In which I try to remember what I did all year, and realize I didn't do much all year

Well hello and happy new year, friends. Yes, yes, most of you wrote your New Year's posts days or more ago already, and many of you have already pushed 2009 far, far out of your memory, never to be spoken of again. But most of you probably didn't spend the last week embarking on a remodeling project that sucked up all of your free time and physical energy and rendered you temporarily homeless to boot. Remember when I thought I would have ample free evenings between Christmas and New Year's to catch up with my Internet friends? That was hilarious, in retrospect. My best intentions and estimations slay me at times, really.

Hence, my year-end post is late, which is only fitting, given that my annual trip back through my archives proved to me that I spent most of the year feeling behind and out of the loop. I would like to think 2010 will be different, and as such, I am back-dating this post to keep it in 2009, where it belongs. The new year starts with my next post. Meanwhile, here's a recap of what I did in '09.

January: Hopped on a Flurrious bandwagon and proclaimed myself a Spinster Blogger. (Note: I am still waiting for my Prius, as well as my crock pot.) Tried to up my dairy intake via buttercream frosting. Learned that there really is a web site for everything. Graduated from the Arthur Fonzarelli School of Car Repair. Had dinner with an old boyfriend at a Buddhist Center. Told G.W. not to let the door hit him on the way out. 

February: Realized that Facebook isn't the place for the over-analytical or paranoid. Watched two lovely friends get engaged. Went on vacation (yay!) with my coworkers (meh).

March: Celebrated National Grammar Day with a grammartini. Proved yet again that my aging Saturn may be invincible. Met Pauly Shore. (Not really.) Observed Library Boy in his natural habitat. Turned 35. Realized that in The Buddhist's case, once a fuckwit, always a fuckwit, unfortunately. Joined the 21st century with a new-to-me laptop (Thanks, Steve!). Spent too much time on Facebook. (Admittedly, that probably happened in every month of 2009, but not every month includes two relevant links.)

April: Was told to steer clear of Aquarius men. Learned that I don't don't like skate wings. Considered marrying yet another inanimate object (this time, an avocado). Asked out a total stranger whose work email address happens to be in the public domain.

May: Went out with the aforementioned total stranger. Got only one story out of it. Took casting and soundtrack suggestions for the movie version of my life. Went all She-Ra with my yard work and broke a shovel. (Also, learned there may be a lawn tools fairy who puts broken shovels back together.) Vowed never to go into my basement again. Had an epic baking fail and an unintentional and almost frightening garden success. Used a camping trip as an excuse to make the same Thoreau joke I made last year, despite it garnering no real laughs the first time I tried. 

June: Grew increasingly wary of the mutant space rhubarb. Narrowly escaped the road to alcoholism, despite that road possibly running quite adjacent to the road to plucky hermitude. Proved that 16-months-expired salad dressing won't kill you (but obsessed about it for several paragraphs anyway). Clicked the "Confirm as friend" button at least one time more than necessary. Maintained that holding a not-so-secret appreciation for the ridiculous does not make me unrelateably highbrow. Finally finished the landscaping project I'd rambled about since May.

July: Learned I am a master negotiator. (Or rather, that I could successfully negotiate at least once.) Went to see Garrison Keillor in a sweltering city park. Decided not to ask out every appealing man I see on stage at the Varsity. Tried to explain all of my yard-related mysteries with semi-obscure movie references.

August: Complained about the trials of being a grown-up, and then vanished from the Internet for the remainder of the month. (I'm sure I did lots of other things, too, but if I didn't write it down, it didn't happen, I guess.)

September: Remembered that I DID do worthwhile things in August. Like went on an old-school family road trip, and discovered South Dakota is far more beautiful than I ever knew. Held an impromptu Beatles debate. Spent a fun-filled, hilarious long weekend in California, and came home with the Amish Friendship Cold.

October: Failed to successfully explain why my father needs a gallon of soda at his immediate disposal, nor why he brings his own spoon to restaurants. Made out with an Australian stranger in public. Took trampoline classes! Proposed a Boot Camp for Lost Boys. Got food poisoning. (But didn't write about it. You're welcome.) Went on a Halloween Pedal Pub ride.

November: Tried to make up for my lack of Stefanie Says posts by pointing you to my Greenists posts. (Failed to convince anyone that this was a reasonable trade-off.) Had a perfect, KFC-free Thanksgiving with friends.

December: Bemoaned the recession hitting too close to home. Learned that I still can't be trusted with a damn checkbook, and that my inability to do math may be my bank's primary source of profit. Showed the Internet my ghetto shower. (Again.) Won a small prize for donning a ridiculous (but festive!) getup. Also, finally began my long-postponed bathroom remodel, and used it as an (entirely valid) excuse to continue neglecting the Internet into the early days of 2010.

In all, it was a mostly uneventful year interspersed with many good times with friends but maybe not quite enough adventures and escapades. If the Facebook population is to be trusted (and why wouldn't it be?), 2010 is already off to a more auspicious start, so I am going to try to piggy-back on that optimism and see good things in store for me as well. First up: indoor plumbing and brand new tile. After that: the world! Peace out, 2009. Let's get this new year a-rolling.

A meme in two parts, Part the Second

So hey. Remember this? I never did actually finish that, did I? Does anyone actually care that I didn't finish it? Don't answer that. The old adage says "Better late than never," but in this case, I'm pretty sure "never" would have been just as acceptable as "late." Regardless, here we go!


If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished, anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
See, this is tough, because I'm more a "see lots of different places" kind of girl than a "vacation in the same place every year" one. Can I get a movable house? Yes! An RV! Can't you see me in a thoroughly obnoxious, tripped-out Winnebago that will take me any place where crossing an ocean is not required? I'd like a driver along with this, however, please. I'm not parallel parking that thing.

If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
For only an hour? How about Africa? I would love to see Africa first hand, but I am also not a fan of being hot and dusty and possibly contracting malaria. An hour sounds about right, I think.

What language do you want to learn?
I keep saying I want to take a French class, if for no other reason than to help me pronounce things on menus correctly. I know myself well enough to know I'd likely not have the stick-to-it-iveness to actually become fluent, however. So now I'm just thinking about Ricky's mom in Better Off Dead, and I want to answer, "The language of loooooove." (Lord knows I'm not fluent in that yet, either.)

What is your favorite color?
For what? Accessories? Red. Shirts? Black. Jeans? Very dark blue. Camping gear? Green. (Not really, but I've noticed that my decades-old duffel bag, my fold-up captain's chair, and my sleeping bag are all green, and I have no explanation for that.) Shall I go on? No, I'll stop now. Let's go with red, I guess.

What is your favorite piece of clothing in your wardrobe?
I have said more than once that I might marry my blue yoga pants, so that seems the best answer, I suppose (even if I never actually wear them outside of my house). I really should have bought three pairs of those when I found them. The day they become too threadbare to warrant keeping, I may have to have a memorial service to say farewell.

What is your dream job?
Here is where I prove just what a giant nerd I am, because when I think about places where it would be fun and exciting to work, I always think of Merriam-Webster and the Oxford English Dictionary. Yes, yes, I realize it is probably not all fun and word games and lively discussions about vocabulary and usage, even at the place where dictionaries live and grow, but I want to believe a dictionary company is a magical place anyway, much like how as a kid, I believed that the people who worked in the toy store had the best job ever because obviously they got to play with all the toys. In truth, I have no idea what my dream job is, and I think it's because my dream job is probably something I don't even know is a job. It probably won't show up in any "What Color is Your Parachute"-type quiz.

What is your favorite magazine?
I don't have one, because I almost never read them. If I want to read in bits and pieces, I have the Internet. If I want to read for real, I grab a book. If I don't want to read at all, I turn on the TV. Pretty much the only time I read magazines is on trips, and I realized a few years ago that I don't leave town often enough to warrant letting several issues of a subscription pile up in between trips. This means that when I'm at my parents' house over holiday weekends, I'm forced to read the Us Weeklys that my sister brings along with her as I have no mindless reading material of my own, but that's fine, really. Someone has to witness the fact that stars really are just like us!

If you had £100 now, what would you spend it on?
This is where it becomes obvious that this meme came to us from across the pond, something you might not have suspected earlier given that I took the liberty of changing all instances of "favourite" to "favorite" on my own. According to Monkey, 100 pounds is currently $163 US, which I do have, and will probably spend either on necessary things that cost too much or things I shouldn't buy but want anyway. My favorite liquor store is having their summer sale, and I am contemplating purchasing a full case of my favorite wine for the first time ever. Would buying a case of wine make me a grown-up or a drunkard? Also, would that fall into the "necessary things that cost too much" category or the "things I shouldn't buy but want anyway" one? I had no idea $163 could be so stressful. I have money issues, obviously.

