Goodbye Mr. Nimoy

Leonard Nimoy has died. That means a little piece of me has died as well. I cannot remember - nor do I want to - life without him. A life without Mr. Spock is totally illogical to my mind. It cannot exist.

I fell in love with him while watching Star Trek hiding behind my father's recliner because I was supposed to be in bed. Not on Star Trek night. I learned to run silently back to my room if I heard anyone move from their spot. I had to risk the punishment. I had to watch this mission to space. I wished it was real.

Most importantly, I wished Vulcans were real. No emotions, pure logic. It appealed to me because for some reason my home life seemed totally illogical. Maybe I was the one out of sync, but although I couldn't really put my finger on it, something always seemed terribly wrong - terribly illogical and I am a logically thinking human. (I have since learned it was probably my mom - but you can't always completely blame everything on your parents)

I got to the point in my life that I once called myself Mr. Spock because everything was so out of control and I refused to have feelings so I wouldn't get caught up in the storm. It was easier. It was logical.

I was Spock. Then I was not. Then I became him again. Only the second time I did not completely get back to being myself. It is still easier not to feel. To be in total control of my emotions.

I am therefore in some ways still half Vulcan, because I can easily distance myself from anything I don't like or can't make sense of. (My mother comes to mind again)

I have many things Star Trek. I am a Trekkie. Everyone knows I love Star Trek & Mr. Spock. My car, home and office are full of memorabilia. I have been to a convention for crying out loud! But mostly, I am Vulcan.

I dressed up like Mr. Spock for work last year for Halloween. I was a 'fatter' Mr. Spock, but for a moment in time, Leonard Nimoy, the creator of my other facade & I, were alive and somewhat the same in the same space time continuum. I relished that thought.

Now I know that Spock was not the only accomplishment this man ever had. He was so much more. But for me, this one piece of him altered my entire life. For the better.

Thank you Leonard Nimoy. I hope someday I get to meet you in space...the final frontier.

Live Long and Prosper Everyone.

I Not Nice

I  have been sick for what seems like forever. It is almost over – almost. I started this blog post 2 weeks ago and just couldn’t finish it because of my affliction. If you get a cold from reading this because of cross contamination of germs, my humblest apologies. On to my story...

All this talking about restaurants the last couple of blogs, brought to mind another incident that happened to me – in another restaurant – in this town (a.k.a. Stupid Town) a year or so ago. Today, I repeated a phrase that now lives in the minds of my family’s vocabulary and is repeated constantly. I said that phrase today to my boss. “You not nice.” She had no idea what I was talking about because I had forgotten that she had not been working with me on my floor when this happened. She wanted an explanation.

We used to have a Japanese steak house in one of our strip malls. We are too small of a town to actually have a mall mall, so we have several mini versions full of stores lined up like jail cells with an overabundance of parking spaces in front of them. The parking lots are so huge in fact, that at these strip establishments most have restaurants sitting in random areas in this vast expanse – sometimes TWO or THREE restaurants and a bank – because the parking lot is WAY too big for what stores are there. Maybe our village idiots’ city government thinks that it is strategic planning on their part. I mean who wouldn’t want to buy clothing, pet supplies, workout clothes, eyeglasses, see a movie, buy some jewelry, and then have some lunch all without moving their car? It is genius (or so they believe)! 

So at one of these shopoterias, that services your beauty needs, your nail needs, your rental furniture needs, your health food needs and your grocery needs, there was a wonderful Japanese restaurant. They had curry that would make any curry lover want to high five a stranger even if they had leprosy. It was just that good.

I ate many much portions of this curry. Often and as much as I could hold because I knew good food in this town was a FLUKE and destined to be destroyed. This town is FULL of people that think our pseudo Chinese, Italian, and Mexican are “simply delicious.” I think they are nuts. I have had good servings of all those, but there is none of it in this town!

Anyway, back to my story. One day I was going to Publix (where shopping is a pleasure) to pick up something and since the Japanese restaurant was in the strip mail with Publix, I called in an order. I got my groceries, put them in the car and walked over to my food pleasure palace. I grabbed the door handle – locked. I peered inside – lights out. Open sign – not flashing. I peer inside again – I see no one and no movement. I test the door again – still locked.

