Today, I went to Target...and for the first time in my life, I purchased Hamburger Helper. *She hangs her head in shame, not making eye contact, and moving quickly through the aisles. The box of 'Helper' is tucked conspicuously beneath the other items in her cart*
So Target is one of my favorite places....Beautifully packaged and aesthetically designed useless and useful items in abundance...Trust me, I am Target's target consumer. A marketing department's dream subject, and it's reflected in my credit card bills and my apartment. Lovely as it is, to be surrounded by the stuff....all good things must come to an end. I must quit living above my means. And so this little entry is an ode to my former life in all of its glory and then a list of resolutions to do better, live more frugally and perhaps, even (gasp!) begin saving...
One handbag, two handbags, three handbags...poor:
In the beginning, I was a financially responsible and smart college graduate. I paid my bills on time, I shopped for groceries and cooked meals at home, I didn't have an entirely exciting social life, but I was debt free (outside of student loans). My downfall began innocently enough. I bought a tiffany blue leather Kate Spade wallet. The lining is green and I. love. it. I loved what it looked like, I loved that it was designer, I loved that it was expensive. I charged it, of course...promising myself that next month I would pay it off with my extra money. But the next month, Macy's had a very cute boxy Kate Spade Bag with tiffany blue leather handles and I just couldn't resist. So freaking cute and all mine. My friends began calling me Kate Spade. My credit card bill was totally workable in my budget and I was perfectly content....but I'm telling you, handbags are addictive. Over the next couple of years, I found myself completely hooked and sliding easily into a lifestyle of luxury. I followed my initial handbag purchases up with another canvas Kate Spade that looked like a gardening tote, then I bought the pink courderoy one that looks like something right out of an audrey hepburn film. I couldn't be stopped. Next was a lunch-pail shaped bag in lime-green crocodile embossed leather and all the while I was dining at the finest restaurants in Napa Valley. Places that most people in the country only get to read about in Bon Appetit. My credit card balance was ballooning and I just spent and spent and spent. It's hard to explain why I thought that was okay. There was always a rational plan to pay it off. Extra paychecks, tax returns, I was being promoted like crazy at my workplace. There were causes for celebration, fun nights with friends, a general 'keeping up with the Joneses' of Napa Valley, and a real live endorphin rush from Retail Therapy. I was seizing the day. One life to live and its only money, right? My grand finale was a pair of Christian Dior sunglasses in September, and at Christmas I bought a BEAUTIFUL Isabella Fiore bag, rust colored leather, covered in brass studs in an almost paisley design. I love that bag and someone comments on it almost every single time I carry it. What a life! I titled this piece farewell to the $30,000 millionnaire. After taxes, I don't take home more than $30K a year and here I was, living liking a Rockefeller (well, maybe not a rockefeller, but somewhere way above my level of necessity. By last summer, I was treading financial water and I had this crazy notion of moving to San francisco....the 2nd most expensive city in the country....and my grand debt talley (credit cards only) was $18,000. Oy.
Fancy SF Girl:
So I shuffled my finances, figured out a smart pay off plan, got my affairs in order and improved my credit score (which wasn't really all that bad to begin with) and moved into a lovely flat in San Francisco. I was paying $990 for a bedroom in a beautiful flat. I had my own room....my own bathroom. We had a shared back yard, a guestroom, free laundry on the property! It was one of those "too good to be true" situations that I had somehow landed in. It was meant to be and I found these 'nice girls' on Craigslist!
Long story short....it all fell apart and after 5 miserable months in the 'beautiful flat' I was booted at Christmas time. All of the supposed headway I had made financially was all for naught because now I was put to the task of coming up with a deposit and first months rent in my new, current and fabulous apartment, with almost no notice. But I had to get out of there. I will only say three words, "Thank you, Momma."
And now here I am, a newly decorated apartment where I am 200 times happier than I was 2 months ago, and still in a boat with no oars, just sitting there, floating in debt. The American dilemma.
That Isabella Fiore is still the last expensive handbag I've bought, a year and a half later, and I have a huge crush on a grey patent leather Tracy Reese bag, which I have accepted will never be mine. I still go out to eat at nice places, but its much less frequently than once upon a time. The great part about that is that San Francisco is also loaded with cheap ethnic places that taste amazing and give you a fun night out without breaking the bank. And although I still have those thoughts of, 'its just money and I'll be able to pay it off,' I honestly do not get the same thrill out of shopping that I once did.
So.....in the spirit of seizing the day and still living within my means, I have come up with the following list of ideas for becoming the fancy sf girl that has an actual savings account:
~no going out to drink/eat unless there is something to celebrate. We have a pretty large stash of booze and wine in our little chalet thanks to the very generous people who came to help warm our house. The party's at our place!
~join a museum... and when I have the urge to go do something San francisco, I'll visit a new exhibit.
~join netflix and watch every single movie that's ever won the Academy Award for best picture.
~cook at home, make use of the cafe in which I work, and spend as little money on food as possible. (hence, the hamburger helper....which I'm not altogether sure I can do again.....I may be reforming, but I am an admitted food snob)
~write a real live, hold myself accountable, realistic financial plan
~And do not give up my fabulous hair cut and color every 6 weeks in Napa Valley. ( I gotta have something to look forward to, dammit)
This list could continue and I'll no doubt find more and more ways to take back the spending habits, but for now....this is what I've got. Wish me luck. And tell me it'll all be okay.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
A New Reader!
