When I was a snotty teenager, I insisted that I would never cook my own food. I hated cooking and swore I would have my own personal chef. I seriously don't even know who that girl was now. Sure, some days I'm totally lazy and eat Cheez-Its for dinner, but most of the time I love to cook. I pore over recipes online for hours and take at least a week to plan holiday meals. I talk about food endlessly with my friends who are as equally obsessed as I am.
It's not just the food or the taste or showing off at a party. I love the memories that go with the food. Certain smells evoke the memories in the strongest and most poignant way, but food memories are my favorites.
When I was really little, I'd hang out in the kitchen with my mom, handing her the items she needed. I sliced off a little taste of butter whenever I pulled it out of the fridge for her. I learned how to make chicken and dumplings watching her. I mean real southern chicken and dumplings, not those pathetic biscuit imposters. This was my grandmother's recipe. And probably her grandmother's. When I grew up, I only needed the ingredient amounts, but no instruction. For years D hated them, which made me sad. I had imagined this would be the one recipe passed down to my daughter and her daughter after that. She finally learned to love them like I do in the last year and my legacy is again alive.
As a kid, my mom made us whatever we wanted for dinner on our birthdays. I don't know why this was such a big deal to me, probably because it was the one day of the year I could reject less appetizing fare like liver and okra and lima beans. I always chose tacos. Every year. My sister always chose spaghetti.
I think visiting my grandparents in Mississippi is where I learned to equate food with love. We had dinner and supper, same-sized meals at different times of the day at a crowded, very full table. My mom said that my grandpa used to say that a meal wasn't complete without bread. He made the best biscuits and, for a while, my mom tried to replicate the recipe when we returned home. She never could and gave up after a few near-disasters. I'm still too afraid to try.
When we ate at seafood restaurants, I would get popcorn shrimp and hush puppies. I loved the name more than the actual food and hush puppies were one of the first comfort foods I attempted to make in college. I'm super snobby about them now. Yes, snobby about fried corn meal. It has to be done just right.
A trip to Disneyland isn't complete without a churro or two or three. I don't eat them anywhere else. D loves to go to the Mexican restaurant in Frontierland, not so much for the food, but for the view of Thunder Mountain at night.
In-N-Out. Oh, In-N-Out. I don't even care to debate this. It is just hands-down my favorite burger place in all the world. There are restaurants all over California and they have branched out to other states (but not Oregon, ahem. I'm looking at YOU, In-N-Out Corporate!). It wasn't always like that though. We used to go rarely, mostly when we went to the beach because we'd pass by one on those occasions. I had In-N-Out the day I bought my first car. It is probably the one thing I crave most often. Oh, In-N-Out. I love you so.
My favorite candy? Abba Zabba. If you've never had this delicious treat, it's like a bar of taffy with peanut butter in the middle. It's best frozen, but it also reminds me of going to the beach. I lost a tooth in one once.
Vacations are always about the food. In Victoria, it's afternoon tea at Butchart Gardens. Little finger sandwiches and scones and tarts and truffles and fancy tea! My summer cruise offered endless amounts of food but nothing on the ship compared to what I found in port. The Mexican resort provided freshly made tortillas and things I could never name, but couldn't get enough of. And fish tacos on a Mexican beach? There's nothing else like it. In Hawaii I had pineapple juice every morning and vowed to never eat mahi mahi anywhere else.
I love crepes and risotto and lobster, sushi and lamb and pretty plates of delicate pasta. But I also love fried chicken and fried catfish, bad, trashy food full of grease and fat and everything else that gives it a bad reputation. My favorite white trash food is Easy Cheese. You know, stuff that comes in a can that isn't really any kind of cheese at all. Easy Cheese and Pringles are the best snack to take for a day at the lake. It's good on celery if you want to pretend to be healthy. Last night I tried it on a hot dog. Omg, you guys. Try it tonight. Seriously.
Food. Memories of food. So many of them. College means popcorn and rice and fresh strawberries from roadside stands. After 52 hours of childbirth, I rewarded myself with french fries, ranch dressing and a chocolate shake. My ex and I went out for sushi the day our divorce was finalized. I taught D how to crack crab legs the day she got her first pair of pointe shoes and we had pizza when she got her braces off.
Food is family, love, birthdays, drunken Friday nights, beginnings, endings, celebrations, compromise, sometimes regret, more often pure joy. I've loved people with food. I've laughed over food. I've been comforted by it and had invaluable conversations during delicious meals. The best thing about all of this? There is just more to come.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
World Fucking Domination, Ya'll
So I was talking to my friend A about zombies. I guess I had zombies on the brain. What? It's totally normal to discuss zombies on a leisurely summer day.
Okay, so actually it stemmed from a conversation about dead squirrels and spiders and spiders who eat birds and the number of black widows I've found in my house. But that's just kinda grossly boring.
What isn't boring? Zombie. fucking. spiders. Right? A asked if zombies in general aren't worse. Um, no. We all know what to do with regular zombies that just start out as dumb people. Especially the redneck ones. He then suggested zombie birds, but I said no way. Birds start out cute. Spiders are never cute. They are creepy and sneaky and crafty to begin with. Imagine that with zombie added in. Fucking scary, right? They can hide in your shoes and behind the tv and jump out when you walk by. Even their webs would be fucking creepy. Fucking seriously.
Dude - if I was going to take over the world, I would totally do it with zombie spiders. Watch out, ya'll.
Okay, so actually it stemmed from a conversation about dead squirrels and spiders and spiders who eat birds and the number of black widows I've found in my house. But that's just kinda grossly boring.
What isn't boring? Zombie. fucking. spiders. Right? A asked if zombies in general aren't worse. Um, no. We all know what to do with regular zombies that just start out as dumb people. Especially the redneck ones. He then suggested zombie birds, but I said no way. Birds start out cute. Spiders are never cute. They are creepy and sneaky and crafty to begin with. Imagine that with zombie added in. Fucking scary, right? They can hide in your shoes and behind the tv and jump out when you walk by. Even their webs would be fucking creepy. Fucking seriously.
Dude - if I was going to take over the world, I would totally do it with zombie spiders. Watch out, ya'll.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Because He's Like Us
D decided today that she wants another frog. She had one a few years ago for a few months. Phoebe/Jade/Jasmine (her name was progressive) was a cute little green tree frog. I managed to keep her alive while D was gone for a week and then she promptly killed her when she got home. What is it called when you dehydrate a frog? Frogslaughter? Involuntary by a minor? It was sad. I cried and couldn't even look at her.
Anyhoo, we went to the pet stores today to scope out the amphibians. Wandering down the rodent aisle, we came across a "fancy" hamster running on his wheel. He was noticeably retarded. As he was running, he'd lean his head over to the side, but the crossbar would bump into him every rotation. It was like he was trying to decapitate himself. Run, bump, pull back, run, bump, pull back, over and over. Then he got off and we thought he had figured it out, but no. He jumped right back on. Run, bump, pull back, run, bump, pull back. D practically shrieked, "Can we have HIM?!?" Because he obviously is one of us. He would totally fit into our household. I could even put some vodka in his little drippy bottle and then he'd be just like me. Drunk and not learning from his mistakes.
I was seriously considering it until D pointed out his balls. Giant, elephantitis, dragging-on-the-ground balls. I just can't have that in my house. I think he even tried to high-five me through the glass when I saw what he had.
There were no frogs, but we tried to think of a name for the future frog. D thinks that Penis is a good name. "Do you want to see my Penis?" "I have a little Penis." She thinks that she might want two so they can be named Penis and Balls.
You know, there are some things I just never said in front of my mom.
Anyhoo, we went to the pet stores today to scope out the amphibians. Wandering down the rodent aisle, we came across a "fancy" hamster running on his wheel. He was noticeably retarded. As he was running, he'd lean his head over to the side, but the crossbar would bump into him every rotation. It was like he was trying to decapitate himself. Run, bump, pull back, run, bump, pull back, over and over. Then he got off and we thought he had figured it out, but no. He jumped right back on. Run, bump, pull back, run, bump, pull back. D practically shrieked, "Can we have HIM?!?" Because he obviously is one of us. He would totally fit into our household. I could even put some vodka in his little drippy bottle and then he'd be just like me. Drunk and not learning from his mistakes.
I was seriously considering it until D pointed out his balls. Giant, elephantitis, dragging-on-the-ground balls. I just can't have that in my house. I think he even tried to high-five me through the glass when I saw what he had.
There were no frogs, but we tried to think of a name for the future frog. D thinks that Penis is a good name. "Do you want to see my Penis?" "I have a little Penis." She thinks that she might want two so they can be named Penis and Balls.
You know, there are some things I just never said in front of my mom.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Children of the Corn
I hate my neighbors. Most people know this and anyone who has ever been to my house agrees that they are redneck trash. I know, that's not nice. But you would agree if you saw them smoking on their front porch, or noticed the car that has been sitting in the driveway for months with a flat tire or ever heard them beat their kids.
Speaking of the kids, they are even worse. Last summer their thing was to throw their toys over the fence into my yard. At first I threw them back, but I quickly tired of that game and started throwing them in the trash.
