No need to send out a search party; I am alive and well. Or, alive, anyway, and mostly well, but feeling persistently disgruntled for possibly no good reason, that being the fact that I am TIRED and life is hard, yo, at least when suddenly forced to live it like a proper grown-up, with a full schedule and commensurate responsibilities and so forth. I told a good friend in an email recently that I was feeling unusually busy lately, and that I've missed my sitting-around time. I really am quite excellent at wasting large chunks of time, and for a while there, I was doing so only at work, not at home. It's good to have a proper work/life balance, after all. My preferred way to restore that balance would have been to free my social schedule and to-do list for a while and hole myself up with two seasons' worth of Mad Men DVDs. The people who direct-deposit my paycheck had other ideas, however, and instead of my scaling back on the off-hours activity, they have upped my 8-to-5 responsibilities significantly. Rather, make that 7-to-5, because it turns out being a responsible, professionally employed grown-up means not just doing valid and work-related activities all day long with no breaks for idle internetting, but also occasionally starting that day at the ungodly hour of 7:00 am. (The horror!) At 7:00 am, I would much prefer to be still soundly sleeping, but in the interest of remaining gainfully employed in a job I occasionally enjoy, I will consent to having pried myself out of bed and be toweling off from a shower right around that hour. Being expected at a meeting 30 minutes from my home at 7:00 am, however? Fully dressed and alert and in business-ready mode? I did not realize that was part of the deal. Oh my.
This is a long and roundabout, excuse-laden way of saying I am tempted to follow Flurrious's lead and give myself official permission to ignore my blog for the remainder of August. Writing here is supposed to be something I do because I enjoy it, not something I do because it is the longest-neglected thing at the bottom of my to-do list. A blog is just a blog, and neglecting it should not instill any particular guilt, but I was raised Catholic; unwarranted guilt is standard operating procedure for me.
Before I vanish again, I suppose could tell you what I've been up to since you heard from me last. Let's see. Well, I enjoyed another summer pilgrimage to the magical Pizza Farm, I made my first flan, I kissed a 27-year-old stranger (for no better reason than that he asked), I unintentionally alienated someone who is supposed to be one of my closest friends, and I came three steps closer to finally finishing a hand-made birthday gift that is now nearly a full year overdue. (Note: I am not necessarily proud of any of these accomplishments, but am significantly less proud of some than of others.) Also, I failed to solidify any actual plans for my upcoming vacation, but there is some benefit and excitement to the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants mode of leisure travel, so I see no reason fret to any degree about that.
Of course, now that I have given myself permission to check out until Labor Day, I will probably find myself logging in with something amusing-only-to-me to say in less than two days' time. Perhaps I will and perhaps I won't. Midwestern Girl of Mystery; that's me.
Showing posts with label Laziness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Laziness. Show all posts
Monday, August 10, 2009
Sunday, July 05, 2009
More proof that I'm probably just well overdue for a proper VACATION.
Well, I don't know about you, but I thoroughly enjoy this long weekend thing, and I would very much like another, please. In fact, it occurs to me that we may just have found the issue that would get me to cross party lines in the next election. Promise me a standard four-day work week, and you have my vote, madam or sir. (I do realize that this is an unlikely platform, but a girl can dream, can't she?)
Speaking of votes, I finally found out this week how one of the ones I cast eight months ago panned out. I'm pretty sure that when votes were counted by hand and delivered to the precinct reporting place via Pony Express, the results still came in earlier than this, but hooray for democracy however it plays out, I suppose. The important thing is I have two senators again. I would hope this means Amy Klobuchar could take a well-earned day off, but when she chatted with Garrison Keillor on the stage of the Prairie Home Companion 35th anniversary show yesterday afternoon, she explained that it was actually her fifth public appearance of the day. Fifth. As if I didn't have enough reasons already why a life in politics is not the life for me, Senator Klobuchar has given me one more. At noon on this particular Independence Day, I was sitting in a townie bar with three excellent friends, enjoying cheap drinks and free chocolate peanut butter cake (courtesy of the star-spangled bartender who baked it herself in honor of the day's events), while we waited in air-conditioned comfort for the time when theOklahoma Avon, MN land rush would allow us to claim our spots in the city park for the afternoon's free show. At that same time, my sole senator was marching in one of four parades, waving and kissing babies and sweating in the sun, her criss-crossing journey across the state likely having begun before I even got out of bed that lovely Saturday. Yes, my life is a humble, low profile one with occasional annoyances of the routine sort, but I'll take that over terminally lost summer holidays any day, thanks.
In addition to yesterday's public radio-related day trip, my social calendar for the weekend also included a screening of Food Matters in the parking lot of a local performing arts space and a 35-mile bike ride along Minneapolis's Grand Rounds (interspersed with stops for fresh tilapia tacos and ice cream, of course). Those 35 miles were hard fought, I should mention. A quick tip: if you have not gotten on a bike in over a year, it is maybe not the best idea for your first ride of the season to be a rather long one, accompanied by three friends who either bike to work nearly every day, attend spinning class routinely, or are, as far as you can tell, wired not unlike a tiny, fast-paced, never-tiring robot. Word to the wise, as it were. I'd best get in some more practice miles if I plan to bike with those particular friends any time again soon. Meanwhile, I can finally now sit in one place for more than a half hour and then arise again without any piercing pain in every muscle below my pelvis, so I am thankful for that, anyway.
Aside from the unexpected effort of that bike ride, however, my weekend involved no manual labor whatsoever. (That is, unless you count a few fairly painless loads of laundry and some dishes as well.) The important thing is I did no yard work, digging, or planting, and tackled no other projects or errands either. (I have not even driven my car since Thursday. Let's hope it still starts when I attempt to leave for work tomorrow.) Today was a lovely, largely leisurely day, and it pains me more than a bit to set my 6:30 alarm for tomorrow morning.
And that's about all I've got at the moment. I'm starting to think I should go on a date again one of these days, if for no other reason than the material. I rather enjoy having my evenings taken only by things I want to take them, however. Perhaps I should just fabricate a date story instead? Hmmm.
Speaking of votes, I finally found out this week how one of the ones I cast eight months ago panned out. I'm pretty sure that when votes were counted by hand and delivered to the precinct reporting place via Pony Express, the results still came in earlier than this, but hooray for democracy however it plays out, I suppose. The important thing is I have two senators again. I would hope this means Amy Klobuchar could take a well-earned day off, but when she chatted with Garrison Keillor on the stage of the Prairie Home Companion 35th anniversary show yesterday afternoon, she explained that it was actually her fifth public appearance of the day. Fifth. As if I didn't have enough reasons already why a life in politics is not the life for me, Senator Klobuchar has given me one more. At noon on this particular Independence Day, I was sitting in a townie bar with three excellent friends, enjoying cheap drinks and free chocolate peanut butter cake (courtesy of the star-spangled bartender who baked it herself in honor of the day's events), while we waited in air-conditioned comfort for the time when the
In addition to yesterday's public radio-related day trip, my social calendar for the weekend also included a screening of Food Matters in the parking lot of a local performing arts space and a 35-mile bike ride along Minneapolis's Grand Rounds (interspersed with stops for fresh tilapia tacos and ice cream, of course). Those 35 miles were hard fought, I should mention. A quick tip: if you have not gotten on a bike in over a year, it is maybe not the best idea for your first ride of the season to be a rather long one, accompanied by three friends who either bike to work nearly every day, attend spinning class routinely, or are, as far as you can tell, wired not unlike a tiny, fast-paced, never-tiring robot. Word to the wise, as it were. I'd best get in some more practice miles if I plan to bike with those particular friends any time again soon. Meanwhile, I can finally now sit in one place for more than a half hour and then arise again without any piercing pain in every muscle below my pelvis, so I am thankful for that, anyway.
Aside from the unexpected effort of that bike ride, however, my weekend involved no manual labor whatsoever. (That is, unless you count a few fairly painless loads of laundry and some dishes as well.) The important thing is I did no yard work, digging, or planting, and tackled no other projects or errands either. (I have not even driven my car since Thursday. Let's hope it still starts when I attempt to leave for work tomorrow.) Today was a lovely, largely leisurely day, and it pains me more than a bit to set my 6:30 alarm for tomorrow morning.
And that's about all I've got at the moment. I'm starting to think I should go on a date again one of these days, if for no other reason than the material. I rather enjoy having my evenings taken only by things I want to take them, however. Perhaps I should just fabricate a date story instead? Hmmm.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
I could win a prize for procrastinating, if I'd just get around to nominating myself for one.
I am going out of town this weekend, which means that at the moment, I should definitely be packing instead of typing, but apparently I am doing that thing where I say, "Oh, packing won't take any time at all. I just need to throw a few things in a bag... no problem! Fifteen minutes, tops!" I am telling myself this despite knowing full well what happened the last time I said that before packing for a trip... and the time before that... and, hell, EVERY SINGLE TIME I HAVE PACKED FOR A TRIP IN MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE. I'm a quick study, I tell you. Isn't there some phrase about a river in Egypt that I could use here? Like everything else in my life, packing takes at least three times as long as I think it will. I know this and yet... la, la, la... all the time in the world. Anyone care to place bets on what time I get to bed tonight?
So where am I going? Ah. Glad you asked. I am going camping, in the woods along the North Shore. I am going to the woods because I want to live deliberately. Or possibly because I want to drink wine around a campfire. You decide. And yes, I used that same joke last fall, but I don't care. As you may know, nerd humor is my favorite kind of humor, and Thoreau doesn't get nearly enough laughs.
