haiku ambulance

magic beans

2006-12-12T07:04:00.000-08:00

i'm feeling very stupid.

very very very stupid.

so.

yesterday i had the day off. all to myself. nothing to do. just driving around. singing some songs. drinking some coffee. having some fun. and i thought, hey- how's about some new earrings? it'll be great. treat yourself.

there is a place in ybor city that i frequent. it's clean and friendly. but it is a tattoo parlour nonetheless. filled with tattooed people. i'm not a fan of stereotypes, but i have met a few "holier than thou" folks, who happen to be covered in freaking tattoos. call it what you want but i'm right and you know it. with that in mind, there i go. walk in, explain the situation of having my ears gauged almost a year ago but wanting to start anew.

cool.

they tell me what i can get, what i cannot. and i say... wow, those white ones in front. those are beautiful.
so, there they go, boxing them up for me in a cute little box, "wash them...soap....water...blah, blah, blah. yeah, these are nice: they're mammoth ivory.... don't wear them in the shower.... blah, blah."

and i say, "wow, mammoth ivory? awesome."

dude gives me a little bottle of oil to treat them with and i pay. good-bye, thank you.

then i head to the public restroom, pop those kittens in and grab a few beers.

nearly an hour later i thought to myself...

mammoth ivory?

dear blue devil boys,

i hope you had a royal laugh.
you're welcome.

...john?

2006-12-11T06:46:00.000-08:00

i found him in the claw game at perkin's on dale mabry.

congratulations mr. kerry, you've done well for yourself.

mr. cirrocumulus

2006-12-01T07:34:00.000-08:00

he's been hanging around lately.

i like it.

aurevoir, chien!

2006-11-13T13:31:00.000-08:00

yes.
good-bye dog.
kitchen dog, that is. i'm unsure of the meaning of the term, but i have been dubbed as such for almost six months now. i even googled it to see if it was a common nick-name for a girl working the line in a restaurant.

nope.

so nonetheless- on i go- wagging my tail and panting like an obese retriever to the next restaurant. (actually, the name is making more sense now that i spell it out. hmm.) but for the time being i will resume my duties as a server of fine wines and excellent feasts. and that's honestly a freaking vacation from the way things are right now.

now, i pretty much get paid about eight and change to run around a kitchen the size of a handicapped stall and sweat and bleed. because that's really about all it boils down to: drinking enough water so i don't pass out from dehydration, and thinking i've had a good day if i come home with all my fingers. which is great, really. but only if it pays the bills. which it doesn't.
there are a very select few in this world who can honestly justify the exhaustion, pain, and disgust of working in a kitchen full-time. i, myself am not one of them. maybe in the very distant future if i happen to become bedfellows with anthony bourdain or the likes- but as it stands, i doubt it. i'll stick to watching top chef and rachael ray.

don't get me wrong. i love to cook. and i love to be in a heated environment like that (no pun intended). but i'm young. very young. and i fear that i have already lost about six years off my life from this. and i think it's best if i get out with five fingers on each hand, and decent looking forearms. i took a challenge. did my best. and now i must move on.

but honestly, the only thing that really scares me is that i might get bored in the real world.
i might long for sautee pans flying past my head.
i might miss the smell of burnt oil.
i could miss being covered in grease and grill bits.
pasta water!!! vegetables!!! i need fucking PASTA WATER!!!
ohh, come on man!! i'm weeded!!
zoe! where my tongs!!? you take my tongs!!?

...but i doubt it...

so, wish me luck.
and hope that lassie doesn't come home.

update

2006-07-21T06:45:00.000-07:00

as promised, here is an image of (a small part of) the mango massacre in the parking lot. delicious, no?

and for the record i would not reccomend eating a mango like a peach. no matter how ripe. i did it, don't get me wrong. but i was pulling fibers out of my teeth for probably two hours. not fun.

really love your mangoes, wanna shake your tree..

2006-07-17T06:57:00.000-07:00

there's a mango tree behind my new apartment building. they are about the size of... i'm not sure. maybe twice the size of an egg? bigger than a kiwi, but smaller than an orange. not nearly as big as the ones you find in the grocery.

growing up in colorado, i never really had the fortune of fresh fruit from the tree. unless you count crab apples. i don't. and if you ever tried to eat one, you wouldn't be counting them either.

anyway, this is a pretty exciting thing for me. as soon as you park you can smell them. not to mention the ground is littered in mango innerds. it's quite a site really. mangoes are so fibrous that once they have become parking lot road-kill, there are just countless hairy, orange landmines everywhere. i should really post a picture of that, too. it's pretty weird.

