Hate This Job

Hate is a bit strong but I cannot understate the amount of disdain I have about most of the folks that I work with; selfish, self-absorbed bunch of queens and fag-hags. I haven’t been there for like 8 or 9 days now (except for when I went in 4 days ago to talk to a manager about being sick) and their first response when I approach the family meal table: Are you still sick?

Wait, I didn’t explain that correctly. They weren’t inquiring in a way that was like, “oh, you poor thing, are you still ill?” No, it was this: they leaned away from me and they covered themselves – if they acknowledged me at all. They weren’t joking or trying to be funny. Most of them just went about chatting amongst themselves.

I- in my still terribly horse voice- tried to make a joke like, “Hey, this is what happens when you ignore your sickness.” And in response to their self-serving inquiry I said, “Yes, I am still sick but I am not contagious – just riddled with infection.” I stood there not knowing how to even take their response (or lack thereof). Not a one of them wished me well or, “hope you feel better.” So I just walked out.

I hate my fucking job and the people I work with. No assurance, however, that it’ll be any better anywhere else. But for the record . . .

Get That Gorilla Off My Back

Oh shit, another year has passed and I’m lying in bed sick. Part of it self induced and, in part, due to my having ignored allergens and sickness to the point of no recovery; compound that with a lot of bad (by which I mean good) eating, a lot of drinking, in addition to a rapid suction of over-drinking while good, good friends were in town .. . Well, there ya go, sickness.



If you know me you know I don’t have a monkey on my back but a gorilla. Seriously (literally), a gorilla (suit) and on this fine weekend I had two. (If you are not familiar with the gorilla shenanigans, your loss for sure.) Although I promised I’d spend this self-induced sick time looking for a new job, I lied (just a little). I’m mixing my meds with a bloody (just one I swear!) and working on my cookbook round up for the year. So, I’m gonna hunker down and review my notes, ask around a little, reflect on my purchases and, if I get around to it, maybe take a peek at Craigslist.


Missing my M like chickens!

P.S. I don't know (not me!) who to blame for the blurry shot but that would be me and my bff with 2 of the cheffie types at the Bourbon House. It is not the first time this kitchen has seen the gorilla, but a first for the two.

All Super 6's Are Not Created Equal

Everything you ever needed to know about getting a cheap hotel room on a road trip

• Location is key but a dump is a dump is a dump – no matter how close to your attraction.

• Check on line: I found a differences of more than 100$ between the hotel’s site versus a discount (not to mention the crap prices they quote you in person). You can sometimes negotiate for web prices in person but not always.

• Amenity differences: Super 8's has a Kleenex dispenser by the sink and Motel 6, a bottle opener.

• Seriously, move away from the highway. If you’re forced to get a place cuz you’re gonna crash if you don’t at least request a room on the other side of the road or as far away from it as possible (and babies, and pools, and anyone likely to be hooking). Just a suggestion.

• Request to see a room before giving them any money. Make sure it’s actually the room you’ll be sleeping in. There are such things as decoy rooms.

• Would you like a diet cherry Fontana? Check out the vendi situation before you settle in for the night.

• Wi-Fi: if they don’t know what it is chances are they don’t have it. (In the case of Motel 6 they only certain rooms offer it and they may or may not require that you purchase a card for $3.99; if you stay at a few chances are the first one you bought will actually still work at the others).

• All confidence is lost when the GM of the hotel gives you the key to someone else’s room.

• Don’t look too closely – yes, I found a wall booger.

• Flip Flops – highly suggested!

• The check-out times are negotiable, especially if you’re checking in later. Have yet to talk someone into 5 o’clock but we did manage 3 o’clock once.

• Bring your own pillow.

• All Super 6’s are not created equally.

• Cleanliness is subjective.

• Mold, optional.

• Ditto on “non-smoking.” One non-smoking room came complete with ashtray and cigarette burns on the comforter. The topper: we had to sign an agreement that assesses a $175 fine if they decreed the room to have been smoked in.

• Alarm clocks grow scarcer the farther south you go.

• What about “DO NOT DISTURB” do you not understand?

• Even bad coffee (either in your room or in the lobby) can be better than no coffee. Never knew it but coffee houses can be scarce.

• Who cares if they offer free continental breakfast (cereal, stale donuts, canned fruit. . .) if you don’t rise before 10?

• Guess what, if you actually tip your housekeeper the room does get cleaner and they’re less likely to steal something from you. I’m just saying.



OK, it's not everything you need to know but it is a good primer.

Otherwise Known as Useless

Although it did my soul a world of good catching up with my BFF over the phone it nearly killed the rest of me. I couldn't tell you exactly how I got that drunk (OK, that's kind of obvious) or why I stayed up so long but come rising time I was a wreck.

