The Color Of Hunger

Posts Tagged ‘Spokane

Driving has always been a struggle for me. Not so much skill-wise, but more of a faulty equipment-wise battle. I love my car, don’t get me wrong. First car, convertible, decent gas mileage, 134,000 current miles, nice AUX radio for the Ipad. It’s just…broken. And I think it always will be. Anytime I get ahead of the game and manage to go without an inconvenience for a few months, something huge goes down to make up for it. It never fails.
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For example, last year’s July was a motherfucking motherfucker. One day, I walk out of the apartment to find the contents of MY ENTIRE oil tank in a massive black puddle under my car. New oil sending unit – 100 bucks. Not even a week later, my power steering cuts out, my radiator fluid’s leaking, and my car overheats for no apparent reason. “I did nothing to deserve this! Why?!” (I ask myself this often, but always end up with mixed results. Karma’s a confusing bitch sometimes man.) Despite my frustration, I signed shit and got it fixed. A good grand, just POOF, out of my bank account.
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I’ve had a lot of shit happen between now and then. I made a snazzy little list (below) covering just the key mechanical issues (there’s a bunch not there, believe me) I’ve had to get worked on since I bought my Lebaron back in August of  2010.
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My most recent dilemma was Saturday evening on my way home from work. I’m climbing up High Drive and suddenly, I’m shaking. Like a violent side-to-side wobble, specifically on my front end. This scares the shit out of me so I immediately pull over to the curb.
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I’ve felt this feeling before when my back brakes went out last winter and my driver’s rear tire came loose, rolling beside me as sparks were flying from the pavement/axle contact. Having one of your tires come off while driving is the scariest fucking thing ever. I shit you not. Anything remotely close to a weird sound now and I’m paranoid. Music knob goes counter-clockwise, every single dashboard icon is scanned for even a hint of light. This feeling sucks and will always be in the back of my mind without me being able to help it.
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Anywho, back to Saturday, I get out of the car, nervous as fuck and do a walk around. Obviously, I don’t find anything. I really don’t know what I’m looking for in the first place to be honest. Haha. I get back in. Get back on the road. 10-20-30. More wobbles. I notice right around 35 is where the trigger point is, and anything under, I’m perfectly fine. WTF!!! At this point, I’m thinking, hey atleast we live a block down from Les Schwab. Which is of course where I’m headed. Which is of course closed on Saturdays after 5. (It was 5:11 pm when I pulled into their parking lot.) Fuck my life.
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Long story short, I brought it in today (Sundays are closed as well, so I had to wait two looong days for a diagnosis) to a guy named Isiah. Nice dude! Totally thorough in explaining to me what he found in ‘non-mechanical’ terms because I am by far the most mechanically backward person you’ll meet. He told me my front brakes were almost metal to metal and that the driver’s side axle was leaking grease at a rapid rate and had been for quite some time. He also said I was close to rubbing the driver’s tire raw because of the lack of grease, which would have resulted in it coming loose. Flashbacks. Nasty, nasty flashbacks.
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A paycheck later, my car is once again temporarily ‘fixed’. Fuck this shit tho, I absolutely hate sinking my money into something I know is a lost cause in the end. So therefore, I’m forcing myself to look for a new rig. Preferably one I’d make payments on. Off a lot. Which scares me because the whole idea of debt scares me. But it must be done. My advice to you; DO NOT RESPOND TO A CRAIGSLIST AD WITH PICTURES OF A RED 95′ CHRYSLER LEBARON. I’m saving you thousands of dollars, trust me.

MY RAP SHEET (STARTING WITH THE LATEST MESS)

6/25/2012 – $558.76 – Front Brakes (Rotors, Calipers, Disc Pads, Axle)

5/8/2012 – $47.10 – Oil Change

11/22/2011 – $24.62 – Oil Change

8/22/2011 – $265.01 – Cooling Fan Motor & Relay

7/11/2011 – $746.84 – Timing Belt, Water Pump, & Upper Radiator Hose

7/6/2011 – $236.84 – Power Steering Pressure & Switch

7/2/2011 – $100.75 – Oil Sending Unit

4/18/2011 – $31.29 – Oil Change

3/29/2011 – $260.60 – Snow Tires & Install

1/26/2011 – $54.57 – Oil Change & Flat Repair

1/6/2011 – $990.43 – Rear Brakes (Drums, Bearings, Rotors, Spindles, Hubs)

12/8/2010 – $135.87 – Driver’s Window Replacement

Total Expenses – $3,452.68

Wow. Today my blog has reached the 1,000 views milestone. This, is pretty fucking awesome considering I write about only once a month. And when I do it’s usually nonsense. Like that last sentence. And this one. And this one as well. Haha.

