Dreaming big...

Two days after I arrived in Garmisch, I made a list of things that I had learned about the town and work so far. Here is that list, with updates as well:

This story shouldn't precede my Oktoberfest entry, but due to the popularity of it I feel it must. Let me provide a little background first:

The Abrams (where I live) and Edelweiss Lodge and Resort (where I work) is about a 1.5 mile walk each way. If you work at 6am you have to leave at 5am to get to work on time. The walk is dark and a little scary. Until you reach Zugsptizestrasse you're walking past houses in almost complete darkness, and you must cross an unlit path that wraps around St. Maarten's Kindergarten called the "kinder path". This path is probably the scariest part of the walk, only because you can't see anything unless it is a clear night and there is a full moon. If I wasn't concentrating so hard on not getting raped and killed and actually looked up, I would see the moon casting a soft light on the surrounding mountains. It really is beautiful here. But at 5am, you can't concentrate on that - you must survive the walk to work. Every other trek had been fine, except for one morning...

It was the morning after Oktoberfest, and although my friend Claire and I had gotten home at a decent hour from Munich we still woke up drunk from the previous days shenanigans. Luckily, we both had to work at 6am so we had one another to count on to get up on time. As we began our walk to work, I noticed I felt funny. Every little sound made me jump, and I was extra paranoid...then I realized that I was still drunk from the day before. Oh jeez, today should be interesting, I thought. I looked over at Claire and noticed that she was just as jumpy as I was. We walked the kinder path with no problems, and began to relax a little. At the next corner we saw a dark-colored van with its headlights on, but remembered that it was just the mailman. The drivers side door opened, and the mailman stepped out with a stack of letters in his hand and began to walk towards us. No problem right? Just the mailman delivering mail. Except instead of heading towards the mailbox, he was heading right towards us. Mind you we are walking in the middle of the street, so there is no reason for him to be walking straight at us when his van is parked on the side of the road and the mailboxes are on the side of the road. Claire and I both got scared and my heart started racing. I grabbed her arm and held on as tight as I could. At the last second he veered to the right, giving us a smirk (or maybe he didn't, I was drunk).

We passed him and continued walking. Claire looked at me with terror in her eyes, and I returned the same glance. We started laughing at how scared we got of the mailman, and let ourselves relax again. Claire laughed and said, "what would you do if he started running at us and grabbed us?" Except she didn't get to finish her sentence. She got about halfway through it when we heard footsteps behind us...running footsteps. We both turned around and saw a man running right at us!

Now let's stop right here and take a moment to assess the situation. If you were walking to work in the dark early in the morning, what would you do? Most people would do one of two things: 1. Run away as fast as you can, screaming and calling for help. 2. Take the man down by kicking him in the groin while screaming and calling for help. Surely no matter how scared you were, you would do something to protect yourself from harm. Right? Right?

Claire and I did neither of those things. We were still drunk, so our reasoning was a little off.

Kyrie's reaction to a strange man running at her:
Right when Claire was saying how scary it would be for the mailman to run at them and snatch them up, Kyrie turned around and saw a man doing that exact thing. She tried to run, but her legs seemed to get caught up in themselves and she was essentially running in place. The fact that Claire had latched onto her didn't help her plan of escape. Instead of releasing a high-pitched scream to scare off the attacker, her voice changed dramatically. She yelled, "UGHHHHHHH, LEAVE US ALONE!!!" in a cry that was three octaves below normal and in an Arnold Schwarzenegger accent. Even Kyrie was surprised at the sound of her own voice. She continued to run in place, knowing that she would soon suffer a violent demise.

Claire's reaction to a strange man running at her:
Peeing her pants.

Please tell me that is not the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard? The man continued to run at us as I yelled in my Arnold voice and Claire was scream-crying. Then he did the strangest thing - he ran past us. We noticed that this man was not the mailman. This man was wearing a beanie, red windbreaker, spandex pants and running shoes. Why, if I didn't know any better I would say he was...on a morning run? No way. Why would this man run so close to us? Like the mailman, he waited until the last possible second before running around us. Since we were staggering in place and peeing our pants, he ran by quickly and I heard a laugh trailing behind him as he passed.

Claire and I finally realized what had happened, and we started cracking up. If my screaming didn't wake up the neighborhood, our laughing probably did. We laughed so hard we cried. And we kept laughing. And laughing. Claire informed me that she had "peed her pants a little" and "not to tell anyone" (that cat was let out of the bag long ago). My body shook violently from all the adrenaline running through my body, and I spoke with a hoarse voice for the rest of walk due to the stress I put on my vocal cords from yelling. By the time we got to work, things were better: Claire's undies had mostly dried, and I was sobering up.

This isn't even the end of the story...because what happens after you sober up? Hangover ensues. Claire and I sat at the breakfast table with our co-workers and regailed them with the story of our walk to work. I began to feel sick. I could tell Claire felt the same by the way she poked at her cereal. We weren't doing too well. AND I was on scraping duty. This involves scraping leftover food from peoples plates into a large trash can filled with food scraps. The bin that morning had sat in the kitchen from the previous nights dinner, and when you opened the lid it released a smell that no one should have to endure, especially when you're hungover. After about an hour of scraping and trying not to vomit, I ran to the bathroom to get away from all the bad odors.