Describe your personal style.
Most of the things in my closet will never go out of style, because they were never actually in style to begin with. I wear a lot of basics. Solid colors. Simple cuts. I prefer to think of this approach as "classic" rather than "fashion challenged," but I'm not the one to judge that, I suppose.

What are you going to do after this?
Go to bed. On time, maybe? How many more questions are there here? Ack. Maybe not.

What are your favorite films?
Do you remember that episode of Friends where Chandler and Joey faced off against Rachel and Monica in a "who knows who best?" trivia game? One question was, "Rachel claims her favorite movie is this." (Answer: Dangerous Liaisons) The next question was, "Her actual favorite movie is..." (Answer: Weekend at Bernie's) I sort of think everyone has a dual answer like that. On the record, I might say The Philadelphia Story or The Sound of Music. Off the record, I totally love Never Been Kissed.

What's your favorite fruit?
OK, I should really know this, but are avocados a vegetable or a fruit? If they're a fruit, then I'll say avocados. If they're a vegetable, then I'll say nectarines, even though I hardly ever buy them because I'm always missing the seemingly only three-hour window during which they're ripe.

What inspires you?
Really, meme? You're going to make me be introspective and thoughtful when you just asked me about fruit and movies? I don't think so. Sorry.

Do you collect anything?
See, now this is just getting tedious. I collect magnets, from every city I visit. My fridge is getting mighty crowded.

Your favorite animal?
I think I might just start deleting questions I don't feel like answering. Like this one, for instance.

What are you currently reading?
I'm about 100 pages into Cloud Atlas, which I would have given up on nearly immediately if not for Nancy Pearl's Rule of 50 prodding me to stick it out a bit longer. (Also, the fact that David Sedaris once recommended this book enthusiastically at a reading I attended, and I don't want to believe David Sedaris could be wrong.) It's finally getting a bit better, but if I ever meet David Mitchell, I will be sure to ask him why he took what might actually be a brilliant book (verdict uncertain at this point) and stuck a dreadfully tedious 40-some page story at the very start of it.

Go to your book shelf, take down the first book with a red spine you see, turn to page 26 and type out the first line:
I am too lazy to do this, so I am going to decide that the orange spine on the copy of The Thorn Birds that has been sitting on my coffee table since my friend Jenny lent it to me a few weeks ago is close enough. In that case, "sails. When the longboat washed ashore on the wild." Fascinating, no? I'm sure if I'd only taken the time to get up and find an actually red spine, the result would have been far more riveting.

By what criteria do you judge a person?
I'm sure all of you assume I am going to say "their grammar," so I might as well say "their grammar." I live to be predictable, obviously.

What skill would you like to acquire immediately?
The skill to get myself to shut down my computer and get to bed at a reasonable hour on every week night? That's not exactly a skill, is it? Still, best work on that.

A meme in two parts, Part 1

So. Yeah. It seems I've got nothing. Those who can, do. Those who can't, steal. Actually, lifting a meme from Monkey is hardly stealing. The point of a meme is to repeat it. (Seriously, it is pretty much the definition.) But calling it stealing makes me feel much edgier than I actually am, and considering the riskiest thing I have done this week was to eat salad dressing that expired 16 months ago, I have to take my rebel victories where I can.

So then. A meme. Here we go.

What is your current obsession?
The not-very-interesting and yet oft-talked-about Big Dig in my front yard. Actually, that is a lie. If I were truly obsessed with that landscaping project, I would be taking the initiative to research plants and plans myself, rather than simply slogging through the manual labor and relying on my pal Angela to do the design work and idea-ing. So I guess that leaves me with Facebook? I would hardly call that an obsession, however, as such a treasure trove of absurdity fully warrants frequent mention! Consider the most recent evidence...

OK, here is where I was going to tell you three brief Facebook stories. True to my usual form, however, these brief stories ballooned into a post in and of themself, so I shall table those for another day. Or possibly not post them at all. Perhaps my current obsession is simply blogging about Facebook, as it seems to come up in far more posts than I intend or would like. Maybe my current obsession is worrying about which things I've blogged about too often, as recently I scanned some recent entries and realized I had mentioned the same friend in somewhere around five out of seven consecutive posts, and I worried that either A) the Internet would think I have only one friend, or B) all of the other friends who I DO HAVE (really!) would grow jealous that they are not mentioned as often. Does generally absurdity and overanalysis count as an obsession? Maybe I should just move on to the next question...

What is your weirdest obsession?
I played a card game with my friends' daughter on that recent camping trip, and it reminded me that I'm a little bit obsessive about a neat and tidy discard pile. I can't be the only one who compulsively straightens the cards every time someone carelessly tosses a card haphazardly askew atop the deck, though, right? And besides that, I rarely play cards, so if that is a bizarre obsession, it's not one that comes up too often. So instead, I guess I'll go with my need to look under my bed every night before I can climb into it.

I don't even know what I'm looking for; if someone were hiding under my bed, the half-credit self defense class I took in college surely didn't equip me physically or emotionally to deal with it. Besides that, there are plenty of other nooks and crannies in my house where a potential intruder might hide until I'm asleep, and I don't check all of those... I'll admit that I used to, in my old apartment, however. It was like a checklist I had to complete each night when I got home. When I moved into this house, I quickly decided it was simply too time-consuming to search my entire home for imaginary burglars and rapists every single day. I must have kept the under-bed check as some sort of strange compromise. As a sidenote, if any of you ever do decide to break and enter at my place, I guess I've just told you where is and is not a good place to hide.

What are you wearing today?
What am I wearing, or what was I wearing? To work, I wore a navy blue, ruffle-sleeved t-shirt, one of my four pairs of identical Mossimo jeans, and the red Madden Girl platform wedges that continually infuriate me with their simultaneous shoddy workmanship and impossible cuteness. Damn you, Steve Madden; there is no reconciling the two!

That was several hours ago, however. By now, I have switched to a pair of striped pajama pants (source: Target, obviously) and the t-shirt that I proudly earned after downing ten* murky blue-green Delusions at The Grand Illusion in Eau Claire, a bar of which I have many fond memories but which according to my friend Google, still has no web page of its own. (What the heck, GI? Were you not informed that it is currently 2009, and the Internet, as it turns out, is NOT just a fad?)

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* NOT all in the same night. They implemented a handy coupon/ticket system wherein you collected a card each time you purchased said drink and finally, one happy day, you could walk in with your stack of ten turquoise cards and walk out with a t-shirt featuring a sunglass-wearing Uncle Sam and the tagline "We want YOU to be Deluded!" (Message on the back: "The few, the proud, the deluded.") Ah, college.
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What's for dinner?
I had myself a lovely salad of butter lettuce with chicken, raspberries, pecans, blue cheese, and the aforementioned 16-months-expired dressing. It was a raspberry Cabernet vinaigrette. I'm still alive. So far. If you don't hear from me again, kindly direct the emergency personnel to the condiment shelf in my fridge for the possible source of my demise.

What would you eat for your last meal?
I just misread this as "What DID you eat for your last meal" and I was all set to direct you right back to the lovely salad I just described (which might actually BE my last meal, if 16-months-expired dressing turns out to be something worth worrying about). Since that was NOT, in fact, what the question was asking, however, I will go with a fantastically carb-heavy, nutrient-light combination of mac & cheese, pizza, and mashed potatoes, followed by a brownie and a slice of chocolate chip cheesecake for dessert. And red wine, of course. Obviously red wine.

What's the last thing you bought?
The makings for the aforementioned raspberry and blue cheese salad, along with various other grocery items. Obviously I did not buy dressing, however. Also, I promise the expired dressing will not make an appearance in every remaining question in this post.

What are you listening to right now?
I was listening to The Current, but then they played a Laurie Anderson song that was far too distractingly annoying to peacefully serve as background music, and I had to complain loudly to my radio and then shut it off. Now I am listening to nothing but the taps on my keyboard and the clicking of the unusually noisy lamp timer that I rarely use and should really just unplug by now.

