Welcome to my other blog. I started this one shortly after graduating from the C.I.A, to differentiate between my food and my other thoughts. It's a cozy little place with frequent weird but real, honest thoughts.

There's really not much more to say here, as anything mildly interesting is either down below or written in my Armadillo section above.
Hope you can relate to some of my thoughts and situations, even if they tend to be strange sometimes

Friday, February 27, 2009

Annnnnd We're Back. (Part 2, Matt's Graduation)

Part Two! Here's part one if you missed it.

We weaved in and out, searching for people I knew. I bumped directly into Dr. Murphy and dripped wine over my hands.
"Oh, hi!" I exclaimed. "I was just looking for you." We'd find each other sooner or later, we were both about to head somewhere else. I for more food. But the only thing I would find would be some kind of pastry filled with creamy mushrooms and something else some time later. I told Matthew he would need to drive to Mcdonald's later. (EDIT: It didn't happen, by the time we got back to the hotel and I was checked in, we just wanted to chill before dinner)

I found Dr. Murphy again, who was chatting with a small group of graduates. Matt and I hung out and waited patiently, I kept drinking my wine and keeping an eye out for tasty apps. I was thoroughly trying to hold it together, as I was nearly done with my wine and having only one appetizer in my system. I was trying to be normal....Normal for me, at least, which is what some people are when they are buzzed.
She turned to me and said hi. We hugged again, and talked, about work, the ceremony, Matthew being teased in her class, the California trip. We gossiped. Dr. Murphy is another one of my favorite teachers. She was one of the teachers on the Cali trip, and my teacher for History in my 9th term. She's nice, young, smart and a morning person, so we always got on pretty well, even when I was stupid and forgot to do readings. But I don't like to say one teacher is a favorite over another, or in what order of favorite. Because I have this unreasonable thought that they would feel badly if I said I liked one teacher over another.
Or at least, I would feel badly about saying I don't like a teacher or they aren't my favorite for one reason or another. Because the cool teachers, like Dr. Jay and Dr. Murphy are well liked, but the tougher teachers, like Professor Raider or Dr. Flynn are possibly not as popular. I like all four of those teachers, but would just feel badly if any teacher knew I may not like them as much as the popular teachers.

Anyway, Matt's mother found us and we introduced her. As we talked, I wondered why it was that I seemed to get along very well with either people my parent's age (like Dr. Jay) or people slightly older than me (Like Dr. Murphy or my boss). It's really strange. (EDIT: Actually, it's not. This post made me realize why)

Pat brought us champagne, and Matt and I walked around. I made him clink glasses with me, and tried to get him to look more excited about graduating. We ran into his classmates and friends. So, two bites of food in me, and two glasses of alcohol in my system; I was hyper, chatty and edging on the edge of buzzed and about to fall off that cliff into the clumsy world of tipsy. But holding it together. Or so I thought. More than once I had to feel embarrassed and say "I'm sorry, too much champagne".

We finally decided to go. Paul and Jim were in the car. I, for no reason that I will never understand, admitted to Pat that the two glasses I had made me feel a little lightheaded, and that I was sorry.

We clambered into the van and left. I was talking INCESSANTLY! About graduation, and mine, and school and just talking, talking, talking, talking, talking. Paul finally asked if I had to be sedated when I was born, which shut me up pretty quick and made me feel pretty embarrassed. I guess i wasn't holding it together too well after all!

We had an hour to get ready for dinner at St. Andy's. Uneventful.

We arrived at school and walked through it to get to St. Andy's. I walked with his family as Matt needed to check out of his dorm. I took his dad to the baking building to take photos of the cakes in one of the classes, and I was dying to pop my head into a classroom or two and say hi to the chefs, but we were on a reservation, and I didn't want to bother them or keep his father waiting.