This year their thing is to come over any time we're outside and try to talk to us. I ignore them but they repeatedly chatter, "Hi. Hi. Hello!! What's your name? What are you doing?" They accost anyone who comes to the house.
Last week they started breaking into cars. Or just letting themselves in. The Wife caught her the first time. It was the girl, trying to get into her back seat. What kind of kid just helps herself into a stranger's car? Obviously her parents haven't properly scared her.
A couple of days later, my car was in the garage. Stupid me, I left the garage open for half an hour. I found my car's back door open. How creepy is that? Some little imp is crawling around in my car? While it's in my garage?
Yeah, I'm not trusting them. They're giving me the creeps. Sure, they're three feet tall, but I've seen the movies. That kid in Pet Sematary was like two feet tall, and he was fucking creepy.
Speaking of the kids, they are even worse. Last summer their thing was to throw their toys over the fence into my yard. At first I threw them back, but I quickly tired of that game and started throwing them in the trash.
This year their thing is to come over any time we're outside and try to talk to us. I ignore them but they repeatedly chatter, "Hi. Hi. Hello!! What's your name? What are you doing?" They accost anyone who comes to the house.
Last week they started breaking into cars. Or just letting themselves in. The Wife caught her the first time. It was the girl, trying to get into her back seat. What kind of kid just helps herself into a stranger's car? Obviously her parents haven't properly scared her.
A couple of days later, my car was in the garage. Stupid me, I left the garage open for half an hour. I found my car's back door open. How creepy is that? Some little imp is crawling around in my car? While it's in my garage?
Yeah, I'm not trusting them. They're giving me the creeps. Sure, they're three feet tall, but I've seen the movies. That kid in Pet Sematary was like two feet tall, and he was fucking creepy.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Explaining the Concept
I got bored today and turned on something I haven't seen in years, Days of Our Lives. D asked what it was and I told her I used to watch it all the time. In fact, I first started watching it with my mom when I was three. Her eyes grew big, "It's THAT old?" Oh, children have the most delightful way of making one feel older than Egyptian dirt. The rest of the conversation went something like this:
D: Oh, that's Ali from Biggest Loser!
Me: Yeah, she's been on here a long time.
D: Really? She's that old?
Me: Well, she started as a teenager.
D: What's a soap opera?
Me: It's a show that was made when women stayed home so they'd have something to do while their husbands were at work.
D: It's on every day? What if you miss one?
Me: Too bad. There aren't reruns, it's new every day.
D: WHAT is the point of that?? Is there someplace you can BUY old shows?
Me: No.
D: What? What is the point?? I don't get it! That's so dumb!! That is the dumbest thing I ever heard.
Followed by peals of laughter.
Oh fuck, I am old.
D: Oh, that's Ali from Biggest Loser!
Me: Yeah, she's been on here a long time.
D: Really? She's that old?
Me: Well, she started as a teenager.
D: What's a soap opera?
Me: It's a show that was made when women stayed home so they'd have something to do while their husbands were at work.
D: It's on every day? What if you miss one?
Me: Too bad. There aren't reruns, it's new every day.
D: WHAT is the point of that?? Is there someplace you can BUY old shows?
Me: No.
D: What? What is the point?? I don't get it! That's so dumb!! That is the dumbest thing I ever heard.
Followed by peals of laughter.
Oh fuck, I am old.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Cheesy Tourist "Fun"
Two years ago I went along on a bike ride with Bend Cruiser Ride.
We started at Riverside Market, rode over to Old Mill and ended up at the top of the parking garage. That last part was the only miserable part. I am not a bike rider and not in shape for it. Still, it was a lot of fun and reminded me of a college party.
So last Thursday, The Wife said it's time we go again. The theme for the week was "cheesy tourist" so off we went in search of the appropriate costumery. Wifey ended up with a fanny pack, Mickey Mouse trucker hat and a Betty Boop camo t-shirt that spelled out "Major Hottie." Yes. However, I found The Perfect, Bestest Shirt Ever. One wedge of cheese is taking a picture of another wedge of cheese. The cheese with the camera says, "Saaay people!" Get it? Cheese? Camera? CHEESY TOURISTS!!! Am I only amusing myself here?
We show up at Riverside Market to meet the rest of the riders. We feel ridiculous. Wife wants to immediately bolt and go back home. Stupidly, I convince her that we are going to Do This. We meet Josh, who is hard to look at in neon pink and yellow, but he's a nice guy. A couple of other people introduce themselves to us, we approve of the Hawaiian shirts and black socks with sandals. The argyle socks with sandals are my favorite.
Starting out is fun. We cross the bridge over the river, and ride around over to the west side. Yay, fun. There's music, I'm not the only one dressed like a dork, riding is fun! And then we're going uphill. Up Mt. Washington. This was not part of the deal. I am dead last. I can no longer pedal without feeling like barfing. I am afraid I am going to puke, and fall off my bike into a pool of my own vomit. I get off and walk my bike. Cars drive by and I feel more pathetic by the second. In my faded-denim (so out of style!) shorts and socks with shoes that shouldn't be worn with socks. Walking my bike like a total wimp.
Of course we lost the rest of the group. C came back to get us and adjusted my bike seat. Which wasn't the point by then. I didn't want to die so much as cut my thighs off from the rest of my body. And throw up. We finally made it to the resting point, at the top of yet another hill. Someone commented that we should have warmed up for a ride like that. Really? No shit.
I did have some alcohol before we left but it was obviously metabolized on my hellish ride. I didn't feel it at all. And by that point, it was just too late. I was sober, exhausted and feeling very old. Remember that college party feeling I had the last time? Yeah, not so much anymore. I'm too fucking old for college parties.
I made it back down the hill because it was downhill. I made it almost to the Wife's house before I had to get off and walk again. So. Lame. I did not make it downtown with the rest of the group and I certainly wouldn't have made it to the top of the parking garage. I could barely walk down the front steps without feeling like my legs were going to give out. Fuck me.
Wife and I decided we must go again. We can't be "those really slow girls that never showed up again because they were obviously too wimpy and not cool enough to be here." But looking at the schedule, the next time that I can go is scheduled as lycra/spandex night. Somehow I don't see that happening.
We started at Riverside Market, rode over to Old Mill and ended up at the top of the parking garage. That last part was the only miserable part. I am not a bike rider and not in shape for it. Still, it was a lot of fun and reminded me of a college party.
So last Thursday, The Wife said it's time we go again. The theme for the week was "cheesy tourist" so off we went in search of the appropriate costumery. Wifey ended up with a fanny pack, Mickey Mouse trucker hat and a Betty Boop camo t-shirt that spelled out "Major Hottie." Yes. However, I found The Perfect, Bestest Shirt Ever. One wedge of cheese is taking a picture of another wedge of cheese. The cheese with the camera says, "Saaay people!" Get it? Cheese? Camera? CHEESY TOURISTS!!! Am I only amusing myself here?
We show up at Riverside Market to meet the rest of the riders. We feel ridiculous. Wife wants to immediately bolt and go back home. Stupidly, I convince her that we are going to Do This. We meet Josh, who is hard to look at in neon pink and yellow, but he's a nice guy. A couple of other people introduce themselves to us, we approve of the Hawaiian shirts and black socks with sandals. The argyle socks with sandals are my favorite.
Starting out is fun. We cross the bridge over the river, and ride around over to the west side. Yay, fun. There's music, I'm not the only one dressed like a dork, riding is fun! And then we're going uphill. Up Mt. Washington. This was not part of the deal. I am dead last. I can no longer pedal without feeling like barfing. I am afraid I am going to puke, and fall off my bike into a pool of my own vomit. I get off and walk my bike. Cars drive by and I feel more pathetic by the second. In my faded-denim (so out of style!) shorts and socks with shoes that shouldn't be worn with socks. Walking my bike like a total wimp.
Of course we lost the rest of the group. C came back to get us and adjusted my bike seat. Which wasn't the point by then. I didn't want to die so much as cut my thighs off from the rest of my body. And throw up. We finally made it to the resting point, at the top of yet another hill. Someone commented that we should have warmed up for a ride like that. Really? No shit.
I did have some alcohol before we left but it was obviously metabolized on my hellish ride. I didn't feel it at all. And by that point, it was just too late. I was sober, exhausted and feeling very old. Remember that college party feeling I had the last time? Yeah, not so much anymore. I'm too fucking old for college parties.
I made it back down the hill because it was downhill. I made it almost to the Wife's house before I had to get off and walk again. So. Lame. I did not make it downtown with the rest of the group and I certainly wouldn't have made it to the top of the parking garage. I could barely walk down the front steps without feeling like my legs were going to give out. Fuck me.
Wife and I decided we must go again. We can't be "those really slow girls that never showed up again because they were obviously too wimpy and not cool enough to be here." But looking at the schedule, the next time that I can go is scheduled as lycra/spandex night. Somehow I don't see that happening.
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
Favorite Weekend of the Year
July 4th weekend is the Best Weekend of the Year. It's summer and it's all about food and drinking and hanging out. I was going to say that this was the most disappointing weekend, but then I reread last year's post. At any rate, here's the low-down for this year.