so, boyfriend and i went a-pickin' the other night. we grabbed some ripe ones, which are legitimately about to burst, and some green ones which we'll let ripen in the bowl. when i say about to burst, i mean they are so delicate, so full of juice that they feel like you could eat them like a peach. and i still believe you could. i'll let you know how it goes.

now, i know that this won't last long- this mini-harvest of mine, honestly it's probably almost over. but it's funny how something so small can make a place (florida) seem ok for just a little longer... we're on-the-outs, florida and i. we have been for quite some time. but this is something i can't get in colorado.

never could.

alas, i'll let you know how i'm feeling when the parking lot is covered in rotten mango pits, and i'm standing there sweating wondering what the hell i'm doing in such a spoiled state.

excuse me

2006-07-09T09:00:00.000-07:00

i think i'm losing my mind.

'twas a good one

2006-07-05T15:47:00.000-07:00

6/7 ain't bad

2006-06-20T06:14:00.000-07:00

another sweet, sweet sunday.

my boyfriend, myself and six of out friends slept in then met up at the pool. layed out and swam until about 5:00pm and decided to go to dinner. fancy style. (one of them just bought new clothes, and insisted on showing them off.) awesome. we'll do tapas.

we part ways, go home and shower, get ready, and meet up at eight o'clock at the local tapas bar. we order a bottle of wine for each corner of the table and between two and four tapas per person. here's where the carnage begins.

pride
after a long day in the florida sun, each one of us truly believed that we were capable of consuming this much food and drink. we thought, "with our superhuman powers, we could eat a banquet table full of freaking food, drink bottle upon bottle of wine, deal with dessert, and even partake in espresso martinis to finish us off!"

but allow me to backtrack. i've gotten ahead of myself here.
we order.

gluttony
it wasn't a contest. there was no prize.
yet, somehow everybody heard the gun fire and -quick, shove your freaking face as fast as you possibly can.
go!
i almost wish i could describe how disgusting it is to watch eight lovely twenty-somethings filling their liqour holes like garfield. but i can't. unfortunately, i was there and apparently was too busy mowing the table down with my own face to even take a breath and look up.

envy
wow. that goat cheese alforno looks awesome. can i try some?
yeah, is that the chorizo y pollo?
god that's good, can i have another bite? dude, i should have ordered that steak thing with the chimmichurri.

and on and on and on like that until the portions (which are limited to begin with... hence, tapas) each only had one or two bites remaining.

greed
now the silence falls as arms reach over plates to wipe the rest of the sauce up with the last piece of neglected grilled onion. filet slices are hoarded. the bottle of wine is killed when no one else is watching. what a terrible display of humanity. this only occurs once during the meal and is never brought up in conversation.

sloth
after we flag the waiter down to please get this souffle off the table so we don't have to look at it anymore, thank you- we help eachother out of our chairs and waddle outside for a smoke. we lean on the wall, exhale in misery, maybe unbutton a button or two, and talk about how much we hate ourselves for doing what we did.

anger, or wrath
oh my god.
i'm in so much pain.

what the f*ck were we thinking?
i cannot believe we just did that.
dude, did see how much food was on that table??
ow ow ow
never again, my friends.
i'm so mad at myself i could throw up.
i'm so full i could throw up.

lust
after a night like that?

not a chance.

good guitar

2006-06-11T10:09:00.000-07:00

he is much older than he looks.
commendable posture and
tailored nose hairs.
the only hint of senior citizenship
is the
gathering of sun-stained skin between
his chin and the collar of a
black tee shirt.

...

he squints and his lips
dance
almost imperceptibly
to the six strings.
he hears just half of
what he plays.
the right ear has retired,
the left is
on his way.

...

both ground and sky are
pink. not quite flower pink,
but a softer, fleshier,
mayonnaise pink. it has
snowed since dawn and is now
after dusk.
no one seems to have left
their house.
the snow, untouched on the road:

perfection.

even the
birdsandsquirrelsandracoonsanddogs
stayed in.
we'd all hate to be the one to disturb
the sleeping
white baby.

...

the guitar, too,
now sleeps. dreaming in jazz of
blue
grass.

...

he reads on the loveseat.
paperback rocking with the rythm of
his dozing. he snores
with his mouth open and
dreams of hearing
both halves.

what do you say?

