Well hello! So I've been away for a few days and then I was working on a new site. We just got iWeb and David created a site for his artwork. Then I decided to try to move the blog over to that. Well. It seems to have tacked mine onto David's. So I wrote something, but it's over there. Come on over and see what's going on. It's not all done, but perhaps it will work. If it doesn't, I'll just keep using blogger.

Charm for sale When we were in Hawaii in January, we met a couple -- Sarah and Steven -- from Wisconsin. We've stayed in touch and now they're selling their house. Sarah has created (or had someone create) a Web site showing photographs of their home and giving information about it. It's so cute it makes me want to buy it and move there. You can see it here. If you know anyone who lives in that area who is looking for houses, you should pass this along. It's a great price and it's so adorable that it shouldn't be on the market long. (Did I mention they're photographers? That's why the photos are so awesome.) Even if you're not looking for a house in Hartford, Wisconsin, you should look at it anyway. I just could look at it all the day long.

Not next door to me So I have this fascination with a show. Not not Friends (this time). It's "Girls Next Door." Have you heard of this show? It's about Hugh Hefner's three girlfriends. I know, I know. It sounds really bad, but I just can't look away from it. Now here's the ironic part. While I was watching it the other day, David asked me, "Why are you watching that crap?" Is he kidding? It's about Hugh Hefner, Playboy and three hot chicks. Well, hot if you find bottle blonde and maybe a couple fake body parts (for some of them perhaps. But not Bridget. Hers are real. See, I just know too much about them.) hot. But what guy wouldn't? My husband. That's apparently who. I brought up these (ahem) points with him. They're young (Kendra, the youngest one, is about 21. And Holly is 25, which kind of surprised me. I thought she was around 30. Bridget is 31. They just don't look that young to me. Maybe it's all the makeup -- they just look ageless, like they could be 25 or they could be 36.), blonde and are sometimes (to say the least) scantily clad. Hugh Hefner should be his God. He has three girlfriends who live with him. But what does my husband say? "That's just weird. And I don't like that died blonde hair. And they're stupid." But he doesn't watch the show, so how would be know if they're stupid? Well, they're not. Sure Kendra apparently skipped a lot of classes in high school. (She asked if the Statue of Liberty was a real person. Though she could have meant if it was modeled after a real person, but it didn't sound like that at first. The answer, by the way, is yes. Liberty's face was modeled after the sculptor's mother. So there. But then, she did have to ask who Barbara Walters is. Oh yeah! AND she didn't know what the mile-high club is. I mean, how does that happen!?) But Bridget, she's pretty darned smart and has two degrees in communications and is working toward a master's in broadcasting. Sure it's unconventional and some people might (or do) argue that Playboy objectfies women and all that. But no one forces them into that magazine. And no one forces those girls to live in that mansion with Hugh Hefner, be waited on all the time, drive fancy cars and have their own TV show. (Um, hi Hef. Wink, wink. Oh just kidding. Calm down, people.) The girls seem to be cool people who really like each other. And they don't seem to be jealous of one another at all. I don't know how they do that. I'd be totally jealous. And they don't talk about the logistics of the situation at all, which I think intrigues me the most. How does that work exactly? Is there a schedule like on Big Love? And the guy's 80 for god's sake. How could he... oh nevermind, you get where I'm going with this. This whole topic reminds me of something else too. There's this guy who always asks me what I'm reading. His books are always political histories and such. (SNORE.) I think one day when he asks me, I'm gonna say "The History of Porn!" Just to see what he says.

Say it ain't soooo-ew-wooa-wooa Sometimes right before I fall asleep, I have all these grand blog ideas. Alas, by morning they are kaput. But as I started typing just now I remembered something I'd wanted to post about for a long time. It doesn't have much to do with the title, but I like that title, so we'll just keep that there for now, mmkay? So back to that first phrase... Sometimes right before I fall asleep... I hear voices. Not scary voices or anything. Usually it's David or my mom, dad, sister. You know, family types. And they never have anything useful or psychic to say. Just random things like "I fed the dogs earlier." Or "Your hair looks nice." Or "Why did that guy just do that?" Those aren't exact quotes, but you get the idea. It's never occurred to me freaked out by this or even that it's freaky. It's not scary voices or scary people. But I wonder why I do that. And if it's weird. Or if other people do that.

My life, my books OK Stephanie, here you go. It took a while, but I finally asked myself these questions about my friends the books. Name one book that has changed your life "Mr. Pine's Purple House" This was apparently my first book. From my grandfather. He always took credit for how much I liked to read. Ok, I have to mention two books. I'm sorry, but one? ONE!? The first one is from when I was a kid. This was the first interior design(ish) book I bought -- and the most useful one to someone who really just wants to make better use of what they have. "Use What You Have Decorating." We'll just ignore the little fact that it should really by use-what-you-have decorating. Sigh. One book that you have read more than once? "My Antonia" by Willa Cather One book that you would want on a desert(ed) island? Can I have a set? I'd say the Little House on the Prairie books just because they're very comforting. My fourth grade teacher read those aloud to us. God I loved that. After about two days on a deserted island, I would probably start to go a little nuts and need some good memories. One book that made you laugh? "Of Mice and Men." I don't know why or what I laughed at exactly. Not the mouse squeezing, that's for sure. But I did. I laughed. One book that made you cry? I read this book when I was a teenager and still think about it once in a while. It was called "P.S. I Love You" and I even found it on Amazon. I really should buy it. I cried and cried after i finished this book. It's about a girl whose parents are getting divorced and she has to spend her summer in Palm Springs. She falls in love with this boy (of course) and spends the summer with him, but at the end he dies because he had cancer. I sobbed, I tell you. And she got a bumper sticker that said "P.S. I love you," which of course meant Palm Springs. But the boy's name was Paul Straub. (I even remember that name after all these years. Scarred for life!) One book you wish had been written? Well, the one I'd like to write. I wish I'd already written it, I mean. And nope, I'm not telling you my ideas because you might steal them. I can't have that. One book you wish had never been written? Hmm. There are so many substandard books these days, huh? I guess I'd have to say Wintering by Kate Moses. I spent a lot of time trying to read that book and when I got to the end, I wanted to throw it across the room. It was supposed to be (loosely) based on Sylvia Plath's life right before she killed herself, but it just didn't work that well. That's my opinion anyway. One book you are currently reading? "A Year in the Merde" by Stephen Clarke. It's (fiction or almost true, the book claims) about a Brit who is spending a year in Paris to open a chain of tearooms. Basically, the French through the eyes of the British, which is kinda cool so far. One book you've been meaning to read? There are so so many. "Hard News" -- it's about the New York Times and the scandals at the NYT and what they mean for American media. All the books on this part of my list tend to be nonfiction. But I really have to be in the mood for nonfiction, which doesn't happen all that often.

Something to occupy my mind For one thing, why are weekend so short? Not fair. For two things, I'm off to Lowe's to see some tile and paint my mom picked out for her kitchen. Actually, this will be the second paint color she'll try. She has patches of Restoration Hardware's silver sage on the walls, but it's too dark. So I'm off to find something else and some kind of white for the trim. She said my dad told her not to use antique white (which I love) because it's too yellow. Humph. What does he know? He's just doing the renovation. (New floors -- termites -- remodeling the kitchen and bathroom, taking out a wall to make a bedroom bigger, creating some closets...) In two weeks, David and I are going up to help out. We'll be painting and hopefully helping do some cool stuff like hanging cabinets and/or tiling the countertop and backsplash.

Something happens when the fever breaks I've been hiding from the heat. Yes, in my house with the air conditioning. And yes, that is where my computer is. But as the weather page put it the other day, we've been experiencing "oppressive heat" here on the East Coast the past week. Corrospondingly, my mood has been oppressive and perhaps a little oppressed. And sad a little. I don't know why. Or maybe I just don't want to admit to myself why because admitting it means I'd actually have to do something about it. Or recognize that yes, in fact, I hate this aspect of my life and we might have to move. And I don't mean neighborhoods. (Although that would be good too considered we were awoken (? I'm so not looking that up right now) at 8 a.m. by the idiot neighbor banging on his open doorway with a hammer. For two hours. If he hasn't beaten whatever that is back into place in two and a half hours, he needs professional help. Which I think he needs anyway, but that's a whole other topic.) We're talking cities at the least and maybe even states. The whole idea is just too much for me to think about right now. I've always lived in Virginia. I like it here. My family is here. Actually, they're already about three hours away which makes it hard to see them very often. But we can't move back there because job opportunities stink and real estate has just exploded there. And we don't want to move to the mess of Northern Virginia. Anyway, we're looking around and weighing options. Starting over somewhere else is oddly appealing but also terrifying and bittersweet.

Lengths We were on our way to drop off some artwork that David just completed. The last time we'd tried to go to this woman's house, he got lost and we spent eons just driving around in a completely different area of town from where she lived. (Which is OK and not really the point of this story. It's just background. Oh yes, and we were in the Mini Cooper.) Me: Are you sure you know where we're going this time? D: Yes. Me: Are we getting off the highway soon? D: Yes. Why? Me: I just wondered why you're tailgated that car. D: I'm not tailgating. I'm a car length away. Me: Well, you're supposed to be three car lengths away. D: Nuh uh. Me: Yuh huh. D: Well, I'm two Mini Cooper car lengths away. Me: But I'm pretty sure they don't measure car lengths in Mini Coopers.

Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap I confess. I've been watching lots and lots of Friends. Because I now own Seasons 1 through 7 on DVD. Yeah, yeah, I know it's on all the time. (As someone asked me, "Can't you watch that three times a day for free!?") But they never play stuff in order. I'd been DVRing it, but sometimes they skip episodes and I can't always remember everything that happened. I'm serious about Friends, OK? I just can't help it. Anyway, the other night I was watching a couple episodes before going to sleep and Jasper happened to wander into the bedroom. I picked him up, but as usual he didn't want to cuddle with me. Sometimes I make him anyway. (I'm mean that way.) I flipped him on his back and laid him on my legs (they were stretched out in front of me). A new ep had just started so I made him dance a little and he clapped with the claps in the song. Poor Jasper was not happy at all (I'm sure he hates me, but I looooooooove him), but David and I laughed for like 10 minutes.

Too much cuteness The little girl on her big day: Her big brother: We didn't get any good ones of Abigail. Not even of her pouting, which I really wanted because I wanted to be able to show it to her when she grows up.

And also with you Yesterday, we became godparents for the third time. You'd think we'd know all about the process now. But no. We were waiting for the Buntings to arrive and saw the guy who does the baptism. You know... the guy wearing the collar. The guy we assumed was the priest. Until we overheard him talking about his wife. Uh, what? I looked at David, a little bewildered. "Did you hear that?" "Actually, I did." "If he's a priest, why does he have a wife!?" While we're considering this, Chrissy and Tommy arrive. I ask Tommy the question. "Who is that guy?" "You mean the priest?" (He thinks he's so great with sarcasm.) "Well, we just heard him talking about his wife. Splain that." "Actually, I have no idea who he is. They don't really teach you anything useful in the baptism classes." (He had to convert before he and Chrissy got married.) "It's all about your spiritual self and other crap like that. What really would have been great would have been for them to tell me when I was supposed to stand, when to sit, when to kneal. That kind of stuff." So we asked Chrissy, who notified us that he's the deacon. Ah, deacons. Yes, they have wives. We all file into the church, Megan giggles as the holy water goes over her head and the video camera wouldn't turn on. While we're all standing in the front of the church, the deacon walks buy with the oil and rubs some on Megan's head. "Hey, what's that stuff?" I whisper to Tommy, who's standing right in front of me. "Why do you keep asking me that stuff? I told you I don't know about this stuff. They didn't tell me! I'm here just for show!" "Humph. You've been no help to me today. But that stuff looks like olive oil." At the same time, David and Tommy both whisper "It's EVOO! EVOO!" Yes, we watch too much Food Network. Megan is baptized, we take a gazillion pictures, watch Abigail have a mini meltdown (we might have gotten a photo) because she doesn't feel like having her picture taken. Then as my stomach growls for the 100th time, someone says "OK! Back to the house for lunch!" I praise God -- and Mary and Jesus -- and we head to the car.

If it's the only thing you do today You just HAVE to visit this site. And prepare for your head to explode from the cuteness. Bookmark it, QUICK. What are you waiting for? Go! Go! Go!

Entourage Watching the opening sequence of Entourage: David: This music would be better if it didn't have words. Me: It's always had words, right? David: Yeah, but the voice doesn't really go with the music. Me: But I like it when they go "Oh yeah! Oh yeah!" at the end. David: But that's the part I hate the most. Me: Humph.

Lessons in nature Today I saw two beetles. And they were... they were... well, you know. I think at least. I'd just gotten back from the grocery store and went to clip a couple roses that had bloomed on my competely out-of-control rose bush. I clipped on and felt something hit my arm. I flinched, but took a chance and looked at the flower. It was just pollen -- or rose dust or whatever -- from the middle of the flower. Then I clipped another. I had them both in my hand, walking over to the herb garden to clip some mint. I figured I'd see if there was any pollen/rose dust in the second flower. But something caught my eye. Thinking it was a spider, I almost threw it down and took off running. (Spiders are to me what bees are to Nabbalicious) But I fought my fear and looked. Wait, I thought, that's not a spider, it's a beetle. No, two.. TWO beetles. And... Oh my god, they're making beetle babies. In my flower. Maybe that's romantic for beetles, like 4-star hotel. I could have gone a whole lifetime without seeing that. I dropped the flowers on the ground next to the bush, clipped the mint and hauled my groceries into the house, careful not to look in their direction. Like they'd be embarrassed or something. And now that I'm inside, I just thank the good lord that it wasn't spiders. There wouldn't even have been anyone around to hear my scream.

Could you just shut up, please!? Do you think it's possible to a cranky old lady at 31? Because I think I am. As I was standing in the aerobics studio at the gym this morning waiting for the teacher to show up (it was 9:28. the class is supposed to start at 9:30), I usually just listen to the conversations the other women have. I don't chime in. And that's because their conversations are stupid. Inane. Mundane. Not important. This one woman comes in every class just chattering away. Chatter, chatter, chatter. About nothing. Today as soon as she walked in the door, she starting talking. "Oh, that's just disgusting. Sometimes I bring up (the studio is on the second floor)an extra towel so I can dust before class." I didn't even want to know what she was talking about. "I haven't done that since my surgery, though. And mt allergies are SO BAD. A couple times, I came really early before class and mopped the floor because it was so gross. I do it at home, I can do it here too." The other women cackled and stroked her ego. "Oh WOW," they said, acting all impressed. What. Ever. I'm always the youngest one in the class and just never want to talk to anyone. Also, it's not even 9 freaking 30 so I'm probably still asleep. Since I don't get home from work until about 12:30 and usually get to sleep by about 2, if I get up at about 8:30 to make it to the 9:30 class, I get about 6.5 hours of sleep. Sometimes it's enough. Sometimes it's not. While I'm on the topic of the gym, I might as well get this other thing off my chest too. I hate it when people invade my space. I like to jump around in class and there's this woman who makes tiny movements, she doesn't go very far in either direction when we're grapevining and such. Yet, she ALWAYS has to stand right next to me. Close. Sometimes I hate her. Ah. Better now.

