Consumables #61

I just got done taking a four-day weekend just for the hell of it and one of those days included sunshine! This exceeded all expectations in my cold gray Seattle heart so I am basking in an afterglow of happy.


I kicked off my weekend by going out and trying a new restaurant with Nordic Boy. My quest for a drink I like a lot continued. I decided to go FULL HIPSTER and order an "astronaut mimosa," which is champagne and Tang. I don't know why I did this, but perhaps it was due to the fact that they were only charging four bucks for one and I am sick of paying out the yin yang for stuff that I don't like. You drinkers can drop some serious coinage! I actually liked the hipster special, which makes me happy that I liked something but sad that it was a hipster drink involving powdered sweet-tart-like material. Not exactly the sophistication I have been searching for.


I think I am going to give up on this quest. Should I?


Some other time-off stuff: Biogirl and I took trip to Ikea where we made it out alive (always a risk when going into that gerbil maze), with Biogirl stocking up on a myriad things and me getting a couple packs of napkins. I get undue joy out of Ikea napkins, you guys. We also hunted down a bakery that we had never been to before ("Biogirl is interested in sugary carbs" might be the understatement of the year), and then I heard a mesmerizing commentary from her about the term "oily bohunk" from the movie Sixteen Candles which was capped off by her talking too fast and accidentally calling the star "Molly Ringworm." Don't you wish you could be part of our think tank?


There were many other awesome things that happened but I am feeling a little backed up in the Consumables (wow, so gross!) so Ima talk about those instead.


Books!
Peter and the Starcatchers, by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson
The first in a series of prequels to Peter Pan. I had to read this for work, and I wasn't super jazzed about it but I ended up liking it for the most part. It was solid action with plenty of swashbuckling pirate stuff and magical business going on. I kind of found the original Peter Pan to be a bit of a dick but in this version he wasn't.


Duck, Death and the Tulip, by Wolf Erlbruch
I sort of loved this picture book, although I can't think of a situation where it would do anything but freak a little kid out. Maybe it's one of those kids' books that are really more for adults? I don't know. The whole thing is about a duck who has a feeling that someone is following him, and it turns out to be Death. Duck goes about his life, with Death his constant companion, until well, you can probably guess how this all turns out. It is stark and beautiful and creepy.


The Sibling Effect: What the Bonds Among Brothers and Sisters Reveal About Us, by Jeffrey Kluger
I don't know what I was expecting from this one, but it didn't live up to what I wanted it to be. It focuses on a lot of things that I think most of us already have heard (first-born children tend to be caretakers of younger sibs, conflicts between siblings can carry on into adulthood) but doesn't go much further in complicating those ideas.


In the TeeVee!
The Bachelor
Did anyone notice that I haven't said THING ONE about The Bachelor this season? That's because I am off the junk, people! I want full credit for this! I am in recovery!


Dancing with the Stars
I am sort of loving this season, mostly because the stars aren't stinking up the joint as bad as they usually do. Plus, how exciting is it that Half Pint is on? I am waiting for her to do a prairie-themed tango or something. Maybe her partner Maks will dress up like Nellie Olson! Ok, probably not but a girl can dream.


Movies!
The Hunger Games
I went to see this on opening weekend and was startled by the sheer lack of costumery in the crowd. I guess dressing up for this one is hard- it's not like you can walk into the theater with a bow and arrow. Still, I thought something like that would happen. When I add up all of the things I didn't like about the movie it should add up to me not liking the movie, but yet? I liked it. I think I was able to get over the fact the Gale is Mrs. Miley Cyrus pretty well, and I could tolerate Peeta although I still maintain that he looks like an evil kid in a Karate Kid movie. Every time I see him I want to tell Ralph Macchio to beware. I think my favorite thing about the movie was Lenny Kravitz. There's a sentence I never thought I would say.


Strictly Background
A documentary about people who make their living by being extras in movies. That's pretty much it.


If a Tree Falls: A Story of the Earth Liberation Front
Follows the trial and the events leading up to it of a man accused of eco-terrorism. I thought it did a good job of raising really hard questions. I found this really sad on many levels, but then again I am a hippie pinko, so of course I would.


Hell and Back Again
An embedded journalist films troops in Afghanistan, and then follows a wounded soldier's journey back to the US, where he copes with his injury, getting back to his life, and the aftermath of battle. I guess this one isn't much cheerier, is it?


After Innocence
Woo! Another depressing one! I really can pile it on, can't I? This one follows The Innocence Project, which is an organization that helps people who have been wrongly accused to get new trials so that genetic evidence can be used to help exonerate them. They follow a bunch of people who have been in prison for decades who don't belong there, and the fight to get them free.


Prodigal Sons
The filmmaker is a transgender woman from Montana who is filming her return to her hometown for her high school reunion. I thought this was going to focus on trans issues, but really it turns out to be a film about the filmmaker's brother and his battle with mental illness. Plus, Orson Wells plays a major role in this family's life, which is a bizarre twist.


Hiding and Seeking: Faith and Tolerance After the Holocaust
Just when you thought I couldn't get more depressing, I bring in the Holocaust. This one is about  a father who takes his grown sons to Poland to find the family that helped hide his uncles from the Nazis.


War Dance
Ok, so none of my movies are chucklefests this time around, I can see that now. This one is about kids in Uganda who are struggling to survive in refugee camps. In the camp that this film follows, the kids have formed a group that does traditional songs and dances, and they have the chance to win a national competition. You get to hear their stories, how they came to be in the camp, and what the dances do for their lives.


I feel like I have to promise a silly movie for next time.

Fortunate

Today marks the biggest chocolate and peanut butter day of my whole life- the day Nordic Boy and I met. We were teenagers and it was the 90s. I didn't know he was my dude at the time, but I did know that I found him totally intoxicating, and that he looked at me like no one else had looked at me, ever. Both of these things are still true.

Nordic Boy and I haven't said or written any particular vows to each other, but we do have lots of notes and ephemera that we have given each other over the years. Here's one thing that lives on our mantel that Nordic Boy handed to me on a snowy night in Illinois over 15 years ago.

I don't know what a vow feels like, but I imagine it's something like the feeling I get when I look at that.

Anyway, happy meetiversary to us. Sing us about it, David Gray:

Blossom

Did you think, from the title of this post, that I was going to talk about Mayim Bialik as Blossom and her shenanigans with Six and Joey and the gang? Alas, it is not to be today. Sorry to disappoint as that would probably be more entertaining.


The other day a photographer was at my work doing some professional photography biznazz, and as he was setting up me and two of my co-workers posed it up for fun and did a damn good recreation of the original Charlie's Angels logo. You know the one.

