Back to Work and Getting Settled!

I never thought I would be so excited to get back to work! Can you believe it?? After only four days in NYC, I am now employed and ready to serve up some drinks once again.  Talk about moving quickly!!

It's amazing how much better I felt when I woke up this morning.  It was like I could actually relax and go have a fun day of walking adventures.  Knowing that I have an income in the immediate future provides me tremendous relief.  

NYC is just one of those cities where you don't want to go broke.  

But to be perfectly honest, it's more than just a financial relief.  When you uproot your life and move to a huge city such as this, it is very unsettling to not have certain things in order.  It felt good to wake up today and know I have somewhere to be on Monday at a certain time.  To know that I fit in and that I am respected by managers and so on is something that brings me great contentment.  

It is a nice feeling to be able to meet new people and have something in common, even if it is only our place of employment.  It just feels good. 

I feel like I'm part of it now; like I'm really here.  

I know that the next major box to check off will be to actually find my very own room to rent.  But for now, I'm really happy.  

I can't even begin to describe how amazing it is to have good friends.  My almost instant transition to the city would not have been so seamless if it were not for my friends here in NY.  

These amazing individuals have been looking out for me, networking, calling, texting, e-mailing, sending out my resumes, apartment hunting and teaching me all about the public transit system.  I honestly don't know if I could have, or would have even wanted to do this without them. 

I think today I just feel so much gratitude.  I have the most loving friends and family.  I have a new job that will provide some stability.  And I have this great big delicious city, to dive into, head first.  

I just don't think I could ask for much more.  

Today:

Mint Chocolate Martini

1 1/2 oz Vodka

1 oz Chocolate Liqueur

1/2 oz Peppermint Schnapps 

Swirl of chocolate sauce in the glass. 

Shake and Strain into a martin glass. 

I Couldn't Have Said it Better...

Theme From New York, New York

Click to Listen!! 

'Start spreadin' the news, I'm leavin' today
I want to be a part of it
New York, New York
These vagabond shoes, are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it
New York, New York

I want to wake up, in a city that never sleeps
And find I'm king of the hill
Top of the heap

These little town blues, are melting away
I'll make a brand new start of it
In old New York
If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere
It's up to you, New York..New York

New York...New York
I want to wake up, in a city that never sleeps
And find I'm A number one, top of the list
King of the hill, A number one....

These little town blues, are melting away
I'll make a brand new start of it
In old New York
If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere
It's up to you, New York..New York New York!!!'

Wish me luck!!! 

Get Serious...

Sometimes in life, you just have to get real.  Get serious.  It is part of the growing process; knowing when to put away certain fanciful dreams or unrealistic aspirations... right?  

Isn't that why it's called reality?

Well, lately I am struggling to grasp this entire philosophy.  I am in a process of juggling "reality" with my desire to pursue a (hopefully successful) career in the Arts.  

Yesterday, I sat around for a long time, thinking about this whole business of writing.  I have been engrossed in this medium for a very long time and most recently, developed some regularity with it.  But then someone said I ought to really write, you know, seriously.  

This left me almost short of breath as the word "seriously" washed over me.  Am I not taking my writing seriously... or rather, myself seriously? 

I've only just begun writing again on a regular basis, but lately I have been wondering if I should I apply all this creative energy to a more serious pursuit: like maybe a screenplay or novel.  

But then, I go into a really negative zone and begin to feel (dare I even utter the word) blocked.  And then the blockage seems to creep into the other free flowing creative outlets, spreading a foggy haze.  

And it makes me feel frightfully inadequate. 

So that is where I am at tonight; feeling a little blocked, a little foggy and seriously concerned that nothing will amount from any of this.  

I suspect we all have days like this; and today is just one of those days for me.  

Hopefully, I will snap out of it soon and get back to my regular old self; you remember the one, full of positivity, witty anecdotes and metaphors galore??? Yup, that's the one.  

Seriously... that's about as serious a writer I am gonna get tonight.  

Today:

1 oz Malibu

Splash of Pineapple Juice

A Case of Cold Feet

You can be sure it is going to be a rather stressful day when every thought that crosses your mind upon waking ends with a question mark.  

When am I going to come back from NYC? When am I going to see my dogs again? Will they miss me when I am traveling? Or will they forget all about me?? Where will I get a job? If I get a job, will I end up staying through the winter in New York? Or will I go back to California in January? How long before my funds run out? Am I making the wrong choice? Is this a crazy plan? What if...? Where to...?  How much...???? When??? Why??? How??? Where??? 

I have to tell you, this is not a great way to start out the morning.  I sat in bed for nearly an hour as these questions ran through my mind; similar to the way the numbers on the stock market ticker race by with endless flux. 

And I couldn't help but ask myself one last question before getting out of bed: 'Am I getting cold feet?'  

I've had months to plan this excursion.  I have had ample time to carefully deconstruct every nagging fear or question.  And yet, out of nowhere, I am suddenly overcome with nerves.  

With nearly one week left to go before my impending journey, I feel more anxious than ever about taking this trip.  I know it is going to be such a good thing for me to experience, but the weight of the unknowns is a heavy burden to lug around... along with my huge suitcases. 

