Restaurant

All the children of the world!!!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

My first real waiting tables job was at Bennigan’s in Atlanta.

At some point during my couple of years there, I decided to try and get a better waiting tables job.

One of my best friends was working at the famous Peasant restaurants and suggested I my try one of their more casual locations.

I applied.

I got hired.

I didn’t stay long. Fine dining lunch was not for me. And to make matters worse, you had to memorize the menu details. I’m sure none of you would be expecting anything less.

However, the menu was handwritten on a small chalkboard with just the items. Part of the schtick was dropping the chalkboard on the table and then spending the next ten minutes, reciting from memory, the details of the menu.

Most of the people who dined there for lunch had eaten there before. But they loved to ask you to recite away. Ten minutes in, you were still talking and the weeds were flourishing in your section.

This brings me back to the day I got hired. I’m in the dining room, and am meeting with a manager. It is between lunch and dinner.

We go through the interview, I answer all the questions, discuss my availability, etc.

She then says, so I’d like to offer you the job, but I will tell you before you accept that we have a very diverse staff. We have white, black, Asian, and some of our staff is gay. I want to know that you’ll be comfortable with that.

I laughed quietly to myself. She thought I was straight.

How sweet.

I assured her that I’d be fine with the staff, and was excited to get started.

I worked there two weeks after training, gave my notice and never went back.

Fine dining was just not for me.

A weekend in the country, would be charming, and the air would be fresh.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s the third weekend in July.  

That means it’s the weekend of the Yarmouth Clam Festival.  

That means it’s just six weeks till Labor Day Weekend.  

It means that we are half way through the summer season in Maine.  

And it also means it’s Camper’s Weekend.  

AHHHHHHH.  

That was a chorus of angels singing.  

What is Camper’s Weekend you ask?  

Well.  

Let me tell you.  

There are around 150 summer camps in Maine.

Many of these camps are sleep-away camps.  

Many of these camps welcome kids for several weeks at a time.  

And most of these camps DON’T allow visitors on the regular.  

So.  

One weekend, in the middle of the summer, these camps open their gates and allow parents to visit.  

And that one weekend is the third weekend in July.  

July 19 and 20, 2024. 

And why is any of this important?  

Well.  

Summer camp in Maine is NOT for working class folk. 

For the most part.  

There are subsidies and scholarships if you are a middle class and poor.  

For most of these kids their parents are wealthy.  

Very.

Wealthy.

And I do mean VERY wealthy.

People, from all over the country, ship their kids to Maine for the summer.  

And on the third week of July, these wealthy parents descend on Maine, to visit their offspring.  

And these wealthy, wealthy, stupidly rich people can be very amazing. 

Very sweet.  Handing out money to anyone they come in contact with.   

But far too many of them come to Maine, and they eat in our restaurants, and they are HORRIBLE.  

But how are they horrible you ask?  

Well.

Let me tell you.

First of all, every restaurant in town is booked months out.  

Completely booked.  

But that doesn’t deter these folks.  

They call repeatedly. 

They threaten.

Do you know who I am?

They have their assistant’s call.  

Do we know who they are? 

And these folks, finally get reservations.  

At their first, second, third, fourth choices.  

Yes, they make lots and lots of reservations.  

Leaving it up to fate, luck, and what others are doing as to what reservation they will keep.  

If they keep them.  

Today we had 23 cancellations.  

Most of which were in the last 24 hours.  

About ten of them were after service started tonight.  

We were significantly less busy, even though on paper we should have been crazy.  

But that’s the good part. 

The bad part is how a lot of these folks act when they walk through the doors.  

On Friday night, not one table sat where I had them scheduled to sit.  They walked in.  Looked around and then told me where they were sitting.  

I’m not sitting at a high top.

I’m not sitting at the counter.  

I’d like that corner table in the window that seats six, even though we are just four.  

I’m not sitting on the patio.  

I know I booked a regular table, but there is a lovely table on the patio and we’ll sit there.  

None of these things could happen.  

 A party of four would show up with six, and say, we’ll squeeze, until they realized that wasn’t an option.  

A party of 10 took 75 minutes to be complete last night.   The first guests sat at 5:15,  the last guests arrive at 6:40.  

