Tina Rowley

writer + (performer) + [space left blank for surprises]

Welcome to the internet home of Tina Rowley. Here you'll find my blog, links to my other published writing, and whatever ends up climbing into the space I left blank for surprises.

 

job opening

Are you psychic? Like, highly psychic? Mind-bogglingly, super-specifically psychic? And also, are you presciently psychic? Do you know what’s coming down the pike an hour or two from now?

Can you cook?

Can you live on no dollars a month?

Can you also do magic?




If you answered yes to ALL of the above questions, then I have a job for you, and you can start right now.

I am in desperate need of a psychic personal chef/magician. Pregnancy has turned me into an ultra-finicky, super-volatile-of-tastebud wreck.

Yes, more pregnancy food talk. Yes, yes. I’ve spent the better part of both yesterday and today on a shameful, Britney-Spears-inspired pregnancy diet of chocolate milk and puffy Cheetos.

Here’s what I need: I need this magical “employee” to constantly divine what is going to be palatable to my confused tongue, and I need this “employee” to get it ready for me before I need it. I also need the “employee” to be able too – and this is key – MAKE THE FOOD BE ABLE TO TURN ON A DIME AND CHANGE FORM IN FRONT OF ME SPONTANEOUSLY WHENEVER NECESSARY.

The cooks at the restaurant we went to for breakfast this morning, they did not have this skill. I ordered oatmeal, as it seemed like the safest, kindest item on the menu. It arrived looking kind. The first taste or two were kind. I looked away for a moment, and when I looked back, the oatmeal had changed. But this is the thing. It did not change FORM. It didn’t change from oatmeal to something else. It changed from benevolent oatmeal to malevolent oatmeal.

See, that’s not what I’m looking for. I’m looking for a situation in which, if I have some oatmeal in front of me that’s gotten off to a good start, and I look away and my mouth changes, and then I look back, I won’t see bad oatmeal there. I’ll see a bowl of strawberries and cream! Or pasta with garbanzo beans! Or whatever else the altruistic psychic chef magician has divined that I will need.

In the morning, I’ll wake up, and A.P.C.M. will have read my mind in my sleep. A.P.C.M. will be standing there by my bed with – who knew?- a Belgian waffle with peaches! I will eat a little of it, and when the mechanisms of my mouth begin to wobble, I will suddenly be eating – just what I needed!- a cheddar and jalapeno scone. This will continue all day long, and these combinations of food will provide my body with every nutrient it could possibly need, pre-empting the necessity to take my enormous dogsgusting Russian-roulette-game-of-potential-nausea-inducing PRENATAL VITAMIN.

I seek you, Dream Weaver. Come to me now.