So I just gave the address to this blog to another of my friends.....Leah Peah. Which means, she will inevitably hit the link and take a little trip here and poof...instead of one reader...I'll have two! So in honor of her upcoming visit to this blog....AND her upcoming visit to see ME in San Francisco (okay, so she has a doctor's appointment and will probably visit her other friends, too, but this is my blog, dammit), I thought I'd update today with a little story that encapsulates Leah and myself. She's heard this a million times, but I think she'll appreciate it in print.
So first you have to imagine us, poolside in Calistoga. Life was quite good. We both worked at Greystone, we had a common day off together and we had a pool in the backyard, which we regularly lounged beside. During these lounging sessions we typically read fashion magazines, or beach reads, gossiped/bitched about work, or had some sort of deep conversation about relationships, men, women or any other socially political issues. So one day, Leah and I are lounging. Both of us are on our backs in our respective chairs, discussing the social topic du jour: gay versus straight. It went a little bit like this:
Leah: "Kate, I have a theory..."
Kate: "What's your theory?"
Leah: "I think that everyone in the world is bisexual."
Kate: "okay...."
Leah: "I think that everyone is a varying degree of bisexual...I mean most "straight" people are probably a much higher percentage attracted to their opposite sex, like 90% straight, 10% gay or even more....like 99% straight versus 1% gay and vice versa for "gay" people, but I just don't think there is a black and white."
Kate: "I could see that...."
Leah: "I hate it when people say, 'I could never be gay, or I could never kiss or sleep with a person of the same sex...it just isn't me at all.' It drives me crazy, because, I mean, how do you know if you've never tried it?
Kate: "This is true..."
Leah: "It's like saying you don't like tiramisu, when you've never even tried the tiramisu!"
Kate cracking up: "That is so quotable...."
Leah sitting up on her elbows on the lounge chair: "why?"
Kate up on her elbows on the lounge chair: "One day I'll call you, and I'll say,'Leah, I tried the tiramisu.'
Leah turning over onto her stomach: "That would be fabulous."
So first you have to imagine us, poolside in Calistoga. Life was quite good. We both worked at Greystone, we had a common day off together and we had a pool in the backyard, which we regularly lounged beside. During these lounging sessions we typically read fashion magazines, or beach reads, gossiped/bitched about work, or had some sort of deep conversation about relationships, men, women or any other socially political issues. So one day, Leah and I are lounging. Both of us are on our backs in our respective chairs, discussing the social topic du jour: gay versus straight. It went a little bit like this:
Leah: "Kate, I have a theory..."
Kate: "What's your theory?"
Leah: "I think that everyone in the world is bisexual."
Kate: "okay...."
Leah: "I think that everyone is a varying degree of bisexual...I mean most "straight" people are probably a much higher percentage attracted to their opposite sex, like 90% straight, 10% gay or even more....like 99% straight versus 1% gay and vice versa for "gay" people, but I just don't think there is a black and white."
Kate: "I could see that...."
Leah: "I hate it when people say, 'I could never be gay, or I could never kiss or sleep with a person of the same sex...it just isn't me at all.' It drives me crazy, because, I mean, how do you know if you've never tried it?
Kate: "This is true..."
Leah: "It's like saying you don't like tiramisu, when you've never even tried the tiramisu!"
Kate cracking up: "That is so quotable...."
Leah sitting up on her elbows on the lounge chair: "why?"
Kate up on her elbows on the lounge chair: "One day I'll call you, and I'll say,'Leah, I tried the tiramisu.'
Leah turning over onto her stomach: "That would be fabulous."
Thursday, November 29, 2007
a new gig
“Of so little weight are the greatest services to Princes,
when put into the balance with a refusal to gratify their passions.”
This is a quote from Gulliver’s Travels, by Jonathan Swift. I’m reading it for a book club I joined with my local book shop, Symposium. Yep, I’m getting out there…mixing with the people. I decided to join something, enroll in something, etc. to bring something into my life that isn’t work.
Tonight was the first class. I’ve never been part of a book club, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect. My friend Inga warned me not to let the pseudo-intellectuals tell me what to think. I wondered if the discussion would be over my head or if the class would be full of book snobs. I attended, I contributed, I made a couple of pretty good points (if I do say so myself), I even quoted the text at one juncture. *She beams with self-pride* I felt smart. I felt part of something. It felt good.
when put into the balance with a refusal to gratify their passions.”
This is a quote from Gulliver’s Travels, by Jonathan Swift. I’m reading it for a book club I joined with my local book shop, Symposium. Yep, I’m getting out there…mixing with the people. I decided to join something, enroll in something, etc. to bring something into my life that isn’t work.
Tonight was the first class. I’ve never been part of a book club, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect. My friend Inga warned me not to let the pseudo-intellectuals tell me what to think. I wondered if the discussion would be over my head or if the class would be full of book snobs. I attended, I contributed, I made a couple of pretty good points (if I do say so myself), I even quoted the text at one juncture. *She beams with self-pride* I felt smart. I felt part of something. It felt good.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Áfram Ísland!
I just had a really fun night in San Francisco, which couldn’t have come at a better time, because I’ve been in a total funk about the City by the Bay…
This night’s adventures began, of course with the company of my friend Inga, the Icelandic lovechild herself, who, through a friend at work, found out about the cool free showing of an Icelandic documentary about an Icelandic band called Sigur Rós who tours Iceland. I was half expecting some Nordic version of This is Spinal Tap, but was pleasantly surprised…more to follow.
We met up at our favorite “haunt,” the Westfield Centre, for a quick bite, pre-screening. The crew consisted of Inga and myself, Inga’s work buddy, Jeremy, and Jeremy’s friend Fred, whom we discovered quickly was French, and managed to use this bit of information against him, for our amusement, for the duration of the evening.
