Every time I drink coffee, I try to write something or figure out a way to be creative. The problem is that when I do, I find myself not having anything to write about. So I guess I'll write about my coffee addiction. I don't like to depend on anything or anyone. I like to harness, build and create my own establishments; I don't like depending on something/someone to get to a certain point. That being said, I hate the fact that sometimes I need coffee to enjoy everyday life. I'm going to tell you that before I drank half of this coffee, my eyes were feeling dry and heavy. I was in the midst of a headache and my bones were beginning to feel weak. Now, I feel like Mary Poppins in love with life, ready to swift away in a red umbrella and hand everyone homemade organic cookies. I wish I was joking.
Coffee is a 2-hour nap in liquid form. Ever feel like shit before going to sleep than wake up feeling pretty decent? Did you ever feel like you hate your job, life and everyone around you and than take a sip of coffee and find yourself feeling grateful, right after? Coffee is a powerful drug. I'm tried of feeling tired. I want to build my own coffee. From within.
I've recently felt the need to cut back on coffee. Not because of the health effects but because it makes me too damn motivated. I know, it's probably the dumbest reason but let me tell you, I'm doing this for my own good/survival. I've noticed recently that after I drink coffee, I become super motivated and start looking up ways to get myself involved or participate in something. Recently I started thinking about going back to school and the idea has me pretty overwhelmed.
When I was in high school and still dreamed of being a meteorologist, I really wanted to go to Penn State but once I learned about the out-of-state expenses, I cowered and backed out. I decided to stay in the city, let the government pay for my education and went to Hunter to become an English major because I had "some" interest in writing. I don't regret going to Hunter but I do feel myself going back to weather every time. It's always been a childhood dream of mine and frankly every time I think about my sister telling people how I used to predict the weather when I was younger, it puts a smile on my face. Now it sounds all fine and dandy to resume and follow my dreams but in doing so, I would leave every aspect of my New York City life behind. If you read my last post, there's really nothing much about New York that I'll miss besides my family and boyfriend, whom I love very much. I also have a fairly decent and stable job , which I just kind of started and pays pretty well. Lord, I'm going to have a lot of debt :(.
This is definitely something that I'd have to sit down, think long and hard about. Discuss it with my loved ones and see what they say. Ugh, I just want to sit under a tree by the grass and take a bite of juicy California peach.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Stale
When I walk home from work and make my way to the front steps of my building, every step is filled with anxiety. As soon as I get off 50th street on the 1 train, it's a hustle. I'm racing against everything and everyone. I'm racing the tourists, the yellow cab that sees me but presses on the gas anyway, the employees that see nothing but the train station in the corner, the pedicabs that deny that they're useless and the collective group of tourists and natives that are being drawn to the 9th avenue drinking scene. I wish that Hell's Kitchen was literally Hell's Kitchen so that no one would ever visit, make an effort to find authentic (and good) Thai food elsewhere and bombard another bar strip so that 5pm on a Wednesday, I can walk home with more than a shoulder width of space and get to the front steps of my building without feeling like a serial killer.
People often mention that I'm "lucky" for growing up in a vibrant neighborhood with little crime, access to just about every mode of NYC transportation and endless dining options. I will not lie, every time I leave the city I go through a bit of a subway withdrawal. My boyfriend lives in the butt crack of Forest Hills and I say that with every ounce of irritation and admiration conditioned in my body for the the last 9 months. He has this wonderful spacious apartment on the top floor of his building with beautiful panoramic views of the expressway and park. In NYC standards, its pretty secluded and the area for the most part, is residential, peaceful and quiet. It's the main reason why I'm there 5-6 days of the week but if there's one thing that drives me insane is how far it is from the train station. The Q23 bus stop is a 5 minute walking distance and the bus ride itself to the train is about 10 minutes, giving you about 20 minutes to get from the house to the train (if the bus is running on schedule). The train ride itself isn't too bad being that you have two express trains (E and F) to choose from, getting you to the city under 20 minutes. Again I'm giving you the scenario of a good running schedule that runs NONE of the time. Sorry to go on a tangent here but if there is one thing I need to rant about, its the MTA system. So the E and F train run on separate lines in Manhattan, but after some point in Queens, they both run express under one track. On occasion they run smoothly but most of the time, especially during rush hour, the distance feels like inches as they crawl into the next train stop. On the weekend the trains run local for "track work" aka the two day party for track workers. Two weeks ago, I was stuck on the F train for an hour and a half. As usual an "earlier incident" was causing major delays on the F line. I remember stepping onto the train around 5:50 and getting to Queens around 7:30. I think my hair was standing up. I had just got out of hot yoga and was so hungry and exhausted that I was ready to eat and flop-slap an MTA worker (I had no strength in my arms). I met up with my boyfriend, who was also on the same train and immediately cursed out his borough and the damn train system. "Dassit!" I yelled. "I'm fucking done with Queens and the trains. I'm moving out of the city". He then asked me if I wanted to get drinks...and then the rest was history.
