Hooray I've been verified. Someone last October looked me up. But why does it say, "No current address"
I live in Vegas. Two years. Filled out employment tax info and filed taxes with my current address. I've gotten mail here. I've lived in the same apartment for the past 15 months. On the plus side I'm reportedly alive (albeit barely). It's a slow painful excruciating death. So there's that. Furthermore, who are all these people I'm supposedly related to? Have worked with? Are friends with? I don't know any of these people. Ha. Interesting.
And why is my last phone number on file from before I was married? Before 2002? At least they got my ex-husband's name correct. Apparently he now lives in Kansas or Kentucky. Might have been Arkansas. I wasn't really paying attention to that part.
Oh wait. No. There is a current address on file. It's from 2007 when my ex and I separated for a short time. Crackerjack verify!
P.S. I never lived in San Diego. Might want to delete that from your verify records also. Oye. Then again, if it's on the internet it must be true.
Return of the tramp stamp.
Tramp stamp, next generation.
My tramp stamp is my AARP number. Adding to that my senior home address I'll soon be living in. Under that address it's going to read, "check pulse before returning" and under that it's going to read, "do not resuscitate". It will be my best tattoo ever. Glorious.
Dear Santa, OMG cat claw socks
https://youtu.be/AbkVI_69P_g
So I guess blackface is the only news story worth reporting these days eh? Belgium? Really CNN? I totally forgot that was a country... somewhere. Waffles. That's all I got.
How about reporting racism in our country. I resigned from a job I liked in part because racism was permitted there. A guy I worked with, white, Vegas, bought a bunch of Confederate flag bandanas and passed them around to fellow Hispanic and black coworkers. Complaints were filed. Nothing. He wasn't reprimanded. Still has a job. Like nothing happened. But no. You're right. Let's talk about Belgium.
And people wonder why I stay home on the weekends? Fuck dating in Vegas. I have to go all the way to Summerlin just for books with actual words in them.
Ok. Back to drawing.
In the process of posting this blog I saw my George Uhl blog had been read many times in the last 12 hours. Wait, there's two blogs about George Uhl? I must investigate. Shamefully, I had to look up who that was. Oh how times they are a'changing.
Plaidskirttorpedoes. 7 years. Good lord. One might think I was serving a life prison sentence, losing my mind. Close.
Hey Smithsonian website, please be more mobile friendly. Awesome. Thanks in advance.
Yours sincerely,
Inmate #80942
Saturday, November 30, 2019
Thursday, November 28, 2019
A little old fashion missionary
Yay more gunfire in front of my building!
It wouldn't be Thanksgiving in Vegas, or a Thursday, without a little homicide. Know what I'm saying?
Black Friday, tomorrow. White Friday, if you're a confused Ontario Canadian having a discount gun sale like Perkins Guns and Ammo. In lieu of a black sale, the store is having a white sale, because that sounds less racist, day after Thanksgiving (that your country has no reason to celebrate) blaming the color name change on Canada's Prime Minister's black face photo. Wut?
Canadian version of woke?
Dear Lance Perkins, I grew up with Perkins in Minnesota, only our Perkins sell steak and eggs, not semi autos and hollow-points. I'm going to have to ask you to change your store's name, or at least the spelling. Principle. While only a snowy boarder divides us, there's farmer Joe hick hillbilly cow tipper, and then there's you. Minnesotans may not be able to pronounce words like "suppose" or "house" correctly but on occasion when someone gets woke we still call it Black Friday. And do you know why? Because we don't give a purple cotton asshat a'boot your Prime Minister.
Perkins, where you can get breakfast all day, and fresh bottomless pots of coffee. The way God intended.
Who the heck is Jamie? And why does he have so many Christmas specials?
Where is this sex line everyone seems to have? Has anyone seen my line? And why would you allow non smokers, bi girls, and guys with nine inch dicks to the front of the line? How rude.
Perineum sunning. Oh no. No no no. I'm just going to leave that right here. In the same place as gluten allergies, and burying a potato in the backyard at midnight on the first full moon. I think that was a medieval cure for warts. If it was that easy Idaho would never run out of business. Stockpiles to Los Angeles, daily. I had a wart burned off my left knee once. No idea how it got there. Well no, I have some idea. That was eons ago. Back when I understood sex. When porn didn't require an urban dictionary.
I'm working on some new drawings. I posed for them. Accidentally. The photos I shot didn't come out right but I love the heavy shadow which is great for drawing.
And so, winter is closely upon us which means I'm preparing for my usual hibernation.
I dedicate the blog to Aramis's dearly departed grandma, and mint moose tracks. If you've ever had the company of either you're a better person for it.
Godspeed, all of us.
It wouldn't be Thanksgiving in Vegas, or a Thursday, without a little homicide. Know what I'm saying?
Black Friday, tomorrow. White Friday, if you're a confused Ontario Canadian having a discount gun sale like Perkins Guns and Ammo. In lieu of a black sale, the store is having a white sale, because that sounds less racist, day after Thanksgiving (that your country has no reason to celebrate) blaming the color name change on Canada's Prime Minister's black face photo. Wut?
Canadian version of woke?
Dear Lance Perkins, I grew up with Perkins in Minnesota, only our Perkins sell steak and eggs, not semi autos and hollow-points. I'm going to have to ask you to change your store's name, or at least the spelling. Principle. While only a snowy boarder divides us, there's farmer Joe hick hillbilly cow tipper, and then there's you. Minnesotans may not be able to pronounce words like "suppose" or "house" correctly but on occasion when someone gets woke we still call it Black Friday. And do you know why? Because we don't give a purple cotton asshat a'boot your Prime Minister.