I was the middle angel. I'm thinking that was supposed to be Kate Jackson, who was the smart one, who I feel like should have been my favorite, but my actual favorite was always Jaclyn Smith, just because I thought she had the darkest skin. Listen, little brown girls have to make do with whatever cultural representation we can get sometimes, including reassigning ethnicity to white people when needed. Necessity, mother of invention, you know what I'm talking about. 


(I also want to point out that contrary to what this blog may tell you, I actually do a lot of working while at work. Like, a lot a lot. I know I tend to tell you about the posing for silly pictures and cheerleading in my office and singing Friday songs with my coworkers, but there is mostly actual work happening, like 99% of the time. Just to be clear).


Anyway, the photographer emailed us the photo later, and you know what?  I could not have been more pleased with myself in that snapshot, you guys. It was like I had waited my whole life to be the center of the Angels trio. I simultaneously love that and am heartily appalled as well.


Let's see, what has been going on this week in non-Charlie's-Angel-posing news? I went to see the Hunger Games (more on that in Consumables) at the Seattle Cinerama where they make chocolate popcorn which causes the whole theater to smell like fresh baked brownies, which is a reason enough to go to the movies if you ask me. I also went to a waffle brunch at a friend's house where the ladies engaged in a great debate on whether or not The Rock is hot or not. There didn't seem to be much room for gray area here- it was a divide akin to the Grand Canyon, we found. Also discovered? Peanut butter waffles are delicious. Some things are unanimous.


We also had one warm, sunny delightful day in the past week. Everyone in Seattle immediately ran outside to find something to do just to be in it. What I decided to do was head over to the University of Washington campus to see all of the cherry blossoms in bloom. I just went, and strolled, and sat, and it was perfection. Seattle people, go do that before the bloom is over!


I have high hopes for this weekend, despite not so great weather reports. "In my opinionation, the sun is gonna surely shine." Aw snap! I brought it right back around to Mayim Bialik, dudes! Full circle post, wut wut!

All I Am Saying, Give Chauncey a Chance

It's still cloudy and sprinkly in Seattle, but spring has definitely sprung. I am one of the few people in this city that doesn't care about sun as much as I care about warmth. And the thermometer shows that we are not in danger of any freaking snow any time soon which is all I care about. Rain, I can handle you just fine. I just prefer spring rain to winter rain. Summer rain is even better.


I can't think the words "summer rain" without thinking of that Belinda Carlisle song. That is one of those facts that straddles the line between pathetically sad and unbelievably awesome.


Subject change! (I know. Great writing technique. Dispense with transitions and just yell "subject change!" at will).


I know this dude- well, I sort of know him. He knows who I am, is really the extent of it, but he probably couldn't pick me out of a line up, and to quote Madeline Kahn in Young Frankenstein, the feeling is mooch-ell. We nominally know each other. I'll call him Chauncey. Just because whenever Nordic Boy wants to denote fanciness in a person, he for some reason calls them Chauncey. It is a universal hooty-tooty name, I guess. Chauncey is bonafide fancy, for reals. Lots of fancy degrees, lots of fancy jobs. Like, a lot of jobs, simultaneously, which I sort of don't get. How do these fancy people have so many jobs? Chauncey holds a high post at the UN, and he also teaches regularly at NYU, and Wharton, and some business school in France. Each year, he is doing all these things. He is also a really active trustee on a few foundations and boards that you have heard of, but I don't want to name. He plays classical piano. He engages in polo and other equestrian type things. He's just such a...Chauncey.


Anyway, the fanciness is not even what I want to talk about. I want to talk about the busy-ness. So many things! So many places! I don't get it. And what I don't get, even more than that, is this dude's ability to be responsive. I have cause to email Chauncey maybe once a year or so. It's too complicated to even get into how the hell I even know this person, and plus it's boring. But whenever I email him, you know what? He emails me back WITHIN TEN MINUTES. Granted, his emails back are not wordy, but they are pleasant, and do not sound rushed, and always warm and personal. At first I thought maybe it was his people- like he had a secretary or something that was emailing me back for him, but nope. I can tell from the content of the email that it's really him.


This morning I emailed him and then closed out my email and started doing something else, but a couple of minutes went by and I started to feel like I had to get back in there to see if he did it again. And he did! By the time I logged back in he had already gotten back to me.


I hate to say this, but I live in a world where you email someone and you're lucky to hear back from them in a couple of weeks, let alone a couple of days. I am not saying we all need to be like Chauncey (who I suspect has a Blackberry grafted directly onto his hand), but I think we can all do a bit better with responding to people, don't you? I think I am above average on this front, but I flake out sometimes. I know I do. And I feel like it's not out of the ordinary for some folks to straight up make a habit of forgetting to ever get back to people. Or leaving their friends hanging but always having a breezy apology weeks later. As a matter of fact I just witnessed some straight up bullshiz on that front last week, albeit it was secondhand and not directed at me so technically none of my business but I was still silently offended on behalf of the person I saw it happening to. It was some serious flakage happening, people. Frosted flakage.


Anyway, Chauncey just made me think. If someone talks to you in person, you talk back to them. You don't ignore them for a month and then say oh hey girl, sorry about that, what did you say again? It should be the same with the technologies too, right? At least for the majority of the time, yes? Why do I feel like I am saying something too radical, and I need to tone it down?


At any rate, Chauncey blows my mind on this on an annual basis. Maybe the trick is to only talk to each person you know once a year.


Aw, I don't know. Let's just watch this Belinda Carlisle video and ponder this together.

Speaking out on spring time

Today was sunny, and like a total doofus I woke up and thought it was spring and wore a spring outfit. No tights, half sleeves. Then I proceeded to freeze my nuts off for the rest of the day, because sun does not equal warmth, necessarily. See, when you live through a Seattle winter you forget that. Fire ball in the sky? It must be 70 degrees out! No, dipshit, it doesn't mean that.

However, I do submit that drinking in some sunlight after a long time without it makes you drunk. Like loopy drunk. One of my coworkers did a full-voice cheer today. Like, as in, cheerleading was happening in my office. Also, I was in two meetings where people, including me, laughed until they cried. I mean, funny stuff happens at work, sure, but the library ain't that funny, people. Lastly, although I am a loving soul by nature, I was overly full of love today. I was just feeling the lovey feelings for every last person I saw. Not in an icky way, don't be dirty. Just in a drunk "I LOVE YOU MAN" sort of way.