All these questions simply cannot be answered until I get there.  

And so, with that in mind, I am trying to look at it as a long vacation...  I have no clue what I will want to do after I arrive.  I am not sure if staying for more than a month or two will pan out.  But how can I know? I simply can't from where I sit right now.  

I guess this is just how life goes.  You have to take some chances and just hope for the best.  We can't always have all the answers laid out perfectly before us on a silver tray, but we can do our best to handle whatever may come. 

I'm just going to have to double up on the socks and slippers this week, suck it up, take a deep breath, pack my yoga mat... and try to keep my feet roasty and toasty...

Getting all worked up over the many variables isn't really doing me any favors.  Time to live and let go.   Let go and let God.  The rest are just the details. And who needs them anyway? Oh shoot... another question mark! 

Guess my feet are still a little chilly after all. Oh well... Better just enjoy what I have right now in front of me; two warm little dogs who love nothing more than to make every moment count. They are the zen masters of living in the present moment. Their paws are always nice and warm. 

 Today:

Absolut Stress

1/2 oz Absolut Vodka

1/2 oz Malibu Rum

1/2 oz Peach Schnapps

Equal Parts Cranberry

Pineapple and Orange Juices

On the Rocks!

Something Out of Nothing

Guess what I am doing at this very moment? (Que Jeopardy music for a ten second pause.) Did you guess blogging?? Well duh.  Aside from the obvious answer, I am actually sitting in a Little Caesar's Pizzeria enjoying my very own large plain cheese.  I am a girl on a budget remember??

In a last ditch effort to shake the money tree, I have gotten fairly... ummmm -----.  Not desperate! No, no... CREATIVE!!  Yes, let's call it creative.

I rounded up about ten years worth of winter jackets, skin tight blue jeans, boots, wedges and host of other miscellaneous accessories and hauled them off to a resale clothing store.  They estimated that the sorting process would take roughly forty-five minutes and so I decided to kill a few birds with one stone.  Eat some lunch, write my blog and hopefully, turn a decades worth of laundry into some cold hard cash.

Let me tell you something folks; I'm getting really good at this part-time business of turning a little somethin' something out of a whole lot of nothing.  

Here's a few tips and tricks I have learned under the gun... or more specifically, a budget. 

1. Someone may actually pay you for those 6" high heels that were a complete mistake/impulse purchase.

2. Little Caesar's Pizza always sells "Hot 'n Ready" large pizzas for $5.00

3. If you want to insure that your $5.00 pizza is actually fresh, make sure to order a plain cheese pizza instead of the pepperoni.  They typically only have pepperonis sitting on stand by, and not plain cheese.  So if you have ten minutes to spare, then you will have a fresh large pizza right out of the oven for five bucks!

4. All that spare change stuck together in your vehicle's cup holders actually amount to something! And if you are patient, and can multitask while watching a movie, you can roll about six hundred pennies in about thirty minutes.  Well six bucks, may not seem like much, but it does buy you that large cheese pizza we were just talking about.

5. A smile and friendly small talk goes a long way.  (The lovely manager at the pizza shop threw in a free drink for me after I told her what a great job she was doing.)

Sometimes it really pays to get creative!!!

This summer I bought a brand new pair of running shoes, an airline ticket to NYC and a full tank of gas, all with the loose change I had stock piled around my apartment in jars, purses and yes, my car.

It just goes to show that you can make a little something out of what you may have thought was nothing.

So if you'll excuse me, I have to pack up the rest of this pizza and walk over to the resale shop and see how much all that loot has earned me!!!

Just one more small step on this road to the big city.

Count your pennies and your blessings!!!! And by all means, get creative!


Today:

Woo Woo

1 1/2 oz Vodka
1 1/2 oz Peach Schnapps
3 oz Cranberry juice
on the rocks!

The Zen of Broke

You know what the best thing about being relatively broke is?? If your answer was a unanimous 'Nothing,' then you are sadly mistaken.  I know, I know... it's very chic of me to make this case for the awesomeness of minimalism! 

So very zen of me; packing up the bare necessities for an undetermined length of stay in one of the United States' most expensive cities.

Well, all that being said, that isn't exactly the message I was going for, but hey... I can surely lean on the 'Less is more' approach when the time comes.  What I was actually going for here, was to build a case for making the most with the dollar you've got.  

Let me paint a very realistic picture for you.  

In two weeks, I will board a plane to New York City.  And when I arrive, the already dwindling numbers in my bank account will instantly subtract.  Cab fare to Astoria will cost approximately twenty dollars.  And I can assure you, that will be the only cab ride I will take when I am in NYC.  I simply cannot afford to take cabs everywhere I go.  But when you are just getting off an airplane at 10:30 p.m. with two full suitcases in stow, and all alone in the big city... well, it's the only way to go. 

Next up is the inevitable expense of an unlimited monthly metro card. This will cost somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty dollars.  Ok, at least I've got my transportation covered.  

Next comes food.  