I went into one of the stalls and just sat, waiting for my nausea to pass. In the stall next to me I heard someone puking. "Claire?" I recognized the grunts between barfing. "I feel so sick," she responded, sounding like death. I was jealous - I wish I could just barf and get it over with. For some reason my body likes to torture me when I have a hangover and make me nauseated for eight hours instead of allowing me to vomit.

She cleaned up and left the bathroom, and after 5 more minutes of trying to convince myself "mind over matter" I went back to the front. I continued to feel terrible, while Claire's bathroom session had given her a second wind; she was bouncing around with a spring in her step and a smile on her face. "I feel great after barfing!" she said in a sing-song voice as I was dry heaving into the food scrap bucket. I couldn't do it any longer - I had to go home. I told my boss that I had eaten some bad thai food last night and said that if I don't go home I'll be on the toilet all day. If there was any language barrier at all, she understood when I clutched my stomach while wincing and said 'toilet' at least seven times. It was 7:22am when I went home - I had lasted 1 hour and 22 minutes. After walking home (in the daylight), I spent the rest of the day in bed sleeping. Claire championed through and stayed for the rest of her shift.

Since that day, I have not gone out the night before a morning shift and I have not gone to work drunk or hungover. I learned my lesson. And at least once a day, someone mentions to Claire and I how funny our story was about walking to work. Good story at our expense, right? I'll have to save this post and read it to myself before next years Oktoberfest, just to make sure it doesn't happen again.

I’ve made it.

Seven days ago I was packing up my life so I could spend a year working in Germany. I fit all my belongings into three bags: two large duffel bags and a traveller’s backpack. Among the lot were shoes, cotton swabs, lotion, scarves, hats, clothes and of course books. Although I only brought about 15 books, I plan on swapping them out for others when my boyfriend comes to visit.

So I guess the main questions to answer are: how am I doing? Or rather, what am I doing? I came to Garmisch-Partenkirchen in the dark about a few things, like what my job would be or what resources would be available to us while we were here. Let’s start from the beginning:

Plane Ride
To get from Portland, Oregon to Munich, Germany I took a United flight from PDX to Chicago O’Hare, and then a connecting flight to Munich. The first flight was 100% full, which made for a fun ride. The first flight was okay, other than the fact that I sat next to a man who weighed about 300 pounds and smelled quite terrible. After that flight I had to rush to make it to my next flight, which was also 100% full. And I was in a row of 5 seats…smack dab in the middle. From what I’ve learned in the past of this particular seat, there is really no way to get up and stretch your legs, no way to go to the bathroom, and no way to even move more than three inches without pissing off your neighbor. What I learned is definitely true! During the 9.5 hour flight, I was able to go to the bathroom once when everyone on my left was awake and able to move to let me by, and sleeping on my part did not happen. By the end of the flight I was starting to feel really sick, so I was just praying it would be over soon. The ride finally ended and after going through passport control, I went to retrieve my bags…and there were only two. The two bags that I had packed my shoes, makeup, general hygiene stuff, electronics, and one change of clothes in were in my hands. The large backpack with all my clothes and socks and underwear was nowhere to be found. Usually I would remain calm, but I have heard horror stories in the past of people losing their luggage and not getting it for several weeks. I had a change of clothes, but no change of underwear! I had to have clean underwear! At that point I didn’t know where I could buy it, when I would get a chance to buy some, when I was getting my luggage back (if I got it back), or any information whatsoever that would calm my nerves. So I went to the lost luggage office and put in my claim, and trudged through customs to meet up with the resident managers and drive the 1.5 hours to Garmisch-Partenkirchen.

The Newbies
The group that came in on September 13th ended up being 11 people: 10 girls and 1 boy. There’s Claire, Courtney, Laura, Macara, Me, Kelly, Annie, Paige, Parker, Lara and the lonely Colin. Parker and Macara (Mac) are from Seattle, but the rest are from the eastern side of the states. All of them are really nice and it’s been fun getting to know them. The first night we all went out to Peaches, a dance club/restaurant/cocktail bar. I guess every Tuesday they have a special where $1 = 1 euro, so they sell $1 shots and cheap beer. But luckily it was Monday: half-price pizza night! We all got individual pizzas that reminded me of Italy: huge, thin crust, delicious. I got the pizza margherita and a weissbier. The pizza (half-price) was 2,75 euros, but I only had half of the pizza and saved the rest for dinner the next night. Talk about a cheap meal! All the newbies hit it off pretty well the first night, despite the jet lag we were ALL experiencing.

My roomie and Our Room
Each person has a roommate unless they work weird shifts, like a bartender or a warehouse worker. A lot of our group knew each other and had already picked out roommates, so a girl named Laura and I decided to room together. Laura is from Virginia, went to Virginia Tech and majored in Hospitality. Turns out we have a lot in common: we’re both pescetarians, both have boyfriends (everyone else except for Colin was single), both love to cook and bake and both want to open a bakery! She even wants to open a vegan bakery…awesome! She is really nice and very laid-back, and didn’t even freak out when I busted her converter on the third day. Hopefully I can replace the fuse and it will work, but if not I offered to buy her a new one to which she replied, “we’ll figure it out - no worries!” I’m going to enjoy living with her very much. (Update: fuse bought. Converter fixed. Phew.)

The dorms that we are all living in are pretty big. The ceilings are high, there are several wings to each floor and the best thing: there is a gym literally 6 rooms down from ours! I’ve used it twice already, and am so happy. There are laundry rooms and kitchens too, where you cook all your meals. Everyone is responsible for buying their own cookware. I bought mine at the PX, but I’ll explain that later. Down in the basement there is a computer room, a room to hang out, a movie room with a huge TV and a Wii room. HR also has offices in the dorms, and the resident manager Jay works and lives at the dorms. For being an old Nazi hospital (rumors), it’s pretty nice.

