Lowenstein, Lowenstein

This weekend was celebratory honoring of the insitution of brunch. In that, I had it twice. Once at Juan's apartment with his lovely roommate and friends who are too nice for words and can occasionally make a socially shell-shocked person nervous ("he seems a little TOO nice, if you know what I mean....") but I've gotten better at getting over it and just enjoying the company of pleasant strangers and wholesome conversations about overseas travel and good Colombian restaurants while eating crepes with nutella and raspberries.

On Sunday I had brunch a second time at Differently Paced Coworkers apartment, a sort of celebration of her birthday the day before. Despite the almost-intoxicating (and not in a good way) presence of 30something lesbians, I had a nice time. I previously mistook the atmosphere for being overly white, partly because I was influenced by L__ complaining of her experience of being asked numerous times whether she had made the tamales herself. But not everyone knows it takes 10 pairs of hand and 20 hours of labor to make tamales. And looking back, I realized that out of the 11 people there, one woman was Indian, two were Middle Eastern (one woman Iranian, the other I can't remember correctly), one was Cuban, and one was Chicana. So L___'s characterization was NOT quite accurate. Far be it from this white boy to tell her what did or didn't happen, but I also don't want to typecast the entire brunch atmosphere either.

( this turned into the longest post ever )

where does he get those wonderful toys?

Have a mentioned my new mixer? Maybe about a hundred times to fifty people. But it came today so I'm newly excited. I can't stop looking at the box and reading all the fabulous features, including a "ultra-high quality fader". Not just high quality, but ultra-high quality.

In the process of opening the box, I also cut my finger. Very similar to the new year's cut, though on my middle finger, not my index, and not nearly as deep or bloody. Though it was still a little bloody. I have no sympathy for myself, since I apparantly now have a habit of recklessness with sharp objects and fingers. I never seem to have this problem when cooking and dicing items with my large butcher knife. Probably because I use proper technique and pay attention to my work, which is more than my typical style of engaging during other tasks.

My boss's birthday is today. She's recently diagnosed as diabetic, so no cake -- we're having fruit. I'm guessing with no candles stuck in them. Don't get me wrong -- I like fruit a lot. It just seems not very...celebratory. I feel there should have been more planning ahead, but then again we had cake just last Friday for Diff. Paced Coworker. Our last regional director, aka Mr. Mister would often get cakes for random special occasions -- so much so that it would almost be an insult if a cake wasn't gotten for other occasions. He was also annoying because he would always get HIS favorite cake (carrot) even if we were celebrating someone else's promotion.

Does anyone remember the Onion article last November about employees acting courteous and awkward at an unliked co-worker's farewell party? That was us. Literally.

Off to eat fruit.