The fucking YARN FAIRY! (mac_arthur_park) wrote,
The fucking YARN FAIRY!

Bonus day!

I was off yesterday, which is not a bad way to kick off my birthday month (oh, and happy belated Beltane, y'all!).  I was actually really productive, which surprised me, considering how work beat me up on Tuesday.  It's one of our busiest days, and Boss spent most of it up my ass.

She's like a lot of teachers I've had over the years:  hounds me about shit I'M ALREADY DOING until I'm cross-eyed and paranoid that I'm fucking up...then sings my praises to everyone but me.  Oh, yay.  At least I finanlly have the ability to recognize it for what it is.

Doesn't make it any less annoying, though.

I'm off today as well, which was quite unexpected.  Apparently during yesterday's "morning huddle" (read: massive time sucks that inevitably interrupts me when I'm in the middle of things and almost never has anything to do with my job) was....interesting.  Big Boss is back from a week and a half vacation and found overtime is through the roof.

This is no surprise, TBH.  While he was gone, the salaried folks were ducking out early, leaving the hourly drones to pick up the slack.  So hours had to be cut and...ta-dah!...bonus day off!

It doesn't bother me, because I have a fat check headed my way tomorrow as it is.  I *do* find it ironic, though.  Kent and I were talking before he went into work yesterday about how weird it's going to be to have two days in a row off (we're both off Sunday and Monday), because we haven't had that in forever.

We asked for Sunday off (because day after Prom) AND got Monday!  It couldn't BE any better.  That gives us a whole extra 24 hours to recover from that and Cinco De Mayo brunch with my local SiL, during which I shall raise a glass (or three) in honor of my eldest's 22nd birthday (yeah, he remains daddy's boy and stubbornly silent.  Fine.).

Twenty two.  It's a sobering thought that, at his age, I was married, in grad school, doing the GTA thing, balancing 2 other jobs, and just a few months away of discovering I was pregnant with him.  He's still living with his father and with a stepmother who still cleans his room.  Shades of "Captain Jack" without the weed, frankly.

I can't help but think, had they been allowed to stay with me, both of the boys would be better off.  Not financially, but at least better prepared to deal with the real world.  Even their stepmom thinks Ashe would be better off here (although he would be getting his own place PRONTO).  He needs a place where he can let his freak flag fly.

GAH!  Between Liam's birthday this Sunday and Mothers Day next Sunday, I am having so many issues that they've morphed into subscriptions.

I volunteered to work next Sunday.  Better work than stay at home and brood, right?

WAAAAIIIIT.  Okay, I'll be getting paid.  But I'll be standing in a refrigerated room by myself.  And brooding.  And I can't drink at work.  But I CAN make a million motherfucking salads.

I really need to start thinking these things all the way through.

In other news, the end of semester dumpster diving has commenced!  We scored a restaurant grade bit of shelving that fits under the kitchen counter perfectly.  We now have space for the (also restaurant grade) stock pots, the cast iron, the rice cooker, the crock pot, and most of my bakeware.  We went for what we use most, and it's going to be nice to not have to dig around in our pokey, dark little cabinets to find something.

I also discovered that our colanders and mixing bowls nest quite handily together in the stock pots, freeing up much more space.  Yay!

It's funny.  You'd think that with both of us working producing massive amounts of food all day, the LAST thing we'd waant to do is obsess over our kitchen the way we do.    It's turned out to be quite the opposite.  AND we're cooking more.  On the days we're not too tired to eat, that is.  We've been doing a lot of pasta and sauce made from the stuff from the produce dept. that was deemed unfit for donation.  I'm thinking about writing a book titled "It's You Or the Dumpster."  Which is what Produce Joe always says when he sticks his hand into my little corner of Siberia with a bag or two of random veggies, fruit, and herbs.
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