And thus began, "Dinner at St. Andy's." Oi. Vey. I felt very bad for our waiter. Right off, I felt we were being difficult. No one was paying attention to much of anything the waiter was saying. So I tried to be extra polite to him. Finally, they managed to order drinks and an App of the Thai BBQ Chicken pizza. I finally decided on a hard cider. Because I knew if I drank much more that night, I would sleep terribly.
Matt ordered a wine flight and everyone else got water. Jim and Pat decided to split the short ribs (even though she complained she didn't like brown rice, right in front of the waiter, and I told her brown rice was good for her, in the way you try to sound positive when a kid says something cranky about the food in front of a waiter), Paul got the BBQ pizza, Matt also ordered the short ribs and I settled on the buffalo burger, cooked medium to the waiter's recommendation.

It all finally tapered out. Pat took photos of all the food, I think Paul kept complaining that our waiter kept accidentally hitting his foot into his chair, and Matt and I debated if they were doing Russian or French service (Doing research, I am now discovering Matthew was correct. Write that down, Matt! You were right!).

It was just an odd night. The poor waiter kept needing to run back and forth in a slightly awkward fashion to refill their water and iced tea glasses and the way my party asked for more water made me slightly uncomfortable. They gave us a bread basket and flavored olive oil and butter, and instead of just requesting regular butter, they complained in a not polite quiet voice that they didn't like the avocado butter. And they asked for more olive oil in a way I found slightly impolite. But maybe I'm just way too uptight when it comes to dining out etiquette.

Our food came and we all dug in. Jim (or maybe Matt) commented loudly that Jim's portion was rather small. But the kitchen had split the order and plated them like they would a full order. So I was slightly embarrassed. I'm all about treating a server right, especially a poor college student working all night for no pay. My buffalo burger was delightfully pink. I am a fan of rare red meat. Pat acted shocked and asked if it was cooked all the way. I, being too hungry and into my burger to really care if it was FULLY cooked, promised it was. It was juicy, meaty and buffalo-y. The wheat bun was soft and grainy. Matt's ribs possibly could have done with another 20 minutes or so with cooking, but were otherwise tender and flavorful.

The pizza, that I didn't mention before, was just as good as before. Slightly spicy, good BBQ sauce, just enough cheese, and this time, featured diced tomatoillos instead of red onions.

Dinner as a whole was delicious, everyone liked whatever they ordered to one extent to another. Paul commented on how long we've been there, and how long the other dinners at the other restaurants took (all about two hours), I don't know if he was complaining, but I don't think any of them are used to these kinds of dining outings. I wasn't, until I came to school and ate on Stage. Now I know when you eat at the C.I.A, you can expect to be there upwards of and hour and a half. But it's a pleasant meal: you order drinks, at least two courses and eat and talk and generally just enjoy each other's company and the meal. I've learned when you go out to eat, to take your time and just enjoy being out.

I still felt bad for the waiter (I'm really glad a big tip was left. I would have left a $20 if they didn't tip him)<<<(At the school, there's an added 15% gratuity that goes to scholarships, anything above that goes to your server, a poor college student, who works long hours there for no pay, so anything at all is greatly appreciated). He seemed to be trying so hard to be serviceable and my party didn't seem to notice. I guess going to the CIA I've been taught to do that to and sort of expect that from a server, so I appreciated his kindness and efforts.

The student manager came by and gave us a comment card, which I filled with all sorts of positive things about the evening, and on the back, wrote "Thank you for putting up with my difficult party!" With my name, and the years in which I graduated (my compulsive need to establish dominance, I guess), and to show that I went here, and could recognize both a difficult party and good effort.

Matt told me they weren't being difficult, but I felt a need to at least acknowledge the fact that he was trying. He was a good server, and I just feel bad when the good servers get put on the wayside of those who just don't care anymore.

So, Jim was super nice and picked up the check, though I'm sure all of us would have been more than willing to split it anyway, because I had planned on doing that in the first place. They made fun of me for calling him "Mr. Good" Because I still didn't quite know him, and didn't feel right calling him Jim. Paul and Pat were different, because I've known Pat, and I didn't know Paul's last name.

Pat and Paul both ordered dessert, Matt and I split a pot of Ruby Slippers and we went back to the hotel, to pick at pie and get Matt's stuff together. If I didn't say so before, I brought three small pies with me to the graduation: a chocolate pecan bourbon (our signiture pie), a pecan butterscotch (my favorite) and a pear-apple-sour cherry crumb, because it's one of the pies I make myself. Everyone who tried them loved them, so I think I'll be shipping pecan pies to their house sooner or later.