In-Processing
In-processing was, for lack of a better term, quite a process. Because we are at code Bravo (and have been ever since 9/11) and because we were Americans living abroad, there was a LOT of paperwork and security measures to go through. Our social security numbers are stamped on almost everything, so that makes me a little uneasy. Hopefully Uschi (our HR person) doesn’t lose anything! During in-processing we were given a tour of the hotel, told all the rules, filled out a shit ton of paperwork, opened a bank account, got an ID card, got a mailbox, filled out more paperwork and waited a lot. The longest processes were opening a bank account and getting an ID card. My paperwork was messed up and they labeled me as a ‘contractor’ so my ID card has a stripe on it that no one else has…so not only did I wait 3 hours to get the ID card but I now have to go back and do it all over again. Sheesh. After we finally got all that done, we were allowed to go to the shopping area: the PX and the Commissary. At the PX they sell pretty much anything K-Mart would sell, like kitchen appliances, makeup, electronics, clothes, bikes, camping gear, etc. Everything is very fairly priced and I was able to pick up a converter for my electronics, a pot for cooking and a bunch of little stuff that I needed. The Commissary is a grocery store and had anything and everything you would find in the States - but cheaper. The only things that we are rationed on at the Commissary are coffee, tabacco and alcohol. The rest is fair game, and dang it’s cheap! I don’t plan on shopping there a lot because I would love to learn how to cook German food, but when peanut butter is like $2.29 and a bag of chips are $2.16...sheesh it’s hard to pass up. In the States a bag of chips are at least $3.00 now. I bought cereal, stuff to make PB&J and some tofu and brown rice. I figure I’ll wait until we get paid to worry about food.

The Job
I found out what I would be doing in the hotel on my third day in Garmisch. There are three restaurants in the hotel: Zuggy’s, which is a burger joint and bar; Pullman Place, which is an “upscale” restaurant, and Market Station, which is a buffet restaurant that is open 3 meals a day, 7 days a week. Guess where I’m working? Market Station, but of course. I received the job title of “waiter” which basically means I fill food on the line and scrape dishes. I don’t even get the satisfaction of washing the dishes…I simply bring the cart of dishes to the back and scrape the food off (luckily its composted). I’d say the job isn’t as tough as the people that I’m working with, but that’s for another post. HOWEVER, I have talked to the restaurants manager Fred Foley and the executive chef Howard about kitchen positions that are opening up, so hopefully in the next two weeks I’ll know more about my chances of getting a job cooking or baking.

There are a lot more things to talk about, but I think for now this is a good introduction to my new life in Germany. I love Europe, and I already love Germany more than France (shhhhh, don’t tell the Frenchies) because the Germans seem more laid-back AND aren’t stick skinny…so I fit in a lot more. Hehe. I’ll be back to update soon, I promise!

In an attempt to unveil the mystery of the previous entry, I'll introduce a new goal that I have unfortunately forgotten to mention. The reason I started this blog was to tell the world of my long-term goals, and keep track of my progress towards those goals. So far, I have revealed:


Goal #1: Open a bakery of my own

Goal #2: Reach a goal weight and maintain (more of a resolution than a goal, since I can never stop working towards maintaining my weight)

Goal #3: Learn 5 languages in my lifetime

Goal #4: Be a writer

Before I could reveal more of my goals, I got sidetracked with work and life. I started to quote books and work on self-control of my anger and all that, when I still should have been continuing on the yellow brick road to Oz, my own personal goal heaven. Back to business and without further ado, here is goal #5:


Being without a trust fund, a lucrative overseas venture that allows me to travel in business class as I please, this is a hard goal. I don't have a foundation to take from for this - and I don't have the income to support this goal. I'm 24-years-old; my money is going towards rent and college loan payments. How in the world am I to get started on a goal that would take a lifetime to complete without a means to an end? Hmmmmmmmmm the brain started churning.

Get paid to work in exotic/foreign locations of my choice! Enter Edelweiss Resort and Lodge in Garmisch, Germany. Long story short, I found a job on craigslist to work at a resort in the Bavarian Alps, applied for it, interviewed for it and found out that I got the job! I will be spending 13 months in Southern Germany working at a resort that caters to American soldiers and their families. WOOOOOOOO!!! Work five days, travel two days! I leave at the end of August. Will update later. Fo sho.

I truly believe that everything happens for a reason. That being said, a big opportunity has revealed itself to me in the past weeks and a small glimmer of hope might become a reality.

If this opportunity doesn't go through as planned, then the loss happened for a reason.

If it does, then the gain happened for a reason.

I must remember this either way.

A while ago a good friend told me of a memory she had about her youth. She was on the softball team for the first time when she was 7 years old, and was terrible. Her coach would place her in the outfield at every game, and if one was sitting in the bleachers watching the game, they could spot her and her wavy brown hair out in far left field, completely oblivious to the game going on around her. She would recall how her glove would become her object of most attention, and would use it for various things, like using it as a shield from the sun. Pressing the glove up to her face, she would allow the sun to penetrate her skin through the openings in the leather lacing. Other times, she would peep through the holes at the sun, letting the warmth bathe only the smallest parts of her pupils.