Perkins, where you can get breakfast all day, and fresh bottomless pots of coffee. The way God intended.
Who the heck is Jamie? And why does he have so many Christmas specials?
Where is this sex line everyone seems to have? Has anyone seen my line? And why would you allow non smokers, bi girls, and guys with nine inch dicks to the front of the line? How rude.
Perineum sunning. Oh no. No no no. I'm just going to leave that right here. In the same place as gluten allergies, and burying a potato in the backyard at midnight on the first full moon. I think that was a medieval cure for warts. If it was that easy Idaho would never run out of business. Stockpiles to Los Angeles, daily. I had a wart burned off my left knee once. No idea how it got there. Well no, I have some idea. That was eons ago. Back when I understood sex. When porn didn't require an urban dictionary.
I'm working on some new drawings. I posed for them. Accidentally. The photos I shot didn't come out right but I love the heavy shadow which is great for drawing.
And so, winter is closely upon us which means I'm preparing for my usual hibernation.
I dedicate the blog to Aramis's dearly departed grandma, and mint moose tracks. If you've ever had the company of either you're a better person for it.
Godspeed, all of us.
Saturday, November 23, 2019
Merely this and nothing more
You can't stop Donny Osmond!
Rebel!
https://youtu.be/-FQ-KoUz64Y
https://youtu.be/dA0UcyUgltc
I need the peacock. I'm in a mood.
My groceries arent being delivered now until tonight, which is fine I guess but is the total $54 or $125? Can't you guys ballpark it? It's not that serious, Aramis, I know. Aramis gets his groceries delivered all the time even though he passes a half dozen grocery stores to and from work five days a week. Still, it just bothers me how details don't seem to matter anymore. "We don't need your address. We'll just throw your stuff in the street within a mile and let you salvage."
Aaaand now the PayPal app isn't working.
Motherfu#%&!
And it's always when I'm in the middle of something important I have to pee, twice, followed by my stomach growling. If there's one thing I can't stand it's being interrupted by hunger, and having to pee. I'm busy damnit. I'll eat, and pee, when I have time. What happened to the meal pill, Willy Wonka?
To me, eating is like drinking sake. I like doing it socially. As a necessity, eating is just irritating AF. I cook all day and won't eat anything until I get home and then it's usually a handful of chips and my drink. The drink being more important.
And why
When I have the heat on does my ceiling fan start spinning? Not that it should matter but it does. It's annoying because it doesn't spin when I have the air conditioner on. Damn it, science!
Ever Google map directions around the Bay area? I googled driving directions around the east bay, and after my third time mapping directions, maps went completely blank. Nothing but a white screen and the words, "What part of public transit are you not understanding?" written in bold mocking text.
Getting to Berkeley from Fremont, takes 20 minutes longer by car than public transit. That's the world we live in.
So last night there were two rounds of gunfire exchanged in front of my building. That was neat.
Aramis and I have been on art/photo frenzies these past four weeks. Its interesting to me how photographers want their prints to be considered fine art in the galleries and museums, but the moment there's a photo submission bulletin for cash and prizes, they exclude everyone but photographers. Oh wait. No. I'm sorry. They exclude everyone but "lens-based artists".
You mean photographers, right? Photographers? People who take pictures with a camera? Yeah. Photographers.
(Lens-based artists)
If I shoot photos of my drawings and make prints, is that not lens-based art? 🤨
The bulliten is for a display at the King Edward Canada Line Station in Vancouver. I entered a photo shot by Aramis. Good luck my brother from another mother!
Anyway
Groceries
The store I ordered groceries from had to substitute the cheese from my list. They were out of this particular brand of brie I wanted. The cheese they gave me instead is $5 more. No problem. I understand. But just out of curiosity, and I'm not complaining, I'm just curious, since the store was out of the brand of brie I wanted, why didn't they just give me a different brand of brie rather than the same brand but a different cheese? It was the brie I wanted not the brand. Again, just curious. I'm sure I'll like their goat cheese just as much even though I don't like feta or blue cheese. Oye.
ALSO
Isn't the point of giving you my phone number, printed right there on the invoice, is so's you can call me if something comes up, say like, oh I dunno, not having this particular type of cheese I paid for? And yet no phone call. Huh. Interesting. BUT I'm going to keep an open mind even though I dont like feta or blue cheese, whatsoever.
"Would you like some crumbled penicillin with your meat charcuterie?"
No thanks. I'm allergic. Had you said crumbled tetracycline, then maybe?
You see kids, blue cheese has in it the same mold used to make penicillin. That blue gunk. All cheese has mold but blue cheese is so mold its blue. Anyway kids, point being, it's not always about the brand. There's a difference between brie and goat cheese. And if you can't taste the difference between brie and goat cheese, well, allow me to clarify. Brie, is soft French cheese from all that is holy. Goat cheese tastes exactly how it sounds. But I'm going to keep an open mind! (inhale and exhale!)
At 6:19pm the delivery app said my delivery has arrived. No sign of a driver.
At 6:25pm I called customer support and they said the driver is still enroute but will be there at 6:30pm.
At 6:30pm the app said delivery time: undefined.
(Inhale and exhale!)
6:35pm my order has arrived. And let me just say, the driver who delivered my order was the best thing about my whole ordering groceries online experience with this company. Tip the driver! However, your shopping team needs a little guidance. Your tracking app needs a new computer tech team. And if you can see my phone number on your caller ID, customer support, than why do I need to repeat my phone number to you? Do you think I stole someone's phone to make a grocery order? Even if I had stolen someone's cell phone do you think I wouldn't know where to find the phone number? How exactly does repeating my phone number to you identify me as the shopper? Maaybeeee an invoice number perhaps?
