Thanksgiving '09, a story. (A bit late)

Thanksgiving 2009, a story.

That's my Gramma Julie, mother to my father, and known crazy lady. Back in the middle of November, at a ham and turkey raffle, she asked what I was doing for Thanksgiving, laying down the hint that she had absolutely nothing to do, should I care to invite her to wherever I was going. I told her that I'd probably do the same thing I'd done the last two years: drive around town with Dad for twenty minutes while he claims he knows the Chinese buffet was open, and then end up going to Perkins, because it's the only place that's open.

She replied with, "Oh, well, Jo Ellen and I usually do something, but I don't know if we're going to this year."

I smiled, freshened her beer, and went about selling raffle tickets at fifty cents a pop.

Fast forward a few days, I'm ringing the bell for the Salvation army with my aunt Jo Ellen, and we're talking about the upcoming holiday. She's not planning on doing anything either, not even going out with her mother. She was going to go to the auction, eat turkey there, then come home and rest.

Idea!

"We should have a Thanksgiving dinner, because Lord knows I'm sick of Perkins' shitty turkey substitute," I told her.

She thought, "Joe and them used to come over for dinner, but it got to be too many of them for my little house. We could do it, if we kept it small."

I listed off the people in out family that didn't have a Thanksgiving to go to, which amounted to a total of six people, including us. And thus, it was born, Thanksgiving in Eldred, PA. Invitees were called or texted at lunch that day, and by the time we rang the bell again, two days later, we were ready to assign food dishes for people.

Thanksgiving day, Mickey and I picked up Grandma around three thirty, and made the trek over to Eldred. We thought we'd be late, because instead of making the pie and the mashed potatoes the night before, we woke up at noon Thursday and made them (we also did the laundry and cleaned the car). But, luckily, we made it there just in time, four on the dot, and before my Dad and Sally, which meant we weren't really late.

Since aunt Ellen hadn't cooked a turkey in decades, the Turkey was nearly overdone by the time we all got there, so instead of having munchies and sitting around until five, which was the original plan, we set out to setting the table, carving the turkey, reheating the side dishes people brought, and talking to my cousin Kim, who called so she could talk to most the family in one go.

After dinner, and desert, we retired to living room, while Sally cleaned (because that's what she does). Aunt Ellen, Dad, Gramma Julie, and I played Wii bowling, while Mickey watched. It was a close game, except for my father, who was a few strikes behind.

Dad came in last place, which we all kind of figured, and Gramma Julie, Aunt Ellen, and I were all only a pin away from each other. Aunt Ellen placed in third, and guess what.

My 89 year old crazy Grandmother beat me in Wii bowling.

But only by 1 point.

Giving up.

So, this little 60 in 60 thing isn't going to be finished. I haven't baked since the 19th of October, and that's fine by me. Life has been a little more than baking recently. So: I'm giving up on 60 in 60. Which is fine. I don't feel I've left myself down and I don't feel that I'm any less of a person because I didn't complete this. I had some fun, and I made a ton of great cookies. I also helped Bona Responds raise almost $250.

What have I been doing recently then, if not baking?

My brother turned 30 on the 20th. There was a party. I made cupcakes and a cake. Both were delicious. Then I got sick. Deathly ill, waking the boyfriend sick. The next day I did some theatre work at St. Bonaventure University. I ended up turning the houselights up and down for Michael Cooper. I also spent 20 minutes of each show being creeped out by a giant baby head. I did that for two days, then on Friday I spent the day with my friend, Lis. Since we're both ultra-broke, unemployed, former SAC employees, we spent the day walking around various shops, turning in out pop cans (nickels, FTW!), and looking at Owl Homes.

Owl Homes, for those not in the know, are pre-manufactured homes. Apparently, you choose one by going on a lot and looking through all the model homes and then deciding which one you like best. Some are even decorated so you can see their potential. Most of them have awesome kitchen islands installed. All of them have enough shower space for two people. One of them has a fireplace in the bathroom.

In the bathroom!

Since then I've watched a lot of television, and sat around on the couch a lot.

Sunday, on the other hand, is going to start a whole new challenge. (Well, I've done part of it before.) Sunday, I officially begin my 6th year of NaNoWriMo. It'll also be my first NaNoWriMo as Municipal Liaison (ML). If you don't know, being a ML is a big, huge, awesome responsibility. I'm, officially, in charge of herding cats, basically. All the other NaNoWriMo writers that go to write-ins and post questions on the forums and need pep talks. I'm in charge of them. Making sure they play nice, making sure they have all the answers they need to write, and making sure that they have all the pep they can handle - plus some!