I held onto her story. It meant something great and prolific to me. But what? What could a simple story about being a child catch such a big part of me? Then I realized. At the age of 24, I wake up everyday with a million and one things to do. Most of them are mundane everyday tasks, wash the dishes, buy the curry powder for dinner, sign up for automatic bill pay. But more and more, harder life decisions interject my otherwise meaningless to-do list. Is this the job path I really want to be following? Is this a man who I want to share my time, living quarters and sexual escapades with? And for how long? For the rest of my life? Then I start thinking far down the road; at the end of my days, is this what I could have done to be my happiest? What am I doing to make my life as whole and complete as possible? Is washing the dishes part of this plan? WAHAAAHAH!!! I explode. There is nothing left for me think. All of my thoughts, worries and ideas have combusted into a big tangle, and I’m left with a lobotomy-like view on life.

Then I think to what my friend told me about her in the outfield. Staring through her glove at the sky, not a care in the world. Maybe she did have care, such as when will I get my post-game fruit snack? But I can assure you it certainly wasn’t do I have enough sunscreen on? Is looking at the sun going to damage my eyes? Or how are my parents affording for me to play softball when they have me and my brother to feed and a mortgage to pay and college tuition to put money aside for every month? Or even worse: is playing softball part of my life plan?

Oh, to be young again. To be carefree and unhindered by big life decisions. I would give anything to go back to the beginning and stay there. But that is not reality. Reality is there are bills to pay, mouths to feed (my own and no others, thank god) and career paths that I must follow and choose to go right or left at the fork in the road. So how can I face reality without becoming overwhelmed? Without breaking down and being an emotional mess at all times?

Maybe it is okay to go back every once in awhile. To put that glove on your face and just breathe in the smell of the leather. The smell of the grass. The sound of a bat hitting a ball. Maybe that’s what gets you through the mortgages, the taxes, the breakups. And maybe it’s not. But I’ll put my trust in it for now.

Blog: Design Sponge

Artist: Kate Nash

Etsy: Claudia Pearson Illustration and Hint

Regretsy: Bowl-Kakke

Food: The Olive Bar at New Seasons

Ain't it the truth:

"The problem with infatuation, of course, is that it’s a mirage, a trick of the eye – indeed, a trick of the endocrine system. Infatuation is not quite the same thing as love; it’s more like love’s shady second cousin who’s always borrowing money and can’t hold down a job. When you become infatuated with somebody, you’re not really looking at that person; you’re just captivated by your own reflection, intoxicated by a dream of completion that you have projected on a virtual stranger. We tend, in such a state, to decide all sorts of spectacular things about our lovers that may or may not be true. We perceive something almost divine in our beloved, even if our friends and family might not get it. One man’s Venus is another man’s bimbo, after all, and somebody else might easily consider your personal Adonis to be a flat-out boring little loser."

-Elizabeth Gilbert, Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage

Back again!

It was Sunday when I wrote to tell you all that I challenge myself to control my anger better. How have I done? Great! The first day was hard, but after that it was easy sailing! It's amazing what a little mental pause to catch yourself can do for both you and your relationships with other people.

On Monday, I wrote down each time I got angry (I got mad on and off all day long, but that wasn't as hard to brush off as when I got ANGRY), and here are my times:

5:30am - I realized that coworkers don't have to be mean to me for me to get angry, I have developed a conditioned response to certain people's faces that automatically triggers anger because I assume they will make me angry at some point in the day. So as soon as I started to get angry, I took a few deep breaths, smiled and continued my work.

9:00am - I'm guessing it's because of snippity comments that CO1 can make when she isn't getting her way. I breathed, smiled and brushed it off. Then I continued to make conversation with her, and surprisingly, she responded well and was happy.

11:00am - I've just gotten back from my lunch, and progress is at a stand-still because people are tired...it's the "afternoon" lull. All of the cookies could have easily been done by now, but only one is done because of different reasons. Before I can dwell on these reasons, I take my breaths...and all is better! :)

I've found that since that day, I've been quite pleasant. Everytime I even start to think negative thoughts, I brush them away. How do I do it? Here's what's worked for me:

When you start to get angry and think several unhealthy and negative thoughts, close your eyes. As you are slowly breathing in and out, imagine those thoughts to be right in front of you - actual objects. Now imagine those thoughts being swept away by a strong wind (or whatever you would like to get rid of them with), and all that's left is a blank space.

I hope this helps!

Everyday at work I find myself on an emotional roller coaster ride. It goes a little something like this (I'll use CO 1, 2, 3, 4 as code for coworkers):

5am - Arrive at work, immediately pissed off at CO1 for not saying 'good morning' because I know that when she doesn't say anything that it's not going to be a good day in the bakery. I continue to be angry because CO1 is only talking to CO2, and not acknowledging my presence whatsoever.

5:30am - CO3 and CO4 arrive at work, and I am happy to see them. They talk to me! They say good morning! They even smile!

6:00am - Angry at CO3 because she put the pastries I took out of the oven back in the oven. They were up to temperature, and everytime she does that I feel stupid and clueless about baking. A few heated words are exchanged, and then the whole situation is dropped.

7:30am - First fifteen minute break = gratuitous amounts of coffee. After drinking the coffee, I feel awake. I am now happy to have the caffeine pulsing through my body, and am ready to work...and ready to talk! From then on I blab blab blab.

