7 Hours of Solitude

Christmas Morning First: waking up with no fam around.  I thought that I'd be bummed but with Wessy and Club to fill the void, I should have known better.  After a round of coffee and snickerdoodles on the couch,  Kristin came over and we had a festive morning with homemade waffles, bacon, oj and coffee.  It was a Christmas morning feast and no worries, we kept the Christ in Christmas, Wes wore his Raptor Jesus shirt:

Happy Christ Christmas Christ Steven Colbert!

So after a final trip to the dog park, and after leaving my bathroom cleaner than it was when they arrived, Club Fun departed.  They did not depart however until Sabra and Murlester forged a friendship:

JoeJoe never left the bedroom during Sabra's visit but given his history with doggies, we can only respect this. 

With the egress of Club Fun we have entered our 7 Hours of Christmas Solitiude.  7 hours until my parents arrive from their bastion in the frozen tundra of Minnesota and the Kukulka Christmas festivities begin!  I think perhaps a nap is in order :) 

Hello There Christmas Eve

I woke up this morning to the delightful smell of brewing coffee. I snuggled up to Wondie-ful Boyfriend for a few minutes and just enjoyed the sound of the kitties purring.  After a few minutes of what one can only consider pure contentedness I wandered out to the kitchen and found not only freshly brewed coffee but my Ashleigh.  I started to wonder at this point if it was possible that I had in fact made it to heaven but then I thought back on my past year, had a chuckle and poured myself a cup of coffee. 

Today has not been my traditional Christmas Eve but darned if I didn't enjoy it all the same.  After some lounging around on the couch with coffee we took my God-Dog Sabra to the dog park to meet a Bestie, Meredith and Step-dog Roobert.  Not to long ago I would have considered a trip to the "large dog" park to be on par with an enema but since the advent of the Tilda-Roop it's become, dare I say, enjoyable.  I'm not exactly sure what I want to do with my life in its entirety (I think I've got some time before I need to know this) but I do hope that I can find something that makes me as unadulteratedly happy as dogs are when they play.

Now, I was planning to take today off from running because my knee's have been sore lately and also because it's a holiday and I'll take any excuse not to go running.  Then Ashleigh, the trooper that she is, decided to run the four miles between Matt's parents house and my house.  I just can't be outdone / miss a run with one my fave running buddies and so I ran out to meet her and we had a lovely 1 1/2 mile trott together.  We do have a 5K to train for after all. :) Next stop, Stubbies and Steins for a few Belgian Beers and some Pome Frittes.  Just your traditional Christmas Eve is all.

Home from Stubbies, Wes lit the fire and I put some Snickerdoodles in the oven.  Snuggled up on the couch with the last glass of spritzer, a fire and the smell of cookies in the air I was completely content.  Little did I know but the Beef Log was coming home to me...holy GOD.  I know that the English have gotten a lot of shit over the years for their, how shall I say, lack of cooking prowess but when it comes to Beef Wellington I must say that they have gotten something entirely right.  Add in the whole Earl of Sandwich thing and quickly the Brits are climbing in my esteem. 

It's been a non-tradional Christmas Eve for sure, there's been no pirogi and there's been no family but if this Christmas Eve was to be joyful while lacking in family, this one has been it.  My parents will be here tomorrow, there's the gig-hugenest piece of beef sitting in my refrigerator just waiting to be roasted and I'm surrounded by people I love.  I couldn't be more contented. :)

To offend, or not to offend

You can't avoid offending people from time to time. When you don't mean it apologize. When you do mean it, accept the consequences.

-- David Schaner, Physician, New York, NY, USA

Word of the Day:

Diplopia: commonly known as double vision, is the simultaneous perception of two images of a single object.

okay, how much effing fun is that to say! 

Operation Peirogi

To complete the weekend of ill advised cooking adventures, yesterday I attacked pirogi. This is a first for me in that while I'm an expert pirogi eater,  I've never made them myself and haven't seen them made since I was in elementary school.  So despite a distinct lack of hands on experience I ventured forth armed with my Grandma's recipe, a gray, cold Sunday and cleaning the house to procrastinate.

Mary Kukulka's Pierogi Recipe

The Recipe (yes this is a proper noun) was supplemented with some scattered verbal instructions (when in doubt double, better yet triple the butter) but also did a little Googling to fill in the gaps in the hopes of missing a few common pitfalls.  This guy is way ramped up over his pirogi making as it is apparently very, very serious business.  While he should probably cut back on his caffeine intake, there was helpful information buried amongst the passion.

There's all sorts of stuffing for these tasty little suckers and while I'm sure I will attempt the others at a later date, potato and cheese are favored by my fam so I went with those.  The potato pirogi stuffing was made the night before per the practice of Grandma.

She always said that it was best to get it out of the way and after all the rolling, stuffing and boiling that was about to commence, she was right. 

Thankfully I had become quite well acquainted with my mixer the day before because I ended up making three batches of pirogi dough.

Apparently one batch of potatoes requires a triple batch of dough - duly noted. And can I just say that there was nothing more I wanted this weekend than a KitchenAid mixer?  I spent a decent amount of both Saturday and Sunday cursing my sister for not registering for one when she got married so that I could have borrowed it this weekend.  Sigh...the girl just doesn't think ahead!

According to my Mom (hi Mama!) I showed a penchant for rolling out this dough as a 12 year old, so 25 years later I attacked it again.  I mean, it can't possibly be as hard as making Grandmother's pie crust right?  right?!?  Right:

It isn't nearly so difficult as that stinkin' pie crust, maybe I'll try that one when Mama's here next week.  Stay on the edges of your seats and keep a tight hold on those nipples, this is thrilling stuff. 

Stuffing placed:

Sealed with water, finger pinchin' and then finished off for good measure with a fork:

Boiled: 

and laid to rest:

Four and a half hours and four explosion casualties later I had 83 hand-made pirogi to gaze up on with glee.  It sure looks pathetic for 4 1/2 hours worth or work.  Then we ate them:

Not quite as good as Grandma's (as was expected) but a sight better than Mrs. T's if I do say so myself.   Plus a whole load frozen for later consumption once the fam arrives.  