Well, as you can imagine, the possibilities for cuisine of every variety are virtually unlimited in a city like Manhattan.  However, they are very limited when you are working with a tight budget.  Which leads me to my grocery shopping adventure in my very favorite market: Trader Joes.  (Dear God, Thank you for making sure to put a Trader Joes in NYC. You are so loving and kind.) And the good news about a tight budget for food is, I could probably stand to lose five pounds anyway.  

Alright, well that covers food and transportation.  Good. 

Now, let's talk about space.  In New York City, space is very limited.  It is the hottest commodity that is always in demand.  Square footage is one of those really really luxurious things that people like me don't even consider, because we simply cannot afford to.  So, what do you consider?  Well, in my shoes... not much.  

For an undetermined length of time, I will share a room with a friend of mine who recently moved back to NY from a long stint of living in Nashville (where we met three years ago).  Now, friends are key to surviving in NYC. But while space may be cheaper if shared, it still ain't free.  So, I will chip in the cost of one half of one room.  But I am fortunate to share a room with someone I know and trust... because trust me, it could get pretty rough otherwise.  

So there are the basics: food, transportation and shelter.  

Last night I came across a great coupon for a three month gym membership that is right around the corner from my shared room.  I have decided that this is a worthwhile investment, especially when living with a bunch of boys and girls.  

I need my own little escape.  And a place to wash my hair without the looming fear of taking all the hot water in the borough.  So, I think this is a good investment. 

And that about covers it for now.  

So, what's so great about being broke you ask?? Wasn't that argument the whole point of this little essay??

Okay, thank you for reminding me. Here is my zen theory of broke: if I have very little, I can only lose very little.  Genius!  

This is very similar to walking into a glitzy casino with fifty bucks in your pocket... but only fifty.  LEAVE YOUR CREDIT CARDS AT HOME PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

If you count on losing the maximum of what you have on you the moment you walk through that door, well then you ought to have a great time with that fifty and make it last as long as possible.  If you somehow manage to build on that fifty, then great! But you better not count on that odd. 

Where people get in trouble is when they keep going past a certain threshold.  The way I see it, I don't have too far to fall financially.  So, knowing that, as I enter the glitzy, money-sucking black hole of the city... well then that's good.  No big surprise when I am ready to cash in my chips and find a gaping hole where some semblance of a savings used to be.  

I am going to be really zen about this extreme phase of dwindling down.  Because while I can put a price tag next to almost everything in life, I cannot quantify the worth of an experience like this.  

To travel. To spend time with good friends. To see the leaves in Central Park turn with changing season is a luxury I can afford.  And if it cost every last penny I have, I figure this kind of opportunity may only come along once in a lifetime. So, I'm going all in.  You can bet on it. 

A budgeted girl in an expensive world; sleeping on the floor, walking through the park, releasing the fear of being broke and eating rice for every meal, you can't get more zen than that. 

Today:

Poor Man's Margarita

2 oz Tequila

1 oz Sprite or 7 Up

1 Lime wedge

Pinch of Salt. 

Connecting the Dots

From as far back as I can remember, I've always had a different way of getting the job done.  Didn't really matter what the task at hand was, nor was I really trying to do it differently from everyone else, but I couldn't help it...  The earliest memory of this 'do it yourself' attitude, probably goes back to when I first started kindergarten.  

We were introduced to those "connect the dots" assignments; you know, the ones where the dots are numbered and you follow each one with your crayon or pencil until you reach the end and reveal some kind of animal, vehicle or other basic shape? Yeah, well, apparently I even did that... eh, differently. 

The teacher (bless her heart) stood over my right shoulder and studied my methodology.  I held my pencil steadily in my right hand, without moving an inch.  Then with my left hand, I guided the paper from dot to dot... So I was still completing the picture, just not the way everyone else was.  

"No, no sweetie, move your right hand to connect the dots, not the paper..." 

What's the problem lady? As long as I get it done, why do you care how I did it? Jeeesh!

And so began my plight with formalized education. See, I realized that I do NOT possess that brain cell that is the most adept to short cuts, or common sense...  In fact when I see these types of people who bust out crazy one handed, multi-tasking trickery, I stop and stare as if they are a magician. If left to my own devices, I oftentimes take a more creative, outside the box approach.  But if you put a book in front of me and say, 'study the history of the universe,' I will...

Which leads me to the much dreaded/feared U.S. constitution exam in the eleventh grade.  It was legendary and 'impossible.'  Or so everyone thought.  But I, the weirdo, locked myself in the basement of my house with flash cards, highlighters and way too much candy, and didn't come out for almost four days.  I went to school, took a deep breath, and was the last person to finish the exam. 

By the next class, everyone protested that test.  It wasn't fair.  It was too hard. They all failed miserably...  Then the teacher said, "Well I know for a fact it was possible to pass this test, if you all had studied the material. Because there is one student in this class who not only passed, but she got an A."  He looked at me and I immediately slid down into my chair.  When he held up my exam to class and then walked over to my chair, he set it down in front of me with the most subtle grin I'd ever seen; "Well done. Very well done." 