The movie was being shown by this organization that holds these free RSVP events, where you email your rsvp to participate and then line up to enjoy the free activity, first come, first served. So after dinner, we sauntered over to mezzanine to line up. This is where one might wonder how many people would line up an hour and a half early on a Monday night to watch an Icelandic documentary about an Icelandic rock band. You’d be surprised.
So we were several…several people back in line, hands in our pockets, making each other laugh, listening to the bouncer-esque person yell as he paced the line about what i.d.s we should have ready to go and how our bags should be open and other security measures and precautions while we waited for the doors to open. In line, I learned a few things:
1. A “murse” is a purse carried by a man. (Mezzanine doubles as a gay club, so these are the people that would know.) I think I prefer the term Man-bag.
2. Áfram Ísland is Icelandic, and translates to, “Onward Iceland!” Inga was teaching us Icelandic phrases in hopes that if we were too far back in line, the bouncers would have no choice but to let the country folk of the very subject of the evening in to enjoy the festivities.
3. It does actually feel okay to give a homeless person some spare change. I get pan-handled all of the time and never give anything up. Tonight, I did, and I’m happy for it.
So the line began to move and we, and our bags, passed the security inspection. Mezzanine is a giant space. The main floor was covered with rows of black metal folding chairs set in front of a giant projection screen. We were led past this seating by the boy pair of our posse upstairs. Upstairs is a hip loft space…low ceilings, red lighting, full bars set up in the corners. The railing edge of the upstairs space overlooks the main floor and the movie set-up. Jeremy and Fred the Frenchman show us past all of this into an area where three big flat screen televisions line the wall, and cushiony black leather couches are in rows facing the screens like something out of a rap star’s home theatre on MTV’s Cribs. Inga and I were left to man the couch while the fellas bought us a round.
The film was fantastic. It felt like you were watching two parallels run perfectly even with each other. On one hand, you got a glimpse at this band, who like other groups of musicians, are cool and talented and make some good music. And now that you know this story about them, it makes you think perhaps you should buy their albums and wear a Sigur Rós t-shirt. On the other hand, the photography was beautiful and the entire documentary is laced with amazing shots of Iceland…lush green rolling hills, cool, clear streams and waterfalls, tiny horses, traditional sweaters, beautiful blonde people…this side of the film had us all running out the door making plans for purchasing airfare to Iceland now…before we go to bed….we’ll just do it.
And once you’ve seen such a piece of art, and enjoyed a couple of cocktails with such lovely company, the last thing you want to do is let the fun end there…so on we went, to Farmer Brown, a “soulfood” place in the same neighborhood as Mezzanine. I put “soul food” in quotes here because the restaurant was trendy, upscale, and inspired by soul food, but not in its core a true soul food place. (i.e. plaid tablecloths, greasy food, ketchup and syrup on the table with the salt and pepper…Southern table staples…were not present) However, that being said, it was damn tasty and fun. The menu item of note for this evening was their Bay Shrimp and Cornmeal Poppers served with a spicy remoulade and a little microgreen salad. Which we ordered a second plate of. Conversation was good, I tasted Pastis for the first time, we were silly on southern-inspired cocktails, and I laughed…a lot.
We entrusted Inga with the drive home…the long way home as it were…Noe Valley for Frenchie, Eddy and Divisadero for Jeremiah and then Alamo Square for myself. A drive through the Mission District was necessary to begin our path and somehow this led to a David Bowie sing-a-long and the renaming of the Mission to “The Mish.” As in, “Let’s roll down our window at the next stop sign and ask the people on the corner, what’s goin’ on in The Mish?” Music streaming out of the windows as four white kids dance happily in their seats. I don’t think it would have gone over too well in “The Mish,” but it makes me smile again just writing this. We dropped Fred off at his Noe Valley home on a steep steep hill, then swung by Jeremy’s where we ran in to get a power tool (I’ll save this for another blog) and so Inga could use the restroom on a square toilet, then home I went.
It was just one of those nights, where you stumble in…sleepy and tipsy. And as you are getting ready for bed, you periodically burst into laughter at a memory of something that was said or a face somebody made and you fall asleep, hoping that you’ll get to hang out with all of these people again sometime, and see what happens. Maybe we’ll go to “The Mish.”
Áfram Ísland!
This night’s adventures began, of course with the company of my friend Inga, the Icelandic lovechild herself, who, through a friend at work, found out about the cool free showing of an Icelandic documentary about an Icelandic band called Sigur Rós who tours Iceland. I was half expecting some Nordic version of This is Spinal Tap, but was pleasantly surprised…more to follow.
We met up at our favorite “haunt,” the Westfield Centre, for a quick bite, pre-screening. The crew consisted of Inga and myself, Inga’s work buddy, Jeremy, and Jeremy’s friend Fred, whom we discovered quickly was French, and managed to use this bit of information against him, for our amusement, for the duration of the evening.
The movie was being shown by this organization that holds these free RSVP events, where you email your rsvp to participate and then line up to enjoy the free activity, first come, first served. So after dinner, we sauntered over to mezzanine to line up. This is where one might wonder how many people would line up an hour and a half early on a Monday night to watch an Icelandic documentary about an Icelandic rock band. You’d be surprised.
So we were several…several people back in line, hands in our pockets, making each other laugh, listening to the bouncer-esque person yell as he paced the line about what i.d.s we should have ready to go and how our bags should be open and other security measures and precautions while we waited for the doors to open. In line, I learned a few things:
1. A “murse” is a purse carried by a man. (Mezzanine doubles as a gay club, so these are the people that would know.) I think I prefer the term Man-bag.