(Inhale and exhale!)
Ravens were squaking outside my apartment window. Lots of them it seemed. And they were unusually loud. I looked out my apartment window and saw that Miso, the neighborhood cat, had trapped a rather large raven by its wing on the sidewalk, under his paw. The raven was almost as big as Miso. The trapped raven desperately flapped it's one free wing, crying for help. Miso would let the raven go, but before the raven could get away, Miso smashed the raven back down onto the sidewalk with his paw. Playing with his food. All this happened so quickly I couldn't run downstairs fast enough. By the time I got outside Miso and the badly injured raven were a half block away. The raven was no longer able to fly. Its injured wing, completely limp, merely dragged on the ground behind it. All the raven could do now was run and hobble down the street, Miso playfully stalking behind it. Four other ravens tried swooping in on Miso, but before the ravens could attack, the injured raven ran under a large parked furniture dumpster. Foolish. Miso followed. Both disappeared under the dumpster. A short time later only Miso returned, his tummy accurately rounder.
I was a little shocked seeing Miso go after this raven since I had just fed him a big bowl of food less than an hour prior.
For the past three days the weather in Vegas has been rainy and gloomy as it prepares the city for winter. Miso, it seems, has grown and changed under these dark clouds quite a bit from the shy nervous kitten he once was a mere year ago.
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!"
Poe's revenge. Ravens beware. Nevermore.
Two stray cats
Rebel!
https://youtu.be/-FQ-KoUz64Y
https://youtu.be/dA0UcyUgltc
I need the peacock. I'm in a mood.
My groceries arent being delivered now until tonight, which is fine I guess but is the total $54 or $125? Can't you guys ballpark it? It's not that serious, Aramis, I know. Aramis gets his groceries delivered all the time even though he passes a half dozen grocery stores to and from work five days a week. Still, it just bothers me how details don't seem to matter anymore. "We don't need your address. We'll just throw your stuff in the street within a mile and let you salvage."
Aaaand now the PayPal app isn't working.
Motherfu#%&!
And it's always when I'm in the middle of something important I have to pee, twice, followed by my stomach growling. If there's one thing I can't stand it's being interrupted by hunger, and having to pee. I'm busy damnit. I'll eat, and pee, when I have time. What happened to the meal pill, Willy Wonka?
To me, eating is like drinking sake. I like doing it socially. As a necessity, eating is just irritating AF. I cook all day and won't eat anything until I get home and then it's usually a handful of chips and my drink. The drink being more important.
And why
When I have the heat on does my ceiling fan start spinning? Not that it should matter but it does. It's annoying because it doesn't spin when I have the air conditioner on. Damn it, science!
Ever Google map directions around the Bay area? I googled driving directions around the east bay, and after my third time mapping directions, maps went completely blank. Nothing but a white screen and the words, "What part of public transit are you not understanding?" written in bold mocking text.
Getting to Berkeley from Fremont, takes 20 minutes longer by car than public transit. That's the world we live in.
So last night there were two rounds of gunfire exchanged in front of my building. That was neat.
Aramis and I have been on art/photo frenzies these past four weeks. Its interesting to me how photographers want their prints to be considered fine art in the galleries and museums, but the moment there's a photo submission bulletin for cash and prizes, they exclude everyone but photographers. Oh wait. No. I'm sorry. They exclude everyone but "lens-based artists".
You mean photographers, right? Photographers? People who take pictures with a camera? Yeah. Photographers.
(Lens-based artists)
If I shoot photos of my drawings and make prints, is that not lens-based art? 🤨
The bulliten is for a display at the King Edward Canada Line Station in Vancouver. I entered a photo shot by Aramis. Good luck my brother from another mother!
Anyway
Groceries
The store I ordered groceries from had to substitute the cheese from my list. They were out of this particular brand of brie I wanted. The cheese they gave me instead is $5 more. No problem. I understand. But just out of curiosity, and I'm not complaining, I'm just curious, since the store was out of the brand of brie I wanted, why didn't they just give me a different brand of brie rather than the same brand but a different cheese? It was the brie I wanted not the brand. Again, just curious. I'm sure I'll like their goat cheese just as much even though I don't like feta or blue cheese. Oye.
ALSO
Isn't the point of giving you my phone number, printed right there on the invoice, is so's you can call me if something comes up, say like, oh I dunno, not having this particular type of cheese I paid for? And yet no phone call. Huh. Interesting. BUT I'm going to keep an open mind even though I dont like feta or blue cheese, whatsoever.
"Would you like some crumbled penicillin with your meat charcuterie?"
No thanks. I'm allergic. Had you said crumbled tetracycline, then maybe?
You see kids, blue cheese has in it the same mold used to make penicillin. That blue gunk. All cheese has mold but blue cheese is so mold its blue. Anyway kids, point being, it's not always about the brand. There's a difference between brie and goat cheese. And if you can't taste the difference between brie and goat cheese, well, allow me to clarify. Brie, is soft French cheese from all that is holy. Goat cheese tastes exactly how it sounds. But I'm going to keep an open mind! (inhale and exhale!)
At 6:19pm the delivery app said my delivery has arrived. No sign of a driver.
At 6:25pm I called customer support and they said the driver is still enroute but will be there at 6:30pm.
At 6:30pm the app said delivery time: undefined.
(Inhale and exhale!)
6:35pm my order has arrived. And let me just say, the driver who delivered my order was the best thing about my whole ordering groceries online experience with this company. Tip the driver! However, your shopping team needs a little guidance. Your tracking app needs a new computer tech team. And if you can see my phone number on your caller ID, customer support, than why do I need to repeat my phone number to you? Do you think I stole someone's phone to make a grocery order? Even if I had stolen someone's cell phone do you think I wouldn't know where to find the phone number? How exactly does repeating my phone number to you identify me as the shopper? Maaybeeee an invoice number perhaps?