I slept badly that night. I didn't like being on the first floor so close to the side entrance, so I was afraid and paranoid and couldn't sleep. I guess the three beverages I drank over the course of 6 hours had a big affect on me. Also, I was probably sad about Matt leaving, and about getting enough sleep for the ride home. I dozed all night and finally woke at 5:30, and woke Matt up- who'd also hadn't slept that well. We hung out, and watched TV before we decided to get Mcondald's and eat it in the room.

After scarfing down Mcdonald's (Sausage Egg McMuffins with hashbrowns, both of my items being dunked in Pancake Syrup). I had wanted a Sausage Biscuit, but didn't realize I'd ordered the wrong number. I was bummed, but tonight decided to get stuff to make that for myself on Sunday, as my parents are out of town), we hung out, both of us were tired from a poor nights' sleep and we got ourselves together for him to go.

I wasn't deeply depressed by Matt leaving, not in the sobbing "Don't leave me!!" sort of way. I was sad, but we'd been together so long I'm confident we'll be just fine. Half our relationship has been long distance, so we were accustomed to such things like letters, nights on the phone, and Yahoo Messenger. This was different. I knew sooner or later he'd be back again for good. (EDIT: When I got home and nighttime hit, I was pretty lonely)

But I was still sad. We said goodbye and they drove away. I went to my room and ended up dozing for about 15 minutes and mulled around for a bit before deciding to go myself.

I got Wendy's for lunch, scooping up large amount of BBQ sauce on each nugget and scarfing down french fries laden with ketchup AND BBQ sauce, and drove home. Which took forever, since I stopped for gas, and pulled over to eat my Wendy's (because it probably isn't a good idea to reach blindly for fast food on 84)

He just called and his plane landed and he's heading home. So, for now at least, we're apart, and it's going to suck. At school, if I missed him, I could come up for a Sunday. But now what? We'll just have to miss each other till we see each other again.


PS! This is my 50th post!!!! Woot.

Well, Matt's gone. Part One

Well, Matt's gone. Off to home for the time being while he sorts through his job potenial.

It all started yesterday morning (which inexplicably feels like three days ago) when I woke up at about 5 am, eager to get on the road with the sunrise. The day before, I had gotten mini packets of Crystal Light with caffeine (60 mgs per packet) and dumped two of them into my orange plastic water bottle. In my overnight bag, I had tucked S'mores pop tarts, this breakfast would save me several hundred calories and several hundred milligrams of sodium, which I would soon shoot to hell by eating breakfast with Matt at the diner when I got there.

I made pretty excellent time. I drank my highly caffinated beverage and nibbled on a singular pop tart and listened to Bean Trees on my ipod. No one was on the road going my way. I got there at around 7:15 and woke Matt up after I got up the highway, so he'd be somewhat coherent when I finally arrived.

As I got closer, it snowed, then began to ice, and then turned to rain. Bummer. Matt was really hoping for some kind of winter wonderland for his parents.

When I got there, he was mildly coherent and monotone. We made our way to the diner, and sat. He got oatmeal and tea, lamely enough. I got eggs, sausage, rye toast, home fries and a frozen moccachino.

I was hyped up at this point. The wild strawberry highly caffeinated beverage was pumping through my body and made me very chatty. I talked about work, his graduation, my co-workers, his family, and the ride up. I chatted endlessly and animatedly. And I ate with just as much gusto. The rye toast buttery and toasty, the eggs fluffy, home fries crisp and oniony, the sausage links gigantic, like an entire Italian sausage. My moccachino strong, sweet, and cold. I felt awake, and excited.

The caffeine clearly was giving me a fuel that was only added to the fire that I was already a morning person and already excited to see Matthew.

Matt ate spoonfuls and spoonfuls of oatmeal in the way he did when we first started dating and would eat breakfast together at around 6:30 in the morning. It was a slow, dragging way, as if he was doing it in his sleep. I would monopolize the conversation, and when later in the day I would reference something I said at that meal, he'd blink at me, and say "We had breakfast together?".