One thing that I don't love though? The term "speaking out." Also "breaking his/her silence." Why are headlines always saying that people are speaking out on things? Especially things that are of little consequence? I feel like if you are Greta Garbo or JD Salinger or something, and then someone said that you went on a puppy kicking spree or something, your granting an interview to clear your name would be breaking your silence, and also be speaking out. But like today there was a headline that Kris Jenner was speaking out about Kim Kardashian getting flour bombed. That is not speaking out, people! That is just speaking. Next thing you know we will all be expected to pay attention because Donald Trump has broken his silence.

Ok, so apparently I am ceasing to be an I Love You Drunk and turning into an I Am Surly Drunk.

That is all I have to say to you for today. Stellar writing craftsmanship once again, I know! I am amazing.

Have a lovely weekend, all! I LOVE YOU GUYS. I must break my silence to make that point.

Also, here is the song my coworker and I insist on singing to each other on Friday afternoons. Click and enjoy.

Consumables #60

A co-worker came to my office on Friday and simply said: "There's a little bit of sun peeking through out there right now! If you want to see any, go now! GO NOW!" And I dropped what I was doing, put my coat on, and went outside. It was still butt cold and windy, but I got that sun while it was here. I got you, sun! I got you! HA HA HA HA HAAAAA.

This is the state of mind I had when entering my weekend.

It turned out pretty dang good- I had not one solid plan for the whole weekend which felt really lovely. I usually like to have a plan or two in the hopper but this time around I really needed to just freeball it. And ew, sorry I just said freeball it.

Freeballing (and is it just me or can that term not be used without a paralyzing desire to sing Tom Petty? Now I'm FREE! FREEBALLIN'!) consisted of lots of take-out food and couch time, two brunches out (one with Biogirl and the other with Biogirl, Nordic Boy and Delium), a teatime meet up with Jenny where she accidentally shot a pony tail holder at a man at the next table, and that's really about the perfect level of excitement that I needed.

That's about all I have to say, so let's talk about what's happening with me and the pop cultures lately.

Project Runway All Stars

It hurts me when Mondo acts like a whiney buttmunch. Stop it Mondo! Go back to being adorbs.

Being Elmo

Documentary about the muppeteer who plays Elmo. I think it must be my generation but I am enthralled by most things muppet. I don't think this was the best documentary ever in terms of how it was put together and there were things that I wished they would have asked Clash about and they didn't, but still, I was all over it.

Staying Alive

I was in a grumpy mood last week and so I fired up this puppy, and man, did it do me right. Stallone directs Travolta in the sequel to Saturday Night Fever! Travolta gets oiled up and puts on a headband and a speedo-sized dance belt and does horrifying contempo jazzercise moves! There are smoke machines, and cage dancing! Oh it's masterful.

My Week with Marilyn

As a person who has watched classic movies over and over again, including everything Marilyn Monroe was ever in, I was super excited to see this. The Prince and the Showgirl (which is the movie that is featured within this movie) is interesting to begin with not because it's a great movie- I don't think it is although that can be argued for sure- but because it brings together Olivier and Monroe. The behind the scenes stories about this collaboration are legendary by now, and so trying to make My Week with Marilyn seems like such a daunting thing to do, and so I want to give it a pass on what I thought were some weak points. I thought Kenneth Branagh as Olivier was awesome, and I wanted to believe Michelle Williams as Monroe and sometimes I did, but other times I didn't, but maybe I was being a dick about that, I can't decide. Also, I think they overplayed Monroe's insecurities. Not that I think that she didn't have them and ultimately was probably ruled by them, but I wished they would have explored that in a less obvious way. Wow, this is getting dangerously close to a sort of review of the movie and we all know I don't really do that, so I'll stop. Oh, one more thing, and now you know I am getting way nitpicky, but Marilyn Monroe was not that skinny. I know we don't seem to have anything but waifs on the screen anymore, but seeing tiny Michelle Williams as Marilyn Monroe seemed really odd to me.

Kingdom Keepers #1, by Ridley Pearson

The first in a series about a group of kids who can turn themselves into holograms (sort of) and transport themselves into Disneyland at night after it has closed, where they battle the evil Disney characters who come alive. It's better than it sounds. I admit it did not appeal to me as an adult lady but I can see the kid appeal for sure, especially if they have been to Disneyland or Disneyworld or whatever.

Parade's End, by Ford Madox Ford

This book is about 7.4 million pages long with tiny font so technically I have not finished it yet, and I will likely read it in chunks throughout the year, but I have read enough of it to talk about it now. It is a book written for my inner old man (there is a part of my reading taste that is 80 years old) so if you have that part of you you will like this, I think. It's set during World War I in England, and there are class divides and political upheavals and some romance too, although it's not romantic. Think of it like Downton Abbey but less soap opera-ish and with lots more long-winded discussions of Tories and the disintegration of moral codes and the like. It's going to be made into an HBO/BBC tv series soon, so if you don't want 7.4 million pages, wait for that.

Fashion lectures

For the past couple of months Biogirl and I have been spending every other Thursday night attending a series of fashion lectures at the University of Washington museum (the Henry Gallery). The lectures were focused on the first half of the 20th century, so we got to hear about everything from the decline of corsets to the rise of the little black dress. The lectures were more philosophical and historical than anything, and I wished the lecturer would have blitzed us with a ton more slides (people who are interested in clothes want to hear about clothes, yes, but really we want to see lots of clothes more than anything). I don't have much to say on this other than to plug the idea of doing something like this on a topic that interests you. It's worth the time to try it.

Have a good week, everyone! Seattleites, take heart. Marvember will not be here much longer.

Sogfest 2012

So, I did end up going to the roller skating party last weekend, but my ankle was still busted up, so I got to play the part of the 5th grade nerd that sits at a table the whole time and watches everyone's coats while they whooped it up without me to Milli Vanilli. On the upside, Nordic Boy is the cutest rollerskater on planet earth, so at least I had something to entertain me. I have been to a few rollerskating venues as an adult and those things do not get updated, you guys. They are decorated the same as when I was a kid, playing the same music, serving the same food (that last one may actually be literal). It seemed crazy, but right. Why would you update a rollerskating place? And if you did, how would you? They should make that a design challenge of some sort.

My ankle seems to on a slow mend. I am back to sporting heels so we will see if I regret that by the end of the day. That bowling injury was not a joke. Granny needs to be more careful. Also, Seattle truly has turned into a Noah's ark Atlantis situation. Yes, both. There comes a time in the year where I start to disbelieve that a non-soggy existence is even possible. It just becomes The Way Things Are. Sun? What is that?

So on this dreary, windy, rainy, ankle-tweaked day, these are some things that are making me feel, if not like a million bucks, then like at least a few grand.