I go back to work empty handed.

Two hours later I get a call on my cell. I don’t usually answer unknown callers, but today I was bored I guess – and hungry – so I answered.

Let me pause to say this. I am in no way a racist. I do not mean to make fun of how any race, religion, creed, sexual orientation, or alien invaders move, talk or speak – BUT – if I don’t tell my wonderful readers in the speak that this man talked to me – it just isn’t funny…and I like funny.

Me:                     Hello?

Asian Man:       Herro? Is Sarah? (Sarah is my pseudonym given when placing a name on a  food order or a wait list because NO ONE can spell my name)

Me:                      Yes.

Asian Man:        Why you no come pick up order?

Me:                      I did try to pick it up but your restaurant was closed.

Asian Man:         Not closed! I not closed!

Me:                      Well, I checked the door and looked inside, but the door was locked and the lights were off.

Asian Man:         I wait inside! I there! Why you no knock?

Me:                      Well, since the door was locked and the lights were out, I didn’t see a reason to knock.

Asian Man:         I wait for you! You come pick up now! I sit afternoon waiting.

Me:                      I am sorry, I am back at work and I can’t come back.

Asian Man:        You come back now! You no waste my food!

Me:                      I can’t. I am sorry.

Asian Man:         You waste my food! I no make money! I go broke! Your fault! YOU NOT NICE!

I hung up on that last tirade. Maybe I did make him go broke because I never went back to that restaurant. I guess no one went back much because the restaurant closed about a month later.

I guess not only “You not nice,” but everyone in town “They not nice.”

I miss that curry…

Restaurant #2 Bites the Dust

I live in a small town. I think I have mentioned that before. I normally tell people (as often as I can and to anyone who will listen) that I live in a ‘God forsaken wasteland.’ I know I am harsh. Lots of inhabitants LOVE this hell hole town. I chalk up my disdain for this place to the fact I am a big city girl. Born and raised. Large towns offer so many options – so many choices for FOOD. I could quite literally never run out of new restaurants to try in any of the large towns I have lived in. You can quite literally run out of new cuisine opportunities in this boil on the butt of the United States municipality in less than 2 weeks. That is just ONE of my problems with this detestable hamlet. But I can’t move, I am stuck, for a few more years at least. Come on retirement!!

So, with few choices for lunch and dinner fare and a husband who absolutely, completely, totally, wholly, fully, and utterly enjoys going out to eat and can eat a hamburger (quite literally) at every meal, I endure the few places here in town that offer a ‘version’ of some international cuisine, just so I do not have to run away screaming eat at a hamburger joint daily.

Today was one of those days. We went to a restaurant replica of Asian gastronomy, we ordered drinks, and we got food (or some facsimile thereof). My husband tasted the unsweet tea he ordered. He said it tasted bad and asked me to taste it – gee thanks love. But, I did taste it. I am used to this sort of nonsense from him. "Here love, smell, this, or taste that" – because he thinks it might be bad. He is so very thoughtful. But then again, I do have a cast iron stomach and he does not. Back to the story – it did not taste bad to me, but it tasted ‘off.’ So my husband called the server over and asked her to take it away and get him some water. She obliged.

But it was then that she did something we did not expect. She went back to the drink station (or some primitive likeness thereof) and POURED HIS GLASS OF PRE-TASTED TEA BACK INTO THE MAIN TEA PITCHER!!! I lost my appetite.

What if we had a cold? What if we had scurvy? What if we had the bird flu? What if we had rabies? What if we had the Bubonic Plague?!! (I mean aside from the obvious thing you all are thinking in regard to – why  we would even be in public if we have the Bubonic Plague?! It is because we are just that sort of giving people! So back off!) But, seriously, what if we had a simmering case of hepatitis – or something that is less life threatening – but still highly contagious?? That restaurant just infected this WHOLE SHIT HOLE TOWN!

What else do they just blithely dump back into other food vats??