What do you think of the person who tagged you?
Well, she didn't actually tag me, but I think Monkey is smart and witty and delightful, and I long for the day that I manage to escape my family over a holiday weekend and enjoy a drink or three with the Rural Zorro instead. By my estimates based on her vague hints as to her whereabouts, the Monkey homestead is approximately an hour away from my parents' house, and given that there seems to be a blizzard or an ice storm every time I go home, this could be tricky to arrange. Is Christmas or Thanksgiving ever scheduled in August? No? Well, I guess we can always rely on global warming to facilitate this plan. (A bonus to catastrophic climate change! Drinks with Monkey! Hurrah!)


Oh MY but this is a long meme. Is anybody going to keep reading if I keep typing here? Besides that, wasn't I supposed to be in bed two hours ago already, after being out entirely too late for a Wednesday at the Bob Schneider show last night? The answers to those questions are "likely no" and "oof; YES," respectively. How about I split this here and give myself blog material on TWO days instead of just one? Sounds like a plan to me. To be continued, then...

Katie Holmes is doing it, so it MUST be all the rage.

All right. Let's change the subject here. The post I wrote Monday night was a story I didn't think I could get away with not telling, but I still wanted to delete every paragraph immediately after typing it, and hence, I don't want to leave it in top position for too long. Thank you all for your supportive comments on it, however. I still feel like crap, but it does help in some small strange way to know I have a tiny but determined army willing to break someone's kneecaps if I only say the word. Well, if I say the word and maybe buy everyone a plane ticket. Whatever; solidarity isn't always about details.

In other news, today is my birthday. I sort of want to quietly ignore that, such is my lack of excitement about adding another year to my age. Is it me, or does 35 somehow sound significantly older than 34? Maybe it's that at 35, I can no longer claim to be in my early 30s. I'm solidly in the mid- years at this point, and the way math works, if you round up, I'm nearly 40 now. Of course, ten years ago I was probably equally freaked about 25, and ten years from now, 35 will probably feel pretty damn young. This is quickly turning into the most pointless paragraph I have typed in recent memory, so I'll stop my whining henceforth.

The good news is that the small spattering of snow we got last week apparently counts as my birthday blizzard this year, so for once I will neither be shoveling on my birthday nor fielding messages from friends claiming they can't make my birthday gathering due to a storm. And if all of said friends read my Facebook status over the weekend, I expect to receive no fewer than nine can openers at my party this evening--can openers that hopefully will be accompanied by Target gift receipts so I can trade the extras in for another cute fake leather handbag instead.

I kid, I kid. If you are coming to my party this evening, I require no presents at all. I will require cake, however, so hopefully at least one of you is on that. (Again, not serious. Please just show up, OK? Thank you.)

Speaking of cake, I thought it might be fun to do another then/now comparison just like the '80/'08 one I posted last year. Unfortunately, I have no photos from my birthday in 1990 at my quick and convenient disposal. Frankly, it's just as well, as I can assure you I was not nearly as cute at 16 as I was ten years prior, and it's probably a toss-up whether my fashion sense was any better or worse at that point. If I did have a photo of me to mash into a '90/'09 combo, the '90 half would likely feature pegged jeans, a sweater from The Limited, a pouf of bangs, and blue eye liner. Coincidentally, I was considering wearing the exact same thing tonight.

Ask and answer

So last week, our pal 3Carnations answered a few questions she received and in turn offered to interview anyone else who was interested as well. Rarely one to pass up a free and presumably easy blog topic, I said, "Hit me, lady." All right. I didn't really say "Hit me," nor am I usually one to call anybody "lady." Regardless, 3Cs sent me some questions... which I promptly ignored for damn near a solid week. Whatever; there's a reason we use the phrase "fashionably late." I am totally delaying on purpose here, folks. It's all about the mystery and intrigue.

Moving along, though. Questions! Answers! I trust you can figure which is which in the list below.

1. How long have you been knitting? Will you make me a hat? (Just joking about the hat, but seriously - Did you learn this as a child from your Grandma, or pick it up as an adult...?)
   
   Hmm. When did I take that up? Five? Six? Seven years ago? Something like that, I'm sure. Back in the dawn of the new crafting revolution, when knitting was still "the new yoga," my friend Lisa decided she wanted to learn, so she asked me to take a community ed knitting class with her. We learned in the after-hours classroom of a high school in St. Paul, from a pair of old ladies who were somebody's grandmas, though not either of my grandmas, obviously. The funny thing is, it was Lisa who wanted to take the knitting class, but it's me who's stuck with it since then. Correct me if I'm wrong, Lisa, but I'm not sure she actually ever finished a single project.
   
   As for the hat, you do realize, 3Cs, that giving you a hand-knit hat would require me to learn both your real full name AND your address? We all know that is not going to happen. Maybe I'll just make a hat and email you a picture of it and say it's yours. Sound good?
   
   
2. Imagine some type of cheese martial law has been enforced. You may have only three different types of cheese from now on, and one must be permanently banned from your life. What are your choices?
   
   This is a terribly mean question, though I can't decide if it is mean primarily because of the implied stereotype about my Wisconsin roots or because the mere thought of a world in which only three cheeses are allowed is simply too terrible to bear. Alas, it is thankfully a mere hypothetical, and as such, I'll answer it as best I can.
   
   First off, we must keep mozzarella, because without mozzarella, there would be no pizza, not to mention no caprese salad, which is a summertime staple, if you ask me. Also, we must have cream cheese, because without cream cheese, there is little point to a bagel. Plus, do we want to live in a world with no cheesecake? I think not. That leaves only one slot for the more traditional slice-and-eat or melt-in-food varieties, and for those, I'm gonna have to go with Swiss. Wait. Saying "Swiss" entitles me to Gruyere as well, right? And Jarlsberg? Those fall under that same umbrella; do they not? Whew.
   
   Now for the tough part. Which of our lovely cheese friends would I ban? Strangely, I think I'd have to go with cheddar. Yes, yes, cheddar is traditionally responsible for the cheesy goodness in mac and cheese, but I'm pretty sure there's a loophole that would allow me a "cheese food" (i.e., not-quite-cheese chemical substitutes) to enjoy in mac and cheese (as well as cheesy potatoes) instead, and as I'm apt to grab a slice of cold, plain cheddar only if there's no other option nearby, I really don't think I'd miss the real thing all that much.
   
   
   
3. What was the first concert you attended?
   
   I had rather strict parents, and as such, I have no memories of piling in a car with a group of high school friends to drive to Milwaukee or Green Bay for any shows. I did try to see the Violent Femmes at Summerfest once, but my terribly supportive older sister nixed that plan for me by telling my mother that my friends were all druggies and I would get trampled at that show. (Thanks, sis! It's a wonder we weren't closer back then, isn't it?)
   
   Hence, the first show I attended that I actively really wanted to see was REM, summer after my junior year of college. It was an excellent first "real" concert, mind you, but the fact that it happened so late in my life only serves to support the "late bloomer" thing I've mentioned more than once.
   
   That said, I do recall seeing various shows pretty much not on purpose. My dad was a member of the local Jaycees, and they brought a "big-name" musical act to the high school gym in our town at least once or twice during my youth. My parents still have a signed poster in their basement from the Billy "Crash" Craddock show, and from a Sha Na Na one as well. And I do remember seeing a band called the Jack D'Johns with my parents at the State Fair and various other family-friendly events numerous times as a kid. I am guessing none of you have ever heard of them, but look! They are still around! And they have a Web page! Who knew.
   
   
4. If you participated in a white elephant exchange tomorrow, what random, unusual item in your home would you give up?
   
   Hmm. I have a particle board dresser I bought in college that I've been meaning to Craig's List, but I think that exceeds the usual acceptable size for white elephant gifts. I could give up Paco, the brightly colored paper-mâché rabbit I bought at Goodwill a few years ago, who now lives in my newly renovated basement... But if I did that, I wouldn't have a fun conversation piece or a photo prop for parties. Obviously I'd have to think on this.
   
   
5. Imagine that the year of Stef (the sequel: 2009: Victory is Mine) culminates in finding the man of your dreams. A wedding is being planned. Do you envision a big "Oh my gosh am I really spending this much on something that lasts only a few hours" wedding, or would you be more likely to keep it simple?
   
   Honestly, I have never been one of those girls who had her wedding planned since her pre-teen years. The rare times I think about the specifics of such an event, I tend to completely forget about rather obvious details... you know, like the fact that my family would be there and not just my friends, and that I'd actually have to live my personal nightmare and repeatedly call numerous strangers at various places of business to secure quotes and garner buckets of details. Perish the thought.
   
