Author of the Queen City Boys books


shopping related injuries and retail therapy

I went thrifting Monday and stupidly didn’t get a cart.  Last night my left arm hurt and I quickly realized that it was from carrying armloads of stuff around the store for hours.  Oops.  My old lady status increases daily as I realize things like this.

Most of my purchases were project related but I did manage to find one fantastic dress for myself.  New, tags still on.  The stitching is slightly ripped at the waist, but easily enough fixed.  Indeed it needs slight alterations for perfect fit in that area anyway.  And new buttons and a matching slip, as it is fairly see through.  Still, even with the work ahead of me it was well worth the dollar I pair for it.

And an up close of the pattern:

Turquoise buttons and a turquoise slip and it will be perfect of spring ever arrives.

Remember my “no spend” for February?  No non-necessities (I don’t count dollar dresses in this). I was doing FANTASTIC.  Until yesterday.  But sometimes the universe says, hey, here’s the perfect $80 shoes at 70% off and you can’t say no.

$23 worth of love.  Think these shoes, this dress.

You may well wonder what I was doing in a shoe store if I’m not spending money unnecessarily?  Well I was hopefully looking for inexpensive, but quality and comfortable shoes for work.  Walking for hours on concrete floors seems to take the comfort out of shoes quickly.  I find I need at least three pairs to rotate between and at least one of those comes to the end of it’s useful life for waiting tables in three or so months.  I did manage to find a new pair of clogs.  And again, my old lady status rises daily:

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I want to wear only cute skirts and t-shirts, or jeans and cute blouses.  To that end, I’ve been making blouses.  I’ve only been modifiying existing shirts and making really, really simple blouses (pics soon) but maybe, maybe I am ready to work up to real blouses.  I definitely need a dress form in my size though, as the trying on while sewing thing isn’t going to work for much longer.

It is late and I am awake, and cold and I want to be in bed, warm, snug and preferably sleeping.  Here are some reasons I am not asleep:

Day 3 of no smoking for me.  (Yes, okay, thank you.  Please feel free to mock, berate or chastize me if you see me smoking, otherwise, I’m not yet ready for your support.  Rather just be aware that I am freakishly, unnaturally bitchy right now.)

Work was less than satisfactory.  While clearing one of my last tables, I found a half full pack of cigarettes that some patrons left.  Fuck you, universe.

Some guy got robbed at gun point in our parking lot tonight.  I gave the left cigarettes to the girlfriend fo the guy who got robbed.  She seemed to need them.

I feel both safe and not safe.  I am anxious and yet exhausted.  The sentencing hearing for the guys who robbed me at gunpoint is at 9am the morning after my birthday.  I have nothing deep, meaningful or sensible to say about all that except it all still kind of pisses me off.  I will drink more beer, hopefully sleep and ask everyone to remember that East Nashville isn’t the suburbs, it’s still gentrifying neighborhood and you can’t be too cautious.

Warm weather can’t get here soon enough.  Really.  Also I wish everyone I love in the world could be here right now to see the dogwoods.  You don’t know dogwoods until you’ve driven around neighborhoods in Tennessee in spring.  My heart hurts with hugeness of the beauty and my inability to share it with everyone.


the good and the owwie

I hurt every where. Well maybe not every where, but it feels close to that.  I fucked up my knee on Wednesday.  Since then I’ve been inactive, contorted on the couch and moving very carefully (don’t worry, I have actually cared properly for the knee and it is much better).  But now my neck hurts, my back is stiff and my jaw, presumably from recent tension, is painfully locked up.  On to a judicious application of heat, cold and ibuprofen.  Seriously, like what, you turn 35 and suddenly just start completely fucking falling apart? I am somewhat bitter about this.  I’m not sure what to do, preventively, except exercise, which I can’t do when my knee hurts.  WAH!!!!

Despite all that, last night at work, the Sat bartender, MDNYC (Maître d’NYC, best nickname ever, ha!), as he always does, made us each put in a $1 for lottery tickets.  Last night he let the band put in too, and we won $500 (split 10 ways).  Hurrah! So the whole staff started out the night in pretty good mood (the band just started drinking heavily).

Then I had some cute Texas boys, in town on business, come in for dinner.  I guess I made their night, because clearly  I am the best waitress ever.  Heh.  Anyway they called later and asked the hostess how to spell my name and where they could send me a present.  As far as I can piece together, there should be some sort of fancy wooden sign arriving at the restaurant for me some time soon.  Very strange.

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Lords of the Cosmic Jest in effect

Dear Universe,

Hey, can I catch a break? The self-induced work stress, the financial collapse of the country, the bunnies, you know I can take it in stride. But stop adding stuff. Why would you send the chef, the back-up chef, the prep cook, and two of the servers out deathly ill when we have a Special Event tonight at the restaurant? Yes, I got the pastry chef to come in and hostess and the host to wait tables. But did I also need to be operating on a very limited menu on a sure to be busy night? I can handle a 25 top reservation in restaurant that seats 60. I can deal with a limited menu. I can deal with being short staffed. I can deal with a special event party for the local microbrewery. I’m just not sure I can deal with these all at once. Certainly not on top of everything else. Am I being punished, Universe? Can I do something to get back into your good graces? Is there truly balance so that I will be rewarded at the end of all this? Please send help.

Very stressed,

Crackerjack Heart

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weak sauce

I inadvertently made very weak coffee this morning that tastes strangely of soap.  UGH.  How hard is it to make more coffee? Not very.  Why am I not doing that?  Hmm, very lazy.

Work was miserably busy last night.  I’m sure no one reading this needs this public service announcement but… If you want to go out to dinner with 30+ of your friends, go to Olive Garden.  Sure it’s not the greatest, but they are equipped to deal with you.  Do not go to the cute local restaurant that only seats 60.  If you must go to a tiny place, either rent the entire place out, or be very clear about the size of your party.  If you are bringing 28 guests, do not make a reservation for 17 people.  Also if you bring more than your reservation, do not complain when we tell you that there are literally no more chairs in the restaurant.

Okay, time to stop reading pointless things on the internets and go get dressed and do the 623 things I feel guilty about not having done yesterday.

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good, bad and ugly

Work was hell tonight. I have a violent pounding headache (so why am I on the internets and not in bed, clearly I am an idiot). I was rewarded at the end of my shift by a visit from the fabulous Miss D, a cute boy I know sporting a ridonkulous mustache (I believe he lost a bet with his father or something), and a table full of very cute boys who were all very charming. The universe gives and takes away. One table early in the night expressed shock that I could remember their order without writing it down (yes, three pies and one chicken sandwich, god, when I get to the point I can’t remember that, just kill me). I never write down orders and I rarely mess them up (which isn’t to say I don’t forget, but usually I realize it and go back and clarify with the customers). Is this a skill? I mean, it’s not rocket science, it’s just what good servers do, right? Another table was horrible to me, insisting I’d brought them the wrong beers. I didn’t. It would have been impossible, as we only have one IPA on draft and no other drafts that color that could be confused. Finally they decided that it must be bad batch (a local microbrew). Yes, it was bad and no one else noticed even though I probably served a hundred glasses of it tonight. Then when I tried to find a substitute beer for them, they started arguing about how the wife didn’t even like IPAs. So clearly she wasn’t going to like the beer she ordered. ARG. They proceeded to be rude and entitled in a variety of ways. Good thing the universe sent me all those cute boys at the end.