And then you had to bring up reincarnation Days, sometimes weeks, can pass and I'll still be thinking about a conversation with someone. A while back, BTV and I were discussing fate and things happening for a reason. I'm a believer. He's not. No matter what he says, I'll always be a believer. Maybe one day something will happen that will change his mind. Here's why I believe. Did you ever see that episode of Mad About You where Paul and Jamie talk about the museum blackout? When the subject comes up, Paul says it's his story, but Jamie insists it's her story. Turns out they were both there and they even met that day. David and I were in or near the same place a lot before we actually met. We went to the same church for Bible school for several years when we were kids. The church wasn't even close to my house. My aunt went to that church and that's how I ended up there. I don't even know why David went there. (Actually us in Bible school/camp is pretty laughable now. We're not know for our devout religion.) I babysat a couple times for a family who would come to town from D.C. on the weekends. Their house was on a winding country road. Across the street just so happened to be the farm David's family lived on. His mom knew the people I babysat for and would check in on the house for them during the week. We finally met on our high school's newspaper staff. It was the first year of the paper and the teacher organizing it wanted David to do artwork for it. I was the features editor. I know this sounds weird and scoff if you want, but the teacher had mentioned his name to me a couple times, but I didn't know who he was. Then one day, I was walking down the hall and I saw this guy. I don't know how, but I knew it was him. I can't say I knew I would marry him, because come on. I was like 18, how would I know something like that? But I knew something. I remember the way he walked, like he had somewhere to be. I remember the expression on his face, a kind of concentrated determination, he looked forward, never to the side and never behind him. We were on the newspaper staff together that year. I was graduating, he would be a sophomore. (Oh shut up.) It's really a miracle that we got together. I was interested in him, but he didn't seem particularly interested in me. I called him only once. And when I did he asked me, "What do you want?" (In his defense, he says he was sick that day. Mmm hmm.) After that, I wasn't sure about him. Some time must have passed, but I remember telling myself that was it. He clearly wasn't interested, so I wasn't going to waste my time. He called me that night. We made plans to hang out, but I almost didn't go. I'd seen him on a Friday and he had a phone number written on his hand. That year, I'd ended a really bad relationship and wasn't ready to go through something like that again. The lying, the cheating. I figured the number on his hand was his secret girlfriend's. Lucky for us there was no secret girlfriend. We've been together ever since and it's been an amazing time pretty much growing up with him, making a life together. And that is why I believe that there are things in life that you can't avoid. Things that fate puts in your path, sometimes more than once so you won't miss them. I'm very glad that I paid attention. And/or that David finally did. I'd been hurt pretty badly before and I'm not sure what made me trust him. Or what made him decide he was interested in me after all. But I'm glad it all worked out because I can't imagine my life without him.

The boy I heart Right before I leave for work every day, I say goodbye to the cats. This solves a couple of things. One, I know they're not shut into a closet or locked on the screened porch for the whole night. Two, I just love em and I want to say goodbye to them. The couple days ago, I knelt down in front of the futon in the office where Jasper was all curled into a ball sleeping. As I put my arms around him, he stretched and sniffed my face. I nuzzled his face. "Aww, Jas. Give momma kisses." And he licked my cheek. Yeah, yeah. I know, it was coincidence. But it still made my heart melt. Here's a picture of one of his more impressive feats. He climbed into the drawer by getting into the cabinet. Now that's skill.

Just perfect for that case of the Mondays If you need a laugh or 80, this is the place for you.

Doctor, Doctor During almost every aerobics class I take, there are two women who talk to each other through a good portion of the class. It's not always the same women, but it always annoys the hell out of me. One, if they can hold that much of a conversation, they aren't working that hard. Two, is it me or is it just plain rude? I always want to tell them to shut up. This happens at work too when people stop behind my cube and hold lengthy conversations. HELLO!? Working here. I've never said anything to the women in class though because I keep remembering an episode of Sex and the City when Charlotte goes to a Chinese doctor for fertility treatment. Charlotte, in her paper gown, is layng on the doctor's table with all these pins stuck in her face. Dr. Mao tells hers to relax and center herself, then leaves the room. On the street, the Cuban Liberation Front starts a rally. Charlotte tiptoes into the waiting room yelling, "Hellooo! Dr. Mao! I can't find my center!" Dr. Mao leads her back to the room. Before shutting the door, he tells her, "Charlotte, the city will never quiet down. You're going to have to learn how to block the noise out and hear yourself." So I try to block out the chatterers, but sometimes I just can't. They make it hard to hear the instructor. The instructors never say anything though, so maybe it's not my place to hiss at them. And if I did would I be known as the hero or the villain? Actually though, the older I get, the less I care what people think of me. Here's proof: We went to see The Devil Wears Prada last weekend (I liked it a lot) and some little teeny-bopper came bounding up the stairs to our row and asked David and I to move. Nope. Not doing it. Sorry kid. I'd just made David trade me so I'd have an empty seat in front of me so I could put my feet on it. I'm a restless movie watcher, see. Later I felt a little bad, but not really because I made sure we got there early to get good seats. So just go back to the bottom row, little girl. That's something I had control over, but people talking during class or chatting about stupid stuff right behind while I'm trying to concentrate? Dr. Mao?!

The squeaky wheel gets the grease Our bed's been squeaking. (Insert obvious joke here.) I've been suggesting for weeks that perhaps the bolts connecting the headboard to the frame have loosened. From time, OK? The other day, we'd been cleaning the house then collapsed on the sofa for a few hours watching something on tv. Since I can't remember what it was, it certainly wasn't that memorable. Oh, wait. We did watch an episode of Entourage (yay!). Other than that though, I think I remember complaining that there was nothing on and that I was going to bed. I got upstairs and climbed into bed. Squeak, squeak, squeak. I fluffed my pillow. Squeak, squeak, squeak. I breathed. Squeak, squeak, squeak. Then my husband came trucking up the stairs with the carry-all of cleaning products. It was 11 p.m. "What are you doing?" "I'm gonna clean the bathroom." "It's 11 o clock!" "So?" He dropped the supplies and came into the bedroom. "Well, could you help me make the bed first?" I hate getting into a messy bed. So we made the bed. Squeak, squeak, squeak. Squeak, squeak, squeak. Squeak, squeak, squeak. "Oh yeah, I keep meaning to look at those bolts." I dropped my pillow into place against the headboard. Squeak, squeak, squeak. Squeak, squeak, squeak. "Well, you know there's a problem if a pillow makes it squeak." I was kind of annoyed. At the bed mostly, but the husband was close by. "I've been asking you for weeks to look at it." "It hasn't been weeks." "Yuh HUH." "But I think my wrenches are out in the truck." "Well, I think you better go get them." Mumble, mumble. "What?!" "You heard me." "No, I really didn't. What did you say!?" "Well, I think I said 'I think you better shut up,'" he said as he went down the stairs. What? We're supposed to argue, right? I mean we've been married for seven years. These things happen. Oh, OK. I left out a detail or two. The secret is that we were laughing the whole time. That's why I couldn't hear what he said after I told him he better go get the tools out of his truck. I can't remember a time when we've hurled mean comments at each other. Sure, we have our moments. What married couple doesn't get on each other's nerves once in a while? But 95 percent of the time, we enjoy being together. Which is why it's funny when one of us (mockingly) plays the part of the shrewish wife or the jerkish husband. In any event, the bed isn't squeaking (him), the bathroom is clean (again him) and the bedroom is nice and vacuumed (me). And that was Saturday night at 11.

I finally got it Or rather Maliavale did it for me. (Thanks!) I've been playing with this site since Nabbalicious posted hers. And WOW does hers look like her. I mean SO MUCH. I think this one pretty much looks like me too. In fact, I'm wearing something similar right this very second. Update: As much as I love that site and it's modern paper-dollesque theme, has anyone else noticed that there's no nose? I can't believe it took me a week to notice that. I guess I was just blinded by the adorableness of the whole concept and kicking myself for not coming up with it first.

Evidence. Or why my eyebrows are not the same A couple weeks ago my friend Chrissy called asking if I wanted to get pedicures at one of those strip-mall places. Those places make me nervous, but it's a pedicure so yeah I want one. It was the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend so we had some trouble finding one that was open. We finally did though. Guys did them, which also makes me uncomfortable. Not because I think men aren't supposed to do that stuff. It's not that at all. It's just one of those things you can't really explain. If it helps, all my doctors are women too. Even my dentist. There's just no way I'm going to talk about cramps and PMS to someone who will never ever have any idea about how that stuff feels. OK, that doesn't have anything to do with pedicures so let's get back to the task at hand. I didn't like the guy I got. He was rough and it seemed like he was pushing us out the door before we even came in. As we're sitting in the chairs, feet in water, Chrissy says she's getting her eyebrows waxed. Here?! She had to be kidding. But she surely was not jesting. She let them touch her eyebrows. And they looked fine. When we got to the car, I asked her how much it had cost. $5. FIVE DOLLARS! I was kinda mad that I hadn't gotten mine done too. So this past Sunday, we went to a different shop and had a delightful time with the girl who did our pedicures. She was adorable. She was Asian, with an Asian accent, but also kind of a Southern accent. I could never even try to imitate it. But I loved her. And the guy who owned the place was really cool too. Again, Chrissy brought up the eye brow thing. I watched as she had hers done. He took a long time doing it, was really careful and all. So I figured what the hell. He handed me the mirror afterward and they looked fine. And then. Monday I was getting ready for work and I took out the toothbrush (not my actual toothbrush) I have to brush my eyebrows with. I like to make sure all the hairs are going the same way and such. As I was brushing them, I realized they're not the same after all. One is noticably different. To me anyway. And I'm sure it's apparent to everyone I quizzed at work yesterday and they just don't want to admit it. One is thicker than the other. See for yourself. (Click on it to see it larger.) Even though the light isn't great in this photo, you can still tell. Sigh. THIS IS WHY I DON'T HAVE THAT STUFF DONE AT STRIP-MALL PLACES. I'm not quite sure what to do. I know it's not THAT bad, but I still want to hide.

BBQ Fritos The other day, David met some friends for lunch. I wasn't feeling well, so I stayed at home (on the couch). When he came back, he gave me quick peck on the lips as he walked by me. "You had chips." "Yep," he said. "Barbeque." "Yep. And?" "Fritos. You had barbeque Fritos, didn't you?" "Yep!" Either I know him that well or my sense of smell is very keen.

Oh yeah, AND I love the detox plan. I lost 3.4 pounds. Yee -- and might I say -- ha.

RIP basil I've been putting off confessing this, but my basil died. A couple of weeks ago, actually. I was very sad and told a guy at work about it. He brought me two plants he grew from seeds. He brought them to me, the plant killer. I can't disappoint him by killing the plants he lovingly coaxed into life. So I've been diligently watering them and moving them from spot to spot to capture enough sunlight. The thing is though, I can't feel too bad about the basil dying because other people have told me theirs died this year too. PLUS, my other herbs? Doing just fine. Beautiful, even. It's so awesome to just go out and clip some when a recipe calls for something. No more thinking "well, crap I can't make that dish because I don't have any chives" or parsley or rosemary or mint. You get the idea. So anyway, I'm trying not to kill the second go round of basil. I will prevail. Because I cannot admit to this guy that I killed his plants. Live, basil! Live!!

Out of my element Sunday, I met my sister and dad for lunch to celebrate Father's Day. They both live about 2.5 hours from me (or rather I live 2.5 hours from them, since I'm the one who moved away), so we decided to meet at the nearest "city" (Fredericksburg) so no one had to drive the whole trip. I'd cleared it with my sister last week, then called dad. He got all excited. "You know where we're going then, right?" I braced myself because I knew where this was going. How could I have forgotten? "Oh nooo." "That's right! Hooter's! My choice! My choice!" Well then. I guessed I was going to Hooters. That would be the second time he's made me go. The last time, he came to stay with us for a week and did some work to the house for us. A small price to pay for professional labor, I suppose. On Saturday I had lunch with a friend from work and confessed that I was going there. Only because I was being forced. He said he'd taken his kids there once because they wanted hot dogs and he couldn't find anywhere else to take them. A couple came in while they were there, but he could tell the woman did not want to be at Hooters. She made her husband sit at the bar, but when he kept turning around to see what was going on in the rest of the restaurant, she wanted to move because she probably thought he was looking at the girls. They moved to another table. Finally, she led him to a table on to the patio. I decided I wasn't going to be like that. Sure, I'm going to a place I normally wouldn't, but that's no reason to act like an ass. Ahem, there's plenty of that being seen already. (Come on, laugh!) So we met on Sunday and while we were sitting at our table, our waitress was talking to this guy at a table behind us. We couldn't figure out if that was her boyfriend or what. It didn't sound like they knew each other very well, but I heard her say to him, "You can always tell the women who don't want to be in here. They can be really mean." She said some other things, but that was the big point. I remembered the story my friend told me and was glad that I had decided to just go with it. And you know what? In all seriousness, the wings are pretty good*. * Disclaimer: I had only one wing. Still detoxing, you know. I ordered a salad and some crab legs, which I have to say were pretty good.

I should have already known this It's not a good idea to pit cherries with your new cherry/olive pitter whilst wearing a white shirt.

Step One I just subscribed to Self magazine. Every month, I'll get a little reminder in the mail. And all for only $1 an issue. Plus, there's some diet program subscribers can use for free. I already have that stuff with Weight Watchers, but hey it could have something worthwhile.

Back to life, back to reality Yesterday, I went to a Weight Watchers meeting and got to see a favorite leader who doesn't do too many center meetings. She told us how she'd gained weight, how she lost it and why she wanted to do it. I'd heard her story before, but it was still very motivating even though it made me sad a little. She did the work and now she's at her goal and is making herself stay there. In January 2000, I decided I'd had enough of feeling huge and being sedentary and wanted to do something about it. I'd never really dieted before and really never paid attention to what I ate. Now that I think back to college especially, David and I did some really bad eating. We just weren't aware that there were so much better ways to do things. He stayed thin, but I just kept gaining and gaining. And gaining. Enough. In 2000, I started doing things differently. I didn't skip breakfast, I ate smaller meals and for the first time in my life, I drank water. David and I were both working days back then so we'd walk after work or I'd do an exercise video while he made dinner. I also had a new rule of no seconds unless it was vegetables. Time passed, we moved to a new city, had new jobs. I kept working and working at it and by 2002, I'd lost almost 100 pounds. I'm not sure what happened after that. I kept it off for a while. Then it started creeping back. I've regained a good portion of it. But not all of it. Still, I'm mad and sad and all those things. It happens to almost everyone who goes through this. But I said it wasn't going to happen to me. And then. It did. Because I let it. Now I'm pretty sure my recent malaise has something to do with this. Other than disliking the hours that I work, I really don't hate my job -- I know it doesn't sound that way, but it's true. It's just work. It's tough and every day is a challenge. But i think if I had a mindless job, I'd be even more unhappy. A friend suggested yesterday that maybe I needed to find something outside of work to make me happy. Personal enrichment, he called it. For him, it was training for and completing a marathon. (Now let's not get too crazy -- that's never been something I wanted to do and would not be enjoyable to me. But you get the point.) After I thought about it, I decided I need to finish this journey I started. I got going and then never reached the end. I want to see what the other side of the mountain looks like. Although, I'm not sure that's the best metaphor because I thought losing the weight was pretty easy, keeping it off was the bear. So I guess once you go up the mountain, you really have to stay there. I'm about halfway down the mountain again. But that's OK because I'm about to dust off my gear and hook my climbing tools back into the rocks. Someone must have been looking out for me yesterday. After the great meeting, then BTV saying I needed to figure out what I wanted from life other than work, I stopped at Barnes & Noble to get some coffee and read magazines. I picked up an issue of Self called Self Dishes with a lot of cool recipes and menu plans in it. One of the plans is called a detox plan. It had photos and recipes and every day worked out for me. So I'm going to do that for a seven days. (More or less. I'll make some modifications here and there. Maybe I'll try to scan it or photograph it and post it.) So while I'm waiting for my chicken breast to bake (which I'll have with a salad of romaine, mushrooms and 1 tb of Caesar dressing), I'm making this promise to myself -- and to you if you're still there -- I'm going to stop sitting around watching other people climb the mountain and I'm going to do join them. It won't be easy and I know there will be days when I want to quit and buy a pint of Ben & Jerry's. But I hope I'll remember that I don't need to eat the whole container. Oh yeah and that I need to finish this thing I started. For me.