I figured it was Monday and despite being stuck on a double it would be slow and my walking-dead status would go barely noticed. Au contraire, we were under staffed and very busy. We ran out of glasses, of silverware... 30 minute ticket times for burgers, I had a new serving partner - who is an idiot - and 35 covers all at the same time glaring at me in that way that says "where is my food you dumb bitch?" Compounded by the fact that was simultaneously still drunk and hung-over, I was doing lunch the hard way.

I managed to run into every corner, knock into every chair, pour wine onto the table instead of the glass, dump whole loaves of bread on the floor and drop a tray onto another server's head (don't ask I don't even know how I managed that one). After 5 hours of hell I walked with a measly 67 dollars. My head still hurt. I was starving and now terribly craving a burger - of which I sold probably 15 of the previous shift - go figure.

My meager hour and half break was spent with the in-law, my man, and my neighbor. Instead of that burger I got the left overs from their boring ham, brie and apple panini but - god help me - my man made me a spicy bloody mary. I was feeling better already. (The glass and half of wine helped too).

I literally ran back to work (damn, I gotta start doing some cardio!) to do it all over again. Dinner was really no easier than lunch and karma has a way of sneaking back up on you.. . Or, rather, a way of sending someone else to hit you in the face with a large tray of food. (Thanks, Evan).

6 and a half hours (and 25 dollars) later I took myself out for a burger and a bloody. Both were delicious.

Today I may have crossed the threshold from being a functional drunk to alcoholic. Oh well, I guess all there is to do is poor myself another drink. Which I did promptly.

A Love Letter to the Minneapolis Food Scene

Earlier this week we actually had some good ethnic food; a giant bowl of phở that warmed my heart as much as it did my belly. We also had a gloriously scented jasmine tea and a ho-hum bánh mì sandwich but it was the best Asian food we’d had in months in a kitchen other than our own. In a place where a firm percentage of the population is Vietnamese you’d think it not be the challenge that it is to have good, honest food prepared simply with the fresh ingredients that I know must be here. Alas, they seem to focus more on the sale of Sysco based GI-Chinese food that has failed us at every try.

With the success of our bowl of phở I was reminded of the many ethnic haunts we so regularly visited in Minneapolis. Never more than a bike ride away my craving for Thai or the like was quick to be satiated. Sadly, these days, there’s a lot of risk involved (Will this place be any good? Oh please let this place be good!) in addition to a journey that requires the commitment of time, a ferry or long winding bridge to somewhere unknown – typically, the trip requires all three.

Never were the (hunger) pangs of home sickness greater than today when I received my issue of Metro’s food issue. Although small in size, the food scene in Minneapolis is large in heart and diversity. I miss it deeply.

Having moved to a city whose culinary identity is vastly cliché and often poorly executed, I miss the authenticity and commitment to good food done well. I miss the fine food and friends I had come to take for granted in Minneapolis and St. Paul.

You’re in my heart, Twin Cities, but –unfortunately for me – not in my stomach.

What do you tell a woman with 2 black eyes?

… Nothing you haven’t told her twice before.

I have been walking around as the punch line to this joke for 5 days now and no one has said one word to me. Not one. Not my managers, nor my co-workers, nor anyone on the street. Not a single soul.

If I were in the Midwest dozens of people would have inquired; asked what happened, suggested I move into a shelter, offered me a place to stay with the assumption someone was beating me . . .

For the record: a freak baking accident where I dropped a heavy ball jar on my own nose. But still, not one inquiry?

Why Can’t You Get Along with Anyone?

I’ve been called “difficult” several times since our arrival here, particularly by real estate agents. It is not to say others haven’t thought the same elsewhere but the term “difficult” seems to be the term they fancy instead of calling someone a bitch. Additionally, I guess their idea of “reasonable” is different than mine and for that matter their idea of “move-in ready” is significantly different than our idea up north too but that’s hardly where the differences stop and start, but I digress.

After having looked at some 80 or so properties we finally decided on where we currently live. Our decision was in great part out of pure exhaustion: tired of looking, of negotiating, of having phone calls not returned… so here we were signing a lease with a pinched real estate agent that owned our soon to be home on Bourbon street. We were later warned she too was “difficult” but we’ve since found that out for ourselves.

2 weeks back we had a cold spell so we turned on the heater, discovering that it didn’t work properly. She argued with the Mr. about its working condition and why we would even have our heater on yet to which he replied, “I pay for it, what business is it of yours when I turn it on.” After much debate she finally agreed to have a repairman come take a look.

