Hurricane Hormone

For the last two weeks I've been dizzy, queasy, and so tired that it seems like an impossible feat getting from the couch to my bed. Most food does not sound good, but strangely enough the thought of re-fried beans makes my mouth water. I've been suspicious, but also in denial, until yesterday morning when I peed on the stick and two pink lines appeared. So, baby number two begins! For those of you that haven't figured it out, I am pregnant! Although, I do have this weird thought that what if it wasn't correct and I'm telling everyone and it turns out it was all in my head. That would be embarrassing.

My three year old daughter stared at me blankly when I explained it to her, she didn't quite compute it at first. Then she jumped up and said "I'm going to go get the baby book with all the pictures". The book she is referring to is a 70's pregnancy book with LOTS of pictures, most of which are scary. The hideous maternity clothes, the man perms, the HUGE mustaches, and lack of grooming in other areas which I will not mention. You get the picture. I did not buy this book, it was given to me when I was pregnant with my daughter.

So, we are happy, but it doesn't really feel like reality yet. I know reality will be dropping an anvil on me soon enough. I resolve not to gain 52 pounds this time. I also resolve to be nicer to people. Along with that I need to learn to control the murderous thoughts I tended to get when someone didn't get my order right or Jack didn't bring home the correct chocolate. I also resolve not to make this a typical boring pregnancy blog. Pregnancy milestones usually aren't all that interesting to hear about unless you know the person, in my opinion at least. So if I decide to share some of the quirks of this pregnancy, or embarrassing moments, it's only because I think you might find it funny or entertaining. If it starts getting boring, just let me know. Or maybe not, it depends on how moody I am.

Coffee In a The Boondocks

Cassoulet Cafe is having another great coffee give-away, but to win you must post an interesting coffee story. The prize is from The Metropolis Coffee Company, check out their website! I am currently at a loss as to what to say. I suppose I could expound upon the story I did for the last give-away (which I didn't win!). Or I could tell you about the amazing adventures of being a teenage barista in a little coffee hut.

That's right, once upon a time I worked in a little espresso stand in a dinky little "town". This was long before Starbucks came rolling in and educated the people on the difference between a cappuccino and a mocha...though they still haven't educated anyone on what good coffee is. The people of this town, and neighboring towns were very interesting folks. And by interesting I mean that the pretty ones had most of their teeth intact and wore both shoes at the same time. The pretty ones also wore a colorful assortment of stained pajamas for their "going out" clothes. Now I've never been to Alabama, so I don't want to offend anyone, but I'm just going to go on the assumption of the things I've seen in movies that take place in Alabama. Take away the southern hospitality, banjos, sweet tea, and alligators....and there you have the town that I worked in.

Now, I don't know about you, but I have never seen the word "espresso" spelled with an "x", yet most everyone said "EXpresso". And most of my customers didn't know what anything was that ventured outside of being plain old coffee. "I'll have one uh dem mocha laddees' please". Um, what? I could never figure out if they actually wanted a mocha, or a latte, so I just made them what I figured they wanted. Steam some milk, add a little bit of espresso, and LOTS of chocolate. They felt proud and refined for ordering an espresso in the first place, so I just went along with it and didn't tell them they were drinking hot chocolate with a teaspoon of coffee in it.

My favorite customers were the ones that had absolutely no clue what anything was, they couldn't even compute why they were there looking at a board with words on it! They looked as if it was their first day on earth and they were so confused by what that little white building next to the road was. There they were looking at a menu full of Italian words and they hadn't even finished learning their mother-tongue. Those were the people that always ordered a cappuccino because they remembered hearing that on t.v. or something. I was hesitant to make it, but went ahead with the order not wanting to talk down to anyone, "excuse me sir, but do you even know what a cappuccino is?". No, I didn't want to be like that. So I just pulled out the old standby, "would you like that wet or dry?". The dumbfounded look on their face revealed it all. After explaining in detail every item on the menu they would usually decide on an espresso milkshake....without duh coffee stuff in it, they didn't like coffee. I must clarify though, when I am speaking about these people, I am not referring to those that are simply undecided in what they want, or are just confused by the menu. These unique individuals were confused by the board itself that the menu was written on.

The most exciting day of my barista career was when two businessmen from New York were driving through the state and pulled off of the freeway to my little old coffee shack. One ordered a latte and the other ordered a dry cappuccino! I told them to bear with me, I didn't have a whole lot of experience making cappuccinos because everyone always ended up changing their minds after finding out what they were. I successfully made a dry cappuccino and they were very happy with their drinks. I had finally fulfilled my barista destiny! I made real drinks for real people!