(Inhale and exhale!)
Ravens were squaking outside my apartment window. Lots of them it seemed. And they were unusually loud. I looked out my apartment window and saw that Miso, the neighborhood cat, had trapped a rather large raven by its wing on the sidewalk, under his paw. The raven was almost as big as Miso. The trapped raven desperately flapped it's one free wing, crying for help. Miso would let the raven go, but before the raven could get away, Miso smashed the raven back down onto the sidewalk with his paw. Playing with his food. All this happened so quickly I couldn't run downstairs fast enough. By the time I got outside Miso and the badly injured raven were a half block away. The raven was no longer able to fly. Its injured wing, completely limp, merely dragged on the ground behind it. All the raven could do now was run and hobble down the street, Miso playfully stalking behind it. Four other ravens tried swooping in on Miso, but before the ravens could attack, the injured raven ran under a large parked furniture dumpster. Foolish. Miso followed. Both disappeared under the dumpster. A short time later only Miso returned, his tummy accurately rounder.
I was a little shocked seeing Miso go after this raven since I had just fed him a big bowl of food less than an hour prior.
For the past three days the weather in Vegas has been rainy and gloomy as it prepares the city for winter. Miso, it seems, has grown and changed under these dark clouds quite a bit from the shy nervous kitten he once was a mere year ago.
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!"
Poe's revenge. Ravens beware. Nevermore.
Two stray cats
Thursday, November 14, 2019
He puts the cock in peacock
Not watching network TV for the last two years I apparently missed Donny Osmond taking over the world, again. First, Dancing With The Stars, ten years ago, and once again on Masked Singer, as the peacock. What a great performer. He lost to T Pain? What? Rigged!
Check out Osmond's performances. I can't stop watching this clip.
https://youtu.be/dA0UcyUgltc
Sorry but... T Pain, Donny Osmond... we all know who left a pint of blood on stage with every performance. Rigged!
My dad, who was raised Mormon, out in Utah, later converted to Catholicism, once gave me Donny and Marie dolls when I was like nine or ten years old. I'm not sure how you play with Donny and Marie dolls? I didnt, but I do remember watching their variety show back when my parents made us kids watch TV with them on the 50 inch floor Panasonic for "family night". Sorry dad. Mormons, we ain't. How pissed off would my brothers and I been had we become Mormons, only for dad to years later convert to Catholicism.
The guy's a performer though, Donny Osmond. He really gives. Old school. Pioneer spirit. I've reached that age, that stage in life, where I really appreciate and admire hard working people. Everyonewants expects something for nothing, but that guy works. Pints of blood.
Respect.
Check out Osmond's performances. I can't stop watching this clip.
https://youtu.be/dA0UcyUgltc
Sorry but... T Pain, Donny Osmond... we all know who left a pint of blood on stage with every performance. Rigged!
My dad, who was raised Mormon, out in Utah, later converted to Catholicism, once gave me Donny and Marie dolls when I was like nine or ten years old. I'm not sure how you play with Donny and Marie dolls? I didnt, but I do remember watching their variety show back when my parents made us kids watch TV with them on the 50 inch floor Panasonic for "family night". Sorry dad. Mormons, we ain't. How pissed off would my brothers and I been had we become Mormons, only for dad to years later convert to Catholicism.
The guy's a performer though, Donny Osmond. He really gives. Old school. Pioneer spirit. I've reached that age, that stage in life, where I really appreciate and admire hard working people. Everyone
Respect.
Sunday, November 10, 2019
Poor little white girl
Dear Anthony Hopkins, I want to pose for one of your paintings. "Paint me like one of your French girls." Anthony Hopkins is without question my favorite person to follow on Twitter/IG.
I don't know what to draw. It's been a struggle for like two weeks. I started drawing a veiled bride but lost interest.
Woke up this morning to a drunk guy standing in the empty lot across the street from my apartment building, just hollering about everything at the top of his lungs. He started around 4:45am until about 6:30am. I don't know where he found the energy. When I'm drunk I can do exactly one thing, pass out. Which is why I drink at home, alone.
I'm excited. I found a place that makes fish tacos. It's on their menu. It might be seasonal depending on their food cost and their autumn menu, but fingers are crossed. Real fish tacos are not an easy find in Vegas. It's the desert. Obviously its frozen fish but if the kitchen manager knows what he's doing, the fish will have been frozen only like 4 or 5 days. In full high volume restaurant kitchens, delivery comes twice a week. Sometimes more. I'm excited! I've been craving real fish tacos for about three months. Sure I could make them myself at home but I need to get out more. I do way too many things myself. Way. Too. Many. Things. Myself.
So this place I'm trying for fish tacos is called True Food Kitchen, in Summerlin, of course. Apparently I have to go all the way to Summerlin or Henderson for food. The menu doesn't say what kind of fish it is. My guess is cod or tilapia. And they have Thai coconut seabass *squeel* with bok choy and quinoa rice. *double squeel*
I don't think you understand
If you go a mile in any direction from where I live, it's AYCE buffets, fast food, AMPM, amazing beef tacos sans fish tacos, and chain stores like IHOP. Nothing against the mighty house of pancakes, but it's a chop and drop joint. You know what I'm saying. I miss food.
"What's in a caesar salad?"
Romain lettuce, parmesan cheese, and croutons. Caesar dressing.
"Can I substitute the cheese for..."
No! Because then it's not a caesar salad! Get the fuck out of my restaurant!