12:30pm - All has gone well until now. CO1 has decided to start being friendly around 9:15am, so the rest of us are happy too. But 12:30pm is the time that CO1 and CO2 go home, and they always leave a job half-finished or half-assed. For example, today CO1 bags all the cookies and puts them on the cart to go out to the store with 15 minutes left until she leaves...so she goes and takes a break! And when she comes back, she helps CO2 (who is moving at a snail's pace) label the other cookies. AND THEN THEY JUST LEAVE! CO1 uses the excuse that it's too busy out in the store to put out the cookies. I think it's because she doesn't want to a) interact with customers, and b) bend over or exert herself in any way. So not only does she leave the cookies on the cart, but her and CO2 leave the rest of the cookies on the table, taking up valuable table room.

THIS IS WHEN I'M READY TO PUNCH BABIES. I am so angry at this point, and I feel sorry for anyone who is in my way (sorry CO5).

I've noticed that my actions aren't "right". Everyone else feels the same way I do about the whole situation, but they are still cool. They don't start throwing shit across the room and vehemently cursing. What's wrong with this picture?

So badly I want to say that's "it's them, not me". But that's not true. Everyday bad and angering things are going to happen, and I need to learn how to control my anger in a quiet and non-dramatic way. So, me being me, I googled. And this is what I found:

http://anger-management-techniques.org/

Upon skimming the site, I saw that a major way to deal with anger is being patient. At first thought, I became angry (shocking). "I have gained so much patience over the last several years, how is patience tied to anger?!? Stupid website." Then I laughed at what I had just said and kept reading. According to the website:

Patience is a mind that is able to accept, fully and happily, whatever occurs. It is much more than just gritting our teeth and putting up with things. Being patient means to welcome wholeheartedly whatever arises, having given up the idea that things should be other than what they are. It is always possible to be patient; there is no situation so bad that it cannot be accepted patiently, with an open, accommodating, and peaceful heart.

That makes sense. I always think I am patient by just putting up with CO1's bitchy behavior, but really I am harboring my anger until it reaches a breaking point and I explode. Instead of being angry at her actions, I need to accept that that's just the way she is, and I shouldn't spend time, energy and anger trying to get her to be something she is not. I need to accept her (and everyone else for that matter) for who she is.

My goal for the week: practice controlling my anger. The website I was looking at also suggests meditation as a technique for remaining calm and without negative thoughts during frustrating times, so I'll check that out as well.

We'll see how the week goes. I'll try to update as I go. NAMASTE!

How do I feel today? Good. Last night I went out with Ashley and some of her friends to The Thirsty Lion. We watched a couple of guys perform, as Tuesday is dubbed "Singer/Songwriter Showcase". Since we all had to work the next day, we only watched three acts. They were all decent, especially Ian James.

You can check out his music here: http://www.myspace.com/whoisianjames.

All of the artists sang a lot of pop/sad/make the girls swoon music, which gets annoying real quick...but it was enjoyable. It's especially nice to see Ashley smiling and enjoying time with her friends. It's been over three months since her mom died. I know she keeps a lot of feelings inside, or just doesn't feel comfortable sharing them with me. But I can see a light in her that I honestly don't think I've seen in the last six years. She is happy that her mom is no longer in pain. Ashley may not feel the light that I see all around her all the time, but I know it's her mom.

I've only prayed a few times in my life. There are so many different religions with so many different Truths, and it's mind-boggling. I believe in a higher power, but I also believe everything happens for a reason. In my mind, there are God(s) who created this Earth and help out humans in certain ways, but don't interfer with your life's plan. YOU and YOU alone make the plan. But back to praying. The few times I've prayed have been because:

a) Princess Diana died and I was cursing God to bring her back - mind you, I was an over-emotional 11-year-old. Now I'm 23...still emotional though.
b) My friend's mom got me a bible and prayer book - an overzealous Christian trying to convert me: the sinner who doesn't obey God's rules and will suffer in hell. It's funny that she was giving me the literature when it was her daughter who was sleeping around, drinking every weekend and skipping class.
c) Close friends/family have died. I often pray to these recently deceased not for their return on earth, but that they watch over those that they've left behind. Those they've hurt by their departure.

This was the case for Sherie, Ashley's mom. When she left, I prayed to her. It went a little something like this:

"Sherie, how's it going? I know you're not here anymore, and I miss you. My heart wants to tell you a few things, for its own sake. I think your family is beautiful, especially your daughter. She is a wonderful person who has made my life better for just being a presence in it. Being the guilty-natured person that I am, I'd like to apologize. I'm sorry if I've ever hurt Ashley in any way that has made her mad or sad or upset. And in turn, I'm sorry if my actions have ever hurt you or your family. I'd also like to thank you Sherie. Thank you and Bruce so much for bringing such a wonderful woman into fruition! A true gem! An amiga! An amie! What her friendship means to me can never be put into words, whatever language it may be. I know she doesn't need your physical body in her life to do great things, but I know she needs the memory of you in her heart. So please stay with her always. Thank you Sherie."

Praying like this has helped me realize that I don't need to address God to speak to the person I need. God is not the intermediary between humans and heaven. I believe we speak directly to our loved ones, and they hear every word of it. So then what is the role of a God or Gods? This I may never know.

