CON: Wisconsin Dells is a stop, attracting Unwanted Demographic #1. At least it's winter.
-PRO: fairly cost-efficient. My ticket cost $24.
-CON: it's about the same amount of money as filling someone's tank and having them drive you there. And it takes about the same amount of time.

In truth, the pros really do outweigh the cons. If you're looking for the romanticized slice of Americana that old literature and folk songs promise, this ain't it. In reality it's literally just another way to travel. It's much more comfortable than an airplane, but it's less businessmen and more average joes. I feel very middle class when on a train but it gets it done. And really, whatever lets me just get away.

This stream-of-consciousness post brought to you by three hours of sleep and shitty instant coffee.

(I think the guy behind me has a serious medical issue. His snoring is deeply concerning.)

Oh. Hello.

Now that I'm all back and stuff, I figure I should introduce myself.

My name is Anniemosity. I used to blog all the time; I was witty and funny and had devoted readers, and I loved it. (That was five years ago.) I have two cats and a great love. I work out diligently for sporadic periods of time, never being able to accomplish my goals. I listen to music at all times, and my taste in music is the best taste in music. I simultaneously care about myself way too much and far too little. I own the same shirt in six colors. I clean my apartment every day and somehow it never gets to be completely clean. I talk loudly because everything I have to say is important. My new year's resolution this year is to re-evaluate who I spend my time with and why I do it, because I seem to have gathered a bunch of people around me and I'm not quite sure why. I end a lot of sentences with "...but what do I know?" even if I know exactly what I'm talking about; I'm not really sure why this happens, but it's not self-deprecating. I want to know everything about everything and subsequently I only know some things about some stuff. I am not scared of things that I can't change, but I am scared of things that I can change and choose not to. I wish I had an accent (or at least that I was good at mimicking one). I frequently overbook myself because I want to do everything. I'm dating an artist and I'm scared he will realize that I know jack shit about art. I truly believe that everything happens for a reason; even the most fucking awful of things can happen to set in motion a chain of events that can result in the best thing in the whole world. I'm really good at changing the subject. I have the best laptop ever built and I use it only for watching movies and talking about myself.

That's a lot of personal, heavy information. Trust me when I say I'm pretty fucking funny too.

Anniemosity: Internet Addict and Rageaholic.

Now that I have received my first bill, I guess it's official - my internet sabbatical is over, and I have returned to the land of celebrity gossip, torrents, youtube, internet porn, and many other glorious things that have been otherwise fairly unavailable to me for nearly a month.

Of course, now that it's "up and running," I'm still having amazingly frustrating issues with it. Why don't my internet providers understand that I secretly feed off of the internet? Why don't they get that now that I have it, I can't let it go? And most importantly, why does it start working every time I call, making me sound like a cursing, angry, useless idiot?

My enemy is invisible, faceless, sometimes called John or Vera (the Internet People who were of absolutely no help to me). I feel as though I am cursing a greater power, something that's completely out of my control, like I'm pissed the fuck off at the sun.

So I blog in wait, offline, quickly saving my draft when the brief flashes of light on my modem indicate that I can access the internet for but a moment. I blog on hold, while I'm asked the same questions over and over again, proving that they think I'm a complete moron (subsequently causing me to feel like one). I gnash my teeth and tear out my hair, I pace back and forth, I yell at the cats.

John tells me tech support needs to come out and look at my phone line, for the low low price of $80. Vera basically tells me that I'm stupid, and, after a long silence, gives me her "uh well thank you for calling us" spiel and hangs up as quickly as humanly possible.

This experience has reinstated my deep, deep hatred for most IT people (apologies to my entire family). Just wait, internet, I'm coming for you. We'll have a sick, codependent relationship like we used to. You, the provider and me, the junkie. We will fulfill each other once again, I swear it.