Say it - live it - like you mean it You know those songs that were popular when you were a teenager? Songs like "Jack & Diane" ("Hold on to 16 as long as you can -- changes come around real soon make us women and men") and the quintessential "Working for the Weekend" (no quote needed -- the name says it all)? I've decided that pretty much no matter what, people (being people) are never going to be satisfied. Songs caution teens to hold on to 16 as long as they can, but when I was 16, all I wanted was to be 25 (or insert your preconceived ideal age here) and on my own with college done and my real life under way. Now that I'm about 6 years past 25 -- I can say with some degree of certainty that I would never want to be 16 again. You're not a kid, not an adult, people don't really take you seriously, you're supposed to do as your told. I don't think I'd want to do all that stuff over. But. What I wouldn't mind doing over is the exploring part. College, I guess. Well, some of it. When I was a junior in high school, I got involved with something at school that eventually became my career. I thought that was it -- I'd found what I wanted, why keep going? The thing is, people are still just starting to develop at that age. I don't think they should be expected to choose the path of the rest of their lives at 18. You remember the jokes about some college classmate or other who would change majors all the time or just hadn't declared one? That wasn't me. I never wavered. But what if I had? What if I had been remotely interested in art or design back then? Or what if I'd done something completely unconventional for a woman and had gone into the contracting business with my dad? Learning how to build something from nothing sounds so appealing. Now. It didn't then. I read a story about a 16-year-old kid who says he wants to be a pediatric neuropathologist (or something). The kid's had a hard life and lives in a group home right now and it's great that he has a goal. But he's immersing himself in this life and who knows if that's what he'll want in 10 or 15 years. He's a junior in high school and is already making plans to take college courses during his senior year. He's got his life all mapped out. A friend of ours is a lawyer. I'm pretty certain he doesn't like it much. He went to a prestigous college, majored in economics, went to a good law school -- and will probably still be paying for it for a while to come. What's he love to do? He loves to cook. If I ever have kids, I hope I will teach them to take their time and figure out what they really love to do before choosing some career they may regret later. I have a lot of friends who do. Oh sure, we could switch careers. But to what? And do we really want to start all over when we're just starting to be able to afford life? Does anyone have a job they love? If you do, I'd love to hear what it is.

Hello blog, it's been a long time So what've I been up to, you wonder? Lots probably? Not really. Just taking an impromptu break. Didn't really mean to. Just one of those things that happens now and then. I've been watching a lot of Mary Tyler Moore (actually all of the third season) and wondering how it's still so relevent. Mary finds out she earns less than the person who had the job before her because... (oh yes, and it still happens today) it was a man. Even though she does a better job than he did. In another episode, she raves to Rhoda about friends of hers whose marriage she sees as perfect -- the one she'd want for herself. Then, of course, they separate. Also on the TV menu was an episode of Passport to Europe on the Travel Channel. The host, Samantha Brown, went to Monte Carlo. After showing us the opulence of Monaco, she took us to Eze, France. A tiny little Medieval village that looks like something from a fairy tale. And people get to live there. But she said something that struck me as so true, yet I'd never thought of it in terms of words. There's a certain amount of melancholy that accompanies visting a place like that. You enjoy the beautiful surroundings and sigh, knowing you're but a visitor amid the beauty. Your time there is limited. I can't watch that channel without itching to go somewhere and take a break from real life. Which, at 31, I guess shouldn't feel like quite the chore it's feeling like right now. Which brings me to another TV moment. In an episode of Sex and the City, Carrie says a New York woman is always looking for one of three things -- a job, an apartment or a boyfriend. And even when she has two of the three, she can let the elusive third thing eat at her. And so here I am with a fantastic husband, a pretty nice house and yes, a job. But one that feel like just a job. Maybe they're all supposed to feel that way -- it IS called work after all. But why do we let what we see as "missing" tear away all the other great things we have? If I knew the answer to that, I guess I wouldn't have asked the question.

A twist on the anniversary toast

Don't call us, we'll call you Today is our seventh wedding anniversary. That's copper for anyone who didn't know and might actually be curious. Not an easy gift-finding mission. But with a little help from my friend Maliavale, I think I got it mastered. We'll be having a late breakfast, going to the park to walk and take pictures (and hopefully not get rained on). Then we're planning to go see "The Break Up," even though I keep hearing it's not that great. (Hey, wait. Maybe that's not a good movie to see on one's anniversary? Eh. It's OK. I think we'll survive it.) And later tonight, we'll have dinner at a place called the Copper Grill. Fitting, no? When we get home, I hope there will be a. no rain and b. some marshmallow-toasting action.

A logical deduction, I think Dear People Who Order Toilet Tissue for Public Restrooms, Don't you know that if you order the cheap one-ply stuff (You know, the stuff you can SEE THROUGH? The stuff that cannot really be called TISSUE?), people will just use about three times as much? I mean really. Sincerely, Jasclo

Splitting hairs and/or heirs Picture this: Four woman sitting in a living room watching TV. They're all, in some way or another, playing with their hair. A grandmother twirls long gray locks around her index finger. A mother pulls out a blonde strand, slowly runs it through her top front teeth then casts it aside by letting it drift to the floor. She's pulls and repeats. A daughter twirls chunks of her long, dark, curly tresses around her index finger. Another daughter runs her fingers through her wavy auburn hair and along her scalp, feeling for bumps. I'm an heir to a hair obsession. It's been going on at least three generations. My mom's habit is the weirdest one -- we tell her she's going to make herself bald if she doesn't stop it. My sister and I have no idea why she does it or where she would have picked up a habit like that. My habit (I'm the last in the list) has an explanation. When I was little, I had a patch of exzema on my scalp about an inch behind my left ear. Like most people when told not to irritate an inflamed area, I picked at it. And picked at it. And picked at it. I'm pretty sure I thought that I could make it go away by taking it off. Considering that, I don't know how it ever went away. Sometime during college, though, those dry patches stopped appearing. So now what do I do? If there's ever any kind of spot on my scalp, I'll pick at it. I have a spot now that I just can't manage to leave alone. But this isn't limited to my scalp. David yells at me when I pick at scabs, but I just can't help it. And I know some of ya'll know exactly what I'm talking about because a fellow blogger, whose name I won't reveal (maybe she'll reveal herself), once asked if she could peel the skin from my sunburned back. I mean, I'd have done it myself if I could have reached it. (I told her no, but not before she could grab a section and pull it off. Yowza! I think she actually giggled a little.) This habit makes having my hair colored a bit of a sticky situation. Have you ever had those chemicals touch a spot of raw skin? Yiiiiiiikes. The five or so days before my appointment are deemed a no-picking period. Usually, I'm able to stick to it. But afterward, it's back to the old habit. But now, I'm going to try to stop it. Oh who am I kidding? I will try though. Because you should be nice to your skin. And in the immortal misheard lyrics (by me) in an early-1990s song by Snap called "The Power," -- "Skin, skin, skin gotta have it."* *The real lyrics are "It's getting, it's getting, it's getting kind of heavy." Another misheard version I found online was "The kitty, the kitty, the kitty's got a hatchet." Mwahaha. Bad kitty!

I am an enormous sucker and can be persuaded to buy almost anything or this is why I'm not allowed to watch QVC or the Home Shopping Network Saturday night, we went to dinner at a friend's house. We had lasagna and baked bread that was so full of butter that when I blotted it on both sides, then squeezed it to see if there was more butter in it, there was. If I think about it too much, it makes me feel queasy. Again. David went off to a movie with Tom (of the godchildren Buntings) and Chrissy (of Tom and the godchildren Buntings) would just drop me off at home on her way home. All went well, and if I hadn't eaten a piece of cheesecake, I might have been fine after dinner. But I hadn't eaten that much lasagna or bread for that matter. So I had a small piece of cheesecake. Big mistake. So when I got home, I watched a Netflix movie, but went upstairs after that. Which basically means I went upstairs to lay in bed and watch TV. There's no DVR or digital cable up there, so I never know what I'm flipping past. That TV, therefore, is usually tuned to a. The Weather Channel or b. Nickelodeon. I think I was watching Nickelodeon. They showed a commercial for the Chop Wizard. It cuts onions! And dices tomatoes! And eggs! Carrots! Peppers! And pretty much anything else you'd ever want to cube. Those things get me every. single. time. I love gadgets, especially kitchen gadgets. I stared, probably unblinking, at the commercial and memorized the Web site. I said I would investigate in the morning. It's only $19.95! And you get the dicing blade and a slicing blade. Of course, I don't usually end up buying them. Which is the miracle of TV. Also, just looking at that Web site, it says allow 4-6 weeks for delivery. But I want to make my salsa NOW. Monday, I convinced David to go to the mall with me. We went to Crate & Barrel. I guess subconsciously, that commercial made me want a new kitcheny gadget. I guess it doesn't help that I'm reading the Julia Child memoir. (Yes, still.) While I was meandering the sections, I found this chopper. It's the same thing! And it was cheaper! And I didn't have to pay shipping. And I could make my salsa that very day! As I was making my salsa yesterday, Chrissy came by. I told her about the commercial and that they always rivet me to the television in some stupor I can't knock myself out of. She said she has the same problem and every time she sees the commercial for the Food Saver, she almost always orders it. (I told Chrissy I just so happen to know someone who has one of those and has never used it. So (ahem) Erin, if you want to sell it, I have a buyer for you.) Also yesterday, I saw a commercial for this. After being riveted to the TV until the end of the commercial, I was able to restrain myself. But only because one of the claims made us cackle with disbelief. It said "cats love it!" and showed them using one on a cat. The cat did not love it, like any cat parent worth his/her kibble should know. If you go to the site, they play the commercial for you. But if you're like me, BEWARE. You might be mesmerized. Now. Salsa anyone?

Scenes from a salon Every six weeks, usually on a Friday, you'll find me at the salon having my color reapplied. (I found my first gray hair when I was 22. Thanks dad.) It's always a great way to spend the morning. For one, my colorist slash all-around awesome girl Amineh is entertaining as hell. We usually start out just catching up on what's going on with each other. We were talking about watching TV, she said she and her boyfriend watch BBC a lot (he's British). Amineh says she's not really into the BBC. "For one thing, British people are just not that attractive. I told him that one night when we were watching one of those shows," she said. "He looked at me funny and then said 'Gee thanks, hon.'" She laughed. "But it's just true!" But it's what she said next that killed me. "I mean, those people on that show? Not that attractive. Really? Is that the best you've got over there?!" Oh ho ho. Amineh. The poor British. I wonder if he'll ever take her to his native country. ******* When I got to the salon Friday morning, I couldn't park where I usually park because there were street-cleaning signs. Lots of them. For a split second, I contemplated parking there anyway, but I thought better of it. I got lucky and got a spot right in front of the salon as another car pulled away. Amineh had done my color and I was sitting at one of the bowls (that's what they call the sinks where you get rinsed) with toner on the color. (I don't really know what that means, but it looks nice. So whatever.) One of the guys came over to the girl at the bowl next to mine and asked her where she'd parked. She said just out on the street. Then he asked what kind of car she had. A green Galant, she said. "Well, they're towing your car. The guy's got it on the truck already and wants $60 to take it off. Is that OK?" The girl says sure. I would be freaking out, but she didn't seem fazed at all. The guy went away. Later I heard her saying how the signs should be clearer. Puh. If they were any clearer, there would have been one on her car. Another guy came over and asked where I'd parked. I said, "Oh, I parked out front. I saw the signs." The girl was still sitting next to me, though she probably didn't comprehend what I'd said. I mean, if she can't read signs... ******* While I was still sitting at the bowl, a guy sat down in the bowl on the other side of me from where the girl had been. Pasha, one of the apprentices, came over to shampoo the guy. This was (part of) the conversation they had. Guy: So, what's your name? Pasha: Pasha. It's Russian. Guy: Sounds Russian. Pasha: Yes, it's Russian. Guy: So where are you from? Moscow? Leningrad? Pasha: No. Guy: Oh. Well, those are the only Russian cities I know. Jasclo (in my head): You jackass. Pasha: I'm from ________. It's in the middle of the country. (I didn't catch the city he said.) Guy: I'm going to my cousin's wedding. He's marrying a Russian. Pasha: Oh really. Now I'm just waiting for him to utter the words mail-order bride. Because he's just the kind of guy who would. I do credit him for not asking if Pasha knew the bride-to-be. But I don't credit him with much else. By that time, Amineh had come back to rinse the toner out. So she got to hear other parts of the conversation. Guy: So, Pasha. Are you a stylist? Pasha: Not yet, I'm still learning. But yes, I'll be a stylist. Guy: So what's your style Pasha: I'm sorry, what? Guy: What's your style of... styling? Pasha: [stammers a bit] Whatever the person wants. Guy: Oh, so all styles. Anything goes? Pasha: Um, yeah. Amineh and I looked at each other, mouthing "What a freaking dork!" Then the shampoo was over and Pasha led him to a chair, where he was happily out of our hearing and sight ranges.

Express-lane insecurities After the gym yesterday (and after dropping off the blasted library book I've had for like two months -- I probably owe them a week's salary by now), David and I stopped at the grocery store to get Diet A&W root beer and some Diet Mountain Dew. When we got to the checkout line, we had those two things, two mini bags of chips and about six frozen meals. I call them "just in case" meals because usually I cook my/our dinner, but sometimes I run out of a little commodity called time. So as we stood at the checkout, the clerk (a woman) is passing stuff over the scanner and I have this incredible urge to tell her that we don't eat those things all the time. Maybe if it had been a guy I wouldn't have wanted to launch into listing the things I've cooked just in the past week. (Which actually now that I think about it hasn't been much. But in my defense, I was out of town for 4 days last weekend.) I managed to keep my mouth shut, but it bugged me that I felt I had to make excuses for our grocery purchases. Why do we always care so much about what other people think? I don't know the answer to that, but I do know that the older I get, the less I'm apt to care. I apparently just had a little slip up yesterday. P.S. I've been having some stomach troubles the past few days. I can only attribute it to oh say, something that begins with an s and ends in trawberries. And perhaps eating about half a pineapple is involved a little bit too. I bring this up only to spare you the (Hmm what's the right word? -- Discomfort? Maybe. We'll use that one.) discomfort I'm having. And I do this psa because a wise woman has spared me stomach trouble by telling me a. don't eat too many sugar-free Jelly Belly's and b. don't eat too much fat-free ice cream. Now these aren't things I would probably do anyway, but it's always nice to know when I might be approaching danger. Oddly enough, the same woman? She can eat Chipotle every other day and apparently that doesn't affect her stomach at all.