I teased him for his tiredness, and told him to be excited! He's graduating!
One of my pet peeves with Matthew is when he says he's excited or happy about something, he doesn't really look it. He's cursed with a monotone voice, so when he makes the effort to sound excited, it sounds forced.

After we ate, we went back to his room to haul his stuff to my car. I took him to turn his mail key in. I waited at the circle, Bean Trees playing, waiting for him. I saw him walk down the steps and he stop to say hi to someone who was walking the path next to my car. I heard a familiar voice and titled my head curiously. It was Dr. Murphy! One of my favorites. But more on that later. We said hi and hugged and chatted in the excited bubbly way that Matthew can probably never fathom. We promised to catch up later, and we left.

Then went to his mother's room at the hotel we were all staying. She was happy to see me, as usual, and was excited to see that I brought pies with me from work for them to sample. We hung out before we got ready to go, and left the hotel a little before noon.

Which was somewhat of an ordeal. Everyone who attended his graduation was: His mom, Patricia, from North Carolina, Jim, Matt's dad and Patricia's ex husband from Ohio, and Paul, Patricia's boyfriend or something, from Alabama, but living with Patricia.
Everyone is friendly with eachother,so that wasn't the issue. The comical issue was how Patrica talks on and on and on (like me) and I was in the back, slightly going out of my mind and thinking something along the lines of "This is going to be my family." in a "I could use a glass of wine" kind of way.

We arrived very early. About two hours. But we got parking and good seats. We took photos and Matt went off to check in. Leaving me to sit with the rest of them. To save you some time, it was an incredibly insanity brining hour and fourty-five minutes.

Finally, finally, it started. The teachers and chefs came in, with the deans and other high ups, the speaker, and finally, the graduates. Now, I don't know what it is about "Pomp and Circumstance" and graduations that makes me want to burst into tears, but I was a somewhat emotional mess on and off throughout the ceremony.
The class speaker was funny, Dr. J, one of my favorite teachers, gave a good speech that I ended up taping. The graduation speaker, a man who I have no recollection of where he came from spoke in great length about various things. One of my favorite moments in this speech was at the start, when he outlined his entire thing like he was speaking at a conference.
He also told a funny story about Julia Child- involving the drink "Lemon drops", if you are interested in it, tell me and I'll post it.

About halfway through his speech, I became hungry. I hadn't eaten since about 8 am, and it had to be about 3:00. "I could really use a snack and a drink right now." I thought. In that order, because, on an empty stomach, it would take very little for me to get buzzed.

At last they began the actual "diploma" ceremony. I was excited. I zoned in and out till they got to Matt's row, and I became even more excited. I adjusted my camera to try and compensate for the crappy lighting, but will end up having to adjust it later anyway.

When he finally walked across the stage and down then stairs, we couldn't catch him in time to take a photo. Which made me feel sad.

It was FINALLY OVER!!!!!! It took forever. I was starving and in need of a drink. So I would need to find a way to procure a glass of wine. We were in a sea of people, and I promply lost Pat and Paul, Matt's dad was somewhere behind me, but as I got to the back where the reception was, I lost my sites on his family, and started looking for Matt. Who I found quite quickly. He was making his way against a sea of people around a table across from me. "Matt!" I called, he didn't hear. "JAMES!" I called louder (His first name, and a tatic we use with my parents. They don't look up to "Mom" in a crowed, but "CAROL!" seems to work nicely). I tried again, and he found me. I grinned and made my way to him. "Matt!!!!!! You're graduated!!" I exclaimed, shaking him by his shoulders excitedly and hugging and kissing him. "Yay!!" I said. Then "I need a drink, but I don't have my ID." So he made his way to the drinks area and got two glasses of wine (I figured they'd serve him, because he was still wearing his sash thingy and probably wouldn't refuse him a glass..Also, I'm pretty sure every BPS student is at least 21)

I took the glass and took a grateful, delicious sip. What it was I'll never know. Then I looked around for food. We ran into his father, and they both ate some kind of crusted goat cheese thing that to me looked a bit like a chicken cutlet. Ugh! I need to eat something substantial immediacy or everyone around me with suffer the buzzed consequences.