Friday -
What I did -
It really has to start with Friday night. Daytime is boring. I went to First Friday with the Wife. We meant to go see ESO, but missed them because they actually played at 6:00. Wtf? When does anything happen at 6:00 and when is a band ever on time? Off to Silver Moon we went where a cute boy said he "knew" me because I had spanked him at a birthday party. Only I didn't. Not that I wouldn't have, that just wasn't me. Later I wondered if he thought I was a stripper. Should I be horrified or take it as a compliment? That one is still up for debate.
I ate, I drank a beer, I walked The Pug home. The end.
What I ate -
A slice of pizza, gorgonzola cheesy fries.
What I drank -
Vodka and soda, a beer
Saturday -
What I did -
I spent the day in the sun and it was glorious. I finished a book, read magazines. The Wife came over to bbq and we watched The Bachelorette. It was mellow and cheesy and perfect.
What I ate -
Chicken nugget happy meal, grilled corn and artichokes, roasted garlic bread, artichoke dip.
What I drank -
Gallons of water, two bottles of champagne
Sunday -
What I did -
I got up early to go to the dog show in Redmond. This could have been awesome. I say could have been, because making out with strange dogs is one of my favorite activities. It's like a hobby. It's easy. You don't even have to introduce yourself and dogs just go for it. But show dogs and show dog people are a different breed. Like, literally. I own purebreds (well, at least one of them is) and I'm not good enough for this crowd. I'm like the riff-raff that got in through the hole in the screen. The only dog I made out with was an Afghan Hound. Not my favorite. My favorite was the fawn Frenchie with the cute little round butt.
I went shopping. I can't afford shopping at my current three-figure salary but I can't say no to shoes. Shoes and dogs. Good day so far.
I went to a friend's birthday bbq. I thought it was a birthday, but her birthday isn't until next month. So apparently the band was an early birthday present and an excuse to have a party. Fine. But bluegrass bands should not sing The Clash. That is just wrong. Just don't.
Bbq number two was next. I was pleasantly buzzed by this point. Also? The first thing anyone said when I walked in was, "Hey - I have some pills for you!" It wasn't what I hoped for, but a nice offer. Oh well.
Next we went to Riverside Market so the Wife could play with her boy toy. Some douche-puppet tried talking to me. He made sure to tell me that he had a girlfriend and wasn't hitting on me. He was offended when I shooed him away. Yes. As in, "Shoo fly, don't bother me." Buzz kill.
What I ate -
Gross Sonic breakfast (as much as I could stomach), chocolate goldfish, guacamole, chips, potato salad, chicken salad, hamburger, a bite of a rib, strawberry-rhubarb pie, half of a cookie.
What I drank -
Copious amounts of water, a Coke, vodka and Gatorade, watermelon mojito, a beer.
Monday -
What I did -
Oh, glorious 4th! You are here!
Going to the Pet Parade is one of my favorite things of the year. Watching cute little canines strut their stuff is just Happiness. Actually being in the parade is pure torture. I am not even kidding. Not one little bit. The wife had to be in it because of her job and, by default, that meant I had to be in it. Because I love her or some stupid shit like that. It was completely unorganized and I wanted a drink five minutes after putting Remy on his leash. Why did I not fill my bottle with vodka? Because I'm stupid. Because I thought of hydrating my fucking dog first. I'm a good dog mom or something lame like that. The parade was humiliating. And lasted forever. Remy loved it. It was like a butt parade for him. Yippy skippy.
The wife and I went to lunch because we badly needed a Bloody Mary. Badly. We went to Olive Garden and I know, it's commercial and horrible and whatever. I didn't care. It was quiet paradise after the fucking parade. And they had alcohol. And our waiter, Shane, was the cutest thing ever. He told us he has a duck and a goose and takes them floating. I really need to see this because I can't imagine it. Are they on a leash? Why wouldn't they just swim away? We loved him for this and because he gave us extra bread sticks with our leftovers.
It was time to float but when I got home, Ruby looked so cute sleeping on my bed that I had to lie next to her and then I fell asleep. Because I'm old like that. And because I hadn't slept for two nights. And because I'm just old. By the time we finally did float, it was just a comedy of errors. I forgot my float, it was late in the day and not very warm. Actually, I was freezing. My ass was in water the whole way and was frozen along with my thighs. Why was I in water? Because my fucking float died. The armrest was the only thing holding me afloat. I got out of the water and it was just limp. Limp is not my favorite way for anything to be.
The rest of the evening continued this way.
We went to the wife's ex-boyfriend's house. Mistake. Awkward. Worst of all, they had already eaten. We left after a polite, tortuous hour.
Went to 10 Barrel to meet some friends. Who were already drunk and I was disappointingly sober. Drastically sober. Loved on The Pug and promised to make dinner for my drunk friend. When a guy in a dress suggested a leather belt, I remarked that it was the second time in the weekend that someone had brought up spanking to me. He said, "Oh, sure, if you want to be spanked. But I was talking about choking." Holy fuck, seriously? How do these things even happen to me?
It was after nine and we were hungry and still hadn't figured out where to watch fireworks from. I wanted a french dip so we went to Deschutes. Which no longer has french dips, what?? Luckily, we had our second awesome waiter of the day, Moshe (?). He said the beef brisket just makes him happy so we got that and we were happy too. Especially when my first bite was the most perfect, juicy piece of fat I have ever had. The fireworks started so we asked for to-go cups for our beer. Because that should totally be a thing, right? Awesome Waiter said no, but he would watch our beers while we went outside. So yeah, we watched the fireworks on the street with cars driving by. At least the beers were safe. He even covered them so "we wouldn't be roofied. By him."
What I ate -
Bad pastries, portobello ravioli, salad, breadsticks, alfredo sauce, an olive, beef brisket sandwich, salad number two.
What I drank -
Vodka (before it was ruined by nasty river water), two beers, a glass of water.
In summary, I didn't drink nearly enough and I'm not sure why. But I think I laughed enough to make up for it and I made out with the sun, if not dogs.
Until next year....
Friday -
What I did -
It really has to start with Friday night. Daytime is boring. I went to First Friday with the Wife. We meant to go see ESO, but missed them because they actually played at 6:00. Wtf? When does anything happen at 6:00 and when is a band ever on time? Off to Silver Moon we went where a cute boy said he "knew" me because I had spanked him at a birthday party. Only I didn't. Not that I wouldn't have, that just wasn't me. Later I wondered if he thought I was a stripper. Should I be horrified or take it as a compliment? That one is still up for debate.
I ate, I drank a beer, I walked The Pug home. The end.
What I ate -
A slice of pizza, gorgonzola cheesy fries.
What I drank -
Vodka and soda, a beer
Saturday -
What I did -
I spent the day in the sun and it was glorious. I finished a book, read magazines. The Wife came over to bbq and we watched The Bachelorette. It was mellow and cheesy and perfect.
What I ate -
Chicken nugget happy meal, grilled corn and artichokes, roasted garlic bread, artichoke dip.
What I drank -
Gallons of water, two bottles of champagne
Sunday -
What I did -
I got up early to go to the dog show in Redmond. This could have been awesome. I say could have been, because making out with strange dogs is one of my favorite activities. It's like a hobby. It's easy. You don't even have to introduce yourself and dogs just go for it. But show dogs and show dog people are a different breed. Like, literally. I own purebreds (well, at least one of them is) and I'm not good enough for this crowd. I'm like the riff-raff that got in through the hole in the screen. The only dog I made out with was an Afghan Hound. Not my favorite. My favorite was the fawn Frenchie with the cute little round butt.
I went shopping. I can't afford shopping at my current three-figure salary but I can't say no to shoes. Shoes and dogs. Good day so far.
I went to a friend's birthday bbq. I thought it was a birthday, but her birthday isn't until next month. So apparently the band was an early birthday present and an excuse to have a party. Fine. But bluegrass bands should not sing The Clash. That is just wrong. Just don't.
Bbq number two was next. I was pleasantly buzzed by this point. Also? The first thing anyone said when I walked in was, "Hey - I have some pills for you!" It wasn't what I hoped for, but a nice offer. Oh well.
Next we went to Riverside Market so the Wife could play with her boy toy. Some douche-puppet tried talking to me. He made sure to tell me that he had a girlfriend and wasn't hitting on me. He was offended when I shooed him away. Yes. As in, "Shoo fly, don't bother me." Buzz kill.
What I ate -
Gross Sonic breakfast (as much as I could stomach), chocolate goldfish, guacamole, chips, potato salad, chicken salad, hamburger, a bite of a rib, strawberry-rhubarb pie, half of a cookie.
What I drank -
Copious amounts of water, a Coke, vodka and Gatorade, watermelon mojito, a beer.
Monday -
What I did -
Oh, glorious 4th! You are here!
Going to the Pet Parade is one of my favorite things of the year. Watching cute little canines strut their stuff is just Happiness. Actually being in the parade is pure torture. I am not even kidding. Not one little bit. The wife had to be in it because of her job and, by default, that meant I had to be in it. Because I love her or some stupid shit like that. It was completely unorganized and I wanted a drink five minutes after putting Remy on his leash. Why did I not fill my bottle with vodka? Because I'm stupid. Because I thought of hydrating my fucking dog first. I'm a good dog mom or something lame like that. The parade was humiliating. And lasted forever. Remy loved it. It was like a butt parade for him. Yippy skippy.