The fact that I'm going camping when it's still only May is excellent news, because it means I have plenty of summertime ahead of me during which to forget how much work prepping for, packing for, and unpacking from camping is, so that I can decide it's a good idea to go at least one more time again before fall. This is important because I somehow made it through all of last summer without camping even once, and although I would never claim to be any sort of avid, hard-core outdoorswoman, a full year without one night in a tent still feels in some way wrong, like a cosmic imbalance I need to resolve. So. Perhaps this weekend's trip makes up for no camping last year. If any of my real-life, local friends want to help me check the camping trip off my list for this summer as well, do let me know.
This weekend's trip didn't actually involve any daunting amount of prepping on my part (says the girl who still hasn't even removed her decades-old green duffel bag from its storage spot beneath her bed, much less put anything inside of it). I'm going with a couple of good friends and a gaggle of their friends, and with all the planning in their hands, my own list was pretty brief. Most of the participants I do not know, but I'm sure by association they must be friendly and fabulous, and yet, I'm feeling uncharacteristically insecure about ridiculous things. Like, will the hippies and artists look down on me because the ground beef I bought does not say "grass fed" and "antibiotic free"? And must I remove the zucchini and yellow squash from their plastic wrappers before I go, because zucchini and yellow squash are not supposed to come in plastic wrappers (oh, and also are not supposed to come from Florida, when we have perfectly good zucchini and yellow squash right here)? This is probably more about my own social conscience than the imagined judgment of the hippies and artists I'm going camping with. A little knowledge is a powerful thing, but not as powerful as laziness, and when I want to make one stop on my way home instead of three, factory farm beef and plastic-wrapped veggies is what I get. Horrors. Damn you, SuperTarget, with your low prices and conveniently inclusive array of products and your near-total disregard for the "eat local" movement.
Of course, you might understand my paranoia, given that I heard a friend from this same circle say, at a potluck party recently, "Ooh. Do we really want to put cheese on the same plate as the raw food cookies?" I thought she was kidding. She was not. If the person who brought the offensive dairy items returned to the food table later and wondered (like the mouse in that overrated best seller) who moved her cheese, I have the answer to that. And if the raw food cookie lady is on this weekend's camping trip, well, then I guess that's just more sodium-heavy buttermilk ranch pretzels and sugar-loaded layer bars for me.
Yes, I made layer bars tonight, as well as a batch of cookie dough that I will have to turn into cookies at some point before I leave tomorrow mid-day. That adds two more hash marks in my list of culinary endeavors for the week, bringing my total up to one tiramisu, five baked goods, and one lasagna. Oh, and eighteen eggs. If the cooking tally isn't a new record for me, the egg thing surely is. And only one of those efforts was a total failure. On the up side, it was a failure that helped guarantee no leftover eggs in my fridge. So there is that, anyway.
And with that, I really should think about packing, or at least tossing a few things into a pile near a bag to inspire the idea of packing and get that ball rolling. Happy last days of May, everyone. Can it really be June so soon?
So where am I going? Ah. Glad you asked. I am going camping, in the woods along the North Shore. I am going to the woods because I want to live deliberately. Or possibly because I want to drink wine around a campfire. You decide. And yes, I used that same joke last fall, but I don't care. As you may know, nerd humor is my favorite kind of humor, and Thoreau doesn't get nearly enough laughs.
The fact that I'm going camping when it's still only May is excellent news, because it means I have plenty of summertime ahead of me during which to forget how much work prepping for, packing for, and unpacking from camping is, so that I can decide it's a good idea to go at least one more time again before fall. This is important because I somehow made it through all of last summer without camping even once, and although I would never claim to be any sort of avid, hard-core outdoorswoman, a full year without one night in a tent still feels in some way wrong, like a cosmic imbalance I need to resolve. So. Perhaps this weekend's trip makes up for no camping last year. If any of my real-life, local friends want to help me check the camping trip off my list for this summer as well, do let me know.
This weekend's trip didn't actually involve any daunting amount of prepping on my part (says the girl who still hasn't even removed her decades-old green duffel bag from its storage spot beneath her bed, much less put anything inside of it). I'm going with a couple of good friends and a gaggle of their friends, and with all the planning in their hands, my own list was pretty brief. Most of the participants I do not know, but I'm sure by association they must be friendly and fabulous, and yet, I'm feeling uncharacteristically insecure about ridiculous things. Like, will the hippies and artists look down on me because the ground beef I bought does not say "grass fed" and "antibiotic free"? And must I remove the zucchini and yellow squash from their plastic wrappers before I go, because zucchini and yellow squash are not supposed to come in plastic wrappers (oh, and also are not supposed to come from Florida, when we have perfectly good zucchini and yellow squash right here)? This is probably more about my own social conscience than the imagined judgment of the hippies and artists I'm going camping with. A little knowledge is a powerful thing, but not as powerful as laziness, and when I want to make one stop on my way home instead of three, factory farm beef and plastic-wrapped veggies is what I get. Horrors. Damn you, SuperTarget, with your low prices and conveniently inclusive array of products and your near-total disregard for the "eat local" movement.
Of course, you might understand my paranoia, given that I heard a friend from this same circle say, at a potluck party recently, "Ooh. Do we really want to put cheese on the same plate as the raw food cookies?" I thought she was kidding. She was not. If the person who brought the offensive dairy items returned to the food table later and wondered (like the mouse in that overrated best seller) who moved her cheese, I have the answer to that. And if the raw food cookie lady is on this weekend's camping trip, well, then I guess that's just more sodium-heavy buttermilk ranch pretzels and sugar-loaded layer bars for me.
Yes, I made layer bars tonight, as well as a batch of cookie dough that I will have to turn into cookies at some point before I leave tomorrow mid-day. That adds two more hash marks in my list of culinary endeavors for the week, bringing my total up to one tiramisu, five baked goods, and one lasagna. Oh, and eighteen eggs. If the cooking tally isn't a new record for me, the egg thing surely is. And only one of those efforts was a total failure. On the up side, it was a failure that helped guarantee no leftover eggs in my fridge. So there is that, anyway.
And with that, I really should think about packing, or at least tossing a few things into a pile near a bag to inspire the idea of packing and get that ball rolling. Happy last days of May, everyone. Can it really be June so soon?
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Surprisingly, Jar-Jar Binks WASN'T the worst idea ever to come out of the Star Wars enterprise
First things first. For anyone who actually was interested in seeing the uncharacteristically on-time baby gift I referenced in that last post, here it is. See? Little elephants! Tell me that isn't downright adorable. Equally adorable are the tiny album cover t's I made with iron-on transfer paper and admittedly probably illegally lifted copyright-protected images. (In my defense, I am not selling these onesies, so if you ask me, the infringement is permissible. I am also not a lawyer, however, so maybe asking me means nothing.) While I am pimping my mad skillz, would you like to see the cake I made for that baby shower as well? You would? Excellent. Here you go. The recipe was courtesy of the Barefoot Contessa, via The Pioneer Woman, who as I've mentioned before has yet to let me down. Six-plus sticks of butter and two pounds of cream cheese? All in the same recipe? Don't ask questions, friends; just enjoy. My doctor did tell me to get more dairy, after all. She wasn't particularly specific about the ways I should comply.
Moving along here, as it is already ten minutes past my bedtime, despite the fact that as usual I have no idea what exactly happened to this day. On the plus side, it will take me virtually no time to get ready for bed this evening, as I never actually got out of my pajamas nor left the house today. I refuse to believe that is sad or lazy. On the contrary, I'm sure Allie would help me spin it as an eco-friendly way to spend my Sunday. No wasted water on a shower I don't need! No extra laundry created by needlessly changing my clothes! And no carbon emitted from a car I didn't drive! See? Al Gore and Allie would be happy with me today! I'm not lazy; I'm saving the planet, yo.
That said, what did I actually do today? Well, I put away my tiny Christmas tree, as well as the Christmas wrapping paper I'd left sitting in front of my couch for the past... Wait. How many weeks has it been since Christmas? Well, for the past however many weeks that is. I also finally vacuumed up the sidewalk salt that my friends inadvertently dragged into my house the blizzardy night of my Christmas party. Which was December 20. I am all about the prompt post-party cleanup, obviously. Oh, and I watched the Star Wars Holiday Special, which a friend of mine decided to inflict upon me at said party and yet which I hadn't popped into my DVD player since then. Rather, I should say I watched merely the first half hour or so of the Star Wars Holiday Special, because even with the Mystery Science Theater guys' clever commentary on this long-forgotten gem of 1970s television magic, I couldn't handle much more of it than that. When I finally shut off the disc and got off my couch, my next move was to send a message to the friend who'd given me the disc, claiming that I wanted that half hour of my life back. Admittedly, though, if I did get that time back, I would only squander it on something equally pointless. You know, like detailing for the Internets exactly what I did all day. I really wish I had something more exciting to tell you. Hmm. Maybe if I had left the house today.
Oh! Also, I managed to free up 3GB of space on my stuffed-to-capacity ancient desktop, meaning that when I clicked the Start button a few moments ago to open another application, it took only nine seconds for the Programs menu to display, rather than the usual minute and a half. I've decided, by the way, that it's completely OK if Flurrious doesn't get Toyota to give us all a free Prius. I'd settle for a brand new laptop and be more than happy.