Hmmm, what’s new in my life? Absolutely nothing. Haha, just kidding. About a month ago I purchased my very first car. A red 1995 Chrysler LeBaron convertible. 118,500 miles. $2,300 cash.

I LOVE IT.


On the 20th of August, my two best friends and I took a road trip down to Oregon to visit a friend of ours who’s gonna be a freshman this year at Portland State University. Was the funniest trip EVER.


Saturday morning, we rode the MAX down to the street markets taking place in the heart of downtown Portland. It’s rather strange how the bigger the city gets, the meaner the people become. Everybody is always in everybody else’s way. All the time. And then you got SO many different personalities. The artists, the pessimists, the shy people, the confident. It’s incredible.


There was this artist on one of the corners who drew all of her pictures with numbers. Millions of different sizes of numbers. All blended together to create one huge image. It reminded me of pixels on a TV. I can only imagine how patient/dedicated/passionate you’d hafta be to finish just ONE of her pieces. The creativity behind ’em was very inspiring.


Sunday afternoon, we headed out to Cannon Beach. I cannot describe in words how fucking awesome it is to drive the 101 in a convertible. The weather couldn’t have been better either. When we got to the beach it was low 80’s with no wind and clear skies as far as the eye could see. The sun made the humidity almost unnoticeable. The ocean was still hella cold tho. HELLA cold. But that didn’t stop us from getting in. Of course not, duh.


Halibut was dinner, salt water taffy was dessert. After the sun disappeared, we grabbed sleeping bags from the trunk and slept right on the sand. Under hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of shiny white stars. T’was amazing. You know those moments in life where time is no longer a factor and nothing troublesome exists anymore, nothing bad can happen anywhere remotely close to where you are? Hakuna matata? Well, that night was my moment. Replay it a thousand times and it STILL would be just as exciting as the first.


However, all good things must come to an end. Mr. Reality must return sometime, right? Haha. So we took a final stroll down the beach and headed home. Eastbound Spokane, 350 miles. Amen.

=]

It’s hot. Even with the windows open, it’s gotta be 80 somethin’ degrees in here. Eleven o’clock at night and I’m lying in bed with my Gonzaga boxers and a gray sports bra. And I’m sweating. Not the oh-it’s-rather-warm-in-here-sweaty. More like droplets-of-bodily-fluids-are-forming-kiddie-pools-in-the-crack-of-my-ass-sweaty. It’s yucky. Sticky nights being one of the ugliers of summer livin’. I’m in desperate need of a fan at this point, but too lazy and hot to get up and go get one. I wish my little space heater was capable of spitting out warm air and cold. And included a mini-mister inside of it. So not only would I be cool, but also misty. And unsweaty. Thad be nice.

Sis and I went to the air show at Fairchild AFB today. Skyfest 2010. It was awesome. Always is. The Thunderbirds never fail to amaze me. Flying that close to each other’s planes in perfect formation more than a thousand feet up in the air is mind-blowing. (It was incredibly hot out on the tarmac though. I believe the high of the day was 95 degrees. I’m burnt all down my shoulders and across my forehead. Suppose I don’t really mind much, so long as I’m getting some kind of color besides white.) All the flyboys look so damn attractive in their uniforms. All tan and clean and tall and fit. And tan. I mean, to be wearing a faded green jumpsuit with one long zipper on the front of it, and still be able to pull off sexy? God bless the military.

I’m always shocked at how many fat people show up to things like Skyfest. I guess they’re everywhere, but public events make it painfully obvious as to how overweight America really is. Obesity is almost a disease. Everywhere you look, there’s pregnant men. I had to restrain myself from asking a younger dude who was inhaling the massive burger he’d just ordered if it was a boy or a girl. This guy was prolly just shy of 30 and at least 400 pounds. At least. He had this tight black wife beater on with a pair of even tighter jean shorts. Way too tight for a figure like his. Apparently, appearance didn’t seem like too high of a priority for him. That, along with health.