Oh God, it's going to be a mutiny.  You should have seen the way those kids looked at me; like, 'thanks a lot bitch.' 

My score completely blew their collective protests right out of the water.  There was one other girl in the class who passed and she looked at me like we were the most awesome geeks ever!!  She actually was kinda nerdy though, so I knew she was loving every second of this academic torture.  

I had ruined it for the rest of the class.  But you know what? I'm glad.  It kind of made me feel like a super hero or something.  Because the memory of being "corrected" that day in kindergarten for the way I had completed the assignment always bothered me.  I remember feeling so confused and embarrassed.  I didn't understand why I had to be called out for the way I was connecting the dots.  Especially since the end result was still the same... 

And if my way was harder, why not let me figure it out on my own?  Oh gosh, I can't help but laugh at the image of my pint sized self, moving the paper around and not my right hand... Awww... Bless my heart.  

Those two scholastic memories are obviously the ones that made a huge impact on me.  I learned from a very early age that I might have a different way of doing things... not exactly wrong... just different. And that one day, doing things my way, would pay off in the long run.  

I think there are probably a million ways to connect the dots in life.  It may not be the most obvious or standard approach.  But it's not only okay to be different, it may just be the very thing that separates you from the rest of the class.  And that's not such a bad thing after all.  

I suppose I just need to remind myself every now and then of that girl who has managed to get by just fine by connecting the dots in her very own, unique way.  Who knows what that picture will be? Maybe, when I connect that last dot, what I will see, is just me... 

Or an A+... yeah, that would be okay too. 

Today:

Teacher's Pet

1 1/2 oz Blended Whiskey

1/2 oz Dry Vermouth

1 Tsp. Sweet Vermouth

2 dashes of Bitters

Stir on the Rocks

Garnish with a cherry and orange

(Un)Limited Time Offer

Okay... it is time to divulge some seriously embarrassing personal information.  I've considered long and hard whether or not to tell you this, but today I woke up and thought that after two months of reading my blog every day... You've EARNED this juicy bite-sized morsel of autobiography.  Don't worry, you can thank me later.  

Once upon a time, I used to be a Vampire Slayer, a Warrior Princess and a Crime Scene Detective.  (See... I told you it was pretty juicy).  That's right ladies and gentlemen, I am a certified badass.  Or at least, I used to be.

I am pretty sure it was around the fourth or fifth grade when I took up secret training in the backyard of my childhood home.  I understood the risk of ever being found out, so I would pack up some snacks in a backpack and a few good pieces of wood and I'd set out on my own for a couple hours.

Since Vampires were actually a little scarce in my neck of the woods, I practiced my spear throwing at an old, dried up Christmas tree that was out by our horse barn.

I would practice doing flips and kicks while trowing these spears hard into the tree (aka "vampire").  When it occurred to me one day that vampires didn't seem to be as big a threat as my fellow man, I turned in my cross and wooden spears for a horse and a sword and deemed myself a warrior princess.  It seemed to be a natural progression for a slayer like me, and I rather enjoyed my newly regal warrior status.

I would take off on horseback and gallop up the side of the mountain just looking for a villager to rescue.  I spent a long winter scouring the valley for a battle or a villain, but never really found one.  And after months and months of this exhausting search and rescue effort, I decided to retire my sword.

Hmmm what role shall I play now??? 

There was a rather famous person on trial for murder at the time, and so I thought it best to try my hand at investigation.  I was already a skilled tracker and was not afraid of vampires, so how bad could a little detective work be??

I donned a white robe, I mean, a "lab coat" and went to work on the case.  It was a tireless effort of checking under the microscope and examining all the evidence.  And after all my efforts, and the glove didn't fit the suspect, well then I figured I ought to turn in my lab coat for my homework anyway.  After all, I was going to be in the seventh grade soon, and I knew my crime fighting days were numbered...

Or were they??

By the time I was twelve years old, I was already a skilled rider, spear thrower, and investigator; why should I give up on all these remarkable skills??

I suppose I just assumed that the days of make believe were a luxury I couldn't afford in the years ahead.  And in a way, I was sort of right.

To me, playing my hand at the imaginary mellow dramas of the 90s was just not a practical pursuit later on in life.  It was as if playing these various roles had a limited time offer.  

I almost believed that nonsense to be true; that I would someday have to give up on the thing I loved the most... storytelling.  Until one day, when I looked at myself in the mirror and made a decision.  I decided that if I had the discipline to practice my hand at all these roles each and every day after school, perhaps I could also be disciplined enough to never give up on my imagination.

I was correct that in some ways, life as a storyteller was a luxury I couldn't afford. That is, if I wanted everything that my peers could afford.  Classmates and friends have accumulated many things that I would surely enjoy: a house, a brand new car, a consistent paycheck.  Sure, those things would be nice.

But the day that I looked in the mirror and could still see myself as a warrior, a slayer and a street smart investigator, what I really saw was an Unlimited Time Offer.

And I made a decision to do what I love, no matter the cost.