Oh, and I also have to write 50,000 words in 30 days.

Well, it's 6am, that last paragraph didn't make sense, and my cats (the fur kind) need petting. Also, this post should have pictures, lots and lots of pictures. At least two of them should have bathrooms involved and at least one of them should have a bathroom fire place. There was even going to be a picture of me wearing a very large headset. But, alas, the laptop won't reconize the memory card from the camera.

Here, have a picture of puppies instead:

The best and worst 2 months, ever. (Part 3)

((This is the last bit of this saga. After this my blog will be filled with delicious cookies for a few months.))

A few days in to August (I'm not sure, exactly, the date) I got a phone call from my old boss at St Bonaventure. I worked there as a theatre tech helper while I was laid off and had loads of fun. I was sad to leave. He asked if I'd like to help out on some shows this season. I said yes, of course, and asked when I should go in to see the schedules in the like. He said the next day would be fine. I was super excited, I had a job again! I got up early the next morning and biked the mile to the college only to find out that he really didn't need me until October, he was just making sure I'd be available.

On my birthday, the 20th, I got a text from my landlord. He asked if it was acceptable to not pay rent or if I had moved out. I responded asking if it was acceptable to let me live in the shit hole that I live in. He didn't have much to say to that other than it's hard to pay for plumbers if I don't pay him rent. I didn't respond. It was my birthday and I was in no way going to let him get me in to a pissy mood before my party.

I had stayed at my boyfriend's apartment the night before, like I sometimes do, and had to make a stop at my house for one thing or another before going out that night. Luckily, he waited in the driveway for me to get whatever it was that I needed (my belt, I think, or something equally needed, but trivial). When I got to the top of my stairs, I found a note stuck in the window of the door from the power company. Oh joy of joys, my power had been disconnected on my birthday. Would the day ever get any better? I went in, got what I needed, apologized to the cats for not having the fan running, and left. I didn't take the note with me, but I did tell the boyfriend what happened. I allowed five minutes to talk about it and feel pity for myself before I demanded not to hear about it again on my birthday.

My birthday was almost awesome, by the way. With the exception of my best friend turning in to an angry drunk and the boyfriend being just a bit too possessive for my taste. (While I appreciate the sentiment, I can take care of myself, and I know when to say no.)

My old boss from the SAC now works at St. Bonaventure and he's looking for someone part time. I got his cell number last Monday and asked if he was still hiring. He told me it was only ten to fifteen hours a week, but if I still wanted the job, he'd contact me later.

I've yet to hear from him, but I have my hopes up. What's the worst if I don't get it? It'll just turn in to the best and worst three months. And that, I just might be able to live with. After all, I do have work lined up for three days in October.

((Also, as I mentioned in the comments of part 1, but neglected to state in any entries. I did finally suck it up and apply to everywhere within biking/walking distance. No one seems to want me, I guess.))

The best and worst 2 months, ever. (Part 2)

((As promised yesterday, here's a bit more of my tale of sadness. I'm not trying to be all "poor pity me" by blogging this it's just..I need to tell SOMEONE.))

Fast forward to my Gram's birthday, June 22nd. Still no job. I had, probably, fifty dollars left from the money that would last me "months". I also still hadn't touched the money from unemployment. But, rent was due soon and the old ladies always went to dinner and the casino for birthdays. I was hoping to hit it big as the casino. I took 400 out of the unemployment money. One hundred was for that day and the other 300 was supposed to go to rent.

After dinner and the casino, I ended up spending 150, so I was short on my already short rent. And, probably needless to say, I didn't win a dime at the casino.

On July 6th I managed to pay my rent by taking even more money out of the unemployment fund. Luckily, I was no longer paying for my alcohol addiction. My best friend, who was now speaking to me, and my guy friend-turned boyfriend were taking care of that for me. All I had left to pay for were my food and movie addictions. Easy enough, I stopped eating every day of the week and I also stopped renting new releases. Dollar movies and big lunches were all I had left.