When yer that big, sympathy can only get you so far in my book. I may not know the reason behind yer present health condition or what type of diabetes you currently have or how stressful yer personal living is. But I sure as shit know that ordering the largest burger on the menu with the largest basket of fries and a 32 oz. Coke isn’t listed on the “Steps To A Better Life” checklist. Especially when that food is gone in under five minutes flat.

Seriously, have you ever watched a fat person eat? It’s like witnessing a lion having its first meal after three days of not having one. (Maybe lion is too flattering here. Boar, or maybe, walrus might be more in the ballpark.)  Lift, bite, swallow, repeat. Chewing is overrated when hunger strikes this hard. It’s disgusting. And quite sad. And half the time, I don’t think they realize how poor they’re eating habits are. A Grand Slam here, pretzel at noon, two hot dogs for lunch, a couple leftover doughnuts from breakfast for dessert, buffet time an hour later, a bag of Doritos before bed. And so on and so forth. (That may be a bit of an exaggerated example, but it’s for the sake of making a point.) Eventually that shit’s gonna catch up. And when it does, it’s gonna be a lot harder to get off than it was to put on. And a lot less fun too.

Well, enough with the fat people topic. I am now officially a hostess for a fine dining restaurant at a casino/hotel. Masselow’s inside the Northern Quest Casino And Resort. I like it. It’s good. I’m considered an ‘ununiformed team member’, meaning I get to come to work in my own clothes with the only requirement being black shoes. Which is pretty sweet. The people I work with are awesome, along with all the happy customers that come in. On an average night (4pm-10), twenty to thirty people usually walk in. Include the reservations (if any), and yer up to thirty to forty. However, I’ve noticed we’re very inconsistent with this customer count number. Last Monday was miserable with a grand total of sixteen people, while Thursday was almost fifty plus without a single reservation.

I wish I got tipped though. Every other hostess in all eight restaurants of the casino has a dip in the tip pool. I’m not sure why Masselow’s doesn’t include themselves in this, but they don’t. It sucks because I know for a fact my servers are walkin’ out of there with 100+ bucks in their pocket. If not more. I haven’t figured out yet if making $8.89 without any extra incentive (besides the free meal) is worth sticking around for.

Boredom without the ability to sit down is what absolutely kills me. I’ll stand at my little podium for eight hours straight (minus a half hour lunch break) and by the time I get done, my heels are almost unbearable to walk on. It sucks. I even bought some of those gel sole thingys, the nice ones too, the Dr. Scholl’s kind. (My feet still bug me, but it does help considerably.) Usually I’ll doodle or read or surrender to newspaper sudoku. That shit’s addicting and does a damn good job of making the time go by fast. Plus, it keeps my mind off my feet.

I think the worst part of my job, worse than the boredom, worse than the sore feet, worse than not getting tipped, is the amount of ass I hafta kiss. All the big wigs come in with all their big wig buddies and look at me like I’m retarded when I put their napkins on their laps. It’s part of my job; it’s what I’m required to do. Usually the guys will do it themselves. And sometimes they don’t.

I had a businessman the other morning; all dressed up in a nice pinstriped suit and polished shoes. He pulled out his chair and set his napkin down before I had a chance to do either. “Yer doin’ my job for me, I like it!” I said this is in the friendliest way possible. I really did. He shifts his weight to the side and gives me a pity laugh before rudely saying “I wouldn’t want YER job.” It made me smile as I walked back up to the podium. Because I’m thinkin’ to myself in all honesty….likewise buddy, likewise.

I hate these days where I wanna write so bad, but have no idea what I should write about. I’ll bounce possible topics around inside my head trying to at least get a genre going. Maybe I’ll go funny this time, maybe serious. Perhaps fiction, perhaps non. Happy? Sad? Both? But nothing seems to satisfy. Or if it does, it makes no sense once it gets to the paper.

It’s like my brain is a giant microwave with a faulty door. And there’s this fresh bag of yummy popcorn inside of it. Of course, in order to achieve that ‘yummy’ factor, my popcorn can only be left in the microwave a certain number of minutes. But sometimes the door gets jammed and rescue is impossible. So my popcorn burns and blackens and eventually has to be thrown away. And all I can do is watch.