Omg Hollywood studios, will you please, please pay me to insult stupid restaurant customers. It'll be the best reality TV show ever. And the millions of industry workers around the globe will absolitely love you for it. Fuck Mr Scream-o. How about show for REAL industry workers?
Here's my thing regarding cooking shows that focus on batshit crazy chefs screaming at their employees, the only person in my thirty plus years working in restaurants that I've ever yelled at, I mean (this close) to getting into a knife fight with, was a chef. A female chef, white, who thought her supremacy went above employment hierarchy. She was wrong. And I made sure she knew it.
Here's the thing I don't understand about white supremacists, why don't they just do everything themselves, among themselves. Why mingle among the rest of us in the real world? Oh that's right because they can't. Heil Hitler. "But housekeeping needs to clean my room right now. Now! No, no, Mexicans are fine for that. Clean my room!"
Um. No. Clean your own room, bitch.
Not long ago I was a dining room manager for a high end residency. I inherited the job. I was the assistant dining room manager. Then one day my boss stopped coming to work. Dunno, he just stopped showing up. I inherited his job, his title, his staff who I had gotten to know well, and his pay. Normally corporate would fly someone in and interview me, but since I had the full support of the powers that be in the residency, and since I was already doing the job, corporate just gave it to me without the formalities. And all was well. Peaceful. Running smoothly.
Until
Jacqueline.
Chef
White
Female
Munstruating 24/7, 365. Batshit crazy.
Jackie. Not her name of course.
Who hired this nutjob?! She yelled and criticized (good lord) everything. "Fucking salt! Who puts fucking salt on salads?!" Um. Lots of people. Why do you care? She had a temper that made the soup nazi (from Seinfeld) look like a soft fuzzy kitten.
I inherited my serving staff. My wonderdul hard working serving staff, mostly Hispanic, making minimum wage, not allowed to accept tips from residents, and mostly part-time, no benefits. Meanwhile Jackie, this nutjob was making close to $70,000 a year salary to scream at people.
One day, Jackie screamed one too many times at the serving staff, over prunes, of all things, and I had had enough.
"Re-train your God damn staff!" She screamed at me. "I don't have time to smash prunes for these old fuckers whenever those Mexicans can't do their jobs and put it on the ticket!"
That was it.
I went behind the chef line with my entire management status and screemed back, "We have jobs because of those old fuckers, so if they want smashed prunes I better see your fat ass with two spoons smashing them!"
In response she screamed back at me, who knows what, and I made one threat before leaving the kitchen. I told her if she got in my face again, see what happens. And sure enough the same night she got back in my face, once more unnecessarily and foolishly. Later that night I wrote corporate a nice letter reminding them our kitchen staff only exists because the residents want us there. They all have kitchens in their units. They don't need us. They want us. If the servers ask the chefs for something without a ticket it's because the resident wants it. Give it to them. Then I proceeded to document Jackie's disruptive behavioral problems, etc., resulting some weeks later with Jackie being transferred to a smaller facility with a $25,000 pay cut. I'm certain she still fantasizes cutting my throat. Fuck her.
Point being, I will never accept a chef yelling at his crew, racially derogatory or otherwise. Never. Its called diplomacy. Not because it's the law in most states, because it's the right thing to do.
Do the right thing. Remember that?
If your high five figure salary chef gig doesn't include you pouring au jus into a gravy boat when asked for it, go open your own restaurant. Oh that's right. You can't. Because industry workers are usually multi cultural. Can't have them Mexicans in your kitchen, eh?
There's a giant Confederate flag hanging in a country bar in Chatsworth, CA. It's there. If you don't like it, don't go there. My problem is when you bring your supremacy, white or otherwise, or when you bring your bitch ass drama to me in the work place, or my home. Don't bring your stupidity to me. I get enough of stupid just coming home from the grocery store.
I worked my ass off in a restuarant, four years, six to seven days a week, and I didn't miss a single day. Not one. I was never late. I always gave 100% usually more. I always worked over time when needed. And I had a second job with the same company catering when I wasn't working the restaurant. Some people understand the meaning of hard work. What I won't coddle to, what I refuse to submit to, are snotty entitled white bitches who can't handle their jobs. If two jobs is too much, quit one. It's just that easy. Common sense. But don't stay at both jobs and expect people to pick up your shifts, or work around your schedule depending on your energy level simply because you think being white makes you superior and everyone should just do your job for you. Fuck that. Fuck you. All that tells me is, you're either incredibly lazy or too stupid to know your limits. Be a big girl. Pull up your big girl panties and be an adult. I'm over snotty white bitches. Yeah, I'd divorce you too, bitch.
https://youtu.be/pt8VYOfr8To
Seriously networks, consider my television idea.
I don't know what to draw. It's been a struggle for like two weeks. I started drawing a veiled bride but lost interest.
Woke up this morning to a drunk guy standing in the empty lot across the street from my apartment building, just hollering about everything at the top of his lungs. He started around 4:45am until about 6:30am. I don't know where he found the energy. When I'm drunk I can do exactly one thing, pass out. Which is why I drink at home, alone.
I'm excited. I found a place that makes fish tacos. It's on their menu. It might be seasonal depending on their food cost and their autumn menu, but fingers are crossed. Real fish tacos are not an easy find in Vegas. It's the desert. Obviously its frozen fish but if the kitchen manager knows what he's doing, the fish will have been frozen only like 4 or 5 days. In full high volume restaurant kitchens, delivery comes twice a week. Sometimes more. I'm excited! I've been craving real fish tacos for about three months. Sure I could make them myself at home but I need to get out more. I do way too many things myself. Way. Too. Many. Things. Myself.