They let their children run wild.  And I do mean wild.  I watched an 8-year-old, it was his birthday, run into different servers for 90 minutes. 

They are also all gluten free, organic, vegan, dairy-free, probiotic, paleo, pescatarians, who are allergic to black pepper, allium, mollusks.  However, they are gluten free, not celiac, so if you use the fryer that’s okay.  

And ALL, and I mean ALL of their phone numbers originate in New York City and its suburbs.  

Something an employee pointed out last night, is that for the most part, they don’t really enjoy food.  They are quick to order a burger, a pizza, or salad.  Most are not venturing in to seafood, especially raw seafood.  Steaks are preferred medium well.  

And more than anything, they don’t like to be told no.  In fact, they don’t take no for an answer.  

Like never.  

It goes back to do you know who I am?  Do you know who I work for?  Do you know how much I am worth? 

I can buy and sell you!!! 

Friday night, was the worst shift I have had at my new restaurants.  

The host working next to me, kept saying, you’ve got to be kidding me?

Do you have a kids menu? 

No.  

Do you have child friendly food?  

I don’t know what that means.  

Do you have chicken fingers?

No.  

Pasta?

No.

Spaghetti?

No (Spaghetti is pasta). 

How about grilled chicken? 

No.  

How about pizza?

Yes, we have pizza.

Is it gluten free?

Yes.  

That might work.  

This is a conversation I had at the host stand.  Long before they were seated or spoke to their server.  

If you live in Maine, you know it’s coming.  You can’t take the weekend off like we used to do in NYC for Fleet Week.  Or Easter Weekend or any of the other horrible days.  

We all suck it up, take a deep breath and take it like a man.  

I do have to say, that this weekend, this year, was every weekend last year, and the two summers prior. 

So, I really shouldn’t be complaining.  

But I think it’s important to share the fun.  

And, every restaurant in town does well this weekend.  

And by this time tomorrow, every family will be headed back to NYC and we won’t see them again till the third week of July, 2025.  

And I will be sitting in my underwear, drinking Buffalo Trace, which Adam found in the grocery store today, grateful the weekend is over, but also grateful, that it was another banner Camper’s Weekend.  

I’m not scared to be seen, I make no apologies, this is me

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Gay Pride Edition!

A friend posted my favorite clip from the TV show True Blood today.

You can view it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7l-VVxCLo8

Whenever I see things like this, it reminds me of the decades of my life spent in the service industry.

This one brought back a very specific memory.

In the mid 90’s, I worked at an Italian restaurant, and I use the word Italian loosely, called The Italian Oven. My ex-boyfriend, Jim got me the job there, after I may or may not have walked out of a job at O’Charley’s, after a substitute manager, filling in for a pregnant manager I loved, yelled at me.

I find myself at The Italian Oven. It has black and white checkered plastic table cloths. The table cloths are covered with white craft paper. When you approach the table, you introduce yourself by name and write your name upside down in crayon on the table cloth. It never ceased to WOW the audience.

Fun fact. It takes about 22 seconds to learn to do this when your name only has 3 different letters.

It was a wood fired restaurant, that served mostly pizzas, calzones, and pastas. The food was remarkably not bad, and it’s where I learned to love tiramisu. We had a beer and liquor license and were very busy most nights. I made a comfortable living there, and had a good time most nights.

It’s funny, that I only remember a couple of people from there, so it didn’t make a huge impact on me, and I remember no one’s name but Jim’s.

What I do remember, is that one Saturday afternoon, toward the end of the lunch rush, a table of five arrives, and are seated in the far back right corner of the restaurant.

The server approaches the table.

I don’t remember his name. I can see his face. I can hear his voice. And he was fun to work with.

The one thing that I do remember is that he was gay. Undeniably gay.

The kind of gay, that when he opened his mouth, a purse fell out.

(We said these things back in the 80’s and 90’s).

He was also kind, and lovely, and the best server in the restaurant.

If I remember correctly, he was the person who trained me.

He approaches the table, introduces himself, writes his name on the table, and is responded to with the following:

You gay?

What?

Are you gay?

What?

We don’t want no gay person waiting on us, get us a new server!!!

I’m in the kitchen with a couple of other servers, and the very straight, very redneck, very religious manager who was on duty. We’ll pretend his name is Robert, which I think it was.