I suppose I’ll just write about what’s on my mind today. (Take a journalistic route this morning instead of my regular creative one.) It’s Saturday. I’m currently sitting on a bench outside the plaza waiting for the Cheney bus. Zone 9. The sun’s actually out, which makes me happy. The past couple of days have been pretty ugly weather-wise and it’s nice to be in the 60’s for a change. Haha, I just said ‘pretty ugly’ and you didn’t even notice.

People watching is always incredibly entertaining to me when at the plaza. Although I’m leaning more towards people staring at this point. There’s always this group of socially awkward individuals who sit together on the green benches in front of the City Perk. (The City Perk is the little coffee shop inside the plaza.) I honestly think they consider this their hang-out spot. I never see any of ’em catch a bus and as the day progresses, their group seems to expand by like twenty people every hour. By the time the sun goes down, clusters of retards are swarming the place. It’s a freak fest and apparently everyone in Spokane County is invited. Haha. Shit, if we’re this bad, I can only imagine what the bigger cities entail. Seattle, Los Angeles, Chicago? Yikes.

The City Perk has these awesome drinks I tried for the first time about a month ago. They’re called Red Bull sodas. Everything about them is delicious. Red Bull+your choice of Italian soda flavoring+whip cream+some sort of sweetening cream. It’s so simple, yet so full of awesomeness. Plus, it’s only $3.25 for a 32 oz.

Went to my best friend, Bree’s, graduation last night at EWU. Cheney High School – Class Of 2010. Wasn’t as bad as I thought it was gonna be. Usually I hate going to events where everybody and their mom knows who I am. It always leads to questions having to do with my future and that’s never good cuz not even I know the answers to those questions. You in college? Why not? Are you gonna be? When? Ugh.

Yes, at some point in my life I am going to enroll in school. May not be this fall, or the next one, or the one after that, but mark my words, it will happen. The only thing stopping me at this point is the money. I guess I wanna be able to pay for my tuition up front without having to take out a loan or rely on grants and scholarship money. If I had a million bucks, I’d register for classes within the hour. But I don’t, so I’m not. Haha.

{I will miss this so very much.}
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Smiles glisten in distorted reflections of table silverware.
Wavy faces trapped under reddish diner lights.
Curvy at the base. Spiraled at the ends.
Getting lost in casual till conversations; savoring them as they unfold.
Kissing ass, but keeping pride.
These lips have standards.
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Concocting milkshakes, decaf on that coffee, green light – GO.
Lipstick remains on empty Coke glasses.
Pouring water just because.
No rebound this time, better luck next.
Feet cast beneath spells of increasing tempo and movement.
Toes loaded with wave after wave of momentum.
The flow of….energy.
Quick….moving….then quick again.
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Looking forward to work.
Grease stains mark accomplishment.
Dirty aprons not to be frowned upon.
Feeding off invisible heat from the fryer.
And the grill.
And….the people.
You get what you give.
So give good.
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Good morning, Mr. Sunday, how lovely you are today.
The door now becomes the alarm clock.
Stuck at a constant – in, out, out, in.
The good kind though, the purest form.
The sound of….happy.
The feeling of….alive.
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{I am was content here.}

I hate mornings with a passion. A PASSION. Waking up too late is always too early. Especially when I get to that point where under my blankets is like fifty times warmer than the air temperature in my room. I love getting to that point. I haven’t gotten up to see single digits on my alarm clock in three weeks because of that point. Which is why today was a major exception.

Last night, I found a job posting on Craigslist that I considered actually worth taking a shot at. A deli server at this mexican restaurant on Riverside Street called DeLeon Deli. Not even two blocks from the plaza, this place would be the perfect place to work. I could board basically any bus in Spokane, anywhere, and end up at work within the hour. Sweet, I thought to myself, hopping on the 65 from Cheney. This trip downtown may actually have a purpose for me this time. Haha, if only I knew.