I've lived my entire life in Hell's Kitchen and though it wasn't the greatest neighborhood growing up, I admit that living a few blocks from Times Square, the almighty heart of the city, gave me somewhat of a privileged childhood. I never had to worry about coming home late at night. Pharmacies were always open and because my neighbors were white, the area was always taken care of but I think I'm done. I think it's time that I move to somewhere less agitating; somewhere I can keep my blood pressure balanced.
Sometimes I dream of the breeze in my grandparents house in the 'Loma', swirving up through the avocado trees down to the plantation below. Breathing is so much different in the 'Loma'. When you inhale, you feel your lungs expanding, in full capacity with crisp, fresh air. Struggle-free. If you're somewhere in the city, try inhaling and immediately notice how stale the air is. In the city, I can't help but feel like I'm getting jipped when I breathe.
Monday, July 14, 2014
I'm not Crying, I'm Cleansing.
I don't want to feel that I need to 'cleanse' anymore, I want to sit in my spiritual, emotional and digestive shit. Yea. Pretty gross but I'm tired of feeling that in order to see changes within myself, I need to rid my body all the negative energy and physical waste. I'm tired of re-emerging. Every time I go through something, whether it'd be a bad break up, weight gain or sudden mood changes, I go through a body clean up. I start blasting Adele, drink masses of water, enroll in a new class and sweat...ALOT.
This time I'm going to do things differently, I'm going to start listening to my body. I give myself restrictions because I fear that I might over binge or overload but I think I have pretty good discipline. I'm sick of thinking that if I don't control myself, that I'll go crazy. I don't think that is necessarily true. I'm an emotional being but through creative outlets, I've found balance.
I'm really sensitive and trying to hold back the urge to cry when I'm upset is very difficult and when I do, I feel self-defeated like I wasn't strong enough to deal but when I think about all the situations I've been in, crying was one of the best things I did. I realized that it's that last moment, when you blink and nothing follows the last tear. When you're huffing and puffing because you're lungs can no longer stretch at full capacity and your head and sinuses start to pound; knocking sense into you, one beat at a time and like the green line on the monitor, after the heart has been at rest, your mind in chorus screams:
FUCK THIS. FUCK THIS SHIT. FUCK YOU. FUCK EVERYBODY. FUCK THESE SHEETS. FUCK THIS HEAT.
And when you're done cursing out every atom in existence, you go on your way with new self-generated wisdom-- and honestly that is the best type of wisdom. See, the more you listen to all that watered down/ cliche bullshit your friends try to feed you, because they lack experience of their own its like feeding Splenda to your soul.
When my mother speaks and passes me down her advice like recipes, I'm instantly hungry. I realize that I am her solider. When someone breaks my daughter's heart for the very first time, I hope to assemble the pieces together with words my mother recited to me,
A man can never love a woman as much as woman loves a man. You know why? Because women are maternal; the genesis of their existence is nurture and love
Remember that porcelain is fragile but very valuable. A good person will handle it with lots of love and care because they know how much they're worth.
This time I'm going to do things differently, I'm going to start listening to my body. I give myself restrictions because I fear that I might over binge or overload but I think I have pretty good discipline. I'm sick of thinking that if I don't control myself, that I'll go crazy. I don't think that is necessarily true. I'm an emotional being but through creative outlets, I've found balance.
I'm really sensitive and trying to hold back the urge to cry when I'm upset is very difficult and when I do, I feel self-defeated like I wasn't strong enough to deal but when I think about all the situations I've been in, crying was one of the best things I did. I realized that it's that last moment, when you blink and nothing follows the last tear. When you're huffing and puffing because you're lungs can no longer stretch at full capacity and your head and sinuses start to pound; knocking sense into you, one beat at a time and like the green line on the monitor, after the heart has been at rest, your mind in chorus screams:
FUCK THIS. FUCK THIS SHIT. FUCK YOU. FUCK EVERYBODY. FUCK THESE SHEETS. FUCK THIS HEAT.