Let's see. What else? I haven't regaled you with any dating stories in a while, I realize. Fact is, I'm too beaten down and depressed by that whole process yet again to even log in to Catch dot Mom lately. I did get a message today from a match who told me he thinks I'm "specs-tacular," and with a line like that, surely he's... actually, I don't know what a line like that might indicate. Perhaps you guys can offer some insight.
And with that, I'll end this random rambling and finally get myself off to bed. While I have you here, though, did you wish Noelle a happy belated birthday yet? Pop on over and do that, OK?
Moving along here, as it is already ten minutes past my bedtime, despite the fact that as usual I have no idea what exactly happened to this day. On the plus side, it will take me virtually no time to get ready for bed this evening, as I never actually got out of my pajamas nor left the house today. I refuse to believe that is sad or lazy. On the contrary, I'm sure Allie would help me spin it as an eco-friendly way to spend my Sunday. No wasted water on a shower I don't need! No extra laundry created by needlessly changing my clothes! And no carbon emitted from a car I didn't drive! See? Al Gore and Allie would be happy with me today! I'm not lazy; I'm saving the planet, yo.
That said, what did I actually do today? Well, I put away my tiny Christmas tree, as well as the Christmas wrapping paper I'd left sitting in front of my couch for the past... Wait. How many weeks has it been since Christmas? Well, for the past however many weeks that is. I also finally vacuumed up the sidewalk salt that my friends inadvertently dragged into my house the blizzardy night of my Christmas party. Which was December 20. I am all about the prompt post-party cleanup, obviously. Oh, and I watched the Star Wars Holiday Special, which a friend of mine decided to inflict upon me at said party and yet which I hadn't popped into my DVD player since then. Rather, I should say I watched merely the first half hour or so of the Star Wars Holiday Special, because even with the Mystery Science Theater guys' clever commentary on this long-forgotten gem of 1970s television magic, I couldn't handle much more of it than that. When I finally shut off the disc and got off my couch, my next move was to send a message to the friend who'd given me the disc, claiming that I wanted that half hour of my life back. Admittedly, though, if I did get that time back, I would only squander it on something equally pointless. You know, like detailing for the Internets exactly what I did all day. I really wish I had something more exciting to tell you. Hmm. Maybe if I had left the house today.
Oh! Also, I managed to free up 3GB of space on my stuffed-to-capacity ancient desktop, meaning that when I clicked the Start button a few moments ago to open another application, it took only nine seconds for the Programs menu to display, rather than the usual minute and a half. I've decided, by the way, that it's completely OK if Flurrious doesn't get Toyota to give us all a free Prius. I'd settle for a brand new laptop and be more than happy.
Let's see. What else? I haven't regaled you with any dating stories in a while, I realize. Fact is, I'm too beaten down and depressed by that whole process yet again to even log in to Catch dot Mom lately. I did get a message today from a match who told me he thinks I'm "specs-tacular," and with a line like that, surely he's... actually, I don't know what a line like that might indicate. Perhaps you guys can offer some insight.
And with that, I'll end this random rambling and finally get myself off to bed. While I have you here, though, did you wish Noelle a happy belated birthday yet? Pop on over and do that, OK?
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Mid-week post of no import
So it looks like I'll be regaling you with even more dating stories come November. Thank you to everyone who voted in the poll. I thought perhaps those stories had grown tiresome, but it seems where my social awkwardness is concerned at least 26 of you are a tireless bunch. I may actually still do a more true-to-the-original take on that x365 idea at some point. Or, you know, I may forget all about it, just as I apparently did the last three letters of the Encyclopedia of Me. Time will tell.
Of course, I still haven't officially signed up for NaBloPoMo, which means I could still back out. (Changing mind, woman's prerogative and all that.) I have this possibly misguided and overly optimistic idea, however, that once I've decided to do it, I will DO it, despite my lax participation on the Internet of late. Then again, I decided to clean out my closet last weekend, and the unfinished remains of that project are still strewn about several rooms of my home, taunting me and my lack of stick-to-itiveness, so maybe I'm not so against abandoning my best intentions after all. I am inherently lazy(ish)... Hmm. Perhaps I should give this some more thought.
Speaking of laziness, I did manage to overcome that long enough to finally put in a few volunteer hours for the Obama campaign last night. Those of you in Minnesota, when you receive a flyer on your doorknob next week reminding you to vote, be aware that yours truly might have counted that very flyer out and bundled it in stacks to be delivered to your neighborhood. That's pretty exciting, I know. Almost makes you want to keep it forever, rather than recycle it Tuesday evening, right? What? If I told you that flyer was possibly touched not just by me, but by one of the regulars from "Crairie Pome Hompanion," THEN would you be more impressed? No? No crazed NPR nerds here? OK then. That said, "ue-Say ott-Scay" did spend her evening sorting and collating along with us common people last night, presumably of her own accord as a concerned and active Democrat, not just as a local celebrity. I'm sure the Homegrown Democrat she works for would be proud.
Let's see. What else? Well, I am both pleased and sad to report that there will be no more stories about my least favorite coworker, because as of last week she is no longer my coworker. Luckily, I can confidently say that her release had nothing to do with the big scary mess with the economy that we keep hearing about and had everything to do with her being an insufferable and near-useless drama queen. So yay for that, though boo to the fact that I'm now stuck doing about half of the work she previously did poorly.
Speaking of which, my Lean Cuisine tray is empty and my lunch break is just about up, so I'd best be getting back to that. What's new with all of you this fine Wednesday?
Of course, I still haven't officially signed up for NaBloPoMo, which means I could still back out. (Changing mind, woman's prerogative and all that.) I have this possibly misguided and overly optimistic idea, however, that once I've decided to do it, I will DO it, despite my lax participation on the Internet of late. Then again, I decided to clean out my closet last weekend, and the unfinished remains of that project are still strewn about several rooms of my home, taunting me and my lack of stick-to-itiveness, so maybe I'm not so against abandoning my best intentions after all. I am inherently lazy(ish)... Hmm. Perhaps I should give this some more thought.
Speaking of laziness, I did manage to overcome that long enough to finally put in a few volunteer hours for the Obama campaign last night. Those of you in Minnesota, when you receive a flyer on your doorknob next week reminding you to vote, be aware that yours truly might have counted that very flyer out and bundled it in stacks to be delivered to your neighborhood. That's pretty exciting, I know. Almost makes you want to keep it forever, rather than recycle it Tuesday evening, right? What? If I told you that flyer was possibly touched not just by me, but by one of the regulars from "Crairie Pome Hompanion," THEN would you be more impressed? No? No crazed NPR nerds here? OK then. That said, "ue-Say ott-Scay" did spend her evening sorting and collating along with us common people last night, presumably of her own accord as a concerned and active Democrat, not just as a local celebrity. I'm sure the Homegrown Democrat she works for would be proud.
Let's see. What else? Well, I am both pleased and sad to report that there will be no more stories about my least favorite coworker, because as of last week she is no longer my coworker. Luckily, I can confidently say that her release had nothing to do with the big scary mess with the economy that we keep hearing about and had everything to do with her being an insufferable and near-useless drama queen. So yay for that, though boo to the fact that I'm now stuck doing about half of the work she previously did poorly.
Speaking of which, my Lean Cuisine tray is empty and my lunch break is just about up, so I'd best be getting back to that. What's new with all of you this fine Wednesday?
Sunday, April 06, 2008
If you weren't hungry before you started reading this, you will be by the time you're done. I'm sorry.
First off, how about a hearty round of applause for NPW on last week's Choose Your Own Blogventure game? Wasn't that fun? I know it was no small feat organizing all of us wily bloggers into formation for such an undertaking, but NPDubs did it presumably with all fingernails still intact. Well done, my friend. I won't dare ask you when the next CYOB will be, but I do believe you have started something that must happen again. Good luck with that. And by the way, as a brief side note, is it just me, or do the rest of you see "CYOB" and want to turn those letters into "Carry Your Own Booze" or "Cover Your Own Butt" or some other similar distortion of another semi-well-known acronym? No? That's just me? I thought so. Moving on.
Friday after work I spent an absurd amount of money on groceries. ("Absurd" = $161, which, eerily, is the same amount that Poppy spent on groceries this weekend as well. As we both live alone, we were equally dismayed we managed to rack up that total.) In my defense, I had not gone shopping for weeks, and I was essentially down to spaghetti sauce, Kraft singles, pudding cups, and Triscuits. Sometimes I think it would be fun to host an Iron Chef-esque reality show in my home. In my version, though, there would be no secret ingredient. Instead, the catch would be that the chefs have to make a delicious meal using only ingredients I have on hand. I would love to see what inventive and remarkable things could be accomplished with no staples such as bread, eggs, or vegetables. Don't worry, chefs... I have flour! And condiments! Surely you can do something with those! (Incidentally, have I already written about this idea before? It's entirely possible I have. Carry on.)
So anyway, I went grocery shopping so that I wouldn't resort to having Kellogg's All Bran crackers dipped in cream cheese for dinner (or, to be more honest, resort to having Kellogg's All Bran crackers dipped in cream cheese for dinner a second night in a row). Rather than filling my cart with my usual boxes of carb-heavy, preservative-laden frozen and packaged foods, however, I did what the experts have been telling me to do for years: I focused nearly all my shopping in the outer areas of the store--the produce, dairy, and fresh foods area--and made only a few forays into the inner aisles. I bought fruit! And not just bananas! I bought a papaya and a mango and a bag of oranges! I bought lettuce! And jicama! And cherry tomatoes! I am entirely more proud of myself for this than I should be. I felt like the cashier should have given me a gold star when I piled my selections on the conveyor belt.