I actually enjoy riding the bus. Most people bitch about the creepy bums, or the nauseating smells, or the fact that the bus is always late to their stop, but I like all that stuff. (K, maybe not the smells, I’ll pass on those.) To me, it’s all part of the ride. I put on my headphones and can go on 8-hour binges of random bus routes without getting the slightest urge of boredom. Every person that gets on has a different song, too. I’ll pride myself on finding that song.

It’s almost like a game. The fatter the person, the more instrumental the beat gets. The more facial hair a guy has, the more classic rock sound the song will have. Every now and again, I’ll get a young mom with like ten kids at her side, nine of them in strollers. I’ve found that sad songs work best here, “Scar Tissue” being a family favorite. I don’t consider myself to be passing judgement, and you shouldn’t either. I just have fun analyzing personalities before I actually get a chance to meet that person. It’s entertainment. Plus, it’s free.

I end up getting downtown about noon-thirty. Finding Riverside Street was easy and finding the deli was even easier. Resume in hand, I walk into the Heroes And Legends section of the building and ask the young bartender that was currently on duty if this was the right place to get an application. She half-heartedly reached under the counter and handed me one without changing her facial expression or saying a single word. Whatever, I’m thinking to myself, maybe she’s had a rough start today or something. Who knows.

I sit down, start filling this thing out, get to about the fifth letter in my name, and lo and behold, my wonderful pen runs out of ink. Shit. My mind automatically starts planning Plan B – the bartender lady has to have another pen I can borrow. Actually, I know for a fact I spotted some on the far corner by the cash register when first coming in here. So I ask her politely, making an extra effort to apologize for ‘my little inconvenience’. She rudely interrupts me before I have a chance to even finish my sentence, preaching about how when job hunters go job hunting they should be prepared. Then proudly adds that her lovely deli is no exception to this.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on,” I explain to her, laughing a little on purpose to try and ease the tension. “I did come prepared, my pen just ran out of ink.” Apparently, she didn’t find this situation as humorous as I did. “Well that’s not my problem, is it?” I couldn’t believe it. She then disappeared behind the bar in a hurry, telling me she had customers to tend to. (I saw two men in the entire restaurant, maybe three.)

Jesus. H. Christ. It’s not like I’m trying to buy the bar from you, woman. Although at this point I think I would, just so I’d have the power to control who gets hired here and who doesn’t. (Hmm, guess who’d be the first to go?) It’s a pen. How hard is it to take ten seconds out of your incredibly busy schedule (*cough*, sarcasm, *cough cough*) and provide me with a writing utensil that’s sitting not even five feet away from you? Seriously? Were you really that set on teaching me a lesson? Boy did you show me. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat for at least a month now, I feel so guilty. Pshh. Please.

Frustrated and tired of pretending to play nice with my friend at the bar, I stuffed the blank piece of paper in the deepest part of my backpack and left DeLeon Deli with no intention of returning my application. I know jobs are far and few between these days, but the whole ‘customer is always right’ concept is still ranked pretty high in my book. Even if the customer happens to be a potential future employee.

I’m not a person who gets fired up that easily, either. Patience is usually one of my better characteristics and I often use it to my advantage. However, there was something about the tone she used that got to me. Almost as if I were the lesser being in her eyes; like she’s on some sort of higher pedal stool in life just because she started a career and I’m looking for one. Which I find to be rather funny. I mean, come on now. She knows damn well that she had to go through the same job finding shit that I’m currently experiencing. Everybody has to start somewhere.

I guess it’s for the better though, right? Hell, maybe I would have got shot in a robbery working at this place, so God made the bartender go into ‘bitch mode’ for a few minutes, knowing I wouldn’t come back with an application because of it. Or maybe I’m overlooking the fact that I’m just another stubborn 18 year old who thinks too much about things and can’t get a job to save her life. Whatever it is, I can’t explain it, so I won’t try to. Wish me luck on tomorrow’s pre-planned adventure. Destination McDonalds. Haha, just kidding. I’m not that desperate. Yet.


Spokane, WA. 26 years young. Aquarius, of course. I am a very optimistic individual driven by passion and creativity. Music is my inspiration to everything. I dig the nightlife. I enjoy discovering new craft beers and breweries. I like animals more than humans. The ocean is amazing. I have no idea what I wanna do with my life and prolly never will. But I'm going to succeed because I'm crazy enough to think I can.
April 2017
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