This Christmas will be a lot of firsts for me  It will be my first with Wes- yay!  It will be the first one where I do not wake up with my parents in the same house - boo.  It will also be the first one in over a decade that I won't be at my Grandma's house. My Grandma passed away this past summer, peacefully and without pain which is exactly what she deserved.  I haven't found a way to write about her, it's hard to know what to say about a woman who I knew for my entire life but only a tiny portion of hers.  I'm still working on that but what I do know is that of the things that are quintessentially Christmas to me, my Grandma's pirogi is a big one.   My Grandma is not here this year and I think that I can speak for my whole family when I say that we miss her terribly.  My Grandma is not here this year but the tradition of her pirogi 's (imperfect as they are) will be.

Grandma, Christmas 2009

This post brought to you under the supervision of Kitchen Cat. 


He iz slepin' in ur kitchen



Wotchin' u kook and tipe



Christmas Cookie Bake 2010

There are some movies that just never ever get old.  I'm not sure what it is about them - but there's a handful of movies (Ocean's11, You've Got Mail, Love Actually and S.W.A.T just to name a few)  that I can just watch over, and over, and over without ever getting bored.  I know what happens and by this time I could probably recite most of them but they always help to pass the time when time passing is needed.

I'm thinking about this today because while I'm generally opposed to just having the TV on in the background, but I've been baking and cooking all weekend and have kept movies on in the background to keep from going absolutely bonkers.  It's the weekend before Christmas and along with my questionable decision to take on several large cooking projects about 30 seconds before needing the house to be so fresh and so clean clean, there are thankfully movies galore on TV to keep me entertained. 

Yesterday's task was cookies, cookies and more cookies.  Topsises of the list was my quintessential Christmas cookie: Julie Kearny's Gingersnaps.   Apparently these gingersnaps are the same as those made by my Great Grandmother on my Mama's side but hey, I know Julie and I remember eating hers and so I maintain: Julie's GingerSnaps. It just isn't Christmas until the Gingersnaps are made.  Second on the list was by request: Peanut Butter Chocolate Kiss Cookies for the Wes.  I also made and froze some homemade sugar cookie dough to make Snickerdoodles later this week for Club Fun (they're an Ashleigh fave) and my sister who also loves them.  The amount of butter I went through on Saturday alone is sinful, but the results were tasty and festive: 

Cookie Exchange Boxes and some extras for the Wes :)

Today's project was Grandma's Pirogi but that, is a whole other post of it its own. 



QotD: Holiday Edition

"Around the holidays I have a few really important rules, one of them is ALWAYS serve cocktails.  The other is to serve things that I can make ahead."

-- Ina Garten

The Barefood Contessa



The Disapprearance of the Glitter

 When I was a kid, I quite honestly LIVED for sleepovers, sleeping bags and a tiny tv in the damp, half-finished basement of someone else house and we were seriously happy. Every weekend was an exercise in convincing my mom that I could sleep over at a friends house and not get sick or be cranky the next day.  One of the worst parts about middle school and high school was that asking for a sleepover was far more mine-fieldy than it had been in elementary school.  Something about puberty made asking someone of the same gender to spend the night was far more loaded of a question.  First was the fear of rejection - what if they don't want to come?  Or even worse, what if they DO come and then tell everyone else at school how disappointing or uncool the whole thing was?  Then people started having sex.  Granted this was way before I was even thinking about it (later life conversations have indicated that I was a bit of a late bloomer if not outright back-asswards in high school, I however prefer to think of it as a lack of boyfriend options especially after eliminating boys whom my friends had already dated) and the chances of being accused of being a lesbian if you asked the wrong person too eagerly, were pretty good.  It occurs to me that being called a lesbian shouldn't have carried the unspeakable horror that it did.  I'll admit that I didn't want to be called this, in part because I'm not in fact a lesbian but far more than that was the disdain and disgust with which the accusation was thrown. 

A while back I came across this website called  WriteYourPrincipal.com.  This movement encourages people to write to the current principals of their former high schools and ask one question: what is your school doing to stop bullying and support GLBTQ (gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered and queer) students and their allies?  It's all very warm and fuzzy to think that our society is open minded and tolerant but the rash of teen suicides because of bullying indicates that our children aren't, which to me is a pretty good indication that we as a society aren't either.  Up to this point I've only thought about sending a letter of my own, mostly because I just didn't know what to say. I've never ACTUALLY been discriminated against because of my sexual orientation and while I'm sure some of my friends must have experienced this, I don't remember actually seeing it first hand in high school.  I think I know what to say now, and to hold myself accountable I will post whatever I end up sending here in the near future. 

I digress however and my original question still stands: when did sleepovers lose their lure?  Is is since we moved out on our own and now home isn't necessarily a place that we can't get into nix level shenanigans?  I'm not sure but I do know that the fun of staying up late in someone elses house, sleeping on the floor and on couches and waking up far away from my own shower has lost its glitter and lure. A while back a friend of mine had a truly heart wrenching turn of life and needed some overnight company.  While I am glad that I was there, she truly needed other hearts beating around her that night, I didn't sleep and I ended up sick for over a week.  It was misery and I have to wonder, is this the first sign that my soul aging?  Or is it just that I've become that darn attached to my own bed?

My First British Thanksgiving

I bet you didn't know that those crazy Brits celebrate US Thanksgiving.  Should you toss the bull shit flag on this you'd be right (at least according to Wikipedia ) but if you think that Club Fun is going to let that fly, you'd be seriously understimating us. 

Meet Club Fun:

I think this might be the night that I learned you can put butter in rice
Deeeelish !

Matthew (former El Presidente del Equipo de Divertido, recently replaced by yours truly for survices rendered this past weekend) formally came into possession of a hard earned MBA from UF this past weekend.  Club Fun always endorses higher learning and celebrations were in order.  As is  par for the course with Club Fun meetings, funsies ensued. There was no cheese but there was beer, white wine spritzer, sushi and (a slightly belated) Thanksgiving, British style. 