Misheard lyrics. Why are misheard lyrics so funny? Like when I thought Wanna Be Starting Something lyrics were: too high to get over, too low to get under, you're stuck in the middle, and the penis finger? Or when Delium thought the Police were saying, instead of Every Little Thing She Does is Magic, it was Reverend Simpson Does His Magic? PURE COMEDY.

The other day we were in the car and "We Found Love in a Hopeless Place" was on. And when Rihanna says "Yellow diamonds in the light," we said this.

Nordic Boy: What is she saying? Yankee dingos in the night?

Biogirl: Yankee dingos???

Me: Yeah, didn't you ever learn about the great dingo migration of 1775, when dingos invaded New England?

Biogirl: Oh yes. That was when Paul Revere said "the dingos are coming! the dingos are coming!"

Nordic Boy: To eat your bay-bees!

We just about busted our guts over that one. I don't even know why it was so funny.

Let's just go ahead and expand the misheard lyrics category into Saying Weird Things. Saying weird things makes me happy. Like last night, Nordic Boy was playing solitaire, and I don't know what came over him but he was getting vocally competetive with hisself about the solitaire. "Aw yeah! I am OWNING THIS!" I heard him say. And then he says the following: "I am so going to win this game. Winning is happening! I AM WINNETH PALTROW!"

Winneth Paltrow! Goddangit I love that man.

Kindred

How many times in your life have you met (as Anne Shirley would say) a kindred spirit? I don't know if I believe in past lives or not, but the times when I have met those people for me, I have had the thought that I must have known them before or something, because how could they see who I was so well? How could they get to the core of my soul the way they do?

 When I was in college and working at the canoe rental place (I still find it so weird that I did that), I had to work a late shift with Jenny. We didn't really know each other at all- it was one of my first shifts at the job, but we laughed and talked and pretty much told each other our whole life stories including our secrets that very first time we talked. I remember we did each other's MASH fortunes and I felt like I was 10 years old again talking to her. From day one, we were homies, no questions asked. Sometimes, finding a kindred spirit doesn't happen on the first day you meet. Biogirl and I worked together for about a year, and liked each other, but didn't really hit it off until we made our first friend-date outside of work. That first date lasted the entire day, from morning until a late movie. It was like all of a sudden- click- she came into focus for me. We hung out and we didn't want the friend-date to ever end. And to this day, it sort of hasn't. The first time I hung out with Nordic Boy was another one. It sounds cheesy, but there was something that came alive in me (much like Peter Frampton) the very first time we hung out after work. I felt like he just looked right through every dumb game I had ever played with people and just saw me.

There's a part of my brain (the old, crotchety, cobwebby part) that thinks that the phase in my life where I get to find soul mates is over, not because I am older but because I am all stocked up. I have gathered up my most cherished people already and I will hold them close, but really, that's all I get. I still feel like I will find new people to love- I do that pretty regularly because awesomeness seems to find me- but kindred? A soul twin (kind of like a hand twin only less lucrative)? I don't know.

Except, actually, I do know. I was having this conversation the other day and I felt like I was getting hit with a pie in the face (ok, so I know that actually getting hit in the face with a pie does not sound like a good thing, and it probably isn't when it's physically really happening to you, but pie-face as an abstract idea...come on, delightful, right? Your whole face! In a PIE. That's a really lovely thing). And it was a kindred spirit pie. It's such a strange feeling due to the fact that one doesn't have it anew very often. For me, less than 10 times in my life, which granted, is kind of a lot. I know some people don't get it at all. But still, less than 10 times out of the thousands of people one meets: it's quite a rare thing. And kind of a small thing. After all, it's just a feeling. A feeling that I would express thusly: this person...gets me. WEIRD. That's pretty much it.

So, I guess I'm not done with finding kindred spirits after all. It may sound dumb, but it feels really lovely to be shown that.

That's not the only reason I have been thinking about this. I've also been thinking about my lovely Neighbor J and the few years we spent living next door to each other. When I first moved in she had me over for tea, and we had the first of many chats that would go on long enough to make us both hoarse. We both invested in dorky looking headset phones because of our friendship: we would literally spend 2-4 hours a day on the phone with each other talking, talking, talking. We never ran out of things to say to each other, ever. We talked while we cooked, we talked while we did laundry, we talked while we watched the same movie on our tvs, like Harry and Sally. We ate lunches and dinners together in our shared backyard, and when I got home from grad school class I would walk in my door and she would yell "Hi Neighbor!" through the wall to me. Aside from Biogirl Neighbor J takes the prize for joined-at-the-hipness with me. It was a really golden, really happy time in my life, and lots of that was because of Neighbor J. Kindred spirit.

On Sunday, Neighbor J and her hubs Neighbor B welcomed a brand new little neighbor into the world: their daughter, Neighbor E. Yahoo! Kindred spirits come in all sizes.

So, that's what I am thinking about this week. Kindred spirits, old, brand new, and just born. What about yours?

Be a sport

Ok ok ok ok. I have seriously got to get out of the blog lull. I need Cher to come over and smack me across the face or something, I don't know. Add to the writing ennui the fact that my innernets are jacked up at my house and I am having to write this on my phone and that is a recipe for blogger disappearance. To that I say: fergit it! I shall persevere!

You may think that concludes Dumbest Whinefest Ever, but wait, there's more! I went to this bowling party recently and decided that what my bowling technique was lacking was that I wasn't getting low enough. You'll be happy to know that I did not wear any apple bottom jeans to help me in my getting low endeavors, however I did commit to my new stance, and for my trouble I got an effed up ankle. A BOWLING injury, people. There is nothing quite like it to make a lady feel Methuselah-esque. On the upside I killed it on the bowling scores. Lifetime best! Ok so that just means a 120 but do not mistake me when I say that there was a lot of end zone dancing that occurred, even in my gimpy ankle.

The other thing I have to report is that I have continued my quest to find my favorite cocktail. So far the mojito is in first place, which is making me sorely disappointed in myself. So boring, right? I refuse to give up on this and stop there.

In other sporty news, I went to this thing called Smashputt. Basically some artists get together and build a crazy mini-golf course in a warehouse. (An aside: I saw not one, not two, but three people wearing big military style hats. I wasn't close enough to them to see if it was more a Colonel Klink thing or more of a Captain from Captain and Tenille thing, but they were in that sartorial vicinity. To which I say: is that a thing now, hipsters? Please tell me it isn't.) Anyway, I suck at the golfing at about the exact levels as I do at bowling, but no injuries were sustained so at least there's that. Before we went to golf we had to sign this crazy golf waiver that basically said we might die from electrocution or the like from the course and if we did die it's on us, so I guess if I was supposed to get injured anywhere it really really should not have been from bending my knees excessively while gently releasing an 8 pound ball. I got it backwards as usual.