Upon her arrival her judgment and disdain was palpable although it wasn’t until after the heater repairman concluded their diagnostic that the disagreement ensued. (Fortunately, they had figured out the issue; according to Brigitte, there was no problem, in her opinion the heater was turning off because the apartment was up to temperature. There was no explaining to her that the apartment was 60 degrees and the heater was cranked to 85 …)

In her departure I brought up 2 other issues: the motor on the fan in the bathroom stopped working and the rosemary in the backyard was dying. It was then she begun lecturing and chastising me. For anyone who knows me they know I don’t take kindly to be talked at and I have a particular disdain for a demeaning tone.

Although I had agreed to care for the yard (grooming) despite receiving no compensation I concured with her statement that I had expressed an interest in maintaining the yard. (On our last chat however she had lectured me on watering the yard so which was it, am I to care for the yard or not?. Anyway, I stated very clearly that there was no way I was going to pay for soil replenishment, fertilizer or anything else that required out of pocket expenses on my end for her plants in a shared courtyard. Period. So, in punishment, she’s going to send in “her lady” who will severely cut back all of the plants. She does this twice a year and does nothing more to condition the plants, nor does she provide any on-going yard maintenance. She just whacks it down twice a year. So be it. Then there was the issue of the bathroom fan seizing up.

Instead of repairing it she askd, “Can’t you just open a window?”

“Brigitte, with it getting cold out I would prefer NOT to open the window.” I mean, really, the window is in the shower and the bathroom is all of 3 square feet, would you want to open the window?

I guess since she saw her side of the “conversation” as a lose-lose so she thought it an opportune time to discuss the "fact" that we're using the middle room as "storage." I told her it was none of her business what we did with the house…that I'm busy and haven't had a chance to figure it all out/decorate... she wanted (demanded numerous times in fact) to know what our "plan" was (Were we going to open a restaurant, rent a storage facility...?) and I told her it was none of her business and then told her she wasn't my mother so back off. My plan was, as I explained to her, to return her property to her in the same --if not better-- condition than we received it. She was concerned we were ruining the floor. . . How you stupid cow-pig? How would we being ruining the floor by having things on it?

"Do we not pay our rent?" I asked. "Do we not pay it in a timely fashion every month?" To both she responded yes yet was quick with a “but…” Then she berated me for the volume I was listening to PUBLIC FUCKING RADIO on the computer while I was doing my housework. She said she could hear it next door and "if someone was there..."

"Well, there isn’t anyone there now is there?" I added, "have you received any complaints? You see, we have wonderful relationships with our neighbors so I'm sure if there were a problem they'd say something to us."

I offered that if she were unhappy with our tenancy she could sever the lease and we'll move on. No, she said, she didn't want that but then complained that we were taking up more space than we should - with the Vespa and pots outside, etc. "All things," I pointed out "you, pre-approved prior to our tenancy."

Oh I hate the bitch and I thought the Mr. was gonna be mad at me but his only response was this: “Why can’t you get along with anyone?” That’s great, I thought, I stand up for myself and I’m the difficult one. Story of my fucking life. And then there was today . . .

I’d like to say it ended all sweet and she apologized but she came with her guns a blazing – actually more like quivery face and finger a waggin’. It’s not that I was likely to apologize (because I wouldn’t – I did nothing wrong) but I didn’t even have a chance to play nice, she just started right in. She literally came inside and started in on me; she was within 12 inches of my face with her finger in my in my eyeball telling me off and threatening to give us 30 days to move. I told her she needed to back up out of my face and step outside. I demanded it 3 or 4 times before she finally did.

I told her, "I’m standing here gargling in my residence minding my own business, how dare you come in here at speak to me like that. Now, step back and go outside where we can continue the conversation in a civilized manner as soon as (the Mr.) gets here.” She continued to try and argue with me even as she backed out. I shut the door on her not saying another word until my man arrived.

When he arrived she says, “I just had another lovely conversation with your wife.”

We tit and tat about some bullshit with the pots and some plants – petty bullshit really – but clearly she went home yesterday all worked up and tried to find something “legit” for her to berate me about. I again reiterated, this time directing it to the Mr. that I was not going to have someone in my face yelling at me. I re-enacted how she was behaving. The Mr. broke us up with a “now, ladies…” and I marched back inside. I didn’t slam a single door or blare my blasted public radio but I was seething. Once again I was being vilified for not tolerating someone else’s bad behavior. I guess I really infuriate people when they can’t win an argument with me. Maybe I am a little combative (OK, I am) but I will not be belittled and talked down to. Maybe I’m a little full of it, maybe I can’t get along with anyone?

She was kinder with the Mr. but still difficult – still argumentative and mentioned giving us 60 days to move. Good man that he is, my man made it clear that if SHE wanted us to move it would not be at our financial expense – if we moved she would be severing the lease and the penalties/losses would be hers and not ours. She then reconsidered, “can we be friends?”

“I don’t know, can we?” he joked. They shook hands and agreed that she and I would never again speak.