cindy's world

Yesterday evening, while Mr. W and I were having dinner with my parents at their house, Mr. W out of nowhere said, “Did you tell your parents you’re going back to school?”

Me: >:O !!!

I KNOW I’d told him that I can’t even tell my parents I’m taking bartending classes because the thought of me getting a 2nd job, and as a BARTENDER of all things, would… well, I don’t know what it would make them do. But it wouldn’t be pretty sunshine, roses and butterflies.

So I glared at him and said, “NO. I didn’t.” And tried to leave it at that, but my mom started asking.
“You’re going back to school? For another degree?”
I said quickly, “No, it’s just like jujitsu where I’m going to a college that teaches things but I’m not working toward a degree.” Good call on the “jujitsu” cuz I think they misunderstood me, thinking I’m just retaking jujitsu.
My dad asked, “Do you get units or credit?”
I said, “No, I can apply under the college directly and get units if I want another degree, but since I’m not, this isn’t graded and it’s just for fun.”
Dad said, “Oh, so you just learn for yourself,” and nodded approvingly. He’s all about enriching your mind and obeying your thirst for knowledge.
I said yes, told them I’m attending a course just for fun one day a week with my coworker, and segued into a story about how Vanessa was enrolled in jujitsu as a student of the college and wasn’t aware of it, so she found out later on that she was graded whereas I’m not a student of the college, so I wasn’t graded. The subject ended.

*whew*.
*glaring at the W*

I’m so uncomfortable after those vivid detailed dreams that deal with people in my life. Hours after waking, those impressions are still there. These dreams make me miss people I shouldn’t miss, nostalgic for things that never truly were, and angry at people whom I have no real-life beef with. I’m fighting the urge to call this old DA friend of mine and see how he’s been since he transferred to Long Beach, call MOH Vicky’s younger sister Karen and yell at her for being a selfish conceited immature brat (and kind of a slut), and call Andrae and gush about how much I appreciate his friendship and loyalty. Over NOTHING! Gah.

I might make the last phone call, tho…Andrae would probably get a kick out of the dream while I still remember it.

I just read this description in Wikipedia about Dodo’s breed, the Scottish Fold:

Scottish Folds, whether with folded ears or with normal ears, are typically good-natured and placid, and are known for sleeping on their backs. They tend to become very attached to their human caregivers and are by nature quite affectionate. Scottish Folds typically have soft voices and display a complex repertoire of meows and purrs not found in better-known breeds.

I could not have said it better myself. Dodo does have a LOT of different sounds, most of which I understand in his unique cat language.

And he’s always on his back!

You guys know my maid of honor, Vicky, right? She called me and told me a story so traumatic for her but so funny for me that I told her she needs a blog. Since she doesn’t have one and doesn’t want to start one, she typed out the story and emailed it to me so that she could make a guest appearance on my blog. So here it is. Main characters are Vicky, her boyfriend Glenn, and her dog, a medium-sized breed of hunting dog called a viszla, Ares:
~ * ~
There is a giant grassy piece of property with grazing cows on it about 2 miles away from where I live. Ares has been really restless in the house so Glenn and I took him to the massive field yesterday. It looked really nice and serene from afar; rolling green hills, a winding dirt path, and the occasional small herd of cows. I imagined myself as Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music.

Ares bolted past us and I grabbed onto his collar. I immediately felt a slimy goo all over my hand. I got him to sit down and took a good look at what he did. He was covered in fresh, green, slimy cow poop! He rolled in it so much that it covered his left eye and it found its way into his ear canal. He was covered in it. The entire left side of his body was one big poopy mess. All I saw was a yellow-greenish slime of chewed blades of grass. I thought I was going to throw up. Glenn tried to consol me [by reminding me that cows are vegetarian and] saying, “It’s alright; it’s just mushed up grass!” I didn’t care. This green slime digested through four cow stomachs and exited from a cow’s butt. Nothing could make this okay.