So this place I'm trying for fish tacos is called True Food Kitchen, in Summerlin, of course. Apparently I have to go all the way to Summerlin or Henderson for food. The menu doesn't say what kind of fish it is. My guess is cod or tilapia. And they have Thai coconut seabass *squeel* with bok choy and quinoa rice. *double squeel*
I don't think you understand
If you go a mile in any direction from where I live, it's AYCE buffets, fast food, AMPM, amazing beef tacos sans fish tacos, and chain stores like IHOP. Nothing against the mighty house of pancakes, but it's a chop and drop joint. You know what I'm saying. I miss food.
"What's in a caesar salad?"
Romain lettuce, parmesan cheese, and croutons. Caesar dressing.
"Can I substitute the cheese for..."
No! Because then it's not a caesar salad! Get the fuck out of my restaurant!
Omg Hollywood studios, will you please, please pay me to insult stupid restaurant customers. It'll be the best reality TV show ever. And the millions of industry workers around the globe will absolitely love you for it. Fuck Mr Scream-o. How about show for REAL industry workers?
Here's my thing regarding cooking shows that focus on batshit crazy chefs screaming at their employees, the only person in my thirty plus years working in restaurants that I've ever yelled at, I mean (this close) to getting into a knife fight with, was a chef. A female chef, white, who thought her supremacy went above employment hierarchy. She was wrong. And I made sure she knew it.
Here's the thing I don't understand about white supremacists, why don't they just do everything themselves, among themselves. Why mingle among the rest of us in the real world? Oh that's right because they can't. Heil Hitler. "But housekeeping needs to clean my room right now. Now! No, no, Mexicans are fine for that. Clean my room!"
Um. No. Clean your own room, bitch.
Not long ago I was a dining room manager for a high end residency. I inherited the job. I was the assistant dining room manager. Then one day my boss stopped coming to work. Dunno, he just stopped showing up. I inherited his job, his title, his staff who I had gotten to know well, and his pay. Normally corporate would fly someone in and interview me, but since I had the full support of the powers that be in the residency, and since I was already doing the job, corporate just gave it to me without the formalities. And all was well. Peaceful. Running smoothly.
Until
Jacqueline.
Chef
White
Female
Munstruating 24/7, 365. Batshit crazy.
Jackie. Not her name of course.
Who hired this nutjob?! She yelled and criticized (good lord) everything. "Fucking salt! Who puts fucking salt on salads?!" Um. Lots of people. Why do you care? She had a temper that made the soup nazi (from Seinfeld) look like a soft fuzzy kitten.
I inherited my serving staff. My wonderdul hard working serving staff, mostly Hispanic, making minimum wage, not allowed to accept tips from residents, and mostly part-time, no benefits. Meanwhile Jackie, this nutjob was making close to $70,000 a year salary to scream at people.
One day, Jackie screamed one too many times at the serving staff, over prunes, of all things, and I had had enough.
"Re-train your God damn staff!" She screamed at me. "I don't have time to smash prunes for these old fuckers whenever those Mexicans can't do their jobs and put it on the ticket!"
That was it.
I went behind the chef line with my entire management status and screemed back, "We have jobs because of those old fuckers, so if they want smashed prunes I better see your fat ass with two spoons smashing them!"
In response she screamed back at me, who knows what, and I made one threat before leaving the kitchen. I told her if she got in my face again, see what happens. And sure enough the same night she got back in my face, once more unnecessarily and foolishly. Later that night I wrote corporate a nice letter reminding them our kitchen staff only exists because the residents want us there. They all have kitchens in their units. They don't need us. They want us. If the servers ask the chefs for something without a ticket it's because the resident wants it. Give it to them. Then I proceeded to document Jackie's disruptive behavioral problems, etc., resulting some weeks later with Jackie being transferred to a smaller facility with a $25,000 pay cut. I'm certain she still fantasizes cutting my throat. Fuck her.
Point being, I will never accept a chef yelling at his crew, racially derogatory or otherwise. Never. Its called diplomacy. Not because it's the law in most states, because it's the right thing to do.
Do the right thing. Remember that?
If your high five figure salary chef gig doesn't include you pouring au jus into a gravy boat when asked for it, go open your own restaurant. Oh that's right. You can't. Because industry workers are usually multi cultural. Can't have them Mexicans in your kitchen, eh?
There's a giant Confederate flag hanging in a country bar in Chatsworth, CA. It's there. If you don't like it, don't go there. My problem is when you bring your supremacy, white or otherwise, or when you bring your bitch ass drama to me in the work place, or my home. Don't bring your stupidity to me. I get enough of stupid just coming home from the grocery store.
I worked my ass off in a restuarant, four years, six to seven days a week, and I didn't miss a single day. Not one. I was never late. I always gave 100% usually more. I always worked over time when needed. And I had a second job with the same company catering when I wasn't working the restaurant. Some people understand the meaning of hard work. What I won't coddle to, what I refuse to submit to, are snotty entitled white bitches who can't handle their jobs. If two jobs is too much, quit one. It's just that easy. Common sense. But don't stay at both jobs and expect people to pick up your shifts, or work around your schedule depending on your energy level simply because you think being white makes you superior and everyone should just do your job for you. Fuck that. Fuck you. All that tells me is, you're either incredibly lazy or too stupid to know your limits. Be a big girl. Pull up your big girl panties and be an adult. I'm over snotty white bitches. Yeah, I'd divorce you too, bitch.
https://youtu.be/pt8VYOfr8To
Seriously networks, consider my television idea.
Monday, November 4, 2019
Mmm food porn
Greetings from the barren wasteland.