The coolest thing about the golfing was the crazy take one artist did on a "golf range." in this version, you get to put this big welding type mask in your face (in case something backfires?) and sit down with this big ass pneumatic rifle and a bucket of golf balls. You liad up and you shoot a bunch if aural targets. There was a piano on its side you could hit, some cymbals, an empty scuba tank, just all kinds of loud stuff. And I have to tell you that I have the least amount of interest in guns ever but GODDAMMIT that was fun.

This weekend we got invited out to go roller skating (we'll see how grandma's ankle is doing) so I am not sure how my life has turned into a series of semi sporty events, but there you go.

Have a lovely weekend, all. And my advice to you is: get low, just not too low.

Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Consumables #59

Hey you know what? I've totally been feeling like...well, I don't know how to explain it really. Maybe a sound says it best?

No, that's not it exactly. Maybe I feel like life is like a box of Nelson?

No, that's not it either. Um, something?

Oh I don't know what I'm even saying.

THE POINT IS. I'm having a weird week.

I have no consumables to really report because apparently when I feel this way I lose all ability to pay attention to things. No books, no movies, no nothing. Cutting for Stone came in for me at the library and I swear my brain looked at me from behind my eyeballs and laughed. You think you are reading that? Do you see how many pages that is? If you think I am helping you out with that this week you're a fucking moron. My brain can be a total dick sometimes. I also have the book that all my teen librarian friends are talking about: The Fault in Our Stars sitting on my table at home and I just can't do that either. I don't know if that's because of my weird week or if it's because it's about cancer, which I didn't realize. There's something about having a loved one with cancer that makes me not want to read about cancer in my free time, like, for entertainment. So that was out. I did read The Downside of Being Up, which is a tween fiction book about this kid who gets kicked out of school because he gets a boner. Not since Then Again Maybe I Won't has pubescent dingdong fiction been on my radar.

I continue to watch Felicity episodes on Netflix streaming because that takes up just about as much brain power as boner books. I had always heard about Felicity but I never had watched it before, and I have something I would like to say about it. Because I am nothing if not a person who gives ever so relevant commentary on shows from 2001. I ask you how many pregnancy scares can one show have? Everyone is constantly thinking they are pregnant, and some of them end up actually being so. This is the most fertile group of 5 teens I have ever seen in my life.

I also continue to watch the Walking Dead although Nordic Boy and I are full on Team Zombie at this point. We really don't like those people and we kind of want them to all get their brains eaten.

I also watched the Grammys and the Oscars, which I love and will watch no matter how crap they get, but I really wish that each year one person or movie didn't just sweep everything. I just feel like the industry in question decides as a group that it will be the Year of Adele or whatever, and then that person gets every last thing, which gets boring. That said, I love Adele and I loved Hugo too so there you go.

Speaking of loving things, I saw the movie Pina and oh my god you guys. It was the best thing ever ever ever. I love Pina Bausch's work so much and to have this gorgeous movie made of it, I just almost couldn't believe it was happening. So good. I wanted to freaking EAT IT.

I mean seriously, watch this:

Leapy Hollow

Happy Leap Day, everyone! I love the idea that we have a whole extra day, even though essentially it means nothing, I know. I'm still doing the same shit I was doing yesterday and then will be doing again tomorrow (wow, does that give you a picture on what my mood has been like this week or what?). I am surprised that there isn't an agreed upon way to celebrate a Leap Day. Shouldn't we have leap day foods? Or dress in specific colors like they did on 30 Rock? Something.

There was this time some of us in my 9th grade algebra class decided to pull out the garbage can from the corner of the room and put it in the aisle between desks and run up and down the aisle, jumping over the garbage can. And no, I don't know whose brilliant idea this was and why we all joined in. I mean, it was a teeny tiny garbage can, so it wasn't even like, a stunt. So many brains I tell you. (This also is another lovely story in a long line of stories I could tell you wherein it is made clear that no one was watching us in high school, hardly ever. Where was the teacher? Either they were somewhere else during class, which, wow. Or they were in the class with us not giving a rat's ass about Garbage Can Olympics). Anyway, there was this one kid named Jeff Hansen, and he had cerebral palsy, and he didn't usually participate in shenanigans such as this, but this time he did. And he jumped over that garbage can in a sort of ballet/swan formation and it was shocking to all. Then, the more awesome and nonsensical thing was that he turned around to all of us and said the following:

"That was my LEAP. I'm LEAPIN'!"

Then this other kid named Bob, who normally was the type that was not so nice to Jeff, but for some reason in this case the leaping made him change his tune, said "Yeah! Instead of Jeff, you need a leaping name! Like...LEAPIN' JEEP!"

And Jeff took this nonsense and ran with it. "I'm not Jeff Hansen! I'm LEAPIN' JEEP HAM SAM!"

Dudes, I have no idea what this means. I don't know how it makes any sense. How does a jeep leap? What does ham sam have to do with any of it other than it sounds kind of like Hansen?

I don't know, but I love that memory. I thnk of it every time I hear the name Hansen. The nuttiness, the garbage can, the unsupervised alegbra: it was a recipe for cross-kid understanding. We called Jeff "Leapin' Jeep Ham Sam" for a long time after that.

This is what I propose for Leap Day. Leap over a small receptacle of some sort. If you can't get to a garbage can, a bucket or step stool will do. And then proclaim yourself a leap-related weirdo name. Leapin' Creep Juju Joe. Leapitty Freak Soupy Rip.

My gift to you on Leap Day. You're welcome.

Three Day Weekends: I vote yes.

I tend to be a bit holiday-challenged anyway, but when President's Day rolls around, I really don't know what I am supposed to do with myself. It seems to me that President's Day revolves around lots of mattress sales. At least that's what the medias tell me. There are lots of announcer type people yelling that mattresses are on sale, which I guess relates to presidents because we're also pretty obsessed with where they all slept, right? Washington slept here, Lincoln slept here. We don't seem to note the location where they ate a particularly good meatloaf or anything like that. It's sleeping localities that are important. And so maybe that's why we're supposed to commemorate the prezzes past by mattress shopping.

Or something.