After I paid rent I had, quite literally 187.39 to my name. No bills were paid in July, except my rent and half of my already overdue electric bill. The gas bill was so little, I figured I could hold it off for a bit. They also hadn't started to send me notices yet. The water bill, luckily, kind of, only has to be paid once every three months here and I figured I wasn't going to get it for another month. Well, as I was slowly figuring out, things I "figured" were almost always wrong. And I hoped what I was figuring out was wrong, too. The water bill didn't get paid that month either.

I swear, if the electric company took all the money that they put into envelopes and paper and printer ink and postage to send me overdue/shutoff notices, they'd have paid most of my bill for me.

Not four days later, July 1oth, my toilet decided it didn't want to work anymore. It was going to just leak water all over and not flush properly. So, not only did (do) I not have a kitchen sink (that broke in the winter) and a permanently plugged bathroom sink (someone, most likely me, dropped a plastic lid down the drain), but now I no longer had a working toilet. My problems never seemed to slow down.

But, as I try to do, even now, I looked on the bright side of things. My landlord had a plumber come out a few days before, and he would surely fix this problem when he came out to finish repairing my kitchen sink. Remember what I said about my figuring always being wrong?

By the end of July I had torn apart the apartment and gathered every last nickel, dime, penny, and quarter I had. Rolled and spent that on my ever-loving movie and food addictions. I was now down to eating every other day and renting kids movies (always free!) and fifty cent rentals. When August came, I didn't have any money to pay rent. Everyone I talked to about the issues in my apartment told me that I shouldn't be paying rent anyway, at least until I get my toilet and sinks fixed.

So, I listened to them for once.

My rent is due by the fifth of the month. I expected angry texts and emails and calls from my landlord on the sixth. That passed, nothing. The seventh passed, nothing. The eighth and so on. Nothing. By the tenth I figured that he knew why I wasn't paying rent and that he might do something about it.

There's me figuring again. I should learn to stop doing that.

I'll finish the story tomorrow. There's good news in that one, kind of.

The best and worst 2 months, ever.

((As a side note, if you know me in person and you read this, please don't mention it. To anyone. PLEASE. It's embarrassing enough to have to admit it to myself, but I need to tell someone and the internet is safe enough for anonymity, but I know a few people I know personally read this. I had to tell someone. Thanks.)

It all started on June 1st of this year. Well, for me it was May 31st, but the official paperwork calls it June 1st, so that's what we'll call it. That day, or night, rather, it was 4 in the morning, I quit my very good (read: well paying) job at Seneca Allegany Casino and Hotel to pursue what I told my family were "better opportunities somewhere I didn't have to work 3rd shift." Two months later, here I am, writing this on a dying laptop by the light of a 9 watt bulb powered by D batteries, none of which I bought for myself. It's 11.30 at night, normally at that time of night my apartment would be ablaze with lights, sounds, and movement from my television set. Not so tonight. You see, 4 days ago, my electric got turned off.

When I quit my job I was only mildly in debt. I had a few unpaid bills, but not enough to seriously worry about. Plus, I figured, I had enough saved up to live on for at least a month, two, if I were strict with my spending. That gave me two to three weeks to find a job, I figured. I wasn't at all worried. Actually, I was happy with my self for finally doing the thing I've been saying I was going to do for a while now.

What can I say? I was twenty one and stupid as hell.

All went well for a bit. I was as happy and relaxed as I could have been. For a whole week, I didn't pay for a single meal that I ate. I spent loads more time with my then flirt-crush (now boyfriend) and I got to sleep at night for once, instead of trying to do it during the day. In that week I managed to spend time with my father (something I slacked on when I was working) and I went to the movies at nine o'clock at night, instead of six, or midnight. The flirt-crush and I went from hugs to kisses. All was good in my life. Well, except my best friend wouldn't talk to me for a few days. But we both knew that she'd get over it. The only reason she was really mad was because we spent most of our time at work talking to each other. As soon as she found someone else to talk to or managed to finally switch shifts, she'd be fine.

I didn't bother to look for a job that first week. As I said, I figured I could go on living unemployed for a month before I had to begin to worry. I also managed to track down my unemployment money that hadn't been processed from when I was laid off in December (I started back to work in the beginning of February). The unemployment money was over seven hundred dollars and a nice safety net for me to fall back on if I happened to be unemployed still after a month. And that, I assured myself, would never happen.

Okay, I need the laptop power to get me through the night, so I'm going to leave the story there for now. I'll post more tomorrow. Promise.

I want to be just as crazy as my gran when I'm 89.