And when you're done cursing out every atom in existence, you go on your way with new self-generated wisdom-- and honestly that is the best type of wisdom. See, the more you listen to all that watered down/ cliche bullshit your friends try to feed you, because they lack experience of their own its like feeding Splenda to your soul.
When my mother speaks and passes me down her advice like recipes, I'm instantly hungry. I realize that I am her solider. When someone breaks my daughter's heart for the very first time, I hope to assemble the pieces together with words my mother recited to me,
A man can never love a woman as much as woman loves a man. You know why? Because women are maternal; the genesis of their existence is nurture and love
Remember that porcelain is fragile but very valuable. A good person will handle it with lots of love and care because they know how much they're worth.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Seeking the Golden Ratio
I'm tired of aging. Is that possible? I hate that I'm no longer interested in things that I used to love. There was a point where my Nintendo 3DS was my trusty sidekick now I rather at look pins on Pinterest than embarking on another Pokemon quest. I think that I still have hope. I played Super Mario World the other day and was filled with age-less joy so what the hell? Why do I keep finding more streaks of white hair and drinking more red wine? I know that with age, I'm becoming wise, intellectual and eloquent but some part of me wants to remain dumb and naive, knowing that the world will forgive me when I am ignorant. I'm not scared of getting older because I am not afraid of death. Death is not black. It is not breathless. It is not still. It is not cold nor senseless. Death is a period of transition, from one life form to the other. We age and decay because it is the nature of our bodies but I'd like think that our intangible conscious, passing through and though, is always growing and evolving. Like suns, our chemistry is brimming with energy until there is no fuel left. Our bodies will give into gravity and again, like the sun, the molecules and gas that form our collage, spread into the universe. It's nice to know that no matter how selfish our personality may seem, deep down in our pits, the core will always be giving.
I miss writing about being passionate. I miss writing about my goals and future plans. I miss writing about the new paths I've taken and the ones I returned too. I've been in a weird kind of funk lately. I feel as if I'm waiting to have an epiphany again; some sort of realization why my existence is important but why do I constantly have to validate myself; my entire existence. What's wrong with just existing? Because at the end of the day, I want to do more than just breathe. In this city of cells, I want to be the one mutation that changes everything.
My interests are constantly evolving and transitioning from one thing to the other. Karate, writing, art, hurricanes, astronomy and baking are on the top of my interests. Creativity (writing, art and baking), nature (hurricanes and astronomy) and discipline (karate) are all assembled into my genetic code. I've realized any topics, ideas and/or theme among these fields are going to pull me like gravity. When I'm upset, angry, sad or in a clusterfuck of the three, I find myself walking to the Hudson, central park or anything close to scenic. The weird thing is that sometimes it doesn't make me feel better but I feel compelled to be there, like something mechanical diving me there. I fucking think A LOT. About? Everything like... Is Osama really dead? What changes the wind direction every 2-7 years in the Pacific? Why are all my cousins taking booty self-ies on a daily basis? When will weed become legal? Where are the minorities going to go when gentrification starts to spread in other communities? Will there ever be a de-gentrification? Am I going miss my period when I finally hit menopause? IT. NEVER. STOPS. If this makes any sense, sitting in silence by the water or tall green grass makes me feel like if I'm "airing out" my head.
I'm not sure if I'm the only one who does this but sometimes I find myself wishing it was a specific year again. Not because anything significant happened but because I crave the ambiance. Sometimes I wish it was 2004 again. I can't tell you anything special about 2004, besides the fact that it was an election year and Bush won again but in some weird way, I remember feeling 'safe' in all aspects of the word; not able or likely to be hurt or harmed in any way. I remember my head feeling light on the pillow and before and after I closed my eyes, it was just black and nothing else.
I miss writing about being passionate. I miss writing about my goals and future plans. I miss writing about the new paths I've taken and the ones I returned too. I've been in a weird kind of funk lately. I feel as if I'm waiting to have an epiphany again; some sort of realization why my existence is important but why do I constantly have to validate myself; my entire existence. What's wrong with just existing? Because at the end of the day, I want to do more than just breathe. In this city of cells, I want to be the one mutation that changes everything.