Sure, sometimes I feel kind of like a loser.  To be perfectly honest, life as a storyteller isn't the most glamorous when compared to say, an Architect, Engineer, Doctor or Real Estate Tycoon.  But when I am faced with a severe care of "the flunkies", as I have dubbed it years ago, I can't help but remember the girl who felt like an indestructible BADASS circa 1995.

And it is the very spark I need to keep the fire ignited.

It is a choice.  I could either DO what I love or I could have the things I enjoy.  And what I have come to grips with is that as long as my imagination remains intact and I have the simple company of a few friends and readers... I actually have everything I need at this point in time.  And I am happy enough with that.

When you are passionate about something, well I believe that passion is to be honored.  Because passion and ability are God given gifts, not limited time offers.

So, if I have to imagine myself as the warrior, a servant, or the brave and fearless explorer... well then guess what; that is exactly what I shall do in order to press on and honor the Unlimited Offer of unlimited imagination.  

It doesn't get much juicier than that! 

Ok, now you can thank me... For you see, I am a fool for you; my friends on the other side of the page, the screen, and theater seats.  And to be honest, I don't see that offer expiring any time soon.


Today:

Vampire Slayer

1 oz Peach Schnapps 
1 oz Vodka
1 oz Grenadine
Fill with Orange Juice
Layered over Rocks! 

The Golden Ticket

I love to travel.  No, more than that, I love experiencing making a life in a new place.  As difficult as it may be to arrive somewhere new, I have found that it is typically much more difficult to leave.

So many places have changed my life and shaped the person I am today.  Because it isn't necessarily the geography alone that I have found inspiring, but the people I have met in those various places.  It just goes to show that there are truly amazing people everywhere.  People whose lives become intertwined with yours.  It is a truly magical thing.

Some of my best friends are scattered all across the United States.  They are people I met seemingly by chance, in unexpected places: craigslist, restaurants, and other random encounters.  They are like family to me now, having proved their friendship in a number of generous ways.  

If life were similar to any means of transportation, well then I would say that I have the Golden Ticket. I have been fortunate enough to hop around from place to place every few years and set up camp for awhile.  It hasn't always been easy.  In fact, there were days that were incredibly lonely.  But the overall experience of meeting new people, tasting different foods, working at different jobs and even struggling to get by, was so beneficial to my existence that I wouldn't have traded one minute of it; even the very worst minute. 

The most difficult aspect of having the Golden Ticket, is the moment when it is time to depart.  I do not enjoy saying goodbyes.  

Goodbyes make you think back to your first hello, and how sweetly satisfying the encounter has been.  They are bittersweet. But each person has a different calling.  And for whatever reason, mine has been to slowly travel from one end of the country to the next; accumulating a wealth of friendships and experiences.  

Where it is all heading, I'm not entirely sure.  

Yesterday, with the spare change I rolled all last week, I purchased a ticket to New York City.  It is my next stop on this ever unfolding journey.  I have no idea how long I will stay there: two weeks, two months, or maybe even two years.  Who knows...

I'm exciting to reconnect with some friends who had said goodbye to me once upon a time.  Their paths took them to New York, and we didn't know when we would meet again.  So you see?  They had a Golden Ticket as well.  And when you are fortunate enough to get your hands on one, you'd better climb aboard.  

My friendships make it difficult to leave a place.  But they are also the very same reason I am all the more determined to make my way back around.  I understand that their Golden Ticket may be much different from mine; a marriage, a career, a new baby... These are the factors that play into a person staying settled in one place.  They are the greatest reasons I can think of to stay in one spot, and it is exciting to see what each person accomplishes in their given cities and states.  I love these friends of mine.  I love and respect all that they have achieved.  

In that respect, I am homesick.  Because home to me is wherever my heart is.  And today, my heart is with each and every person I love and miss across the United States. 

Hellos may one day mean that you will have to say goodbye.  But goodbyes can be sweet, when you realize that the next time you see those faces... it will be much happier than when you last saw them.  

This path of mine can sometimes feel a little lonely.  But then I remember how much love I carry with me wherever I go.  And it is a comforting thought; to know that I can go anywhere and feel right at home.  

So the Golden Ticket is in fact, so much more than a way out: it is also the way back.  And it never ever expires... 

Today:

Southern Comfort Manhattan

1 1/2 oz Southern Comfort

1/2 oz Sweet Vermouth

2 Dashes of Bitters

Stir and strain over rocks 

Garnish with a cherry

An Ode to Mondays

Thank God it's Monday.  No really, I love Mondays.  Several years ago I took my first job in a restaurant.  It was a huge transition from the Monday through Friday hamster wheel I was accustomed to.  The schedule varied wildly from week to week as well as my income.  Working every weekend and holiday was a major adjustment as well.  But when the going gets tough, the tough get going: I was tough.

Fairly early on, I had come to a realization.  I needed a day off to get caught up around the house, and more importantly spend time with my friends.  Since most of my friends were in the service industry as well, most weekends were impossible for us to have off.  So, after a small deliberation, we settled on Mondays.  They were typically slower days at the restaurant, so it was easier for us to request off each week.  Dinners, happy hours, movie marathons, yoga, coffee, and as much Sex in the City as we could possibly absorb; these were the hallmarks of our Mondays.  

