It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Blurst of Times...

What's the best thing ever when you're tired?  Sleep.  What's the best thing ever when you wake up in the morning and don't have to go to work?  Breakfast-in-bedroom.  A full spread of avocados, apples, cheese, bread, yogurt, coffee, and a 'lil Bailey's is how I plan to start every "Saturday."

Once I get myself out of bed, next comes looking over my week's brief notes.  Here are some direct transcriptions:

- chx. parm. + pasta = food

- falafel from scratch (3 cases parsley)

- decade dance party - rad makeup - feeling human

Firstly, let me introduce you to one of this year's brilliant but logistically annoying concepts: 24-hour food.  There is already 24-hour pizza, deli bar, cereal, waffles, wrapped leftovers, and prepackaged food; but pretend none of those exist.  Cue the trumpets, we've got TWENTY-FOUR HOUR FOOD!  Originally, this was described as a short-order grill, pasta bar, rice, and more.  For my shift's part, we are meant to prepare and serve pasta, sauce, and a pasta-type casserole.  This is meant to be delicious, original, and change every day; this is meant to utilize leftovers; this is meant not to utilize leftovers; this is meant to be vegetarian; this is meant to be semi-vegetarian; this is meant to be sauces from scratch while using leftovers while being half vegetarian while being fresh and hot while being easy and not adding time to prep while being easy while being carefully made in small batches...get the idea?  It's really quite simple and we just sort out the details, as management expects.  Long story short, I hacked up some previously-baked pre-made breaded chicken parmesan patties with congealed cheese, added pasta, and heated it up.  Half got eaten, so at least some garbage was saved from the...garbage.

Contrastingly, I was rewarded with making some quite tasty falafel from scratch two days later.  Chickpeas were soaked, spices were toasted, and most significantly, a couple cubic yards (3 cases; 15 pounds?) of parsley were minced (no, no, not by hand, in the food processor).  I listened to J.T. croon, I ice-cream scooped an estimated 1,000 balls, and I deep-fried them.   

Saturday night was the Decade Dance Party at Gallagher's, the larger/louder of the bars.  Luckily, I had thoroughly perused the selections at the Skua (like a Goodwill, but free) and found a peach prom dress as well as a short-tight-snakeskin-print dress.  I also nabbed some wickedly pointy black heels, but come party time decided to protect my toes with red Mario Batali clogs.  My friend down the hall provided makeup, which I asked be applied to look "clown-like," and we decided the decade that most applied to my outfit would be '90s, so I had a high ponytail and those strings of bangs on either side like Alicia Silverstone.  There was a pretty good turnout, and we bounced around to disco and pop.  My makeup applicator friend wore my favorite outfit of the evening: also '90s, but the previous century.  Something possessed her to bring to this continent a for-real bonnet, and she paired it with a long patterned skirt and cardigan for that classic pioneer-ette look.

Here is a picture of gloaming.