For those of you that know me, chances are good you have wondered where in God’s name I have been. But c’mon, did you really think I wouldn’t fall off the map for at least a little while?
For those of you that don’t know me, and read my blog, this post is an update on my life. It is largely insignificant in the blogging world, and probably unimportant– unless you are stalking me, in which case, you may already know this information but could use it to gain some kind of understanding into my psyche.
Where to begin? Working two jobs only proves itself stressful when A) a bike accident has left your knee in a crippled, swollen, sliced up state and B) you’re hungry because working two jobs means you can’t purchase any groceries. For instance, right now I am eating pretzel M&M’s out of the party size bag. This is breakfast. Mostly because I cannot fathom eating another peanut butter sandwich. Thankfully my knee isn’t aching in its typical, sharp-as-a-knife manner– rather, this is more of a dull roar.
Oh god, there is a point where one may have consumed too many M&M’s for breakfast. Someone bring me a glass of water.
Even if I consistently felt shitty (and thankfully my allergies have gone away), this week could not be anything less than fantastic. Shawn went to Alabama and left me with his Border Collie, Hot Sauce. Hot Sauce has been my favorite little buddy. We play with bubbles and frisbees in the back yard, go for long walks, and leave the bulkhead open so we can meander and get fresh air at night. He is as charming as he is sweet. No one cuddles quite so well. I have zero intention of returning him. This dog is mine now.
It’s not that my priorities or goals have fallen by the wayside, but I live to work (and work to live) now. Today is the tenth consecutive day that I have worked either job. It’s hard to find time to write or read or journeys to uncharted territory when you sleep eight hours (back to normal!) and barely fit in showers. (SIDENOTE- I’m not dirty or stinky, but realistically, it’s difficult to squeeze in a shower or two every day.) I do laundry when I have no underwear left, but that is nothing new.
After work, I don’t want to sit down and write four or five pages or expound useless crapola about life into the blogosphere. I want to socialize with the guys I am forbidden too busy to really talk to while at work. I want to play with mallets (pronounced malLAYS) on deserted beaches and swim in icy ocean waters and kick back an adult beverage or two. Or six. But I’m young and I bounce back from shit like that. Mornings aren’t painful, nor should they be. That might mean I am burning the candle at both ends.
I know how that turns out.
When I think, or find myself having the time to think, I think of ways to get in trouble with old friends; seduction tactics; lyrics to Phish songs (the most fitting include “There’s a blank space where my mind should be” and “’bout as faithful as a slot machine, pays off once in a while but then she’ll rob you clean”); how I really should clean my room; how I really should eat something; the direction of my own life compared to the wanderers around me; obscure sandwich ideas; ways to obtain ‘beach waves’ in my hair without actually going to the beach; ways I can get more beach time in per week; babysitting; bathing suits; and anything that qualifies as “Something I would do in my free time, if I had free time.”
Aunts, cousins and friends alike, they ask me when I can visit, when they can visit, when am I free.
If I had an answer, I would tell you. But I don’t have one. For all intensive purposes, I am not free. I am a machine, running around, working like a little bee-eye-tee-see-aich. I am free after eleven and before eight thirty. Are you a night owl? Do you mind sharing a twin sized bed? Are you bringing friends? Any aversions to cold?
I invite you all to visit, but I warn you that I cannot hold your hand and I cannot devote all my attention to you.
Alas, I find time to cook steaks and potatoes and onions on the grill and to share wine and potato chips with friends and roomies. We can sit in the yard and talk about college and moving forward and understanding what it means to capitalize on ones time. We can recount tales of stupid love and stupid times and stupid stupids. I’ll make you dinner, because I like to cook, and I like you, so it seems natural that the two coincide. It’s too bad I can’t drop everything to make this happen– because you know that I would.
Today I am bringing back the fresh white t-shirt. I swear no one ever looked so nice and felt so clean.
Filed under: Things I Like | Tags: Falmouth, feels like summer, happiness, life, summer, work
Even if I had never been to Falmouth before, I would still know that it is Memorial Day Weekend.
I’m sweating (finally) and cars are driving by as I attempt to best ride Jackie Wilson down Main Street after a long day at work. What ever happened to brisk nights when it was me and the road and the occasional drunk stumbling out of the Towne Tavern? Cruising past the harbor, distant music drifts as the band jams on the porch at the Boat House. 7-11 is hopping with the same amount of life. I wonder if they have ever done so much business at 11 PM on a Saturday.