So just like the rabbit restaurant that sells drugs, now, we cannot frequent the international cuisine restaurant that may serve botulism for lunch.

We need to move – or write a ‘foodie’ book about our adventures in dining in this portal to hell small metropolitan area. I can’t decide which.

Breakfast and a Drug Deal

We have a new restaurant in town. I won’t name names, but it is a well know chain that serves breakfast and the name is suggestive of the idea of what you would be doing if you picked up one leg and moved about a room and then you told someone that you did it, but spoke the sentence in the present tense. Ok, just think what a rabbit does.

We live in a small town. So a new restaurant is big news - and mobbed – whether it is good or not – for weeks – simply because it is new and pickings are slim in the world of food around here.

Today, finally my husband and I decided to try it for lunch (11:15 a.m.). We got right in, no waiting. One crisis averted (at least to my husband). As the hostess was taking us to our table a server was following us like a gnat. I mean I seriously felt like turning to her and shooing her away or least yelling – GIVE ME SOME SPACE WEIRDO! But I refrained, after all what if she was our server? As we sat down she moved away, so I kind of wish I HAD shooed her like I was doing in my mind since she wasn’t going to be serving us food, but I live by the rule that decorum must be maintained at all cost. So I was just kidding myself – I never would have done it - but it is fun to think about.

But then SHE (the gnat) sachets over to our table and asks what we would like to drink. Diet whatever and unsweet tea is what we tell her. “Do you want some juice,” she asks? No, diet whatever and unsweet tea please. “Well, 22% of my sales need to be juice, so do you want some juice?” NO.Thank.You. What the hell?

She goes off to get our drinks and returns a good 5-7 minutes later and states, “Sorry I took a day and half to get back to you, but I had a rude customer I had to deal with. Sheesh, there are a lot of those.” She did bring me a diet drink, but she brought my husband SWEET tea, which we found out after she left our table – to go to the bathroom. We caught her eye on her exit (don’t you just love being seated next to the bathroom while you eat?) and told her of the error. She proceeded to bring my husband another glass of tea and states she is sorry, but that this indeed is unsweet. He tastes it AND IT WAS SOURED! We call her back again to the table and inform her of the undrinkable drink and she says – “Thank you for telling us we would never know if customers didn’t tell us – AND – would you like some juice?” Now I am to the WTF stage and starting to understand why she may have those ‘rude’ customers.

She takes our order, goes to the visible cash register and rings it up – I assume. Then she goes into the bathroom.

We wait & wait & wait & wait & wait. While we were waiting she took someone else’s order and then went to the bathroom AGAIN. Either she is phobically clean or something is going on. Another server brought our food – minus my husband’s sausages and pancakes. We call her over again and she notices the missing flapjacks and goes to the kitchen to get them. She then exits the kitchen with his piping hot stack AND TAKES THEM TO ANOTHER TABLE. (Oh, did I tell you we were sitting right next to the kitchen entrance/exit as well as the bathroom? So very appetizing!) Now, she was going to the kitchen to get our table missing pancakes only moments before and upon her exit with those pancakes had to walk right behind my husband to take these pancakes to a different table. She looks positively shocked when they tell her that were not theirs! They inform her they are OURS - and point to us - and she finally brings them back to us. We informed her of the still missing sausages, so she went back to the kitchen, came out – with no sausage – and went – you guessed it – to the bathroom.

Finally the manager comes to our table and asks how things are. I tell him we are missing sausages! Our server overhears and yells from several tables away, “I TOLD THEM TWICE IN THE KITCHEN! IT ISN’T MY FAULT!” I am now back to WTF land.

We receive sausages pronto.

Our server then starts to talk to another server and goes BACK TO THE BATHROOM! I just can’t even make this stuff up.

This time however, when she came out, she has something clenched in her fist. She walked up to the other server and in sleight of hand tried to hand it to her without anyone seeing. BUT I SAW. It wasn’t creamer, it wasn’t Sweet N Low, it was a small plastic baggy. The kind of baggies I only know about because my husband watches so many cop shows! The kind of baggies drug dealers and drug users claim are not theirs when the cops find them in their pocket. As I watch, the other server surreptitiously took the item and clenched it in her hand as well and then sneekily (is that a word?) clasped her palm as she walked through the dining room. When she walked into the kitchen area – she slipped it in her pocket. Drug deal. I witnessed a drug deal – AT BREAKFAST – IN A RESTAURANT!