Monday was my Gran's 89th birthday, so last Friday our little birthday club of old ladies (plus myself and a few others) took her to Red Lobster and the Erie County Fairgrounds Casino. We ended up taking two cars up, the little old ladies, plus Jack, in one car, and the rest of us in the other.

Our waitress' (the blonde in the middle) name was Madonna. I don't think anyone but myself caught it when she introduced herself, because when I used her name later in the meal my cousin, Joe, gave me a very odd questioning look. Madonna was great, and she tolerated my gran's crazy very well. She listened to Gran's short version of who everyone was at the table (and who wasn't, but was related to her). She even ate some of the birthday cake my aunt made. But, as a former waitress, I know that waitresses will pretty much eat anything they can get their hands on.

I missed the picture of Gran blowing our her candles, so we tried to get her to pretend to blow them out for the picture. It took about five minutes (and five people) to convey to her what we wanted her to do, but finally she did. And she did it the way my Gran does anything - over the top.

Gramma never, ever, looks at the damned camera when you're taking a picture. I have a ton of great profile pictures of my Grandmother, though. In this picture, from left to right, is the group: Sally, Gramma Julie, Aunt Jo Ellen, Miss Pat, Gloria, Jack, Me, Joe.

Remember I said we took two cars? I should have also mentioned that our car was leading, because I knew how to get to Red Lobster and, from there, the Fairgrounds. Because I said this, noone thought to bring a GPS. I never said I knew how to get home - I get turned around way too easily. Well, if you followed my Twitter, you already know that we took a very, very scenic route from the Fairgrounds to Rt 219. We got so lost that at one stop sign we asked the other car which way we should go and they said to "flip a coin." Finally, we saw an old man in his driveway and we begged him for directions. Made it to the junction for 219 and then missed our on ramp, causing for yet another illegal U-turn to be made by both vehicles. We all agreed - next time we're bringing Grace and Milo.

Making friends isn't so hard.

Recently, I went on a "last chance" trip to Niagara Falls, Canada with my brother and a few friends. We quickly ran low on money, but high on open bottles of alcohol. Since we were under the assumption (most likely correctly) that we couldn't take open bottles over the border, we needed a quick way to drink large amounts of alcohol.

We knew there was no way that we could drink all that wine, whiskey, and vodka by ourselves, so my brother and I decided to call a few friends over and make a party out of it.

First, at my brother's suggestion, I phoned room 110 to come down the hall for "wine, whiskey, and vodka drinks." They said they couldn't come down, even though they'd love to, but they're "going out."

So, my brother called room 124, our neighbors. No answer, sadly. Then I made the suggestion to call our upstairs neighbors, room 223, and see if they wanted to come down.

"Hi! Room 223?" My brother began, "This is 123. We were wondering if you'd like to join us for a few drinks. We have wine, whiskey, and vodka for screwdrivers." He paused for a few moments while the other line responded. "We're just four friends up here for vacation and we'd like to make new friends." Pause again, "Yeah, okay."

I had the video camera on him at this point. He turned to the camera to explain, "So, he sounds kind of interested, but he has to confer with his girlfriend. We may or may not being having guests over." He turned back to the phone, "Good. Wonderful! We'll see you then." A big grin on his face, he spoke to the camera again, "He said, and I quote, 'Despite my girlfriend's hesitations, we're just going to finish dinner and then we'll be down in about ten minutes.' Score!"

Twenty minutes later, we thought they had skipped out on coming to visit us. My brother and I ended up leaving the room with four glasses of wine and the video camera (no one else wanted to come with us). Out in the hallway we ran into a family who got the floors mixed up after leaving the pool area. As we were waiting for the elevator and chatting with the family about trying to make friends, a man and a woman walked through the hall, coming from the stairwell, "One Two Three?"

I turned, as did my brother, "Yes."

"We're two two three!"

About two and a half hours and two or three mad libs later, Ellie and Damien, from room 223, joyfully left our hotel room to get some sleep before the wedding they had to go to the next afternoon. They were full of booze, as were we, and they had a story to tell at the wedding the next day. And probably one to tell at home, in the Bronx, too.

See? Making friends isn't that hard, you just have to be willing to put yourself out there enough to face rejection. Try it next time you're stuck at the hotel on a rainy night. Who knows? You might just meet your own version of Ellie and Damien!

Happy Birthday, Ma!