My interests are constantly evolving and transitioning from one thing to the other. Karate, writing, art, hurricanes, astronomy and baking are on the top of my interests. Creativity (writing, art and baking), nature (hurricanes and astronomy) and discipline (karate) are all assembled into my genetic code. I've realized any topics, ideas and/or theme among these fields are going to pull me like gravity. When I'm upset, angry, sad or in a clusterfuck of the three, I find myself walking to the Hudson, central park or anything close to scenic. The weird thing is that sometimes it doesn't make me feel better but I feel compelled to be there, like something mechanical diving me there. I fucking think A LOT. About? Everything like... Is Osama really dead? What changes the wind direction every 2-7 years in the Pacific? Why are all my cousins taking booty self-ies on a daily basis? When will weed become legal? Where are the minorities going to go when gentrification starts to spread in other communities? Will there ever be a de-gentrification? Am I going miss my period when I finally hit menopause? IT. NEVER. STOPS. If this makes any sense, sitting in silence by the water or tall green grass makes me feel like if I'm "airing out" my head.
I'm not sure if I'm the only one who does this but sometimes I find myself wishing it was a specific year again. Not because anything significant happened but because I crave the ambiance. Sometimes I wish it was 2004 again. I can't tell you anything special about 2004, besides the fact that it was an election year and Bush won again but in some weird way, I remember feeling 'safe' in all aspects of the word; not able or likely to be hurt or harmed in any way. I remember my head feeling light on the pillow and before and after I closed my eyes, it was just black and nothing else.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Simba, Remember Who You Are...
I haven't posted anything in a while and you know what? I feel irresponsible. Why? Because this blog is my baby. I started it last year because my thoughts, (mostly positive) became overwhelming in my mind. I became nauseous and thanks to this blog, I've been able to barf all the words and ideas that I want with no restrictions and/or filters but still in a poetic and eloquent manner. Eh..poetic maybe eloquent no.
I've been in a weird funk lately. Haven't been able to really pin point it (I cut my sugar intake in half) and I've been feeling pretty down about myself. I built my entire confidence last year from the bottom up, literally. I've been giving myself a few pep talks and I think its back where it used to be but I don't want to be disappointed in myself again.
I signed up for a karate tournament. A world tournament. Lots of Russians. Strong Russians. Shit, I'm fucking terrified. This maybe tmi but every time I think about it, INSTANT DIARRHEA.
A while ago I thought about it and said fuck it, I wanna go on vacation. I don't want to sit on a beach tanning on one leg because the other leg is in a cast. I want my big ol' legs to get as much sun as they can. According to my physician, my vitamin D is "pitifully low". Over the weekend I remembered about my Uchi Deshi blog and how devoted to karate how I was. Shit, I fucking slept, ate, crapped and inhaled karate for 5 weeks. Where's the passion now? It's still there but under this little mask called fear. Once I remembered that, it was like Simba going back to the pride lands. I remembered who I was.
Here I am, training 6 times a week, eating clean (no crash dieting) and enrolling into my jobs insurance plan.
I've been in a weird funk lately. Haven't been able to really pin point it (I cut my sugar intake in half) and I've been feeling pretty down about myself. I built my entire confidence last year from the bottom up, literally. I've been giving myself a few pep talks and I think its back where it used to be but I don't want to be disappointed in myself again.
I signed up for a karate tournament. A world tournament. Lots of Russians. Strong Russians. Shit, I'm fucking terrified. This maybe tmi but every time I think about it, INSTANT DIARRHEA.
A while ago I thought about it and said fuck it, I wanna go on vacation. I don't want to sit on a beach tanning on one leg because the other leg is in a cast. I want my big ol' legs to get as much sun as they can. According to my physician, my vitamin D is "pitifully low". Over the weekend I remembered about my Uchi Deshi blog and how devoted to karate how I was. Shit, I fucking slept, ate, crapped and inhaled karate for 5 weeks. Where's the passion now? It's still there but under this little mask called fear. Once I remembered that, it was like Simba going back to the pride lands. I remembered who I was.
Here I am, training 6 times a week, eating clean (no crash dieting) and enrolling into my jobs insurance plan.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
"I'm on a Diet"
Holy shit it's February. Where the fuck have I been? Well let's see...
I fought in a local tournament, signed up for a tournament in LA, started training for the tournament, was offered a new job, left my old job, started dating, turned 25, finished the school semester, went to LA, fought in the tournament, lost, ate the depression away and somehow decided that I want to start my own organic bakery, so that I can binge on sweets without having to go through another 30 minute scolding session with myself. Also, you could of stopped at 'started dating'. It really does explain everything.
Like practically every being with an abundance of flowing, growing estrogen, I have a love and hate relationship with my body.
I'm proud of my curves!
Why are these jeans tight and then loose at the top?
My boyfriend said my butt is awesome!
My arms...what the fuck happened to my arms?