2006-05-24T13:03:00.000-07:00

sunday is a fun day. it's my only day off during the week. hang out. do some laundry sometimes. maybe have some drinks with friends.

about two weeks ago summer officially started. and i'm in florida. so it's hot. quite hot. it's sticky and gross and suffocating hot. this is about the time of year when i cannot drink red wine. especially outside. i am slowly befriending sauvignon blanc, but it is a long process. i just need something light, refreshing, and very very cold. so what do i get?

a mojito.

white rum, soda, sugar, lime and mint. gently meddle the mint and sugar together. either with a mortar and pestal or in the glass with said meddler. bruise the mint enough to release the flavor. add rum and lime juice. stir. drink.

we'll have two mojitos please. ok.

for a bartender, mojitos are not very fun to make. they take a while and actually require some physical labor. so i tend to give a small apology or a disclaimer if you will. i love them but i hate to order them. and i will only ask for one round. the bartender, who is also a friend, is kind of new so we say- hey. you got that right?

of couse he knows how to make a mojito. he says.

maybe six minutes later he sets down two glasses of scientific wonder.
my friend and i look at eachother horrified.
he has to get up and leave before he dies laughing.

somehow the bartender managed to turn the mint into a nasty pulpy sludge. it floated to the top and turned the entire drink green. and then he gave them to us. to drink.
for those of you who do not know what a mojito is or looks like - i have included a picture of one. can you guess which one it is?
now- to his credit- they kind of actually tasted like mojitos. not good mojitos, but mojitos none the less. my friend poured most of his into the bush.

how are they, guys?

fantastic! thank you so much!

because... what do you say? he is our friend. not a best friend. but we do hang out. and he was taking himself very seriously. i know we could have asked for something else. but we couldn't bring ourselves to it.

a mistake is one thing. this was just blasphemous.

song and dance man

2006-05-14T11:00:00.000-07:00

i don't think words are very necessary for these images. but if you can't see the tap shoes, then take a closer look.

the black card

2006-05-10T09:16:00.000-07:00

we are free to make choices every day.
we are very lucky to do so.
what we want for breakfast, what toothpaste to brush our teeth with, what car to drive, what city to live in, how much to tip our server....
whatever you choose to do is perfectly fine.

unless you have a $23 tab and you hand me your frigging american express black card. then, my friend, you have just asked me if i can break a million dollar bill for you because you have nothing smaller. whether you know it or not, you have made a choice to leave me an extremely gratuitous tip.

i see the black card (which has honestly only been twice. they're rare. very rare.) and i think- hey. a million bucks. you have at least a million bucks at any given time. and i do not.
and you know i know. maybe it's your way of saying- hey, lady. see what i got? you're getting at least %50 today. if not much more. unfortunately, that is not what you are thinking. i get that by now. but it should be.

not to mention the fact that you have to physically hand it to me just so i know it's made of some precious metal. for those of you who have not come into contact with the black card, it weighs about as much as a small cell phone. i am not exaggerating.

allow me to give a couple of quick facts...

you cannot apply for a black card. you have to be so wealthy (spending upwards of at least $250,000 a year...and affording a $1,000 annual fee) as to be invited. and it comes with such perks as 24 hour access to a personal concierge. buy-one-get-one free on all first class airline tickets. free travel agent and consulatation with a financial advisor. free one-night's stay in every Mandarin Oriental hotel worldwide once a year. you have just handed me the ultimate symbol of wealth.

the official number of "invitations" in circulation is not disclosed but is estimated only to be in the hundreds. check it out. it's worth a google.

gucci and saks care about your black card. my restaurant and i do not, so keep it in your wallet and give me the visa.

especially if you don't realize proper black card etiquitte.

and don't think i glanced over the fact that you clearly are not the one working for your millions and/or billions. because you sat. in my booth. from eleven. until three. drinking wine. on a tuesday. i am not resenting these people, but there is a time and a place for your black card. make the right choice.

what happened was

2006-05-08T06:50:00.000-07:00

my girlfriend and i had a dinner party saturday evening.

one of the girls who came owns a fondue pot, so we had decided to pick up some fondue cheese at publix. i looked in the fancy cheese kiosk and didn't see it. so i looked in the dairy area next to the yogurts. nope.

so i found someone and asked him where i should go. he didn't really seem to know so he found me someone else. kevin, do you know where the fondue kits are?
kevin: oh. see- what happened was.........................we don't have them anymore.
me: ok. thank you.
kevin: um. i can order you more.
me: no, that's ok i need it for tonight.
kevin: let me check one more thing.

then, kevin walked into the butcher area, turned around and came right back out.

kevin: see- what happened was.........................................we put it in the hurricane katrina bags. so they could eat fondue.

so they could eat fondue.

too ridiculous. mildly hilarious.

nicely done

2006-04-29T16:31:00.000-07:00

smells like killer bees

2006-04-28T09:40:00.000-07:00

lyons, colorado. the day after christmas, 2005.