2. Áfram Ísland is Icelandic, and translates to, “Onward Iceland!” Inga was teaching us Icelandic phrases in hopes that if we were too far back in line, the bouncers would have no choice but to let the country folk of the very subject of the evening in to enjoy the festivities.
3. It does actually feel okay to give a homeless person some spare change. I get pan-handled all of the time and never give anything up. Tonight, I did, and I’m happy for it.
So the line began to move and we, and our bags, passed the security inspection. Mezzanine is a giant space. The main floor was covered with rows of black metal folding chairs set in front of a giant projection screen. We were led past this seating by the boy pair of our posse upstairs. Upstairs is a hip loft space…low ceilings, red lighting, full bars set up in the corners. The railing edge of the upstairs space overlooks the main floor and the movie set-up. Jeremy and Fred the Frenchman show us past all of this into an area where three big flat screen televisions line the wall, and cushiony black leather couches are in rows facing the screens like something out of a rap star’s home theatre on MTV’s Cribs. Inga and I were left to man the couch while the fellas bought us a round.
The film was fantastic. It felt like you were watching two parallels run perfectly even with each other. On one hand, you got a glimpse at this band, who like other groups of musicians, are cool and talented and make some good music. And now that you know this story about them, it makes you think perhaps you should buy their albums and wear a Sigur Rós t-shirt. On the other hand, the photography was beautiful and the entire documentary is laced with amazing shots of Iceland…lush green rolling hills, cool, clear streams and waterfalls, tiny horses, traditional sweaters, beautiful blonde people…this side of the film had us all running out the door making plans for purchasing airfare to Iceland now…before we go to bed….we’ll just do it.
And once you’ve seen such a piece of art, and enjoyed a couple of cocktails with such lovely company, the last thing you want to do is let the fun end there…so on we went, to Farmer Brown, a “soulfood” place in the same neighborhood as Mezzanine. I put “soul food” in quotes here because the restaurant was trendy, upscale, and inspired by soul food, but not in its core a true soul food place. (i.e. plaid tablecloths, greasy food, ketchup and syrup on the table with the salt and pepper…Southern table staples…were not present) However, that being said, it was damn tasty and fun. The menu item of note for this evening was their Bay Shrimp and Cornmeal Poppers served with a spicy remoulade and a little microgreen salad. Which we ordered a second plate of. Conversation was good, I tasted Pastis for the first time, we were silly on southern-inspired cocktails, and I laughed…a lot.
We entrusted Inga with the drive home…the long way home as it were…Noe Valley for Frenchie, Eddy and Divisadero for Jeremiah and then Alamo Square for myself. A drive through the Mission District was necessary to begin our path and somehow this led to a David Bowie sing-a-long and the renaming of the Mission to “The Mish.” As in, “Let’s roll down our window at the next stop sign and ask the people on the corner, what’s goin’ on in The Mish?” Music streaming out of the windows as four white kids dance happily in their seats. I don’t think it would have gone over too well in “The Mish,” but it makes me smile again just writing this. We dropped Fred off at his Noe Valley home on a steep steep hill, then swung by Jeremy’s where we ran in to get a power tool (I’ll save this for another blog) and so Inga could use the restroom on a square toilet, then home I went.
It was just one of those nights, where you stumble in…sleepy and tipsy. And as you are getting ready for bed, you periodically burst into laughter at a memory of something that was said or a face somebody made and you fall asleep, hoping that you’ll get to hang out with all of these people again sometime, and see what happens. Maybe we’ll go to “The Mish.”
Áfram Ísland!
Friday, September 07, 2007
You Asked For It
So this little entry is being posted under duress. I received a shout-out for my blog from my dear friend Inga two days ago where she said, and I’m quoting here, “go read it so she feels pressured to update more than once every galactic rotation.”
Then, she follows that up with a detailed (and one-sided) account of the German dinner we shared last night at a very delicious establishment called Suppenkuche, where she proceeds to label me an amateur because I chose to ask the waiter to serve me brussels sprouts in place of the braised cabbage.
What is this Sh$%?
She does make an attempt to smooth it over by first saying:
“Katie, I may or may not call you an "amateur" in here for substituting brussel sprouts for red cabbage. Let it be known that I know you are a foodie and a connoisseur of all things food, but... I stand by my decision because in the multiverse of Teutonic cuisine, homemade cinnamony red cabbage touts brussel sprouts. Hands down. Every time. But I still LOOOVE YOUUUUU please don't be MAAAAAAAAAD-UH!”
I think she thinks I need to be schooled in all things European cuisine and that she is apparently the authority that is going to take on that challenge, however, I’d like to say in my defense that I am well aware of the station that braised red cabbage has on a German menu, it is also a well known fact that brussels sprouts are cooked with bacon, and in the universe of any cuisine…anything cooked in bacon trumps braised red cabbage. Smacking those hands on the table. For Infinity. But I still LOOOVE YOUUUUU, please don’t be MAAAAAAAAAD-UH!
Then, she follows that up with a detailed (and one-sided) account of the German dinner we shared last night at a very delicious establishment called Suppenkuche, where she proceeds to label me an amateur because I chose to ask the waiter to serve me brussels sprouts in place of the braised cabbage.
What is this Sh$%?
She does make an attempt to smooth it over by first saying:
“Katie, I may or may not call you an "amateur" in here for substituting brussel sprouts for red cabbage. Let it be known that I know you are a foodie and a connoisseur of all things food, but... I stand by my decision because in the multiverse of Teutonic cuisine, homemade cinnamony red cabbage touts brussel sprouts. Hands down. Every time. But I still LOOOVE YOUUUUU please don't be MAAAAAAAAAD-UH!”
