Affirmed

A quality horse, Affirmed. He won the Triple Crown in 1978. I’ll bet you didn’t know that I have a sweet spot for horse racing. That’s right. Every year I do my best to see the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont Stakes. I slept through the Derby this year (I was exhausted, so sue me!), but it was DVRed and I watched it the following day. Sans commercials. And I’m very good at avoiding any information that might act as a spoiler. I did not know who won the race when I turned it on last Sunday. I do know I was rooting for Gary Stevens, who came out of retirement this year at age 50 to sit a horse. I know, I know. You have no idea who the dude is. Have you seen the movie Seabiscuit? Mr. Stevens played George “The Iceman” Woolf, the legendary jockey who filled in for Red Pollard following Pollard’s disastrous injury and rose Seabiscuit to victory against War Admiral. I always look forward to Mr. Stevens’ analysis at each of the Triple Crown races every year. I was a little put out when he wasn’t in the box last weekend. Imagine my surprise when I find out the man’s not in the box because he’s in silks. Woot! (Yes, I just “wooted”… deal.) I rooted for Mr. Stevens, but it’s a good thing I didn’t bet on Oxbow. His seat wasn’t quite as fast as I’d hoped. I’ll admit, the other horse I would’ve bet on was the winner… Orb.

Affirmed was a fantastic horse, but that’s not what I was talking about when I brought up the subject.

I went to work like a good girl today and everything was going along swimmingly, then someone in management decided to rain on my parade. People, I’m the head of a committee, and have been since I was voluntold to join said committee three years ago. I take this position very seriously. Our only real event of the year is this Wednesday and it’s a HUGE to-do. HUGE! Without going into the finer details that really don’t matter, Little Mary Sunshine decided to irritate the hell out of me and get in my way. No one tiptoed through the tulips… no, of course not. My tulips were trampled. Let’s just say I felt affirmed in my decision to quit my job. There are things I am not going to miss! Alright, let’s be honest. I’m going to miss about six people and nothing else. Good news! I can still visit the friends without working there. Whew!

Anyway, I wasn’t looking for affirmation of my decision, but I got it nonetheless. Cool beans.

Brian, Ally, Mom, Dad, and I went to dinner last night to honor Mom. I know Julie and Ethan could’ve called it when it came to the restaurant of choice–my mom is a very predictable woman. Mexican food. So it was off to Carlos Miguel’s. We had a fun time over good eats. We discussed the FA soccer tournament and Wigan’s victory over Man City, the March Madness tournament, underdogs in sport, and my job. (How those relate, I don’t know.) My brother thought I was quitting my job immediately. No, no, no, no, no! By the first week of July. All of a sudden, I realized my last day of work should be July 3… that way I’m free by July 4. For my friends abroad, that’s Independence Day here in the States. Clearly, they haven’t beaten my sense of humor to death as yet. <grin> I figure if I was willing to give notice on April Fool’s Day following my fifth anniversary, I should be able to coordinate my departure with Independence Day, right?

Nooooo! I hate season finales!

After dinner, we had a dessert that I prepared yesterday afternoon. Oh. My. Gosh. Strawberries Romanoff. Essentially a liquored up strawberries and cream. Goodness gracious me, oh my. I’m pretty sure people would liken it to less than G-rated activities (but this is a G-rated blog most days, occasionally PG, so we’ll leave it to your imaginations). It’s that good. (You should’ve known food stuffs would be off the table for only so long… it’s what I love to do and how I relax. The reprieve is over.)

Alright, my lovelies… it’s off to sleep for me. To dream–well, if I dreamed–of a better job and apple dumplings. Don’t ask, just accept that my mind moves in weird and mysterious ways.

Happy Mother’s Day to *My* Mama!

I’m the oldest of four children. My folks were married six years before I came along. For all of my life I’ve been told I was prayed into existence because my mom couldn’t get pregnant. By the time my mom was my age, she’d been married seventeen years (this Thursday, to be exact) and had four kids… I was eleven and my sibs were eight, six, and four (because their birthdays are all in November).

My mom was perfectly suited to raising a houseful of kids. She’s the second oldest of seven. And she has six brothers. Is it any wonder that when broken arm #8 occurred, she calmly finished what she was doing before packing up and leaving work to go see how my brother was doing? (For the record, my brother Ethan has broken both of his arms twice; Brian has broken one arm twice, one arm once, and one plaster cast; and I am responsible for one broken arm.)