The wife and I went to lunch because we badly needed a Bloody Mary. Badly. We went to Olive Garden and I know, it's commercial and horrible and whatever. I didn't care. It was quiet paradise after the fucking parade. And they had alcohol. And our waiter, Shane, was the cutest thing ever. He told us he has a duck and a goose and takes them floating. I really need to see this because I can't imagine it. Are they on a leash? Why wouldn't they just swim away? We loved him for this and because he gave us extra bread sticks with our leftovers.
It was time to float but when I got home, Ruby looked so cute sleeping on my bed that I had to lie next to her and then I fell asleep. Because I'm old like that. And because I hadn't slept for two nights. And because I'm just old. By the time we finally did float, it was just a comedy of errors. I forgot my float, it was late in the day and not very warm. Actually, I was freezing. My ass was in water the whole way and was frozen along with my thighs. Why was I in water? Because my fucking float died. The armrest was the only thing holding me afloat. I got out of the water and it was just limp. Limp is not my favorite way for anything to be.
The rest of the evening continued this way.
We went to the wife's ex-boyfriend's house. Mistake. Awkward. Worst of all, they had already eaten. We left after a polite, tortuous hour.
Went to 10 Barrel to meet some friends. Who were already drunk and I was disappointingly sober. Drastically sober. Loved on The Pug and promised to make dinner for my drunk friend. When a guy in a dress suggested a leather belt, I remarked that it was the second time in the weekend that someone had brought up spanking to me. He said, "Oh, sure, if you want to be spanked. But I was talking about choking." Holy fuck, seriously? How do these things even happen to me?
It was after nine and we were hungry and still hadn't figured out where to watch fireworks from. I wanted a french dip so we went to Deschutes. Which no longer has french dips, what?? Luckily, we had our second awesome waiter of the day, Moshe (?). He said the beef brisket just makes him happy so we got that and we were happy too. Especially when my first bite was the most perfect, juicy piece of fat I have ever had. The fireworks started so we asked for to-go cups for our beer. Because that should totally be a thing, right? Awesome Waiter said no, but he would watch our beers while we went outside. So yeah, we watched the fireworks on the street with cars driving by. At least the beers were safe. He even covered them so "we wouldn't be roofied. By him."
What I ate -
Bad pastries, portobello ravioli, salad, breadsticks, alfredo sauce, an olive, beef brisket sandwich, salad number two.
What I drank -
Vodka (before it was ruined by nasty river water), two beers, a glass of water.
In summary, I didn't drink nearly enough and I'm not sure why. But I think I laughed enough to make up for it and I made out with the sun, if not dogs.
Until next year....
Saturday, July 02, 2011
Loving My Life
I woke up this morning to sunshine and warm summer weather and the realization that this is my favorite weekend of the year. I said that if I had any money I would totally love my life. The famous (and obviously wise) ML told me to "Love it anyway". So I will.
Here are the things I love about my life. Not in order (so my kid can't take anything personally.)
I have choices. Even when it doesn't seem like it.
I eat ice cream for dinner whenever I want. Or cheese and crackers. Or vodka.
My friends love me and let me be me and don't judge, even when I think they should.
My daughter feels comfortable enough and trusts me enough to tell me things I don't always want to hear.
I live with puppies.
I can order my pizza without meat.
Making mistakes isn't as scary as it used to be.
Booze exists, is delicious, legal and I'm not allergic to it.
I'm a food whore and will therefore never die of anorexia.
I know that knowing what I want isn't wrong.
My kid is really awesome when she's not annoying me.
I can be alone or with a girlfriend or a room full of people and I'm okay with all of it. Most of the time.
My sadness is temporary.
I can keep the covers to myself.
I can let the dogs on the couch or on the bed because it's all mine.
Laughter is usually just a text away.
I'm still surprised. Often.
And now I'm going to go continue loving my life in the sunshine. Cheers!
Here are the things I love about my life. Not in order (so my kid can't take anything personally.)
I have choices. Even when it doesn't seem like it.
I eat ice cream for dinner whenever I want. Or cheese and crackers. Or vodka.
My friends love me and let me be me and don't judge, even when I think they should.
My daughter feels comfortable enough and trusts me enough to tell me things I don't always want to hear.
I live with puppies.
I can order my pizza without meat.
Making mistakes isn't as scary as it used to be.
Booze exists, is delicious, legal and I'm not allergic to it.
I'm a food whore and will therefore never die of anorexia.
I know that knowing what I want isn't wrong.
My kid is really awesome when she's not annoying me.
I can be alone or with a girlfriend or a room full of people and I'm okay with all of it. Most of the time.
My sadness is temporary.
I can keep the covers to myself.
I can let the dogs on the couch or on the bed because it's all mine.
Laughter is usually just a text away.
I'm still surprised. Often.
And now I'm going to go continue loving my life in the sunshine. Cheers!
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
The Consequences of Safe Sex
Last week when Birth Control was here he drooled on himself, me, my couch, my dogs and basically any other surface he was standing near. He wet through his diaper and got pee on me. His hands were always sticky and I wiped a booger off of his face and changed his poopy diaper. I was starting to think that my dogs are super clean in comparison.
The other day I was sitting outside and noticed Ruby scooting her butt across the grass. I thought it was weird, because dogs usually save this nasty habit for carpet. When she turned around, I saw the reason for the butt-scoot. There was a condom hanging from her butt. Yes. My dog pooped out a condom. Only not completely. She needed help and guess who got that lovely job? Yep, I got to pull a condom out of my dog's butt. Gross.
I would like to think that this would be a lesson in not eating my bathroom garbage, but I know it won't stop her. Both of my dogs think my bathroom garbage is a treasure trove of treats. They're gross.
The damn thing is that I'm pretty sure there were two condoms in there that day. So I'm kinda waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Gross.
The other day I was sitting outside and noticed Ruby scooting her butt across the grass. I thought it was weird, because dogs usually save this nasty habit for carpet. When she turned around, I saw the reason for the butt-scoot. There was a condom hanging from her butt. Yes. My dog pooped out a condom. Only not completely. She needed help and guess who got that lovely job? Yep, I got to pull a condom out of my dog's butt. Gross.
I would like to think that this would be a lesson in not eating my bathroom garbage, but I know it won't stop her. Both of my dogs think my bathroom garbage is a treasure trove of treats. They're gross.
The damn thing is that I'm pretty sure there were two condoms in there that day. So I'm kinda waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Gross.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
How Birth Control Works
I know, he's only been here two hours but BC has totally earned his name. I have thought of at least a dozen reasons how his name fits him.
1. He has to be followed around constantly. You could maybe make out for about five seconds at a time before being interrupted.
2. You spend too much time cleaning up after him to have time to have sex. There are only so many hours in a day.
3. If there is time leftover, you're too exhausted after cleaning up and chasing all day.
4. There is the obvious fact that you don't want two of these things walking around the house wreaking havoc. You think he is cute until you see the weight of his bagel in crumbs all over the table.
5. It's hard to have sex with a tantrum going on in the background. Not exactly mood music.
6. "No" becomes an automatic, unrehearsed response.
7. Having pee on your shirt doesn't work as a pheromone.
8. There's no time to shave your legs or put on makeup.
9. There's no time left over after consoling the dogs and apologizing to them for the tornado you've let into their home that they don't understand.
10. If you turn your back for a second he might stab someone or burn the house down. It's hard to relax under those circumstances.
11. There's enough frustration throughout the day without having to worry about being sexually frustrated. And there's no point in starting something you can't really finish.
12. There's no watching porn to get in the mood because you always have the t.v. on something stupid like Wonderpets or fucking Spongebob on the off-chance that BC will get interested in it and sit down for five precious minutes. There is no bigger cockblocker than fucking Spongebob. (Spell check has a problem with both Spongebob and cockblocker. We have so much in common.)
1. He has to be followed around constantly. You could maybe make out for about five seconds at a time before being interrupted.
2. You spend too much time cleaning up after him to have time to have sex. There are only so many hours in a day.
3. If there is time leftover, you're too exhausted after cleaning up and chasing all day.
4. There is the obvious fact that you don't want two of these things walking around the house wreaking havoc. You think he is cute until you see the weight of his bagel in crumbs all over the table.
5. It's hard to have sex with a tantrum going on in the background. Not exactly mood music.
6. "No" becomes an automatic, unrehearsed response.
7. Having pee on your shirt doesn't work as a pheromone.
8. There's no time to shave your legs or put on makeup.
9. There's no time left over after consoling the dogs and apologizing to them for the tornado you've let into their home that they don't understand.
10. If you turn your back for a second he might stab someone or burn the house down. It's hard to relax under those circumstances.
11. There's enough frustration throughout the day without having to worry about being sexually frustrated. And there's no point in starting something you can't really finish.
12. There's no watching porn to get in the mood because you always have the t.v. on something stupid like Wonderpets or fucking Spongebob on the off-chance that BC will get interested in it and sit down for five precious minutes. There is no bigger cockblocker than fucking Spongebob. (Spell check has a problem with both Spongebob and cockblocker. We have so much in common.)