Friends Sometimes when I watch "Friends" reruns (which is very often), I marvel that they often make fun of each other or say some kind of mean things. Like the prom episode when Monica says "The camera adds 10 pounds!" And Chandler's comeback is "How many cameras are ON you?" Surely you couldn't really say those things to your friends without them being mad at you. But wait. Maybe you can. There are few people in the world you can truly be yourself around. Anyone you live with is bound to see the good, the bad and the ugly. And no matter how much time passes without seeing each other (if you're real friends, of course), that just doesn't fade. Erin and I lived together our freshman and sophmore years of college, then I transferred to another college. We saw each other a couple times after that, then went for a long stretch without contact -- maybe about five years. I missed a whole long-term relationship she'd had. We'd talk here and there. I remember she called me at work once right after I'd started my current job, I think we exchanged Christmas cards that year. We may have talked a couple times, then lost track of each other again. A couple times now I've called her parents to get her phone number because it was unlisted or there were too many listed to just keep calling until I got the right one. In about the past year, we've gotten back in touch and have managed to visit each other a couple times now. We've always been able to pick up where we left off, which is I think one of the marks of a true friendship. You don't get too many of those in one lifetime. The subject of what we'll call The Long Silence came up, with a lot of accusatory, "But you never called me"s and some "I did so! And I sent you a Christmas card!"s. Five minutes after we'd given up trying to blame the other one for The Long Silence, the whole thing was forgotten, which reminds me of Friends. Then I thought, well they didn't all live together, so what makes them so special that the little jabs don't matter? (Besides the fact that they're not real.) Then I remembered that they had all lived together at some point. Phoebe and Monica were roommates (before the show started -- we're going to go ahead and pretend they're real, ok?), then Monica and Rachel, then Phoebe and Rachel for a little while. Chandler and Ross were college roommates, then Chandler and Joey lived together, then Joey and Rachel. And Monica and Chandler, of course. That covers most of them anyway. And that's good enough for me. And because Erin used to live with me, though I was much younger then, I'm sure I was still cranky sometimes. OK, probably a lot. (I'm sure I was the one yelling at everyone in our suite to shut up so I could sleep.) And I'm sure I said some things I didn't mean. (Actually, now I remember an argument we got into over politics. A story for another day.) Kind of like Saturday night when I was waaaay past hungry and was getting pretty cranky and said "I don't like you right now." She didn't grimace, cry, yell or take offense at all. I guess that (among other things) makes her my friend for life.

The trip home Part II After spending Friday and Saturday nights at Erin’s, we trekked about an hour to my mom’s to say hi to my grandma and help my mom with some interior design stuff, then go to my sister’s housewarming party. (This is the busiest weekend I’ve had in ages. Friday, the so called “bead show,” but it was really a jewelry show. Lots and lots to see and buy. And the people weren’t mean at all. Story to come in a later post. Saturday, Erin and I went to a wine festival and bought several bottles. Yum. Sunday, my sister’s party and Monday – berry picking, then Da Vinci Code viewing.) On the way to my mom’s, I enjoyed the mountain scenery. It looks pretty much like this: (Click on it to view it bigger. I wanted to post a larger version, but it's too wide and runs into the sidebar.) I didn’t appreciate it much when I was growing up. I was too busy wishing myself older and waiting to get out of there. I spent my teens wanting to get out, my twenties running from that town and now my second year into my thirties, I’m starting to wonder what I was running from. I like to think I was running toward something, like education. But I know I was also running from a few things too. My parents were really young when they had me and weren’t adults yet. Hell, I’m just now starting to feel like an adult. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be my age and have a 12-year-old. But as a 12-year-old, I knew the path my parents had taken was the one of the hardest ones in life. When I was that age, they were already divorced and my mom was working full time and raising my sister and me by herself. My dad was around of course, but the day-to-day stuff was always handled by mom. I recognized that wasn’t a course I wanted my life to take so I studied, determined I wasn’t going to hang around that town and have that kind of life. In the words of George Bailey, I was going to shake the dust from that crummy little town off my feet and I was going to see the world. (I’ve seen some of the world, but not much. Yet. I’ll get there though.) So when I go back home, I always feel a mix of this stuff, remember things from my childhood, feel a little weird being there. I asked Erin if she feels weird when she goes back home to Connecticut. As I stood there grasping for the right words, she said “Like you don’t belong there anymore?” And yes, that’s it. In a way. But there’s other stuff, too. There’s a curvy mountain road on the way to mom’s. There’s a house up there that I always loved and vowed that I would have a house like that someday. Big and beautiful with floors that didn’t slant and with air conditioning and with heat that didn’t come from a wood stove. (I’m pretty sure that’s why I hate matches and fire.) As I drove along that road Sunday, I wanted to take a photo of that house as I passed it. I turned on the camera, which was flashing its low battery light at me. Of course. I’d bought batteries but hadn’t put them in yet. I kept thinking the house was just around the next corner and that the old batteries would hold out. Finally, it died. So I got out the new pack, took the old ones out of the camera (while driving. Eek). Before I got the new ones in and shut the battery door, I’d just passed the house. I wouldn’t have gotten a good shot anyway because of all the trees surrounding it. But after I saw it, it occurred to me that my house is similar to that house. They’re both wood sided. Mine isn’t nearly as big and grand, but it does have central heat and air, two bathrooms, a dishwasher, garbage disposal, cable tv and computer. All things I grew up without. The non-negotiable on that list when we were looking for a house was the air conditioning. I swore I would never again live without it. Maybe some of that sounds rather material of me and I don’t mean it that way. It’s just that when you grow up with very little, there’s a game you play with yourself, I think. The “Prove it to yourself” game. You know the saying about people wanting to keep up with the Joneses? I don’t care about the Joneses. It’s myself I worry about impressing. Like I have to prove to myself that I’m a success, which I’m pretty sure is why I went through the “I want a BMW” phase. Do I need that? Of course not. Then we looked at bigger houses. But we don’t need that either. The attitude that I don’t need that stuff is new to my thirties. David and I put ourselves through college and have worked on our finances so that we don’t have to struggle (very often anyway) to make ends meet. So I don’t want to compromise that for a lot of crap we’d have to spend money on. So Joneses, just in case you thought I was trying to keep up with you, I’m backing down. And self, take notice. I’m going to stop running from who I was and how I grew up and just accept it. And maybe in time I’ll even be able to embrace it instead of feeling hindered and held back by it. I didn’t grow up in a wealthy family. So what. That’s the hand I was dealt and I think I’ve been playing that hand pretty damned well. If I do say so myself. And in this case, I’m really the only one who matters.

A trip home I just returned from a glorious weekend away. It was the perfect weekend, packed with friends and family. Although I spent the bulk on the weekend in Northern Virginia (hello traffic!) with my college roommate, Erin, we went to the country quite a bit. Sometimes I think it's not really the country anymore, then I see something like this and realize that my perception of "late" is apparently not the same as this place's. I have other stuff to say, but I'm still formulating it in my mind. Plus, today is Strawberry Day, which means only that we're going to pick more berries. This time I will refridgerate them.

Fork mourning I'd thought of something to write about the other day and I wrote on a sticky note while I was at work. It was just a one-word reminder. I sat here thinking about it yesterday for a while. I could see it written on that sticky note. And it started with an h. Headaches? No, too long. Huh...haa..hats? No, not hats either. And definitely not herpes or hammers. Or hay or humpback whales. After a few minutes of that, I decided I'd never figure it out so I gave up and wrote about my mom instead. Which was great because I'd been meaning to tell that story. Today I got to work and found the note. Forks. Forks does not start with an h. But the fork story you will get. I take plastic forks to work to use for eating my dinner. But they're not just any forks. They're usually stolen, in a manner of speaking. Every time I got to Chick-Fil-A, I take a handful of forks. They're individually wrapped and they're sturdy and tall, not like the crappy little forks other places have. I don't like their spoons though so I actually buy a box of those from the grocery store. (They're too deep and I always end up cutting the corner of my mouth, where the top and bottom lips meet. Oweee.) The other day I stopped at Chick-Fil-A for a chargrilled sandwich and a large Diet Coke (it's either that or the chicken strips salad. YUM.) and grabbed a handful of forks, stuffed them in my bag and left. After eating the sandwich in the car, I stuffed the empty sandwich container into the bag. I even remembered to take it into the house with me. This was the day of the Strawberry Incident though, so when I got home I got distracted with cleaning up that mess and I forgot to get the forks out. I kept reminding myself that David would probably see it and throw it out if I forgot to get them out. And so the bag, which resembled a bag of trash, did in fact get mistaken for a bag of trash by my husband. He threw away my fresh supply of work forks. They had such useful lives ahead of them. Just think of all the Lean Cuisines they could have experienced. What a waste of a good fork.

A belated Mother's Day story I called my mom on Mother's Day like a good daughter. Actually, I called her, she didn't answer so I left a message. About an hour later, she called back but she didn't know I'd called. So I guess technically, my mom called me on Mother's Day. And I'm not even a mother unless you count the cats, which I used to. But it just doesn't seem right anymore. Besides the lazy babies didn't even get me a present. Anyway, that's really not the point of this story. We were talking about some ahem... colorful relatives that live near my mom. One of them said my mom runs her mouth, meaning she talks about people. Which I don't think is that true. She's not overly gossipy. Although now that I think of it, I do remember when I was little being told "Don't repeat anything you hear" a lot when she and her girlfriends were together. But so what. Everyone does that. Right? So we were talking about them (the colorful relatives) and mom said something like, "I don't know what's going to happen when someone else isn't paying the bills." (Hold on, maybe we do talk about people a lot. But they're our relatives, so we're allowed to talk about them. Plus, they're just mean people and it's OK to talk about mean people. Right?) The next thing mom said was "I guess she'll have to live in a van down by the river!" I thought to myself, did my mom just quote Chris Farley? Nah. Couldn't be. But then she said, "Bet you didn't think I knew about that, did you?" Nope. I sure didn't. "Who taught you that? I know you didn't see it for yourself." "See what?" she asked innocently. "Saturday Night Live, mom." "No, that's Chris Farley." Now I knew she didn't really know about it. She'd heard it somewhere. "Yes, I know it's Chris Farley. But how do you know about that?" "I read it on Nabbalicious." Well, how about that. I knew she wouldn't know that on her own. My mom is taking pop culture lessons from Nabbalicious. Next thing I know, she'll be swearing too. (That's a joke because she already has a potty mouth.) And then the plot thickened a little. Mom said she was at the restaurant/bar in our neighborhood with friends a few days after seeing "in a van down by the river" on Nabbalicious and referenced it to someone younger. He stared at her and said, "I can't believe you know about that." "Know about what?" my mom asked him. "Chris Farley." After she told me that story, she said, "And that's the only reason I know where it's from -- because that guy told me!" I admit to rolling my eyes, which I couldn't get it trouble for since she couldn't see me. But I also had a pretty good laugh from it. And in case she reads this, I'll have to add a reminder that she can't be mad at me for telling this story because I still have her present. AND I'm going to that bead show with her, which I've heard horror stories about. My sister went with her last time and said people push and shove. These women are serious about their jewelry-making supplies. The thing is though, my friend Erin and I got so excited when we saw the jewelry my mom has been making that we agreed to go to the bead show with her. I'll have to take the camera and get evidence of the angry-jeweler mob. But if anyone pushes or shoves me or steps on my toes, it's ON. Ha!

How did I miss that? Remember that show Spin City? The other day I turned on the TV to have some noise (I don't know why I don't turn on music instead) and turned it to Spin City. Mostly because Dharma & Greg was coming on after that. From what I could tell, Michael J. Fox's character was trying to get his co-workers to tell his girlfriend (that red-haired girl) something for him. But he had so many people trying to tell her that it was a classic incident of the grape vine, he told one person who told another who told another who told another who told her. She finally caught up to him and said, "Well, by the time it got to me, the message was that we hadn't broken up?" He was excited because he apparently didn't want to break up. But she did. Then I heard her say something that made something click somewhere in the recesses of my brain. "You know, Mike (or whatever his name is in that show), you can spin this any way you want, but we're still broken up!" Spin. And he works in the mayor's office. Politics. Ahhh, spin. NOW I get it. Too bad it went off four years ago.

Strawberry recipes Fresh Strawberry Jam From Cooking Light You don't need to bring out the canning equipment for this jam. Store in a plastic container in the refrigerator for up to a month. 4 cups halved strawberries 1 cup sugar 2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice Combine strawberries and sugar in a medium saucepan, and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat, stirring frequently. Reduce heat to medium, and simmer 1 hour or until thick, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat, and stir in lemon juice. Cool to room temperature. Yield: 2 cups (serving size: 1 tablespoon) NUTRITION PER SERVING CALORIES 30(3% from fat); FAT 0.1g (sat 0.0g,mono 0.0g,poly 0.1g); PROTEIN 0.1g; CHOLESTEROL 0.0mg; CALCIUM 3mg; SODIUM 0.0mg; FIBER 0.4g; IRON 0.1mg; CARBOHYDRATE 7.6g Strawberry sauce From Everyday with Rachael Ray • Warm up this sauce and pour it over pancakes, waffles or angel food cake. • Freeze it in paper cups with popsicle sticks. • Layer with fresh fruit, yogurt and granola. • Spoon over ice cream or sorbet. • Blend into a milkshake or a smoothie. 2 pounds fresh strawberries, coarsely chopped 3 tablespoons dark brown sugar 4 tablespoon lemon juice (or juice from two lemons) 1. Combine berries, brown sugar and lemon juice in a large saucepan and bring to a simmer over med-low heat, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Partially cover with a lid and simmer, stirring occasionally, unti the berries are softened and release their juices, about 10 mminutes. Let cool. 2. Pour the berries into a blender and blend until smooth. 3. Press the sauce through a fine-mesh strainer into a storage container. The sauce will keep up to 10 days in the fridge or up to 6 months in the freezer. (Yield: 3 1/4 cups)

The Great Strawberry Incident of 2006 If I'm going into this, I might as well go all the way. So you might want to grab a beer. (Speaking of which, and this will just take a moment -- I promise, I heard someone the other day say people aren't drinking liquor anymore. That it's all about beer and wine. I don't know who she hangs out with. We have a little of everything in our house.) On Saturday, I spent about an hour in a strawberry field picking 10 pounds of the little buggers. (I was planning to make jam.) Have you ever done this? Well. It's a lot of bending. The backs of my legs still hurt a little. Which is good because I told myself I was going to the gym every day this week. Well, Monday through Thursday because I'll be out of town Friday through Sunday. Have I done that? No. It's day two and instead of being at the gym in the weight-lifting class, I'm sitting here talking to you guys. But I do plan on talking a walk later. Maybe that will count for something. I had to work Saturday night, so I packed some berries in some baggies and took them with me to share with a couple people. I left the box on the front porch because I was worried Jasper would eat them. When David came home, he brought them in. Sunday morning, I cut some up for us and added a little mint from my herb garden. So yummy. The plan was still to make jam, but I wanted to hunt down a recipe online. But I couldn't do that because it stormed a lot Sunday and the Internet was down. We went to buy David some new suits. We were there for. ev. er and the sales guy was getting on my nerves because he was trying to talk David into getting more than he wanted to get. HATE THAT. When David was trying on the pants (because they all have to be tailored -- WHY is that again!?), the guy says to me, "So is it just you two or are there little ones?" Great. Now I'm getting the third degree to the guy who's pushing menswear? I say, "It's just us." To which he replies, "Ahh. I wondered how he got to buy suits on Mother's Day." Well, I guess I'll give him that. It is a good question. But still. Speaking of this buying spree of his, he also got shoes for which he used my DSW coupons. But I gave them to him. He didn't steal them from me or anything. And truth be told, I had to get some shoes too because you had to spend a certain amount to use the coupon and his shoes were about $10 under that line. I got some Keds thongs. I can't find a picture online, but they're like this, only the straps are pink plaid and the footbed is green. When we got home, I ran to the computer. Nope. Still out. It was out all night. And there the berries sat, waiting. I put some in a big baggie and stuck them in the freezer. The next morning, Monday, I got up intending to make the jam. Then I decided I'd get a pedicure. You know, to go with my new shoes. There were no morning appointments, just one at 2:45. So I figured I'd run my errands, get the pedicure then come home and make jam. I did all my errands, got the pedicure then decided I better pick up some stuff for dinner. I got home around 5:30. I walked in the door, dropped all my bags, looked in the kitchen and saw red. No, literally. And then figuratively, a little. The berries. They'd molded and the juice started oozing out the bottom of the box. Strawberry juice was everywhere. Pooled all over the little kitchen island and then dripped down the side, where it splashed onto the floor. I say splashed because you could tell it had splashed. They were little red juicy splatters for a 2-foot radius. I called the number on the box. The girl said I should have refrigerated them. Sigh. I did this last year without any problems. I must have put them in the fridge though last year. I called Chrissy and told her. She said it happened to them too. They had kept them in the garage and went out to get them Sunday night or Monday and they were all bad too. She said she saved a couple. I hung up and started digging around in the box. Well, not digging exactly. Ew. I was able to save 4 cups of berries. Just enough for one batch of the jam I decided to make. Which incidentally is the same jam I made last year and I have the recipe in my recipe binder, so I didn't even need to waste all that time waiting to look online for one. (I'll post it next.) The irony, though, is that I was worried about Jasper eating them or knocking over the box or something. When really, the berries... they needed to be saved from me.