I've tried this "I'm going to eat real food" thing before... several times, in fact. It never sticks, largely because I am lazy and I do not like going to the grocery store as regularly as is required when the food you're buying is food that can't be stockpiled for weeks. Also, real food requires assembly and preparation. Theoretically, I'd love to bring a healthy snack such as baby carrots and hummus to work, but that requires divvying the carrots up into a little bag and finding a handy travel-sized container to hold a serving or so of dip, and making time for these bothersome tasks in my morning routine would require that I hit the snooze button a time or two less, and that, friends, is a battle I just can't seem to win. So we'll see how long this healthy eating kick lasts this time. I did rather well all weekend, if you don't count the many pumpkin oatmeal cookies I have eaten (Did anyone else make these after Noelle posted the recipe? If not, why not?? They are damn tasty.) or the three spoonfuls of peanut butter that I for some reason ate straight out of the jar, drizzled with honey, about a half hour ago. Oh, and also, the ridiculously over-the-top dinner I had last night. So really, I suppose I didn't actually do so well at all. Baby steps, as they say. Baby steps indeed.
Last night's dinner was, however, delicious. I don't know why I haven't been here before, it being rather conveniently located for me and having gained rave reviews in several publications around town. I am glad I finally went, though, if for no other reason than I now have a perfect "date place" in mind, should I ever actually go on a date again. Or, more specifically, should I go on a date with a rugged man's-man sort of guy who thinks dinner isn't dinner without a big slab of meat involved. (A note to my vegetarian friends: You might want to avert your eyes through this paragraph. Think fond thoughts of tofu and move along.) This restaurant is like a classier, urban, foodie-friendly version of our famous local barbecue chain. Their chicken is so juicy, their pork so perfectly seasoned that it makes me think those redneck bumper stickers have a point: if God didn't want me to eat animals, he wouldn't have made them so damn tasty. This place is so serious about their meat that they even put it in their vegetables. Yams topped with chorizo... collard greens with turkey. You can have your meat with a side of meat. I am telling you, boys would love this place. Or, many of the boys I've known would, anyway. I'll test this theory out eventually and report back.
But back to my grocery adventure. I mentioned listening to the "experts" and shopping primarily in the produce section. I haven't admitted that the "expert," in this case, is Montel Williams. Yes, that Montel Williams. Did you know he wrote a book? He wrote a few of them, actually. The one I have from the library at the moment, however, is this one. I don't even remember how I came across it, but I read the summary and somehow got sucked in. I do want to transform my life and feel spectacular! I do want to look better, feel better, have more energy and fewer aches and pains. But can Montel really make that happen? Maybe he can and maybe he can't. I'm only about a third of the way through the book, and so far I can sum it up thusly: "Vegetables are good for you! Eat more of them! Fish is good, too! I'm 51 years old and I look and feel great! I can wear a Speedo if I want to! Vegetables! Yay, vegetables! Superfoods!"
I may have taken a few liberties with the exclamation points, but I think you get the point. In any case, he does offer some fairly useful advice for incorporating those pesky vegetables into my life by encouraging me to blend them up into tasty drinks. I haven't yet tossed a head of Romaine in the blender with an orange and some ice cubes, as he recommended, but I did make a tropical fruit smoothie yesterday that was so good I almost forgot it was good for me.
So anyway. Healthy eating. Routine consumption of fruits and vegetables. It's my new (old) goal right now. I give it until Wednesday before I'm baking a frozen pizza again, but at the moment, I have high hopes, anyway. Wish me luck, because I will need it. Luck, and tips, actually. Have you figured out a way for complicated salads to miraculously make themselves? How about a way to make broccoli or cauliflower taste good without being slathered with cheese or salt? Anyone? Anything? I'm all ears.
Friday after work I spent an absurd amount of money on groceries. ("Absurd" = $161, which, eerily, is the same amount that Poppy spent on groceries this weekend as well. As we both live alone, we were equally dismayed we managed to rack up that total.) In my defense, I had not gone shopping for weeks, and I was essentially down to spaghetti sauce, Kraft singles, pudding cups, and Triscuits. Sometimes I think it would be fun to host an Iron Chef-esque reality show in my home. In my version, though, there would be no secret ingredient. Instead, the catch would be that the chefs have to make a delicious meal using only ingredients I have on hand. I would love to see what inventive and remarkable things could be accomplished with no staples such as bread, eggs, or vegetables. Don't worry, chefs... I have flour! And condiments! Surely you can do something with those! (Incidentally, have I already written about this idea before? It's entirely possible I have. Carry on.)
So anyway, I went grocery shopping so that I wouldn't resort to having Kellogg's All Bran crackers dipped in cream cheese for dinner (or, to be more honest, resort to having Kellogg's All Bran crackers dipped in cream cheese for dinner a second night in a row). Rather than filling my cart with my usual boxes of carb-heavy, preservative-laden frozen and packaged foods, however, I did what the experts have been telling me to do for years: I focused nearly all my shopping in the outer areas of the store--the produce, dairy, and fresh foods area--and made only a few forays into the inner aisles. I bought fruit! And not just bananas! I bought a papaya and a mango and a bag of oranges! I bought lettuce! And jicama! And cherry tomatoes! I am entirely more proud of myself for this than I should be. I felt like the cashier should have given me a gold star when I piled my selections on the conveyor belt.
I've tried this "I'm going to eat real food" thing before... several times, in fact. It never sticks, largely because I am lazy and I do not like going to the grocery store as regularly as is required when the food you're buying is food that can't be stockpiled for weeks. Also, real food requires assembly and preparation. Theoretically, I'd love to bring a healthy snack such as baby carrots and hummus to work, but that requires divvying the carrots up into a little bag and finding a handy travel-sized container to hold a serving or so of dip, and making time for these bothersome tasks in my morning routine would require that I hit the snooze button a time or two less, and that, friends, is a battle I just can't seem to win. So we'll see how long this healthy eating kick lasts this time. I did rather well all weekend, if you don't count the many pumpkin oatmeal cookies I have eaten (Did anyone else make these after Noelle posted the recipe? If not, why not?? They are damn tasty.) or the three spoonfuls of peanut butter that I for some reason ate straight out of the jar, drizzled with honey, about a half hour ago. Oh, and also, the ridiculously over-the-top dinner I had last night. So really, I suppose I didn't actually do so well at all. Baby steps, as they say. Baby steps indeed.
Last night's dinner was, however, delicious. I don't know why I haven't been here before, it being rather conveniently located for me and having gained rave reviews in several publications around town. I am glad I finally went, though, if for no other reason than I now have a perfect "date place" in mind, should I ever actually go on a date again. Or, more specifically, should I go on a date with a rugged man's-man sort of guy who thinks dinner isn't dinner without a big slab of meat involved. (A note to my vegetarian friends: You might want to avert your eyes through this paragraph. Think fond thoughts of tofu and move along.) This restaurant is like a classier, urban, foodie-friendly version of our famous local barbecue chain. Their chicken is so juicy, their pork so perfectly seasoned that it makes me think those redneck bumper stickers have a point: if God didn't want me to eat animals, he wouldn't have made them so damn tasty. This place is so serious about their meat that they even put it in their vegetables. Yams topped with chorizo... collard greens with turkey. You can have your meat with a side of meat. I am telling you, boys would love this place. Or, many of the boys I've known would, anyway. I'll test this theory out eventually and report back.
But back to my grocery adventure. I mentioned listening to the "experts" and shopping primarily in the produce section. I haven't admitted that the "expert," in this case, is Montel Williams. Yes, that Montel Williams. Did you know he wrote a book? He wrote a few of them, actually. The one I have from the library at the moment, however, is this one. I don't even remember how I came across it, but I read the summary and somehow got sucked in. I do want to transform my life and feel spectacular! I do want to look better, feel better, have more energy and fewer aches and pains. But can Montel really make that happen? Maybe he can and maybe he can't. I'm only about a third of the way through the book, and so far I can sum it up thusly: "Vegetables are good for you! Eat more of them! Fish is good, too! I'm 51 years old and I look and feel great! I can wear a Speedo if I want to! Vegetables! Yay, vegetables! Superfoods!"
I may have taken a few liberties with the exclamation points, but I think you get the point. In any case, he does offer some fairly useful advice for incorporating those pesky vegetables into my life by encouraging me to blend them up into tasty drinks. I haven't yet tossed a head of Romaine in the blender with an orange and some ice cubes, as he recommended, but I did make a tropical fruit smoothie yesterday that was so good I almost forgot it was good for me.
So anyway. Healthy eating. Routine consumption of fruits and vegetables. It's my new (old) goal right now. I give it until Wednesday before I'm baking a frozen pizza again, but at the moment, I have high hopes, anyway. Wish me luck, because I will need it. Luck, and tips, actually. Have you figured out a way for complicated salads to miraculously make themselves? How about a way to make broccoli or cauliflower taste good without being slathered with cheese or salt? Anyone? Anything? I'm all ears.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Why I love the Internet, Reason #437
Last Wednesday it snowed, which was particularly inconvenient for the hundreds of people stuck at a standstill on I-94 because a semi-truck in Minnesota couldn't handle two inches of snow on the road five months into the winter season and decided to jack-knife or tip over or some such thing. It was perhaps just a wee bit less inconvenient for people like me, who simply had to find time to shovel their sidewalk, pack up their stuff, and grab a very quick dinner in the approximately 30 minutes between getting home from work and rushing off to quilting class.
