Check please!

If you take a closer look at this pic, you'll notice that the lovely, volumputous lady is sweating. I doubt she was sweating because she had just eaten a hot curry - because this is an Italian restaurant, not an Indian curry house - but rather she had just received her bill for dinner.

Tonight I went out to Lucca's Ristorante in Oakland - the academic neighborhood of Pittsburgh. Now Lucca's is a nice little place. A little pretentious, a little swanky, and a little big on their prices.

Take for example my Altantic Salmon dish:

Salmon. Rice. Grapes. And almonds. For $27. It wasn't the bone in the salmon I was choking over. And it wasn't that phenomenal either. No, this is a not a food review, but I have a question: Since when did going out to eat cost an arm, a leg, and the GDP of a small Italian village?

All moaning and groaning aside, the ristorante was nice. Quaint. That's why I took pics, because I doubt I'll be going back to see it again.

2.3 kids and a white picket fence

This delightful photo was snapped almost 30 years ago. That's right, three decades ago. There's my Dad, my Mom, my younger sister and myself. I was five when this photo was taken and so much has happened in the past 30 years.

My parents divorced about six years later, my Mom remarried, had another kid, got divorced, again, was then involved in a 6-year relationship that produced my younger half-brother. Most recently, my Mom had a battle with breast cancer. Thankfully, she won.

My Dad, well, my Dad is a different kind. He never remarried and continued to work every single day. Occasionally, he found time for a round of golf.

My sister grew up, became rebellious, grew out of that, married, and now has 2.3 kids of her own. Her white picket fence is a 6-foot high concrete wall with barbed wire. But they have a swimming pool, which is nice.

Me, well, I grew up - sort of - moved to the Middle East, emigrated to the United States, went to college, moved around the U.S., and am now plonked down in Pittsburgh, ready to settle down and put down some roots.

In these past 30 years, we have seen many advances and changes. We now have flatscreen TVs, microwave dinners, cell phones, the internet, global leaders have risen and fallen, terrorist attacks have increased and various epidemics of AIDS, N1H1, Bird Flu and all sorts of wonderful things have plagued the earth.

Life growing up as a kid in the 'good ol' days' was wonderful. Your biggest concern was whether or not your parents would let you stay up past 9pm to watch the next episode of "V". You were good the whole week so you could use that as ammunition when you launched your pleading campaign with all sorts of nonsensical reasons why they should let you stay up and watch it. But if they said, "No.", then that was that. No amount of pleading would change their minds.

Or you beg and plead with your Dad to drive faster on the way from Friday night shopping at Pick 'N Pay so you'd be in time to watch MacGyver.

We were still young enough to find it gross when couples kissed on TV.

Those were the days when my Mom wore her hair flipped back, when my Dad drove a Triumph, and we were content to watch a black and white tube TV.

Where have the past three decades gone?

I wait. And I wait.

I'm not the most patient person I know. I'm patient with kids, that's all. When I was waiting at my psychotherapist's office, he was running about four minutes late. So I had a conversation with myself while I waited:

"So, self, should you leave? I mean seriously, therapist dude is late. Not a good sign."

"Maybe I should leave. I could always reschedule."

"I say go."

"Ok fine, that's it, I'm going to pack up my th... too late, there he is. Damn!"

I hate waiting. So when I went on my third interview last Tuesday with the friendly architect and his partner from New York, they mentioned that they would get back to me by the "end of next week". Today is Friday, the very end of next week. The tail end of next week. And no call. No email. Again, the voices spoke to me:

"Hey, self, should you call him?"

"Nah, maybe I should email him."

"I think you should call. At the end of the day."

I didn't call. It wouldn't be right. I shall wait until Monday, if I can last that long.

*sniff*

Not to sound like a selfish douche bag, but I have a cold, and when one has a nose that runs faster than a barefoot Kenyan sprinter, one blows one's nose. Usually with Kllenex. So I don't care how many ancielt boreal forests they have to cut down, I refuse to walk around with a dripping nose! Not cool.

Third interview

We all get a little nervous at times. It's natural. That's why they made Xanax. But I deviate. Today I had my third interview with the architectural firm. I think it went well, but I've been known to be wrong when making these judgement calls. So I guess I'll find out for sure in a week - if they call me or not.

Until then, I remain anxious.

Is it time for my cat nap?

The job hunt is a tiring job in itself. Just last week I went on three interviews. I have been asked to go back for a third with an architectural firm, the other one - a chemical company - will let me know if I've been selected to have a third interview on Wednesday, and also on Wednesday I have a writing test for a fundraising internship. And yes, it's unpaid.

This is, of course, over and above my serving tables and anwsering the phone and assembling office furniture and ordering toner cartridges and a new stapler for the copier room. Oh yes, and working 8 hours at an art show yesterday.

I want ONE full-time job. Just one. That's not being greedy. It just simplifies things so I can find the time to take a cat nap and recuperate and recharge and all that nice stuff.

Ever had the dickens scolded out of you?

And no lying allowed! We've all had the dickens scolded out of us. Maybe as a kid you pushed your female classmates into the street while walking up to the bus stop from school - and then had the dickens scolded out of you by your parents.

Or maybe you forgot your anniversary and arrived home from work giftless with an irrate wife who proceded to scold the dickens out of you.

Me, I had the dickens scolded out of me yesterday while chatting on Google chat with a friend of mine who lives down in the Cape of Storms. Somehow we got onto the topic of South Africans and how South African expats abroad like to bash their home country/insult the government/complain about crime. I made the mistake of doing the latter. And out came the fangs. Liewe hemel did I get the dickens scolded out of me? You're damn right I did. And now I know not to do it again.

Valuable lesson learned.