He says, Hey Robert, table 43 has told me they need a new server, because and I quote, they don’t want no gay server waiting on them.

They may have used the “f” word. I don’t remember.

Robert wants to know if he heard them correctly.

He is assured that he heard them loud and clear.

Robert says, I’ll be right back.

He might as well have said, hold my beer.

He goes to the table and says, excuse me, I hear that you have a problem with your server?

They reply, yeah we don’t want no gay person waiting on us.

Robert says, well I don’t know what to tell you all my servers are gay.

They question him.

He says, yes, we only hire gay servers here.

They then ask, if he can wait on them.

He replies, well yes, I can wait on you. I do wait tables from time to time, but I’m gay too, so I don’t know what to tell you.

They hem and haw and eventually realize what is happening.

He says, if you don’t mind a queer manager waiting on you, I’ll be glad to get you some food.

Instead, they gather their belongings and leave.

And I’ve never been happier to work for a redneck, conservative, Christian manager.

Give it to me quick. Or drop it in a dish.  Slip it in my pocket, I won’t mind that a bit.  Leave it on the table, I know just where you sit, don’t you bother come back if you haven’t left a tip.  

/ fightmasterwrites / 1 Comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I haven’t posted a real restaurant post in a while.

So here goes.  

I may have written about this, but it was two years ago, so hopefully if I did you don’t remember it. 

Tonight, on the Facebook, a friend posted that she didn’t like dining out with friends who give the waiter a hard time.  

One of her friends commented that she wouldn’t even send something back if it came out wrong.  And said she’d ordered a burger medium well, it came out mooing so she ate her fries and left the burger.  

First and foremost, you should never be afraid to send something back.  Restaurants get it wrong.  We know this.  We undercook or overcook a steak.  We forget that the dressing is supposed to be on the side.  We miss the note that you wanted no onion and tomato and you get the whole set up. 

These things happen.  

Just politely call your server over, explain the problem and know that it will be a minute before you get what you wanted.  The key is to not be an asshole.  But always, always, get what you ordered.  We want that.  It’s fundamental to who we are.  If the restaurant gives you a hard time, it says more about their hospitality program than you.  

That being said, also remember that sometimes you make the mistake.  You ordered the chicken when you meant the steak.  You forgot the dressing on the side.  You ordered pinot noir when you meant pinot grigio.  

So always own that as well. 

So.  

Two years ago, this fall, I went home to Kentucky for the first time since my mom died.  2018 – 2022.  

I saw the relatives.  I saw friends.  

I visited my Aunt Doo in her nursing home, picked her up and took her to Jim’s Seafood in Frankfort, Kentucky.  It has beautiful views of the water, and serves up the best fried frozen food in the area.  It was her favorite restaurant.   Adam and I love it, as who doesn’t love fried food.  

My aunt order fried banana peppers, and even got an order to go when we left to take back to the nursing home. 

We spent the afternoon laughing, and after lunch we drove around looking at the beautiful Kentucky countryside. 

When we got back to the nursing home, she begged me not to take her back to jail.  She laughed.  I laughed.  We all laughed.  

I got her back to her room.  Said goodbye and that I’d see her tomorrow for lunch again.  

At 7:00 a.m. the next morning, I received a call that my Aunt Doo had died in her sleep, overnight.  

I like to think she was holding on till I got home as it had been four years since I’d seen her.  We were super close, and I was one of a few people who remembered to call her on her birthday, and send her flowers.  

Adam is convinced the fried banana peppers killed her.  He also was the last to hug her when we left.  He was touched that she wanted to hug him.  She’d accepted him into our family from the very beginning. When we chatted on the phone she always asked about him, something my mother never did.  

That morning, after we gathered at the nursing home to say our goodbyes, my Aunt Debbie, Adam, and I went for a late breakfast at the Cracker Barrell.  It was my idea, as I wanted breakfast, it was close by and we just needed some place to unpack the previous 24 hours.  

We get there, are seated, and order breakfast.  

The server is cute as a button, and very sweet.  You can tell she is new, and a little nervous.  We’ve all been there, and didn’t think anything of it.  

Our food took a while, enough that we were starting to comment on it, but once again, we only noticed because we were hungry, not because we were impatient.  