After our server dropped some silverware on the floor and still put it back in the basket of clean ones, talked over us to another server about how to cheat and get a break sooner and then talked to yet another one about what she was going to eat on break WHILE she was handing us the bill – it was time to get the hell out of there. Never to return.

I probably should have said something to the manager – but he was MIA.

Experiences like this are why I prefer to eat at home.

Stay

I am going to try to make this prologue short and sweet, so I am going to bullet point it like I have to do for my students:

·         My mom came to visit for Christmas

·         She liked my perfume

·         I forgot to give her some, so I mailed her some (with a pair of earrings) priority mail on Monday.

o   I am now at work

o   I am participating in a webinar

o   I get this text during the aforementioned participation:

§  “Love the surprise box! Loved the perfume…Also the earrings Anges (WTH? This is my comment here, not in the original text) and well anyhow anyway I’m trying it I don’t think it’s turning out to good but anyhow I really AM enjoyin.”

Ok, back to a real blog:

My first way to deal with the crazy in that text (and I definitely do not know who the heck Anges is or if that is what my mom named the earrings I sent) was to forward the text to my sister so that I would not be the only person scarred by the madness it contained. In doing so I remembered the conversation I had with my mother about the name of the perfume I sent her.

Mom:    I like your perfume. It smells very clean and fresh.

Me:        Thank you.

Mom:    What is the name?

Me:        Stay.

Mom:    What? Why did you tell me to stay? I am sitting down and I certainly wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Don’t treat me like a dog!

Me:        I am not treating you like a dog. Stay is the name of the perfume.

Mom:    Who would name a perfume Stay?

Me:        The Gap.

Mom:    Gap? What gap?

Me:        Not A gap – THE Gap.

Mom:    The gap what??

Me:        Not What Gap – The Gap! It is a clothing store.

Mom:    No, a gap is a space between two things. Why would they call it the GAP? Are their sales   bad? Why would someone name a store Gap?

Me:        I have no idea and my head is starting to hurt.

Mom:    You said it was a clothing store, so where did the perfume come from?

Me:        THE GAP! They sell perfume too.

Mom:    You don’t have to get snippy and I still don’t understand why a store would be named Gap and they would call a perfume Stay.

Me:        I don’t either.

Mom:    Well, anyhow, your perfume smells really clean and fresh.

It went downhill from there and I will spare you the details. While all this was going on all I could think of was the bit that Abbott & Costello did about “Who’s on First.” Mine is not nearly as long or as funny, but on the level of non- comprehension it comes really, really close…

 

Wisdom? What Wisdom?!

Never assume you are as smart – or as coherent – as you think you are. Once again, I had a BRILLIANT idea to blog about in my head last night as I went to bed. I had the first paragraph, the main idea, and the title – the 3 word title – down pat. I went over and over and over and over it in my head using the rule that if you say something out loud 5 times you will never forget it. (That unquestionably is a lie) My mind screamed – “Go get your phone and voice note the title at least you idiot – or go get a piece of paper!”

GET OUT OF BED AND WRITE THIS DOWN!

Did I heed the screams of warning that were rolling around my head with the excellent blog idea? Hell no. I.Was.In.Bed.

So here we are the next morning. I can remember my idea was sheer writing genius. I can remember it had a three word title. Something, Something and Something. I remember the Something after the ‘and’ portion of that title was the really important part. But that is all I have. THAT.IS.ALL.

I have blogged about sleepy time forgetfulness before and I believe I stated I would not do this particular form of lunacy again and YET I DID.

With age, does not necessarily come wisdom.

Warning

I was off for over 2 weeks and it never occurred to me that I finally had all the time in the world to post a blog. Lazy won out over EVERYTHING.

But now it is 2015 and Monday - back to work - back to life. Maybe even back to blogging! Beware my friends, beware...