   If I were to get married, though, I think it would be something in between the "keep it simple" and the "oh my gosh" plan. My goal would be "keep it simple," but I'd also want to throw a big, fun party. Hence, I doubt I'd spend a fortune on a fancy white dress (and I doubt even more that any church would be getting any cash from me to host the ceremony), but I do know I'd want to make sure my friends were happily liquored up and the surroundings were at amply lovely. Oh, and I'd want to have Nabbalicious there to take photos, because seriously, have you seen her work? So I'd spend a bit flying her in and paying her for her trouble. And then I'd take whatever other cash we might have squandered on such an event and use it for a fantastic honeymoon, of course.
   
   

All right. I'm pretty sure the follow-up part of this interview game requires me to interview some of you as well. I can't promise any particularly excellent questions, nor can I guarantee (based on the time line it took me to answer these) that you will receive them as promptly as you should. But if you want to play along, speak up in the comments, and I'll see what I can do for you. Just say "Interview me!"

In Tulsa, someone's ears are burning.

I met an old friend tonight for what was supposed to be an economically sound and culturally rich evening. Thursday nights are free at the Walker, so we decided to browse the galleries and try our hand at the current project in the art lab. Instead, we perused exactly one gallery, discovered that the art lab was full, and spent two hours chatting over wine and overpriced appetizers instead. What's that you say? Budget schmudget. At least the "let's catch up" part went as planned.

In any case, when I got home, I had exactly one task in mind (well, one task before "get my tired ass self to bed before I collapse forward onto my keyboard"), and that was to answer the interview questions that 3Carnations was kind enough to pass along to me. Naturally, however, before I could do that, I had to check in on my Facebook Scrabble games, and that put me a wee bit off schedule. You know how Liz doesn't want to admit to the Internet exactly how many cats she has? I may be in a similar position with the number of concurrent Scrabble games I have going. It's not my fault, people. I swear I started only half of them. I don't have a Scrabble problem. I can quit any time. Ahem.

So anyway, the interview questions will have to wait a bit longer. Meanwhile, speaking of Liz, she has a new litmus test for me to determine whether a potential suitor is worth my time. Remember how I successfully drunk-spelled my way to victory in that bee last year? You might be surprised to learn that "I won the Twin Cities' first Drunken Spelling Bee" doesn't garner quite the awe and respect you might think it could. As marginal claims to fame go, I'll admit it doesn't rank that high. It's not like I designed the Summit label or named Rocky Road, after all. But seriously... Nothing, boys?? Not a single date I've told that story to (save for the one who signed me up for the bee in the first place) has been impressed by my mad skillz or dumb luck. That is, until last night. Last night, The Buddhist and I were talking to my good friend Amy (who did design the Summit label and has gotten due props from past dates on that fun fact), and the topic of the spelling bee came up. And finally! HE was impressed! (Or, said he was, anyway.) Liz has decided this is a good measure of The Buddhist's worth. He has passed the spelling bee litmus test. Surely it's all only uphill from here. (No?)

And because I might as well mention Liz one more time in a post that is quickly becoming more about her than about me, let's play a little game I saw in an e-mail she forwarded me today. The message asked me to describe Liz in one word and one word only--click "Reply" on her message, type the word, and send it just like that. After sending my word about Liz, though, I was supposed to send the same message to all my friends to see what word they'd attach to me. My friends aren't exactly the "responsive to e-mail forwards" type, and besides that, if there's one way to make an exercise like this slightly more self-absorbed, it's to post it on my blog. So tell me: what's the one word you'd use to describe me? I'm gonna go with "lazy," given that I'd apparently rather milk a post out of three idle details than actually write the post I'm supposed to be writing, but maybe that's just me. Have at it.

Of course, to be considered for membership, I'll probably need a cat.

Well now see that? There I go again. Has it been a week already? Let's see. What have I done in the past several days, aside from not click that "New Post" button, obviously? Well, I attended two parties, one decidedly fabulous and the other not quite so much. One was a New Year's Eve party hosted by my good friend Carrie and financed by Food Buzz. (What's better than a party with all your friends? A party with all your friends, paid for by someone else!) The other was a retirement party for my mother, a potluck affair held in the basement of my parents' church. Are you having trouble guessing which one was the more fabulous affair? Well good, because even though as far as I know, my parents will never read this, I still feel a wee bit guilty implying that party wasn't the event of the year. No offense to my mother or her fellow parishioners, of course. But when you consider that one event involved well-crafted cocktails with specialty infused vodka and the other involved driving 11 hours round-trip on ice-covered roads (a mere week after making that same trip for Christmas, mind you), I don't think a fair comparison is possible.

What else have I done? Well, I finished my friend Lisa's baby shower gift, six full days before the shower. This might not be notable, if not for the decidedly weak track record I've built where hand-made gifts are concerned. Lisa and her husband's wedding afghan, for instance? Presented three and a half months after the ceremony. My friend Carrie's felted messenger bag? Still sitting on my dryer, lining-less and strap-less, four long months after her birthday. Oh, and then there's the pair of socks a dear friend who no longer reads this blog requested when I first told him I learned to knit socks. He does not know that he's still getting them, but I assure you, they are on the needles and are now half-done. He should receive them just in time to pack them for his move back to LA. As in, California. You know, where wool socks are totally useful. Sigh. Photos of Lisa's baby shower gift will be in this Flickr set shortly, by the way. Can't go ruining the surprise on the off chance that she actually pops in here in the next few days. I promise you, though, it is adorable. Lisa, you damn well better like it, I say.

Speaking of baby showers and wedding gifts and the like, our friend Flurrious has a cause I need to get behind. Well, actually, her cause labels me middle-aged and aims, primarily, to get herself a free Prius, but as usual, I am taking the idea and running with it in a way more beneficial to ME. What cause is this? I'll let the badge Flurrious created for us tell you.



As it turns out, I'm not so much riddled with the expendable income, making me maybe not the best target for Toyota's future Flurrious-centered marketing campaign. I would, however, like free stuff. While I know that showering the mergers and the breeders with gifts is a social convention it's not up to me to unseat, I can't help feeling a wee bit cheated when I add up all the bridal shower gifts and wedding gifts and baby gifts I've purchased for all my married friends over the years with no hope of gift reciprocity in return. I love these friends dearly, of course, but when will somebody throw me a party to celebrate my life path? When do I get to create a registry at Target and Crate & Barrel to replace my worn linens and warped skillets and finally acquire a damn crock pot? Mark my words, friends. The spinster shower and gift registry is an idea whose time has come. Yes, yes, I realize it is an idea whose time came when Carrie Bradshaw mentioned it somewhere around nine years ago, but my life is feeling more and more like a bad, cliched sitcom lately, so my proclaiming it now is only in keeping with a theme. Barring this spinster shower plan, however, free gifts from corporate sponsors sounds like an excellent scheme on which I'd like in. Flurrious, I trust you'll keep me posted on your progress on this front, correct? I thought so. Thank you.

Never underestimate the appeal of a good bandwagon

Am I the last one Courtney tagged for the seven things meme to actually comply and post my seven things? Wait. Lemme check if Aaron's on that yet... Nope. Whew. I do hate to be last. (Hey, maybe that could be one of my seven things...)

Anyway, you're probably familiar with this game. I mention and link to the person who tagged me (Courtney, remember?), then I post a bunch of annoyingly demanding rules, type seven random things about myself, and tag seven people to do the same. I won't force any of you to do this, but if you haven't yet and want to, consider yourself tagged!

It is actually harder than it should be to come up with seven random things about myself that I haven't already told you. I have searched for and located the seven things I posted the last time I did this meme to ensure I'm not repeating any of those, but if you notice that any of the following are nestled away someplace else within my three and three-quarter years worth of posting, just give yourself a gold star for reading retention and cut me a break, OK?

All right. Here we go. Seven more random things about yours truly.

1. Sometimes, at stores where the fitting room is manned (e.g., Target, New York & Co.), if I take a whole bunch of stuff into the fitting room and determine that I don't want any of it, I feel guilty for making the fitting room girl restock everything, so I give back all but only one or two items, pretending I'm going to buy those. Then I return them to the appropriate spot on the sales floor myself before I leave.
   
   
2. I buy probably a disproportionate amount of my clothing at Target. I am not ashamed, however, particularly since the only people who know they are Target clothes are people who also buy their clothes at Target. I love being out at a bar or a theater and spotting some other girl in something I own and secretly saying to myself, "Target dress! I have that."
   