Now, Matt is is your quintessential American guy.  He (rightfully) refers to football as football (none of that football-that-is-soccer nonsense pepetuated by the rest of the planet,) he quotes the Simpson's with inspiring accuracy and giggles when Harry Potter says "boogies."  Given all of this, it's usually a bit startling to meet his family who are all quite English.  Spend enough time with them and you'll find yourself using the words lovely and charming with increasing frequency.  This year, they had a belated Thanksgiving (awesome though they may be, they are Brits and thus are okay with having Thanksgiving in December) while Matt and Ashleigh were in town and I was invited to join.    This is nothing short of outstanding for me.

So you see, I've been hearing about the English Thanksgiving menu since I met Matt almost a decade ago. His American-ness encomapasses a zeal for Thanksgiving that puts most Thanksgiving enthusiasts to shame.  His enthusiasm stems from a love of gravy and he all but waxes poetic as he describes the house made of stuffing balls that he plans to fill with gravy and then roof with sausages.  Sausages you say?  Yes, British Thanksgiving includes sausages:

I have to say that they are an OUSTANDING addition to traditional Thanksgiving fodder and there will be sausages at Thanksgiving next year, this I can promise you.  British Thanksgiving was everything that I had dreamed it to be with tasty wine and amazing food made by Matthew's quite lovely and charming mom.  They don't have to include me in these family events but it certainly gives me warm fuzies that they do. 

And, because this was technically a Club Fun meeting, this entry wouldn't be complete without some Sabra lovin'.  She is the mascot after all.  And so I leave you with the unbearable cuteness that is Seniorita Sabra:

She's WAAAY bigger now but this is so unbearably
cute that I just have to post it :)

Finally something worthwhile...

In other news, the FDA grudgingly granted approval for the use of more alcohol to cure early morning hangovers.

Glad to see they're earning their paychecks.

(tehe hehehe he he he)

QotD: something greater than yourself

"If you can look at one of those waves and feel this wind and you don't believe that there's something greater than we are, then you've got some serious analyzing to do and you should go sit under a tree for a very long time." 

The Wave: In Pursuit of the Rogues, Freaks and Giants of the Ocean 

by Susan Casey

Ashleigh. AKA My Easy Button

Meet Ashleigh!

It came to my attention today that Ashleigh might just be my own personal Easy Button.  Regardless of how random or odd the dilemma or question at hand is, Ashleigh always seems to have a suggestion or solution that actually works!  It's the effective part of her solution that always amazes me, it's like she has the Bat Phone to problem solving central. 

When I was looking for a good book....

 ...here's a book that you'd never have 

even thought of picking up yet you will love! Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver and In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan were all results of the Ashleigh  recommendation hot-line.

I need Christmas music that won't drive everyone around me insane...

 ...try A Very Special Christmas 3.

It's no John Denver and the Muppet's but it's Christmas-y and a little less of an assault of other people's ear drums. 

I'm having trouble confronting a friend about how their actions are hurting me and people I love....

 ....here, based on what you told me 

I wrote a well reasoned, kind and balanced email to said friend explaining in a fair and measured way, the issues that you're having. 

I need jeans...

 ....oh, there are designer jeans on sale

at TJ Maxx right now...btw, you're a size 29.

I want to go on vacation before tackling graduate school...

 ...let's go to Mexico!  I'll organize it!

I found us an amazingly beautiful hotel, rented a car for about 35 cents a day and oh wait...here's a bunch of outrageously nice snorkel gear that we can use while we're there! 

There are many many more instances that I could use to prove my point, but I'm guessing that you pretty well have the gist of it.  It's a wonderful twist of fate as it were, I get this lovely person as a friend AND a myriad of solutions too boot. 

Happy Feet

Just sharing my morning smile with the inter-tubes :)

My Charlie Brown Christmas Tree

With Thanksgiving all said and done I turn to decorating for Christmas. 

This is my very favorite of the holidays (I mean, who doesn't love twinkle lights!) So as soon as the turkey fryin' peanut oil had be scrubbed from the kitchen counters, it was time to find a tree. I know that some people decorate for Christmas before Thanksgiving but I for one oppose this.  As fabulous as it is to have twinkle lights and decorations up, it's just positively brutish to brush over perfectly respectable and enjoyable holidays like Halloween and Thanksgiving in the rush to begin celebrating Christmas. Christmas has the whole of December dedicated to it, there's just no need to go encroaching on November. However, November is now over and  I see no reason to drag my feet. 

I really love to celebrate: holidays, birthdays, seasons, presidents, natural phenomena...I love them all.  I've written about Birthday Month before (here and here) and how so very often this penchant for celebration is seen as selfish or egocentric and maybe it is.  Still, if we don't celebrate the good times, then how will we remember them? How will we be able to stock pile them for future use during the bad times?  This (and I say this with the appropriate amount of humility and gratitude) is a good time for me and come what may, I want to remember it.

I've never really even thought twice about getting a Christmas tree but this year I have to admit that I was a little nervous about the havoc Murry might choose to wreak over said tree.  I'm okay with some innocent batting at a swinging branches or two but I'm just not looking forward to coming home to the tree toppled and crashed through the coffee table.  Joe Lewis is a pretty laid back kitty and I don't worry so much that he might kamikaze dive bomb the Christmas tree while we're at work but Murry has been a bit of a maniac as of late.  He's developed a propensity for turning kibble into a huntable substance in order to maintain his energy levels for attacking the toilet paper rolls and then celebrating his triumph with a celebratory writhe amongst the masticated bits of conquered t.p.  Thus, our tree may be in danger and a plan was formulated. 

Wes purchased our tree (a first for him!) and we decided to set it up and just leave it for a day or two to let the branches settle and test run the determination of Mur-Monster in conquering the tree.  It was thusly I discovered that an undecorated tree is just a creepy tree lurking the corner of my living room.  Not quite the festive aura I was hoping for and so only 24 uneventful hours passed until, fortified with a glass of Malbec and the Muppet's (with John Denver) singing Christmas carols in the background I created my Charlie Brown Christmas Tree 2010.  Not to be confused with Charlie the Christmas Plant of course, but festive all the same.