I started watching Whalburgers, five years later. Johnny-come-eventually. I was against watching this show, as I am against watching all reality TV food industry shows for two reasons. One, because generally speaking I can't stomach listening to rich and famous people telling me how to eat. I'll get to the second reason in a few minutes.
Back in the day kids, there was a TV show called Northern Exposure. It was brilliant. Everyone can identify with at least one person on that show and I identified with the doomsday philosophical caveman character, Adam. This guy knows food, philosophy, art, history, you name it. If it involves the history, pessimism, psychology, and optimism of man, Adam's your guy. He's a chef by trade who looks like a hobo and lives in a hut. Have you seen my apartment? I live downtown. Enough said. If Las Vegas had raccoons a family of them would be living here with me.
Back to Whalburgers
In the first episode I watched, Whalberg and friends were discussing Mark Whalberg's long time limited diet to sub sandwiches and pizza. It wasn't until Mark traveled overseas for work that he finally liberated his palete. I totally get that. I'm from small town Minnesota. We ate meat, burgers, corn on the cob, pizza, bratwurst and hoagies (hoagies not subs!) regularly. I didn't eat Asian food until I moved to San Francisco when I was 20 years old, and I'm Asian. Not a lot of Asian restaurants among the Germans I grew up with.
I've been in the food and drink industry for the whole of my adult life. From sidewalk cafes to the most outwardly outrageously bougie establishments where you audition for your job, not apply.
As a kid in Minnesota, every family had meat lockers. We followed the advise of our neighborly squirrels and stored up for the winter. It was a matter of survival in the -40 degree weather, not gourmet cooking. Nothing we ate from November - May tasted like anything other than the dead animal you were cooking. And potatoes. Don't forget potatoes. There was no base or stock. No fresh vegetables or herbs. Dad would bbq all year around but still, dead animal and potato. That's it. I started smoking when I was twelve years old. I started smoking a half pack a day out in the open when I was 16 years old. Times were different then. Kids could do that kind of thing without judgement or concern. I cared more about my brand of cigarettes than I did food.
It wasn't until I was 20 years old living in San Francisco, my first home away from home, I discovered the wondrous flavors of fish. Up until that point it was just fish we caught and cooked, not masala, not sushimi, not provencal, not bouillabaisse, just... fish.
Most Americans eat food because they're hungry. They want fast and easy. Hence the fast food epidemic. But Americans are evolving into foodies. Foodies. It's like they have to apologize for having a sophisticated palete. Fuck that. Welcome to your taste buds.
Foodies eat food because they love the way it tastes. They love how it makes them feel while they're eating it. It's the whole experience. The smell. The texture. The visual. I don't care for chocolate pudding but whip it into a fine mousse and I'll never forget your name. I love whipped foamy milk but can't stand hot milk, like lattes. Its just unnatural. Even cows are like, "What the fuck are you doing to my milk?!" I became a foodie at 20 years of age.
And the thing is, once you've had amazing, your expectations cannot be lowered. You will always go back to what was good, memorable.
The second reason I was against watching Whalburgers, as I am against watching all food industry shows, is because in the real world we're boring AF to watch. There is nothing glamorous about our jobs. Nothing. If how they portray the industry, is how they think the food and drink industry actually is, these reality TV shows, Hollywood movies, even these famous celebrity chefs like Gordon Ramsay, are all living in the world of whackadoo.
I've worked in Hollywood, CA. I've auditioned for jobs. Some I got. Some I didn't. But once you step into the alley or cook line, there's your hard truth reality. It's boring AF to watch. Not this high intensity drama from enigmatic mysterious characters you see in movies and on TV. No, we're boring AF to watch. It's our jobs. It's our careers. Fun doing. Boring to watch. Like golf.
"What's in croque monsieur?"
It's a grilled ham and cheese sandwich.
"What do you mean by ham and cheese?"
It's a grilled cheese sandwich with a thick slice of ham added to it.
"What do you mean by added to it?"
(And the real answer is)
Are you fucking stupid?
Now that's an industry TV show I would watch!
Food in Las Vegas is often times recycled. The garlic mashed potatoes you're paying a premium for in a bougie casino eatery, is the same garlic mashed potatoes they're serving in the cafe and buffet. Don't get me wrong there's a few buffets in Vegas absolutely worth the money, but food is definitely NOT why you come to Vegas.
I miss food. I miss culture. I miss walking five blocks down any beach or city street in Los Angeles, and being able to get food from 10 different countries.
I'm not a bougie person. Maybe a little bougie. I've just had amazing food and drink. And just like sex, once you've had amazing there's nothing else like it. I couldn't care less if you mix my Liptin tea with English breakfast and Earl Grey. It's fucking tea. Does it have caffeine? Good. Throw it in. That said however, I do know what a good vodka martini consists of and it's not Smirno...
I still love comfort food when I'm in the mood for it. Macaroni and (three layer) cheese... Aaaaand bacon and toasted bread crumb topping or what's the point?!
You know
Or what's the point?
I started watching Whalburgers, five years later. Johnny-come-eventually. I was against watching this show, as I am against watching all reality TV food industry shows for two reasons. One, because generally speaking I can't stomach listening to rich and famous people telling me how to eat. I'll get to the second reason in a few minutes.
Back in the day kids, there was a TV show called Northern Exposure. It was brilliant. Everyone can identify with at least one person on that show and I identified with the doomsday philosophical caveman character, Adam. This guy knows food, philosophy, art, history, you name it. If it involves the history, pessimism, psychology, and optimism of man, Adam's your guy. He's a chef by trade who looks like a hobo and lives in a hut. Have you seen my apartment? I live downtown. Enough said. If Las Vegas had raccoons a family of them would be living here with me.