My mom was the official scorekeeper for the boys’ Little League teams every year. She was a Den Mother in Boy Scouts and a troop leader in Girl Scouts. She was the president of the booster club for choir and created and produced the football programs for something like eight years for our high school. She packed our lunches until we hit high school. She took us to school and picked us up every day. She took us to piano lessons every Wednesday for years. And I do mean YEARS.

She taught me to read a map. At one time or another, she relinquished the front seat to each of us to handle the navigation on road trips. She meticulously planned our road trips, finding the crazy, out-of-the-way locations that made our trips truly memorable. She’s the reason I see travel as a full contact sport.

She taught me to cook. I’m most possibly getting ready to change careers and head to culinary school. I owe a good portion of this decision to her. She taught me to fear nothing in the kitchen. And it’s her roast beef, mashed potatoes, and gravy that I want for my birthday dinner every year. It’s her apple cake that I have made for years, wowing those who taste it for the first time. She made me breakfast until I hit high school (I took zero period which means class started at 6:50 a.m. … she may love me, but she wasn’t getting up that early!). She cooked dinner for the family every night and instituted Taco Tuesday when we were spread out… all the chicks came home to roost for tacos, chicken enchiladas, and chilis and cheese every Tuesday night.

She hates to read, but loves movies based on literary classics. She can’t spell worth a darn and readily admits it when I proofread something for her or when Ethan reads through our family’s Christmas Memories Book (we’re on book three because my folks will celebrate their 43rd anniversary next week… each book encompasses 20 years of family Christmases). She cheers loudly for USC and the Dodgers–like mother, like daughter.

You may want to argue that you have a fantastic mom, but there’s no convincing me she’s better than mine.

This was the very first ball game I ever attended… Dad took this photo of Mom and me in July of 1981. We’re both wearing tops she sewed. She’s got a pen in her hand because she’s keeping score. The lighting was perfect and it’s my favorite picture of Mom and me. She’s explaining somethinerother about what’s happening on the baseball diamond. And here you see the start of a love affair… me and the Dodgers. (In fact, I’m wearing a Dodgers sweatshirt right now that I threw on at five o’clock this morning when I woke up cold.) She and Dad are somewhat to blame for my undying love for the guys who wear Dodger blue.

It Is Finished

Nope, I haven’t quit yet. Neither have I made a final decision. “Then what is finished?” you query.

I finished telling everyone (a.k.a. the important people in my life) that I’m quitting my job and what options I’m looking into. The overwhelming responses have ranged from, “Go for it! It’s about time you got outta there!” to the more demure, “I think this is a good thing for you, you need a change.” What can I say? I have fantastic family and friends. They’re supportive. Three people have expressed concerns… one coworker, one friend, and my pops. Refocusing on Pasadena as opposed to Dallas and Pasadena and telling them I’d be picking up a full-time job in my industry has alleviated some of their concerns, though. After all, those concerns involved picking up additional debt (not working and taking on college loans), not having health insurance (something that was never an option for me for obvious reasons), and splitting locations and moving more than once… all valid concerns. There are a couple other concerns still out there, and I’m not brushing them off. They’re all worth serious consideration.

When I started taking a more focused look at Pasadena, I sent an email to a friend of mine who used to be a Bodily Injury (BI) Supervisor when I was a Non-Injury Supervisor. I asked her what the going rate is for a BI adjuster (which we both currently are since we were both laid off from our management positions) with experience. Way-ull… it’s niiice. And significantly more than the pay here in Colorado. I’d be able to put rent on top of my existing monthly obligations and still pay down the remainder of my debt–while going to school! Plus I’d still be growing my 401K and have the safety of health insurance in the event my body nose dives during the 21-month course of study. I’d have no personal life Monday through Friday for 21 months, but I’d have health insurance! Silver linings, right?