I think she thinks I need to be schooled in all things European cuisine and that she is apparently the authority that is going to take on that challenge, however, I’d like to say in my defense that I am well aware of the station that braised red cabbage has on a German menu, it is also a well known fact that brussels sprouts are cooked with bacon, and in the universe of any cuisine…anything cooked in bacon trumps braised red cabbage. Smacking those hands on the table. For Infinity. But I still LOOOVE YOUUUUU, please don’t be MAAAAAAAAAD-UH!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
A letter to Sarah
Hi Sarita,
So I’m at a crossroads. I thought I’d use this email as a sounding board more than anything, since by the time you get this and have a chance to respond, my decision will probably already have been made. So here it goes.
First of all, I made the free trip to Tulsa last week to interview for the restaurant in Oklahoma. It wasn’t me. I don’t know how to describe it without sounding completely snobbish and egocentric, but they tout it as the best restaurant in town (Bartlesville, which it probably is), but it was atrocious. The servers were sloppy and disheveled. The service was mediocre. They were serving probably 30 covers that day…which is a busy lunch in their books, and they all looked like the ship was going down. The space itself was disorganized and poorly laid out. The menu is written by a corporate chef that visits quarterly to update it as well as coming in for special events, etc…however, he is based out of Dallas. The day to day kitchen is executed by 2 line cooks, who I’m sure do what the chef’s directive is, but it is not fine dining. We ordered the hummus at lunch, which is apparently the best-seller, and the presentation wasn’t bad, pita triangles lined each side of a square plate set on a diagonal and then a large dollop of hummus was at the top corner. On either side of that was a pile of cured olives. The huge dollop of hummus had a sprig of rosemary standing up out of it. Nice…
The entire interview, which lasted about 3 hours, including lunch, was basically these two corporate guys telling me all about the place and continually asking me if I was interested. I got the feeling that they were trying to fill a position that’s been open for too long and then here I come, with a nice education and some experience in the Napa Valley, but only in the industry for 4 years, so I’m still a little cheap, so I’m the perfect candidate.
I know what you’re thinking. All of this would be a great challenge and maybe I’m the one to come in there, bust some ass and turn it all around…show the people of Bartlesville what fine dining really is. But, honestly, I just had this sick feeling while I was in the building that I would be embarrassed to have my name attached to this place. Enter the snob I’ve become. Whatever. It didn’t feel right. All of this is also coming from knowing that they only budgeted mid-thirties for salary for this position and it is basically a GM position. Now, having said all of that, if they call tomorrow and come through with an offer like 50K, I’ll strongly consider it because, let’s face it…money talks.
The biggest bummer is that the entire time I was home I just had this huge sinking feeling because I knew I wasn’t really feeling it and I would have to tell my parents that this wasn’t the “Katie’s going to decide to move home” trip and I didn’t even want to tell them that I had an offer in San Francisco (I’ll get to those detail in a minute) because it would make me feel like the disappointment of the century. And when I did tell them, that was exactly the reaction I got. My mom spent the rest of that hour trying to drag all of the negative aspects of the job to light.
Now, that’s one hand...On the other hand, I received a job offer with La Boulange in San Francisco. This is the cute French Café/bakery chain in San Francisco. You remember the one on Union Street, I’m sure…tres adorable! Basically, you walk in and the length of the dining room has a large pastry case and counter. Behind the counter, mounted on the walls are chalkboard menus. Guests can come in and order breads to take home, or pastries of all sorts, additionally, there is a soup/salad/sandwich menu that you can order from. Once you order it, you get a number and the order goes to a little kitchen in the back. A cook prepares it and a staff member delivers it to the guest in the dining room. The place has another counter where a coffee station is set up, with self-serve organic coffee. The tables are minimal, wooden, simple with simple café chairs. The dining room is wired with wifi, so people can linger on their laptops, or they can take their items to go. It is a GM position and likely, they will place me in their new Hayes Valley location, slated to open near the end of August. Otherwise I would be in their North Beach location on Columbus Avenue, in which case, they would be firing the current manager in time for me to move in. I would prefer the Hayes Valley location.
The compensation package they offered is a little too low, unfortunately…but includes the opportunity for bonuses, but the first potential bonus would be 9 months away. This isn’t enough for me to move to San Francisco. I’ve done the math on paper and if I consolidate all of my non-student loan debt (credit cards, etc) then I could do it for a little more, so if tomorrow, when I speak to them and tell them this, and they offer me a slightly better number, then I will very likely be moving to San Francisco to be the GM of a small French Café/Bakery.
Here’s where it gets sticky….you know me, the chicken….the thought of taking the plunge and moving to SF absolutely terrifies me. I’m excited as well, but really really nervous. Plus, my family is completely unsupportive. Which I shouldn’t care about, but it really bothers me. And I keep having people react a little bit like I’m taking a step down by moving to a place with such casual service. Do you think it’s a step down? I mean, yes, it’s simpler service, but it’s a new experience for me. And also, part of what’s really appealing to me is that this is very similar in concept and execution to what I see myself owning someday…so why not learn on someone else’s dime?
Sigh….I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. Shouldn’t I know? Shouldn’t I have this strong gut feeling pulling me in one direction? I definitely am very interested in the café bakery, I really love the concept and I think it would be good experience and I could be happy, as long as the job doesn’t also make my financial ruins reach a catastrophic level, or keep me at work so much that I have no time to appreciate the quality of life in San Francisco, then I kinda want it. I’m completely self-assured, aren’t I?