I'm crying. Scratch that, I'm sobbing. Why you ask? Well, besides the monthly treat that Mother Nature bestows on us women, I am sad. I am sad for all the great people in my life that are unhappy with themselves. I wish I could hug them and tell them it's okay and take all the pain away. I am sad for all the people in the world who don't even have a chance to be unhappy with themselves because they are too consumed with hunger, poverty, illness and death. I wish I could blink my eyes and give everyone a home, a pantry full of food and a health plan. I am sad for myself - after all these years I still am critical of others and while it doesn't always come out of my mouth, negative thoughts are still present inside my head. I am a happy person and I do genuinely like people, but my own insecurities leaves me criticizing others like I criticize myself. I wish I could accept myself for who I am, and as a result accept others for who they are as well.

Within myself.
In the community.
Around the world.

How do I help others, while helping myself as well? That is something I've been pondering for more than a quick minute - try several years. Any suggestions???

Today I had a meeting to discuss cake (what else?) with a distant family member. I offered to meet in southwest Portland, as it was halfway between where I live and where she was headed for the day. Little did I know how incredibly busy downtown Portland is during the work week. After I crossed the Morrison bridge and headed up to Broadway (we were meeting at Peet's), I realized finding a parking spot was going to be hell. All the SmartPark's were full, and I rounded the blocks near Peet's for about 20 minutes trying to find something...anything! Finally I found a parking garage on Oak Street and entered. The guy looked hesitant at my arrival.

"How long you gonna be here?"

"About two hours," I replied.

He smiled. "Alright, that's okay girl. You gotta leave your car here though, we full. I'll park your car for you."

I thanked him, grabbed my stuff from the car, and left to walk the few blocks to Peet's. While waiting for my cake counterpart to arrive for a baby shower cake design sesh, I read my book. I was happy and relaxed. The woman showed up, and it was nice to put a face to a name. I must also say she was the cutest 7-month pregnant woman I've ever seen!

The meeting went well, and I walked back to the garage to get my car. A new tenant was there, and he asked what car I had. I told him a green Ford Thunderbird (my dad's, not mine) and we walked up the ramp to retrieve the car. I looked in the booth and saw the particle board that was set up with everyone's keys - mine weren't on it. How did the man know I was coming? Did he have my keys on him? Did he leave the keys in the ignition for someone to steal?!? Oh jeez. While all the possibilities ran through my mind, the tenant walked back down the ramp, looking pissed.

"You had the green Ford?"

"Yeah". Didn't I already say that?

"We had to tow it."

"What?!?!?! Why?!?"

"When you parked it, you took the keys out of the ignition. We had no way of moving it, and it was in the entrance."

"No, I remember leaving the keys in the ignition. I swear!" The look on my face at this point is priceless: bewilderment, horror, anger and indigestion from my lunch.

"Please look in your purse, I assure you the keys are in there. Take your time."

Take my time?!? Who are YOU to tell me to look in my purse for keys I KNOW I left in the ignition? To humor him, I did it anyway. As my trembling hands rifled through my purse, I heard a clank and a jingle. Shit. My keys. I looked up at the tenant in embarassment.

"I am so sorry! I could have sworn I left the keys in the ignition. Oh my gosh, I am SO sorry!"

The man still looked angry.

"Towing your car cost our company a lot."

'How much is this going to cost?' was at the forefront of my mind, followed by 'How am I going to go and get it?'

"Where is it at?"

"They towed it up the ramp."

Huh? You mean my car was towed...into a parking space? Oh man, I am such an idiot!!!

"This cost our company a lot - but you can pay $10.50."

When he said that my shoulders relaxed, and my iron grip on my purse loosened.

"Oh my gosh, thank you so much." I again rifled through my purse and gave him all the cash I had - a whopping $13.00. He led me to my car, and after I got stuck trying to shimmy out of my space, he again helped me by moving my car so I could easily get out. I thanked him and apologized about 1,000 times in the four minutes of our interaction, and as I drove off I caught him smiling at me in my rearview mirror.

This interaction taught me that nice people still do exist in the world. He and the other tenant could have easily done a number of things: towed my car to a yard, stolen my laptop out of my backseat (the window was rolled down), kicked my car, spat on it, made me pay WAY more than $10.50, put a hex on me, banned me from parking in Portland ever again, etc. etc.

This man was so amiable during the situation that my mind is telling me that I need to thank him in some way. What better way to thank someone than cookies?!? I am going to write both of the tenants a nice thank you note and bring them a bag of cookies (Bob's Red Mill of course). I'll let you know how it goes in Part 2.

Night!

Outside my window…it is probably warmer than it is inside! Even though we have the heater on, for some reason I am still incredibly cold. My fingers can barely move.

I am thinking...should I really be watching Housewives of Orange County? What am I learning from this show/how is it enriching my life? It’s not. TV off.

I am thankful...that my best friend has moved back home from stinky Roseburg.

From the kitchen...nothing in the oven, nothing on the stove. That means a clean kitchen! Good for the soul.

I am wearing...a light pink tank top, a dark pink hoodie and sweatpants!!!

I am reading...”Kitchen Confidential” by Anthony Bourdain. Great writer.

I am hoping...that I can soon understand what I want my life to be about. I am torn between living a life geared towards my own happiness, yet at the same time I want a life that caters to making others happy. How do I find my medium?

I am going...to watch Up In The Air with Eric when he gets home from work!

I am creating...a scrapbook/portfolio of all my cake work. It’s time to bring back all the high school scrapbooking techniques.

I am hearing...Real Housewives on the TV. I lied; I didn’t turn the TV off.

I am praying...for my friend Ashley’s happiness. Her mom recently died, and although a big weight has been lifted from her shoulders because her mom was in so much pain, I know Ashley is still hurting from losing a best friend.