Why do dogs do this? Is Ares just really retarded or is this something most dogs would do?
~ * ~
“Green slime that digested through four cow stomachs and exited from a cow’s butt”!! HAHAHA, she kills me. That’s what you get for naming a dog after the Greek god of savage warfare. By the way, this is mostly an indoor dog who cuddles with her in bed in the mornings…

There’s a lot of bad stuff going around in the blogosphere today. Instead of adding to it in Cindy’s World, I’m gonna leave instead the Judge’s joke du jour:

Did you hear that they came out with a new Barbie doll called “Divorced Barbie”?
It comes with all of Ken’s stuff.

I’m trying to do more divorce cases but the family law computer program’s down. And then I tried to do a criminal law entry but I couldn’t get around the criminal system’s locks on this issue. I didn’t feel like working out today, so I took a walk to a local law firm and paid for my parents’ living trust documents. Even with a very generous $375 professional discount that this probate attorney gave me, I’m still out $1200.

I really, really want to go home, burrow in my bed and go to sleep.

We had a great time at the class! I was right about a few things:
* The instructor looked JUST like how I dreamt he’d look, plus about 10 pounds. Even the salt-n-pepper goatee! He was funny and jovial and friendly, just like you’d expect a bartender to be. I would’ve done better in Geometry if a bartender had taught it.
* He talked about prohibition and moonshine, but thankfully, only in passing. (His point was that making things illegal, more specifically weed, makes it dangerous for the consumers cuz they find alternative deathly versions of it. And then he quickly went on to say that he didn’t mean to advocate drugs, he was just making a point.)
* The 1st class wasn’t hands-on playing with liquids, it was more introductory and lecture.

The class is taught by a very experienced instructor of bartending, and he teaches not just drinks, but also educates us on alcohol and safe consumption, checking for fake IDs, law on responsible alcohol service. It’s stuff that people don’t get through just in-service training, and things that are soon going to become a legal requirement (like CPR for personal trainers), so it’ll make us more marketable that we’re certified by this class after it’s over. I guess this program is one of very few official certified classes that are approved by some agency or other.

Yesterday we got a ton of recipe cards, an instructional manual/workbook, and a DVD. We went around the room of 11 students and introduced ourselves. There was a quiet loner guy, a giggly friendly couple (the girlfriend just turned 21 the day before class and both of them were still hung over), two young unemployed blondie girl friends who were late coming to class and late coming back from break, two other girl friends who either currently or used to work in restaurants, an overeducated and now out-of-work mortgage loan agent girl, a cop groupie who said her reason for taking the class was because she goes to a lot of cop parties and now she wants to work in them. And then there was me and gym trainee.

Some of the more interesting things we did in class (which brand new classroom had a restaurant-sized bar and expansive 2nd story view of the campus pool) was put on “drunk goggles” which simulate .16 blood alcohol level, .24 BAC, and .32 BAC, and try to do some DUI field sobriety tests in the classroom. I did okay with the .16 BAC goggles but did stumble initially. And then we looked at a ton of confiscated fake IDs. Some are really good, and others are so poor that you wonder what moron would pay good money for something that pathetic. At least, I wondered until I realized hey, that moron’s photo is RIGHT THERE! Idiot. We also learned some sneaky ways to question the ID-giver if we don’t think it’s his/her real ID. We also looked at our own IDs and credit cards under a blacklight, and DID YOU KNOW that imprints of the CA flag appears as if by magic on a CA driver’s license under blacklight?! I had no idea! You could see the red bars and brown bear and everything! (The instructor said his wife takes the blacklight to hotels w/them, and the class went “ewww” and then he gave us a tip to not touch the TV remote controls, and then there were bigger “EWWWWW”s.) The instructor also demonstrated usage of an ID scanner which reads a legitimate ID and displays the name and age of the person if it’s real, “expired” if it’s expired, and nothing if it’s a fake.