Since I was a teenager, I've been a workout maniac, trying to build and morph my body into an intangible and unrealistic form of perfection. Why? so that I can lay in a pile of sand, in a bathing suit, for 2 hours with my head tossed back like some no-name Sports Illustrated model. Now I know that no matter how good I look, I will always find something to nit pick at. I guess that came with the whole Eve eating the apple thing—pfft you know what? Screw the whole "Tree of Knowledge" crap. You know why she really chose the apple? Because she was on a diet.
Like most Americans, I'm obsessed with eating, to the point where I eat just to eat and I can really eat. Before I met my boyfriend, I out ate everyone but he, he's on a different level. He puts me to shame. We eat out a lot and I love trying out new restaurants but I can't keep up with the man. He eats like he's ready to bury himself into the ground for 6 months...ALL THE TIME. I loved it in the beginning, trying out all the food, stuffing my face to the point of no return but now 10 pounds later, I'm struggling to get into my coat. This morning, my co-worker bragged how skinny her daughter was and how I would hate standing next to her on a beach.
You want to talk about beaches or bitches? I was smiling but I just wanted to kick her.
The other day I felt miserable. I was sick of eating and my glutenous self. I went to the gym, skipped dinner, had a bowl of cereal and took a nap. Later around midnight, I met up with my boyfriend and went to a pizza shop in Queens where I anticipated having chicken soup. We got there, placed our orders and sat down. I'll admit I was a bit on the edgy side. All I had was the high fiber cereal which I probably crapped out by then. I was hungry. The waiter came back to tell us that they were out of soup. Poor waiter. I gave him the dirtiest look, rubbed my eyeballs with my fingers and refused to order anything. I was in total diva mode. My boyfriend asked me if I wanted pizza. I said no. He looked at me and said "hormones?" I grinded my teeth as I said yes but what I wanted to say was,
You seriously want me eat this pizza? Is there something on my face that you want me to gaze into this grease reflection? Dassit, I refuse to get huge and become you're family's plate for thanksgiving dinner. I thought you loved me. As a matter of fact, take me home where I'll have another bowl of cereal with almond milk. Grease-free.
:/. It was probably hormones. A week before I bitched about not going to a nice dinner. What's wrong with me? I have a inner diva that I've successfully suppressed thorough out my entire life but this month, I think she is trying blind out the sun. She wants to shine.
Sometimes I think it would be easier to slowly teach myself to accept my body for what it is; to be happy with no matter how many curves I gain. Its a work in progress but in the mean time, I'll go back to Insanity, drink green tea, take CLA, and say no to everything with carbs as I cry inside.
I fought in a local tournament, signed up for a tournament in LA, started training for the tournament, was offered a new job, left my old job, started dating, turned 25, finished the school semester, went to LA, fought in the tournament, lost, ate the depression away and somehow decided that I want to start my own organic bakery, so that I can binge on sweets without having to go through another 30 minute scolding session with myself. Also, you could of stopped at 'started dating'. It really does explain everything.
Like practically every being with an abundance of flowing, growing estrogen, I have a love and hate relationship with my body.
I'm proud of my curves!
Why are these jeans tight and then loose at the top?
My boyfriend said my butt is awesome!
My arms...what the fuck happened to my arms?
Since I was a teenager, I've been a workout maniac, trying to build and morph my body into an intangible and unrealistic form of perfection. Why? so that I can lay in a pile of sand, in a bathing suit, for 2 hours with my head tossed back like some no-name Sports Illustrated model. Now I know that no matter how good I look, I will always find something to nit pick at. I guess that came with the whole Eve eating the apple thing—pfft you know what? Screw the whole "Tree of Knowledge" crap. You know why she really chose the apple? Because she was on a diet.
Like most Americans, I'm obsessed with eating, to the point where I eat just to eat and I can really eat. Before I met my boyfriend, I out ate everyone but he, he's on a different level. He puts me to shame. We eat out a lot and I love trying out new restaurants but I can't keep up with the man. He eats like he's ready to bury himself into the ground for 6 months...ALL THE TIME. I loved it in the beginning, trying out all the food, stuffing my face to the point of no return but now 10 pounds later, I'm struggling to get into my coat. This morning, my co-worker bragged how skinny her daughter was and how I would hate standing next to her on a beach.
You want to talk about beaches or bitches? I was smiling but I just wanted to kick her.