Around the house...is mostly clean! Ever since I quit Fred Meyer, I’ve had a lot more time to clean…thank goodness.

One of my favorite things...is when I develop a new way of thinking. It shows a sign of maturity, and also allows me to see the world in a different light.

A few plans for the rest of the week...make a few cake sketches, have a “meeting” with my boss and co-worker, work and hopefully write a little and read a lot!

A picture I am sharing...a picture of me and my best friend (who just moved home) after graduating high school!

From a young age, I've always loved to write. Writing in journals, writing stories, making to-do lists, keeping track of my food intake, writing scripts for school projects...anything and everything written appeals to me (except Ann Coulter...that bitch is crazy). I find writing to be fun and a challenge at the same time. Playing with words to make them provoke a certain emotion or produce a clear image is really hard to do, and is something that I've been working on for a long time. So I guess I would say that my next goal:


That's all gravy, except there's a problem. This might sound crazy, but it's true. I've lost my voice. Well, my writing voice. I had a certain way of writing that I really liked a lot, but it's gone. Where did it go?


wha? Here's all I can come up with: as from my previous post, you know that I love learning new languages. I spent however many years learning French, and I finally got the chance to go to France and test it out so of course I went. Up until then, I wrote often and never had a problem with my style/voice. It seems that my language immersion while studying in Angers completely messed up the way I say things, and in turn write them. While I was there, I remember calling home to my mom and barely being able to speak in full sentences because all I heard was French all day. And even after coming home sometimes a little Franglish comes out. Constructing meaningful and worthwhile sentences is also pretty hard at times. If I want to say something like, "Then the lonely man and the desparate woman passionately embraced" (not that I would EVER write that for reals), my French mind tells me to switch the adjectives after the subjects change the end to "embrassé avec passion". NO NO NO! Why do I do this? Why can't I create beautiful and well-constructed thoughts??? Boo.

I do have another problem: I am too critical of myself. I will be writing a story and along the way I am cursing myself for poor grammar, poor vocabulary and my severe attachment to commas. I love commas. They are necessary. But, really, are they that necessary? See what I mean? I have to stop. That is one of many flaws I see in my writing. BUT, I like to write to write so I am aiming to JUST WRITE. Just let my Franglish flow and see how far it gets me.

What I am working on now:
*A screenplay
*A memoir about my adventures in Europe (aptly titled "L'Eau de Broccoli Farts")
*A chick lit that I can't get anywhere with because I gag everytime I think about the level I am stooping to

Ideas I have in my head for the future:
*Several documentaries
*More screenplays
*A short story book

With so many ideas floating around in my head, it's really hard to focus on just one project and see it to completion. I get an idea for book A, so I work on that for a week before I jump to my screenplay for a month before I have an entirely new idea I want to explore. Again, boo.

LUCKILY, I've made deadlines for myself. By September I want to have my screenplay written, edited and ready to present to the public. My friend Meagan is keeping me in check with that one, because she is in the process of writing a cookbook that she wants to have done at the same time. We are going to have a "release" party at the end of September, even though my screenplay surely won't have made it past my desk.

In addition to a looming deadline, I have set up a weekly writing session with my friend Ashley. She has a passion for writing like I do, so every Tuesday (today!) we go to a different coffeeshop around Portland and write as much as we can before my Russian class. Often times more talking happens than writing, but that's okay with me - she's a good conversationalist!

So how do I keep myself in check with this blog? Especially when I am too scared to share what I'm writing? I don't know. Ideas?

It's been awhile. Why, you ask? Well, my cake "business" has been taking off! Goal #1 to open a bakery is making significant progress. I know I won't be able to start a business for a LONG while, but I am well on my way to getting the experience that is crucial in cake decorating and business-related cake adventures. But that's for another post. Right now, I'm going to let you in on something I am passionate about - something that I do in between making cakes and something that I love!

One of my goals of mine that I will NEVER be able to cross off my list is my weight loss goal. Because even when I do meet that goal, it's all about maintenance. It's taken me a long time to realize that "weightloss is a journey, not a destination". This is hard for a perfectionist (me), but often times I will slip up with my eating habits and exercise regime and I'll just say f-ck it all! But the feeling I get after a good workout, or when I slip on a new outfit and feel great in it is sooooo worth the hard work. I just need to keep that in mind always.

In my quest for finding great goodies for my future bakery, I'll scour the internet and occasionally use recipes on the "back of the box". The Nestle Tollhouse Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe is quite popular, so I figured I would bake off a batch tonight while my bf had his friend over. What a disappointment! Not only does my bf's friend now think I'm an amateur baker, but what a waste of materials! How could you do this to me Nestle??? I ALWAYS buy your products over Ghirardelli! Well, after a closer look at the recipe, I've come up with 5 reasons why to NEVER use this recipe (unless you want to fail):

First of all, never in my life have a I heard of a cookie baking at 375 degrees. It is well known that cookies bake at 350 degrees. Baking them at 375 caused them to get too brown before they were even done. Keep it at 350 people!

2. Butter

The recipe calls for two sticks of softened butter. Usually that is okay, but with the lack of flour in this dough and the high baking temperature this butter needs to be cold.


3. Wetness of the dough

The recipe calls for two sticks of butter but only 2 1/4 cup of flour...of course the cookie is going to melt in the oven! There needs to be something substantial in the dough to soak up the liquid, like nuts. I decided to try and save the dough by adding shredded coconut and raisins, but even that didn't work. How in the world can we make this dough better??? Well...