Anyway, Debbie and I tried–again–to take each other to lupper (lunch/supper) at Tucanos. <sigh> Third time’s the charm? We walked in and were told they weren’t accepting walk-ins until 9:00 p.m. Um, we walked in at 3:00 p.m. I checked their signage… nothing about not taking walk-ins. When I got home I checked their website. Nope. Nothing there either. So, I sent an email to the manager to let him/her know we didn’t appreciate having our birthday plans foiled. We ended up going for hamburgers at Five Guys and then Glacier for dessert. Gelato, to be exact. I chose a scoop of brown sugar cinnamon (think snickerdoodle ice cream with no snickerdoodle cookies in it… sooo good!) and a scoop of stracciatella (a.k.a. Italian chocolate chip ice cream). Mmmm. The only fruity flavor that interested me was lemon poppy, but I’ve had it before and didn’t think it would go with the brown sugar cinnamon gelato. Man, I love homemade ice cream and gelato.

I also got to see my friend Sarah when I went over to the clubhouse to have them test my keycard. Turns out it was wigging out due to the butt cold weather we had. 7° F to be exact. Like I said, butt cold. I’m planning to hit the gym tomorrow. And I plan to go Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday before work if I can. I also plan to resume upon returning from California on Sunday. (I did mention I’m flying to California on Wednesday night, right? Adri’s commencement? That whole thing? If I didn’t–oops!) I told her what is going on… her response? “We’ve got to get together many times before you leave?” Again… supportive friends. Whether or not I go to culinary school, it’s really nice to be so loved on by the wonderful people in my life.

Top this day off with chores around the house and a pedicure and it’s been a pretty darn good day.

Brass Tacks

Speaking of which, let’s get down to them… the brass tacks, that is.

I spoke with a rep from Le Cordon Bleu in Dallas, a scheduled appointment, this evening. Funny enough, three minutes after we rang off, a rep from Pasadena called. The latter call wasn’t scheduled, but between both calls, I learned a lot.

First, the way they run their schedules means I can have a full-time job. And that means I can have full benefits–401K, health insurance, the works. Woohoo! They have block schedules:

• Monday through Friday, 6:00 a.m. – 10:00 a.m.
• Monday through Friday, 10:00 a.m. – 2:00 p.m.
• Monday through Friday, 2:00 p.m. – 6:00 p.m.
• Monday through Friday, 6:00 p.m. – 10:00 p.m.

And classes start every six weeks. Ms. Pasadena thought I should start May 20. Uh… no. They have sessions starting July 8, August 19, and September 30. Classes go back-to-back-to-back-to-back. Students get three weeks off at Christmas, three weeks off in the spring (near Easter, I think), and three weeks off in the summer. It’s a breakneck pace for twenty-one straight months. Aye-yi-yi.

Ms. Pasadena also had housing to offer… yup, the Pasadena campus has dorms. Of a sort. Apartments, really. Ms. Dallas doesn’t have that to offer. They’re sending me the financial aid packet and such. I did think it was funny that Ms. Pasadena has made it her personal quest to win me over from Ms. Dallas. Nope, not making that up. She actually said so. That’s fine, though. To the highest bidder goes the spoils, right?

Squirrel Moment:

Dr. Watson: “Let me guess, whoever hired Sutter Risk Management is our new suspect. If we identify whoever hired them, we’ll find Wallace’s killer.”

Sherlock: “I’ve already identified him. His name is… Made… Up.”

Awesome. I kid you not… I am a fan of most things Sherlock Holmes. The movies with Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law; the BBC series with a man who is my current celebrity crush, Benedict Cumberbatch (and who arguably has the BEST name in all of Hollywood!); and Elementary with the first Mr. Angelina Jolie (Jonny Lee Miller) and Lucy Liu. The dialogue is always entertaining.

Okay… now back to our regularly scheduled program.

Ironically, I’ve had an incredibly productive week at work. Nope, not recanting on my decision to quit. Doesn’t mean I can’t see the humor, though. Yesterday, I told the girls  I lunch with on Wednesdays. They now know that we’re on borrowed time. And that I won’t be here in October for the Girls’ Night Out that I instigated… boo. I suggested we all attend the Straight No Chaser concert together. Unless I can figure something out (which I probably can), that is.

So the funniest thing about both calls is that both ladies tried to talk me into visiting their campus. I think they see that as the best possible sales pitch. I hate to spoil the fun, but I’m thirty-seven years old. I lived on campus at USC. The University of Spoiled Children, Stupid Coaches, South Central–I’ve heard them all. Yes, the University of Southern California. Not the University of South Carolina. I am a Trojan, not a Gamecock. Don’t make me sing the fight song. I will! But I’m not going to be swayed by shiny kitchen appliances. I expect it to be fantastic. And I don’t need to tour of the town. Firstly, I’ve been to Pasadena and South Pas many times. And between Madame GPS and family, I can make my way around Dallas just fine, thank you very much.