OOH, OOH, AND THE BEST PART!! The homework project due by the end of the course is to GO TO A BAR that we’d like to work at and sit and observe the bartender, and bring back observations on their work, such as how they do their pours (long or short) and how they interact with customers, whether they’re good on customer service, how they handle drunks or whether they’re responsible about cutting people off. He said we can go to bars several times, or to go multiple bars, but to research at least for a few hours total. He said to be responsible about our drinking and to not get toasted while on assignment, but still! What class gives an assignment to go hang out at a bar?! I know you’re all jealous.

The instructor said that the future classes will be hands-on barwork, and the nights will be themed. Next week’s theme: tequila drinks! “We don’t use fake milk or fake mixers or no-name sodas in here,” he said. “We don’t use actual alcohol, but the rest of the stuff is real and you’ll all get all the soft drinks you want.” Kinda makes me want to start drinking sodas again. It’s that Asian gene: “It’s FREE? Then I have to have it.”

If you’re interested in more information about his class, the instructor also has a personal business website at bartendingexperience.com.

This evening after work, I’ll be attending my first bartending class at a local college. Woohoo, four and a half hours of playing with colored water and bottle-spinning! Unless the first day is full of lectures about the historical origin of alcohol, the period of prohibition in the old South, and the molecular chemical breakdown of ethyl. That would not be fun. I remember in high school, for a full period of German class, our teacher Mr. Englyng (Dwaine and I now have a phone # and address, but we have yet to call him) talked about the beer making process and hops and fermentation, complete with diagrams drawn on the whiteboard. Sure, beer is a part of German culture and the discussion was held in the German language, but I learned very little. Mr. Englyng even remarked toward the end of that period that I was quiet that day. Yeah, no kidding! What do I have to contribute in a beer discussion?!

I told my judge yesterday that I would be leaving early to take a bartending class every Tuesday this month. He was surprised, but said, “I think you’ll be great at it!” He said there’s something about an occupation that entails physical exertion that makes you feel like you’ve put in a good day’s work, things like being on your feet all day during bartending and like his old college job of working for a moving company, loading heavy furniture into a moving van. “I think you’d be making money hand-over-fist,” he continued, then paused. “I’m afraid you’d be making so much money, however, that you may leave me.” I reassured him that he has nothing to worry about as I can’t even tell my parents about the bartending class and possible future gig. I can see it now:

Mom: WHAT?! You had a REAL job and now you’re serving DRINKS to people? You did not go to college to serve alcohol!
Me: Well technically, I did…

Eh well, it’s just 5 weeks, not much of a life investment to open a new door. And we do come out of the class certified.

I did a test drive from work to the college yesterday, and the drive SUCKED. There’s construction on the main street that the campus is on, reducing the 3-laned road to a single lane in both directions. I also didn’t buy campus parking, so I’m a little afraid that my car’s gonna get jacked parked on a street somewhere. We’ll see how it goes.

Even though today is supposed to be a day off for me (Cesar Chavez holiday, the NorCal folks hate that I have this day off), I’m here. At work. Getting a couple of things done. Of course my judge is here, too. He was surprised to see me and already gave me a couple of things to look over. There are a surprisingly high number of employees in the building. “Is this a day off?!” a law clerk friend said earlier, looking at all the coworkers around her.

Not that I came in during regular hours, nor am I planning to stay long. I’m just giving my roofing guy a few extra minutes to email me the roofing invoice, so that I can print it and include it with my homeowners’ meeting minutes and demand for payment for my roof to the other homeowners in the association.

I had a list of things to do today. I already reviewed and made changes to my HOA documents as requested by the other officers, I got Dodo more cat food and litterbox crystals, bought some necessities at WalMart (I usually go to Drug Emporium for toothpaste, shampoo, contact solution, etc., but I was dismayed to find that it’s shut down!), and am now at work. Soon, I’ll leave here to test the drive to the the bartending class (1st day of class is tomorrow after work!) and then meet up with MOH Vicky at the gym at 3:30.

Just for kicks, guess what Mr. W is doing all day! He’s attending employee training seminars/lectures at the Museum of Tolerance! I spoke to him at his lunch break and he said a guest speaker coming up in the afternoon is an actual survivor of the Holocaust.