The Awakening I opened my eyes Saturday morning and realized something wasn't right. First of all, it was still dark. Very dark. Which means I shouldn’t be awake yet. Then I heard a loud bump. I looked over at David’ side of the bed. Empty. "Honey?" "Yeah," he called from downstairs. "What was that?" "Oh, just me falling down the stairs." He snickered a little. I couldn't resist a little laugh in return. If you can’t laugh at your spouse, who can you laugh at? But I was concerned, so I gave him an "Are you OK?" "Yeah, but the power is off." My stomach sank a little. Then I heard the computer beeping, which it does when the power is out. It's some contraption that cost extra, of course. But that’s another entry titled “We are Suckers.” David stopped the beeping, grabbed a flashlight and came back to bed. "What were you doing up, anyway? Are you sure you're OK? Did you fall down the stairs?" "That beeping woke me up. It penetrated my dream. Then when I woke up, I thought I was still dreaming. I'm OK. I just missed the last step.” See? Things do go bump in the night. I just didn’t know my husband was the cause of it. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I wonder what made the power go out. What time is it anyway?” He said it was 4:30, we talked a few minutes, then I found myself wide awake. At 4:30 a.m. and with no power. I started to worry. When would it come back on? We better not open the fridge or freezer. I hope all the food doesn’t go bad. We’d gotten through Hurricane Isabel without losing power and now for some inexplicable reason, we’d lost it on some random Saturday morning? The irony was not lost on me. And the other irony was that I couldn’t sleep because we didn’t have power. The darkness, so still and so… dark was disturbing. Then I realized this is exactly what my mom did when I lived at home. Every time it would storm she’d say, “I hope we don’t lose any trees.” Not once did a tree fall. Not once. I don’t say that when it storms or rains, but I do get a slight panicky feeling like I left something outside. A few minutes later, everything around us sizzled to life including the neighbor’s spotlight that shines right into our bedroom window. It was on for a minute, then went off. We checked the alarm and I finally could go back to sleep knowing the clock would go off when it was supposed to and the food in the fridge and freezer wouldn’t thaw and/or spoil.

At the berry patch

Just a wife, trying to do a good thing for her husband Last week, David was working a lot, like 13-hour days. On Wednesday, BTV said he was going in search of the new Tool album. That brought a conversation of why's from me and I'm sure looks of disdain from him and something like him saying I don't know what I'm talking about. Which is fine because I don't know Tool that much and really, I just don't want to. But I remembered David mentioning (rather excitedly) that it was coming out. So I asked BTV if he'd pick up one for me too so I could surprise my hard-working guy with it because I was sure he hadn't had time to go get it himself. So BTV found two (despite his proclaims that it would be "ALL SOLD OUT! People have been waiting for this!") and I went to pick it up from him before I went home from work. I was planning to wrap it and present it with a flourish, rather pleased at my coup. But I didn't wrap it, I just wrapped the bag around it figuring that would be good because he's a guy, right? Doesn't care too much about the wrapping. So when I got home, I was too excited to put it on his pillow or something equally gag-inducing, so grinning and maybe jumping around a little, I said "I got you a surprise!" and handed over the bag. He looked surprised, then started feeling the bag. "Oh no, I think I know what this is." "Why 'oh no'? Did you buy it already?" "I did. Yesterday." "When?! When did you have time!? He'd taken a break from work that day and had come home to see me for a while. Then I left for work and he... he... he... went to Target and bought that CD. Siiiiiigh. Whiiiine. With tears in my eyes, I told him I couldn't believe he ruined my surprise. Like he knew I would get it for him. Like he knew I was listening when he talked about the CD coming out. OK, maybe I wasn't near tears exactly, but I was really sad because there isn't usually a lot he wants and so I don't have occasion to buy him surprises very often. But when I'm sad or just in a funk, I'll tell him I need a surprise. Sometimes he brushes it off, like any husband would. And sometimes, he brings me something out of the blue. Nothing major -- a magazine, a notepad, a new pen, a CD or a book. After all it's the thought that counts, right? (Well, in this case anyway.) So when he told me he'd already been to Target and gotten the CD (where it was $5 cheaper, I might add), I made a sad frowny face and asked, "But did you get me a surprise?" No. No, he did not.

Another overheard and ludicrously stupid conversation As Nabbalicous and I lunched yesterday at a swanky cafe frequented by the "ladies who lunch" crowd (who complete the picture in their skirts and pony tails), I happened to catch this from the women at the table next to us: Lady 1: So, how's Michael? Lady 2: Oh, he's going to JMU now. And actually, he and some friends are starting a corporation. They're going to change the world through art. Isn't that amazing? Lady 1: That is amazing. Those theater people need to stick together. Change the world through art? Que? A corporation? Aren't those two thoughts mutually exclusive of the other? And the mother. She said it with a straight face -- "isn't that amazing?" Please. I hope those kids stay in school a very long time. A corporation to change the world through art. BAH HAHA.

Overheard "So if a person is jaywalking, do you have the right to hit them with your car?" Words. Fail.

My god, we're artful I finally bought a purse. Finally. The only problem was, I could not decide which one to get because they were all so darned cute. You can see for yourself at Sew Michelle. Just beware the cuteness. You will want all of them. I'll show you mine, but 1. It's the only one of it's kind (or there abouts) because it was made from a remnant left over from a special order. and 2. No, you cannot have it. (hee!) Here's the inside: And here is where I spent half my weekend and David spent the whole of his: He sold quite a few things, actually. (To see the photo bigger, click on it.) Tomorrow, I might post photos of some of his stuff to see if any of you readers would be interested in buying anything. He's working on getting a Web site. Production on it should start next month. (If you see anything you like in the photo, send me an email.) Speaking of art shows. Do you know what I love? When you have two hours to go and the rain starts pouring. Fortunately, we were under a huge tree and it shielded us from most of the rain. David carried most of the stuff to the truck as I sat inside it shivering. It was so cold all day and I, being a complete idiot, wore a skirt and flip flops. It took me about seven hours to get warm after we got home. Brr.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair? My thumb is somewhere between brown and black. I haven't earned a green thumb yet. I can't grow grass, as witnessed by photos of our yard before the big transformation. So what possessed me to think that I could be trusted with herbs (like, you know, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme) is beyond me. But I know this: I'm tired of running out to spend $3 on them whenever I have a recipe that calls from some fresh herb. And then, I use only a little bit of it. The rest just sits in the fridge forgotten, wasting its tasty little life. So I asked a friend for some advice on growing them. She told me good ones to start out with. And it just so happened that there was an herb show here last weekend. So I went. And I purchased. I bought Italian large leaf basil (did you know there are a ton of kinds of that stuff?), some parsely (ditto), french thyme (i've since found out it doesn't do very well here. which means i'll just kill it sooner rather than later), spearmint and maybe something else. Then I needed a pot. I saw someone carrying a cool one at the herb show, but I didn't hunt one down while i was there. That was stupid because I ended up going to three stores before I could find it. And then it was at the expensive greenhouse, of course, so it cost a pretty penny. While I was there, I asked someone how to use the pot. It looked a little confusing. After explaining it to me, the gardener/horticulturalist/lady at the greenhouse said she'd just made an herb garden in one of those planters, if I wanted to buy that one. But I've already bought my own herbs, I told her, kind of sadly. One planted by a professional? Surely that would give me a head start. I looked at it. It was pretty. The price tag, however, wasn't so pretty. It was $100. But after I totalled up everything I'd spent, it came to $95. (I had to get more herbs to fill all the spots, and after seeing hers, I'd gotten a good idea of how to go about it.) And I thought this was going to save me money. Uh huh. Riiight. So I've planted them. I finished one night pretty much in the dark. I had to go into the house and turn on the floodlight that shines on the driveway. And then since it's motion sensored and I wasn't in the direct path of it, it would cut off every 5 minutes. Boy can that make a person angry. Then I had to drag out the hose and water them in the dark. I couldn't really see the results until morning. It looks nice and kind of professional-like. See? Now, I just have to find a spot that will give it the sun it needs. That could prove maddening. We'll see which comes first: the maddening of jasclo or the demise of the herb garden. But after spending all that hard-earned cash to set it up, I will not let them die without a fight.

From the Chloe files I have things to tell you, Internets. Really, I do. It's just that every time I boot up the computer, I go do other things whilst it slowly gets ready and then I get distracted and never get back to it. For example, yesterday I messed around the house in the morning. (And by messed around, I mean I mostly watched the DVR.) And then I roasted a turkey breast. David happened to come home from work for a little break right after I took it out of the oven, so I left him to slice it up while I got ready for work. (It was a good day. I even put on makeup.) I was on my way back down the stairs when I looked over into the kitchen (it's all open) and saw Chloe standing on the counter. Eating the turkey. "Chloe!" She turned and looked at me, licked her chops and backed off. "Where is your father?!" She didn't answer me, of course. She never does. David came out of the office. "What was she doing?" "Eating the turkey! Now I have to throw out all those pieces! Where were you?" "I was signing on to the computer because someone just turns it on and leaves it on the signup screen." "I don't know who that could be. Ask Chloe." That whole not talking thing works out for me sometimes.

My -itis Hola. I'm Jasclo and I have a condition that rarely allows me to return library books on time. It's called cantbebothereditis. Instead, I go to the Web site and click "renew" at least once as the due date nears to put off driving the 5 miles or so to return the book. How lazy is that? I have two books now. One I finished about two weeks ago. The other is (I hope) in my car somewhere. (I suppose I should really try to locate it.) I've renewed the "missing" one once and I tried to renew the other one, but someone wants it. Yeah, yeah, I know. Disparaging eyes are being cast upon me. That's fine. It's not spite that keeps me from returning books. It's pure unadulterated laziness. I can barely be bothered to go and pick up a book, regardless of the fact that I just request it online. I don't even have to go hunt for it. They email me when it's on the reserved shelf wrapped in a piece of plain white paper with my name on the spine. All I have to do is park, run in, grab the book and check out. Well, and sometimes pay a fine. I guess I'll hunt for the one in my car and then take the other one back. Since you insist. This condition doesn't apply only to library books, by the way. I ordered a perscription refill about two weeks ago and still haven't picked it up. In my defense though, I just remembered it yesterday. What? You can roll your eyes, but it's true. I swear it.

I'm a cloud! I heart this word cloud. Thanks Guiness Girl! You can get yours here.

Truly mad Since I had the first season of Mad About You on DVD, I figured I'd watch it. Then I wanted to see the second season, so I hopped over (well, Webly speaking, of course) to Netflix and put it on out list. As an aside, I have to wonder what those Netflix people think of us. I add all these girly movies and TV shows and David's on there getting stuff like High Tension, Bullitt and The French Connection, while I'm listing things like Frasier and Next Stop Wonderland. Yeah, we could set up two lists, but then there's the matter of how many we get from which list and blah, blah. It's just easier to keep it all in one place. And really, I'm sure they see stuff like that all the time. But it's still funny to think that as they're (People do it, right? It's not robots, yet?) checking to see what to send us and then exclaiming "Wow! These people are insane. They just returned Texas Chainsaw Massacre and now they want When Harry Met Sally! Bah hahahaha!" Whatever. Laugh it up. Here's an even funnier one: Once I went to Amazon.com to look up a book and it had some recommendations for me. Aww, thanks Amazon! There was The Food Lover's Companion, a wine book and then... some Metallica cds. I wondered how the hell that had gotten into Amazon. Really, he's (she's?) usually better than that. And then I really started to wonder how they got that. Sure, lines between people who are married sometimes get blurred. But I didn't think anyone would mistake my musical tastes for David's. All I could figure was that I must have ordered something for him at some point and Amazon remembered. But I don't remember ordering any Metallica. Because, see, I think he has enough Metallica already. (hee hee) When I told him about it, we couldn't figure out whose page of recommendations that was -- his or mine. Ah well, I'll chalk it up as another mystery of marriage. Now, the business at hand was just this: I've (re)watched two seasons of Mad About You. And they go to this place called Riff's where Ursula (Friend Phoebe's twin, of course) is a horrible waitress. And yet. They. Go. Back. A lot. Why? Why is/was that? Sure it made for some funny moments, but really, it's just -- well, I was going to say a word that begins with an m- and ends in -ism. It may have the letters -ascho- in the middle, but if I actually type that word, I could get lots of unwanted attention. So I won't spell it out all together. So, to sum up: 1. Netflix and Amazon are probably confused by our wide variety of film, music and reading interests. 2. Jamie and Paul Buchman should have eaten dinner somewhere else.

Back in time I recently took a tour of the Capitol of my great state slash city. It's being totally redone, they've stripped the walls down to the brick in some places. Those bricks, incidentally, date to the 1700s. Or something. That day, I played photographer. Don't get too excited though because can you say amateur? I borrowed David's fancy camera (he's the real artist in the family) and away I went with just a few instructions. Lots were blurry and lots were even indistinguishable. But here are some good ones -- because we all get lucky sometimes, right? It's a total construction site as you can see. I hope this guy doesn't fall. Wait, maybe I'm the one who shouldn't fall. Walls and ceiling. We were actually in the ceiling. The "floor" is made of scaffolding and we took steel steps to get up there. A ceiling close-up. They're putting up something like gold leaf, but it's called something else. Something like tongue metal or tungsten. Or something like that. Can you say dirt? Part of a birdcage elevator the crew found when they started stripping away walls. Lots of scaffolding and construction stuff. You can see the test patch of green paint in the background. This is one of my favorite pictures. Standing inside the new part of the building, which is underground, looking out through the skylight.