   
3. I did not have a library fine for at least 16 years. In the past year, I have incurred three of them. I really want to believe that hording library books isn't the most reckless and irresponsible thing I've done all year, but I'll have to think on that to be sure.
   
   
4. Somewhere in my much-outdated 100 Things list, I mention that my standby drinks are a hard cider or a Captain & Coke. I do not remember the last time I ordered either of those. For a period of at least a year, I tried to decide upon a new standby drink. I never did consciously and resolutely pick one, but in the mean time, I think red wine and gin & tonic became my two new standbys.
   
   
5. My standby bring-along dish for parties is a pan of seven-layer bars. I didn't realize they were my signature until I heard a friend at a party once (who hadn't yet seen me come into the party) spy the seven-layer bars on the food table and say, "Oh! Stefanie must be here!" (Seven-layer bars, by the way, are delicious. They are also ridiculously easy to make. No matter the mild mocking; I don't think I'll be choosing a new standby bring-along any time soon.)
   
   
6. For my entire life (save the five months during college when I lived in Scotland), I have lived in the upper Midwest. You may have heard that it's prone to snow in the upper Midwest. A lot, sometimes. Despite this fact, I have not owned a proper pair of snow boots perhaps since high school. (This will be remedied with my Christmas gifts this year, by the way. It's about damn time.)
   
   
7. I saw a TV show once where a lawyer asked a woman in court what her earliest memory of her father was. "I'm on a bike and he's teaching me to ride," she answered immediately. I thought it was absurdly improbable that anyone would be able to identify their earliest memory so quickly and confidently, without a moment of, "Gee; that's a good question. Let me think on that..." first. Thereafter, I tried to determine what my absolute earliest memory is. For some reason, the one that sticks out is me, at three years old, walking around the play room at my nursery school, looking through a toy magnifier. I have no idea what my earliest memory involving my father is, however. Guess I'd better continue to think on that in case it ever comes up in court.
   
   

Stuff and whatnot

Maybe I was serious when I said I might start writing all blog entries in Facebook status format. Frankly, I am too exhausted at the moment to muster much more than that, and if you have been following my Facebook status updates, you might know why. As I typed in that little "What are you doing right now?" box yesterday, I am TIRED of being Rosie the Riveter, all "I can do it!" I much prefer the Homer Simpson philosophy at this point. My slogan is "Can't someone else do it?" Home ownership has its benefits, my friends. At the moment, I just can't remember what they are.

That said, I have had a satisfyingly productive weekend. My lawn is mowed, the jungle of knee-high Dr. Suessian weeds eradicated; my garage door cable is fixed; my house is clean(ish); my laundry is done (almost); and most importantly, (if I could get a drum roll, please?), my garage is finally fully repainted. Really. I don't know what I'm going to do with my weekends now, with that project no longer lurking in my consciousness like a cloud of residual Catholic guilt. Actually, that's not true at all. I know exactly what I will do. I will lounge with fewer reservations, perhaps take a bike ride or two before the snow flies. And in a few weeks I will be procrastinating on some other odious chore or project, the recently scraped-down and painted garage a suppressed memory.

And let's see... What else have I been up to recently, instead of typing idly on the Internet? Well, I officially closed my match with "Bob," the pierced and heavily tattooed man in the scary t-shirt. (Sorry to everyone who was hoping I would go out with him just for your amusement.) Much like meMarmony, the site I'm on currently provides a drop-down list of reasons when you choose to "archive" a match. But also like meMarmony, sometimes the list of stock standard reasons simply aren't all-inclusive enough. "Because I would be afraid to be alone with this man" was not a provided reason; hence, I had to settle for the decidedly more vague "Not a good fit" explanation instead. Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe, as they say.

What else? Well, I went out with Mr. Arty-Looking IT Guy (the man whose profile prompted me to pony up for membership at this latest venue in the first place). It was a positive enough date to warrant a second one for more research, but that's all I want to say at this point. Also, dude needs a better Internet alias. If he happens to stick around, I'll work on that.

Hmmm. Also, I finally saw the Little House on the Prairie musical at the Guthrie, I received a semi-hefty property tax refund I forgot I had coming, and I did an absurd little happy dance in my car as I crossed the new 35W bridge for the first (and second) time. My house to Midtown in less than 15 minutes, instead of the 30+ it has taken for the past year! I tell you, it's the little things (particularly when those little things are sort of big things) that matter. Man, I have missed that bridge.

I'm sure lots of other things have kept me busy lately, but at the moment, my brain is too addled to think of them. Also, the third of those ridiculous teen vampire books is waiting for me, patiently neglected on my bedside table for the past week or more. I think I'll spend a little time with Bella and Edward and his purportedly velvet voice and then call it a night. I'll catch up with you soon, my friends.

"Monday Six" just doesn't have any sort of ring to it

Regardless, six reasons that today sucked significantly less than the average Monday:

1. When I hit snooze one time more than I should have this morning, it was with the knowledge that I had been uncharacteristically responsible and plannerly and already packed both my breakfast and my lunch the night before and therefore I had TIME to lounge in bed those extra nine minutes! I was even on time for work for once! Yay!
   
   
2. I got to leave work early, because...
   
   
3. I had a claims appointment with the insurance company of the girl who rear-ended me last month, where they decided to issue me a check for my minor damage (damage I likely won't bother having professionally repaired) in an amount that conveniently almost covers the cost of my new water heater.
   
   
4. Accepting said check and not using it to actually repair my car is not insurance fraud, as both my own agent, Slippy McLeadfoot's agent, and the claims adjuster for Leadfoot's policy all suggested that it was totally up to me whether I wanted to have the scuffs on my bumper repaired but that I was fully entitled to the money anyway. Whee!
   
   
5. When I got home from work and the "Wow; thanks for hitting me, lady" appointment, waiting on my doorstep (finally!) was a box containing the beloved Birkenstocks that I sent off to have re-stained and re-soled a few weeks ago. People, it was painful packing those up and sending them off into the big scary world on their own. But now they are back! And they look nearly brand new. (Unfortunately, they are also as uncomfortable as brand new, but my feet will mold the cork into that trademark Birkenstock custom fit soon enough, I'm sure.)
   
   Check it out. Before...
   
   
   
   And now...
   
   
   
   Miracle workers, I tell you. I think it was money well spent.
   
   Speaking of money well spent, that brings me to #6 on my list...
   
   
6. A lovely salad with fresh(ish) bread for dinner, culled largely from yesterday's haul at the St. Paul farmer's market. Seriously, why am I buying my produce from the grocery store when there is fresh, locally grown lettuce available for half the price in the open air? I neglected to take a picture of tonight's salad, but I did take one of dinner last night, also composed of farmer's market finds. Fried zucchini cakes (I said dinner was produce-based; I didn't say it was wholly healthy) and caprese salad. Yum. Where is that girl who used to eat Hot Pockets or frozen pizza at least twice a week? Apparently she doesn't live here anymore. (I can't say she won't be back in the fall.)
   
   
   
   
   
   

OK, all of that was entirely too much uncharacteristic good cheer for a Monday. If I were to be more like my surly and defeatist self, I would fear that the week can only go downhill from here. Instead, I shall try to be like Bing and accentuate the positive. Don't mess with Mr. In-Between.

So. What sort of start is your week off to thus far?

Quirkier than thou

Well then. Blog Share was fun, but it was two days ago. I'd probably best be posting something new on top of my guest writer's fine contribution to the anonymous posting game, right?

Speaking of being behind, I'm a little late to the party on something else, too. My good pal Lara tagged me for a meme-er-roo a few weeks ago already, and I neglected to do anything about that. I am ignoring perfectly reasonable requests and I'm also making up silly words for words that were already silly enough. (Meme-er-roo? Did I really just do that? I did. Let's just move on, shall we?)

For this one, my task is to list six unspectacular quirks about myself. I'm sure I could come up with six quirks in addition to the 106 already spattered elsewhere within this site, but today is Friday, which means I'm going to make this a Friday Five instead. I'm also not tagging anybody to do this after me (though feel free to jump on this bandwagon if you feel so inclined). Look at me, breaking rules left and right. I'm quite the rebel, obviously.

Anyway. Six Five unspectacular quirks about yours truly. Start the drum roll now.

1. Unlike Lara with her errant vertebra, I can do a cartwheel. Yes, even at the creaky old age of 34. I actually make a point to do a cartwheel at least once a year just to make sure I still can. (That last part might actually be more of a quirk than the fact that I can do a cartwheel is.)
   