Monday, June 20, 2011
Adventures In Babysitting
Yeah, so I thought helping my friend out with her daycare emergency was brilliant. She would get an excellent provider (me) and I would get a little cash and some free child labor.
After the first hour this kid had a nickname: Birth Control. He was into everything. And I mean everything. I didn't realize how non-child-proof my house is. I have more breakables than I thought and all well within his reach. D was never like this so maybe I'm just not used to boys. Or I'm just old and amnesic. Really though, she was pretty calm.
In no time at all, BC had colored on my wine fridge, knocked a lamp off a table, expanded the hole in my screen door and picked up a knife. And totally freaked out my dog. Poor Ruby just couldn't make sense of him. She barked and barked and barked until I finally slapped her on the butt, which just completely broke her heart. I'm sure she thought she was defending me from some mutant-sized person and doing a really good job that I just didn't appreciate. Remy, on the other hand, wanted to lick the poor child to death.
We went to pick up D so I could take a shower and when I said "go bye-bye" he started packing up all his toys, including my styrofoam pumpkin that he fell in love with. I finally convinced him we'd be back so he grabbed his blanket, stuffed penguin and toy train. Which is not just a train, but a "railroad" train.
Stupidly, I had promised D we could go shopping to spend her birthday money. He loved hiding under the racks of clothes and laying on the floor. Basically all of the things I never let my own kid do but, you know, what the hell. Hanging a tiny bustier around his neck and donning a floppy hat was super cute. Twirling in circles was cute. Knocking shoes off of the display wall and trying to climb the shelves was not. He enjoyed his raucous freedom and did not want to be held, which was just too bad. So sad. I think I made the point of saying, to nobody in particular, that this was not my child.
BC finished off his cuteness for the day by throwing an hour-long fit because I gave him water and not juice. Because I'm super mean like that.
My arm is sore from lugging him around but yesterday's headache is gone, so am I ready to do it again today? You betcha. Apparently Ruby is his favorite dog. Yeah, he knows how to endear himself to me. Typical male already.
After the first hour this kid had a nickname: Birth Control. He was into everything. And I mean everything. I didn't realize how non-child-proof my house is. I have more breakables than I thought and all well within his reach. D was never like this so maybe I'm just not used to boys. Or I'm just old and amnesic. Really though, she was pretty calm.
In no time at all, BC had colored on my wine fridge, knocked a lamp off a table, expanded the hole in my screen door and picked up a knife. And totally freaked out my dog. Poor Ruby just couldn't make sense of him. She barked and barked and barked until I finally slapped her on the butt, which just completely broke her heart. I'm sure she thought she was defending me from some mutant-sized person and doing a really good job that I just didn't appreciate. Remy, on the other hand, wanted to lick the poor child to death.
We went to pick up D so I could take a shower and when I said "go bye-bye" he started packing up all his toys, including my styrofoam pumpkin that he fell in love with. I finally convinced him we'd be back so he grabbed his blanket, stuffed penguin and toy train. Which is not just a train, but a "railroad" train.
Stupidly, I had promised D we could go shopping to spend her birthday money. He loved hiding under the racks of clothes and laying on the floor. Basically all of the things I never let my own kid do but, you know, what the hell. Hanging a tiny bustier around his neck and donning a floppy hat was super cute. Twirling in circles was cute. Knocking shoes off of the display wall and trying to climb the shelves was not. He enjoyed his raucous freedom and did not want to be held, which was just too bad. So sad. I think I made the point of saying, to nobody in particular, that this was not my child.
BC finished off his cuteness for the day by throwing an hour-long fit because I gave him water and not juice. Because I'm super mean like that.
My arm is sore from lugging him around but yesterday's headache is gone, so am I ready to do it again today? You betcha. Apparently Ruby is his favorite dog. Yeah, he knows how to endear himself to me. Typical male already.
What I Did Last Week
Last week wasn't a totally normal week, even by the standards of my abnormal life.
Sunday D and I got tickets to the rodeo. Rodeos are surprisingly awesome. I usually say no to cowboys but rodeos make me want to say yes. The only bummer was that there was a disappointing number of outfits to make fun of.
D's birthday party was Tuesday. There's not much else to say on that other than this party kicked last year's party's ass.
Thursday I did a video shoot for a friend, something I hadn't done before. I was called "talent", which cracked me up the whole time. By the end, I was feeling a little loopy and if this video had a bloopers reel, most of them would be of me. I also made the mistake of watching the last shot of myself. Cringe-inducing, totally.
Friday was my trip with Gadabout Adventures to see Cirque du Soleil in Portland. I volunteered as hostess to serve the old peeps snacks and entertain them with bingo. Cirque is one of the great loves of my life. It's inspiring and incredible and beautiful. What is it about real beauty that makes me want to be a better person? As for the old people, I was so cute and charming that even the crustiest birds warmed up to me. It was an excellent day.
A friend of mine had a crisis with her daycare last week so I offered to be her daycare. She needed the help and I need the money. Plus new blog material. I also want to teach the kids to pull my weeds and mix my drinks. I am going to be the best daycare provider ever. I just need to keep him away from the redneck retarded inbreds next door.
Sunday D and I got tickets to the rodeo. Rodeos are surprisingly awesome. I usually say no to cowboys but rodeos make me want to say yes. The only bummer was that there was a disappointing number of outfits to make fun of.
D's birthday party was Tuesday. There's not much else to say on that other than this party kicked last year's party's ass.
Thursday I did a video shoot for a friend, something I hadn't done before. I was called "talent", which cracked me up the whole time. By the end, I was feeling a little loopy and if this video had a bloopers reel, most of them would be of me. I also made the mistake of watching the last shot of myself. Cringe-inducing, totally.
Friday was my trip with Gadabout Adventures to see Cirque du Soleil in Portland. I volunteered as hostess to serve the old peeps snacks and entertain them with bingo. Cirque is one of the great loves of my life. It's inspiring and incredible and beautiful. What is it about real beauty that makes me want to be a better person? As for the old people, I was so cute and charming that even the crustiest birds warmed up to me. It was an excellent day.
A friend of mine had a crisis with her daycare last week so I offered to be her daycare. She needed the help and I need the money. Plus new blog material. I also want to teach the kids to pull my weeds and mix my drinks. I am going to be the best daycare provider ever. I just need to keep him away from the redneck retarded inbreds next door.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
How the Farmer's Market Is Going to Make Me Fat
Yesterday the wife and I went to the farmer's market. I had a total craving for grilled veggies. Nothing fancy either, I went for corn, asparagus, artichokes and tomatoes. Too early for corn? Too late for asparagus? The artichokes were tiny and there were no tomatoes. Strike out.
Wifey won a gift card to 5 Fusion, so guess where we went? We ordered booze and fried food. Fried shrimp, fried mushrooms, fried crab cakes, fried fritters. And then we went to Powell's and got gelatto and candy.
Thanks, farmer's market. This better not be the pattern for the summer.
Wifey won a gift card to 5 Fusion, so guess where we went? We ordered booze and fried food. Fried shrimp, fried mushrooms, fried crab cakes, fried fritters. And then we went to Powell's and got gelatto and candy.
Thanks, farmer's market. This better not be the pattern for the summer.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
A Birthday Party Experiment
Tomorrow D is 15 and tonight she's having her birthday party. Last year was traumatic, unnecessarily so. I tried to mitigate some of the drama this year by shortening the time and the number of girls invited.
I am either a genius or there is a big difference between 14 and 15. I choose to think I'm a super genius. So far, anyway.
This is my experiment - I plan on live-blogging this party. Which won't be live by the time I finally publish it, but it will be as it happens. Except for what I have to get you caught up on so far, an hour and 20 minutes into the evening. And if it makes less sense as it goes on, it might be the craziness of being in a house full of teenage estrogen, but it also might be because I'm hanging out with my friend Vodka.
Here goes.
6:23 p.m. So far - I have overheard, "This sounds like 50's porn." Awesomeness right off the bat.
The girls went outside to lie on the sidewalk. I love this because I despise my neighbors. They are the biggest, fattest, stupidest rednecks ever. I have listened to them beat their kids. It's gross. But I don't feel sorry for the kids because they're fucking annoying. I would beat them if it were legal. It should be. Anyway, the girls lying on the sidewalk has completely fucked with the little neighbor brat. He was riding his bike on the sidewalk and now he's totally frustrated, trying to ride his bike on my grass. That part is irritating, but I'm hoping he'll lose his balance and fall in the road. The girls are ignoring him, of course. That's what they're best at this age. They should be, they practice on ignoring us parents constantly.
While I was typing this, a girl showed up who reminded me of a gazelle. I only say that because I hear that gazelles have long legs. No way. This girl's legs are endless. I have never seen legs this long. At this point I'm glad there is no male presence in my house. My staring was perverse enough.
6:35 p.m. O.M.G. This is the best party ever. The girls just came in to tell me the neighbor brat girl thought that one of them was Hannah Montana and asked for her autograph. I told you they're stupid. The teenager's mistake was not signing a fake autograph and continuing the joke. That would have made my whole year.
