The Village Wok...

Since last June, I have been working at the Village Wok. Some of you have eaten here or at least know about it - after all it's been around since the '70's. It has been/is an experience.

This was my interview:
"Can you work until 2am?"
"Yeah, totally"
"Alright, I'll call you tomorrow. You can start on Monday"
"Awesome"

Seriously. That was it.

My coworkers are pretty much always hilarious. There's Carlos, the Ecuadorian fry-cook who asks me to marry him at least 20-50 times every time we work together. There's Fran the buff-asian dude who's 45 but doesn't look a day over 28 and calls me a dumb bitch at least 20-50 times a shift, but then later buys a smoothie for us to share and sends me stupid "funny" fwd emails. There's Jose, the busboy (man) who speaks no English and I try desperately to understand him (when I don't and he laughs it makes me think he's saying something dirty, which he probably is). The list goes on and on... Needless to say, I come home with stories every night.
Such as:
There's a girl with huge tits at some table and I say to Jose in spanish, "You like those? The big ones?" He replies, "I like them all. And small ones, so I can fit them in my mouth." Wow. Okay then.
Or:
"Fran? What are you drinking?"
"It's your momma's pussy juice! I squeezed it last night..." He then proceeded to make a squeeky sound and a pinching motion.
And then:
Bang, the very tiny, very feisty cook, comes up to me and rubs my belly. "You have baby in there? Oh yeah, you need to eat! Eat lots of spicy food! Good for baby! When you due?"
"Bang! You're so mean! DO NOT call me fat!"
"Ha ha ha... when your baby due?! Ha ha ha!!!"
What a bitch...

I could keep going all day. Instead I'll save these tasty tid-bits.

Shit... I've Been Challenged...

Well, as a result of prodding from Hannah and Fuzzy, I will attempt to reveal deep secrets about myself/family/friends. Look out people. Ha. Just kidding.

1. I hate touching butter. But! (there's always a but) I put so much butter on my toast that sometimes it soaks through on to my hands perpetuating this horrible problem. mmm... butter
2. I have a serious weakness that I never knew about until I lived with Miss Sarah: I love soap operas. Especially All My Children, One Life to Live, and Passions (R.I.P.). I hate myself.
3. One day when I was about 5, my mother told me we were going to go camping and that I would have to go pee out side. This excited me. I drank glass after glass of apple juice upon hearing this news and proceeded to piss under the pine tree in my back yard every 15 minutes. I thought mom wasn't catching on... I was wrong.
4. I've never finished a crossword puzzle without the help of others (aka the internet). Because of this, I feel inferior. Wow. There's a lot of self-loathing going on here...
5. I fear that after a life time of living with dogs I'M DONE WITH THEM. The hairy toddlers (as the silver fox would call them) are just irritating and needy - I don't have time for this. Sorry pups, unless you're Romeo, run along.
6. At any given moment during a conversation with anyone, I could be imagining what they would be like in bed. I guess I don't even need to be having a conversation with them - just seeing them. Not necessarily in bed with me, but just in general. Ha ha, I'm a perv.

Okay, well, hopefully I haven't said too much.

P.S.

So, also, the past few wednesdays, Travis has finished off two different boxes of my cereal. So, he bought me some. And oh dear god am I glad that he ate all my cereal because otherwise I would have never been introduced to the glory that is Blueberry MuffinTops cereal. It has the texture and bite of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and the flavor of a Jiffy Blueberry Muffin. De-fucking-licious. mmm............

How I love Wednesdays...

For the past month or so, this crazy crew and I have been gettin' down on wednesdays... ha ha gettin' down... It's comforting to be with old solid friends. No drama, just a lot of beer and cigarettes. And now that the stoop is back in commission, it's only getting more pleasant.

Some highlights from last night:
1. Patrick humping Travis and then excusing this by saying that he has "strange thoughts"
2. Patrick's dirty moustache
3. Patrick saying, "wouldn't it be sweet if everyone were farmers?"

You can see where this is going... One of my favorite games to play with Patrick (or just one of my favorite games in general) is to ask Patrick to make faces of obscure, vague emotions/adjectives such as: elusive, apathetic, weary, etc. etc. Almost all the faces are the same. And they all make me laugh like fucking crazy. I cry. My stomach hurts. It's awesome.

I do look forward to hump day...

spring times...

This captures my mood quite nicely. At this moment I am more relieved than I have been in months. Though the landscape may be in a transitional state, at least I can go outside without feeling like killing someone. What this time of year also means is that I currently have about a month left of school. One motherfucking month. The worst month. Okay, I'm sorry... I realize the majority of my posts have involved how much I hate school and how much I want to die (hee hee) but whatever.

This is what spring means to me:
1) No more nose crusties
2) Twiterpation
3) My lovers coming home from their far, far away college lands (aka Jaime DeLanghe in Connecticut)
4) Michael Cahill gently rubbing my back... side haha oh and side boob area and nipple oo!

So. I have officially decided to take a year off of school. In this time of glorious freedom I shall try to come to terms with what exactly it is that I want. Whatever that is.... if there is a "that". Hmm. But I will be making clothes, art, and hopefully some sort of decision. Also, I will be trying to get a job at a vintage clothing store that I love: B-Squad. One day I would like to have a vintage store of my own and I need to learn the tricks of the trade. Any advice?

Continuing on my happy note (the note that has finally emerged from beneath the snow) I have started becoming excited about art again! Yay! I'll post pictures later. And I'm very proud of my very impressive artistic sister. She's graduating on the 17th of may. Holy shit. I actually am starting to feel old, which is ridiculous, but nonetheless true. I remember when Hannah and I used to fight over the front seat (which we still do by the way), hit each other out of sheer annoyance (oh wait, we still do that too...), and giggle for no reason whatsoever (fuck we still do that too!... okay I'm really not helping my feeling old argument).

Well anyway, here you go Hannah, Jaime and dad. Here's a post. Not very exciting. Whatever.

This Lady is Worth Bragging About

So this pretty little thang right hurr is my momma. She is good. She is also taking me to NYC for spring break. We're going to wear bikinis and drink a lot of lite beer. Ha haa... ugh. Just kidding. What we're really doing is hanging out with some real good people and mother will be rehearsing with the Bad Plus. Go mom. You rock. Meanwhile, I sit here in between classes literally counting the seconds until that day comes where we step on the plane.

Until then I shall try to occupy myself with "entertaining" and "distracting" things (aka homework, but mostly just avoiding homework and then complaining about it during crunch time).

The planning of this trip has been sort of silly. Every once in a while mom will call me and rattle off a bunch of shit that I know will never come to fruition and we'll end up doing something way simpler - so pretty much I'm not listening. Sorry mom, but you probably already knew that... hee hee... And then she'll change the convoluted plan and once again I just let her talk - and I don't listen, or at least not fully. Because I know that when the day comes everything will fall right into place. And even if it doesn't, who cares! Because we're resourceful women and we'll figure it out. So there.

Well, 10 more days... 10 more days....

death by garbage

Yesterday I was wasting time between classes by enjoying a tasty salted nut roll. Upon finishing said nut roll, I paused to throw away the wrapper in the nearest trash can where I discovered a dead bird. I was sad to see the make-shift grave that this bird had ended up in. It was sharing it's resting place with old newspapers, chewed gum, and of course, my candy wrapper.

I understand that the University of Minnesota custodial staff doesn't have the time to line a shoe box with crumpled paper and carefully nestle the remains of the bird in the homemade coffin. They also don't have time to dig a hole in their back yard, bury the coffin, and make a head stone out of over-sized popsicle sticks. But I do wish that it wouldn't have met it's final resting place in a fucking trash can.