And so replete with twinkle lights and stockings for the kitties we snuggle down and prepare to enjoy the holidays.

QotD: big words

" 'Fucking ineffable' sounds like someone remembering how to do self-censorship halfway through a phrase."

- XKCD: A Web Comic of Romance, Sarcasm, Math, and Language.

Mr. Beistle

I went to a Celebration of Life the other day for one of my teachers from high school: Mike Beistle, from here on out referred to as "Mr. Beistle" because that is how I knew him. Even though I hadn't seen Mr. Beistle in over a decade I went because think that funerals are important, in part because it is a kindness to the family but also because I think genuine remembrance is the most sincere and poignant gift a person can give.

Even before I went tonight I knew that more than remembering on my own, I'd be hearing about other people's memories.  Mr. Beistle was my teacher for one year and my memories are literally nothing in comparison to those of his friends.  I was glad that I went because while I will always remember Mr. Beistle with a smile, he wasn't necessarily the teacher that touched my life and changed it forever.  Sitting in the Hippedrome on Sunday I got to hear from the students whose lives both in high school and after were significantly warmer and safer because of him, students who chose to be involved in theater, art and performance rather than pursue more traditional paths because he told them that they could and that it really was okay.  We went to a private college prep school and while it was filled with amazing teachers and people of all kinds, Mr. Beistle was unique in that he encouraged student to following their passions and dreams even when doing so would take them down different, perhaps less affluent paths.

One of the best things that was said of Mr. Beistle at the celebration was said by his best friend: "He could always make me laugh.  In part because he was pretty quick but also because, well, Mike was just a really strange human being."  I hope that someone loves me enough to say that of me at my own funeral.

Thanksgiving 2010

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays, I think maybe this is because its based around something that I absolutely adore: social eating.  Social eating reached a whole new fever pitch this year: Wes deep fried a turkey:

I'm so thankful that Wes does Turkey duty on Thanksgiving, I'm generally not sqeemish about meat but preparing a turkey just really doesn't ring my bell.   So while deep frying a turkey makes me feel a little bit back words, it was super tasty and with the added bonus of freeing up valuable realestate in the oven. 

We sampled some of the worlds strongest beer: the Sink the Bismark:

AT 42% alcohol its much more akin to a shot of whisky then beer AND I can say from personal experience, it can be lit on fire. Yet we drank this, though admittedly not much of it.  It tasted a lot like I imagine drowning in jet fuel would taste. 

And then we ate:

What's there not to be thankful for this year?

Stand back! I am about to do science!

In middle school they teach you about the scientific method.  In the drive to make learning authentic and pertinent they make you apply it to all sorts of non-sciency things, like the best locker location or whether candy bars improve student achievement on tests.  Perhaps I would have paid more attention had I known that the fruits of the scientific method would someday pay my bills.  Probably not, but I would definitely have paid more attention had I known how down right practical and useful it could be.  Thus...

A dual-arm trial comparing of Kleen King Copper Cleaner and Ketchup in the efficacious removal of CuO/CuS tarnish from T-Fal Copper Bottom, Stainless Steel Cookware

Observation: The copper bottoms of my pots and pans is tarnished and dirty.

Hypothesis: I hypothesize that ketchup will remove the tarnish from my pots and pans better than Kleen King Copper Cleaner (also known as: the stuff found underneath my kitchen sink.)

Predictions: Given the natural acidity in ketchup (and since I've been told that this works), I predict that it will remove the tarnish but be difficult to keep on the vertical surfaces of the pot, thus resulting in an inconsistent shine. 

The Experiment:

A poorly designed, two arm trial with, varying degree's of tarnish and no control arm. 

Then we applied the tarnish removers:

Applied some elbow grease to Exhibit A and let the ketchup rest on Exhibit B for...well...as long as it took to apply the elbow grease. :)

Scrub, scrub, scrub.  Rinse, rinse, rinse.  And voila!

Conclusions:

1. The ketchup worked!  Even factoring in the darker tarnish on the copper-polish one, I didn't have to scrub, scrub, scrub on the pot on the right.  The shiney-fication just happened on its own,which I do find to be kinda cool.  

2. Should you find yourself with any residual ketchup on your hands during the rinsing process, don't lick it off.  The tarnish dissolution process seriously messes with the flavor.  It took at least half a beer to rinse the taste to stupidity from my mouth.

almost....there

Sometimes I feel like my cat maybe understands me better than most people.  I also strongly suspect that this week is never actually going to end.

Danger Mouse v. Gargamel

While we're on the topic of things that never actually change, add to that list the entertainment value inherent in bodily functions.  The Gator game last night was so disappointing that I'll skip right over it and move on the boxing match: Manny Pacquiao v. Antonio Margarito.  You know the game had to be bad when I'd rather talking about boxing.

So, Pacquiao vs. Margarito can best be likened to Danger Mouse fighting Gargamel:

Clearly, given my penchant for underdogs and those who resemble cartoons I was in the Pacquiao corner, especially after finding out that Margarito has a history of being a cheater.  Anyone who packs plaster into his hand wrappings not only defames the spirit of Rocky Balboa (who lets face it, is the standard by which I judge all fighters) but more importantly, earns my personal disdain.  I'm sure he lays awake at night mourning of the loss of my regards. Then...

THEN

I found out that Manny Pacquiao, the pride of the Philippines, drinks his own pee.   Yes, Danger Mouse drinks his own urine because it 'returns the nutrients' to his body.  That. Is. Disgusting.  I have serious qualms about rooting for someone who drinks their own pee.  This man also hold public office in the Philippine Government, how does one get elected when your pee drinking penchant is publically known?  Obviously this became a much mulled over topic and given how people rose to the occasion,  potentially the hightlight.  Only rivaled by the measuring of foot vs. forearm lengths, it was just another night in pants-dropping Gainesville, you know you're jealous.