In my glorified hot-chocolate making career I made many delicious coffee and espresso drinks for myself and my family. Whenever I found out that my sister, CC, was at my parent's house I handcrafted her a FREE drink of art and brought it home to her. That is why I think I should win some coffee all these years later! Oh, and I would like to clear something up. I am not trying to be mean to the confused people out there. I am not pretentious and I do not think that because someone doesn't know about coffee and espresso that they are stupid. I do, however, have a slight problem with people that have six kids in tow, a pregnant belly, cigarette dangling out of mouth, yelling at the kids and baby's daddy, throwing empty soda cans and cigarette cartons back at the kid's heads, all while trying to order her 75 oz. iced mocha with 5 shots of caramel. And then to top it off, it's oh so very hard for her to drive away and pour the contents of her flask into the drink at the same time. OK, so I'm exaggerating.....slightly. Now, I do have to admit that there was one nice guy who brought his mom with him to ask me out. When I politely told him that I was unavailable he kindly yelled "CRAP!" at the top of his lungs and told his mom to drive off. I didn't stay at that job too long. But I still love coffee.

Obeying Kim

So apparently I am supposed to post ten honest things about myself. Here goes:


1. I hate mayo (does that count?)

2. I put pee in my sister's shampoo when I was little. She told me there were heads under the bed, nightly.

3. I can easily scarf a bag of Kettle chips, very quickly.

4. I have only one "good" set of sheets (which are quickly deteriorating), and I put the stained pillowcase on my husband's pillow because I don't want it.

5. I put a sock over my cat's face and head because it was funny. She ran around the house backwards at full-speed.

6. I hate wal-mart, but I still shop there.

7. I have skin "issues", whiteness aside.

8. I had a parakeet when I was three and smothered it. I thought she was cold!

9. I was a crazy person when I was pregnant, sorry sis, you and "Jack" got the brunt of it and you two deserve an award just for that!

10. I HATE being interrupted or talked over, or ignored. Makes me feel like a little kid again. Although I do NOT like being the center of attention either.

One more: I like pickle juice.

Ready For The Ride?

So we've visited the subjects of hairiness, eggshellness, and cheekiness. What wacky head trip journey shall I take you down now? Well, before I disappoint any followers of this blog that are looking forward only to hairy white tales, I better give you a little more insight on the probability of how my blog will go.

Bi-polar. That's right. Just when you think things couldn't get any lighter or funnier, they won't. Suddenly I'll switch gears and take you someplace deeper and more profound, or just strange and perhaps sad. As my French chili sister (Cassoulet Cafe) informed me, blogging is fun and creative entertainment, but can also be a cathartic therapy session. I plan on taking advantage of the free therapy. So, for those of you who would like to stick around on this roller coaster, thank you! And welcome to my Cheeky Greek head, it could be a long strange trip. But I will try and make it an entertaining one.

I have always loved to write, I don't claim to be any good at it, but I love it! I have shared things I've written only with like two people ever, so this is very new to me. I'm not very good with getting the right words to come out of my mouth, but give me a keyboard or pen and paper and the words flow freely. I guess all those years of cave dwelling with Twinkies and a large supply of Gillettes has somewhat inhibited my speech. If you don't know what I'm talking about then you haven't read my first two posts. I hate Twinkies by the way.

Most people do not know that I've been writing "in the closet" (or cave) since I was seven. I have a collection of poetry, short stories, and kids books I've written. I have started countless novels only to destroy them because they weren't up to my O.C.D. standards. Nor did I think anything would come of them. One of my favorite ways to write is to sit alone in a room with the music that moves me the most serenading my thoughts. I write everything that pops into my head at the exact moment it pops into my head. The result? A paper full of scrambled thoughts and lyrics, some inspiring and some not so understandable. I just think it's amazing to see the human mind on paper. I love reading things that require deeper thought and discernment to relate to it, or to even comprehend it. In the last six years due to marriage and having a high-need demanding toddler, the collection of new writings is very limited. These last few days are the most I've written in I don't know how long!

So, on that note: Give a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Give a man a fish with mercury, you just screwed that guy. Random? I know, that's me.

Fish anyone?

Cheeky?

I suppose I should address the Cheeky part of my name. Why cheeky? Because, I was not blessed with high cheekbones. While many people may object and say that I do not have a chubby face, I strongly feel that I am one of the cheekies.

The Dreams and White Tales of Cheeky Greek

Last night I had a wacky dream, which is no surprise in itself. Us wacky Greek sisters have them more often than not (should we check into this? Quite possibly, however it will go on the back burner for now). After waking with my adrenalin pumping then frantically feeling my husband's face to make sure it was in tact, I realized that at no point in any person's life is it a good idea to own a tiger.