Because every minute counts on rushed nights like that, I didn't bother taking off my boots when I ran into my house to grab a hat before shoveling. Instead I did what I often do: I decided to put each foot inside a Target bag so I could traipse through my house without mucking up my floors and carpeting with dirty wet snow. The only problem was I didn't have two empty Target bags within easy reach of my kitchen door. I did have one bag, however. So naturally I did the only illogical thing: I stepped both feet into that one Target bag and tried to shuffle and hop my way to the wicker cabinet in my living room entryway where my hats and mittens are stored.
I made it about halfway to my living room before I shuffled in an awkward way that left no give in the bag for my foot to land and found myself square on my ass in my hallway, narrowly missing colliding my head directly with a very hard and somewhat pointy piece of cabinetry.
All this because I was too damn lazy to take off my boots or to wipe a few snowy wet spots from my floors.
What does this story have to do with the Internet and why I love the kindred spirits who live inside it? This. My first thought, after I took the ridiculous spill on the edge of my kitchen, was, "Should I blog about that?" But by the time I got home from quilting I had already forgotten about it, and it seemed entirely too absurd a thing to admit to the world outside my kitchen anyway, so I let it go. Until I read about Abbersnail's similar moment of grace and realized I am not alone. Thank you, Abbers. You rock eight ways to Sunday (whatever that actually means).
Know why else I love the Internet? Where else can you find a t-shirt that says "I love the (Eighteen) Eighties" quite like this one does?
Olde-Timey Lloyd is now on his way to my little sister's house in honor of her birthday later this week (four days before my birthday, in case anyone's counting). I wonder if that's Peter Gabriel blaring from that Victrola or if Yester-Lloyd's wooing Diane with a little Gilbert and Sullivan instead.
Because every minute counts on rushed nights like that, I didn't bother taking off my boots when I ran into my house to grab a hat before shoveling. Instead I did what I often do: I decided to put each foot inside a Target bag so I could traipse through my house without mucking up my floors and carpeting with dirty wet snow. The only problem was I didn't have two empty Target bags within easy reach of my kitchen door. I did have one bag, however. So naturally I did the only illogical thing: I stepped both feet into that one Target bag and tried to shuffle and hop my way to the wicker cabinet in my living room entryway where my hats and mittens are stored.
I made it about halfway to my living room before I shuffled in an awkward way that left no give in the bag for my foot to land and found myself square on my ass in my hallway, narrowly missing colliding my head directly with a very hard and somewhat pointy piece of cabinetry.
All this because I was too damn lazy to take off my boots or to wipe a few snowy wet spots from my floors.
What does this story have to do with the Internet and why I love the kindred spirits who live inside it? This. My first thought, after I took the ridiculous spill on the edge of my kitchen, was, "Should I blog about that?" But by the time I got home from quilting I had already forgotten about it, and it seemed entirely too absurd a thing to admit to the world outside my kitchen anyway, so I let it go. Until I read about Abbersnail's similar moment of grace and realized I am not alone. Thank you, Abbers. You rock eight ways to Sunday (whatever that actually means).
Know why else I love the Internet? Where else can you find a t-shirt that says "I love the (Eighteen) Eighties" quite like this one does?
Olde-Timey Lloyd is now on his way to my little sister's house in honor of her birthday later this week (four days before my birthday, in case anyone's counting). I wonder if that's Peter Gabriel blaring from that Victrola or if Yester-Lloyd's wooing Diane with a little Gilbert and Sullivan instead.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
'Tis the season
Tonight is the night I swore I was absolutely, positively, definitely going to write my Christmas cards (as opposed to the last two nights, when I was probably or certainly going to write my Christmas cards). I really need to write those damn Christmas cards. So of course, I am writing a blog entry instead.
It's not even the cards themselves I am so unmotivated to do. Scrawl a "happy holidays" message, sign my name, stamp and address it? Not a problem. I could casually get that done while simultaneously enjoying the second season of Weeds on DVD. It's the damn letter that needs to accompany several of those cards that's the problem.
Yes, I am writing a Christmas card letter. Yes, I realize that might be an unforgivably self-absorbed and lazy thing for a single person with no children or even pets to do. I do not care. I am all about granting Singletons the same rights enjoyed by Marrieds, and it starts with the Christmas letter, I say. As a matter of fact, I made that same very bold declaration in the Christmas letter I sent out last year. I know this because I just opened up last year's letter on my computer in the hopes that it might spark some ideas for this year's letter, and I saw it right there in the first paragraph.
As it turns out, I could probably recycle the same damn letter, as not a lot in my life has changed in the past year. Replace Jamaica and New York with Austin, Columbus, and Seattle in the paragraph about my travels for the year; up the ridiculous number of years I have been with the same company by one more digit... that about covers it, I guess. Still single. Still in Minneapolis. Still sending my Christmas cards mere days before the holiday with not a single present wrapped yet. Do you think anybody would actually notice if I simply sent the same letter again this year? I'd best not dwell on that idea too long. It's entirely too tempting, I think.
On the up side, I do believe I have all of my Christmas shopping done, and thanks to a desperate email to Amazon customer service, I may even actually receive all of my purchases on time. (I've often heard that sometimes it helps to complain, but rarely has it actually panned out for me. This time it did. Yay!) Of course, I do not have any of said purchases wrapped yet, but surely that will take just a moment or three, right? (File "wrapping Christmas gifts" under that list of things I always remember as being far less time consuming than it actually is. Whoops.)
Also on my list for this week was to find some holiday flair to wear to my friend Lisa's party on Friday night. It turns out my local Goodwill had a "Tacky Sweater Event" two weekends ago, so their inventory was decidedly lacking in festive Christmas apparel when I stopped in tonight. Consequently, I did not find the appliquéd vest and the turtleneck printed with tiny candy canes or gingerbread men that I'd so hoped to find there. I was more than a bit disappointed, but I think I've assembled some pieces that will give me a sure-fire shot at the prize anyway. The items I purchased were not overtly Christmasy on their own, but the cashier who rung them up actually raised her eyebrows when she saw them together on the counter and said, "Well, you're just going to be the happiest elf at the party, aren't you?" Indeed, I am, miss. Thanks for noticing.
In other good news, I survived my company's holiday party Saturday, thanks at least in part to the male friend who was kind enough to accompany me even though I am no longer dating him. (Hey! The invitation said "Stefanie and Guest"; it did not say "Stefanie and Boyfriend, if You Have One." Everybody likes a free meal and free drinks, right?) It was a mostly uneventful event; for all my sublimated worrying about it, I barely even made eye contact with my ex-boyfriend coworker and his new wife. And while I did get a bit unexpectedly drunk and subsequently found myself nursing a nearly two-day hangover, at least I had the good sense to do most of my drinking after the party, with some friends at a bar in an entirely different city, rather than with my coworkers. When I walked into work Monday morning, I felt that hazy cloud of shamefulness shadowing my thoughts, but thankfully no one in that building is any the wiser about it. Whew.
And with that, I really, really must get to that Christmas letter. Tell me, what holiday-related chores are you procrastinating on as you're reading this?
It's not even the cards themselves I am so unmotivated to do. Scrawl a "happy holidays" message, sign my name, stamp and address it? Not a problem. I could casually get that done while simultaneously enjoying the second season of Weeds on DVD. It's the damn letter that needs to accompany several of those cards that's the problem.
Yes, I am writing a Christmas card letter. Yes, I realize that might be an unforgivably self-absorbed and lazy thing for a single person with no children or even pets to do. I do not care. I am all about granting Singletons the same rights enjoyed by Marrieds, and it starts with the Christmas letter, I say. As a matter of fact, I made that same very bold declaration in the Christmas letter I sent out last year. I know this because I just opened up last year's letter on my computer in the hopes that it might spark some ideas for this year's letter, and I saw it right there in the first paragraph.
As it turns out, I could probably recycle the same damn letter, as not a lot in my life has changed in the past year. Replace Jamaica and New York with Austin, Columbus, and Seattle in the paragraph about my travels for the year; up the ridiculous number of years I have been with the same company by one more digit... that about covers it, I guess. Still single. Still in Minneapolis. Still sending my Christmas cards mere days before the holiday with not a single present wrapped yet. Do you think anybody would actually notice if I simply sent the same letter again this year? I'd best not dwell on that idea too long. It's entirely too tempting, I think.
On the up side, I do believe I have all of my Christmas shopping done, and thanks to a desperate email to Amazon customer service, I may even actually receive all of my purchases on time. (I've often heard that sometimes it helps to complain, but rarely has it actually panned out for me. This time it did. Yay!) Of course, I do not have any of said purchases wrapped yet, but surely that will take just a moment or three, right? (File "wrapping Christmas gifts" under that list of things I always remember as being far less time consuming than it actually is. Whoops.)
Also on my list for this week was to find some holiday flair to wear to my friend Lisa's party on Friday night. It turns out my local Goodwill had a "Tacky Sweater Event" two weekends ago, so their inventory was decidedly lacking in festive Christmas apparel when I stopped in tonight. Consequently, I did not find the appliquéd vest and the turtleneck printed with tiny candy canes or gingerbread men that I'd so hoped to find there. I was more than a bit disappointed, but I think I've assembled some pieces that will give me a sure-fire shot at the prize anyway. The items I purchased were not overtly Christmasy on their own, but the cashier who rung them up actually raised her eyebrows when she saw them together on the counter and said, "Well, you're just going to be the happiest elf at the party, aren't you?" Indeed, I am, miss. Thanks for noticing.