I did not do any mattress shopping this weekend, since I am all mattressed up at my house already, but I did have a pretty dang nice three days. Nordic Boy had a cold, which was a total bummer because he missed out on every last fun thing we did, and I feel bad about that, but I am not gonna lie I had a fan-frigging-tastic time regardless. First of all I went to a super delectable wedding whereby two of my favorite people thereto plighted their troths to each other. And although I am the last person to really understand weddings and how they should be or are done (really, if weddings were American Idol I would be Paula on the panel, spouting off gibberish about floating in a rainbow puff of foggy love or whatever), this one to my eye was pretty damn awesome. The wedding was sweet, smart, funny, delightful, just like the two of them.

And just as important, the music they played for post-nuptial dancing was right on the money. This is, in my opinion, the most important part of the whole thing. I gots to get my jig on, y'all.

An aside. There was this one time, I went to a wedding and Biogirl was one of the bridesmaids, and she got her hair did for the big event. She had this updo situation going on and she went all day, through the pre-wedding stuff, wedding, post wedding dancing until the wee hours, and her hair was perfect the entire time. Not even a little messed up at all. At the end of the night she was at my house and she started pulling bobby pins out of her head and I swear to you her hair could have stayed in the updo without any pins at all, there was so much product in it. Well, before the wedding that I went to this weekend, I stopped in at my local blow dry bar and got a quick blowout. The lady asked me if I was doing anything that night and when I told her I was going to a wedding, she whipped out the hairspray and gel and whatever other Harry Potter potion she had and did that same magic shit. I woke up the next morning and my hair looked like I had just walked out of the salon. I mean it was positively creepy. Is saying the word "wedding" to your stylist some sort of secret code that gets you ten pounds of shit put on your skull such that your hair will take on an unearthly permanence? I am thinking yes.

Anyway, the other highlight of the weekend was meeting up with my lovely friend k8 and her man, plus some other friends that I have wanted to hang out with for a while, but somehow I never do. I never see k8 as much as I would like either. Do you have people in your life that you wish you saw more of but it just doesn't seem to happen? Here's my advice: make it happen, dudes. I always seem to forget this, and then have to re-remember it. Instead of thinking "I wish I saw that k8 more often," how about I ask her to do something? EUREKA! What a super genius I am, all Wile E. Coyote style, only with less TNT.

The rest of my weekend I spent in my pajamas (in sickie solidarity with the sneezy Nordic Boy), reading books and watching movies. Aw sooky sooky now.

Belt It Honey

The jacked up week continues! Nothing too dramatic, just feeling disorganized and so sleepy. I don't sleep much, which I somehow cope with (I really don't understand how I can function on the amount of sleep that I get and I wonder that if I did somehow solve this and get a full 7 hours of sleep a night I would unlock a bunch of latent energy and brain potential and become Hillary Clinton or Oprah or at least some sort of librarian kingpin or something), but this week Nordic Boy isn't sleeping much either and so between the two of us it is Sad Sack Terziak times (hi weird reference that really doesn't make much sense but I am TIRED leave me alone). Both of us just about cried when our CSA box arrived yesterday because it meant that we didn't have to drag our sorry asses to the grocery store. It's just sort of reached a dumb point.


Anyway, I feel like I should say something about Whitney Houston because what could be more pop culturey than Whitney Houston? I am not feeling particularly cogent this week but I will say that growing up in the 80s means that you were most likely bathed in a Whitney halo at one point or another. I had her first album on tape and tried to squeak along to it as best I could and she was wearing this tangerine chiffon sarong dress on the cover and I just thought she was so freaking elegant. I remember loving all of the songs except the last one, a duet with Teddy Pendergrass. Sorry, Teddy. When I got into high school I was in a rabidly competetive choir (honestly the level of exclusivity and pressure was completely ridick now that I think back on it, but somehow I didn't mind it then) and there was lots of auditioning for stuff. You had to audition with a solo to get in to the dang choir in the first place, and then there were singing tests, and then there was endless auditioning for solos. Any remnant of my being afraid to sing by myself in front of people was blasted to little itty bitty pieces by the end of 10th grade. You're welcome, future karaoke audiences. Anyway, my audition go-to song was "What I Did for Love" from A Chorus Line, because I am a HUGE NERD, but the cooler girls among us always did Whitney songs. Auditions were always open (no singing by yourself just for the teacher, always sing in front of everyone) so we got treated to Whitney wannabes one after another after another. That takes a lot of balls, when you think about it. An audition is about trying to impress, and thinking you have the pipes to belt out a Whitney tune is making quite the statement about what you think you can do.

My all-time favorite Whitney-related memory was when I was in 10th grade. Our spring choir concert was one where you auditioned your favorite pop song, and if you were good enough, you got to sing it with a for-realsies professional band. I didn't audition that year, I don't think (seriously, the auditions just blend together after a while, I'm surprised I wasn't busting out an audition song at my dentist's or whatever), but if I did I didn't make the cut. My not-so-secret crush, who I had code-named Taco (worst crush code name ever), was a senior and one of the stars of the choir. He was also dating one of the female stars of the choir. They had just finished starring in our musical, Guys and Dolls, where we all got to lasciviously watch them make out on stage as Sky and Sarah, which just about KILLED ME, they were so perfect. Anyway, rumor had it that they were going to audition a duet for the spring concert and we were all wondering what it would be. And then they whipped out, and I so love that this was the song they chose, of all songs in the universe: If You Say My Eyes Are Beautiful, by Whitney and Jermaine Jackson.

Can I get a hells yes? Because...just...hells YES.

It's so sappy, so dorky, so not cool. Like, even then it was not cool. Whitney was cool, but that song? Of all songs? OY VEY. I sort of love them so much in retrospect for choosing it and being so balls out about it.

The other weird choice about that song was that Taco-ette (sorry I don't have a code name for her) was an awesome singer, but she was about the least Whitney-ish singer ever. She had more of a Julie Andrews situation going on. A belter she was not. But for her last performance with her man, she wanted Whitney.

I remember the night of the concert, and them singing their song (of course they were one of the last songs of the night, big finale style), and looking at each other, so earnest it sort of hurt to watch it. I remember that the very last note they sang and held, his voice actually cracked a little bit, which never happened to Mr. Perfect, and I wondered if he was getting choked up singing it, or if he just had a bad note for once. I don't really know which it was.

I know I sound like an old fogey, nostalgic for the past, but I can't help it. I loved that dude in a total Jordan Catalano sort of way, just with so much teen fervor in me, and I was so envious of him, and her, and their song, and their uncool ardent cheese. And what I love most about it is that Taco-ette, who had coasted all through high school singing like Belle from Beauty and the Beast mixed with Kathryn Grayson, really actually just wanted to belt it to her man Whitney style when the big moment arrived. And really, who wouldn't want that?