Work is another story. Everyone is running– and I mean running– down the line and through the kitchen and out of the walk-in refrigerator. Nearly a hundred people come in and out of the restaurant in a matter of hours. There’s cursing and messes and humidity. No one is angry– or at least no one is showing their anger(yet) — but everyone is on edge, at least a little bit. But, at the same time, kitchen dogs and servers alike rejoice in the fast paced excitement.
I wouldn’t have to go to work or ride my bike to know that it’s Memorial Day weekend. If I stand outside, with my eyes closed, the buzz of the world crescendos and I just know. It’s here. It’s time. It’s Memorial Day weekend.
It is finally summer.
I can breathe a sigh of relief and say ‘I’m back. I’m here. This is everything I’ve been waiting for.’
-I am so fucked if I hit a pot hole. I wish I had a stinkin’ head light so I could see something.
-Next time I go down Maravista, I am bringing a steak knife with me. This is sketchy.
-Fool. Bring a damn sweatshirt.
-If those idiots steal my bike while I am in the store, shit is gonna blow up.
-How much is a can of spray paint?
-I need more friends with cars.
-I need to get a life.
Filed under: College, Late Night | Tags: complaining, Falmouth, future, happiness, moving out, summer, work
-Do I stay up tonight and feel like shit in the morning, or just go to sleep now? This is a problem I have faced every day for the last five years. Anyone who has ever been my age will understand completely.
-Do I write ‘exempt’ on my tax return and get most of the money I earn, or do I write ’1′ and get a nice hefty tax return next Spring? Today I started my second job. I immediately put down ‘exempt’ on my W-2. Why? Well, the whole point of having a second job is for extra dough. I want to spend this money. But only this money. It is a great way to budget, don’t you think? However, I wasn’t expecting to have to fill out another tax form at my job from last summer (Glass Onion.) I mean, they already have my data on file somewhere. Why would I fill it out again? Alas, Josh approached me with all the paperwork I need for taxes and to return to the payroll. So now I am faced with this dilemma– and I have no idea what to do. While forced savings are nice– there is no doubt in my mind that my tax return was anxiously awaited and thoughtlessly spent this Spring– I would like to be able to see all my earnings from the Summer on September 1st, as opposed to waiting. Which is the better choice? I cannot decide.
-Is this something that my parents would approve of? Well, I find whenever I have to ask myself that question (which is less than even I would expect,) the answer is usually “no, they would not.”
-What do I want to do with my life? Perhaps I will ask myself this very question every week of my life until I am 54, but it seems to pop up every hour at the moment. I finally moved out (finally! I’ve talked about it on my blog for years, and I know that you were all as excited as I was when I finally broke the news) and my roommates are… smart. Ambitious. Destined for unbelievable things. And I, I work at a restaurant and schmuck around beaches and walk on sidewalks. A few years ago, I had wild dreams for myself, but now, I am content with finishing a book, or enjoying a day of laying in bed and watching Instant Netflix, or ranting via skype to my best friend (who is at school in Scotland) about nothing in particular– although we especially love to rant about how we don’t envision the same things our parents that had/have in mind for us. I confessed to my roommates that I once had ambition and drive, just like them, but my summers in Falmouth were likely the cause of my sudden… lack of any kind of motivation. They laughed. The only two desires I am certain of are publishing a novel and being happy. Nonetheless, I still don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I am confident that coming to Falmouth for the summer is at least a step in the right direction for the latter goal…
-Am I dying? Sometimes I think that I am. Thankfully, people like Chicken remind me that even Wayne Campbell thought he had mono, and it turned out he was just really bored. I did get one decent beach day in last week, as I meandered Falmouth, seeking entertainment of any kind, and wondering when in God’s name I would finally go back to work again. Ironically enough, once the sun finally came out (though for only a day), I got the call to come back to work for Saturday night. I’ve worked two G.O. shifts and I have doubts about if I would like to work all summer or not… Perhaps this is due to some strife with friends (yup, give me a week, and I will make you hate me. It’s easy,) but at the same time, I question how fabulous it will really be… And I swear, this has nothing to do with the fact that I am picking the spores of portabella mushrooms out from underneath my finger nails.
-What the fuck is in the corner? Well, last week, this question was more along the lines of ‘what the fuck is that sound?’ This house creaks and howls in the wind and makes terrible sounds… all the time. Especially at night. But yesterday I moved from my cozy, awesome upstairs bugalow (which was a little small), to the fantastically spacious, though chilly and slightly frightening basement bedroom. But I have a huge closet, a tv, and plenty of space for chairs and guests and maybe even another mattress for friends to stay. Reed has suggested I enter and exit strictly via bulkhead. Once it’s warm and sunny, I may actually do that. To be honest, that’s the fastest way to the fridge in the kitchen, anyway.