While everyone around us despised and dreaded this day, we celebrated, indulged and delighted in it. It was the perfect day to do absolutely nothing but sit around with a nice glass of wine and catch up with the best friends a girl could ask for.  

A couple years have gone by and the Monday fun has continued right along with the passing of time.  I'm still in the service industry and my Mondays are as sacred to me now as they have always been.  Even though I have recently moved a thousand miles away from my friends in Nashville, I still feel that connection to them whenever Monday rolls around. 

I sit here today with my coffee (of course) and remember the great Mondays of the past.  I am quite sentimental, so even though I do not have my friends nearby, I have continued the tradition of preserving my Mondays as my much anticipated day off.  

This past weekend was much longer than normal for me.  I typically do not work on Sundays as well as Mondays, but I decided to help someone out who needed it off.  So I picked up his Sunday night shift.  It was slow, hot and windy.  The entire night I had one mantra that got me through: Monday, Monday...La La La La Laaa, Monday, Monday.  

I peered across my bar top to the tiki hut where my fellow bartender was struggling to pour, count cash, catch flying napkins and entertain guests amidst the fierce and relentless wind.  If you recall my post from earlier in the week, Mama Said Mama Said,  I spoke of an epic bad day behind the bar: battling extreme wind that forced the keg handles to release beer all over... everywhere.  Well, it happened again last night, and I could hardly contain myself. 

This morning, I am relieved.  I feel the wave of Monday wash over me and along with it, the momentary sense of calm relaxation and happiness. 

I love Mondays.  However, I'm sure in time, I won't always be able to enjoy this day of the week as I have over the past few years.  Circumstances will change.  Schedules and work opportunities will present a revised outlook on the day.  Even still, I am sure of one thing, no one can ever take away my Mondays.  Mondays are nostalgic and represent one of the most cherished aspects of my life: time spent with true friends.  

To my friends in Nashville.  My heart is with you today, and every Monday.  Have a Margarona Monday (rocks and salt of course) ya'll. 

Today:

Margarona AKA Coronarita

1 oz tequila 

1/2 oz triple sec

Sour mix

Tip a mini corona bottle upside-down 

and immerse into the margarita.  Enjoy! 

3-2-1- Time Bomb

As most of you probably know by now, Fridays for me are more like Mondays for you.  It's a mad rush to accomplish everything I need to do come Friday morning, before heading off to work an extra long shift behind the bar.  On Fridays and Saturdays I open an hour earlier, forcing me to wake up, moderately function, write a blog post and suck down nearly an entire pot of coffee in record time.

It's a hustle.  The alarm goes off and almost instantaneously, the countdown begins.  Gotta get up! OH NO, IT'S FRIDAY. Yuck! As the clock ticks relentlessly, I roll out of bed, stagger to the coffee pot, fire up a few brain cells and sit down to write. 

Write about what?? Oh gosh, who knows?? The truth is, ideas pop into my head just as soon as I wake up.  They are spontaneous little bursts of wonder and analysis that I surrender to each and every day; all the while, keeping one watchful eye on that damn ticking clock.  

3-2-1 FRIDAY

I must admit that lately, I have been unable to silence the little voice inside my head that is counting down the weeks, days, hours and minutes to liftoff.  Only two more Weekends to serve at this job before... Oh I don't know, whatever else is next! 

Decisions, Decisions... I've had it in my heart and mind to go to New York come fall, and as the slightest hint of the changing season casts a rosy hue to the very tips of the maples, I am reminded of one thing: the ever oppressive passing of time.  I look at the date on the calendar, and then to the hour this Friday morning and I sigh: Yes, I do believe it's almost time...

And for as much awareness that I possess of the passing time, I do however, attempt to live for the present moment and enjoy the here and now.  

Is there any way to get my hands on a little more time in a given day?  When looking back to generations past,  didn't they just seem to have more time?  Great authors, painters, philosophers and homemakers alike, created masterful works within a seemingly small measure of time.  Yet, the daily allowance for time remains the same.  So what gives? 

I woke up today and thought: two hours to write, respond to some pressing emails and phone calls if I have time, thirty minutes to get ready for work, thirty minutes to drive to work, and wait... Don't forget to eat lunch today! And then, as if the shot was fired high into the air, I was off and the race began.

I'm trying desperately to accomplish everything I need to do each day, but sadly, am finding less time to eat, sleep, drink and be merry.  On more than one occasion, I have been known to not have enough time to eat a proper meal before work.  And that my friends, is not a good thing.  

Is our ability to maximize our time each day directly correlated to measuring (with skilled precision) each and every waking moment between rest and waking? Or is it possible to strike a balance and lose track of time, without also suffering the loss of productivity?

Shall I continue to sprint out the gate each morning as fast as humanly possible? Or, is it wiser instead to pace it out and take the long view? I wonder...  

All I know is that the hyper awareness of the unforgiving passing of time and the process of distributing it according to each task, is utterly exhausting.  