Finally, the food is carried out of the kitchen.  In fact, like 12 people come out of the kitchen at the same time, all carrying food. 

The food is placed on the table. 

It takes about 90 seconds to realize this is not what we ordered.  It’s kind of what we ordered.  But not really what we ordered.  

We look across the dining room and realize that our order, and the table across from us have had parts of our orders mixed up.  

We decide to go with it.  We don’t expect them to recook two orders.  We are hungry.  And so, we eat.  

The manager comes by to apologize and we assure her that all is well.  We are hungry.  The food is good.  And none of that is a lie.  

We finish eating.  Drink our 5th cup of coffee.  And we realize that we need to get on with our days. 

We ask for the check.  

The server brings it over, and we realize that it is not what we ordered.  It’s not what we ate.  It’s an entirely different check.  

And I said fuck it, we are not giving the new girl a hard time.  

And I paid the check.  And I tipped 25%.  

And we all went to the parking lot, where we hugged extra hard, and extra loving.  Said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.  

So, to summarize.  

We ordered food.  We got different food.  And we paid for food that was neither what we ordered or what we ate.  

And fun fact.  I didn’t complain.  I didn’t yell.  I made no one feel stupid.  

And why you ask?  

Because life is fucking short. 

Do you really need to get upset that the dressing is on your salad?  Do you need to get upset that your steak is 1* past the temp that you ordered?  Do you need to get upset that your egg is over medium, instead of over easy? 

That day was not the day.  

We needed to have a place to unwind.  To unpack and be with each other.  

Adam and I have sent things back.  In Boston, we got something we didn’t order.  We asked for it to be corrected, and it was.  Once, we got a bad bottle of wine.  We mentioned it, they corrected it.  

There is absolutely, no reason to give the waiter at your table a hard time.  

Not even in jest.  

Waiting tables is not for the faint of heart.  

It’s not for the meek.  

You get beat up every day.  Every day.  

Not to mention the number of people who ask what your real job is?

Love that one.  

I had a server come to me crying because a “bro” asked her if her parents were proud that she was using her college degree waiting tables.   

Those of you feeling obligated to challenge me on the tipping structure in America. Don’t.  It’s the way we do things.  Change it.  

Those who don’t think it’s a hard job.  

You are the same folks who complain about your five-year old driving you crazy.  

I challenge you to just watch what the servers and bartenders are doing.  

They are managing four to five, to ten tables.  They are keeping all their balls in the air.  They a remembering your extra ranch, your blue cheese olives, and the change you need for the valet.  

They have gotten all the drinks to the table, without spilling them.  They remembered the 6 different kinds of martinis your guests ordered.  And they even remembered the birthday candle for your husband who’s birthday is three months away, because you just wanted to embarrass him.  

I watch my team every day, and am amazed at how talented they are.  

Of course, sometimes, I have to remind them that grandpa Jeff, back in the 00’s, was just as talented.  They don’t believe me, but my HRC folks can assure them that I indeed handled station 12 with no station 11 which was a counter with 10 chairs and 5 four tops.  And I kicked ass, ran no food, pushed people out of my way, and made a living for 5 years.  Selling 3,500 dollars a night in 15-dollar cheeseburgers.  

At the end of the day.  

Just be kind.  

That is all.  

When in doubt.  

Just be kind.  

Can’t you feel a brand new day…

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’m fucking starving. 

Starving I tell you.  

And this is a very good thing.  

My lost post, if anyone is paying attention ,was on March 1.  

The following week was busy, as I had a new manager start at work.  

I was with her almost every minute of the day, and included working longer days than I had been.

By the end of that weekend, I was beat.  

I woke up on Monday, March 12, feeling like shit.  

It was as though I’d been hit by a truck.  

I was tired.  Cranky.  Felt out of it.  

And for almost two days, I was convinced I was getting sick.  

On Thursday, I had a realization.  

I wasn’t sick.  I wasn’t getting sick.

I was depressed.  

Talk about being insightful. 

Seriously.  

I was sitting at my desk at work, not getting nearly as much accomplished as I needed, when I realized that what I was feeling was exactly how I felt when my mom died.  

It didn’t make me feel better.  