in the 14th century, the black death single-handedly erased over 1/3 of europe's population. according to boulder county public health, "the first dead black squirrel was observed on wednesday, may 18, 2005. since that time, several additional black squirrels have died, and BCPH received positive test results for one carcass yesterday (may 25)."

hysteria.

no children or domesticated animals are allowed in the local park.
pets are kept inside.
houses and yards are saturated with insecticide.
pants are tucked into socks.

believe me. i don't think disease is funny. there actually may be a chance that somebody's cat could become infected.
then what?
i'll tell you. mama takes kitty to the vet and kitty is ok.

plague is a bacterial infection. cureable by antibiotics.
we've come a long way since the 14th century. these days, people get sick and go to a doctor- or go to the hospital. those days, each family member of a confirmed victim were 'quarantined' for 30 days. in the same room. plague kills 2-6 days after infection. do the math.
on average, worldwide -between 10 and 14 die because of the boubonic plague.

in order, these are the current 15 leading causes of death:
diseases of the heart, malignant neoplasm, cerebrovascular disease, chronic lower respiratory disease, accidents, diabetes mellitus, influenza and pneumonia, alzhemier's disease, nephrosis, septicaemia, suicide, chronic liver disease, primary hypertension, parkinson's disease, and pneumonitis due to solids or liquids.

sorry, no plague.

something had to be said.

soup du jour

2006-04-26T21:20:00.000-07:00

two days ago a sink fell out of the wall at work.

this afternoon the plummer installed a new sink.

he unearthed the bowels of the restaurant.

my vocabulary is not grand enough to properly convey how offensive an odor so rank can be. the thought burned in my mind that such a stench could, in fact, be fatal. so poisonous and toxic it could drown you to death. liquify your innerds. taint your blood and drive you insane.

a small riot broke out as each person came in for their shift. this was supernatural. this was death. i was there for four hours and the stench was still there when i left. i know i took some of it home.

we opened the doors and killed two aerosol bottles of "potpourri." we poured bleach on the floor and turned up the fans and tried not to gag. i'm over potpourri. i want it out of my life. if this things sleeps there overnight i will probably quit. i will definitely quit.

food was cooked. meals were eaten. it was disgusting.

but this is my life. this is a restaurant. we peel roaches off the floors. we spray the dish hose at rats. things get dirty- things get rinsed. things like food. like steaks. butter packets are fingered and molded back to their original shape. refrigerated. thawed. handled. refrigerated.

dishes were washed in this sink for chrissake.

you can call him cyclops

2006-04-26T13:13:00.000-07:00

he is polyphemous.
he lived on my wall for seven days and never moved.
what you see here is the prelude to his exodus.

they have no mouths and never eat. they have yet to be documented in tampa.

he was very quiet.
i cried when he left.

re: gingerbread house

2006-04-26T07:06:00.000-07:00

mr. blogspot asked me a random question today.

"what would you wear for camoflage if you were hiding in a gingerbread house?"
easy. gingerbread. i would wear my gingerbread suit.

then i started getting nervous. is this a trick question? i should have said dark khaki... or brown cordouroy! and i have a couple of questions, myself, mr. blogspot...

i need to rethink this and start from the top.

ok. i know that i am hiding. and i know where i am.
first, i thought this gingerbread house must belong to the person/monster/witch that i am hiding from. but that wouldn't give me nearly enough time to plan an outfit! and if this were the case- i would probably just get the fu*k out of this creepy house and run as fast as i can through the (most likely) haunted forest.
so, then i think this has to be my gingerbread house. if i were to hide, the safest bet would be to go home and lock the doors and call the police.

shame on me for making a house out of gingerbread.

that was my first mistake. and i assume that since i was so smart as to make my home out of gingerbread- i probably didn't think too hard about having important things like phones or locks or alarms. especially since i am going around pissing off people/monsters/witches. who, might i add, could either eat through my walls and find me and my gingerbread suit hiding in the corner, or just pick up a rock and crumble that cookie. and let's not even think about inclement weather...

so this is what i have decided to do.

me and my gingerbread suit are going to sit on my crumby porch and wait for this person/monster/witch. when they arrive i am going to apologize for what i have done. i am sorry. please forgive me. i have lost my mind and cannot be held responsible for my actions. look at what i have done. i have made myself a gingerbread house. what i did was very wrong and you should take me to the police.
and me and this person/monster/witch will go to the police and i will promptly be arrested and sent to the nearest institution. me and my gingerbread suit will not be bothering you anymore.

goodbye, gingerbread house.