A mom dropped her kid off who called me earlier today. I think she was trying to make sure that I would be here, without asking directly; she asked to meet me when she showed up. Good parenting. Even if she did leave her daughter in the care of a lush. At least she can rest assured that her daughter won't be drinking.
7:11. p.m. They're playing hide-and-seek. At 15. I guess I don't have to worry about her growing up too quickly.
8:26 p.m. They are eating dinner and watching Ratatouille. Quietly. I might love 15.
8:28 p.m. OMG. They say thank you. For vegetables!!!
8:36 p.m. The vegan ate pasta. And bread. Score!!
8:53 p.m. No pictures of her opening presents because my camera battery was dead. Of course.
9:55 p.m. She just played guitar and sang with her friend. I might have cried. Maybe. Her friend called out, "Sing it out! Sparkle, baby!"
10:01 p.m. They're decorating their cupcakes. While singing "America the Beautiful". This should be interesting.
10:21 p.m. I'm now hiding in my room but I can hear them singing "Bugle Boy" in the kitchen. Karaoke must be next.
I'm signing off now. It wasn't as funny as I thought it would be but nobody cried so it's a win. I'm going to quit while I'm ahead and be grateful for my bugabooga, her talents and the difference a year makes.
As they sing "Dancing Cheek to Cheek"...
I am either a genius or there is a big difference between 14 and 15. I choose to think I'm a super genius. So far, anyway.
This is my experiment - I plan on live-blogging this party. Which won't be live by the time I finally publish it, but it will be as it happens. Except for what I have to get you caught up on so far, an hour and 20 minutes into the evening. And if it makes less sense as it goes on, it might be the craziness of being in a house full of teenage estrogen, but it also might be because I'm hanging out with my friend Vodka.
Here goes.
6:23 p.m. So far - I have overheard, "This sounds like 50's porn." Awesomeness right off the bat.
The girls went outside to lie on the sidewalk. I love this because I despise my neighbors. They are the biggest, fattest, stupidest rednecks ever. I have listened to them beat their kids. It's gross. But I don't feel sorry for the kids because they're fucking annoying. I would beat them if it were legal. It should be. Anyway, the girls lying on the sidewalk has completely fucked with the little neighbor brat. He was riding his bike on the sidewalk and now he's totally frustrated, trying to ride his bike on my grass. That part is irritating, but I'm hoping he'll lose his balance and fall in the road. The girls are ignoring him, of course. That's what they're best at this age. They should be, they practice on ignoring us parents constantly.
While I was typing this, a girl showed up who reminded me of a gazelle. I only say that because I hear that gazelles have long legs. No way. This girl's legs are endless. I have never seen legs this long. At this point I'm glad there is no male presence in my house. My staring was perverse enough.
6:35 p.m. O.M.G. This is the best party ever. The girls just came in to tell me the neighbor brat girl thought that one of them was Hannah Montana and asked for her autograph. I told you they're stupid. The teenager's mistake was not signing a fake autograph and continuing the joke. That would have made my whole year.
A mom dropped her kid off who called me earlier today. I think she was trying to make sure that I would be here, without asking directly; she asked to meet me when she showed up. Good parenting. Even if she did leave her daughter in the care of a lush. At least she can rest assured that her daughter won't be drinking.
7:11. p.m. They're playing hide-and-seek. At 15. I guess I don't have to worry about her growing up too quickly.
8:26 p.m. They are eating dinner and watching Ratatouille. Quietly. I might love 15.
8:28 p.m. OMG. They say thank you. For vegetables!!!
8:36 p.m. The vegan ate pasta. And bread. Score!!
8:53 p.m. No pictures of her opening presents because my camera battery was dead. Of course.
9:55 p.m. She just played guitar and sang with her friend. I might have cried. Maybe. Her friend called out, "Sing it out! Sparkle, baby!"
10:01 p.m. They're decorating their cupcakes. While singing "America the Beautiful". This should be interesting.
10:21 p.m. I'm now hiding in my room but I can hear them singing "Bugle Boy" in the kitchen. Karaoke must be next.
I'm signing off now. It wasn't as funny as I thought it would be but nobody cried so it's a win. I'm going to quit while I'm ahead and be grateful for my bugabooga, her talents and the difference a year makes.
As they sing "Dancing Cheek to Cheek"...
Sunday, June 05, 2011
Four Months
Yesterday marked four months of being unemployed. Not exactly the kind of anniversary that I dreamed about as a kid. Or six months ago. It's getting harder. This week, which came with two rejection notices, sucked a little more.
I tried to roll with it for a couple of months. Play it cool. Not panic. But I'm starting to panic. The calls aren't coming and neither is the money. The jobs just aren't here.
Here's the rub - I'm not a superstar at what I do. I'm good, but not a star. So when I apply for jobs out-of-state, there's no incentive for a company to choose me over someone local. I'm sure there are plenty of locals already looking anyway. I'm not fishing in a small pond. The other side is that I'm overqualified for the jobs that will get me by for a while. Of course I'd keep looking in the meantime and not marry a job I don't want long-term. Employers know this. Again, there are plenty of people applying for those jobs, so there's no reason to risk a short-timer like me.
I feel like everything is telling me to move, my time here is over. My family isn't here, the jobs aren't here, the Relationship isn't knocking on my door and the winters are slowly killing me and driving me insane in the process. So, Universe, I get it. I'm open to change, I'll completely and wholeheartedly embrace it. I just need a little help getting from point A to point B.
I can read a map. I just need someone to give me one.
I tried to roll with it for a couple of months. Play it cool. Not panic. But I'm starting to panic. The calls aren't coming and neither is the money. The jobs just aren't here.
Here's the rub - I'm not a superstar at what I do. I'm good, but not a star. So when I apply for jobs out-of-state, there's no incentive for a company to choose me over someone local. I'm sure there are plenty of locals already looking anyway. I'm not fishing in a small pond. The other side is that I'm overqualified for the jobs that will get me by for a while. Of course I'd keep looking in the meantime and not marry a job I don't want long-term. Employers know this. Again, there are plenty of people applying for those jobs, so there's no reason to risk a short-timer like me.
I feel like everything is telling me to move, my time here is over. My family isn't here, the jobs aren't here, the Relationship isn't knocking on my door and the winters are slowly killing me and driving me insane in the process. So, Universe, I get it. I'm open to change, I'll completely and wholeheartedly embrace it. I just need a little help getting from point A to point B.
I can read a map. I just need someone to give me one.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Silver and Gold
Remember that song about friends? "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold"? I don't know why I know this song. It's in the recesses of my mind from elementary school. Somehow, it's true. Even if I'm not particularly crazy about silver or gold. Maybe it could be changed to diamonds and emeralds. Or sapphires. Or whatever is matching my outfit for the day.
Anyway, I had the total silver and gold experience this weekend. M is still a fairly new friend, but I adore her. My favorite emails and relationship advice come from her. She passed on some excellent advice to C last night. We were at a wedding, but I was more interested in the marriage of my friendships than the husband/wife/betrothal thing that was going on.
Last night two of my friends from high school were in town. E I saw briefly in college, K I haven't seen since we graduated. It amazed me how much she remembered about me from way back, over 20 years ago. Both of them sounded the same and looked the same. We've all had a thousand experiences between then and now, but we're still Us. Most importantly, we're still friends.
I spent today with J. We saw a movie that reminded us a little too uncomfortably of ourselves. If I had to be that sad with anyone, I'm glad it was J. It's only been a couple of years, but I can be my worst self with her and she accepts me. I don't want to be my worst self, but sometimes I need to be and she's okay with it. She's also the funniest person I know and makes me laugh more than almost anyone. On days like today, that means a lot.
Silver and gold. Diamonds and pearls. Hell, even cubic zirconia has a place in my box of friends. I love them all and I will keep them all. They only become more valuable as time goes by.
Anyway, I had the total silver and gold experience this weekend. M is still a fairly new friend, but I adore her. My favorite emails and relationship advice come from her. She passed on some excellent advice to C last night. We were at a wedding, but I was more interested in the marriage of my friendships than the husband/wife/betrothal thing that was going on.
Last night two of my friends from high school were in town. E I saw briefly in college, K I haven't seen since we graduated. It amazed me how much she remembered about me from way back, over 20 years ago. Both of them sounded the same and looked the same. We've all had a thousand experiences between then and now, but we're still Us. Most importantly, we're still friends.
I spent today with J. We saw a movie that reminded us a little too uncomfortably of ourselves. If I had to be that sad with anyone, I'm glad it was J. It's only been a couple of years, but I can be my worst self with her and she accepts me. I don't want to be my worst self, but sometimes I need to be and she's okay with it. She's also the funniest person I know and makes me laugh more than almost anyone. On days like today, that means a lot.
Silver and gold. Diamonds and pearls. Hell, even cubic zirconia has a place in my box of friends. I love them all and I will keep them all. They only become more valuable as time goes by.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Starstruck
Sunday I was in San Diego and went to a Padres game. Fun, but not overly exciting in itself and not what I really want to talk about. It's really all about the guy sitting two seats in front of me.