Smooth move I've been on a smoothie kick lately because I made a really good one last week. So the other day, I was meeting Nabbaicious for our weekly Weight Watchers meeting, then I was going on tour before work. So I made a smoothie to take to WW with me -- for after weigh-in -- because you know you don't eat or drink anything within a few hours of weighing. I also made a snack/lunch to take with me so I wouldn't be dying during the tour. I gathered all my stuff and headed out the door, but as usual I'd forgotten something. So I headed back to the kitchen to grab an apple and a snack bar for later, then went to the car. As I was driving, I was trying to figure out the logical sequence of events. I wouldn't want to carry my smoothie cup with me on the tour. So what would I do with it? Blast, I should have brought a cup I could just throw out. And what about my giant water bottle? The WW meeting is at work, so I figued I'd just drop everything at my desk before meeting for the tour. Just then I reached over to take a sip of my smoothie. But it wasn't there. I'd left it at home. After all that hard work and planning. I must have set it down when I was getting the apple and bar, then forgot to grab it again. Tears. But that wasn't the only problem. I couldn't quite remember where I'd left it and Jasper really enjoys knocking things off one particular counter. Onto the carpet. The smoothie... it was purple. There were three places it could have been. The table, the counter (both very dicey) or the kitchen island. The island is small, so he doesn't get up there and walk around much. So if it's there, it's probably safe. I say probably because you just never know with this cat. I started to freak out. Between the pollen/mold and the possibility of having a big purple splotch on the carpet, I got an instant headache. I thought about my options. I called David, the wonder husband, whose phone went straight to voice mail. Bad wonder husband. Next idea! I could skip the tour and go home to check. Or I could skip my meeting and possibly make it back in time for the tour. Or I could hand it all over to the gods and see what would happen. I was feeling lucky that day, so I just stayed with the original plan, hoping that Jasper would be sleeping and maybe wouldn't notice the nice purply goo that he could smash onto the carpet. That was around 11:30 a.m. David called when he got home around 10 p.m. "The smoothie's still there! He didn't knock it over." "Oh, thank GOD. But where was it?" "On the island." "Ahh! If I had to do such a dumb thing, at least I left it in the best possible spot." And this is what my husband says next: "So is the smoothie still good?"

Are you unpoopular? Do you pop out at parties? Something happens when I'm in a room full of people. I'm not even talking about my tendency to clam up and be really shy this time. Though, perhaps that's what leads to it. The most annoying person in the room tends to zero in on me and I can't get away. I sit/stand there saying "I bet," "Oh really?," "Seriously," and "Huh" until someone comes to my rescue. I really have to work on that. But it happens everywhere. The gym, parties, any kind of class or meeting. I need to master the art of the clean getaway.

I am the cheese snob, Part II So, yes. A couple days ago, I said stay tuned for Part II. But stuff happened. Bad stuff. There was a storm. And then... And THEN there was the Great Internet Outage of 2006. For three whole days, we have not had Internet/email/sanity access in this household. You know what though? Except for not delivering to you what I promised, it wasn't all that bad. Oh yeah, and not being able to vote for the Next Food Network Star. That, my friends, was cruel and unusual. (Come on, Reggie! Guy's too much like Emeril. We already have an Emeril. Don't need another, thanks.) And you know what else? Part II isn't really all that interesting. Maybe it is, I don't know. You see, since I live in my head, the stuff in there doesn't seem all that exciting to me sometimes. But here goes. So, yeah. Cheese snob. It all started with the Kraft vs Borden, but then I met Chrissy and Tommy. After college when we all had real places to live and could buy actual groceries, I somehow discovered that neither of them liked those processed singles wrapped in plastic. Eh?! Not like them? But what do you do?! "We buy it from the deli!," Chrissy told me. Huh. I figured I'd try it. And now... other than grilled cheese, I cannot eat those wrapped singles on anything else. I shudder to think of one on a sandwich. Recently, to deepen the snobbery a bit, I swore off parmesan cheese for Parmigiano Reggiano. See parmesan can be made anywhere and with any process, but the real stuff -- the Parmigiano Reggiano -- is made only in certain areas of Italy and has to be aged at least 24 months (among other restrictions). Unlike it's imitators, it has a granular texture and has no additives but salt. I bring this up because last week, I had lunch with a friend, then had to stop to pick up some dinner on the way to work. I wanted spaghetti with marinara sauce and some parm to put on top. (I make a great version myself, but didn't have time to go home and cook.) But I couldn't buy a block because I couldn't grate it at work. The only grated I could find was DiGiorno. So I bought it. And it didn't taste like ANYTHING. All I could think about as I was eating that pasta was the block of the real stuff I had at home. Try this sometime... slivers of Parmigiano Reggiano on thin slices of fuji apple. Add a glass of wine and it's heaven I tell you. I bet you'll be a convert too.

I am the eggman, I am the walrus. No wait. I am the cheese snob, Part I Ever since I was a kid, I've liked cheese. Yeah, that's no big surprise. Everyone likes cheese, right? Well, almost everyone. But there's something else. I've only liked the good cheese. And for me as kid, that meant Kraft singles. Not that Borden crap my mom used to bring home from the grocery store. Oh she'd try to fool me. The Borden was cheap, see, which is why she bought it. She was a single parent and we didn't have a lot of money. And god bless her, she'd try to fool me into thinking it was Kraft. But no, no. There was no fooling me. How'd she try, you wonder? Well, she'd take the package wrapper off the slices and just stack the slices in the butter compartment. I know we "argued" about this all the time. Oh, I could tell the difference. While the Kraft was made with milk, the Borden was made with vegetable oil and it kind of broke when you tried to fold it. The Kraft, it would kind of bend and then slowly give into the fold. Then of course, there was the taste. I really can't recall it now, but I know it wasn't good. It wasn't up to Kraft standards. You can imagine my surprise and mock annoyance when a couple months ago, my mom called. A conversation similar to this ensued. Her: Whatcha doin'? Me: Making dinner. Her: Whatcha makin'? Me: Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Her: Oh, you should try the Kraft 2% sharp cheddar slices. Those make really good grilled cheeses. Me: Oh sure. NOW you buy the Kraft cheese. All those years I hounded and hounded you about it and NOW you buy the good stuff. Thanks a lot, mom. Her: [laughter] So we bought some. And we liked it. I've been buying it for a while now. But I ran into a bit of a snag a few weeks ago on a shopping trip. I couldn't find it. But I did see that Borden had a similar product. I stared at it and stared at it. And reached out to pick it up. Surely they have to be better than they used to be? I got about an inch from the touching the package and jerked my hand back. All I could think of was me as a kid/teenager living at home saying, "Mom! This is BORDEN cheese! GOD." Now how could I actually buy that? I just couldn't do it. There will be no Borden cheese in my house. Ever. Ehhhhhvaaaahhhh! But wouldn't it be funny if my mom came to visit and that's what I had? Borden cheese. I think she would die. Stay tuned for Part II. Because oh yes, there's more.

The Rorschach test Monday morning, I opened my eyes and find David standing over me. "Honey." "Hmm?" He had an appointment at 7:30 for a check-up for his truck. Yes, that's a.m. "I have to go, but I needed to show you something first." "What's wrong?," I asked as I shook myself awake a little more. He pointed to his side of the bed. "Look." I looked. I saw nothing. Then I looked down. And I saw this: "What happened?!" "I fell asleep with a pen in my hand. I'm sorry. I'll buy you new sheets." You may remember all this business with the bedding. Look here and here's the photo of David sleeping among the flowers. I couldn't go back to sleep after he left, so I just read. Then I couldn't take it any more. Those ink blots were just sitting there staring at me. I peeled back the sheet to see if it had gone through to the mattress cover. Yep. Then I panicked and pulled that back to see if the mattress was stained. Nope. Whew. I read until David came back. Then we talked about the stains. I told him they were like a Rorschach test and they said "I really hate these sheets." There are after all, five dots. David put his index finger at the beginning of the long smear and started to trace the line as he said "a laaahhhhht." But that doesn't get him out of buying me new ones. "What were you doing with a pen anyway? I thought you were reading." "I was. I was trying to do the quiz in EW." "You were writing in the answers? I wanted to see if I knew any of them." "Relax. I only got to No. 2 before I fell asleep." "Oh. Well, still. No more pens for you in bed."

Where've I been? I know you're wondering. I wish I had some exciting answer, but I don't. I've just been out a lot and haven't really had computer time. I have, however, come up with a couple good things to write about. One of which is this: A couple days ago, I took my pill bottle out of my purse, opened it and fished around for half a blue pill. (I have two kinds of stuff in there. All very mild, no worries.) I found one, put it in my palm and realized it wasn't a blue pill after all. It was a piece of cat litter. How did that happen, you wonder? A few weeks before that, I'd cut some of the blue pills in half, put them back into the bottle and was trying to put the cap back on. Instead, I dropped the bottle. David came to the guest bathroom to help me pick them up and, well, that's where the litter box is. One of us picked it up, mistaking it as a pill. Hey, at least I didn't take it.

Depressing or hopeful? At the gym, I see people twice my age who are in much better shape than I am.

One thing I might do different if I could I'm still friends with my college roommate. I've mentioned her here, even. And I've seen her in the past month or so. Sometimes people ask if she's the only one I had. I say yes. But it's not exactly true. I had one before her, but only for a short time. I couldn't say how long because I just really don't remember. I don't remember a whole lot about living with her either. But I do feel bad about something and I'd like to apologize. So Carrie, wherever you are, I'm sorry I took your stereo out of the box on the first day we moved into the dorm. I have to defend myself though. We wrote some letters over the summer before college and I just knew we were going to be best friends. I don't know why I thought that, I guess I just figured that's how it was supposed to work. I got there first and we trucked in my boxes from the car. She and her parents came later, brought some stuff in and left. I don't know why I decided it was a great idea to unpack her stereo so we could listen to it. And I don't know why no one stopped me. I just remember thinking, "Oh, she won't care!" Because we were going to be BEST. FRIENDS. Only it didn't turn out that way. Things got kind of ugly. I didn't do anything to her other than the stereo thing, but I remember coming back from a weekend at home and walking by someone's room and reading something she'd written on the message board. "IT'S BAACK." And then there was something "cryptic" on our message board, maybe from the person who she'd left that message for. ("Cryptic" meaning really obvious.) It was around then that I started talking to Erin. She hated her roommate, Christine, and wanted me to move into her room and for Christine to move in with Carrie. Only I liked my room and didn't want to give it up. I don't know what finally persuaded me, but we did it. And when we were moving things, I was taking Carrie's stuff out of my fridge so I could move it to the new digs. I think I didn't care much about her stuff. Hey, let it rot on the floor. What did I care? At that point, I hated that girl. But I remember Erin saying "You can't just leave it there like that!" Oh, hell yeah, I can. And then college life as I remember it began. But I still look back at that day and wonder what the hell I was thinking. I would never in a million years unpack someone else's belongings now. God, what an idiot. I wonder what happened to her. I remember near the end of the first semester, she'd bought a car. A spec, but a car all the same. And she had to take it back. Then she didn't come back to school second semester. But other lifelong relationships were just getting started in College Hall.

When a chocolate-chip waffle goes wrong

The life you save may be your own Yesterday, I stopped at Starbucks to get an iced latte (it counts as a milk serving, you know) and to perhaps buy that travel cup I'd been coveting. I looked around, but didn't see it, so I just ordered my latte and gave the guy a $5 bill and a penny to pay for my $3.01 drink. He gave me my $2 (because I DO want my $2!) and started chatting me up. Not because he thought I was cute or anything. Please. Like I couldn't see through that. Last I checked there was no turnip truck in the parking lot. He just wanted a tip. I smiled sweetly as I stuffed the bills into my wallet. As I turned toward the door, I noticed the cup on a shelf against the wall. Now why were you hiding over there, cup? I went over and picked one up. The lid on the one in front was all dinged up. So I think I grabbed the one from the back, checked the lid for any scrapes and took it to the counter. I paid, he gave me some bills and some change back. This time, I gave in and plopped something into the tip jar. While sitting at the light waiting to turn left, I glanced at the cup and realized there was a huge crack down the side. I contemplated bringing it back later, but then realized I'd tossed the receipt in to the trash on my way out the door. I backed the car up and pulled back into the parking lot, went in, exchanged it, got back in the car and was again sitting at the light waiting to turn left. And again, I was looking at the cup. I was studying the cup for imperfections, so I didn't realize the light had turned green (as there was no one behind me to get irate and lay on the horn). I let off the clutch, pushed on the gas a little, happened to look left and saw a minivan barreling down the road getting ready to blow through the intersection. Puzzling. Shouldn't that light be red? I leaned a little so I could see that light. Yep. Red. As red as a red jelly bean. As red as a droplet of blood on the new-fallen snow. As red as the Target logo. My heart was pounding, my mind racing. I realized that if I'd actually been paying attention, I probably would have gotten hit by the van. The "what ifs" started. What if I hadn't bought that cup? What if there had been a car behind me? What if I'd pulled out the second my light turned green? The van was in the lane farthest from me. It seems the timing would have been just right for a collision. And on my side. And then I thought about how things can change in an instant. Sure, I complain about things in my life. Who doesn't? But I like my life and I love life in general. So thank you Starbucks travel mug for distracting me enough to quite possibly have saved my life. Maybe I won't even drink from you. Maybe you've earned your place in Jasclo's Hall of Fame. Maybe I'll print this out and stuff it inside the cup and put it somewhere in the attic and someday maybe my great-great-great granddaughter will find it and see that it's not just an old cup stowed away, it's really a piece of her history.

Just when I thought I couldn't take it any longerhttp://jasclo.blogspot.com/ It's done. It's finally, finally done. Praise the being of your choice because I don't have to look at this cabinet in its unfinished state any longer. I was actually planning to sell it, but it looks a little too comfortable where it is. Plus I've put some of our DVDs in it. So I think it's going to stay put. Unless anyone out there wants to buy it for like $1 million. Oh, you want to see it first. Well then. Here ya go: Do I hear a million 5? Yeah, yeah. All right. I'll stop. Here's what it looked like before (sorry about the flash):

The after took lots and lots of work. I scraped off three layers of paint (black, green under that and then primer), sanded, primed and painted it (and painted and painted). David broke two panes of glass -- one when he stepped on one of the doors while he was helping me scrape paint off it. (No, I did not yell at him.) The other when he was replacing the glass after I'd painted the doors. And then there are the hinges. I couldn't find any to fit the original holes, so I had to fill the old holes and sand and paint and sand and paint, then make new holes. Admire those hinges and knobs please because they cost as much as the cabinet. Then I had the fantastic idea to use some wallpaper as shelf liner. Only that pattern? Yeah, it made it really hard because I wanted the pattern to line up on each shelf. It was while I was cutting and measuring (and cutting and measuring and cutting and measuring and cutting and measuring) that I jabbed the X-acto knife into my foot. Talk about blood, sweat and tears going into your work. So I'm rather proud of the final product. At least I think it looks like $1 million.