Back to Whalburgers
In the first episode I watched, Whalberg and friends were discussing Mark Whalberg's long time limited diet to sub sandwiches and pizza. It wasn't until Mark traveled overseas for work that he finally liberated his palete. I totally get that. I'm from small town Minnesota. We ate meat, burgers, corn on the cob, pizza, bratwurst and hoagies (hoagies not subs!) regularly. I didn't eat Asian food until I moved to San Francisco when I was 20 years old, and I'm Asian. Not a lot of Asian restaurants among the Germans I grew up with.
I've been in the food and drink industry for the whole of my adult life. From sidewalk cafes to the most outwardly outrageously bougie establishments where you audition for your job, not apply.
As a kid in Minnesota, every family had meat lockers. We followed the advise of our neighborly squirrels and stored up for the winter. It was a matter of survival in the -40 degree weather, not gourmet cooking. Nothing we ate from November - May tasted like anything other than the dead animal you were cooking. And potatoes. Don't forget potatoes. There was no base or stock. No fresh vegetables or herbs. Dad would bbq all year around but still, dead animal and potato. That's it. I started smoking when I was twelve years old. I started smoking a half pack a day out in the open when I was 16 years old. Times were different then. Kids could do that kind of thing without judgement or concern. I cared more about my brand of cigarettes than I did food.
It wasn't until I was 20 years old living in San Francisco, my first home away from home, I discovered the wondrous flavors of fish. Up until that point it was just fish we caught and cooked, not masala, not sushimi, not provencal, not bouillabaisse, just... fish.
Most Americans eat food because they're hungry. They want fast and easy. Hence the fast food epidemic. But Americans are evolving into foodies. Foodies. It's like they have to apologize for having a sophisticated palete. Fuck that. Welcome to your taste buds.
Foodies eat food because they love the way it tastes. They love how it makes them feel while they're eating it. It's the whole experience. The smell. The texture. The visual. I don't care for chocolate pudding but whip it into a fine mousse and I'll never forget your name. I love whipped foamy milk but can't stand hot milk, like lattes. Its just unnatural. Even cows are like, "What the fuck are you doing to my milk?!" I became a foodie at 20 years of age.
And the thing is, once you've had amazing, your expectations cannot be lowered. You will always go back to what was good, memorable.
The second reason I was against watching Whalburgers, as I am against watching all food industry shows, is because in the real world we're boring AF to watch. There is nothing glamorous about our jobs. Nothing. If how they portray the industry, is how they think the food and drink industry actually is, these reality TV shows, Hollywood movies, even these famous celebrity chefs like Gordon Ramsay, are all living in the world of whackadoo.
I've worked in Hollywood, CA. I've auditioned for jobs. Some I got. Some I didn't. But once you step into the alley or cook line, there's your hard truth reality. It's boring AF to watch. Not this high intensity drama from enigmatic mysterious characters you see in movies and on TV. No, we're boring AF to watch. It's our jobs. It's our careers. Fun doing. Boring to watch. Like golf.
"What's in croque monsieur?"
It's a grilled ham and cheese sandwich.
"What do you mean by ham and cheese?"
It's a grilled cheese sandwich with a thick slice of ham added to it.
"What do you mean by added to it?"
(And the real answer is)
Are you fucking stupid?
Now that's an industry TV show I would watch!
Food in Las Vegas is often times recycled. The garlic mashed potatoes you're paying a premium for in a bougie casino eatery, is the same garlic mashed potatoes they're serving in the cafe and buffet. Don't get me wrong there's a few buffets in Vegas absolutely worth the money, but food is definitely NOT why you come to Vegas.
I miss food. I miss culture. I miss walking five blocks down any beach or city street in Los Angeles, and being able to get food from 10 different countries.
I'm not a bougie person. Maybe a little bougie. I've just had amazing food and drink. And just like sex, once you've had amazing there's nothing else like it. I couldn't care less if you mix my Liptin tea with English breakfast and Earl Grey. It's fucking tea. Does it have caffeine? Good. Throw it in. That said however, I do know what a good vodka martini consists of and it's not Smirno...
I still love comfort food when I'm in the mood for it. Macaroni and (three layer) cheese... Aaaaand bacon and toasted bread crumb topping or what's the point?!
You know
Or what's the point?
Friday, November 1, 2019
Eat my Apple!
If it's 43 degrees out but "feels like 34" than why is it not reportedly 34 degrees out? Yeah I know. I ask stupid questions.
It's on like Donkey Kong!
Aramis and I, and our epic battle of Apple phones vs non Apple, has reached the point of no return and, we entered a photo contest.
My photo of Miso kitty, the beloved neighborhood cat, loved by all but the mentally deranged, shot on an Iphone.
And Aramis's family doggy, shot on a Fuji X-t2. (A different black and white photo of this pup.)
Battle on!
Both Aramis and I come from the land of ice and snow - the midwest.
Viking vs Cheesehead. He's the Cheesehead.
This is not a cat vs dog fight. I like dogs. He likes cats. This is an Apple vs. Non Apple fight.
Um
I also have an Android but Sshhh
It's on like Donkey Kong!
Aramis and I, and our epic battle of Apple phones vs non Apple, has reached the point of no return and, we entered a photo contest.
My photo of Miso kitty, the beloved neighborhood cat, loved by all but the mentally deranged, shot on an Iphone.
And Aramis's family doggy, shot on a Fuji X-t2. (A different black and white photo of this pup.)
Battle on!
Both Aramis and I come from the land of ice and snow - the midwest.
Viking vs Cheesehead. He's the Cheesehead.
This is not a cat vs dog fight. I like dogs. He likes cats. This is an Apple vs. Non Apple fight.
Um
I also have an Android but Sshhh
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