-What will happen if the Bruin’s lose? Possible answers: Rachel’s Dad has a heart attack, swaths of fans riot in the streets of Boston, I cut off my finger with a kitchen knife because I made the mistake of listening to the game on the radio while cooking. (Thankfully, they won Game 2 tonight.)
Filed under: Late Night, Lizstomania, Uncategorized | Tags: awesomeness, chocolate, diner, drinking, drive thru, drunkenness, eating, Falmouth, fast food, food, grilled cheese, ice cream, MadAtoms, McDonalds
Recently, Madatoms, one of my favorite blogs, featured “The Drunk Cookbook.” I couldn’t help but laugh; I definitely have had some run ins with similar “cooking” situations while ham-boned.
Here are some of my personal favorites- stories, recipes, advice- for when it comes to late night eating and drinking extravaganzas.
The McDonald’s Run
Once upon a time there were three idiots: Katie, Nick, and Shawn. Those three idiots tied one on and decided it would be a great idea to go to McDonald’s. It had been a while since they had all been to the fastfood mecca, and aside from not having much money, they wanted cheeseburgers.
This particular McDonald’s had a late night menu. 2, 3, 6, 9, 11, and 12 to be exact. No one could order a double cheeseburger, or a Happy Meal, or any kind of ice cream treat. Giddy with drunkeness, and annoyed the boys could not decide what to get, Katie shouted out “We’ll have six number 3s, two 11s, and a 12.”
$40 later, they were handed six quarter pounders, two ten piece chicken McNuggets, and a chicken sandwich of some kind. And don’t forget about the large bag, filled with French fries, and three large coca-colas.
It was disgusting.
The next day, Katie found the bag of uneaten fries, as well as disgusting, unidentifiable McDonald’s residue all over the car, and a beach of salt on the seats. It was as unappealing as the stories of digestive woe and anguish the band of idiots experienced that night. While they vowed to never go to McDonald’s again, and have not visited since, one day the story will come back to life, and the band of idiots will undoubtedly terrorize another McDonald’s drive-thru.
Challenge Meal: The McGangBang.
The Diner
“Let’s go to the diner!” It was a Thursday night, and they roomies should not have alerted Katie that they were awake.
Katie was hell bent on getting to the diner. She was loud and jumpy and rather wild. Especially for only 1:30 in the morning.
While they did not go to the diner, despite Katie’s calamity and craziness, Katie would repeat these sentiments on other nights. (This was not the first time Katie had drunkenly begged for a diner run, but it was the first time at her new home that she would shout in the night for such ridiculousness in eating.)
Ideal meal at a midnight diner run: greasy, or desserts. Or both if you can stomach it.
Challenge Meal: Whatever their most advertised monstrosity/eating challenge is on the menu.
Grilled Cheese
Grab a frying pan/skillet, a pound of butter, whatever cheese you can muster up from the depths of the fridge, some kind of bread.
Turn on stove. Throw butter in a cold pan, wait until it burns and smokes.
Place bread and butter haphazardly on pan.
Eat when ever you become sick of waiting for bread to brown, or until it’s almost on fire.
Drinker's note: Your drunk grilled cheese will NOT look this nice.
How many times have I done this? At a minimum, every Saturday night from June to August of 2010. And then some.
Challenge Meal: Eat as many grilled cheese as you can. Or accompany it with other leftovers in the fridge. Half a pizza? No problem.
The Ice Cream Man
When in doubt, if you are drunk and hungry, always get ice cream. The more, the better. This is a fact, intoxicated or otherwise.
One day Katie and Katelyn decided it would be a fantastic idea to get three pints of B&J at the White Hen Pantry (RIP) for a small get together of no more than five people. By the time they got back to the beach, it was only three. But only two wanted ice cream (duh) and they noshed at maybe half of one pint… But ice cream is great melted, sitting in the bottom of a cooler that’s been sitting out all night next to you on a beach. If you’re drunk enough, by all means, go for some ice cream soup to help that hangover.
If you are in the comfort of your home, dig in with a spoon. No other utensils necessary. No clean spoons? Go for a fork. Feel like closing the freezer? No worries- once everything defrosts you can just close the freezer door again in the morning as if nothing every happened. Family and roommates probably won’t notice for at least three weeks.
Drinker's note: This definitely seems like an ice cream treat a drunk man created. First of all, Fig Newtons are NOT the world's best cookie. In fact, they are even cookies. Second of all, when you're drunk, you will add weird things to your food, especially ice cream, which specifically invites you to add crazy things to! Drunk ice cream sundaes can be the best or worst thing that ever happens to you.