As I was writing this post, Julie (the sister) emailed me to get an update. She’s all up to speed because we’ve been shooting emails back and forth for the past hour or so. She asked if Pasadena has something over Dallas. I told her the housing situation is actually a plus. And so are the job opportunities. Los Angeles is a much larger pond than Dallas. The pay scale is also higher. As such, job potential is exponentially better in L.A. So Pasadena is a big plus. Her response? “And you’ll be closer to all of us. Or should I just say Henrik and Claire?” True dat. The munchkins are most certainly a big draw. What kind of aunt would I be if I didn’t want to go play with the nephew and niece on a lovely Saturday or Sunday?

So I’ve decided I need to drag my butt into the clubhouse and get my keycard rekeyed so I can start hitting the gym again. I need to be as regular as possible with this. After all, if I move out of state, I won’t exactly be next to my free gym anymore. Oh dear, I think we found a con. Hmmm.

So there you have it… we’re still in the fact finding stage. Now to check out job possibilities in SoCal.

Moving Forward

First things first… I hate the Gnats. And I really hate when the Gnats are beating my Dodgers. But it’s only the third inning… a lot can happen.

I talked to my baby brother today because I didn’t want him left off the family grapevine. He thinks culinary school is a fantastic idea. It was pretty funny because we were both on our cell phones while driving so we kept talking over each other. He did ask if I could snag some management courses as that’s the area he sees as lacking in the restaurant industry. When I told him I could take online courses after I finish the degree program, he was very encouraged. He also told me he has seen a pastry chef cry when a head chef chewed her out… but then he said I had far more backbone than she does. Why thank you, brother dear. I’ll take that as a compliment.

I also sent an email out last night to my best girls (minus two I forgot–shhh! don’t tell!) and my two aunts. If you heard very loud cheering around 10:00 p.m. MT last night, that was my aunt. Her response was hilarious… I’ll paraphrase: Do it! Quit now! Get out of there! It’ll kill you! (Bear in mind we work for the same company.) In all seriousness, she was very excited. A few of the girls have chimed in and they’ve all been positive thus far. My favorite response was the one I received from Joanne this morning, “YAY! Finally you are doing it! I’m praying for a great job for you with a cute, tall, single, Christian, never married guy who owns the joint and whom you can marry, have kiddos with, and live happily ever after!” And I can pretty much guarantee she’s praying exactly that. I love her. She’s hilarious! She and Chris both say the most outrageous things. They’re never boring!

I talked on the phone with Marilyn (my honorary grandmother) today. She called my dad last weekend and asked how her granddaughter was doing.

Um, why do the Gnats’ jerseys read, GIGANTES? I’ve been watching the game since the start of the second inning and would appreciate a ‘splanation. Just sayin’…

Anyway, I told Marilyn about my plan. I have never heard such an excited 83-year-old! She’s been convinced for quite some time that there’s a husband out there in a culinary school just waiting for me to arrive. No, I’m not joking. Now she’s praying about this in earnest. I think she and Joanne should meet. I’m hoping I can get out to see her and Jim before I go to culinary school–if I go–because I won’t be able to once I get started. And I just can’t fathom not seeing them for two years. That’s unacceptable.

Okay. I’m back. I know you’ve been wondering about my whereabouts for the past hour and a half. Jackie read my posts and called. This was a short conversation, an hour and twenty minutes. No tears. We both got caught up and we both know what we’re praying for each other. She’s priceless. In the best way. And she had a business idea that has such merit I’m keeping it to myself. I don’t want anyone to steal the idea in case it becomes a reality.

I can’t remember the last time I was looking at the clock on a Sunday night, knowing I have to get up and go to work in the morning, and not feeling the panic rise. I’m actually relaxed. There’s such a relief in knowing that no matter what comes to pass, by the first week of July, I will be quitting. Whether it’s to take another job or to head to culinary school, I’m quitting. There’s a freedom in this knowledge.

With that, I’ll leave you all with wishes for a lovely evening!

P.S. Church was FANTASTIC today! Fan-tas-tic. Really good.