When he first sat down I said, "Hey, that guy looks like James Franco." The only thing not convincing me were the several gray hairs sprinkled around his head. I thought for sure that a celebrity would cover their gray hair better than that. I'm obsessed with pulling out any that I find and I'm only seen by a handful of people a day, not routinely chased down by paparazzi.
He got up for a bit and the girl he was with was gorgeous (I don't know who she was and don't really care) so that tipped the scale towards it actually being him. And then he smiled. It was, without a doubt, a James Franco smile. And yes, ladies, he is just as hot in person and has a pretty nice body. I should know because I spent the next hour and a half staring at him. From two seats away. Two seats people!!
Yup. My claim to fame and the highlight of my day. Commence jealousy now.
When he first sat down I said, "Hey, that guy looks like James Franco." The only thing not convincing me were the several gray hairs sprinkled around his head. I thought for sure that a celebrity would cover their gray hair better than that. I'm obsessed with pulling out any that I find and I'm only seen by a handful of people a day, not routinely chased down by paparazzi.
He got up for a bit and the girl he was with was gorgeous (I don't know who she was and don't really care) so that tipped the scale towards it actually being him. And then he smiled. It was, without a doubt, a James Franco smile. And yes, ladies, he is just as hot in person and has a pretty nice body. I should know because I spent the next hour and a half staring at him. From two seats away. Two seats people!!
Yup. My claim to fame and the highlight of my day. Commence jealousy now.
Friday, May 13, 2011
That's Not a Paper Cut
Are any of you old enough to remember the movie Saturday the 14th? It was like one of the original horror spoofs and I thought it was really, really funny. Of course I was like 11 and I think I saw it in a double feature (who remembers those, huh?) after a truly scary movie.
Anyway, I was only thinking about that because as far as Friday the 13ths go, mine was pretty uneventful. Thursday the 12th, now that's a different story.
My book club's reading of Watchmen turned into a Watchmen movie party, which started with an ice cream bar which then added a sandwich bar. We're just a little food-obsessed. Fiona and I made fresh bread. Of course.
MG has some very sharp knives. I have very dull knives. So I was excited to play with his. For about 45 seconds. I got halfway through slicing the first loaf when the shiny, sharp knife slipped off the end of the loaf onto my finger. MG saw it happen and asked if I was okay. I didn't even feel it and my knives leave paper cuts on me, so I was sure that I was okay. But when I looked at it, it was actually pretty deep and I was really not okay. I asked for a band aid and ran it under water. Under water, it looked like a paper cut. But when I took it out to examine it, I saw how deep it really was. I saw white. As in, I saw my fucking BONE! I had to sit down immediately before I passed out. After laughing hysterically so I wouldn't cry.
MC wanted to give me stitches. She's an English teacher, not a doctor. She then tried to convince me to let her crazy glue it. Silly me, I turned down that generous offer too. I was happy with my wine and band aid.
It was two days before I got up the nerve to look at it again. I could only imagine the worst, that it wouldn't have closed up properly and would be a cavernous mess requiring a trip to the ER that I currently can't afford. I wanted a couple of shots of whiskey first. I peeled back my little band aid painstakingly slowly to find a very nicely closed-up little cut. A little bloody, but closed.
Off I went to the store to get myself some more band aids. Mickey Mouse, thank you. I cleaned up my cut and that's when I discovered that part of my finger is quite numb and noticed the jagged shape of the cut. It was a serrated knife.
I'm hoping that the numbness will go away and I haven't done any permanent damage. In the meantime, I've got D doing all the dishes, which doesn't overjoy her as much as it does me. MC is still a little pouty that I wouldn't let her stick a needle in me, but who needs needles when you've got Mickey Mouse? Yeah, I'm a bad ass like that.
Anyway, I was only thinking about that because as far as Friday the 13ths go, mine was pretty uneventful. Thursday the 12th, now that's a different story.
My book club's reading of Watchmen turned into a Watchmen movie party, which started with an ice cream bar which then added a sandwich bar. We're just a little food-obsessed. Fiona and I made fresh bread. Of course.
MG has some very sharp knives. I have very dull knives. So I was excited to play with his. For about 45 seconds. I got halfway through slicing the first loaf when the shiny, sharp knife slipped off the end of the loaf onto my finger. MG saw it happen and asked if I was okay. I didn't even feel it and my knives leave paper cuts on me, so I was sure that I was okay. But when I looked at it, it was actually pretty deep and I was really not okay. I asked for a band aid and ran it under water. Under water, it looked like a paper cut. But when I took it out to examine it, I saw how deep it really was. I saw white. As in, I saw my fucking BONE! I had to sit down immediately before I passed out. After laughing hysterically so I wouldn't cry.
MC wanted to give me stitches. She's an English teacher, not a doctor. She then tried to convince me to let her crazy glue it. Silly me, I turned down that generous offer too. I was happy with my wine and band aid.
It was two days before I got up the nerve to look at it again. I could only imagine the worst, that it wouldn't have closed up properly and would be a cavernous mess requiring a trip to the ER that I currently can't afford. I wanted a couple of shots of whiskey first. I peeled back my little band aid painstakingly slowly to find a very nicely closed-up little cut. A little bloody, but closed.
Off I went to the store to get myself some more band aids. Mickey Mouse, thank you. I cleaned up my cut and that's when I discovered that part of my finger is quite numb and noticed the jagged shape of the cut. It was a serrated knife.
I'm hoping that the numbness will go away and I haven't done any permanent damage. In the meantime, I've got D doing all the dishes, which doesn't overjoy her as much as it does me. MC is still a little pouty that I wouldn't let her stick a needle in me, but who needs needles when you've got Mickey Mouse? Yeah, I'm a bad ass like that.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Dancing for Jackson
Last night I went to the Mr. Thunder Pageant with D at her high school. This is not like the Thunder Down Under, which would be very wrong since there were teenage boys involved. It wasn't dirty or sexy, but it was silly, goofy and, at times, touching.
There were 12 senior boys participating in the pageant with the purpose of raising money for Jackson, this year's Sparrow Club beneficiary (more on Jackson later). The evening's entertainment consisted of typical "beauty contest" events - sportswear, talent and formal attire with interview. Only with a twist, because these are teenage boys we are talking about. Sportswear meant putting on the uniform for whatever sport they compete in. For one boy this meant a fluffy, pink polka-dotted robe that revealed a neon pink leopard-print speedo underneath. My retinas pretty much have that image burned into them. It's not pretty.
The talent portion meant anything from a fake display of Guitar Hero skill (played to a YouTube video) to a Justin Bieber impersonation to a father/son duet to a stand-up comedian (who was really funny - just deadpanned it perfectly) to a self-choreographed dance. My favorite was the one-man band. This kid rocked. He played piano, bass guitar, acoustic guitar, drums, trumpet and French horn to a piece he composed himself. It was beautiful.
The teenage girls who emceed the event put together a wake-up video of each of the boys. They woke the contestants up at 5 a.m. and asked them questions like "What kind of mythical creature would you like to be?" and "If you were on a deserted island, which contestant would you eat first?" These were grumpy faces only a mother could love, grunting and hiding under their sheets. My favorite answer to the mythical creature question came from the single gay contestant. "I'd be a fairy because I'm already halfway there."
The funniest answer during the interviews was in response to the question, "What is beauty to you?" This was a boy after my own heart - "It would be really beautiful if everyone in the world stopped wearing crocs." The most touching answer came from the gay student. He claimed that his twin sister is his hero because she has been through it "all" with him. For a teen, this seems flippant. What hardships have these mostly-privileged teens faced in their young lives? But he was very open and candid talking about coming out and how his sister has always accepted and supported him. It was a moment of bravery.
However, the tears came for me in the beginning of the show. Each boy was introduced with a video of pictures from infancy through today and these were accompanied by blurbs about them that their parents wrote. I saw them as silly, goofy, show-off kids. Which they are. But their parents saw them as loving, kind, compassionate, generous people, young men that they are proud of and that they love. Which they also are. So I sat there and tried my best to wipe my eyes discreetly, because I was surrounded by a bunch of other teenagers who might not have been so nice. They can smell fear, you know.
And now the real reason that we were all there. For Jackson. Jackson is a little boy who just turned one. In his tiny little life he has had to endure six surgeries and over 80 days in the hospital. He has a condition I can't pronounce or remember but it prohibits his body from absorbing nutrients. He is on IV nutrition for 16 hours a day, which puts him at constant risk of infection. Jackson was present last night with his parents, his mom carrying his backpack of fluids, tubes connected to his belly. He's adorable. He's a perfect baby who doesn't deserve the restrictions his body has placed on him. His mom said it's easy to forget how sick he is because he is always so happy. But he is sick. He's very sick.
At the end of the evening, shortly before the Mr. Thunder winner was revealed, it was announced that as of last night, $41,000 has been raised to help Jackson and his family with their ongoing medical costs and care. Times are still tough for a lot of people, which makes this amount so significant.
I was talking to a friend about the pageant and fundraising efforts. She's a teacher and this wasn't her first time at the rodeo. She, rightfully, has a certain cynicism towards the whole thing. I get that. Kids do act dumb, some might not have really taken it seriously. But there's no denying that they did a Good Thing. I'm okay with teenagers making fools of themselves if this is the result. I know why their parents are proud of them. I would be too.