But suddenly I knew how to start making it better.  

For me that first step was talking about it.  

When I got home from work that night, Adam asked how I was feeling, and I told him what was up.  He was very supportive and understanding.  

He asked how to help, and I told him he’d already helped, just by listening and understanding.  

The next day at work, I shared this with two of my co-workers.  I needed them to understand that I wasn’t sick, and I wasn’t wasting time.  I just couldn’t focus.  

In a perfect world, I’d have taken a sick day, but alas, that’s not where we live.  

On Tuesday, I took the day off.  And I slept.  And slept.  And slept.  

I got up at 4:30.  

And I felt much better. 

I didn’t get any of my errands done, but I felt good.  

And it was finally all gone yesterday.  It was as if the clouds had clear and there was sunshine.  

I was able to be hyper-focused, and get so much done at work.  

I was making lists, and crossing things off and felt like a normal person.  

And today, this is all confirmed as I have my appetite back.  For the last week, I’ve eaten but I don’t know that I’ve been super hungry.  Today I am famished.  I’m fucking starving. 

When I’m feeling depressed, I tend to isolate.  

I also, tend to lose interest in most of the things I do for fun, like writing.  

It’s hard to focus.  And if I can focus, it’s hard to stay focused.  

But today I am feeling better.

Funny story though…

A couple of days ago a memory popped up on Facebook.  It was a blog post from a year ago.  

Here’s a link to said story:  https://id-like-to-speak-to-the-manager.com/2023/03/16/my-time-of-day/

It’s basically said that a year ago I was feeling the same way.  Went to the doctor etc.  

And my conclusion is:  Perhaps I’m adverse to the spring time change.  

It wouldn’t be out of the question?  And it might explain a thing or two.  

And there is no reason for me to be depressed.  Nothing in my life has changed and if it has, it’s been for the better.  

So.  

I was depressed.  I’m not any more.  

Perhaps I hate Daylight Saving Time after all.  

The end.  

It’s all about the job and getting it done around here…

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I love talking to people at work.

I love, love, love it.

Which comes in handy when you are conducting interviews.

I like to just have a conversation with the person, peppering the chat with the questions I like to ask.

However, when you need to hire someone, especially more than one someone, it can make for long days going through the process.

Especially, when you have put aside the day to do so.

Yesterday, our restaurant manager, and I had interviews set up from 11:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.

One interview every half hour.

And miracle of miracles they all showed.

Which never, ever, ever happens.

At least not in the last 10 years.

The interview at 11:00 was great. The conversation flowed, the person was normal. Great experience. We laughed a lot.

Such was the case for all 8 (6 servers, 2 hosts) interviews. It’s the most successful day of interviews I’ve had since 2013.

However, by 3:00, when the last interviewed finished up, I was exhausted.

It’s literally ground hog day.

Hi. Tell me about yourself.

Where are you from?

What do you do for fun?

Why do you want to work here?

Why did you leave your last job?

You get the gist.

Actually, I didn’t even ask any of these questions yesterday.

By 3:00 the manager and I couldn’t remember who was who. Who said they had open availability? Who was a sommelier? Who was a psychology student? Who moved here from Boston? Who moved here from L.A.?

Yes, we had notes, and resumes, and we had to look at them to remember the details.

And then the appointments wind down, and you realize that the emails have kept coming, the voicemails is full and you are now behind a day.

I actually look forward to the first day of interviews in the spring. Which was yesterday.

It means that spring is approaching. That winter will be winding down around the time everyone is trained. It’s kind of like seeing the buds on the trees, or a crocus peaking through the ground.

However.

We have the same schedule tomorrow. And oh, my, god. I’m already stressed about all the work I need to get accomplished besides 8 interviews.

AHHHHHHH!!!!

Whew. I feel better.

I’ll get off my poor, poor me soap box.

It’s great to have people apply.

It’s great to have people show up.

It’s great to have people qualified for the position to interview.

It’s nice to have choices.

The real stress from yesterday, and probably tomorrow is who we’ll have to disappoint because so far, we have 6 great serving candidates, and only have 1.5 positions available.

It’s the first time I’ve been able to make decisions like this since 2017.

Let’s hope the trend continues.