Thank you, dear sounding board. Please don’t hold back any advice or other comments, as even though I think the decision will be made tomorrow, it may not be and then your voice would be most appreciated in further consideration.
much love,
Katie
So I’m at a crossroads. I thought I’d use this email as a sounding board more than anything, since by the time you get this and have a chance to respond, my decision will probably already have been made. So here it goes.
First of all, I made the free trip to Tulsa last week to interview for the restaurant in Oklahoma. It wasn’t me. I don’t know how to describe it without sounding completely snobbish and egocentric, but they tout it as the best restaurant in town (Bartlesville, which it probably is), but it was atrocious. The servers were sloppy and disheveled. The service was mediocre. They were serving probably 30 covers that day…which is a busy lunch in their books, and they all looked like the ship was going down. The space itself was disorganized and poorly laid out. The menu is written by a corporate chef that visits quarterly to update it as well as coming in for special events, etc…however, he is based out of Dallas. The day to day kitchen is executed by 2 line cooks, who I’m sure do what the chef’s directive is, but it is not fine dining. We ordered the hummus at lunch, which is apparently the best-seller, and the presentation wasn’t bad, pita triangles lined each side of a square plate set on a diagonal and then a large dollop of hummus was at the top corner. On either side of that was a pile of cured olives. The huge dollop of hummus had a sprig of rosemary standing up out of it. Nice…
The entire interview, which lasted about 3 hours, including lunch, was basically these two corporate guys telling me all about the place and continually asking me if I was interested. I got the feeling that they were trying to fill a position that’s been open for too long and then here I come, with a nice education and some experience in the Napa Valley, but only in the industry for 4 years, so I’m still a little cheap, so I’m the perfect candidate.
I know what you’re thinking. All of this would be a great challenge and maybe I’m the one to come in there, bust some ass and turn it all around…show the people of Bartlesville what fine dining really is. But, honestly, I just had this sick feeling while I was in the building that I would be embarrassed to have my name attached to this place. Enter the snob I’ve become. Whatever. It didn’t feel right. All of this is also coming from knowing that they only budgeted mid-thirties for salary for this position and it is basically a GM position. Now, having said all of that, if they call tomorrow and come through with an offer like 50K, I’ll strongly consider it because, let’s face it…money talks.
The biggest bummer is that the entire time I was home I just had this huge sinking feeling because I knew I wasn’t really feeling it and I would have to tell my parents that this wasn’t the “Katie’s going to decide to move home” trip and I didn’t even want to tell them that I had an offer in San Francisco (I’ll get to those detail in a minute) because it would make me feel like the disappointment of the century. And when I did tell them, that was exactly the reaction I got. My mom spent the rest of that hour trying to drag all of the negative aspects of the job to light.
Now, that’s one hand...On the other hand, I received a job offer with La Boulange in San Francisco. This is the cute French Café/bakery chain in San Francisco. You remember the one on Union Street, I’m sure…tres adorable! Basically, you walk in and the length of the dining room has a large pastry case and counter. Behind the counter, mounted on the walls are chalkboard menus. Guests can come in and order breads to take home, or pastries of all sorts, additionally, there is a soup/salad/sandwich menu that you can order from. Once you order it, you get a number and the order goes to a little kitchen in the back. A cook prepares it and a staff member delivers it to the guest in the dining room. The place has another counter where a coffee station is set up, with self-serve organic coffee. The tables are minimal, wooden, simple with simple café chairs. The dining room is wired with wifi, so people can linger on their laptops, or they can take their items to go. It is a GM position and likely, they will place me in their new Hayes Valley location, slated to open near the end of August. Otherwise I would be in their North Beach location on Columbus Avenue, in which case, they would be firing the current manager in time for me to move in. I would prefer the Hayes Valley location.
The compensation package they offered is a little too low, unfortunately…but includes the opportunity for bonuses, but the first potential bonus would be 9 months away. This isn’t enough for me to move to San Francisco. I’ve done the math on paper and if I consolidate all of my non-student loan debt (credit cards, etc) then I could do it for a little more, so if tomorrow, when I speak to them and tell them this, and they offer me a slightly better number, then I will very likely be moving to San Francisco to be the GM of a small French Café/Bakery.
Here’s where it gets sticky….you know me, the chicken….the thought of taking the plunge and moving to SF absolutely terrifies me. I’m excited as well, but really really nervous. Plus, my family is completely unsupportive. Which I shouldn’t care about, but it really bothers me. And I keep having people react a little bit like I’m taking a step down by moving to a place with such casual service. Do you think it’s a step down? I mean, yes, it’s simpler service, but it’s a new experience for me. And also, part of what’s really appealing to me is that this is very similar in concept and execution to what I see myself owning someday…so why not learn on someone else’s dime?
Sigh….I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. Shouldn’t I know? Shouldn’t I have this strong gut feeling pulling me in one direction? I definitely am very interested in the café bakery, I really love the concept and I think it would be good experience and I could be happy, as long as the job doesn’t also make my financial ruins reach a catastrophic level, or keep me at work so much that I have no time to appreciate the quality of life in San Francisco, then I kinda want it. I’m completely self-assured, aren’t I?
Thank you, dear sounding board. Please don’t hold back any advice or other comments, as even though I think the decision will be made tomorrow, it may not be and then your voice would be most appreciated in further consideration.
much love,
Katie
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Another fabulous day of air travel…
So I recently took a little trip to Tulsa to interview for a potential job…I know…moving home to work in Bartlesville, Oklahoma…hardly something anyone would guess I would consider, but there I was. And the trip was so classically Katie that I had to share what I wrote while on my trip:
June 19
My day began at 5am…I closed the restaurant last night and came home and packed and crawled into bed at 1am. So four hours later, only about 20 minutes before my alarm was set to go off, the phone began ringing.