The other day I felt miserable. I was sick of eating and my glutenous self. I went to the gym, skipped dinner, had a bowl of cereal and took a nap. Later around midnight, I met up with my boyfriend and went to a pizza shop in Queens where I anticipated having chicken soup. We got there, placed our orders and sat down. I'll admit I was a bit on the edgy side. All I had was the high fiber cereal which I probably crapped out by then. I was hungry. The waiter came back to tell us that they were out of soup. Poor waiter. I gave him the dirtiest look, rubbed my eyeballs with my fingers and refused to order anything. I was in total diva mode. My boyfriend asked me if I wanted pizza. I said no. He looked at me and said "hormones?" I grinded my teeth as I said yes but what I wanted to say was,
You seriously want me eat this pizza? Is there something on my face that you want me to gaze into this grease reflection? Dassit, I refuse to get huge and become you're family's plate for thanksgiving dinner. I thought you loved me. As a matter of fact, take me home where I'll have another bowl of cereal with almond milk. Grease-free.
:/. It was probably hormones. A week before I bitched about not going to a nice dinner. What's wrong with me? I have a inner diva that I've successfully suppressed thorough out my entire life but this month, I think she is trying blind out the sun. She wants to shine.
Sometimes I think it would be easier to slowly teach myself to accept my body for what it is; to be happy with no matter how many curves I gain. Its a work in progress but in the mean time, I'll go back to Insanity, drink green tea, take CLA, and say no to everything with carbs as I cry inside.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Rawr.
Jesus Christ I'm not sure if it's the job or the cold weather but I'm a bitter fuck. Oh wait...I just started a Raw Vegan diet. That explains everything.
About a month ago, I started working for a city agency and became the Deputy Director for the agency's hotline. I used to work here before but as a Resource Specialist which is just a formal way of saying "Bitch who answers the phone". I started about the middle of 09' and quit around December of
2010 to embark on a 5 week uchi deshi training. Everyone was extremely confused. They thought I was going to defend myself from a group of bullies by training karate in a handyman's backyard.
Now I'm back at the agency, practically an uchi deshi again (I'm at the dojo at least 4-5 times a week) but now with mo' powah. I was excited when I found out that I had landed the job but I have to be honest, I just wanted to be selfish, young and stupid. I was already happy, working part-time, going to school and doing karate. I knew it was a great opportunity but I knew I was going to have to make some sacrifices. I took the job because I knew that my mother would be proud of me. I wanted to make her feel grateful for every ounce of sweat and I wanted her to be proud of her investment.
So here I am, a month later, stressed, trying to keep my eye lids above the halfway mark and itching for another coffee break. I'm fighting the temptation not for the sake of the raw vegan diet (there was no way I was giving up coffee) but because there is no sugar, spoons or coffee stirrers in the kitchen...EVER. Now every day, someone takes the time and brews about 8 cups of coffee for everyone in the office but there is no milk, creamer, sugar, napkins to add and mix it with.
Looking to mix something with your coffee? Use your finger bitch.
I'm sorry but I find the whole thing disrespectful and I refuse to grow accustomed to black coffee because the agency refuses to spend it's change on complimentary coffee items. I mentally flipping off all of you.
About a month ago, I started working for a city agency and became the Deputy Director for the agency's hotline. I used to work here before but as a Resource Specialist which is just a formal way of saying "Bitch who answers the phone". I started about the middle of 09' and quit around December of
2010 to embark on a 5 week uchi deshi training. Everyone was extremely confused. They thought I was going to defend myself from a group of bullies by training karate in a handyman's backyard.
Now I'm back at the agency, practically an uchi deshi again (I'm at the dojo at least 4-5 times a week) but now with mo' powah. I was excited when I found out that I had landed the job but I have to be honest, I just wanted to be selfish, young and stupid. I was already happy, working part-time, going to school and doing karate. I knew it was a great opportunity but I knew I was going to have to make some sacrifices. I took the job because I knew that my mother would be proud of me. I wanted to make her feel grateful for every ounce of sweat and I wanted her to be proud of her investment.
So here I am, a month later, stressed, trying to keep my eye lids above the halfway mark and itching for another coffee break. I'm fighting the temptation not for the sake of the raw vegan diet (there was no way I was giving up coffee) but because there is no sugar, spoons or coffee stirrers in the kitchen...EVER. Now every day, someone takes the time and brews about 8 cups of coffee for everyone in the office but there is no milk, creamer, sugar, napkins to add and mix it with.
Looking to mix something with your coffee? Use your finger bitch.
I'm sorry but I find the whole thing disrespectful and I refuse to grow accustomed to black coffee because the agency refuses to spend it's change on complimentary coffee items. I mentally flipping off all of you.
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