Ultimately despite a significant weight and height disadvantage Danger Mouse triumphed over Gargamel in a decisive way. One thing I will give Margarita is that despite his mullet, that man is tough.  His face took a beating that makes me queasy and ultimately required surgery on his face to repair the damage done to his eye sockets.  That's one tough maniac, though I suppose if we compared his face to that of the guy who took a beating from his plastered hands...it might have been deserved.

Quote of the Day

"It's hard not to think of the 4 other guys who have slept in this bed.  All are dead.  Or POW's. I'm caught up in someting damn big, bigger than I can fathom.  Much bigger than my own little dreams and preoccupations."

-- Bert Stiles, 23 yo from CO. 

 Served as a Co-Pilot of a B17 bomber out of England in WWII.

lift your own suitcase dammit!

It seriously bothers me when women bring carry-on luggage onto planes that they can't lift into the overhead bins.  It's ridiculous that the airlines are charging for bags and I understand that in the current economy, spending an additional $25 or $35 for your luggage just isn't necessarily within reach but seriously...lift some weights or pack less. 

This isn't to say that there's anything wrong when men are being polite or gentlemanly and they offer to help, it's when that help is expected or solicited.  Your vagina is not a disability, if you can't lift the bag above your head, take out the stuff you don't need or shell out the extra bucks.

A Night with the Cool Kids

It's crazy how the minute you think that everything in life has changed, you realize that actually nothing has changed.  Walking into a work reception/dinner where I don't know anyone feels strikingly similar to walking into the cafeteria the first day at a new middle school.  Thankfully, I did the new kid walk enough growing up that as an adult it isn't that bad.  A glass of wine or two helps too.

Now I assume that the zing you get when you realize you're at the 'cool kids table' is also one of those things that doesn't really change.  I can't tell you for sure because it never actually happened to me when I was in school, but last night I found myself as part of the 'cool kids' and the zing was unmistakable though not as purely pleasant as I would have thought.

Now I know that its a little late in life to be talking about the 'cool kids' but don't judge because you know damn well what I'm talking about.  At every large gathering there's usually the table that you maybe just momentarily wish you got to sit at because they seem like they're having way more fun than the rest; that's the cool kids table.   For those of us who have never been at said table...inclusion is an invigorating thrill even if it's a decade late.

One thing about the adult cool kids?  They can drink.  Holy shots of tequila can they drink.  There were pre-dinner cocktails, during dinner cocktails and after dinner dwinks too.  The peer pressure to join in on these dwinks was definitely there and I have to admit...I caved.  After a long day of conferencing on myelofibrosis, a stiff vodka drink is called for.  Perhaps not 8, but I was with the cool kids dammit!

The drinks they multiplied and as the night went on I discovered other things about the cool kids: inclusion is based on utility.  My usefulness apparently stems from a decades worth of work in restaurants combined with two decades worth of living in a college town: my knowledge of shot recipes is extensive.  One must earn their position in the cool kids corner and Washington Apples, Redheaded Sluts and Royal Flushes were my contribution. 

I also learned that my super sneaky shot hand-off maneuver can in fact be successfully executed alone with minimal adjustment.  While I know how to make all these shots, that doesn't mean I'll actually take them.  I have no desire to spend my evening worshiping the porcelain god and shots like these will pretty well guarantee that as an inevitability.  The shot hand-off maneuver is very useful when in groups of people who will shamelessly pressure alcohol upon the reluctant, you could fight them or you could just circumvent the whole deal, hand-off the shot and enjoy the show!  Success rates improve proportionate to the level of intoxication of your companions but when executed properly has a 90% success rate in the form of not vomiting up your own saliva the next morning.  I was very successful on Saturday night.

So as bar closed down around us and I prepared to make my way back to my hotel room, I discovered that my cool kids were not done but making plans for continued shenanigans.  It this point the inevitable made itself known.  I know exactly why I have never been nor will ever be anything but a guest at the cool kids table: screw that.  Eight hours of drinking and ridiculousness is waaay more than enough for me and as my friends know and my new cool friends discovered, ridicule all you'd like but when I say I'm going home, you'd best get the hell out of my way.

As I walked off on my own (in a well lit, safe area) and listened to the shouts from behind me I realized that the evening had boiled down to A LOT of work.  My night with the cool kids was fun but at the end of it all I realized, I don't really like the cool kids.  I'd rather make drunken cupcakes with Matthew and build a pillow fort with Club Fun on a cold rainy day.  Plus, I made it to breakfast the next morning and I'm pretty sure none of my cool friends did.  :)

Drat you Airport, drat you

Friday, November 5, 2010

When I was a teenager I used to dream about being an adult and traveling alone.  I'm not sure where I got the fabulous vision of traveling alone, probably a hybrid effect of teen magazines, Britney Spears' "Crossroads" and the driving desire to be anyone but myself.  Life on the other side of the dream isn't quite as idyllic and as I sit in this airport all I can think about is home.

I'm pretty okay with being on my own, which I think contributes significantly to the enjoyment of traveling alone.  At the outset there was also the additional liberation of walking where and however fast I want.  As the youngest in my family, I've spent most of my traveling life by default following either my parents or my sister and a little traveling autonomy was welcome.  Additional highlights included reading massive amounts of trash magazines without shame, drinking a beer with my breakfast and only having to contend with the stares of strangers instead of people who actually know me.  The novelty has since worn off however, along with the assumption that I'll actually follow you if we end up traveling together.  Now traveling alone also means that there's nobody to watch your luggage while you pee and there's also nobody to people watch with or exchange magazines with. 