Groggy…I answered to an automated system telling me that I need to call the reservation system as my flight information has changed. So I call…another automated system. I’m pressing #s to navigate the menu and then their computer wants me to answer questions…the problem is that the computer can’t understand anything I’m saying and I’m getting angrier and angrier. After you scream AGENT into the phone about 4 times it seems to finally decide to go ahead and transfer you…
to Pakistan.
So now I’m talking to someone who has trouble hearing me and I’m having trouble understanding him and its 5:15am and I’m just loopy and pissed.
-My flight was cancelled.
-There is another flight that leaves at 2:30pm and will get me to Tulsa at 10:45pm….four and a half hours after my originally scheduled flight…would I like to book?
Do I have other options? No.
Yes, I’d like to book.
So I’m disappointed and frustrated--any loss of control over travel will do that to a person and this particular trip is only two nights anyway, so my time with the fam is getting cut short. However, this does afford me about 4 more hours of much needed sleep so I take a deep breath and snooze on.
Now, time has passed, I’m more rested, I drive to the airport and check in in plenty of time for my flight, which is now delayed.
Yup…delayed. Another hour, which means more waiting in Oakland, but I will still make my connection in Denver, so I’m okay…
3:30pm
We take off for Denver. Fairly normal flight…a few highlights include:
-TURBULENCE..not like I’ve felt before, it was as if the plane was sliding into a roll and then over-correcting to roll the other way. The passengers were gasping and my heart was racing. The captain explained that what had happened was that we were flying behind another plane (a safe distance, I assume) and our plane got caught in that plane’s gust.
-The flight went by fairly quickly. I befriended Karla, who was sitting next to me and had just had a girlfriend’s weekend in Calistoga with her longtime friends Bonnie and Barbara. They ate dinner at the CIA last night, and had a wonderful time.
Karla has a cocker spaniel named Morgen that she adores and walks on a leash that is more like a vest instead of a collar. “This way I am walking Morgen and Morgen isn’t walking me,” she explains. And Morgen is spelled with an “e” instead of an “a” because it is German, the word for ‘morning.’
And Karla’s father was in WWII and serviced the plane that carried the atomic bomb to Hiroshima.
Her daughter lives in Phoenix and her grandchildren are named Katelyn Morgen (Karla got to name her) and Ronnie, who is named after his dad. They have 2 pitbulls named Dino and Pebbles.
She is an artist-dabbles in oil painting since she retired.
Karla was cool.
Once we landed in Denver, I treated myself to 2 scoops of Dulce de Leche ice cream and waited to board the on time flight to Tulsa.
Once on, I found myself sitting next to a very sharp 6th grader who was on her way back from her first trip to Disneyland. Next to her was a woman who played piano for a singing group who performed for a rotary group in Salt Lake City, Utah.
If my first flight was turbulent, this flight was freakin’ rocking and rolling. Scary. We were flying on the outskirts of a massive thunderstorm and the captain apologized but said that it would likely be this way for the rest of the flight.
I was sipping Sprite and my stomach was turning but finally the ride smoothed out.
The captain came on again to inform us that the thunderstorm was parked over Tulsa and it’s a slow moving storm so we’ve been diverted to Springfield, Missouri.
Springfield, of course, wasn’t expecting us so as I write this we’re sitting on the tarmac with no place to park. This is how the last hour and a half has gone:
*Once on the ground, I call my parents to give them the update so far-we’re in Springfield. My Dad is currently driving in the bad weather towards the airport to come get me.
*I’ve relocated my seat to the row behind me where there are no passengers so I have a row to myself.
*I pick up a text message from Leah: “Umm. Did you 4get to tell me that j-lo is engaged?”
*I text her back that I totally forgot. Then, I use the airplane restroom. Consequently, this is my very first time in an airplane bathroom-and I cannot imagine two people fitting there, let alone having sex in one. My hat’s off to those nimble souls.
*Leah calls me,
“How could you forget something like that?!?!”
“Leah, I have a few other things on my mind at the moment…I’m in Springfield”
“Oh my God!” she screams and then bursts into laughter.
There really isn’t anything else to do. The captain comes on during this fit to update us. He explains that the storm is still hovering and the airport has no place to put us so we’re going to remain parked here, “we could end up sitting here for awhile…” he explains.
Leah can hear him on the speaker and begins a new fit of laughter all over again.
I talk with her awhile and then let her go to save battery juice.
*The sixth grader, who has been collected by her mother to sit up front somewhere has returned to show me photographs of her family on Splash Mountain and Space Mountain. In both shots, this girl has ducked in fear during the ride so that only the top of her head is visible in the photos.
*New update from the captain…there seems to be a hole in the storm over Tulsa, so we are refueling and are going to attempt to fly in. They are making sure that there is plenty of fuel so that if we need to hover over the storm for a bit before it opens up we can do so. Also, this surplus of fuel will allow us to return to Denver in the event that the storm doesn’t open up.
*I decide to write.
We’ve now taken off and are in flight to Tulsa. The captain, who’s now good buddies with the Tulsa flight tower is very optimistic that we’ll be able to get in there.
Obviously, I’ll be typing this as a blog entry and will be able to report on the final outcome by the time I’m plugged in.
Will Katie get in to Tulsa?
Is this chaotic flight some sort of cosmic note that she should or shouldn’t be contemplating a move home?
Will she be fresh and on time for her 11am job interview?
Here comes the turbulence…
I’m putting the pen and paper away now…stay tuned.
~ ~ ~
We landed safe and sound in T-town around 1:30am.