I have quite a few people that I call "mom."  First, there is my real mom, who currently lives in a different time zone and I haven't seen in over a year.  We talk on the phone once or twice a month, when I get bored.  She gave birth to me and I love her, but I need a mom close to home.  That's where Noreen and Laurie come in.  Noreen is my newest mom-type person.  She's a busser at the SAC, like Laurie, and she became my mother one day when she kissed my boo-boo and made it all better.  She's a lot of fun because she acts just like one of us drunken kids.

Laurie, as I mentioned earlier, is my close-to-home mom.  When I first started at the SAC in September '07, I got real close to her daughter, Lis (a hostess at the time), and there were a lot of jokes that when her son, D.J., came home I should date him.   Thus, she became my mother-in-law turned mother/friend.  (I never did date her son, by the way.)  Her whole family refers to me as "Laurie's step-daughter" and her youngest, Brooke, always tells people that she has three sisters, Lis, Erin (whom I've never met), and me.  She's been there when I needed a mom-figure and I love her for it.

Last year, Lis and I started a tradition of taking Ma and Brooke to Friendly's around Mother's Day/Ma's birthday.  This year, we pulled Brooke out of school and continued the tradition - with pictures. (You can click to make 'em near-lifesize!)

Lis and me, you can't tell, but I'm being kicked under 

the table by Brooke in this picture.

Brooke and Ma.  The picture was supposed to be just

 Ma, but then Brooke snuck in right before I took it.

Brooke wanted to take a picture of Lis.

It still amazes me that Brooke's kid's 

sundae is bigger than our adult sundaes.

Stalking a stalker.

While I was waiting for the plumber to arrive early Wednesday morning, I decided it was time I put some actual work into the look of my blog.  Because I'm very lazy, I was looking for an old layout I used for my brother's old fan club, TOSJFC, where I could use the code and just replace the picture.  Looking through old files and emails led me to a very amusing picture and a very sad feeling.

The amusing picture:

The sad feeling:

I used to love rushing home from school to turn on 1490 WESB just to listen to my brother.  It was cool to have someone I know on the radio, especially AM's most popular area DJ.  My brother used the name Stalker Jay during his time at WESB.  He was only there for just over a year, nearly three years ago, and was fired for some reason that I never bothered to ask about.  

I have a sneaking feeling that the radio station was Jay's favorite job.  Not just because he had his very own fan club, but because it let him do something he is very good at, entertaining people.  The radio station let him entertain the masses, while still sitting around doing just about nothing.  It was enough of a real job to be proud of it, but there was enough messing around to make it a fun thing that you got paid to do.

It's not like Jay did nothing but slack off.  He had a fan club to please, for crying out loud!  While he was there he made Employee of the Month twice and even scored himself a ticket to go see OAR with his little sister. 

 (That was the first concert I ever went to, and I'm so glad it was them with my brother.  The St. Bonaventure gym wasn't very crowded, but the band was awesome.  This was OAR before "Shattered", back in the days of "Hey Girl" and "Crazy Game of Poker".  Jay was so excite about getting the free ticket that I remember he squeed like a little girl.)

I wish I could find the audio samples I recorded off the radio way back when.  They hold such awesome memories that no one really cares about, except my brother and me.  The one I really want to find is titled "prom problems."  Apparently, some girl (Sarah?) danced with her grandma's cousin's husband's cousin's grandson (Ryan?) and wanted to know if it was incest.  Stalker Jay broke it down and let her know that it was okay if they kissed, because there was marriage in there somewhere and we were from such a small town that accidental incest was bound to happen sometime.  (Okay, maybe I added the accidental incest bit, but I'm sure he was thinking it.)

Then there's the time we made him try Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.. Or the time he took an on air poll to see if we could guess if he was wearing boxers or briefs (I guessed pink thong).. There was also the radio promo of our grandmother babbling on Jay's voicemail.. And we can't forget the Stalker Jay photoshop contest!

Every once in awhile, TOSJFC comes up in our conversation.  We chat about how much fun he had, how idiotic his listeners were, and the one guy who still yells "STALKER JAY!! I LOVE YOU!!" every time he walks in a bar, even though he's been off the air for three years now.

(Sorry, the TOSJFC site has gone to the wayside, so all the links are archive.com versions.)

(Double sorry for the post length, I didn't realise that it'd be this long when I started writing.  But once I got digging for old Stalker Jay stuff, I couldn't stop.  I even began to clean out my closet looking for the old audio files.  I know they're around here somewhere.)