I do like that my job includes traveling sometimes.  I've gotten to go to really fun places and I've stayed in fancy hotels that routinely out-fancy me but I have to admit that today, I'd really rather not

You see the weather is actually getting cold in the 'Ville this weekend and I am missing it.  I love for these random cool weekends in October and November in Florida that remind me "yes, it is indeed Fall" and I am missing it! There is a whooooole box of crackle fire logs sitting next to the fire place just waiting, waiting for the weather to descend to anywhere remotely resembling cool.  Wes, thoughtful as always purchased these logs about three weeks ago and I've been gazing longingly and wistfully at them ever since.  While gazing wistfully we've also been wondering if lighting a fire will cure Murry of his penchant for playing in the fireplace.  In theory sooty kitty footprints are helpful in figuring out what exactly the kittehs do during the day but in practice I'd be okay with not cleaning them off the mantle, bookcases, tables, bathroom floors and kitchen counters.  So much for training them to stay off the counters.  I digress but I just KNOW that while I'm gone Wes is going to light a fire, pull up the papsan and snuggle down with a book and the kittehs and I'M GOING TO MISS IT!!

I guess I didn't factor turning into a Hobbit into my fantastic traveling fantasy.

To Miami I went

Ah home.  Much like hobbits, I love being home and there's nothing quite like leaving home to remind me how much I my own bed, my kitties and my Wes.   It's boarderline pathetic I know, to become minimally homesick over the course of barely two days, yet there I was, hour 45 and just desperate to be home.  Still, being sent to Miami for work to learn something new is hard to complain about and there were definitely fun parts, so for your reading pleasure, I'll hit the high points:

2/3 of Club Fun had delicious Greek lunch.  Ashleigh put it best and so I quote:
    "that time we were both in Miami and got together for lunch but I got lost
     and you had to stand on a corner like a homing beacon and I paid a toll
     in pennies and we ate Greek food and drank Starbucks and I paid $15 to park
    in the scariest parking garage ever? That was awesome! :)"

Then I went to a conference where we talked about herpes and the impact of the latter on immunocompromised patients for TWO DAYS.  Seriously, two days of looking at pictures of and discussing herpes.  Varisella Zoster, HSV, Cytomegalovirus, Esptein Barr and that one with the insanely long name that I have no shot in hell of remembering. You get where I am going?  Lots and lots and looooooots of herpes, which brings us to high points numbers two, three and four:

Lots of coffee:

lots of coke can-bottles (which I find to be odd in a less than pleasant way):

and a little bit of happy hour while waiting for my flight home:

It was an interesting couple of days and when I got home I realized that this is where I love to be.  So I snuggled down in my bed and sent up a prayer of gratitude to the Universe for the fact that home equals happy.   Can't fight it and wouldn't if I could.

Meatless Monday Success!

The past few weeks I have tried to participate in Meatless Mondays (hence forth to be referred to as MM) not because I want to be a vegetarian (I'm not sure that I want to live in a world without cheeseburgers and steak) but because I see the health and environmental benefit to eating juuust a little bit less meat and a few more veggie.  I also think that it'll help me expand my veggie repertoire from the same old veggies that I prepare each week, perhaps encouraging me to eat more veggies, more often. My ass is displeased with this plan as it fears that it may, as a result of MM have a smaller role to play in upcoming years. Fear not ass-of-mine, I suspect that you are here to stay regardless of MM.

My previous attempts at MM have only been partially successful as I've ended up with turkey on a sandwich or bacon bits on a salad each time I've tried. This past Monday marks my first, 100% successful MM!

Breakfast:

Lunch:

Dinner:

I'll admit that breakfast and lunch weren't too terribly impressive but I was quite pleased and satisfied with my Naan bread pizza with pesto, zucchini, tomatoes and goat cheese. This particular MM was both adherent to the concept and (far more importantly) tasty and satisfying.

ah to be cool someday...

Some day, I think that I'd like to be cool. Full of pith, wit and bite, I'd be mysterious and intriguing as I lurked in corners sipping on a cool glass of something. My friend Nicole is in fact cool.  Not only does she have amazing and impeccable personal style, she also just flew to Miami a few weekends ago to style a celebrities hair.  While Nicole also does my hair, that doesn't really make me cool, it's just her lending me an iota of her coolness every 6 to 8 weeks.

Recent events has brought it to my attention the past few weeks that despite my most fervent hopes to be cool, it's probably not going to happen. 

Cool girls have Bitch Face and I do not have Bitch Face.  Instead of Bitch Face I have Let Me Feed and Snuggle You Face.  While it's fail proof in seducing parents, cops, teachers and puppies, it is most assuredly not cool. 

Cool people manage to take things in stride and keep their shit in check, they're...for lack of a better descriptor...coooool.  I on the other hand tend to get inordinately excited over common place or even mundane happenings.  The little old lady who waved and gave me the thumbs up from the passenger seat of her car while I was running?  Yup, completely made my run and to be honest, the rest of my day.

I'm not particularly graceful, I have a penchant for attempting maneuvers far above my skill level and then masterfully landing on my butt or hurting myself in front of lots of people.  Its one of many reasons that I can most often be found in flip-flops.  I can't hold my liquor and I can't take shots, two must have skills for the cool girl set so I'm told.  I still love the Anne of Green Gables books series, and while I've admitted that I might as well cop to the Twilight series and the Little House on the Prairie books.  I like museums and libraries and would rather spend a day at either one rather than attend the Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party for even one more minute of my life. I think that someday I'd really like to learn to knit, it seems like a productive and useful skill to have.

So yeah, I think that maybe it's time to give up on chasing the ghost known Coolness. I think that I'm pretty well okay with that too.

Quote of the Day

"The very purpose of religion is to control yourself, not to criticize others. Rather, we must criticize ourselves. How much am I doing about my anger? About my attachment, about my hatred, about my pride, my jealousy? These are the things which we must check in daily life".

-          The Dali Lama

To clear up the confusion

There's been some confusion as to why I posted a YouTube clip of Grover, espousing the benefits of smelling like a monster.  Sheesh, you people must live under rocks!  Grover is spoofing Old Spice.  Below is the original commercial, and below that, I've reposted Grover. :)

Quote of the Day

"Hell's just another word for far from home, without your mittens on."

thinking longingly of that time when I was consumed with forming naive yet profound world views

This past weekend the Gators played LSU at home.  It was an ugly, ugly, ugly game and in lieu of dwelling on the ugliness that was the game, we will more on to more important topics, like tailgating.  A weekend of tailgating is good for my soul in that it reminds me of that oh so sweet period of life when I lived on bagels and didn't gain weight from it. I have several friends who attended colleges that didn't have football teams and will argue the superiority of such schools.  While I'm sure in some ways they're right, I went to college in the SEC which is just one step away from the fanaticism of Texas and college without football just doesn't make sense to me.

