just another day

I am blessed with very sensitive skin.  Combined with the attribute of wearing my emotions on my sleeve, I battle with acne.  Its the worst.  Its on your face, and its so noticeable.  Thank the good goddess for make-up.  Its so good.  But my problem is that I cannot kept up with the upkeep.  I work in a 100 degree kitchen.  That is not an overstatement.  Its hotter then balls hot.  My makeup runs, I look like joker town fool by the end of my shift.

So I have this zombie dead zit that is the worst.  Its been holding steady on my fore head for honestly months.  It won’t budge, just chillen, making a home.  But now its full blow sickness, it a colony plotting to take over my whole face.  Really, my face it going to turn into a big zit.  Its happened before, and its. Terrifying.  Downright awful.  Its going to chew my pretty face, consume my self, and I will be left right where I am now.  I have had three people comment on my face.  The first asked if I got cut, the second if I had a bruise, and the third if I got into bike accident what’s wrong with your face?  Honest to goddess, this happened.  A bike accident?? A bike accident.  No. Nope.  Just a zit.  I mean this happens to me.  I get a fuck face zit for like half a year.  The worst? Terrifying??

No.

Not even close.

Honestly I don’t give a fuck about my face town fiasco.  What I walked into today at work was terrifying.  It was beyond a blemish turned bruised.  I walked into a pure hell of a greasy mess.  How and what have I done to deserve this level of grossness.  I almost had a heart attack.  No warning, just a ball of hot greasy splattered evenly across every surface.  Dust settling again on top.  New oil waits new grease.  I couldn’t even walk from my cup of coffee to my station.  I had to walk around the entire restaurant just to get from the front line to the back.  Within being there for no less then 5 minutes, I had inexplicable oil on my hand.  One hand sink was being repaired and out of commission.  Since it was being worked on, there were tools everywhere, around the sink and the hallway leading to the office.  Everywhere I looked and walked was not okay.  Not a single sight being up kept or cared for.  Everywhere is neglected.  Fuck, I haven’t been there for one day.  One.  The other hand sink was so dirty it looked like a bus boy had puked it in.  There was no soap at that sink.  Mind you, I had to walk a solid 2 minutes to get to 2/2 no functioning sinks.  No big deal.  NBG. Its only me.

What have I done to deserve this?  If I was in prison, it would be cleaner.  And it might most likely be a more pleasant environment.

Good goddess I wish this was the end.  Only the beginning really of my day.  Remember, this is first 5 minute of the day.  The kitchen was a greasy snot ball of hell for the first hour.  After a fury of soap and anger, I checked the schedule.  Oh, I am working the hot line by myself, after no real training.  Also, was I warned?  Nope.  Last conversation with chef was that I should start learning the station.  So now I am on my own, with no warning, a station I hardly know, apparently in charge what comes out of the kitchen, a fucking messy ass kitchen, plus I have my pastry prep to do, put the order away, oh yeah there is a 100 person party tomorrow at noon.  Did I mention no warning of an extra aside from the party?  That at least I was informed about.  Carrot cake is good and fast, but goodness.  At the end of the shift, the chef was courteous enough to remind me that if I had cut the cake, I wouldn’t have to come in so early in the morning.  God damn, if only I had thought of that.

Its Tuesday.  Tuesdays are slow.  Its a chill day.  We started with a nice embarrassing 14 on the books.  But of course, since I was so ill prepared for the day we got shook.  Mini earth quake.  It was a smooth earthquake, but it could have been less exciting.

Oh, I think I am going to work 12 hours tomorrow.  NBD.

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Outward beauty must always be considered

I wonder if I tried harder when I was younger to be pretty, how different would my life be now?  I worked hard my whole life, but the payoff is not there.  It doesn’t really matter, I make no money and am only relatively happy.  What if I put that much energy into beauty, feminism, socializing, and flirting?  Would I be married with a good looking and relatively successful husband?  Would we have children and move away?

I look at my skin, and its worn.  Its red and splotchy, its blue and looks like a permanent bruise.  My finger nails are raggedy, my manicure has been reduced down to a 4 finger paint job, my hands ashy.  You say, well at least you know how to cook, that goes a long way.  But it doesn’t really.  People eat out, people eat pasta and cereal and are content with that.  Who cares about a gourmet Paleo breakfast and dinner over having a successful partner that owns designer shoes, someone who can afford the time and money to get a massage, go to the gym, make salon appointments, drink high class wine, can go on vacation with you.

I can’t help but wonder how different things would be if I tried harder to be a female, instead of seeing self adornment as a waste of time.  I have been a beauty minimalist most my life, with the most time and money spent on outward appearance being currently.  I don’t see it as a waste or silly or unimportant or as a way to continually suppress the female by keeping her distracted.  I see it as power, as a way to dominate and gain respect, as a way to better oneself.

Ruby in the Rough



I am a ruby in the rough

A deep glitter amongst dull light grey concrete pathways

Straight lines leading down or out, up or in, sidewalks and roads

They lead to some specific destination

I sparkle sideways, my step is diagonal

I shine darkly, my twinkle is more of a complex luster

Gems have no destination, there purpose is singular

To bring peace with a simple innate beauty

To contrast the sharp stones with a kaleidoscope light

As rare as a ruby, subtly I sparkle against typical patterns

How red radiance deepens the light, quietly I drum my hum.