Why not just stop or slow down you might ask?  Well, I guess it's like this: for as much as I aspire to achieve in my life, I fear that there just isn't enough time.  It's the ultimate time bomb...

Time to create, time to enjoy, time to share, time to earn a dollar, time to move forward.  It's about that time...  And so with that, the countdown continues. 

Today:

Irish Car Bomb

1/2 shot Bailey's Irish Cream

1/2 shot of Jameson Irish Whiskey

Drop the shot into a pint of Guinness 

And lose track of time completely...

Photo credit: physicscentral.com

Times Square.

Wishing it wasn't time to go to work... 

Mama Said, Mama Said

You ever have one of those days?  You know, the kind of day where everything that could go possibly go wrong, does?  Of course, I say 'everything' as a somewhat relative term, but you get my drift.  But it just doesn't happen very often that I find it necessary to write a play by play of my eight hour shift behind the bar.  However, in the case of last night, trust me: it is.

Wednesday: 3:00 PM 

I arrived at work and began the tedious process of opening the up the bar: filling the ice bins, wiping down the counters, stocking the liquor bottles, and counting the cash drawer.  You know, business as usual. 

Having been assigned to the tiki bar, I was mentally and physically preparing for a steady stream of guests and hopefully, a profitable night.  But something was in the air yesterday... literally, that shook the very foundation of my otherwise positive outlook.  It was windy: extremely windy.  Ladies and Gentlemen, this is not an exaggeration.

Allow me to paint a picture for you.  A tiki hut/bar is typically comprised of four standing posts and is open to the elements on all sides.  Three of the four sides are lined with barstools, while the back side provides an exit strategy for yours truly.  There is a roof, room for a couple kegs, and a small liquor well.  And in the middle of this little island of booze, stands the bartender, ready to serve and protect.

Okay, so you can see it right?  Before the bar is opened, there are four heavy canvas drapes that protect the otherwise exposed counter to ceiling areas of the hut.  When they are down, and it is windy, they tend to catch the breeze so perfectly, you'd swear they were at full mast, about to set sail.  

I typically do not raise the drapes until I am officially open: so as to discourage guests from walking up every five minutes before I am fully equipped to serve and take payments.  

Here begins the chaos... 

As I was counting the drawer, I was suddenly sprayed with ice cold beer.  What in the...??????? Oh no!!!! I turned around to discover a rather shocking scenario. The ropes from the drapes had somehow blown ever so perfectly toward the taps, wrapping themselves around the handle and releasing the draft to rush out.  And to make it worse, the wind blew the beer all over the counters, floor, and yes... me.  I struggled to untangle the ropes as quickly as possible.  But needless to say, it was a sticky situation and a rather peculiar start to the day. 

Approximately 4:10 PM

At almost exactly the same moment I had finished cleaning up the great draft spill of 2013, I heard a coworker shriek, "AAAAH SHIT!"  And shitty it was, all over the soles of her shoes.  Where did that come from??? Apparently, someone had decided to let their dog wander freely around the place unbeknown to us all.  And to add insult to injury, the owner did not clean up after his furry friend. 

Obviously, this was way out of the scope of our job description.  But when the shit hits the fan, or the soles of your shoes, you must do everything within your power to carry on.  And that we did... 

Here goes round two of our major cleanup effort: bringing out the hose, buckets, brooms etc.  Can we just get back to serving some drinks already???

P.S. IT WAS STILL EXTREMELY WINDY

It was 5:00 Somewhere... Which means one thing: business.

Incoming!!! With the bar top filling up fast, I was busy enough to lose track of time (which is a good thing).  And freakishly, over the following three hours, my computer froze, a guest walked out on his tab, and a small woodland creature emerged from the nearby tree, scurrying around the feet of a frenzied crowd, causing absolute and utter chaos as ladies sloshed their drinks high in the air in complete disarray.  

It's a mouse! No, it's a small squirrel!! No it's not! It's a vole!!!!!!!!!  Let's get it!!!!!! 

Everyone was frantic.  As I stood within the confines of my four post cell, I looked around at the chaotic scene that was completely out of my control, and I began to shake my head and laugh.  A few guys who'd been enjoying their night out, caught a glance of me laughing to myself as I continued to work steadily through the chaos,  and they erupted in laughter as well.  

They were amongst the first guests to arrive that afternoon, so they had already witnessed the dog debacle and a few other hiccups of the night.  

And honestly, at that point, it was (kind of) funny. Oh and yes, it was still windy. 

What was happening??!!??

At approximately 8:00 PM,  it was too much. 

Everyone sitting at my bar turned in unison to witness a woman screaming at her cocktail server to "Get the hell away."  The server, defending herself, refused service at that point, and had to simply walk away.  

And then, after being asked out by a guest, literally ten times, I too, had to take a break.  I'd had enough.  Maybe it was closer to 9 at that point, but regardless, I had met my limit. A fellow bartender was kind enough to take the wheel from me so that I could discreetly slink away and hide... and hopefully, recover.  

I sat in the back alley for about five minutes, where no one could see me.  And when I looked up and saw my own reflection in the window, to my horror, I saw that almost all the strands of my hair were standing straight up on all sides of my face: the result of standing in a wind tunnel for the past five hours. 