I'm sure Jackson's family would be more than willing to accept ongoing donations, but I couldn't find any contact information to give you. I suggest calling Summit High School as someone there is bound to be able to help you if you want to help Jackson.
There were 12 senior boys participating in the pageant with the purpose of raising money for Jackson, this year's Sparrow Club beneficiary (more on Jackson later). The evening's entertainment consisted of typical "beauty contest" events - sportswear, talent and formal attire with interview. Only with a twist, because these are teenage boys we are talking about. Sportswear meant putting on the uniform for whatever sport they compete in. For one boy this meant a fluffy, pink polka-dotted robe that revealed a neon pink leopard-print speedo underneath. My retinas pretty much have that image burned into them. It's not pretty.
The talent portion meant anything from a fake display of Guitar Hero skill (played to a YouTube video) to a Justin Bieber impersonation to a father/son duet to a stand-up comedian (who was really funny - just deadpanned it perfectly) to a self-choreographed dance. My favorite was the one-man band. This kid rocked. He played piano, bass guitar, acoustic guitar, drums, trumpet and French horn to a piece he composed himself. It was beautiful.
The teenage girls who emceed the event put together a wake-up video of each of the boys. They woke the contestants up at 5 a.m. and asked them questions like "What kind of mythical creature would you like to be?" and "If you were on a deserted island, which contestant would you eat first?" These were grumpy faces only a mother could love, grunting and hiding under their sheets. My favorite answer to the mythical creature question came from the single gay contestant. "I'd be a fairy because I'm already halfway there."
The funniest answer during the interviews was in response to the question, "What is beauty to you?" This was a boy after my own heart - "It would be really beautiful if everyone in the world stopped wearing crocs." The most touching answer came from the gay student. He claimed that his twin sister is his hero because she has been through it "all" with him. For a teen, this seems flippant. What hardships have these mostly-privileged teens faced in their young lives? But he was very open and candid talking about coming out and how his sister has always accepted and supported him. It was a moment of bravery.
However, the tears came for me in the beginning of the show. Each boy was introduced with a video of pictures from infancy through today and these were accompanied by blurbs about them that their parents wrote. I saw them as silly, goofy, show-off kids. Which they are. But their parents saw them as loving, kind, compassionate, generous people, young men that they are proud of and that they love. Which they also are. So I sat there and tried my best to wipe my eyes discreetly, because I was surrounded by a bunch of other teenagers who might not have been so nice. They can smell fear, you know.
And now the real reason that we were all there. For Jackson. Jackson is a little boy who just turned one. In his tiny little life he has had to endure six surgeries and over 80 days in the hospital. He has a condition I can't pronounce or remember but it prohibits his body from absorbing nutrients. He is on IV nutrition for 16 hours a day, which puts him at constant risk of infection. Jackson was present last night with his parents, his mom carrying his backpack of fluids, tubes connected to his belly. He's adorable. He's a perfect baby who doesn't deserve the restrictions his body has placed on him. His mom said it's easy to forget how sick he is because he is always so happy. But he is sick. He's very sick.
At the end of the evening, shortly before the Mr. Thunder winner was revealed, it was announced that as of last night, $41,000 has been raised to help Jackson and his family with their ongoing medical costs and care. Times are still tough for a lot of people, which makes this amount so significant.
I was talking to a friend about the pageant and fundraising efforts. She's a teacher and this wasn't her first time at the rodeo. She, rightfully, has a certain cynicism towards the whole thing. I get that. Kids do act dumb, some might not have really taken it seriously. But there's no denying that they did a Good Thing. I'm okay with teenagers making fools of themselves if this is the result. I know why their parents are proud of them. I would be too.
I'm sure Jackson's family would be more than willing to accept ongoing donations, but I couldn't find any contact information to give you. I suggest calling Summit High School as someone there is bound to be able to help you if you want to help Jackson.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Wedding Bliss
Thirty years ago I was fascinated by a wedding and a princess. Charles and Diana's nuptials were the most romantic event in my young life. I ate up everything I could about their courtship. I went camping at the beach with my best friend and her family and we convinced her parents to let us watch the TV movie that reenacted their romance while eating s'mores. Miraculously there was a TV in the tent and we swooned and giggled with mouthfuls of marshmallows.
Mostly, though, I was in love with Diana. Charles was the prince, but he was comparatively old, and to be honest, a doofus. She was beautiful; she glowed. I wanted my hair cut like hers. I desperately wanted a copy of that red sweater she wore with the single black sheep. I even loved her nickname, Shy Di, because I was painfully shy at that age. She made shyness exquisitely charming.
My parents couldn't have been less interested in the royal wedding, but thankfully tolerated my infatuation. The only time I was ever allowed to watch television in their bedroom was to view the wedding as it was broadcast live. I was alone, but it was my own Cinderella moment. It was like a dream, a real-life fairy tale. I had never witnessed anything so enchanting - the yards and yards of her gown as she floated down the aisle, the grandeur of the ceremony, the couple waving at the cheering crowds of onlookers from the carriage that whisked them away from the church, that awkward kiss on the palace balcony.
We didn't yet know how devastatingly unhappily this marriage would end. The truths that were revealed were ugly and sad, but they never tarnished my love for Diana. When she died, I cried for a week. I watched her funeral and my heart broke seeing her two young sons following the casket, topped with white flowers and a card simply labeled, "Mummy".
And now her oldest son is getting married. "Wills" is the future king of England with his mother's smile. Will I be watching this wedding? Oh, will I!!!
I have scoured the internet for details of this wedding to Kate ever since their engagement was announced. I watched the engagement interview, carefully noting how they look at each other, how he talks about her respectfully and with love. I want this marriage to last. I don't know why it matters to me, it just does. It's as if Diana's love for her son should live on in his happiness, that her early influence will have taught him how to love someone in a way that she wasn't.
What will really matter in less than two weeks now is the glamorous celebration that will take place at 4 a.m. my time and yes, I will be awake. JW invited me to watch it with her. We contemplated a party and I wanted to send out invitations if only to get the "Hell NO! Are you crazy?" responses. But she thought people might decide to start showing up around 8 a.m. and that just isn't right. Only those awake from the beginning get to enjoy the champagne. I may be drunk by 6, but I will have earned it.
Here's the best part. We will be wearing pajamas after deciding to forgo the fancy hats and dresses. However, I will be wearing my veil and JW has created the most delicious pink taffeta-tiara confection. The menu has been planned to honor the bride and groom - tea sandwiches with cucumbers and smoked salmon, scones, eggs, pastry-wrapped sausages, tea and champagne. It will be the second-best thing to being at the actual wedding.
I'm pretty sure that even though Diana won't be there, she will be watching.
Cheers!
Mostly, though, I was in love with Diana. Charles was the prince, but he was comparatively old, and to be honest, a doofus. She was beautiful; she glowed. I wanted my hair cut like hers. I desperately wanted a copy of that red sweater she wore with the single black sheep. I even loved her nickname, Shy Di, because I was painfully shy at that age. She made shyness exquisitely charming.
My parents couldn't have been less interested in the royal wedding, but thankfully tolerated my infatuation. The only time I was ever allowed to watch television in their bedroom was to view the wedding as it was broadcast live. I was alone, but it was my own Cinderella moment. It was like a dream, a real-life fairy tale. I had never witnessed anything so enchanting - the yards and yards of her gown as she floated down the aisle, the grandeur of the ceremony, the couple waving at the cheering crowds of onlookers from the carriage that whisked them away from the church, that awkward kiss on the palace balcony.
We didn't yet know how devastatingly unhappily this marriage would end. The truths that were revealed were ugly and sad, but they never tarnished my love for Diana. When she died, I cried for a week. I watched her funeral and my heart broke seeing her two young sons following the casket, topped with white flowers and a card simply labeled, "Mummy".
And now her oldest son is getting married. "Wills" is the future king of England with his mother's smile. Will I be watching this wedding? Oh, will I!!!
I have scoured the internet for details of this wedding to Kate ever since their engagement was announced. I watched the engagement interview, carefully noting how they look at each other, how he talks about her respectfully and with love. I want this marriage to last. I don't know why it matters to me, it just does. It's as if Diana's love for her son should live on in his happiness, that her early influence will have taught him how to love someone in a way that she wasn't.
What will really matter in less than two weeks now is the glamorous celebration that will take place at 4 a.m. my time and yes, I will be awake. JW invited me to watch it with her. We contemplated a party and I wanted to send out invitations if only to get the "Hell NO! Are you crazy?" responses. But she thought people might decide to start showing up around 8 a.m. and that just isn't right. Only those awake from the beginning get to enjoy the champagne. I may be drunk by 6, but I will have earned it.
Here's the best part. We will be wearing pajamas after deciding to forgo the fancy hats and dresses. However, I will be wearing my veil and JW has created the most delicious pink taffeta-tiara confection. The menu has been planned to honor the bride and groom - tea sandwiches with cucumbers and smoked salmon, scones, eggs, pastry-wrapped sausages, tea and champagne. It will be the second-best thing to being at the actual wedding.
I'm pretty sure that even though Diana won't be there, she will be watching.
Cheers!
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