Thursday, August 11, 2011


Tasty Tidbit #1:  Three Words

Cellulite Pudding Party

(Let me know how that works for you)

Tasty Tidbit #2: A Nest for the Egg

            I am the proud mama of a 98.1 pound, gold sheen obsidian egg.  Every time I touch it, it feels like home, but that’s for another blog.  The problem with my little nestling is that I haven’t found a spot for it in our new home.  At first it was sitting by the fireplace, but that didn’t look or feel right to me.  Each wall of my living room is set up to represent an element and I thought the egg might like being in the fire corner, being obsidian and all, but not so much.  Ben isn’t real thrilled about having to move it again but then isn’t that what guys are for?  Guys lift heavy objects; women have headaches, that was the equation I learned.  Anyway, I have been going from room to room trying to find the perfect spot for my egg without making Ben move it again.  So far no luck.  For now my 98 pound baby is going to go back by the fireplace until I can figure out where it wants to be.  I’m sure Ben will be excited to move it again, lol!

Tasty Tidbit #3: Mandalas

            I figured I tried mazes and labyrinths, why not try mandalas.  I was looking for something to focus my attention, something that would help me be creative that wasn’t writing.  I just needed another outlet.  I love coloring, I’m really just a big kid, so mandalas are perfect.  Of course I have some books with patterns so I started out with a couple of those.  My goal is to eventually make one of my own.  Some of the books say that you can just draw random shapes or glue pictures on them, I wish I could draw some of the geometric shapes that the mandalas from the book have on them.  Working with the mandalas I noticed that I was drawn toward certain colors every time.  I always went for yellow, gold, silver, magenta, and a color called electric blue, which is a turquoise color.  I poked around and found a website where you can download mandalas for free.  You can save them on your computer and print them out, which is cool in my book.  The website looks a little hacker scary, but I downloaded without Norton going nuts on me.  If you are looking for a creative focusing tool I suggest you check it out.  I just like making pretty pictures.


            I decided to change things up this week and share some of my past writing with all of you.  This is by far one of my favorite writing pieces.  I would love any feedback that anyone has on this piece.  I have entered this piece in a couple of contests, but haven’t had success with it as of yet.  I feel it’s a strong piece and I would like to know if other people thought the same or if I was just stuck on this one.  With that being said here is, Professional Humility.

Professional Humility

            We rode the cresting waves of grease.  Our non-slip shoes, always black, slid sideways in the spray of bubbling fat that shot from scorching grills.  No amount of hot water and soap could rid the floors of their ever thickening collection of animal fat and chicken drippings.  The flies taunted us with their freedom.  They strolled across the cheese slices, munched on the dehydrated onions, and clung to hardening globs of mayo and secret sauce, dripping from the sauce guns.
            Our lips were crusted with the salt that seasoned those famous golden crisp fries.  Sweat carved rivers down our backs and made our visors grip our heads even tighter, as though to brand us with humility.  Some bore the marks of their labors.  Lynne wore a scar just above her wrist, three inches in length.  It looked like a mini checker board, but was the branding of a fry basket forever engraved on her skin; a moments carelessness became a permanent tattoo. 
            In the floor was a grease trap with a padlock on it.  Why it was locked no one knew.  No one would have willingly opened that door for any reason.  Trapped beneath four inches of plated steel, was the rotten bog of hell.  Beneath our trudging, slipping feet, was a marsh of grease, rotten meat, and a smell so putrid that even steel could not completely contain it. 
            To the rank hole, twice a month, some poor soul was assigned.  The fryers must be emptied of their over-worked, muddy brown contents, and into the plated hole it would go.  Normally, a worker of low status was picked, but tonight there was mutiny.  Complaints, doctor’s appointments, and sudden illnesses, ravaged my crew.  I found myself appointed to the hated task.  My branded friend stayed with me out of pity.
            In the dim lights of closing time we stood over the casket doorway.  The grimy key had to be wiggled into place and turned forcefully to break through the cumulative effect of poor cleaning.  I paused mid-turn, delaying the inevitable moment.  Lynne backed away in anticipation of the greeting I was about to receive.  In her haste to evacuate the area, she managed to knock over one of the yellow mop buckets.  The bucket groaned under the burden of too many employee discounts. 
            “How about a promotion, Lynne?”
            “Hell no.  Extra pay, extra suck.”
            “Somehow I doubt an extra thirty cents an hour is worth this.”
            We stood staring at the waiting work, as though by magic, the grease traps would empty themselves.  Finally coming to the realization that, that wasn’t going to happen, I reached forward to finish unlocking the grimy padlock when Lynne grabbed my arm.
            “I’ve got an idea.” 
            A few minutes later we knelt together on the dirty floor, scooping the contents of the traps into the hole.  We sang snatches of 80’s songs in helium induced Donald Duck voices, swallowing back vomit, and scrapping at the grease that had become the foundation of our lives. 

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