I’ve been surfing on the ‘net all morning. First I checked my email and read through the many strings from my Association board, discussing fun stuff like the consequences of not paying your monthly dues. Then, I looked at an email from a discount traveling site advertising cheap last minute getaways. That led to my thinking, “I’d always wanted to visit Prince Edward Island. I’m gonna look that up.” I’m an “Anne of Green Gables” fan — the novels by Lucy Maud Montgomery, not the TV show. I’d always wanted to live a week in the beautiful lush landscaping described in the books, doing things the “old-fashioned” way, running through country paths scented with wild hibiscus and lavender to visit my best friend who would live at the gabled cottage next door. Next door being, an acre over. How different from the houses and neighborhoods we’d been looking in lately. I’d announced before that I’d be heartbroken if Prince Edward Island has been taken over by technology and developed, and now resembles New York or Los Angeles. So, today, I finally found out.

Prince Edward Island’s official online site says that the central northern part of the island, now named “Anne’s Land” as it is the setting of Anne’s story, remains largely unchanged from how it was described by Ms. Montgomery. 2008 happens to be the 100th anniversary of the year “Anne of Green Gables” was first published, and the Island is doing a huge celebration. How charming!

2008 also happens to be the year we’re poor.

I downloaded the “Anne’s Land” section of the site’s free guidebook, and looked through it wistfully. All morning, aside from a couple of blog posts, this has been what I was doing. Mr. W has been at the gym for hours, I’m stranded at his house until he comes back, and all I’d described above was researched/done on his laptop. In the middle of the laptop’s screen, very quick lines flash by. It’s barely perceptible, but you do see red flickers if the background happens to be dark. What these flickers are, are short sentences written and run in a program that Mr. W recently purchased. They’re designed to be “read” by your subconscious as you work on your computer, and your conscious doesn’t pick them up, but the subconscious “programs” you. Remember that old scandal about Coca-cola and popcorn ads that used to flash invisibly in-between movie frames to get people to buy more Coke and popcorn, then got banned because the government ruled it was unethical and illegal to “mind control” people for financial gain? I don’t know how to turn the program off, but I’m also not sure what all the lines say, so right now I may be programmed to do something horrible. Knowing Mr. W, it’s probably stuff like “You will be 12% body fat.” “You are comfortable with your finances.” “You will be wealthy.” But it could also be, “You want to give everything to your fiance.” “You will say ‘yes’ to everything he asks.” “You feel your horniness increasing.” Cuz I mean, he KNEW he was going to leave me stranded for HOURS with nothing to do while he was at the gym, and the laptop is just sitting here, glowing at me in the room. Hours of fun brainwashing.

If I start to do things that are out of character or not in my best interest, and Mr. W appears to be exponentially happier, then you guys know what has happened to me.

I think, I think, I’m addicted to string cheese. I bought a pack of ’em the other day and keep it in my fridge. I started out having one stick a day around lunchtime. And then I had to have one at home in the evenings while watching TV. And then it was two watching TV. The other day I had four. “But they’re so small,” my courtroom assistant said, trying to make me feel better. Small or not, they’re 80 calories each, and 4 would be 320 calories I otherwise wouldn’t have consumed had I not purchased the pack. But there’s just something so fun and tasty about trying to peel stringy cheese as thin as possible off a cold-hardened stick, making it last as long as possible. It’s like a challenge, AND a calcium-rich snack. I’d always thought food consumed with bare hands were somehow more yummers than food you have to cut and eat with a knife and fork. Like giant turkey legs from Disneyland and the Renaissance Pleasure Faire. *drool*

Mr. W said, “You’re not addicted to string cheese. You just eat it cuz there’s nothing else in your house to eat!” That’s one theory…but my fridge also contains salad dressing, eggs, butter, and an unopened bottle of white wine. And my freezer has ice. So obviously there are other things in the house to eat.

Now that I have finished all my string cheese, let’s see if I feen and have to buy more. My guess is that because I grocery shop a few times a year, laziness will overtake any withdrawal.