Stand in the place where you live

Even when I have what I would consider an extremely relaxing weekend, I get certain things done. Laundry and a meal plan for the week with grocery shopping thrown in are the bare minimum tasks. Bare minimum. My CSA box doesn't get here until Tuesday so I have to at the very least have food for Monday. If I don't get those two things done, my week gets jacked up with not enough clean drawers in my drawers and no lunch ready to go for Monday. The only reason that this would not get done would be some sort of emergency, or going out of town, or my being sick.


There was no emergency, no going out of town, and no illness, but man was there a festival of LAZY going on at my house this weekend. With the exception of three fun out-of-the-house things, I sat on my ass with a remote and a book and a phone and did nothing. I called my mom and dad each day. I drank gallons of tea. I continued my irritating quest to get through more Felicity episodes (I am into Season Two where everyone's hair gets smaller. Noel cuts his hair, Ben cuts his hair, and Felicity not only cuts her hair but she then dates a dude with the exact same haircut that she has). I spent hours making a google map of an imaginary road trip across the country that I have no plans to take. I texted my friends with silly texts. I dozed. I stared out my window with a blanket over my legs like an old timey rich lady who is at the sanatorium.

Although it was quite nice while it was happening, I have more data now that points to the fact that my week will start off shitty if I do that. This is the equivalent of the one-night-stand at this stage in my life. If you have never had a one-night-stand (that term cracks me up, by the way. A stand. I am taking a STAND about it being only one night!), it is emotionally an equivalent feeling. This is an awesome idea (while it's happening) which turns into why the HELL did I do that, stupid, stupid, stupid (after the fact). At least that's how some one night stands go. Others are fine even after the fact, but that doesn't fit in with my metaphor so I am ignoring those kind. Just note that I understand that all one-night-stands or all no-chores-days are bad. Sometimes they are just fine.

On the upside, I did get myself out of the house to go see an exhibit on the art and design of George Nelson, which was fabulous. There was a loud entitled old lady at the exhibit that almost made Biogirl challenge her to a rumble which was almost as entertaining as the exhibit itself. I can't make too much fun of her since I went to a movie that I was so, so, so amped to see (more on that in Consumables) and I sat in front of a lady that was having the most rustle-oriented relationship with her snack food that I have ever heard. I don't know if it was popcorn or she was getting her Milk Dud on, but RUSTLE ME TIMBERS, lady.

So to recap. Me kicking it sanatorium style, having a no-chore-stand, an art exhibit and a movie with etiquette issues at both and that's really about it. I am choosing the "blogging some shite is better than no blogging" approach. You're welcome.

Consumables #58

I have so little to say this week, you guys. It's sad. My head is full of work stuff, and work stuff only, and if I talked about it I would get dooced for sure and bore the piss out of you as a freebie bonus.


Instead, let's talk about some consumable items.

Thor
After I watched The Green Lantern there was a part of me that didn't want to touch this with a 10-foot-stripper-pole (wow, that's a tall stripper, har har), but this was way better than that. Way, way better. I know that's not saying much, because this was not cinematic genius or anything either, but a cloud of fiery boredom did not engulf me when I watched it. I credit Kenneth Branagh for this. Ringing endorsement, wut wut!

Cave of Forgotten Dreams
Super old cave paintings for two hours! It's more fascinating than it sounds though. However I must say this. Herzog (who totally needs my advice and is also totally reading this, obvs), please stop narrating your own movies. I am not even hating on the accent, believe me. It's the delivery. Not good, man. Not good. Other than that, though, thumbs up. I could have used a lot more interviews of the people who worked with the cave paintings and less Herzog drone that's all.

The Garden
A community run urban farm rises up out of Los Angeles. Heartwarming! And then a politician, a corrupt activist, and a land owner try to rip that shit up and shut it down. Heartbreaking! You know how there's this idea that one person can make a difference? Like Don Cheadle in Hotel Rwanda. Or Oskar Schindler in Schindler's List. Well, here's a documentary about how one or two people being total jerkfaces can fuck up tons of people.

Drive
Ready for me to say something completely pukeworthy? Ready? I totally agree with the review that this movie got in The New Yorker.

Felicity
Before you find me too pretentious, I have been watching season one of Felicity. The 90s fashion is killing me, people. Killing me. Why was everyone wearing gigantic cloth sacks in the 90s? Were you wearing sacks then? I wasn't. Some of Felicity's sweaters are a heartbeat away from a Gandalf robe, I am not even kidding. Also, it's kind of a rip off of My So-Called Life, at least so far. Speaking of My So-Called Life, how could the Felicity writers do that to Brian Crackow? That's just not natural. And how come every show set in NYC has these people who live in gigantic apartments? Felicity's dorm room is the size of half my house! I think this show speaks to people who were dumb in a very particular way in college. I mean, don't get me wrong, I was dumb in college. Just my brand of dumb was very different than that brand.

Welcome to the Goon Squad, by Jennifer Egan
I liked the short story feel and all the ties between everything- I loved connecting all the threads together. I also like books with recurring metaphors that make me wonder. Like, all the fish imagery. I thought a lot about the fish imagery. And what can I say, I like books about messed up lonely people, and this one had scads of them.

Project Runway All Stars
When Mondo cried this week, I totally cried too. This is a doctor-approved way to tell if one is over-tired.

Maurice Sendak/Colbert
Serious chocolate and peanut butter moment, putting these two together. Just watch it here: part one and part two. Both worth it.

Have a good weekend, peoples! I shall be hibernating until Monday.

Giant cowboy around here somewhere

It happens every year, usually in February: all of a sudden it is spring! It's like nature knows that we are shriveling up into a disgusting wet corn flakes mush and so it does us a quick solid by giving us a freaking gorgeous few days just so we don't run amok and dissolve. The fake out will not last long, and we'll be back to drizzle fo shizzle (oh yes I did just say that) but for now, I am not going to think about that. For now it's just SUN! SUN! SUN!

 

The weekend started off by us having a meeting about death, because, you know, we are badasses. Not really. Part of our beginning of the year stuff that we do is to go over our financial plans for the future, including updating our retirement plans, insurance policies, etc. WOO! We're a couple of party animals, I know. Anyway, our financial guy (I still find it so weird that we have one of those) was going over some things with us and it always throws me, having these conversations, because I feel like he should start our meeting by saying "It's about to get REAL, YO." Because that guy can break it down. He's all "so, statistically, we have to plan for you" he points at Nordic Boy "to die at about 84, and you" he points at me "to die around 96." Um, sure. Yes. I suppose we do. And we'll be damn lucky to have it happen that way. And we're being so responsible and adult to map this out and make sure we are taken care of. And our plan is a good solid plan. Good on us. And also, by the way, and I probably should have said this up front, but GAHHHHHHHHH.

