that's why they call me bad company
May. 19th, 2005 08:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Ahhh phooo. *wakes up*
I don't know why, but on the dot of 7:00 I roused from sleep and had to sit up and look around. Was in denial for a bit but have finally, a bit sore-eyed, embraced the inevitable: I'm up, and won't fall asleep again until half an hour before I have to leave for work. (You'd think with such a varied schedule as I have, that wouldn't happen ALL the time, but it does-- no matter what time I'm going to work, I'm always sleepy just long enough beforehand that there's not quite time enough for a nap.)
Much better mood at the moment-- I was moved-to-tears angry last night when ten minutes from the time I was going to leave a supervisor wandered by and asked me to do a co-worker's job (a much higher-paid coworker, might I mention-- those who do menial labor are paid better than I because they don't make tips) and didn't even say please. Meantime supervisors and managers have these "points" they award for people doing a good job, and they're exclusively giving them to employees who pester them to get them. So I went out to bus the tables left messy by grab-n-go customers, which is the porter's $10-an-hour job, and in the process trapped my finger in the swinging door of the garbage can and bruised it badly. I shouted and cursed in pain, and nobody asked if I was all right, so I sat on the floor and cried a while, but nobody noticed.
Oddly, my righteous anger left me feeling rather better than my hopeless angst of late, so I'm going with it, although it hurts to type. Still and all, the union rep (with whom I share a register for 5 hours on wednesdays and thursdays, as she's landmark's cocktail waitress) will be hearing about this, and we'll be indignant together no doubt.
At least Steals My Customers And Doesn't Do Dishes is on vacation in Hawaii today, so I don't know who I'll be closing with tonight, but at least it won't be her.
Dave was in a good mood as well, which helped. I was about to get on the bus when he phoned me and asked if I was ready for a ride. He was evasive as to whether he'd been on his way someplace, so I don't know if he came just to pick me up or if he actually had some legitimate purpose to be out there. He'd been running errands, which had included a quick trip to Ft. Erie Ontario to go to the Beer Store. (He resented the border guard's questions about where he was going-- which went beyond the usual citizenship and destination questions ("what was your purpose in Canada?" "to buy beer"-- seriously, that usually doesn't faze them, as it's common enough here; most of our Google Local search results are in Canada which is geographically closer because of the bend in the river-- and they wonder why we kicked up such a fuss when they said they were going to require passports to cross the border!!), and asked why he couldn't buy his beer in the U.S. "Er," Dave said, "because they don't export this brand?" The guard was skeptical, but let him through. Later Dave thought that perhaps the guard was suspicious that he was underage (in Ontario the drinking age is 19). But, um, he'd just handed the guard his New York State license listing his birthdate as 1979. (For those of you who don't work in my industry, just FYI, the kids born in 1984 are 21 now. 1984. Does anyone else feel ancient? I do.)
Side note: Everyone I ID at Landmark is carrying a Maryland license. What's up with that, Maryland?
I'd had the presence of mind to defrost chicken breasts in marinade and stick them in the fridge before I left for work, so i didn't come home to the usual "I dunno... what do you want?" "I dunno... I'm exhausted and starving." "I dunno..." standoff. We had grilled chicken thighs with lemon/garlic marinade, and wild rice and defrosted "spring mix" (which includes summer squash, who knew?) veggies. It was a good dinner. I sat at the table and wrote Katy a letter.
I did get a letter from Katy yesterday, which was lovely. It was written on Astro Boy stationery, a change from her usual Catwoman. She said the weather's gone south in Baghdad, and the "hairdryer wind" she so loved from the last tour was coming back-- it's over 100 most days, but at least it still cools off at night, so she can go running in the mornings. She also said I deserved a present too for Dave's graduation, which made me feel smug and validated, which proves to me that I am very petty but sometimes, it's good to know. I told her the recognition was all i actually needed. (I considered asking her for something for the garden but couldn't think what.)
Dave's all depressed about being poor now, as he obviously read my livejournal, but my policy on friendslocking those things is that it would be unfair. I don't say some of these things out loud because when I do they just come out garbled, so I write them instead; the only way we ever resolve issues is by e-mailing about them anyway. But it would be ridiculous to do all my whining behind a lock and then be resentful when he didn't read it.
No, our communications aren't great, but they're better than a lot of couples'. At least they're worth having.
I whine much more articulately in writing. Out loud he just thinks I'm harassing him.
Should I boil it down? It's not that I'm poor, it's that I don't make enough to actually afford the car. It's not that I resent him finishing his degree, it's that I am utterly weary of our situation. It's not that I expect him to make some sort of miracle happen, but it does upset me that he's so blithely unworried that he has no job prospects; to me it feels like he thinks our current situation is hunky-dory and there's no problem if he winds up sitting on his ass all summer not doing anything. (I tell you what, if it's like winter quarter when he was at home and it was unreasonable of me to expect him to do dishes, I run away and join the circus. Yes, while I was unemployed in Westchester, I was shabby with the housework, but I was actually seriously making an attempt to write a novel and that doesn't leave me much brainspace. When I was unemployed in Jersey I was pretty conscientious about at least taking responsibility for the housework, and while unemployed in Buffalo I was extremely conscientious about the housework. So no, I really don't care what project you're working on this week: if you're at home on your ass, then I'm not coming home to a filthy house and I am NOT BUSSING YOUR COFFEE TABLE!)