Alone in the middle of the city

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I love to be alone.  Not always, not everyday, but sometimes I want to be utterly alone.  I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to see anybody. I want to feel separated from humanity, to be included in nothing except my own thoughts, feelings, impressions, and inspirations.  It has nothing to do with depression, anger, or disappointment.  Its not about love lost, betrayal, or bitterness.  It is that I simply like to be with only myself.

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Its hard to be alone, to find solitude and peace in the active city.  More so with roommates whom are often home because you live in a cold, expensive city.  Fortunately for my lonely tastes, my backyard dead ends directly with the graveyard.  There is a tall concrete wall separating the world of the living with the damnation of the deceased.  Walk around the block, and on the other side is an entrance into a silent, distant world.  A life that is not visited by many living souls, a quite village, a silent dance party.  I can stroll a brief 10 minutes around the block and enter a world where I can find complete solitude in the middle of an early almost- warm spring day.  Trapped within the tall and cool concrete walls, even the sounds of the passing cars and stopping busses are muted.  So quickly and easily the city life is reduced to simply myself.  Within these silent walls I walk through all that remains of so many lives, the repayments of a history of people are boiled down to two dates, a slab of marble, and if you are lucky a short quote or if you are really lucky a giant, out dated statue.

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The cemetery during the day does not provoke feeling of creepiness, danger, or uncertainty.  Exposed under watchful glare of father sun, the cemetery inspires serenity, introspection, and reflection.  The weight of the stones change the magnitude of oneself, challenges your notion of your place on history’s timeline.  Its impossible not to see your existence as just a snapshot in time.

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Wandering alone, slightly cold, with my scarf wrapped all the way down my wrists, curling around my red fingers, I seek out the patches of sunshine, avoid the patches of shadow created by the old tall trees and the cold tall marble statues.  I find a small flowering tree.  Its branches reach down toward the ground and are speckled with tiny white flowers.  The tree is peaceful, serene, perfect in the graveyard.  So still and so beautiful.  Instantly, I want this to be a place for a ceremony of marriage.  I know that sounds creepy, but I just explained how its so perfect.  IMG_9902IMG_9908IMG_9914

School Teacher Jazz

I dressed like a school teacher today. Long, flowing dress, loss fitting with a nice retro sweater on top.  It felt right, good.  Not sexy or male inviting, but good. Nice. Warming.

I have been feeling a little more than bad lately due to many reasons: bad diet, too much drunkenness, sheer hormones, inconsiderate roommate, too much sugar, not enough love.

I had a great dance tonight and that’s where it ended.  A great dance. The best dance. The best dance ever. So in synced, so right, so tribal, so it. So the best.  My friends were so impressed, so jealous, so suggested..the secret?  I am sure that the man was gay.  That’s why it was so easy, so natural, so unpressured, so simple.  What does this say about me and my sexuality? Why do I pair so well with my gay men? It was marvelous, that dance. No talking, no walls, just that fucking awesome band blaring out the feeling.  12 member band on a Wednesday night making me feel great. So great.

Spring Taste

Crème Fraiche Coffee Cake with blueberries and lemon glaze
Crème Fraiche Coffee Cake with blueberries and lemon glaze

The spring is not set so tight this year, it’s gotten loose and rusty from years of abuse and over anticipation.  It’s a slow start, still getting cold at a moments notice, bone chilling when the sun hides.  Scarves are still in full effect, slippers are a house standard, the bed is still weighed down with blankets.  Despite the rusty snap that has yet to scar away old man winter, I cannot contain my excitement to throw off my puffy winter jacket, sacrifice it to the fire pit, watch it burn in jubilation of light clothes treading.

Strawberry Shortcake, poppy seeds and whipped coconut cream
Strawberry Shortcake, poppy seeds and whipped coconut cream

Maybe it is too soon to think about berries and juicy fruit, airy mousses and food as light as the clouds, bright tastes and sunshine colors, but frankly that does not bother me.  I don’t want winter foods. Squash time is past time, pomegranates are winter’s whore. Pears are a long way off, let’s forget about the apple for the time being.  Maple is for later, and so it the brussel sprout.  So to begin the new growing season, the season of fun, outdoors, and social interaction, I made these things:

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Pistachio cake, tiramisu semifreddo, fresh raspberries
Coconut panna cotta, rhubarb compote, strawberry-rum granite, candied cocoa nibs
Coconut panna cotta, rhubarb compote, strawberry-rum granite, candied cocoa nibs
Cookie Plate, with honey caramel and peanut butter frosting
Cookie Plate, with honey caramel and peanut butter frosting

The world is not ready for it, yet

Red Velvet Wine Cake, Winter Rose Semifreddo, Pomegranate Glaze, Rioja Pearls, Toasted Almonds
Red Velvet Wine Cake, Winter Rose Semifreddo, Pomegranate Glaze, Rioja Pearls, Toasted Almonds

I love this dessert.  I think its super cool, hip, and refreshing.  It is described as every girls dream: red wine, dark chocolate, red roses. It is served during valentines, for a sexy and sophisticated way to share a sensual experience.