I turned to Matt. "I want to find Dr. Murphy. I'm supposed to find her. Oh, and Dr. J, and whoever else we run into." I said. But seeing as we were packed in like Sardines, finding anyone anywhere would be quite a task. Finding the other part of our party would be useless for now, also.

We found Dr. J first. Dr. J is pretty awesome. Not quite sure how old he is, somewhere between 40 and 50, with wild hair and a beatnicky, rock n roll, hippie attitude about him. I had him for History of Americas and had a great time. He sometimes told great stories about his life as a college student, and as a law student working for his doctorate. He focused on what happened and why and what became of it rather than who was shot on what day and year. The class was about in depth discussions, exchanges of ideas, opinions and knowledge and was generally a good class. I liked it, even at 8 am (in those days I was more annoyed about missing the newsy bits of GMA than actual sleep) . (Which, to a college student, is just slightly early, even for a baker). He's one of those teachers that made it easy to enjoy history.

He said hi and chatted with me for a bit, and then with Matt, assuring him that he's (Matthew) is a great guy and should he ever need a reference, a call or anything, to email him. Which I thought was pretty awesome. You can't ever know enough people.

At that point, I spotted Paul, and did the same thing I did before, first calling his first name, and then his middle name (which Pat calls him). Neither worked, so I weaved thought to find him. "I found you!" I exclaimed, fighting the urge to do jazz hands or clap in sign language (which are pretty similar).

At this point it would be prudent to mention I was barely half way though my first glass of wine, and I was feeling it go directly into my head at an alarming rate. I still needed food. When Matt and I walked around a little more, a server with a plate of won ton wrapped chicken that was filled with I don't know what came by, and I took one and popped the whole thing into my mouth. It was both delicious and screaming hot. Something creamy with a touch of Rosemary, maybe?

More about my blundering tipsiness when we return.

Part Two!

Monday, February 16, 2009

Blog from the past

I was cleaning my room today, and came across a piece of notebook paper. I'm assuming it's from around this time last year, and wanted to share it with everyone.

"If I don't keep my mind busy, I'm going to go crazy. If I don't keep my mind busy, I'm going to go crazy. I'm in Finance. It's only been ten minutes and my mind is already buzzing. I don't care about LLCs, LLPs and general partners. I want to get other work done. Why is it I'm motivated and itching to write in classes, but when I'm relaxing I got nothin?!

I really do need to get out of my head before it gets me in trouble. I'm not even 'bored'! Damn Concerta. Engaging me in boring topics. "What's the difference between a primary and secondary market?" "I have no idea! Please tell me!" Ha, this is entertaining me. Inside joke with myself.
I really need to stop zoning out. I just spent the last 30 minutes with visions of Newsies dancing in my head.

IT'S A THREE HOUR MATH CLASS! AT NIGHT! AFTER DINNER! FROM 6:30-9:30!! Can you blame me? To keep myself sane I keep tick marks when I think I minute goes by.
I'm better in accounting, but this class is brutal. I struggle minute to minute. Dying to get out.

I don't know what happened in the last 30 minutes.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009


Today, just now, I decided that I don't really need to be included.

That's right. I've been rejected by so many people for so long, I immediately reject others before they can reject me (how's that for saving $200 in Shrink fees?) But I just don't really have a need to be included. Well, not exactly, anyway.

I want to be included by my blogging peers. I want to be included at work (which I already am, even if I still am paranoid about their reasons). I want to be included by my boyfriend (which I am, without question or judgment). And that just about suits me.
I don't need much else.

I don't need everyone else's inclusion, and acceptance. I'm pretty good at pushing people away. People like me, we're good at that. People don't usually like us, so we just reject them, get it over with, save them the trouble of doing it for us.

So here we are, this weird little group of outcasts, including each other in our attempt to reject anyone remotely normal who we see as a threat.

I like my little group of misfits. We're weird. We talk funny. We think funny. We're just a strange group of folks. We get eachother. We relate and understand eachother on a level most people probably don't get. It goes deeper than "Oh. My God. I LOVE GREY'S ANATOMY!" or "Like, you have blonde hair!??! ME TOO!". It's more like "I was having really weird nerve pain today." or "I'm just waiting on the results of that MRI." or "My kid is really struggling with his learning disabilities.".