   
2. I like ice in my milk. The only way I'll drink it is if it's very cold, and ice is the simplest way to ensure that. No, it doesn't taste too watered down (for me). No, I don't think it's weird.
   
   
3. I like cherries, but not anything artificially cherry flavored. Also, I'd throw maraschino cherries into the category of "things artificially cherry flavored." Yuck.
   
   
4. I remember all the words to a song about a tortilla vendor that we learned in Spanish class in 10th grade. Or, I thought I did, anyway. When I sang this song to a guy in Mexico a few years ago, he seemed to have no idea what I was singing, so perhaps my Spanish (and my singing) is even worse than I thought.
   
   
5. Have I already told you about the toe thing? I don't wear flip flops or Tevas in public because I'm self-conscious about my mutant baby toe. Come to think of it, I think I have written about that before. And I should probably just stop mentioning it, lest you think I'm more of a monster than I actually am. I promise it's not anything that would scare a small child. One toe just sort of rests atop the adjacent one is all. On a freak level of 1 to 10, I like to think it rates no higher than a 4.5. No, I will not post a photo to let you judge.

So. What quirks have YOU not yet shared with the Internet at large (body-related, food-related, or otherwise)? Come on, spill 'em.

Everybody's doing it; why can't I?

You may have seen this over at Bleeding Espresso or various other spots in the blog and Flickr 'hood. I'm not one to turn down a good bandwagon, so ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my Flickr "About Me" mosaic:



You should play, too! Here's how it works.

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker.

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One Word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name.


I would like to note that I have #5 to thank for my groggy head and burning, red, tired eyes today. (I love you, Rhett, but I would love you more if you could figure out a way to start earlier if you're going to keep your hips swinging and your arm spinning through two encores.) Secondly, I would like to add that Flickr's pool of mashed potato pictures is sadly disappointing.

That is all.

Oh. Except that also, no, the word I typed to describe me was not "thick calved." I'm really not supposed to provide commentary on every one of these, am I? Surely by now you know that's simply not the way I roll.

All right then. That is all. Carry on.

A milestone of sorts, plus more than you ever wanted to know about my shower

First off, a bit of housekeeping. I'd like to thank my good friend Darren for his excellent guest post the other day. I almost forgot what well-crafted writing with a meaningful start, middle, and end looks like on this site. You mean I'm not just supposed to ramble along about whatever's on my mind? You mean people still write in full, logically sequential paragraphs rather than random bullet points? OK then. Perhaps I'll work on that.

Secondly, I thought I should mention that what you're reading right now is the 500th post on Stefanie Says. Considering it took me over three years to get here and considering there's no prize (not even a flurry of confetti, a balloon drop, or a startling and enthusiastic announcement over a bullhorn), perhaps it's a bit anticlimactic to mention this milestone, but since I'm a little surprised I even noticed the post count in time to announce it, I thought it bore acknowledgment of some sort.

With that in mind, perhaps the best way to commemorate 500 posts is to write a list of 500 more little-known facts about me. Are you ready? Just kidding. That wasn't funny when I threatened to do it after 300 posts, either.

Instead, how about I write a little something on each of the five topics I probably return to most often? Without any scientific polling or counting of any sort, I'm going to decide that those are the gym, Target, dating, alcohol, and my own stunning ineptitude. Sound fun? I thought so. Let's get started.

Regarding the sweat shop...
The other day, my kickboxing instructor had us try a move we haven't done much before. It was nothing complicated, but apparently she was worried if we didn't watch our form, we might throw out our backs. Considering I injured myself cleaning my bathroom last weekend, it's probably more than fair to assume I might need some sort of warning. The instructor apparently doesn't know I'm less coordinated than the average ball of twine, however, because after warning us to be careful, she looked at the small group of only five regulars assembled that day and said, "Oh, you guys are fine. This is the advanced group, right?" Um, advanced group?? Me?? I am the girl who once tore a ligament in my ankle when I tripped on a balloon. The girl who never once won that stupid patch from the Presidential Physical Fitness award--not even in the early years, when the challenge was an eraser relay and flexed arm hang instead of a mile run and a series of chin-ups. I have never been deemed "advanced" in anything athletics-related. But in kickboxing? Apparently I rule. I can crush imaginary foes like no one's business. Look out, air; I'm coming for you. I'm gonna kick air's ass. Kick the ass of air. Ahem. I may be taking this small victory a bit too far.

Regarding Target...
I tempted fate and went into Target with unwashed ponytail hair again. Apparently Target IS still my happy place, however, because I saw no past meMarmony dates while I was there. What I did see was the bar stools I had found online for $99 marked on clearance for $24.99. I got TWO bar stools for my newly sort-of-refinished basement for HALF the price of ONE. As indicated by all that capitalization, I am ridiculously excited about this. I was even more excited when I returned to that same Target this past weekend and saw a fresh new shipment of the same bar stools now marked $99, just like online. I realize this isn't a very interesting story to anybody but me, and yet I've told at least six people (plus now the Internet) about it anyway.

Regarding dates...
I don't have much to tell you here, but I do have a date with another middle-aged bald man tomorrow and a possibly pretentious English professor next week, so perhaps I'll have some stories to share again soon.

Regarding alcohol...
Apparently at our dinner for 18 last Saturday, my friends and I consumed 16 bottles of wine. There was one nursing mother and probably at least a few other non- or light-drinkers, which means that more than one guest drank more than a bottle of wine on his or her own. I'm very much hoping it wasn't me, but considering the five-course meal and subsequent socializing lasted well into the wee hours, I can't guarantee I didn't make a dent.

This weekend, the plan is to skip the wine and mix up some retro cocktails for the inauguration of my newly updated pine-paneled, sixties-tastic rumpus room. Tonight I went shopping for ingredients I have never actually purchased before (Angostura bitters, blended whisky, sweet vermouth), and after dinner I decided I should do a test run and try out a retro recipe or two. I have never actually had a Manhattan or an Old Fashioned before. I figured it'd be best to know what I am in for Friday night. Um, did you know Manhattans and Old Fashioneds are nearly straight-up alcohol? And not the really tasty alcohol, like Kahlua or Baileys, but straight-up whisky with a little ice and sugar just to pretend you're diluting a bit.

I'm curious if there's no chance I will ever like either of these drinks, or if I just picked a bad recipe off the web. Tell me, do any of you make either of these? Do these recipes sound about right? If you have a more successful ratio to share, please do so. Otherwise, I'm just hoping for better luck with the Tom Collins or the Sidecar. If not, it's back to the standard G&Ts for me.

Regarding my stunning ineptitude...
I've already told you that I managed to injure myself during the seemingly simple and innocuous task of cleaning my bathroom the other day. What I did not tell you is just how ridiculously that transpired. My shower is not lined with normal tiles like any normal house. Instead, the walls of my bathroom are covered with thin sheets of metal with indented lines meant to look like grout. After years of water and wear, the fake grout lines have sprouted cracks and rust spots, and that, combined with the chipping coat of paint that the previous owners thought was a good idea to apply, have made my shower a very sad, shameful looking place. I've tried to patch the cracks with caulk and sealant, hoping to get a few more years of wear out of the stuff, but I'm fighting a losing battle. The HGTV "Bad Bathroom" folks would love to rip those metal sheets out of there (if only I could get their attention to come do so). It's a sad, sad site to behold.

Anyway, Saturday morning I decided it was time to scrub the newest rust and mildew stains from the layers of caulk I've already applied and try caulking once again. There's a portion of the fake tile that fell off completely a few months ago and I'm embarrassed to say has been secured with duct tape ever since. My plan was to clean the shower, remove the duct tape, and recaulk anywhere the metal fake tile was cracked. I should know by now that things rarely go according to plan in my house.

About three minutes into this project, I was reaching across the shower scrubbing with a grout brush, holding on to the ceramic soap holder on the wall for balance. At the very moment I thought to myself, "You know, I probably shouldn't be putting this sort of weight on this," the soap tray broke away from the wall and smashed into pieces on the floor of my tub. My left thigh took a blunt hit against the tub as I fell, and only today have I finally stopped limping and wincing in pain with every step because of the resulting bruise. At the moment, I was in such pain (and was so frustrated--at my thwarted plans to end the day with less duct tape in my shower instead of more, at my fear about just how much a full-fledged bathroom remodel is going to cost, and at the fact that I now had a mess to clean up that was going to put me even more behind schedule for the day than I already was) that I sunk down to the floor in a flurry of tears and profanity. And then I looked down and realized that on top of the throbbing leg and the hole in my shower wall, I was also bleeding onto my floor. The gash in my wrist was deep enough that I worried for a minute I might actually need stitches (which would mean not only admitting this ridiculous injury to an emergency room doctor but also completely missing the roller skating party I was already late for).