Actually, I lied. I do have something to say I've officially entered the Period of Discontent. Except now I'm realizing (thanks to this here blog) that I go through this every year. It seems to start earlier every year, though. Or maybe it starts at the same time, but then escalates until about April or May. I remember that last year about this time, we started looking at houses. We decided though that we didn't want to move. And now? Now, I don't know. There are so many things I want to do to our house, but at what point will upgrading it not be beneficial anymore? Our house is already the nicest on our street (Well, it IS.) and I'm not sure if we'd get our money back from making too many more upgrades. All this to say... I think I'm going to look at some houses next week. Just a couple. I just want to see what kind of kitchen we could get if we bought something else. Chances are this too shall pass. I know it's mostly seasonal.

Error Today I have nothing to give. Try again tomorrow. Seriously, though. I planned on posting before-and-afters of the cabinet I just finishing redoing, but David took the camera and I hadn't downloaded the photos yet. Tears.

Prelude to a post I have to go to the gym, but I want to give the behind-the-scenes lowdown to the previous post. Now my class is from 9:30 to 11 and I might have to stop at the grocery store on my way home. So check back this afternoon. I'll try to make it funny and worth your while. See, I know I'm not the best storyteller. Somehow the most important bits stay bobbing around in my head instead of making their way out of my mouth. Anyhoo. Stay tuned! ••••• It's later! (I went to the gym I swear.) So where was I? Oh yes... I talked to Chrissy on our way home Sunday. She asked how the trip was so I started by asking her a question. "Say you're going away for one night. What are the two most important things you would want to take with you?" She paused a beat. "Toothbrush. And... underwear." "YES! Guess what I forgot to bring?" "Oh, [Jaslco]. Not BOTH?!" Then we had a laugh at my expense. Later that night, I talked to Nabbalicious. I posed the same question to her. Only it didn't go quite as smoothly. "Um... where am I going?" "It doesn't matter. What two things would you not want to be without?" "Are toiletries already there?" "Yeah, you don't have to worry about those. And you'll have your purse." "OK. So that takes care of lip balm. Um. My camera." "Oh, Nabbalicious. No, no. Something you'd use on your person." "But you said toiletries were already there. Toothbrush and toothpaste?" "Yes! Toothbrush is one." "Jasclo, this is a really weird question." "Oh forget it. Toothbrush and underwear! It's not that weird! Chrissy got it right away." Camera and lip balm. I should have expected that from her. Who needs underwear and a toothbrush?

When things go awry Say you're going away for the night and you can take only two things. Small things. What would they be? Chances are you're going to guess the two (most important) things I forgot to take with us for an overnight trip. Wanna guess? And not just those. I forgot other stuff too. I won an award for work, so we went to this awards ceremony. It was three hours from home. I managed to pack the clothes and shoes I would wear to the ceremony, but not much else. Though I thought I had everything. I wore my contacts because I thought it would be sunny and I could wear my sunglasses in the car. It rained. Then the contacts were bugging me. The dinner started at 6:30. We got to the hotel at about 6:25. We checked in, I hiked up to the room (our room number was 485. Do I have to tell you how far from the elevators it was?) to change while David parked the car. First off, I take out the contacts. And find that... TA-DA I've forgotten my glasses. Strike One. So I put the contacts back in. We managed to get dressed and into the ballroom while the salads are being served. But forgetting my glasses is high on my list of "I'm always scared I'm going to..." At least I didn't lose a contact too. When we got back to the room, I noticed the clock was about three hours off. I tried to reset it, but couldn't figure out how. I called downstairs and the guy said "What can I do for you [Jasclo]?" Nice. I likey. "Well, our clock is wrong, but I can't figure out how to fix it." "Oh, well, we'll have to send an engineer up. It's an atomic clock." Um, OK. I'm already changed and I'm not redressing or hiding in the bathroom while the clock is fixed. "Never mind. We've got our cell phones. We'll just use those for the time." Stike two. The next morning, I open my makeup bag looking for one of those two important items. Not there. But I remembered putting it in the bag. Or not. I don't know. At this point, I'm wondering exactly who packed my bag. I mean, I wasn't drunk. But strike three. But the worst is yet to come. I also forgot the other Very Important Item. Don't make me say it. Strike four. AND I had to wear sandals because I forgot to bring any other shoes. (I wore them down there -- it wasn't that cold when we left home.) It was the sandals or the heels that I wore to the dinner. And it was 40 degrees outside. Strike five.(This is my story, so I get extra strikes if I want them.) Can I tell you how glad I am to be home? I will (probably) never pack that badly again. (I hope.)

Some of my best advice When life feels out of control, my purse and my nails usually give me away. My purse especially. And boy is it ever a mess right now. No big reason, really. Just life and being out of town a lot lately. And work of course. At home, I've been working on this project that's taking me forever to finish. It's a cabinet I'm redoing. I thought it wouldn't be too difficult, but I'm reaching the two-month mark. Of course, I don't (and can't) work on it every day. But when I do, it seems I always have the wrong parts of one thing and then I'm completely missing another. It's going to be fabulous. You know, when I finish it. Anyway, when things get like this, I step back and take stock. I do that by doing three things that I can control. Because they're mine. 1. Clean out the bits of paper and crap from my purse. 2. Trim my fingernails. If I don't have time to buff them, I at least put on some clear coat. It gives the illusion of a manicure. Good for the time being. 3. Plan my meals for the day. They may seem like small things, but sometimes we don't have control over the big parts of our day-to-day lives. Taking control of some small things can make you feel like you're in the driver's seat. At least it helps me out a lot.

Shopping is bad I hate stupid people. And do you know where stupid people are? Well, let me shine a light on it for you. They're everywhere. They're especially in front of me in check-out lines. (And in front of or beside me on the road. But that's another story.) You know, you can usually tell just by looking that someone's going to cause trouble. A woman in front of me at Lowe's today (Only two lines open. Thanks a lot, Lowe's.) had nine rolls of the ugliest wallpaper I have ever seen. It looked like rocks. I really wanted to ask her where she was planning to use it and then tell her how god-awful ugly it was. But I didn't. The other 18 people in front of us managed to pay and get the hell out of the store. And then the ugly-wallpaper lady gets to the cashier. OK, first with the wallpaper. Then the cashier tells her the total and she pulls this big single check out of her purse. I smelled trouble. I think she must have asked about a business exemption or something, maybe to get the tax taken off. But she wasn't registered in the system. So the cashier tried it again. And again. And again. Then she called on the loudspeaker for someone who never called back. The woman asked how much she would have saved. It was like $6. Lady, I'll give you the $6 if you just pay and get out of here. Finally, she wrote her check and left. Then I was allowed to pay for my $3 tube of caulk. Some people, they just deserve ugly wallpaper.

Speaking of pedicures The first pedicure I ever got was in a swanky spa in Naperville, Il., just outside of Chicago. That was about two years ago. I hadn't braved one until then because when I was little, we were at some kind of picnic/beerfest and some woman stepped on my right big toe. She was wearing those corky-looking wedge shoes. (You know, when they were in for the first time. I guess they're called espadrilles now.) Anyway, it was very tragic. I'm sure you know the drill. It turned black. It fell off. Actually, through the years it came off a lot. It always grew back, but it was never right. It doesn't grow flat, it's kind of rounded and grows away from my skin. And it's thick. I know, it's gross. I'm sorry. It's really not quite as bad as it seems. I never wore open-toed shoes. I do now, but I'm still pretty self-conscious about it. I always feel like I have to apologize for my one bad toe nail. The good thing -- my feet are fairly attractive otherwise. See?

And the nail has stopped falling off. It's still not perfect, but I'll deal with it. I went to a podiatrist once and he wanted to send me to some other kind of specialist, but I just couldn't be bothered. Somewhere along the way, I heard that a doctor might want to take it off permanently. Yeah. I don't hardly think so. After that, I stopped pursuing it until a couple years ago. I'd seen commercials for Lamisil so I asked my gen. practioner about it. She tested the nail and said there's no fungus there. (I know. Eww again. I'm really sorry!) Then she asked if I wanted to see a specialist. Nope. I sure don't. At some point, I just thought "screw it" and started painting my toe nails and then wearing open-toed shoes anyway. At my first pedicure, I was very anxious. I sat there wondering if and when the lady (what's the professional name? pedicurist?) was going to ask me WTF was wrong with my toe nail and refuse to touch it. I can't remember if I brought it up or if she asked me what happened. But I told her and then Nabbalicious, who was the inspiration for the trip (it was her wedding weekend), might have mentioned that I was nervous about it. The lady said, "Oh please. This is nothing. I've seen LOTS of stuff and this is nothing. And that's how the magic of the pedicure entered my life.

Happy birthday to me Wow. 31 doesn't feel too bad. Not too bad at all. Yesterday, someone brought a cake to work and so everyone felt it their duty to ask how old I was. After a while I just started saying 29. But I couldn't do it with a straight face. I mean, who cares. I like 31. Granted I haven't been 31 for very long, but it seems nice and respectable. And you know what makes it even better? A 1:45 pedicure. Oh happy day.

Weather, life, whatnot Weather really has an affect on my mood. Today it's warm and sunny; I can feel the fresh air sweeping through the house and it makes me happy. Last night, we were supposed to go see the latest Harry Potter movie at the Imax theater. I was really tired though and didn't want to fall asleep, so we put it off once again. Instead, we went to the Fresh Market that just opened on the other side of town. On our way there, around 5:30, I realized that's my favorite time of day. The sun has set (or almost), but it's not dark yet and it's starting to get cooler. You can feel the early evening in the air. I love that time of day especially when I've done a lot that day and feel that sense of accomplishment. My next favorite time of day is early morning, for just the opposite reason -- potential. The day is blemish free and you can make of it what you want. Unfortunately, these are not times of day I get to see very often. I'm working when the sun is setting and I'm sleeping in early morning. Note to self: Perhaps I should do something about that.

This is what happens when you leave your husband in charge of dinner Menu: Breaded shrimp Macaroni and cheese Mashed potatoes Not a green to be found. And I thought I was going to Weight Watchers this week.

Hate, hate, hate the weird neighbor guy I just want to know why he's so stupid. In case you don't know about him, try this post which links to other stories about him. Today, more of the same... enough with the revving of the cars already. And before 9 a.m. God I hate him. Now I have to go to the gym and work off my anger.* Thank god he's not a member. *I may be exaggerating the anger part. Only today though. But I really do hate that guy.

Can you say eww?

In my defense, I vacuumed the entire house including the stairs. And also in my defense, I swear we vacuum and I offer this as proof of the lack of suckiness of our former machine. David swears the house smells fresher and I insist that the carpet looks cleaner. Is either true? I don't know, but it's nice that it at least feels that way. One more thing. I didn't realize the "MAX" line on the canister until I was Photoshopping the photo. Ooops.

Surprise! Well, maybe not David is the household maker of breakfast. I don't know quite how that happened. I can cook the hell out of some dinner, but I usually can't really be bothered with breakfast. You'll never see me make pancakes or waffles. I'm fine with some toast and milk or a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. Sometimes, I'll break out the micropot and make up some old-fashioned oatmeal. That's as far as I'll go. If you come to visit, David's either cooking or we're going out. So that's the background for this little vingette. (Is that spelled right? It looks funny...) David: Let's have some breakfast and then do some yard work. Me: OK. What're we having? D: I don't know yet. David answers the phone. Then the doorbell rings. Crap! I jump out of bed, wondering if I can get to the door before the person goes away. We're expecting the Dyson, after all. I throw on some door-opening appropriate layers. The Fed Ex guy left the box on the porch and was already pulling away. Suh-weet! And he brought the newspaper to the door too. Bonus! Me: THE DYSON'S HERE! D: Where is it? Me: On the porch! Let's go get it! (Bringing something big in the door is a two-person job thanks to Expert-Escapee Jasper.) We bring it in, assemble and I start vacuuming while David makes breakfast. I finish the guest room and turn it off. Me: So whatcha makin? D: Sausage, egg and cheese surprise. Me: Honey, we've been over this. If you list all the ingredients, you can't call it 'surprise.' There's no surprise! D: Yeah, whatever. I'm still calling it that. As I type this, I'm wondering if I've given my innocent husband less credit than he deserves. Maybe there is a surprise. Then I think it doesn't matter if there is because I eat way more stuff than he does. He's so picky. Still. I don't think there's any surprise. P.S. Tomorrow, more about the Dyson. Squeeee!

Things I heart Oprah does it, why can't I? Besides, who can afford most of the stuff on her list? Not I. Though I have to say some of the stuff she loves is wondermous. Now before you go thinking I'm all up in the Oprah love, let's get something straight. I like her. I am not, however, a blind follower. And I only tape the fun and/or gossipy shows. Now that we've got that settled, let's continue, shall we? Here are some things that make my life a little more pleasant. Maybe you use them, maybe you love them. Maybe you hate them. It's just my opinion. Who am I to have an opinion, you ask? Well. No one. And every one. So neener. I can already think of some things that I've left off, so stay tuned.

Wallflowers make your house smell yummy -- or pretty -- or relaxing. Whatever you want.

Sugar's Sugar Kisses lip gloss. My fave color is Squeeze. Good luck finding it. I've been having trouble. "Temporarily out of stock." Grr. It incites the rage. (OK, not really.)

Henri Bendel's Rare Mimosa shower gel, which I've never actually used but stare and sniff every time I'm near it. Someday, I will buy it. I know it's only $20, but every time I think I'm going to buy it I become cheap. (This link says Rare Mimosa, but it shows a photo of a different scent. BAD Henri!)

Ryka shoes are made especially for women. I love the pair I have, which need to be replaced. I won't lie. They're not cheap. But hey, they don't cost hundreds of dollars either. What I love about them: the support is amazing because the structure of the shoe is very solid.

Route 11 makes the most awesome chips. My favorites are the mixed vegetable, the dill pickle and the yukon gold. Delish! The site will tell you where you can find them near you. Otherwise, you can order online, which might be even better. Nothing compares to having them right from the kettle. If they're bagged and sent to the grocery, who knows how long they've been on the shelf before you came along.

Pureology hyrdrating conditioner has peppermint in it and leaves your scalp feeling all tingly. It smells so clean, not mediciney like some nicer products.

Plumeria anything from Bath & Body Works. If I had to choose only one, though, it would be the body splash. I wear it almost every day.

L'Interdit, a Givenchy perfume created for (and maybe with input from) Audrey Hepburn. I don't know why I like it. I just do.

C.O. Bigelow's lemon lotion. Smells good, looks good and moisturizes. Could you ask for more?

Philosophy's Cinnamon Buns shower gel. It may not linger very long on the skin -- you won't be able to smell it hours later -- but for the time you're in the shower with it, it smells like someone's baking for you.

Kitchen Aid stand mixer, oh how I love thee. You make baking such a joy. I love the way you cream the butter and sugar so nice and fluffily.

Furi Gusto-Grip East/West 5" Knife -- I love, love, love this knife. If you only have one really good chopping knife, this is the one to get.

Home organizer, which I cannot live without. It has lots of pockets and worksheets to help with planning projects. I especially love the places to attach paint chips. Ahh.

Domino magazine gives me so many ideas. Get some for yourself!

Krusteaz cranberry-orange muffin mix -- it's so good you'll forget it's fat free. I wish I could make some right now. (No Kitchen Aid mixer needed.)

Happy Bunny is my soul mate.

Well, who knew. Actually, I think I did. Except for the thing about it being hard for me to stay devoted. 12 years, quiz! 12 years! (I stole this from Poppy Cedes.)