Whatever... At this point, looking like a damn clown was more than appropriate. 

I walked reluctantly back to the bar to hear, "Adriane!!!!!! Yo, Adriane!!!!!! We were waiting for you!!!" Oh goody.... they are still here.

And that is when the lightning began to strike.  Huge bolts flashed, illuminating the night sky.  The wind howled, thunder cracked and I knew at any moment, it was about to break loose. 

And it did. 

The rain sprayed my face as it fell, gusting along with the relentless force of the wind.  And all I could think of was that song from the fifties... You know it... "Mama said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this, my mama said. Mama said, mama said..."

After all of that, I left work wearing a half smile and a crazy ass 'fro atop my blonde head.  I didn't really see it as a bad day to be honest.  It was just one of those days you never forget.  

Tested by the elements, exhausted and dampened from the downpour, I clocked out and called it a night. 

I have no idea what was in the air.  All I know is that when it rains, it pours... and if God has a sense of humor, well then I had experienced a truly biblical comedic sketch. 

It's a brand new day.  I survived the storm, the unidentified woodland creature, the draft spill, the meanies, as well as a handful of overly friendly gents.  It was an epic night behind bars.  And I just felt that it was noteworthy enough to report.  

I think it's important to remember that nothing in life is promised to us.  The weather can't always be sunny and still.  The people we encounter may not follow the rules, get the hint, or clean up after their dog.  But one thing we can be sure of is that Mama said there would be days like this, and all we can do, is all we can do.  

And if gets to be too much and it's just not funny anymore, take a minute to walk away and look at your own reflection.  What you see may surprise you: even, make you laugh. 

Today:

Nameless Deliciousness

1 oz Cherry Vodka

Splash of Pama Liqueur

Finish with Lemonade.

MAMA SAID: WATCH THIS HILARIOUS VIDEO AND SING ALONG!!!!!

The Loneliest Number

If life is funny, then love is hysterical.  And if one is the loneliest number, then at one point or another, we're all kind of screwed!

I've been thinking a lot lately about perfect pairings: salt and pepper, wine and cheese, mom and dad.  They go together in seemingly perfect harmony, bringing out the finest, most delicate qualities in their counterpart. When I stop and think about it, the prospect of complementing another human being (for eternity) sounds a little daunting.  For as much as you might compliment one person, how can you be sure they will truly do the same for you?  And if one is the loneliest number, then why do we try so hard to find the one?? Chew on that for a moment!  

I've been on my own a little while now.  I'd like to think it's not so bad really.  Table for one please... yup, that's right... it's just me. 

Searching for just the right one of anything sounds a little exhausting.  It's difficult enough to find a pair of jeans that fit just right, let alone if I had to find a pair to fit me for the rest of my life.  Yikes. They'd better be comfortable, durable, well made, and above all else, flexible.  

Like most people, I tend to go through phases. One day, out of nowhere, I suddenly loved green olives.  I hated them my entire life, until one day, out of the blue, I decided to give them another try.  And just like that: POOF! Sparks were flying and violins were playing as I savored the little green olive, as if for the very first time.  From that moment on, I couldn't imagine my life without them.  They are freaking delicious!

Same thing happened with mushrooms, hot yoga, and drinking sake...What the heck??!! 

Last night, as I leaned up against the wall of a moderately crowded bar, I looked around and saw an army of singles.  It was so apparent who was flying solo in fact, that the scattered couplings jumped out of the mix and were quite easy to identify.  Pairings of all shapes and sizes huddled together, lost in their own little eight ball, corner pocket of love.  Some looked like they had indeed found the one, while others were definitely trying to squeeze into a pair of jeans that clearly no longer fit.  It was amusing to listen to one couples' story of how they fell in love: after a drunken night at Taco Bell, waiting for a ride and asking for directions. To each their own I guess. 

But they seemed genuinely happy and it stuck with me all night. 

Looking around the bar I realized something profound, I may be just one, but I believe that is the right one for right now.  And if one is in fact the loneliest number, well maybe that isn't so bad. 

Here are some perks of being a party of one.  Sleeping diagonally across the bed.  Not having to sort the socks in the laundry.  Knowing exactly when your coffee creamer is about to run out.  Scoring the perfect seat in a crowded movie theater.  Going to a book store and losing track of time.  Taking spontaneous last minute trips.  Easier access to emergency boats, exits and escapes.  Lots and lots of time to write about random things, like a newfound love affair with green olives and late night fast food encounters.  

In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize that one doesn't seem like the loneliest number after all.  I would argue instead that the loneliest number you'll ever have to face, is the one you haven't learned how to be alone with when you look in the mirror.  

Fall in love with that one first, and you might never be lonely again.  And any addition from there? Well that's just math made in heaven. 

Today:

Raspberry Martini

1 1/2 oz of Grey Goose Vodka

1/2 oz of Chambord Liqueur

1/2 oz of Pama Liqueur

Splash of cranberry

Shake and strain into a martini glass

Flying Solo.