By now, I have finally accepted that I need to find the budget for re-tiling (sooner, rather than later). I have also accepted that it's actually much more interesting to hurt myself cleaning my bathroom than to do so roller skating. (Anyone can fall and hurt themselves at a roller rink. It takes a special kind of absurdity and ineptitude to do so in one's own bathroom.) What I have not made peace with is how to address the fact that I have at least ten friends coming over on Friday who might be nosy enough to peek behind the shower curtain to see what's there. We all have medicine cabinet-peekers in our life, right? Surely checking behind the shower curtain at someone else's house is equally tempting, don't you think? So what now? Do I tell people about the garbage bag duct taped to the wall before they see it for themselves? Do I hope my friends are less nosy than average? Or do I tape a note to the shower wall for anyone snooping there to see? "Yes, I'm aware my shower is more ghetto than a double-wide. Wanna make something of it?" No? A note like that doesn't say "Welcome to my home"? Well, what do you think the note should read?


-----------------------------------
Note: Can you believe I got through this entire post before I realized that I completely neglected to include in that list of five the topic I undoubtedly write about the most?? Surely I talk about grammar and spelling at least as often as wine, don't I? I mean, I've gotten awards for that obsession! Oh well. Have to save it for my 600th post, I guess.
-----------------------------------

T minus seven and counting

I'm not normally much of a worrier (particularly about things out of my control, which is the category under which about 90% of the things I might worry about generally fall). That said, I've been more anxious than usual about my departure for the east coast tomorrow. It's probably all the horror stories I've heard about canceled and delayed flights lately (CBS News's story about thousands of displaced travelers today due to airplane inspections at major hubs likely didn't help). I've never been booked on a flight that was later canceled or overbooked, but for some reason, I got it in my head that tomorrow is when it would happen. Tomorrow, when I'm relying on getting to Philadelphia early enough to drive to Boston with Lara early enough to meet NPW and Noelle for dinner. It's a crazy travel day I've got planned, and it starts at 7:00 tomorrow morning. Except really, it doesn't. Somehow when I booked my 7:00 a.m. flight, I neglected to do the backward math and realize that a 7:00 flight means I need to be at the airport shortly after 6:00, which means I need to leave my house by 5:15, which means I need to get up at, oh, around... 4:30?!? That is 4:30 in the a.m., mind you. Obviously I should have gone to bed right after the 6:00 syndicated airing of The Simpsons tonight.

I am very, very rarely awake at 4:30, and on the unusual occasions that I am, I much prefer it be because I've not yet gone to bed, and not because I need to be up and showered and ready to go through airport security. It should be interesting to see just how this goes.

In any case, I have my boarding pass printed and all I can do now is hope for the best. Really, though, I likely needn't worry. I'm sure my flight will depart on time, I will be showered and packed and on it, and tomorrow night at this time I'll be beating some of my favorite Internet friends at Balderdash.

I'm deciding to ignore the bad feeling I had about this flight because of a new theory I'm working on--a theory that, basically, my instincts are crap. I've realized for years that I can't trust my gut the way conventional wisdom says I should. This is particularly true in dating... On the rare occasion that I have a good feeling about someone, I'd like to think it means something, but it's been proven to me time and time again that it does not. Take The Scientist, for instance. If my instincts meant anything, he would have realized that I am immeasurably more fun than a microscope and he would have left the lab and become my new boyfriend by now. Such is not the case. My gut knows nothing. My gut is both squashy and unreliable! I ask you, what good is that?

Rather than focus on the negative, however, rather than refuse to draw generalizations based on a handful of isolated incidents, I've decided to embrace this realization and make it work for me. If I can't trust my gut on good things, maybe it's routinely wrong about bad things as well. I'll ignore the good intuition AND the bad! Live a life without instincts! It's liberating, really. I feel freer than I've felt in years.

OK, that last part may not be entirely true, but it's something I'm pondering anyway. Not as much as I'm pondering how very tired I will be all day tomorrow, but pondering it nonetheless. Speaking of which, 4:30 is getting closer and closer every minute. I'd really best turn in by now.

Have a fabulous weekend, everyone. I'll see you on the other side of the Great Blogger Meetup of '08.

Book of Revelation...Fire-breathing lion's head...tail made out of snakes...Who else is it gonna be?

Hello, friends. While it is still my Very Special Birthday Week, it is no longer my actual birthday, so I'd really better post something new, hadn't I? First, though, I should say that I had a lovely birthday, which involved dinner with (and excellent presents and prizes from) several good friends, as well as four different cakes. Four cakes is not a record, of course, given that whole five-cake birthday when I turned six, but it was exciting nonetheless. Also, my sixth birthday did not involve vodka, so there are some advantages to getting older, I suppose.

Because comparison is fun, check it out:



Haven't changed a bit, have I? Well, my excitement about cake hasn't, anyway.

Also, while I was busy recovering from my own birthday, my blog had a birthday as well. Stefanie Says turned three yesterday. Presumably we're potty trained and ready for preschool now. It's all very exciting, of course.

As if all of that (not to mention St. Patrick's Day) weren't cause enough for celebration, those wacky Christians who are in charge of the holiday calendar went and put Easter in the same seven-day span as well. I will be enjoying that the same way I have for the past few years--by stuffing myself at a brunch with several of my favorite fellow heathens. It's amazing how easy it is to get a group reservation on one of the busier days of the year, even mere days in advance of the holiday, if you're simply willing to take a late morning time slot during which all the real Easter celebrants are at church. Score on that, I say. An early meal just means I'll be home sooner to get a jump on that inevitable afternoon nap.

I'm sure my very Catholic mother would be shaking her very disapproving head at that last paragraph, calling me out in shame at my seeming disrespect for our Savior's rising from the grave. And while I apologize for my flip remarks, I still say Easter always was one of the weaker and less eventful holidays, despite what they said in my grade school religion classes. Metalia's the expert on this, not me, but it actually seems that Jews have all the fun, what with the Bag o' Plagues and the Huggable Matzah Ball and the Let My People Go board game.







Actually, scratch any enthusiam about that "Let My People Go" board game. It just called to mind a not-so-rousing game of Bible Trivia that my sisters and I were once roped into playing at a family friend's house when we were kids. I have always enjoyed winning board games, but I remember my poor showing in that one being not unlike Bart and Lisa's miserable failure against Rod and Todd Flanders in their game of Bible Bombardment. No stickers for me, obviously. Eight years of Catholic school and little aside from pervading guilt to show for it, I guess.

But enough about me. How will you be spending the most Cadbury-friendly holiday this year?

Happy Birthday to Me

One good thing that came out of my little sister spending so much time at my parents' house prior to my grandma's death is that she scanned hundreds of old family photos so we could all enjoy them in electronic form. This one is not necessarily my favorite, but it is the only one that features my puffed-out cheeks and a frightening clown cake. The photo, by the way, is from my sixth birthday, the year I received five different cakes. Oddly, I liked the scary clown one best. There's no accounting for my six-year-old taste. (The red smocked dress might also be evidence of that.)



Here's hoping any cakes I see today are not of the nightmare-inducing variety. I'm also hoping the birthday present Mother Nature gave me this morning was just a brief, cruel joke and the snow and ice that made my commute to work a bit harrowing are long gone before my friends and I venture out to my birthday gathering tonight. If there is one thing I should not have to do on my birthday, it is shovel. Well, shovel or have a root canal. Or clean my bathroom. Or get a flat tire. Hell, there are a whole lot of things I should not have to do on my birthday, I suppose. But I'll stick to the shoveling thing for now. Go, Sun, go!

Five things I have relayed via email in the past 24 hours

(You know--because apparently I've forgotten how either complete and coherent posts or this Friday Five thing are supposed to work)

1. Methinks [personals site I'm on now] is where the lazy date seekers are. meHarmony is like the freshman mixer, where everyone's all gun-ho and dead-set on meeting people, walking up to each other and saying, "Hi! Nice to meet you! You're single? I'm single, too!" [New site] is like some random bar downtown--a bunch of people sitting around scoping each other out but not motivated enough to take any action. We're all just parked on a barstool, thinking, "Eh. If someone talks to me, I won't make them go away, but I'm not putting forth any effort." We could do this just as easily, well, at a BAR. And there'd be drinks there! Perhaps we should rethink our strategies.
   