So there's my whining in a hopefully-concise fashion. Perhaps I'll get myself together enough to have a discussion out loud with him. Y'all can be horrified if you like, but most of our conversations happen over IM anyway.
So we have fry oil for the turkey, and are deciding on the rest of the menu. We're only having a couple people over (wait... five?) so it's not like it's a big deal. We're thinking turkey, potato salad (although we don't have dave's gram's recipe for it because she gave it to dave's sister, who refuses to let us have it; I deeply regret not asking Gram for it now because I know she didn't consider it a secret and would've freely given it to me, but Krista has decreed that nobody outside the family can have it, and Dave can't have it until he 'proves himself', so here we are, a Kleinschmidt making his German potato salad out of the Joy of Cooking's weird-ass recipe. Jesus.), a fruit salad (i love fruit salad), and then... what, a green salad? All that salad sounds silly until you realize that they're wildly differing things...
I should then make some sort of ice cream or sorbet for dessert. My ice cream production has fallen off heavily since we moved from Westchester, the Land Of No Ice Cream Parlors (you had to cross state lines to get so much as a dairy queen), to Buffalo, The Land Of Why Do They Even Bother Putting In A Dairy Queen Just Go To Anderson's/Condrell's/Hanna's.
But the house is still a disaster area. So I better clean it. This may involve a lot of shoving things in closets. I'll take pictures when I'm done. ^.^ At least the yard's in good condition. Oh the yard... I am so pleased with the garden. :) I've mentioned, I know. How did I live without dirt to stick things in? *rolls around in dirt*
I don't know why, but on the dot of 7:00 I roused from sleep and had to sit up and look around. Was in denial for a bit but have finally, a bit sore-eyed, embraced the inevitable: I'm up, and won't fall asleep again until half an hour before I have to leave for work. (You'd think with such a varied schedule as I have, that wouldn't happen ALL the time, but it does-- no matter what time I'm going to work, I'm always sleepy just long enough beforehand that there's not quite time enough for a nap.)
Much better mood at the moment-- I was moved-to-tears angry last night when ten minutes from the time I was going to leave a supervisor wandered by and asked me to do a co-worker's job (a much higher-paid coworker, might I mention-- those who do menial labor are paid better than I because they don't make tips) and didn't even say please. Meantime supervisors and managers have these "points" they award for people doing a good job, and they're exclusively giving them to employees who pester them to get them. So I went out to bus the tables left messy by grab-n-go customers, which is the porter's $10-an-hour job, and in the process trapped my finger in the swinging door of the garbage can and bruised it badly. I shouted and cursed in pain, and nobody asked if I was all right, so I sat on the floor and cried a while, but nobody noticed.
Oddly, my righteous anger left me feeling rather better than my hopeless angst of late, so I'm going with it, although it hurts to type. Still and all, the union rep (with whom I share a register for 5 hours on wednesdays and thursdays, as she's landmark's cocktail waitress) will be hearing about this, and we'll be indignant together no doubt.
At least Steals My Customers And Doesn't Do Dishes is on vacation in Hawaii today, so I don't know who I'll be closing with tonight, but at least it won't be her.
Dave was in a good mood as well, which helped. I was about to get on the bus when he phoned me and asked if I was ready for a ride. He was evasive as to whether he'd been on his way someplace, so I don't know if he came just to pick me up or if he actually had some legitimate purpose to be out there. He'd been running errands, which had included a quick trip to Ft. Erie Ontario to go to the Beer Store. (He resented the border guard's questions about where he was going-- which went beyond the usual citizenship and destination questions ("what was your purpose in Canada?" "to buy beer"-- seriously, that usually doesn't faze them, as it's common enough here; most of our Google Local search results are in Canada which is geographically closer because of the bend in the river-- and they wonder why we kicked up such a fuss when they said they were going to require passports to cross the border!!), and asked why he couldn't buy his beer in the U.S. "Er," Dave said, "because they don't export this brand?" The guard was skeptical, but let him through. Later Dave thought that perhaps the guard was suspicious that he was underage (in Ontario the drinking age is 19). But, um, he'd just handed the guard his New York State license listing his birthdate as 1979. (For those of you who don't work in my industry, just FYI, the kids born in 1984 are 21 now. 1984. Does anyone else feel ancient? I do.)
Side note: Everyone I ID at Landmark is carrying a Maryland license. What's up with that, Maryland?
I'd had the presence of mind to defrost chicken breasts in marinade and stick them in the fridge before I left for work, so i didn't come home to the usual "I dunno... what do you want?" "I dunno... I'm exhausted and starving." "I dunno..." standoff. We had grilled chicken thighs with lemon/garlic marinade, and wild rice and defrosted "spring mix" (which includes summer squash, who knew?) veggies. It was a good dinner. I sat at the table and wrote Katy a letter.