It's funny how people who think they are normal have it better than those who aren't normal. You don't have it better. Just easier. But with our struggles, we have it easier when it comes to being empathetic, good listeners, or just kinder in general.

So I don't have a big desire to be included with all the ''normal'' people out there. I am just as happy being with my nice group of misfit toys.

Monday, February 9, 2009


I'm actually a very lazy person. There's a lot I'm probably supposed to get done today. Such as cleaning my room, switch the TVs so I might have a working remote, run general errands, go to the library, go for a niiiice long walk. My dad suggested we go to a car dealership, but I don't know when that's gonna happen. God forbid I ask, because I actually do have things to do today and it would be very nice to get half of them done. So, it probably wont happen, and I know it probably wont happen. Because I will never get to that point.
I'm so lazy. I have one day off and I want to use it effectively, but since I'm getting out of work so much earlier, I really don't have a need to do ANYTHING errandy today. So my best case scenario is go to the bank, post office and library and go for a long walk.
But I'm lazy! I feel like my life is passing me by. There's so much I want to do but taking the first step to anything seems overwhelming. Like buying a car. The cost, the issue of insurance, car loans, looking at cars. It's a big investment and I want to make the right one. So I'm avoiding it. But I want a car because it's my first step out of here. I want to move out by the end of the year. But I really don't know if that's going to happen. As much as I hate it, I'm probably stuck here till next year.
I'm so lazy. A pathetic, lazy product of my generation.
Alright, screw this. I NEED to do something productive today or I'm going to go insane.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Facebook Epiphany

When a blog writer (This one in particular I consider an amazing writer and somewhat of a rock star) 'friended' me on 'facebook'. I saw something about him above a photo of someone I used to know (but am not and would never be friends with), with a comment by someone I recently 'friended' a month or so ago. And it clicked: I really hate what facebook (and the internet in general) has done to this world.

I really, really hate it. People post drunk, drugged, and HIGHLY inappropriate photos, and then go to make lewed comments, or further encourage such acts of obscenity. For everyone to see. And they see nothingwrong with it. Not a second thought to that picture of hanging out cleavage, with a bottle of rum in their hand.

I'm looking at the blog writer in comparison with the comment the friend made, and I am thoroughly disgusted and embarrassed. And want to wipe out about twenty people on my 'friend' list.
I really don't care if you are reading this. I'm probably going to put this on my facebook anyway. Because I'm just that bold and crazy.

Facebook, to me, is a place to reconnect with people I used to know and connect with people who I can relate to (such as my enjoyment for grammar and the NF groups I am apart of)

Any idiot can see this generation is in some serious trouble. They drink, do drugs, are wildly obscene in every way. It's disgusting. And you all think it's okay. And the post it online like a prize. Look at me! Look at my AWESOME life!! I'm so EXTREME!!!! Yeeeeeeeeeeeeah....ooookay.

I don't care how you plan on flaming me for this, because really? Your opinion of who I am matters to me about as much as my opinion on you matters to you.

So why am I writing this? Because I'm sick of being apart of this generation. I've only come across a few dozen worthwhile people of this generation, and I think that's pretty damn sad. I think it's sad you publicize your drunk lives, your drugged lives, your 'drunk nights in low cut clothing thinking you look so hot' lives. It's incredibly sad. And embarrassing. I can only hope these people grow out of their little immaturity phase speedy quick and join the 'Rest of Us'.

And by "The Rest of Us" I mean "The people of this generation who don't partake in such silly little acts" where two beers, or two drinks, doesn't lead to five or ten more. Where we go out with friends, have a fun time, and go home for work or school the next day (who come in BEFORE 2 am, and don't have a hangover). The few of us who balance fun with real life. There's actually some of us out there! Where we don't do drugs, or wear skanky outfits and drunkenly hang off the shirts of Tools whose collars are popped.

If you're responsible and smart, you sure as hell don't come off that way. Hope your actions don't come back to bite you in the butt.
I'm pretty sure Facebook is one of the signs of the Culture and Decency Apocalypse.