This past Friday and Saturday, I celebrated the upcoming game in true college fashion: downtown on Friday night, tailgating on Saturday afternoon.  Granted, the vacuuming and dusting that occurred early Saturday morning are less reminiscent of college, but they needed to be done and I can only suspend reality so far. 

The first and by far most life altering discovery this past weekend was that Ichiban Sushi serves curry.  Not just curry, but delicious and amazing curry.  Having previously assumed that my best options in Gainesville for curry were Chopstix and Amarit Palace, this is nothing less than huge. Chopstix is tasty but only if you have at least an hour to wait and don't particularly fancy water with your food.  Amarit Palace is much better known around these parts as Armpit Palace and well, I think that really speaks for itself.  So to find out that delicious curry can be had in conjunction with drinks and without a funky smell...well that's a win win. I hope you had a tight hold on your nipples, they might have flown off with the enormity of this news.

 A little less life altering (but not by much) is the discovery that LSU fans apparently smell like corn dogs. Strange, I know, but according to the rumor the drunk and anti-LSU bar cohort, true!  This was confirmed by the greater population of Durty Nelly's who took to yelling "I SMELL CORN DOGS" any time some LSU fans walked in the door. I'm not sure how I missed this stellar form of psychological warfare for the past ten years but I like it!

I also learned that I still have it.  Infer what you like, Sisters #1 and #2 (who probably don't read this blog) know what I'm talking about.

Saturday was beautiful out and so the last minute call to go tailgating was made. My favorite thing about tailgating is that it's perfect for wandering.  During my wanderings I had to make my way down Frat Row.  There have been times that I've looked back on college and thought: maybe I should have done that.  Walking down Frat Row on Saturday, I have never been more confident in my decision NOT to join a sorority. I find comfort in that I'll never wonder about that ever again.  Past Frat Row I bumped into some high school friends (one turned co-worker recently) and, as was appropriate given they were the last people I did such a thing with, shotgunned a beer.  (Sorry Mama.) I now remember why I don't shotgun beers - they make me burp like Homer Simpson.  Super klassy.

Moving on my way, I joined the Gainesville branch of my fam at their Tailgate for the rest of the afternoon.  I don't know why it's so satisfying to sit in a field, drink and joke but it is.  There's nothing like mid fall tailgating in Florida

And so here I find myself, thinking longingly of that time when I formed naive and profound world views that were immediately proven to be wrong the minute I stepped out into the real world. Ahh college, I don't really miss you but I do remember you fondly.

Fall...how do I love thee

We have officially entered my favorite time of year: Fall. Even living in a place where there isn't actually an Autumn but rather (as my Mama would call it) a Not Quite So Hot season, I still love it. 

I love that during the entirety of Fall, I barely work a full week of work.   Living in a Commie Socialist Marxist stronghold of Gainesville, we enjoy holidays such as Labor Day, Veterans Day and Homecoming.  Columbus be damned, we celebrate the Gators around here. 

Fall also notes the decline of humidity from the triple digits into the double digits.  This past week we've gotten to open the windows, take the top off the Jeep and reduce the amount of anti-frizz serum that I shelack into my hair each morning from buckets full to juuuust a palm full.  Dehydration has become less of a daily risk and my morning coffee tastes SO MUCH BETTER when I'm not sweating. I can also burning my pumpkin pie and mulled apple cider candles without shame. 

Fall means football.  Now, if you've ever met me you know that I couldn't give an emu's patootie about football.  I confess that I spent every Monday night of middle school and most of high school in the comfy blue chair reading a book while my family watched Christ Berhman and Monday night football.  It's fall damnit and this counts as family time.  Never the less, once I got to college, football took on a whole new meaning: beer. Just kidding. It came to mean friends, consistant part-ay-ing and (depending on the time of the game) screwdrivers and beer. One requires variety after all. 

While in Gainesville am a lackluster Gator fan at best, the minute I leave Alachua County I apparently become a RABID Gator fan. I have been lucky the past few years to have the opportuinty to travel quite a bit for work and these travels have, at times, required that I watch the Gators from hotel and airport bar.  It's strange that I actually seek a bar that's playing the game and even more bizzare that watch it in it's entirely, alone.  I've made several friends this way, more than I would have thought but apparenlty there's something about a girl, in a bar, yelling at the football game that attracts company. :)

Fall means soup and halloween.  It means Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Cool(ish) nights and the potential for a fire or two in the fireplace.  It means pumpkin spice lattes and open-air arts festivals. 

Sigh...I love Fall.

QotD: West Wing :)

"You can throw me in a vat of custard with a chocolate covered snorkel, it's gonna be you and me this weekend baby and YOU will be wearing a floppy hat!"

- Josh Lyman

The West Wing; Season 5

Quote of the Day

"A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity;  an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty"

- Winston Churchill

Finally, an intelligent blog post

Seriously cannot stop giggling: The Fart Soundboard

fart    (färt) Vulgar Slang 

intr.v. fart·ed, fart·ing, farts

1. To expel intestinal gas through the anus; break wind.
2. To fool around; fritter time away.
3. The act of farting.

n.

1. An often audible discharge of intestinal gas.
2. An annoying or foolish person.
   
   
   
   

We like to say that we come to work each day to make a difference in the fight to cure cancer.  Really, we just love working with people who are completely okay with bodily functions.  And we like to giggle.

Thank's Dave for the link!

Quote of the Day

"I'm so sorry for the delay, I was munching on a bag of chips and time flies when you're eating chips."