In other good news, I survived my company's holiday party Saturday, thanks at least in part to the male friend who was kind enough to accompany me even though I am no longer dating him. (Hey! The invitation said "Stefanie and Guest"; it did not say "Stefanie and Boyfriend, if You Have One." Everybody likes a free meal and free drinks, right?) It was a mostly uneventful event; for all my sublimated worrying about it, I barely even made eye contact with my ex-boyfriend coworker and his new wife. And while I did get a bit unexpectedly drunk and subsequently found myself nursing a nearly two-day hangover, at least I had the good sense to do most of my drinking after the party, with some friends at a bar in an entirely different city, rather than with my coworkers. When I walked into work Monday morning, I felt that hazy cloud of shamefulness shadowing my thoughts, but thankfully no one in that building is any the wiser about it. Whew.
And with that, I really, really must get to that Christmas letter. Tell me, what holiday-related chores are you procrastinating on as you're reading this?
Monday, October 01, 2007
Finally! A post not in list form! (Not that that's saying a whole lot...)
Hey. Remember that thing I'm supposed to be writing for my friend's wedding? The wedding that is... oh... less than five days away? Yeah, guess who hasn't written that yet? That'd be me.
I do not know what is wrong with me. I have been thinking about it plenty. Of course, in this case, "thinking about" means driving along a highway or standing in the shower, realizing, "yeah, I have to write something soon," without really formulating any particularly good or solid ideas from which to draw. Yesterday I finally forced myself to sit down and write a full three paragraphs, and tonight, when I looked at them again, I even bored myself.
People, I am more than a bit nervous. And also, blocked. Hence, I am typing a new post when I should be working on the wedding post, in the hopes that simply sending activity from my brain to my fingers will get things rolling. How's it working so far? That good, huh? Yeah, I thought so. Lord help me.
I really wish this were just a reception toast, instead of a ceremony reading. Sure, I freaked about a toast, too, last year, when I had to write one for my maid of honor stint. But at least there was an understood air of informality to that. I was worried about being too structured, instead of the other way around. Also, I got to down two glasses of wine before that performance (and I can only assume most of my audience had, too). At 12:30 in the p.m., alcohol won't be my crutch this time.
So the wedding reading is not going so well, not that I want to tell the lovely bride about that. (I am hoping and quite confidently assuming she is far too busy with last-minute wedding stuff to hop on over to my blog this week and therefore will likely, thankfully, never see my whining here.)
Meanwhile, what else do I have to tell you about? Well, last night I saw what was quite possibly my favorite show so far this year... It was LCD Soundsytem and Arcade Fire at Roy Wilkins, and I think it only ever so slightly edged out the National show at Fine Line a few short weeks ago. I am bothered no end by what an old lady I've become... at how ridiculously sore my back and feet are after standing in one place for three hours and how little tolerance I have for what I deem unquestionably poor concert etiquette. But I do still enjoy a good rock show, and both bands delivered last night. I am pretty sure I have lost another segment in the frequency range I used to be able to hear, because I am not quite an old lady enough to remember to bring ear plugs to a show, but I'm just going to hope that frequency is the one that hears annoying sounds I don't want to hear anyway... like the chirpy-chirp audio clip a nearby co-worker has set as her Outlook reminder or the sound of the chatty children in the gym locker room. It's not likely, I know, but a girl can hope, can she not?
Also, Friday night I decided to attempt to resurrect that cooking thing I had going for a while last spring, and I ended up making this. People, I do not even watch the Food Network, but based on this recipe alone, I have to say, that Giada really knows what she's doing. That was without a doubt the best dinner I've made in a damn long time, which might mean a bit more if I'd actually made anything in a damn long time, but even so, I'll say that was some ridiculously tasty chicken cacciatore, and you should all go on and make it post-haste. Well, all except Noelle and Liz, who I know are admirably against eating any of our feathered friends. Any carnivores out there, though, should really just trust me on this.
Speaking of Liz, has anyone else seen Molly Shannon's latest movie, Year of the Dog? Did anyone else think of Liz while they were watching it? No? That's just me? I thought so. In any case, I would love to heartily recommend this movie... I mean, Molly Shannon! Peter Sarsgaard! John C. Reilly! Plus an unexpected but welcome cameo from Paris Geller! How can you go wrong? You can't, I thought, and yet, this movie fell a bit flat for me. Was it because I paused it approximately 17 times whilst switching laundry loads and refilling my wine glass? Was it because I was paying more attention to my knitting than to the screen or dialog? Perhaps. Or maybe it was just sort of disappointing. Anyone else want to weigh in on this? Incidentally, just because I simultaneously didn't love this movie and also thought of Liz while watching this movie does not mean I am in any way connecting the two. You still rock, Liz, really. Year of Liz! A trophy doesn't lie.
All right. I suppose that's about enough rattling on from me right now. Back to that wedding speech, which, if this post is any indication, is just bound to be a laugh-riot and a tearjerker. Lord oh lord. Wish me luck. I really truly need it at this point.
I do not know what is wrong with me. I have been thinking about it plenty. Of course, in this case, "thinking about" means driving along a highway or standing in the shower, realizing, "yeah, I have to write something soon," without really formulating any particularly good or solid ideas from which to draw. Yesterday I finally forced myself to sit down and write a full three paragraphs, and tonight, when I looked at them again, I even bored myself.
People, I am more than a bit nervous. And also, blocked. Hence, I am typing a new post when I should be working on the wedding post, in the hopes that simply sending activity from my brain to my fingers will get things rolling. How's it working so far? That good, huh? Yeah, I thought so. Lord help me.
I really wish this were just a reception toast, instead of a ceremony reading. Sure, I freaked about a toast, too, last year, when I had to write one for my maid of honor stint. But at least there was an understood air of informality to that. I was worried about being too structured, instead of the other way around. Also, I got to down two glasses of wine before that performance (and I can only assume most of my audience had, too). At 12:30 in the p.m., alcohol won't be my crutch this time.
So the wedding reading is not going so well, not that I want to tell the lovely bride about that. (I am hoping and quite confidently assuming she is far too busy with last-minute wedding stuff to hop on over to my blog this week and therefore will likely, thankfully, never see my whining here.)
Meanwhile, what else do I have to tell you about? Well, last night I saw what was quite possibly my favorite show so far this year... It was LCD Soundsytem and Arcade Fire at Roy Wilkins, and I think it only ever so slightly edged out the National show at Fine Line a few short weeks ago. I am bothered no end by what an old lady I've become... at how ridiculously sore my back and feet are after standing in one place for three hours and how little tolerance I have for what I deem unquestionably poor concert etiquette. But I do still enjoy a good rock show, and both bands delivered last night. I am pretty sure I have lost another segment in the frequency range I used to be able to hear, because I am not quite an old lady enough to remember to bring ear plugs to a show, but I'm just going to hope that frequency is the one that hears annoying sounds I don't want to hear anyway... like the chirpy-chirp audio clip a nearby co-worker has set as her Outlook reminder or the sound of the chatty children in the gym locker room. It's not likely, I know, but a girl can hope, can she not?
Also, Friday night I decided to attempt to resurrect that cooking thing I had going for a while last spring, and I ended up making this. People, I do not even watch the Food Network, but based on this recipe alone, I have to say, that Giada really knows what she's doing. That was without a doubt the best dinner I've made in a damn long time, which might mean a bit more if I'd actually made anything in a damn long time, but even so, I'll say that was some ridiculously tasty chicken cacciatore, and you should all go on and make it post-haste. Well, all except Noelle and Liz, who I know are admirably against eating any of our feathered friends. Any carnivores out there, though, should really just trust me on this.
Speaking of Liz, has anyone else seen Molly Shannon's latest movie, Year of the Dog? Did anyone else think of Liz while they were watching it? No? That's just me? I thought so. In any case, I would love to heartily recommend this movie... I mean, Molly Shannon! Peter Sarsgaard! John C. Reilly! Plus an unexpected but welcome cameo from Paris Geller! How can you go wrong? You can't, I thought, and yet, this movie fell a bit flat for me. Was it because I paused it approximately 17 times whilst switching laundry loads and refilling my wine glass? Was it because I was paying more attention to my knitting than to the screen or dialog? Perhaps. Or maybe it was just sort of disappointing. Anyone else want to weigh in on this? Incidentally, just because I simultaneously didn't love this movie and also thought of Liz while watching this movie does not mean I am in any way connecting the two. You still rock, Liz, really. Year of Liz! A trophy doesn't lie.
All right. I suppose that's about enough rattling on from me right now. Back to that wedding speech, which, if this post is any indication, is just bound to be a laugh-riot and a tearjerker. Lord oh lord. Wish me luck. I really truly need it at this point.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Eight, eight, I forget what eight was for
I am pleased to report that it is currently a refreshingly mild 78 degrees in my house, with a light breeze coming in through my windows and offering a lovely reprieve from the lethargy-inducing sauna I've been living in since last Wednesday. Whoo.
Since I was lying in a heat coma for most of the weekend, I didn't have the wherewithal for any sort of proper post. Besides that, I'm all about the bulleted list recap anyway. All the cool kids are doing it, after all.*
How I spent my weekend, in eight-point bullet form.