June 19
My day began at 5am…I closed the restaurant last night and came home and packed and crawled into bed at 1am. So four hours later, only about 20 minutes before my alarm was set to go off, the phone began ringing.
Groggy…I answered to an automated system telling me that I need to call the reservation system as my flight information has changed. So I call…another automated system. I’m pressing #s to navigate the menu and then their computer wants me to answer questions…the problem is that the computer can’t understand anything I’m saying and I’m getting angrier and angrier. After you scream AGENT into the phone about 4 times it seems to finally decide to go ahead and transfer you…
to Pakistan.
So now I’m talking to someone who has trouble hearing me and I’m having trouble understanding him and its 5:15am and I’m just loopy and pissed.
-My flight was cancelled.
-There is another flight that leaves at 2:30pm and will get me to Tulsa at 10:45pm….four and a half hours after my originally scheduled flight…would I like to book?
Do I have other options? No.
Yes, I’d like to book.
So I’m disappointed and frustrated--any loss of control over travel will do that to a person and this particular trip is only two nights anyway, so my time with the fam is getting cut short. However, this does afford me about 4 more hours of much needed sleep so I take a deep breath and snooze on.
Now, time has passed, I’m more rested, I drive to the airport and check in in plenty of time for my flight, which is now delayed.
Yup…delayed. Another hour, which means more waiting in Oakland, but I will still make my connection in Denver, so I’m okay…
3:30pm
We take off for Denver. Fairly normal flight…a few highlights include:
-TURBULENCE..not like I’ve felt before, it was as if the plane was sliding into a roll and then over-correcting to roll the other way. The passengers were gasping and my heart was racing. The captain explained that what had happened was that we were flying behind another plane (a safe distance, I assume) and our plane got caught in that plane’s gust.
-The flight went by fairly quickly. I befriended Karla, who was sitting next to me and had just had a girlfriend’s weekend in Calistoga with her longtime friends Bonnie and Barbara. They ate dinner at the CIA last night, and had a wonderful time.
Karla has a cocker spaniel named Morgen that she adores and walks on a leash that is more like a vest instead of a collar. “This way I am walking Morgen and Morgen isn’t walking me,” she explains. And Morgen is spelled with an “e” instead of an “a” because it is German, the word for ‘morning.’
And Karla’s father was in WWII and serviced the plane that carried the atomic bomb to Hiroshima.
Her daughter lives in Phoenix and her grandchildren are named Katelyn Morgen (Karla got to name her) and Ronnie, who is named after his dad. They have 2 pitbulls named Dino and Pebbles.
She is an artist-dabbles in oil painting since she retired.
Karla was cool.
Once we landed in Denver, I treated myself to 2 scoops of Dulce de Leche ice cream and waited to board the on time flight to Tulsa.
Once on, I found myself sitting next to a very sharp 6th grader who was on her way back from her first trip to Disneyland. Next to her was a woman who played piano for a singing group who performed for a rotary group in Salt Lake City, Utah.
If my first flight was turbulent, this flight was freakin’ rocking and rolling. Scary. We were flying on the outskirts of a massive thunderstorm and the captain apologized but said that it would likely be this way for the rest of the flight.
I was sipping Sprite and my stomach was turning but finally the ride smoothed out.
The captain came on again to inform us that the thunderstorm was parked over Tulsa and it’s a slow moving storm so we’ve been diverted to Springfield, Missouri.
Springfield, of course, wasn’t expecting us so as I write this we’re sitting on the tarmac with no place to park. This is how the last hour and a half has gone:
*Once on the ground, I call my parents to give them the update so far-we’re in Springfield. My Dad is currently driving in the bad weather towards the airport to come get me.
*I’ve relocated my seat to the row behind me where there are no passengers so I have a row to myself.
*I pick up a text message from Leah: “Umm. Did you 4get to tell me that j-lo is engaged?”
*I text her back that I totally forgot. Then, I use the airplane restroom. Consequently, this is my very first time in an airplane bathroom-and I cannot imagine two people fitting there, let alone having sex in one. My hat’s off to those nimble souls.
*Leah calls me,
“How could you forget something like that?!?!”
“Leah, I have a few other things on my mind at the moment…I’m in Springfield”
“Oh my God!” she screams and then bursts into laughter.
There really isn’t anything else to do. The captain comes on during this fit to update us. He explains that the storm is still hovering and the airport has no place to put us so we’re going to remain parked here, “we could end up sitting here for awhile…” he explains.
Leah can hear him on the speaker and begins a new fit of laughter all over again.
I talk with her awhile and then let her go to save battery juice.
*The sixth grader, who has been collected by her mother to sit up front somewhere has returned to show me photographs of her family on Splash Mountain and Space Mountain. In both shots, this girl has ducked in fear during the ride so that only the top of her head is visible in the photos.
*New update from the captain…there seems to be a hole in the storm over Tulsa, so we are refueling and are going to attempt to fly in. They are making sure that there is plenty of fuel so that if we need to hover over the storm for a bit before it opens up we can do so. Also, this surplus of fuel will allow us to return to Denver in the event that the storm doesn’t open up.
*I decide to write.
We’ve now taken off and are in flight to Tulsa. The captain, who’s now good buddies with the Tulsa flight tower is very optimistic that we’ll be able to get in there.
Obviously, I’ll be typing this as a blog entry and will be able to report on the final outcome by the time I’m plugged in.
Will Katie get in to Tulsa?
Is this chaotic flight some sort of cosmic note that she should or shouldn’t be contemplating a move home?
Will she be fresh and on time for her 11am job interview?
Here comes the turbulence…
I’m putting the pen and paper away now…stay tuned.
~ ~ ~
We landed safe and sound in T-town around 1:30am.
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