The best way to satisfy drunken ice cream cravings is to find a fast food joint that does not turn off the soft serve machine at night. While this varies from place to place, BK and McDick’s are certainly your best bet.
Challenge Meal: The whole quart of ice cream. Think I’m crazy? Drink enough whiskey, and if your into other things and have the munchies, I guarantee this is attainable. Whoever said less is more was wrong.
Up next, hangover breakfast!…..
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: drinking, Falmouth, Fay Beach, friends, happiness, life, love, summer, sunrise
Sunday August 15, 2010 @ 2:33 PM – Driving home, currently in bridge traffic
I always have these grandiose plans. These spectacular ideas, how I think things will go, how I want it to lay out.
Last night things did not turn out how my crazy mind wanted it to… We had no beer, no great storytelling, and no huge plan.
But things turned out alright.
I saw shooting stars.
I tried a drink called “Surfer on Acid.”
…
I saw the most beautiful sunrise. It looked like someone had sewn thread of gold through the sky and clouds.
I had a great talk with S on the jetty. We talked ab out work and summer and Hot Sauce and he told me how beautiful I am. I had greasy hair, an old sweatshirt, and boxers on, and even though I denied it, I suddenly felt beautiful.
It was nothing like the night I imagined, but dare I say it, it was better.
Beloved Fay Beach
Filed under: Song of the Day | Tags: Chad and Jeremy, Falmouth, music, Rushmore, soundtrack, summer, video
And when the rain
Beats against my window pane
I’ll think of summer days again
Filed under: Serendipity, Uncategorized | Tags: babysitting, cupcakes, Falmouth, free, future, generosity, happiness, ice cream, kids, kindness, life, random acts of kindness, RMV, Smitty
“Getting money is not all a man’s business: to cultivate kindness is a valuable part of the business of life.” – Samuel Johnson
After a morning of unnecessary bullshit at the Registry of Motor Vehicles, a hammock nap, and some Hot Sauce bonding, I was ready to spend my evening babysitting. Ha, not exactly. Babysitting reminds me of how much I prefer drinking to everything else, but whatever.
We play Clue Jr, June gets angry that I inadvertently won. We make popcorn the old fashioned way, but not without breaking the spinner six times and nearly burning off all my fingertips with hot oil. My former uncle makes creepy phone calls to me and the kids, and the house is hot as fuck.
Although I figured they’d had enough sweets, I reneged and said “Let’s get out of here.”
We went for ice cream.
The kids went nuts.
Now, truth be told, this was the first time I had been to Smitty’s in Eastie all summer. Which, for an ice cream connoisseur like myself, is crazy. I eat ice cream every week, and the fact that I haven’t found time on a day off to make rounds at Smitty’s is weird. They have good stuff. It’s not Ben and Bill’s or Kimball’s, but I haven’t found a cone at Smitty’s that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy.
ANYWAY- So of course, I forgot that they only take cash. We’ve stood in line for twenty minutes, Stevie and June are jumping around like puppies on caffeine pills. I tell them not to move a muscle and sprint back to the car to find cash. I dig through my trunk of garbage and find eight bucks. Not enough for three ice creams, but enough for two. Somewhat disappointed that I won’t be able to share in their ice cream euphoria, I walk back to find June, like a 30 year old mother, ordering for herself and Stevie, reminding the scooper girl that Stevie has an allergy and whatnot. As she licks her cone, she is also shouting “Smitty’s is WAY better than Dairy Queen.” Okay, so maybe she is still ten years old after all.
June asks me why I’m not ordering an ice cream. “I forgot they don’t take cards here, June. I don’t have enough money.” Smitty approaches me. “Don’t worry about it- what can I get for you?”
To be honest, it was kind of like meeting a celebrity. I stuttered a bit and felt my heart beating. Lame, maybe, but here was the owner of one of my favorite ice cream places, offering me a free cone. He was insistent. “I’m here all the time, don’t worry about it,” I said. “No, really, it’s not a problem,” he replied. “What can I get you?”
I forked over my measly eight bucks and walked away with a free cone, two happy campers, and June continuing to be ten, profusely thanking the ice cream man and giving her two cents about how awful DQ is.
Suddenly my day didn’t suck anymore. I ate my ice cream on the picnic bench with the kids and was, if only for a moment, just as happy as they were.