To sum it up, in dreamland we decided to get a cute, cuddly, rolly-polly tiger kitten. I did not understand it myself, but why question it right? In dreamland do you ever question going back to elementary school completely naked with a bowl of fruit on your head while pushing a wheelchair that's covered in the cafeteria's turkey gravy? Probably not. Back to the tiger. The tiger began to grow very rapidly, then would shrink back down to size, then back up again. Weird. Once it began to lunge at our throats it wasn't so cute anymore, or even weird, just plain ol' scary! I recall the tiger was dangling from my husband's jugular when I decided I had better call 911. That didn't work like it is supposed to, they put me on hold, and yes, there was elevator music. We are in hysterics, I don't know where my three year old is, and my husband (we'll call him Jack) is trying to pry this tiger kitten's dagger claws out of his neck. It was much like the last scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail where the cave dwelling rabid rabbit is hurling itself and it's razor sharp bucked teeth toward unsuspecting victims. I realize this is the second time on my blog I have referred to buck teeth.

So I'm still on hold, then finally someone answers. "Thank you for calling, would you like to hear about our specials this week?".......WHAT?! And this brings me to another thought, whenever I dream that something terrible is happening I always call 911. Never once has it worked. Later I'll tell you all about my recurrent lion dreams. Oh, and the contact lens dream my hairy sister used to tell me about which eventually became one of my dreams.

Well, I suppose I should begin my tale of how I came to be so white (eggshell). I really don't know honestly. I must have stuck my little embryonic toe in some recessive gene pool that my family didn't know existed, considering I'm whiter than my non-Greek mother. And there the story began.

I'm not like redhead white, I'm olive white. I know, weird combo. It's so much fun picking out a foundation color! I can never decide which one I like better, the orangey fake-n-bake, over-baked, yet still the lightest shade color...which manages to make me look orange and pale at the same time and very oompa loompa-like. Or the one that is supposed to work great for neutral or yellow undertones that actually is so pink it would make a lovely blush shade. Aha! I finally find a great match, I'm feeling good. Then walks in my dad. "You are SO white!". Really Dad? Thanks for that long-lost gene.

I don't burn too badly in the sun which is nice, but I don't tan real well either. By the time my tan is starting look like the average person's in May, the summer is already ending. So here is my awesome, and oh so white tan next to everyone else's, and the clouds surround for the next six months completely ruining my chances at getting a real person tan. This last summer I finally became a self-tanner. It is so shocking to people to see me tan that they start to ask questions like: "Are you taking vitamins, you look healthy?! Have you finally gotten out of your house?". No, I still reside in my sun-deprived albino cave living off of Twinkies and kool-aid, I'm just bottle-browned now.

The White Side of My Greek "Hair-itage"

So here I am, new to this whole blogging world due to the insistence of my sister. In response to her sad sob story about being dark and Greek amongst the melanin deprived girls that didn't have to shave until they were 20, I got to thinking! What about the white Greeks? I am Greek just like the rest of my family. I too have battled with the ethnic body hair crisis, only my battle is a unique one. I do not have the dark Greek olive skin to somewhat disguise my hair if I decide to be lazy and not shave. I have very light skin (we'll call it eggshell instead of pasty or pale). Ah yes, eggshell colored skin and DARK "features". While some have complimented my unique combination saying I look exotic or snow-white like (thanks), much too often there has been torment at my expense.

I can recall minding my own business at school trying to complete an assignment when one of my schoolmates began to pet my arms. "It's so soft!" she remarked, as if she was completely shocked that it wasn't coarse and wiry since it was so dark. Well, it didn't stop there, the rest of the class had to join in and I became the class pet. Needless to say nobody wanted to be my boyfriend that year. Well, except for one chubby buck-toothed kid that we so affectionately called "Bucky".

You tend to feel a little out of place as a Greek-American girl amongst all the other hairless kind. Especially when you discover that the other eight year old girls do not shave their legs. However, I could always find comfort from my family when I got home. My siblings loved to "help" me with my hair problem. One night I was running around the house, carefree, when my older, darker, and hairier sister told me she had a lotion she wanted to try on me. Now, keep in mind this was the pre-shaving era of my life, so I was like six. My white toothpick-like legs with a hearty blanket of Grecian hair that made my skin look not so white, can't you picture it? Well, being the naive six year old that I was I agreed to let her use me as her guinea pig, after all, it was only lotion! And she was being nice to me, this was turning out to be a fun night! She opened the bottle and immediately the stench almost made me run, but she convinced me to stay. The tingling on my skin concerned me, but I was told that it wasn't a problem. I did find it a little odd that it was put on so thick and she wouldn't let me rub it in. But I didn't object because I was getting treated so nicely! So I watched some t.v. for a while, not realizing that my brothers were now spectators of this event of the lotion. I looked down at my leg to notice that the hair was beginning to curl and look very odd. I was concerned so my sister finally informed me that it was just my hair dying.......DYING??!! I had hair on my body that was dying if not already dead?! Dead things all over my leg, death, scary, creepy, hairy death on my leg?! That's when the hysteria set it. It wasn't all bad though, I had a nice smooth hairless spot on my leg for about 5 weeks.

I don't get tormented so much for my hair anymore, the razor is my best friend. While I left my trademark arm hair in tact for many years I decided on a whim to see what my arms looked like without hair. White.

Tune in next time for more on the white subject, coming soon.