You left me lists, everything in lists, well your little lists aren’t very helpful I fear

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Since my first manager job, I’ve always had pen and paper in my pocket.  There are a million things you think of as you move around the restaurant that you need to remember for later.  

In the past, my staff has always gotten nervous as I write something down, when they are standing next to me.  They always assumed it was about them.

As often as not, it might be nothing more than don’t forget to get gas on your way home.  Or remind Adam to pick up more soda at the grocery store. 

Usually it’s a word or two, quick in the moment.  

Chairs.  

Candles.

Music.  

Temp.

Pre-bus.

Sometimes, when I look at the paper that has been jammed in my pocket all night, I have no idea what I meant.  

Today, I went through all of my scraps of papers from the past week  or so and added the new notes to my legal pad full of notes.  

I then transferred all of my note from the legal pad s, to the note’s app on my laptop, dividing them into categories so I’d know who to ask to get an answer from later.  

As I was doing this, I realized that my note app had headings that I didn’t recognize.  

When I was finished, I looked at what was already there.  And I found notes, from my phone from 2013.  

These are from my GM job in 2013, two days after the restaurant opened.  

Chairs

Trashcan

Three courses 

Up charge for dinner salad. 

Dessert.  Napkins. Menus. 

Windows

Cold hot.  

Buttons in micros. 

Tv channels. 

Milk

Candles

Kj chard

More dinner special papers.  

Sides.    Prices.

Staff

Linens floor.

Liquor boxes 

Cords dressed

Towel in belt. 

Tables in place

Change guest count. 

Wait station. 

Prawns. 

Lights at night. 

Drive away. 

Some of them I remember.    

Other’s I have no idea.  

It’s fun to think that 11 years later, these notes, jotted on a piece of paper, helped get me to where I am today.  

I do think it’s funny that the last note says drive away.  

Hmmmm. 

You break it. You buy it.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

Eating out rule:

If you consume the item you shall pay for said item.

Tonight a guest announced at the end of the meal when the check was presented that they should not have to pay for their bottle of wine as it was warm.

First. You should have thought of his before you finished the bottle. Also it’s fucking 98,000 degrees outside. You’re on a patio. Yes the wine is warm.

I had the distinct pleasure of letting him know that contrary to popular belief that’s not how life works. He immediately threatened me with a bad review on Trip Advisor. I responded with my “‘do what you will I won’t be held hostage by threats of bad reviews.”‘

He finally said fine. He’d pay for the wine but not tip the server. Which is what he did. $402 and they left $403 in cash.

I comped the wine and gave the servers the $45. Not 20% but better than nothing.

I’ll keep you up to date if I get any bad reviews.

Wishing Doesn’t Make It So

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

Eating out rules:

We appreciate that you made reservations.

However.

If the patio is booked and you make a reservation for the bar with a request to be moved to the patio, don’t get upset when you have to sit at the bar.

We don’t a really look at requests till day of.

Also making two reservations of 6 does not a 12 top make. It’s two six tops. Seated in different parts of the restaurant and I can’t help you because I didn’t notice there were two reservations with the same last name.

Let’s start at the very beginning.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

Fun fact: This is the fourth blog that I’ve started. The first lasted almost six years. At the end I had a little over 250 regular readers and it was about my move from San Diego to NYC after finishing grad school. It followed my trials and tribulations of trying to jump start a theater career, landing in a restaurant serving job that took up too much of my time, and eventually meeting and falling in love with my partner Adam.

I loved the process and ritual of writing, and was sad when I moved to Maine, started a new journey and found that I didn’t have the time or the interest anymore to write nightly.

Social media was a big part of why I stopped writing, because suddenly I found myself reading and posting on Facebook and no longer sitting down at my computer to write a blog post. Facebook was fast and furious Writing took time.

And this continued to be true until about three months ago when I started my most recent position at a restaurant in a tourist town and I began to document my experiences as a General Manager and all the stress and extremes that came with the job. These posts were on Facebook and were really traditional blog posts.

So here I am.

These are my stories.

Over the next few weeks I’ll repost my posts from the past few weeks as well as adding to my stories as regularly as I can.

Please enjoy and know that these are my experiences, my reality, and my opinions. There are LOTS of other people out there doing what I do better. I hope they find as much joy in it as I do.