Armed with Cheesecake and Vodka, World Watch Out, I'm Back!

Being back in the restaurant profession has reminded me of the funny stories that we all have collected. Today, as I was whining under my breath of no one delivering food, I was reminded of this story: At the restaurant, any restaurant really, there is an “alley”, where we, as servers, go to collect our fresh, off the burner, hot food, and delivery it to our tables. In all, and I repeat, ALL ALLEYS/galleys/kitchens etc etc, there will be food in the window. Hot, and ready to go - and yet there will also be ten servers, standing around, talking to each other about their significant others, their antics from the night before, weekend plans, or where they see themselves ten years from now, point being they don’t deliver the food. They will talk about anything, except what garnish goes on the food that they are going to run. Now don’t get me wrong, when we are busy, they run the food and help as much as possible. Ya know, because they are a true team player. Yeah, I coughed on that ...

Its been 4 years since Momma Jo died.  I really miss her. She had been in my life and a huge part of my life, moreso than my mother was.  Jo was the one who came to the new house, and helped celebrate Brian and I having our first house.  She enjoyed coming down from Buffalo, to hang out with us, or to take part in a volunteer event at the Moose Lodge.  Regardless, we always had a pattern.  Mom would purposely arrive before evening rush hour.  We had planned to be able to hit the moose after her arrival.  We had to quench our lips with a cold beverage.  Some times it was vodka, with Orange Juice or bloody mary mix.  We could drink all day long and have a blast.  It was nice having her here, on my side. After Brian died, I saw a new Jo.  It was haunting, like part of her soul died with Brian.  I saw her slowly die.  She gave up, much earlier than when she had the stroke.  I know she tried to stay busy, tried to get...

During this time of year, family comes to realize how important they are to each other. As most of you know, I am adopted and have started researching and looking for any siblings or relatives I have. It’s been nothing but tedious and interesting but it’s all been worth it so far. I feel guilt and apprehension as I continue my search because of feelings and resentments towards my adoptive mothers handling of questions I had growing up. She was the first to tell me I was adopted, but the that was it. I wasn’t allowed to ask questions nor was I able to show curiousity. To this day I still feel as though I am walking on thin ice through this journey. So it has been slow for me. Since my mothers ashes share the same bedroom as I, I really do not want to piss her off. I have enough ghosts haunting me, I do not need another. Today a light shined on me as I opened a present from my boss. You could even hear the archangels harp as I pulled out a box that I thought was of paints or crayons bec...

This is one of the better memories, filled with a lot of laughs, martinis, and ass. Proceed with caution. Brian and I had only been dating a few months, so this was our first overnight, weekend get away to a new place.  I was excited about going to Vegas with him, but not as excited when I found out that the crew was also going.  Each weekend the crew changes, so this weekend it was Mark, Steve and Tom.  I have changed the names to protect the innocent, or in this case, the extremely guilty.

I have come to the realization that I have been living in the past constantly. The birth certificate that I finally opened is the cause.  There is no way to turn it off either.  I am not obsessing over it yet.  I continuously check the facebook messages that I sent, to see if they had been read yet.  They have not.  I am debating friending the people, hoping that then they will see the message.  Then the scary realization will come, if they want anything to do with me.

Or it could be titled, the first time my mother kicked me out of the house.  Now that I remember, it was also the last time my mother told me to get out. I was in the third grade. It was a Saturday afternoon.

I really can't remember years past, how I felt when the anniversary of his death comes closer and closer. This year I feel nostalgic. The memories have been creeping up on me. From the first time skiing together and that first cigar in the hot tub, to our first drive to Vegas.  Vegas was our town.  We had Vegas by the balls.  We would go several times a year and only once we came home a loser.