Oh no they didn't

Sometimes, I like bad TV.  Yes, yes, I said it.  I like bad TV, the crap kind that rots my brain, whittles away at my self respect and encourages a life of depravity and sin. There's several levels of crappiness and for those days when Jersey Shore is a little too much, but Gilmore Girls isn't?  I turn to Say Yes to the Dress.  Just in case you have been living under a rock, Say Yes to the Dress capitalizes on the wedding mania that has seemingly gripped the under-40, female portion of the nation.  A 'reality' show based in Kleinfelds in NYC, each episode follows several brides while they try to find the wedding dress of their dreams.  If there is any show that elevates the Wedding over the Marriage, it is this one. 
The triumph of The Wedding over Marriage is nothing new but the glorification of it seems to be reaching a fever pitch.   There is a rhetoric that seems to surround weddings lately ( i.e. "MY special day" or the day that "I am a princess") that is lacking in the concept of 'we' that I thought was inherent in matrimony.  Please don't get me wrong - I've been to many heartfelt, sincere and beautiful weddings the past few years and I know that the concept of marriage is alive and well.  It's just this idea perpetuated by shows such as Say Yes to the Dress in which women, who identify having a more than ample budget of 3 thousand dollars with which to purchase a dress, throw all caution to the wind and spend the equivalent of the down payment for a house instead.  All because it is what they want.

My disdain for the ideals being portrayed in this show is hypocritical because it in no way, shape or form dissuades me from watching it.  The dresses are beautiful, there's just no way around that.  The people range from from blase to dramatic, completely normal to flaming insane.  They yell, they cry and then they just start making shit up.  It's always a good time, mostly because I can almost always find the entertainment value in the unwarranted tears of the self-absorbed and insane. 


While watching Say Yes today I saw an add for a special episode called "Say Yes to the Dress: Big Bliss."  A special show that showcases plus sized brides searching for their dream wedding dresses.

Excuse me?

I have to admit, my first reaction was positive.  The average size of a bride-to-be on this show is a size 4, four full sizes below the national average.  A more realistic pool of women searching for dresses would be welcome indeed, thank God for it!   Then it hit me.  Our own show?  Really?  My ass actually needs to be separated from smaller asses in IT'S OWN SHOW?

Oh. No. They. Didn't.

This attempt to be culturally relevant, to not perpetuate the image of starving, bony women as the ideal of beauty does the exact opposite.  It says that maybe it's okay to be larger than a size four, but while you are not exactly inferior, you are most certainly not equal.  In fact, you need your own show, because if we put you in the regular show then people wouldn't watch.  Yes, obesity is an issue in this country and yes it should be addressed, but it should not be divisive.  Fat is not a whole different demographic. If you want to support women of all different sizes then do it, but don't separate them into categories. 

 There has been a lot of press lately regarding a comment made by an actress from the HBO series, True Blood.  When asked about her diet and exercises regimen, Kristin Bauer admitted that she is, and for as long as she continues to be in show business will continue to be, hungry.  This is the price she willingly pays for being an actress.

I am glad that Kristin Bauer was honest.  I am glad that she did not toe the line of every size two actress out there who insists they eat cake and carbs and everything delicious, just "in moderation." I am glad in the way I was when Gwen Stephani told reporters that her body was not accidental, rather it was the result of hard work and never taking a day off from her diet.  Women are telling the truth about what they pay and sacrifice to be "beautiful" even when its insane, yet they continue to do it.  Somewhere along the way we decided that not eating was an okay sacrifice, that thin tastes better than cheesecake.

There is something that tastes better than being thin.  It's called self-respect.

A Concert Series

I've decided that its time for me to come clean.  It's time to stop cowering behind the information that I surreptitiously glean from conversations and car rides with Wes.  It's time to own up: I have abysmal taste in music.

The best one can say about my taste in music is that it is eclectic if inequitable.  I love Tom Waits, Bob Dylan and Fleetwood Mac, but I also loooove Britney, Taio Cruz and Katy Perry.  It may seem wrong and deplorable but they are like children: different (VERY different) but equally loved and appreciated despite the disparity in their technical skill sets. 

Given this information, one would not anticipate what I am about to talk about.  It's one of those unlikely pairings like Othello and Desdemona, or maple syrup and pickles.  There's something about good live music that makes me want to shake my rrrump, smile, close my eyes and sway all at the same time. Just like there's nothing like a good thumping base (and some vodka) to make me shake my money maker, there's nothing like a concert to make me want to smile.

In July, Wes and I saw Dave Matthews Band in West Palm.  For those of you just tuning in, West Palm Beach is synonymous with amazing because it means I get to see Club Fun for a night.  Since the Universe was feeling kind said reunion occurred over an outstanding coconut shrimp sushi role. Thank you oh holiest of Universes for Hog Snappers all things akin to a coconut shrimp sushi roll.

Back to my point: DMB.  I have to admit that even though I've seen them live the last three out of four years, I don't love, love, LOVE DMB.  I like Dave Matthews Band but my like is pretty well limited to their songs with words.  What can I say, I like to sing along.  DMB live though is a lot of jamming, I'm sure it's a lot of fun for the band but I have to admit it doesn't exactly make my nipples fly off.  Regardless, while I sat on the lawn in the West Palm Amphitheater and I realized that I was just plain, uncomplicated happy.   Maybe it was the gigantic beers after a day at the pool, or maybe it was the relief of not getting caught in a South Florida summer rainstorm. Maybe it was being asked: "hey, will you stand in front of me so that strangers won't see me pee into this empty beer cup." I don't really know but I do know that I was just really...content. It was this amazing weekend that I haven't blogged about it because I just didn't know how to explain this contentedness with getting all gooey, mundane and cliche. I'm okay with gooey but there's nothing worse than mundane and cliche.

This past weekend we went to see O.A.R at the St. Augustine Amphitheater and I got it.  Somewhere amidst the pot smoke and saxophone playing I got it.  I love concerts because they are giant assemblage of happy people.  Everyone at a concert is happy.  People dance like arm flailing is going out of style and nobody's watching so the just go for it. Watching the other concert-goers this past weekend there was a freedom, a pure, unadulterated sense of glee and the need to move one's body in accordance. That is what I love about live music.