4. Flour ratio in the dough

This recipe is definitely an indication of its age. No one uses just white flour in their cookie recipes anymore, unless their making sugar cookies or snickerdoodles. If you swap out 2/3 of the flour with ww pastry flour, then you'll be adding some weight to the dough so it may bake off better...and you'll be eating healthier too!


5. Amount of salt

There is almost too much salt in this dough. In the raw dough it is definitely overpowering, and when the cookies are baked off it is still quite strong. I know this is mostly a personal preference, but when I'm eating a cookie I don't want to be crunching on salt the whole time. Less sodium = less bloated = happy Kyrie.

Now that you know why I think this recipe is crap, I of course have to give you a fantastic recipe! I work in the bakery at Bob's Red Mill, and our chocolate chip cookies are the tastiest ever! Here is the recipe, scaled down so you don't get 288 4 oz. cookies. If you want that recipe, e-mail me at pastelcakeandpastry@yahoo.com!

Bob's Red Mill Chocolate Chip Cookies
(original recipe divided by 16)

1/2 lb. unsalted butter (not softened)

5.25 ounces granulated sugar
1/2 lb. brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tbsp. vanilla
3/4 lb. whole wheat pastry flour
6.5 ounces unbleached white flour
.44 ounces baking soda
.22 ounces baking powder
.13 ounces salt
1/2 lb. semi-sweet chocolate chips (Bob's uses Ghirardelli brand)

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. In a large mixing bowl, beat butter and sugars until smooth and fluffy.
3. Add in eggs and vanilla, and beat until light in color and no longer grainy.
4. Combine dry ingredients in another bowl and add to the mixture, beating slowly at first and then at a medium speed until well-incorporated.
5. Add chocolate chips and beat until combined.
6. Put about 2 1/2 tablespoons in your hand and roll into a ball. Place onto an ungreased sheet, and press down slightly (fits about 6 cookies per sheet).
7. Bake for 12 to 14 minutes, or until light golden brown. Let cool on baking sheet before transferring to cooling rack.

Hey! Why in the heck is there .44 ounces of baking soda and not two teaspoons??? Well, I like to be precise. So go to Bob's and pick up a scale for $25.00. I promise you, the end product is much better when the measurements are exact.

Growing up isn't easy. After college, my life has been nothing but real life - which ultimately sucks. Going from spring breaks and weekends off to working 50 hours a week and paying bills isn't as fun as it once sounded. I've found that living the 9 to 5 (or in my case, the 6 to 3) has left me a tad bitter. Especially when you have to work with 50-something menopausal women.



What I want to do when faced with all this monotony and frustration is curl up in a ball and cry, or starting punching babies...but as to what I should do, what's best for me, is realize that I have bigger goals in life than being a working stiff for the next 50 years. In my mind I've had a list of life goals to accomplish, and I want to use this blog to keep myself in check and make sure I'm actively working towards those goals. Also, a little public encouragement from others never hurt :) So here I am in all my glory, ready to divulge my hopes, dreams and desires to you all. Hold on, it's going to be a bumpy ride!


About three years ago I started working in a bakery on my college campus. The hours were 4:30am-noon, after which I would go to class until about 6pm and then engage in various sorority activities: making posters, attending meetings and generally, keeping myself from being completely friendless in college. Working at the buttcrack of dawn should have been the worst part of my day, wouldn't you think? But no, I loved waking up and getting to work (well, maybe not the waking up part). My boss would always laugh at me because I often got there 15 minutes early to make myself a 5 shot espresso with a pump of white chocolate. My tasks for the morning were to finish the cheese rolls, pan up the frozen goods for the next day, and sometimes help my boss with baking the challah or making granola bars. I quickly cut down what should have been a 3 hour job to less than 2 hours, and my boss was gracious enough to let me bake WHATEVER I WANTED in the remaining time before I had to go over and work the coffee side. And for me, that was bliss. She would leave me alone, and I would test recipes of all sorts: cupcakes, french macarons, various cakes and anything that looked tasty.

Ultimately, that's how I came to love baking. Early on, I was allowed freedom to do bake what I wanted and see what I did and didn't like, and my boss was kickass and taught me so many of the basics that were necessary to grow. I remember one week my boss went out of town and left me with the task of making a coworkers birthday cake. This was going to be my first on my own cake - I was so nervous! He was a photographer for the school newspaper and definitely had a passion for it, so I made the cake to look like a Nikon camera:

Laughable now, but back then I thought I was the best cake decorator in the world!

Since that first job, I have had such an interest in baking. I spent the next two years reading baking blogs, baking everyday at home and at work, and learning as much I could. About a year into it, I decided that psychology wasn't for me - I really wanted to open a bakery! Now the issue is learning how to run a business successfully in a failing economy, finding a small group of team players to help run it, and something else...OH YEAH, finding the $$$ to do it when you're super duper in debt from college! My dream of opening a bakery is definitely one that is going to take A LOT of hard work, time and money. Kasie, my boss at Bob's Red Mill, worked as a bartender before she opened her business and lived off of her tips while saving her paychecks...for THREE YEARS! She said that most new businesses fail because they don't realize how expensive things really are and run out of money before they start making a profit. It's disheartening to think about, but doesn't deter me at all. I will open a bakery one day, and you can all keep me accountable by watching and commenting on my progress. Go me!