My Smitty’s experience also made me think: why the hell do I want to make cupcakes for a living? Why aren’t I planning on making ice cream? Cupcakes are great, but there really is nothing in the world I love more than ice cream. & Time consuming, difficult, and tiresome as it is, the only thing I have ever been convinced I want as a career is to be an entrepreneur. I mean, if I can make someone feel as good as I did last night getting a free ice cream, then there really is no question.
I want to be an ice cream man.
Self-induced shit aside, I had a great day off because I spent it with Hot Sauce, my friend’s dog.
Yesterday Nick told me that there would be mornings over the next few years when I wake up somewhere in Philly, wishing I was waking up on Fay Beach (like I did yesterday.)
But instead, I am going to think of laying with Hot Sauce at Old Silver around five in the evening, laying in the sand with him snuggled next to me, rubbing his belly and listening to beach noise. That dog would’ve smiled if he could. I know I was. If postcards sent feelings instead of pictures, I would want that one.
It was serendipitous, even if I felt like I shouldn’t be happy today.
Filed under: Song of the Day, Uncategorized | Tags: college, Falmouth, graduation, growing up, happiness, kids, life, music, song of the day, video
A couple of weeks ago, my friend, Chicken, posted this on my wall. The song really fit whatever was on my mind, probably some guy drama, or looking at my future/college/life.
Today is the fourth of July, and this song still fits me well. I am uncertain, maybe not frightened, but concerned about my future. Today was my graduation party. The realizations I had were insane, at least to me. I mean, in just a few weeks (maybe six or seven at most- yikes!) I leave for college. Not that long ago I would’ve been one of the cousins running around in the backyard. I would’ve been jumping around in the dunk tank, or begging for cake, or playing ball. It wasn’t that long that, despite being a “big kid”, I was that small. I guess, yeah, I still am a kid, but then I was a kid. I was young and carefree and the worst thing in my life was braces or insecurities. We grow up fast.
I’m worried about leaving the friends I have, and the summer, and my job, and the general semblance of happiness that I have. I don’t think I’ll be getting calls from Ry wishing me happy fourth of July, and I won’t have the opportunity to drop everything to bake, or ride my bike, or drive around. There are some people I have grown really close to over the past year, and I don’t like thinking it’s gonna be over. I spent a torturous year wondering what would become of my long distance relationship, worrying about the end, unwilling to give up the happiness we shared when we were together.
As happy as I am today, life could be better. Honestly, who can’t say ‘oh, I could be happier’? Anyone can say that anytime. Bur I don’t want to lose the good things I have. Life has weird moments. Often we find ourselves speechless how do I describe how I feel? I guess that’s why I really like this song.
This is my life on the Fourth of July. It’s not much, but at least it’s mine.
I’m not P. Diddy, and sorry Ke$ha, I don’t know how he feels when he wakes up in the morning. But things are good for Katie Mac, or at least things are good enough. And I like that.
She was on fire and while an American
She burns it out probably just because she can
And if I had a dollar for everything I should have said
I’d probably still be busted I would throw it all away again
The lighting bugs light up all across the southern sky
Some guys get it all and they don’t even need to try
I watched you roll away but you didn’t even say good bye
And now I hate the night I’m guessing that’s the reason why
And this, this is my life
On the Fourth of July
It isn’t much, but at least its mine
Got in my van, headed up to Boston
Thought about my friends and how easily I’d lost them
I’d do it all again, I’d leave everyone exhausted
Some folks get a break, me I never got one
I thought of you at night when I would drink too much
You thought about me too, you would never try to get in touch
Went back to school and I ran into some guys I knew
We started up this band, but we couldn’t seem to get it through
We got some kicks eventually we lost that tune
Did you ever think if you’re not happy it’s because of you
And this, this is my life
On the Fourth of July
It isn’t much, but at least its mine
I got a job, selling ads for magazines
At night when I would play I would think about her constantly
Everything I loved, it somehow got away from me
And suicide, I talked about it openly
I finally quit, or maybe I got fired I don’t know
Doesn’t matter just as long as it happened all
Added up the fears and the doubts I’d been living with
Songs of life, bugs and school and work and all that shit
And this, this is my life
On the Fourth of July
It isn’t much, but at least its mine
I lost a girl sometime and a couple friends
Small talk and parties I never could stomach it
I’m old enough to say, I remember when, but
I don’t have the time for your nostalgia or your criticisms
You live and learn, me well I learn to let go
Parents and bosses and people who don’t want you to grow
I think that anything you want to, you can do
No one gonna tell me just who the hell I should sing to
And this, this is my life
On the Fourth of July
It isn’t much, but at least its mine