 

I mean, yikes-o-rama, you guys.

 

Anyway after that I proceeded to spend the rest of the day in the sunshine having giggly girl fun with Biogirl. Because I kind of had to, after that.  First off, we drove southward to see the boots and hat in Ox Bow Park. Those are sculptures, for those of you who don't know. I have to make that clear since it would not be out of the ordinary for us to take a field trip to look at actual boots and a hat. Anyway. Turns out, nothing will make you forget about your own mortality like a giant pair of cowboy boots as big as a house. We took silly photos and laughed our heads off, in that way where you don't even really know what is even so funny, but dang, it's just HIGH LARRY US. We then went to have tea at a little tea shop that boasts over a hundred tea varieties. I am a serious tea lover but somehow I ordered one that pretty much tasted like dirt (this is where I cannot help but hear Nordic Boy's mom's voice in my head saying the ever-wise "God made dirt and dirt don't hurt, honey"). I think I got lucky at that choice though because our tea menu was talking about a whole line of teas called Poo Air. So at least I didn't drink that up.

 

Sunday I decided to get my ass out the door to check out the Jason Wu collection at Target. Listen, some people have the Superbowl and others have Jason Wu at Target. Priorities. By the time I got myself there it was seriously picked clean. There were like three pieces left, I am not even lying. Ok, so I got there at lunch time. I am ridiculous enough to make a date on my calendar to show up to Wu opening day but not ridiculous enough to go wait in line first thing in the morning. Everyone draws a line somewhere. But really, folks,* I am not kidding when I said there were three items left.

 

Nordic Boy and I rounded out the weekend by making a big Indian dinner (well, ok he made it) and watching old Deadwood episodes. What could be better? And no, neither of us watched the Superbowl, but I did learn something about football and the Superbowl this week and I am going to share it with you. I have learned that no one needs to hear the following phrases regarding the Superbowl ever ever again, and they are: "I only watch it for the commercials," or "I don't watch the Superbowl. I don't even know who's playing." I have to shamefully admit that I was, twice this week, that person. The one who says those things. Getting my passive aggressive smugly on, people. So classy! It seems that I too have an inner hipster doofus that longs to be freed and turned into a Portlandia skit. At least I haven't gone to the "the half time show sucked! they should just not even have one!" place, because that place is truly unbearable. Anyway, as soon as the "I don't even know who's playing" exited my mouth the second time (or actually my fingers, since I was typing), I wanted to call it back in, but I couldn't. So I am hereby using the power of my blog to recall that sentiment. Just go back in time, erase erase erase, and done. You didn't know my blog had that power, did you? I know, pretty cool. I should probably use it for something more concrete, like going back in time to convince 9th grade me to stop tucking my pants into my socks, but I thought I would start with this one.

 

I'm going to go run around in the sunshine now.

*Sorry I called you folks.

 

O brain where art thou

I feel so far away from my blog these days. Anyone even still checking this thing? Blog friends can you hear meeee? (Please sing that in a Barbra-in-Yentl sort of way, if you don't mind).


I have been in one of those spirals where I have been franctically busy for 80% of my time, and so then the remaining 20% I just hide in my house doing nothing but crossword puzzles with my blanket and Jon Stewart. (Not that Jon Stewart is with me under my blanket, but listen, I wouldn't kick him out if he was).

I have been conducting a little scientific experiment this week and it is this. I have been trying to prove that I have a finite amount of brain space, and once that space is used up, I become a complete and total blithering idiot. Ok, so I haven't been trying to prove it, so much as just proving it unintentionally.

First of all, Delium was over for dinner the other day, and he was telling me about this movie shoot that he was on (have I ever mentioned that one of the many things Delium does is be an actor? I feel like I have somehow never mentioned this fact, but that can't be right), and he was going on about how Bubbles was in this movie, and how he got to meet him, and it was so awesome. And the whole time he was talking, I was thinking "Michael Jackson's chimp is still alive? And he is in movies now? And Delium is hanging out with him? WHAT." Yeah, well he was talking about the guy who played Bubbles in The Wire. Which, if you had been there and heard the context of this story, would have been totally clear to you. I was excited about 2 degrees of separation from The Wire, but disappointed about there not being an awesome chimp story.

Brain space- that one wasn't so bad, right? That was earlier this week- Monday. It gets worse.

The next thing that happened was that I was telling Nordic Boy a story, and I wanted to say that I thought a certain thing ever since I was a kid. So, I could have said "Ever since I was a kid..." or I could have said "Since I was a kid..." Either one. But somehow I tried to say it both ways together, and so I said "Since ever since I was a kid," to which Nordic Boy was all "wait, what did you just say? Since ever since?" And I looked at him like he was a nut bucket and said, "UM YEAH. Since ever since I was a kid, I..." And he said, "since ever since? What is that?" And I honestly couldn't process what was wrong with saying it like that. I hereby declare it ok for you to sing "Since ever since you've been gone" whenever that Kelly Clarkson song comes on.

Then, at the end of my work day the other day, just before leaving, I was emailing with two of my friends about having them over for dinner. They have never been to my house before, and so I was typing out my address, and the more I looked at it, the more I was convinced that that wasn't my address. And the more I that I thought that, the more that I couldn't think of what my address really was. Finally, I had to open Google maps, type in what I had written, and map that shit out to see if it matched up where I live. AND IT DIDN'T.

I had to google map my own damn address people. And then it was wrong.

This weekend, you may find me with my blankie and dvr episodes of Jon. If I can figure out where I live and get home ok.


                            

Everything Counts

Whoopsie! Where's the blogging, lady?

Something will happen soon. Or later. Well, at some point.

Until then, please make your Monday a little more fun by watching this adorableness.

Hamma Jamma

Things that are making me happy today:


1. The Pointer Sisters medley that was sung, by all members of my household, at 6:45 am this morning.

2. The fact that Brandy and Monica are coming out with a new duet, although it will never be able to top the sweet action of "The Boy is Mine."

3. A friend telling me about a person he once knew. First name Richard, last name Shaver. And he preferred to go by Dick.

4. The relief I felt when I realized that the red substance all over the inside of my bag was just juice from the swiss chard in my lunch and not bloody gore.

5. Biogirl's vintage cookbook that is filled with disgusting photos, including this one for baked ham covered in green jello mixed with mayonnaise.

First, a photo of the ham. Second, a video of the jam.