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* In this case, of course, "cool kids" means bookish and bespectacled types with minor kickball phobias and some excess beer in their fridge. You know... sort of like me! (Definitely cool, obviously.)
Since I was lying in a heat coma for most of the weekend, I didn't have the wherewithal for any sort of proper post. Besides that, I'm all about the bulleted list recap anyway. All the cool kids are doing it, after all.*
How I spent my weekend, in eight-point bullet form.
- Realized that earning an English degree does not, in fact, automatically mean I am smart enough to follow what the hell is going on in a Shakespeare in the Park performance of The Tempest if I'm not going to bother paying attention to the first ten minutes of it and if I cannot refrain from zoning out during additional five-minute segments throughout.
- Spent approximately 90 minutes in transit to and from Walker Art Center (including a few necessary detours and a shouldn't-have-been-necessary 15-minute circle around the parking ramp in search of a spot) in order to spend only about 60 minutes sipping a Target-themed cocktail, snacking on cheese cubes, cookies, and cherry tomatoes, and looking (admittedly briefly) at art. (Note to self: If I'm ever to attend one of these overpriced Friday evening events again, really must get there earlier next time.)
- Pondered how the weekends might not fly by quite so quickly if I didn't sleep through half their daylight hours. Decided to ignore this information, as sleep is far more fun than making productive use of a Saturday. (Scratch that. Sleep is productive use of a Saturday.)
- Wondered what temperature my living room would need to reach before I might actually melt into the threads of purple chenille on my couch.
- Strolled through rows upon rows of tiny white tents bearing art and handicrafts at the Stone Arch Festival of the Arts. To my mild dismay, this year's show was a bit heavier on the craft than the art. I may have seen brightly colored hair scrunchies, 80s-esque fractal prints, and a cartoonish line drawing of a grizzly bear on a toilet with the caption "Bears don't always do it in the woods." In case it isn't obvious, I bought none of these. I did, however, buy a CD by a talented skinny little hipster boy who played a lovely set beneath the Central Avenue bridge. Go check him out. Just don't tell him I called him a skinny little hipster boy, OK?
- Bit my tongue while a father told his son, "You wanted to see the Stone Arch Bridge? That's the Stone Arch Bridge." Unfortunately, this...
...is not the Stone Arch Bridge.
This is.
Too bad the kid likely doesn't read my blog. - Saw the new St. Anthony Falls Water Power Park... Where history, research, renewable energy, and natural beauty meet! Or, where some brilliant city planner saw an eyesore of a power structure and decided to build a park around it. Whee.
- And finally, ditched a book that wasn't doing it for me for likely only the third time ever, and started instead on one that's already a hundred times more entertaining. More on that a bit later, however... Like Sognatrice, I'm all about chronology in my book reports, and I'm still one book behind on those.
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* In this case, of course, "cool kids" means bookish and bespectacled types with minor kickball phobias and some excess beer in their fridge. You know... sort of like me! (Definitely cool, obviously.)
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Apparently I'm so desperate for a topic that I'm posting other people's baby photos. (I promise I won't make a habit of this.)
Hey there! How are you? Guess what I have still not done yet? If you guessed "Hooked up your new scanner?" then you are smart. Or I am predictably lazy. Frankly, both are quite good possibilities, I must say. Is anyone still actually waiting for the inevitably disappointing artist's rendering of my royal blue Hee-Haw dress or Miss Prom Pants's triangle hair? I didn't think so. Moving on then.
In lieu of any prom-related photos or drawings, how about we take a decidedly different turn and pretend this is a knitting blog again for a bit? GG showed off her baby-blanket-in-progress yesterday, so I think I will just pretend that was a meme and show you the one I recently finished as well. Here it is:
I started this a couple months ago and actually completed the bulk of it while watching some very inappropriate-for-small-children things on DVD. If you consult my movie list for early January, you'll see that during the time I was knitting this, I watched Pulp Fiction, The Last Kiss, the Enron documentary, and Kids. I sincerely hope that this blanket is in no way now tainted by its unintentional association with extreme violence, infidelity, corporate greed and corruption, rampant drug abuse, and loose sexual morals as a result.
I shared this concern with Darren a few weeks ago, and he offered the very good suggestion that I wrap the blanket around my TV and leave it on PBS all day while I'm at work in the hopes that some wholesome programming would somehow set things right. Instead, I guess I am just going to trust that the sweetness that is the tiny recipient of the blanket will overcome its shady beginnings. I mean, just look at this little guy. He could warn off all bad blanket juju, don't you think?
I handed over the blanket at a party held in this little man's honor Sunday. Can you believe he didn't even have the decency to stay awake for it? The nerve. He did wake up eventually, however... just in time for his Barynya practice.
(FYI: No, I did not know the word "Barynya" on my own. I'll admit I looked it up. Surprisingly, it's not as easy as you might think to find the proper name for "Russian dance with lots of squatting and jumping." Luckily, I've got mad Google skillz.)
In this one, I'm pretty sure little Will is saying, "Hey dude, got some spare change? Come on, help a brother out." (I guess Barynya doesn't really pay the bills, after all.)
And in this one, it seems he's saying, "Gah! Get me away from this lady!" Or possibly, "Hey, is that a cookie you've got back there? A Tagalong, perhaps? Can I have me some of that?"
OK, frankly I'm not all that great at putting words in infants' mouths, so I'll stop this nonsense now. There's a reason I wasn't a co-writer on Look Who's Talking, after all (and that reason wasn't only the fact that it was a dreadful and mind-numbing movie... nor that I was only 15 when it came out and, believe it or not, was not any sort of child screen-writing genius in demand by TriStar and all its subsidiaries).
Anyway, the shower was lovely, with fine snacks and only two silly games--neither of which I won, thankfully (the enormous canisters of Kahlua- and Baileys-filled chocolates looked like an awesomely tasty prize, but me and the extra eight pounds I'm carrying around lately really don't need that sort of temptation in our home). And little Will is pretty much near perfect, I guess, which seems only fitting considering what cool parents he's got. Congratulations, J and D. I'm sure you've lots of fun times with him ahead.
In lieu of any prom-related photos or drawings, how about we take a decidedly different turn and pretend this is a knitting blog again for a bit? GG showed off her baby-blanket-in-progress yesterday, so I think I will just pretend that was a meme and show you the one I recently finished as well. Here it is:
I started this a couple months ago and actually completed the bulk of it while watching some very inappropriate-for-small-children things on DVD. If you consult my movie list for early January, you'll see that during the time I was knitting this, I watched Pulp Fiction, The Last Kiss, the Enron documentary, and Kids. I sincerely hope that this blanket is in no way now tainted by its unintentional association with extreme violence, infidelity, corporate greed and corruption, rampant drug abuse, and loose sexual morals as a result.
I shared this concern with Darren a few weeks ago, and he offered the very good suggestion that I wrap the blanket around my TV and leave it on PBS all day while I'm at work in the hopes that some wholesome programming would somehow set things right. Instead, I guess I am just going to trust that the sweetness that is the tiny recipient of the blanket will overcome its shady beginnings. I mean, just look at this little guy. He could warn off all bad blanket juju, don't you think?
I handed over the blanket at a party held in this little man's honor Sunday. Can you believe he didn't even have the decency to stay awake for it? The nerve. He did wake up eventually, however... just in time for his Barynya practice.
(FYI: No, I did not know the word "Barynya" on my own. I'll admit I looked it up. Surprisingly, it's not as easy as you might think to find the proper name for "Russian dance with lots of squatting and jumping." Luckily, I've got mad Google skillz.)
In this one, I'm pretty sure little Will is saying, "Hey dude, got some spare change? Come on, help a brother out." (I guess Barynya doesn't really pay the bills, after all.)
And in this one, it seems he's saying, "Gah! Get me away from this lady!" Or possibly, "Hey, is that a cookie you've got back there? A Tagalong, perhaps? Can I have me some of that?"
OK, frankly I'm not all that great at putting words in infants' mouths, so I'll stop this nonsense now. There's a reason I wasn't a co-writer on Look Who's Talking, after all (and that reason wasn't only the fact that it was a dreadful and mind-numbing movie... nor that I was only 15 when it came out and, believe it or not, was not any sort of child screen-writing genius in demand by TriStar and all its subsidiaries).
Anyway, the shower was lovely, with fine snacks and only two silly games--neither of which I won, thankfully (the enormous canisters of Kahlua- and Baileys-filled chocolates looked like an awesomely tasty prize, but me and the extra eight pounds I'm carrying around lately really don't need that sort of temptation in our home). And little Will is pretty much near perfect, I guess, which seems only fitting considering what cool parents he's got. Congratulations, J and D. I'm sure you've lots of fun times with him ahead.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Snowpocalypse Wrap-up
Last Friday, when I posted a list of things I did during my unannounced hiatus from online life, I forgot one I very much meant to mention. That This American Life show I went to on Wednesday? The one where Sarah Vowell and I unfortunately did not become best friends? I forgot to report that the universe had a little fun with me that night by throwing a former meMarmony match in my path yet again. Remember the bad kisser who I ran into at Target a few months back? There he was again, at the Orpheum Theatre, walking right past me with a short blond woman who I can only assume has never emotionally wounded or insulted him by calling into question his make-out skills and prowess.