   
2. I am continually ashamed about my dietary habits. Why do I eat massive quantities of absurd things? Tonight I have eaten likely a full half cup of shredded parmesan--one tiny handful after another out of the canister in succession. Mind you, I said shredded, not that powdery grated stuff, but still. I need help. A culinary intervention might be in order.
   
   
3. If you are a horrible person, then I am, too. If you weren't a hidden ball of rage who's given up gossiping for lent, I would suggest we get together to dissect all of this very soon.
   
   
4. I have a theory about my athletic ability (or lack thereof). I'm pretty sure my parents planned to have only two children; I think my younger sister was an unplanned surprise to some extent. As a result, they had only enough "stuff" to pass along two two kids. My older sister got half of the athletic ability available to all of us, and my younger sister and I had to split the meager amount that was left. I lucked out and got probably 65% of that remaining half, whereas my little sister was so shafted in this area that she can barely enter a room without running into the door frame. I could provide additional examples of this "not enough 'stuff' for three kids" theory, but it's really not important, and as a scientist, you're probably horrified that I'm even joking about something so ridiculous and medically improbable. I'll stop now.
   
   
5. I'm going to hope he had a thesaurus nearby when he wrote that. Also, WHY no capital letters? Dammit, why does everyone think they're e.e. cummings?

So that's my end-of-week, in email snippets. What's on your mind (or in your correspondence) lately?

I don't need permission, make my own decisions. That's my prerogative.

I think it is safe to say this will be the only time I ever take a post title (much less any life advice or inspiration) from a Bobby Brown lyric. Unfortunately, when I decided to ignore what I wrote yesterday about not making any silly resolutions, that old late 80s gem was the first thing to come to mind.

The thing is, when I perused my archives to recap what I did in 2007, I realized just how much I've come to rely on this blog to keep track of what I'm thinking or struggling with or enjoying at any given time. I haven't written in an old fashioned paper journal more than a handful of times since I started blogging, so if there's something I want to remember, this is probably the place to put it. So for my benefit and reference, if not for yours, here is my list. Shit I need to do, dammit, New Year or not. Wish me luck.

• Get fucking organized already. Banish the clutter I am drowning in throughout my house and purge the crap I really no longer need. I think there may be something to those claims that a cluttered space creates a cluttered mind and a cluttered life, and my head could definitely use some clarity and clean-sweeping. So I'll start with my home and hopefully peace of mind will follow.
  
  
• Revisit the budget I created (and subsequently mostly ignored) three years ago. Figure out how much money I'm supposed to have left after all my bills are paid each month and where the hell that money is actually going. Make sincere (sincere!) efforts to spend and not-spend accordingly.
  
  
• Take a vitamin and a calcium supplement EVERY day. I did better at this after resolving to do it last year, but the result still probably averaged out to only once every three or four days. Starting now, I'm going to take my friend Jamie's advice and implement a calendar marking-off system to remind me, and I am going to finally DO this simple thing, dammit. It's that or start eating my vegetables, and frankly, we all know that's not going to happen.
  
  
• Meet Lara in real life and in person. Of course, I would also love to meet all my other fabulous real and semi-imaginary blog friends, but Lara is the one I've been in contact with most closely and consistently, so she's the one I'll specify. There are some weeks when Lara actually knows more about what's going on in my life than the good friends in my own area code do, and while that means many things, one important thing it means is that we really must share a bottle (or two) of wine and play Boggle together. Soon.
  
  
• Get more sleep. This one will be particularly laughable to any of my aforementioned real-life, same-area-code friends--the people who know better than to call me before 10:00 on weekend mornings because they know sleeping late (very late, by most of their standards) is the one thing that reliably makes me happier than any other thing in my life. The fact is I do not get enough sleep, though... not on weeknights, anyway, and if I actually turned off my TV or computer or put down my book at a reasonable hour on nights when I have to set an alarm, I'd probably be much more likely to get up when the hour's in the single digits on days when I don't.
  

It seems I'm already off to a bad start on that last one, as it's creeping up towards midnight, and putting on my flannel pants when I got home from work several hours ago is the only thing I've done that qualifies as getting ready for bed at this point. Better luck on that tomorrow, I suppose. Yawn.

The year in links

Hello, Internets. Did you miss me? When I said "See you later," I didn't really expect it to be this much later, but so it goes sometimes. I was enjoying offline life. I hope all of you did some of that this holiday season as well.

Christmas seems like a month ago at this point, so I won't bore you with a recap of that, except to say that I am finally the proud owner of a ridiculous gift I campaigned for ages ago... The seeds are spread on my new Chia Elephant, and I expect it to start sprouting a leafy green coat any day now. Jealous, aren't you? Yeah, I know. I also discovered that my friend Carrie and I are apparently more in sync than I realized, because we got each other the same damn gift. It wasn't even anything either of us had ever mentioned or talked about before. Apparently Vinotagz just said "Perfect present for my wino friend" to each of us in two different stores. Frankly, I'm still shaking my head over that one. Spooky.

While Christmas may be long gone, I don't think it's too late for a New Year's post. Making a few public resolutions last year didn't necessarily help me accomplish them, so I think I'll skip that this time around. I know what I need to do and why I need to do it, and I shouldn't need the turn of a calendar year to tell me when to start. Instead, then, how about a year-in-review, month by month, NPW style.


January: Rejoined meMarmony, with less than auspicious results. Went rollerskating for the first time in at least a decade and a half. Despite my advanced age, did not fall once, and did not break a hip. Attended a ridiculous singles party. (Gained blog fodder and a bit of humility, but little else.)

February: Went on the worst date of my life. ("Nonfiction means not true, right?" Sigh.) Won two (two!) Poppy Awards. Realized it is never safe to enter Target with greasy hair. Read my second favorite book of the year.

March: Survived two formidable blizzards (and another run-in with a former meMarmony match). Realized my gym sucks. Celebrated my 33rd birthday and my 2nd blogiversary.

April: In lieu of any photos documenting the event, drew for you an approximation of me in my junior prom dress. Learned how to be a liquorologist. Avoided becoming Stefanie Tanner. Read my favorite book of the year.

May: Napped in a public park, like a common urban hobo. Said goodbye to my friends in Stars Hollow. Wrote a post that a certain someone is still a little pissed about (only semi-rightfully). Saw my favorite movie of the year. Realized I own way too many lip products. Went to Texas all by myself.

June: Discovered the scariest dolls on earth. Learned there is a right way to dice a tomato. Road-tripped to Ohio with three friends. Met the lovely and charming Noelle. Bought and played with a woefully inaccurate breathalyzer.

July: Reveled in everything I love about Minneapolis in the summertime. Ran into a meMarmony match at Target--AGAIN. Realized blueberries taste better when you pick them yourself.

August: Developed an understandable fear of bridges. Did not attend my high school reunion.

September: Walked across the Mississippi River headwaters. Pilgrimaged to a pizza farm. Made my own oat flour. (Four months later, and I'm still beyond impressed with myself for that.) Grew increasingly distrustful of the Saturn service center goblins.

October: Participated in the Great Mofo Delurk. Read something I wrote at the most original wedding ceremony I've ever attended. Dated the same person for over a month. Helped turn all our attention to the environment on Blog Action Day. Realized I should probably be more diligent about taking my calcium supplement. Met Crazy Aunt Purl. Ran my first blog contest.

November: Posted every damn day for a month. (Yes, I know I still have X, Y, and Z to do in my Encyclopedia of Me.) Participated in the first (and hopefully not last) Blog Swap. Overshared with my new doctor. Partied like it was 1899 at an absinthe-centered event.

December: Met one of my favorite imaginary boyfriends in real life. Went to Seattle for a brief getaway. Won the "tackiest holiday flair" prize at a Christmas cocktail party. And of course, rang in the new year with good friends and too much wine.


All in all, it was a fine year, but I'm hoping for even better things in 2008. The psychic I saw last January declared that this coming year is my year romance-wise, and if she's right, maybe things in the rest of my life will follow suit, too. Our friend Liz had her turn in 2007 (Year of Liz! I swear the trophy helped...); I think it's only fair we decree it my turn in 2008. Mark my words: Year of Stef! Please inform the universe on my behalf.

And with that, I'm going to put my hungover self to bed. Year of Stef starts tomorrow, perhaps.

I hope everyone had a very merry Christmas and a safe and fabulous New Year's Eve. Happy new year, friends!