I did get a letter from Katy yesterday, which was lovely. It was written on Astro Boy stationery, a change from her usual Catwoman. She said the weather's gone south in Baghdad, and the "hairdryer wind" she so loved from the last tour was coming back-- it's over 100 most days, but at least it still cools off at night, so she can go running in the mornings. She also said I deserved a present too for Dave's graduation, which made me feel smug and validated, which proves to me that I am very petty but sometimes, it's good to know. I told her the recognition was all i actually needed. (I considered asking her for something for the garden but couldn't think what.)
Dave's all depressed about being poor now, as he obviously read my livejournal, but my policy on friendslocking those things is that it would be unfair. I don't say some of these things out loud because when I do they just come out garbled, so I write them instead; the only way we ever resolve issues is by e-mailing about them anyway. But it would be ridiculous to do all my whining behind a lock and then be resentful when he didn't read it.
No, our communications aren't great, but they're better than a lot of couples'. At least they're worth having.
I whine much more articulately in writing. Out loud he just thinks I'm harassing him.
Should I boil it down? It's not that I'm poor, it's that I don't make enough to actually afford the car. It's not that I resent him finishing his degree, it's that I am utterly weary of our situation. It's not that I expect him to make some sort of miracle happen, but it does upset me that he's so blithely unworried that he has no job prospects; to me it feels like he thinks our current situation is hunky-dory and there's no problem if he winds up sitting on his ass all summer not doing anything. (I tell you what, if it's like winter quarter when he was at home and it was unreasonable of me to expect him to do dishes, I run away and join the circus. Yes, while I was unemployed in Westchester, I was shabby with the housework, but I was actually seriously making an attempt to write a novel and that doesn't leave me much brainspace. When I was unemployed in Jersey I was pretty conscientious about at least taking responsibility for the housework, and while unemployed in Buffalo I was extremely conscientious about the housework. So no, I really don't care what project you're working on this week: if you're at home on your ass, then I'm not coming home to a filthy house and I am NOT BUSSING YOUR COFFEE TABLE!)
So there's my whining in a hopefully-concise fashion. Perhaps I'll get myself together enough to have a discussion out loud with him. Y'all can be horrified if you like, but most of our conversations happen over IM anyway.
So we have fry oil for the turkey, and are deciding on the rest of the menu. We're only having a couple people over (wait... five?) so it's not like it's a big deal. We're thinking turkey, potato salad (although we don't have dave's gram's recipe for it because she gave it to dave's sister, who refuses to let us have it; I deeply regret not asking Gram for it now because I know she didn't consider it a secret and would've freely given it to me, but Krista has decreed that nobody outside the family can have it, and Dave can't have it until he 'proves himself', so here we are, a Kleinschmidt making his German potato salad out of the Joy of Cooking's weird-ass recipe. Jesus.), a fruit salad (i love fruit salad), and then... what, a green salad? All that salad sounds silly until you realize that they're wildly differing things...
I should then make some sort of ice cream or sorbet for dessert. My ice cream production has fallen off heavily since we moved from Westchester, the Land Of No Ice Cream Parlors (you had to cross state lines to get so much as a dairy queen), to Buffalo, The Land Of Why Do They Even Bother Putting In A Dairy Queen Just Go To Anderson's/Condrell's/Hanna's.
But the house is still a disaster area. So I better clean it. This may involve a lot of shoving things in closets. I'll take pictures when I'm done. ^.^ At least the yard's in good condition. Oh the yard... I am so pleased with the garden. :) I've mentioned, I know. How did I live without dirt to stick things in? *rolls around in dirt*
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no subject
Date: 2005-05-19 01:55 pm (UTC)He's a good guy, but there's just something in some guys that doesn't balk at the idea of letting the feminine half be bread winner, do most of the chores and all the other bazillion things whilst they "look for a job".
He did get a good job finally (it took 9 months and I jokingly refer to it as his baby).
My point is...even when they're great guys, and D is, it can be a real drag to be the one who Earns It. I know that situation well and it can be frustrating because you do care for them but you want MORE without asking and demanding it (would be nice if they'd figure that out, but eh...another day).
I say congrats to Dave, well done! And to you...a big HUGE congrats and wishes for life to smooth out a bit. Not too much (where's the interesting parts when it does that? ;), but enough that you can sit and enjoy your garden and flowers.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-19 06:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-20 02:03 am (UTC)And please - if you want an awesome German potato salad recipe, I would be more than happy to email you the Best One On Earth. Created by a lady from my grandmother's church who was the most sought-after cateress in town. She's been gone awhile now, but people still gaze off into the distance with a dreamy look in their eye when you mention her name. Because of her German potato salad.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-20 12:51 pm (UTC)My email's in my userinfo (actually, just dragonlady7 at livejournal dot com would work just fine.)
Dave and I conducted our entire courtship and getting-to-know one another via e-mail, so we actually don't know how to talk to one another all that well. (Well. Not true. We will stay up all night just talking to each other, even after 2 years. But. Not if we're arguing.)
no subject
Date: 2005-05-20 01:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-20 03:02 pm (UTC)Thanks! We'll have to see how it measures up to the Super Secret recipe.