Apparently I was right when I said, last May, that this man and I must have been circling within 50 feet of each other for the past several years and that, post dating him, I was bound to run into him nearly every place I went. The fact that I have now spotted him twice (on two occasions where he presumably didn't spot me) makes me wonder how many times he's seen me while I've been unaware. It also makes me wonder where I can expect to see him next. This could actually be a fun game, I suppose. Like Where's Waldo (er, Where's Adam?) but without the stocking hat and thick-framed glasses. At least on Wednesday (unlike that day at Target), I was properly showered and lip-glossed. I can only hope the same holds true next time as well.
I was actually thinking about my first near run-in with that guy (and with the subsequent in-Target encounter with Crooked Soul Patch McLikeshimself a few weeks ago) before heading out to Target again today. As is my usual routine on a Sunday that involves no social plans, I spent a few minutes considering the To-Shower or Not To-Shower question. I wasn't planning to see anyone I knew or to be out for any length of time. A quick dab of powder and a ponytail seemed entirely sufficient for the day. I have learned my lesson now, however. I picked To-Shower this time.
This afternoon's Target outing marks only the third time I have left my house in the past four days. I stayed home from work on Thursday and Friday because I had no desire to spend three hours in traffic crawling my way through what I recently heard referred to as The Snowpocalypse, nor to spend the night in a motel somewhere off of Highway 36 due to an inability to make it the entire drive. Instead I gave myself an impromptu four-day weekend and took a work-from-home day followed by a self-proclaimed snow day.
You'd think I would get stir-crazy, cooped up alone for four consecutive days. (I did venture out for social outings a bit on Friday night and Saturday afternoon, but the majority of the past 96 hours were spent entirely on my own.) You'd think I'd be happy to go back to work tomorrow and rejoin humankind. Instead, I am dreading my 6:00 alarm the same way I do every Sunday around this time. I actually had a lovely four days of peaceful lounging about. I watched Ellen and Oprah two days in a row, which is two more days than I've seen either show in the past six months or more. I watched a mini-marathon of Gilmore Girls Season Three. I nearly finished the tiny baby sweater I am knitting for a friend's soon-to-be-born child. I got 140 or so pages closer to the end of the Hunt Sisters book I'm reading. And I realized, oddly and unsettlingly, that being homebound and anti-social is maybe a little too comfortable for me. It's a slippery slope, I think, between being content with a few days of mostly hermit-like solitude and suddenly seeing the appeal of unemployment and relishing the fantasy of life as a shut-in. I've said for years that I'm quite comfortable in my modern spinster role. Times like this, though, I realize I'm maybe just a few steps away from crazy old Cat Lady... minus the cats, of course.
I shouldn't say I spent the whole weekend lounging, however. I got plenty of exercise shoveling Thursday, Friday, and Saturday as well. I thought I was finally done for a while, so you can imagine how my heart sank when I went out to my car this afternoon and saw that a City plow had gone through my alley one more time and left another mini-wall of snow across my driveway. Unable to bring myself to haul out the shovel yet again, I decided to ignore the fact that I drive the vehicular equivalent of a 98-pound weakling and to try to charge on through the wall anyway. My wheels spun a bit and I thought I'd have to admit defeat, but eventually I made it past the obstacle. I should give my little Saturn a bit more credit, I suppose.
You know what else deserves more credit? That whole myth of "Minnesota Nice." Check it out: my next-door neighbor proving that Minnesotans actually are nice and that being on a speaking basis with your neighbors really isn't actually all bad. That is him with the snowblower; that is my driveway he's snowblowing. I really sort of love him right about now.
Apparently I was right when I said, last May, that this man and I must have been circling within 50 feet of each other for the past several years and that, post dating him, I was bound to run into him nearly every place I went. The fact that I have now spotted him twice (on two occasions where he presumably didn't spot me) makes me wonder how many times he's seen me while I've been unaware. It also makes me wonder where I can expect to see him next. This could actually be a fun game, I suppose. Like Where's Waldo (er, Where's Adam?) but without the stocking hat and thick-framed glasses. At least on Wednesday (unlike that day at Target), I was properly showered and lip-glossed. I can only hope the same holds true next time as well.
I was actually thinking about my first near run-in with that guy (and with the subsequent in-Target encounter with Crooked Soul Patch McLikeshimself a few weeks ago) before heading out to Target again today. As is my usual routine on a Sunday that involves no social plans, I spent a few minutes considering the To-Shower or Not To-Shower question. I wasn't planning to see anyone I knew or to be out for any length of time. A quick dab of powder and a ponytail seemed entirely sufficient for the day. I have learned my lesson now, however. I picked To-Shower this time.
This afternoon's Target outing marks only the third time I have left my house in the past four days. I stayed home from work on Thursday and Friday because I had no desire to spend three hours in traffic crawling my way through what I recently heard referred to as The Snowpocalypse, nor to spend the night in a motel somewhere off of Highway 36 due to an inability to make it the entire drive. Instead I gave myself an impromptu four-day weekend and took a work-from-home day followed by a self-proclaimed snow day.
You'd think I would get stir-crazy, cooped up alone for four consecutive days. (I did venture out for social outings a bit on Friday night and Saturday afternoon, but the majority of the past 96 hours were spent entirely on my own.) You'd think I'd be happy to go back to work tomorrow and rejoin humankind. Instead, I am dreading my 6:00 alarm the same way I do every Sunday around this time. I actually had a lovely four days of peaceful lounging about. I watched Ellen and Oprah two days in a row, which is two more days than I've seen either show in the past six months or more. I watched a mini-marathon of Gilmore Girls Season Three. I nearly finished the tiny baby sweater I am knitting for a friend's soon-to-be-born child. I got 140 or so pages closer to the end of the Hunt Sisters book I'm reading. And I realized, oddly and unsettlingly, that being homebound and anti-social is maybe a little too comfortable for me. It's a slippery slope, I think, between being content with a few days of mostly hermit-like solitude and suddenly seeing the appeal of unemployment and relishing the fantasy of life as a shut-in. I've said for years that I'm quite comfortable in my modern spinster role. Times like this, though, I realize I'm maybe just a few steps away from crazy old Cat Lady... minus the cats, of course.
I shouldn't say I spent the whole weekend lounging, however. I got plenty of exercise shoveling Thursday, Friday, and Saturday as well. I thought I was finally done for a while, so you can imagine how my heart sank when I went out to my car this afternoon and saw that a City plow had gone through my alley one more time and left another mini-wall of snow across my driveway. Unable to bring myself to haul out the shovel yet again, I decided to ignore the fact that I drive the vehicular equivalent of a 98-pound weakling and to try to charge on through the wall anyway. My wheels spun a bit and I thought I'd have to admit defeat, but eventually I made it past the obstacle. I should give my little Saturn a bit more credit, I suppose.
You know what else deserves more credit? That whole myth of "Minnesota Nice." Check it out: my next-door neighbor proving that Minnesotans actually are nice and that being on a speaking basis with your neighbors really isn't actually all bad. That is him with the snowblower; that is my driveway he's snowblowing. I really sort of love him right about now.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Don't call them "reruns"; call them "encore presentations"
It seems a lot of my favorite bloggers are taking an official or unofficial hiatus lately. Perhaps there's something in the air (or rather, the series of tubes that is the Internet), because I'm not feeling too inspired this week myself. Rather than just post nothing, though, I have an alternate plan in mind.
I was not one of those lucky bloggers who somehow garnered a readership almost instantly after my first post. This could, of course, have something to do with the fact that I didn't actually tell anyone about my blog until I had been writing in it for at least three months, and that I didn't start freely commenting on other people's blogs (thereby getting links out there where people might decide to click over and pop in) for a long time after that. Of course, it could also be that everything I wrote in those first several months was utter crap. Considering I still write entries that I think likely qualify as utter crap, however, I sort of doubt that was entirely the case.
Know what that means? That means there's actually a chance there is a "lost episode" of Stefanie Says that might possibly be interesting or amusing, but that quite likely no more than seven people ever read. I am going to try to identify some of these and post them this week. If you actually have been here for a while and you do remember some of these, I do apologize. (I apologize in particular if you already read them once and didn't enjoy them the first time. Don't you hate it when a rerun is an episode you didn't even like?)
I'll start with one that I'll admit wasn't hilarious or anything, but that is resonating with me pretty strongly lately, as it seems everyone on every road in my usual route has completely forgotten how to drive. Here's my public service message response: My own personal traffic school
I was not one of those lucky bloggers who somehow garnered a readership almost instantly after my first post. This could, of course, have something to do with the fact that I didn't actually tell anyone about my blog until I had been writing in it for at least three months, and that I didn't start freely commenting on other people's blogs (thereby getting links out there where people might decide to click over and pop in) for a long time after that. Of course, it could also be that everything I wrote in those first several months was utter crap. Considering I still write entries that I think likely qualify as utter crap, however, I sort of doubt that was entirely the case.
Know what that means? That means there's actually a chance there is a "lost episode" of Stefanie Says that might possibly be interesting or amusing, but that quite likely no more than seven people ever read. I am going to try to identify some of these and post them this week. If you actually have been here for a while and you do remember some of these, I do apologize. (I apologize in particular if you already read them once and didn't enjoy them the first time. Don't you hate it when a rerun is an episode you didn't even like?)
I'll start with one that I'll admit wasn't hilarious or anything, but that is resonating with me pretty strongly lately, as it seems everyone on every road in my usual route has completely forgotten how to drive. Here's my public service message response: My own personal traffic school
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