Your Five Variable Love Profile

Propensity for Monogamy: Your propensity for monogamy is medium. In general, you prefer to have only one love interest. But it's hard for you to stay devoted for too long! There's too much eye candy to keep you from wandering. Experience Level: Your experience level is high. You've loved, lost, and loved again. You have had a wide range of love experiences. And when the real thing comes along, you know it! Dominance: Your dominance is low. This doesn't mean you're a doormat, just balanced. You know a relationship is not about getting your way. And you love to give your sweetie a lot of freedom. Cynicism: Your cynicism is low. You are an eternal optimist when it comes to love and romance. No matter how many times you've been hurt - you're never bitter. You believe in one true love, your perfect soulmate. And if you haven't found true love yet, you know you will soon. Independence: Your independence is low. This doesn't mean you're dependent in relationships. It does mean that you don't have any problem sharing your life. In your opinion, the best part of being in love is being together.

The Five Variable Love Test

Last post of the day, I reckon, maybe I heart Jurgen Nation for many reasons, but two reasons come to the top. (I'm not doing a link. I've linked to her a thousand times today and she's in the sidebar, if you're so inclined.) 1. Upon meeting her in person, she handed me a present. For my cats. And she doesn't even like cats. That people, is friendship. 2. She convinced me to download and use Firefox, which I am using right now. And I'm in love. Might I mention that I downloaded it all by myself and am using it to make this brilliant post. Me. The computer illiterate. Well, not illiterate really. I can turn it on and work it, I just am not very mechanically inclined and usually leave the downloading and fixing to the Mr. of the house. Now I have GOT to get out of this chair.

Observations This weekend, I hung out with some stellar blogger girls (and one nonblogger girl -- hi Aimee!). I learned a lot of things, which I'll share with you if you care to read, my dear interweb friends. 1. It's not me (or Nabbalicious). The road signage in D.C. sucks massively. And I don't really have any room to talk because she always drives. Her grace under pressure continues to amaze me. As for me, I really want a GPS system. If I just had one of those little thingamabobs, me and the Coop could go anywhere. 2. Mama Likey is freaking hilarious. How did I not know this before? (Which leads us to No. 3) 3. Those girls make me want to be a better blogger. On a scale from 1 to 5, I'd give myself a 2. I give them 4.8s, talking about becoming dotcoms (which some already have), frequent commenters, how many hits they get a day. They all read a ton of other blogs. I read some, but by no means as many as they do. Which is why I didn't know how awesome and funny Mama Likey is. (She's also a great hostess. Thanks so much!) I think the problem with me can be that I tend to do things the opposite way. (Maybe "problem" isn't the right word.) These girls found each other through their blogs. And I've found them through the people behind the blogs. (Mostly Nabbalicious. Thanks, girl!) That's just to say I tend to meet the blogger before reading the blog (with some exceptions, of course), whereas they met because they read one anothers' blogs. 4. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I don't like much going away from home. I was talking to BTV about plans for the weekend (going to D.C. to hang out with pals Maliavale and Nabbalicious while meeting some new friends -- Jurgen Nation and Mama Likey, having Ethiopian food, going to a bar and staying overnight). He said something like "Nothing like being in your comfort zone!" He knows me too well. New people, new food, a bar and a night away from home? That's a lot of newness for me all at once. Being around new people really makes my introverted side rear its ugly little head. I'm not a huge drinker, don't really go to bars. And as for food? Well, it's best for me to stick to the tried and true because I just don't have very good experiences when I try new stuff. (A few words about Ethiopian to come in No. 5.) That's not to say that I won't try new stuff and I don't think I'm boring or anything. (I hope not anyway.) I guess I just like my routine. The biggest thing, though, is that I hate leaving my husband. Yes, I realize that sounds kind of... dumb, maybe. But he's my bestest friend and I enjoy his company. I'd rather be with him than with anyone else in the whole world. If we're together, I'll go anywhere and do anything. And before you think, "Oh she must be a newlywed." Nope. We've been married for almost seven years and together for 12. For 12 years, I don't think that's doing too damned bad. Anyway, I was glad to meet everyone. And I was glad to come home to my sweetie, who made us some lean cheeseburgers and sweet potato (and regular) french fries for dinner. No, I do not loan him out. 5. Ethiopian food. First off, I have to confess that the bread creeps me out. The way it was folded and the texture of it reminded me of human skin. It tasted pretty good though. We all shared a meat platter and a vegetarian platter. My favorite thing of the whole meal? The green beans. I think I ate three. They were yummy. Everything else was good, too. But the green beans. Wow. I can't say I'm dying to go back, but I'd try it again. And in my book, that is a success, friends.

Applause, applause, applause

Thank-you notes from Jasper and Chloe. Dear Jurgen Nation, Thanks for the fuzzy mices! My momma, she gave me one of those when I was a baby and I loved it! I gnawed it and generally treated it like a real mouse, growing when anyone came near it. Then I pulled the furry part off the plastic. A pretty good trick for a creature with no opposable thumbs, eh? Now is the perfect time to play with this toy because my mom is redoing a cabinet in the office and she's put down this tarp, see. It's folded and I love to burrow between the layers. It makes lots of rustling noises. I'm doing it right now WITH the mousie! It drives mom caaa-razy, which is why I love it so. Gotta go now. Licks and bites! Love Jasper Dear Jurgen, Mom says I have to thank you for the toy even though I won't play with it. I'm sophisticated and cannot be bothered with toys because I have lots of condescending stares to give. I do appreciate the thought though and don't you worry. Jasper, the scoundrel -- I don't know why Mother ever brought him here. He drives me insane. Just when I curl up in a good spot to nap, he comes along and bothers the hell out of me so I'll get up and he can have the nice warm spot -- will put them both to good use. Before he knocks them under the couch, anyway. That's where all the toys end up. Then mom and dad yell at him for pulling himself along the bottom of the couch with his claws while he looks underneath for something he can grab. They call him Bad Man and Stinkerton. (My nicknames are Gorgeous, Beautiful and Pretty. Oh and Chloe Monster, but we won't talk about that right now.) I just thought of something, JN. Even though I'm not going to play with the mice, I'll still get a lot of use of them. While mom and dad are yelling at Jasper while he runs around nuts with those mice, I can give them my surperior look that says, "See how good you had it before he came along? I'm perfect, dammit." What? Sophisticated girls can say dammit, too. Yours appreciatively, Chloe

Decided, decided

It's been slept on, pondered and analyzed. And it's also been ordered. Our very own Manimal (phrase coined by Nabbalicious). It should be here in a week or two. So. Tell me. Would anyone like my crappy old vacuum? I didn't think so. Maliavale suggested I try Froogle before buying anything. Thanks for the tip. I found it cheaper for what it was on eBay but the pricing confused the crap out of me. Then I read some reviews of the seller, Heartland or HeartlandAmerica -- something like that anyway. And of 14 reviews, 9 were very unfavorable. Thank god those reviews were there. I'd have jumped at that price otherwise. We're still saving a ton o money, though -- like $150 even with the shipping. I loves me some eBay. And that seller has a 97 percent good rating. Let's all cross our fingers. I needs to vacuum. Which brings me to a funny story. Our godson, Griffin, (he'll be 2 in July) has quite an affinity for vacuums. And cooking. He loves him some vacuum cleaners. Who knows why or how that happened. He giggles and laughs when his mom, Chrissy, pulls out the vacuum cleaner. And he'll just sit around sometimes saying "vaaaaaaccuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum!" So he got one for Christmas. A toy one of course. But he also loves to play with the Swiffer stick and he drags his little chair over to the counter when anyone's cooking and is just enthralled. His dad, Tom, loves to cook and says this could be a sign that Griff is going to fullfill his own lifelong dream of becoming a chef. Either that or a cleaning man considering his love of the products. Or perhaps a butler.

Decisions, decisions Our vacuum cleaner sucks. Actually, it doesn't suck up too much, which is the problem. So we've been pondering getting a Dyson. It's pretty much gone like this: (It doesn't matter who said what. Sometimes I'm for it and David's against it. Sometimes he's for it and I'm against it.) A Dyson? Are you kidding me? Those are so expensive. I know. But they WORK. Forever! They never lose suction! But the price! It's ridiculous! Then each time we've used our crappy vacuum: I thought you said you vacuumed. Yeah. I did. Wow. It really doesn't look like it, huh? Nope. Dyson. (nod) Dyson. Sigh. Then Nabbalicious got Manimal. (That's the Dyson Animal) And I keep meaning to ask her about how well it works. Chrissy and I discussed it yet again over dinner the other night. She said Big Lots -- of all places -- has them. For like $300. So we went yesterday to see. None there. Huh. So we went to Sam's. They had something, though I'm not sure which one. But wow, it was pricey. Something in the 500s, I think. Nausea. We left Sam's with a rotisserie chicken and a box of frozen garlic herb shrimp. Yummy. This morning, I decided to troll around online to check some prices. David said "What about eBay!?" (Really, he's a little too excited about this vacuum cleaner, me thinks.) So we checked eBay. There was one with a bid of $345. So we bid $349. Then $355. I sat at the computer for 30 minutes hitting refresh. You're the high bidder. You're the high bidder. You're the high bidder. With 30 seconds left to go, suddenly I wasn't the high bidder anymore. Of course. I knew it would happen. And so did you. I laughed because I expected it. I don't know who won, the little tart. By the time I decided to up my bid, the auction was over. Which was fine. Really. Because now there's a "Buy it now" one for $329. Even with shipping, we'd be saving more than $100. Which makes me wonder... how can people sell them that cheap? Well... "cheap." I wonder how they get them in the first place. Anyway, we're debating. I have a few more minutes to sit here and stare into space. Cleanliness or money? Hmm. Tough choice.

I'd like to sing the world a song in perfect harmony One of my favorite things to do: Singing in the car. Especially when I'm alone. If there's someone else there, you know, you can't sing quite so loud or quite so emphatically. When I was young(er), I wanted to be a singer. That is, until I figured out you'd actually have to do it in front of people. Er, no thanks. Though the older I get, the more I think I could have overcome that fear. And maybe I could have been a singer if I'd taken some lessons. I have OK pipes, I think. But they're by no means professional grade. In elementary and middle school, I was always in chorus. In 6th grade, we were required to try out. Another girl and I decided to go in together. We'd talked about singing Never by Heart. She started singing and I could not stop lauging. I don't know how or why, but I made it, even though I have no recollection of singing anything. That year, we sang One from A Chorus Line. The teacher, I forget her name, would make us belt out the first line "One! Singular sensation every little step she takes!" and then she'd make us stop and do it again because it sounded so great. I love the power music can have over us. We also sang The Lion and the Unicorn, which my sister used to ask me to sing to her before she went to sleep. As a by-product of my middle school chorus (7th-8th grades), I'll always have the Chiquita banana song and some Gaelic (I think) folk song stuck in my head. They pop out at the weirdest times. Like whenever I see a banana in the refridgerator. Don't people know!? "You should never put baaaaanaaaaanaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas in the refridgerator! No, no, no, no!" That came from a musical we practiced and practiced in 7th grade, but never actually performed. There were all kinds of songs from commericals in there. "Aren't you glad you use Dial? Aren't you glad you use Dial? Aren't you glad? Aren't you glaaaaaaaaaaad? Glad we're pulling together? Aren't you glad? Glad you're feeling free!?" I remember the words to the folk song, but I wouldn't know how to spell them. I can sing it, but forget writing it down. Perhaps if we meet, I'll sing it to you. If I have a couple thousand glasses of wine, that is. Then in 8th grade, I sang solo in front of a crowd. At school in a music contest. Oh my god, it was the worst thing ever. I'm sure no one could even hear me. I'm sure I don't even have to tell you that I didn't win anything. But you know what? I did it. And I'm almost over it. (I sang Clouds by Joni Mitchell.) As much as I liked to sing, when I got to high school I gave it up because the cool kids did NOT join chorus. Not that I was A list mind you. I guess I was somewhere in the middle on the cool o'meter. Of course, now there's karaoke. I have never, ever done that. Sometimes I toy with the idea. Which song would I pick? Maybe Closer to Fine by the Indigo Girls? Spoiled by Joss Stone? Or maybe Stay by Lisa Loeb? Or Dirty Wings by Megan Slankard? Weezer? Ben Lee? Or you know, whatever. I obviously don't think about it too much. And I'm not sure I would actually do it. I know it would take many, many drinks. It doesn't take any drinks for me sing at the top of my lungs on solo car trips though. That's when I'm at my best.

Self portrait Some people (ahem, Nabbalicious) say I should do my hair this way every day. That will never happen. This is the fresh-from-the-salon look that cannot be achieved at home. Plus, I never ever blow dry my hair. It's curly/wavy and behaves just fine drying on its own with a little help from some spray gel. I'm not very photogenic, but this photo turned out pretty good. I even took it myself. I have to admit, I like the look of the straight hair, but I'm a very low maintenance kind of girl when it comes to my hair. I just cannot spend an hour every day on straightening it. Plus, my stylist says that since I color it, it's best not to straighten it too. That would be too much stress on it. So take that, Nabbs. (Just kiddin'. You know I loves ya.)

Surprise and there's a first time for everything I went to visit family this weekend. And for the first time, I stayed in a hotel in the town I grew up in/near. I think we (my friend Erin and I) were the only ones there. OK, maybe not. But it was that quiet. I'm not complaining. The reason I went home: We had a surprise party for my dad. He was actually surprised. I thought he'd figure it out, but everyone kept it under wraps really well. Happy 50th, dad. (That's actually tomorrow. Also, he doesn't read this, so he won't even see that. But that's OK.) Let's see... weekend highlights... • I saw the house my sister is buying. It was built in 1900 and it's super cute. We picked out paint chips for her to get started with. She and Erin and I spent Sunday together, shopping and talking. It was a very good day. • I spent time with my mom, my godmother, my cousin Charity and I got to see my grandparents and aunts and uncles. • It was very, very cold and windy. And I had to get my own gas. Hate that. Also, David couldn't come so I had to drive up and back by myself. Which I just don't like to do. But it was fine. The iPod and I did just fine. Except for when it got fuzzy a couple times and I couldn't find a good station for it to transmit through. Really, I guess that was it. I brought back some huge strawberries from Costco. Oh and I got a sticker from a cool pet shop that says PURR and I'm debating sticking it on the Cooper. I just can't decide though. I guess if I put it on glass, I could scrape it off if I ever wanted it off. Right?

Caged I hurt my achilles tendon (that's my best guess), though I'm not sure how. That's all part of getting older huh? I'd heard that once you turn 30, stuff starts happening. I can safely say, yes. Yes it does. And it'll come for you too eventually. So I consulted Nabbalicious who I remember had done something similar about a year ago. Hers just went away. Anytime something like that happens to me though, I'm always hopeful that it's nothing, but scared that it's Something Big and I'll need surgery or something. I looked around online a lot. And yes, I know you can't believe everything you read on the Web. (Oh wait, you can believe me. Would I lie to you? Naah.) What I was mainly looking for though were signs that I should go to the doctor. I think I just overstretched it in yoga or something because I found a lot of descriptions of ruptured achilles tendon. I hadn't heard any loud pop and everything seemed to be in the right places and still attached. Whew. So I asked some friends who were runners what I should do. Ice and rest were the suggestions, so as much as hard as it was to not do anything, I did it. And I want to tell you what happened. I had only one day off this week, so when I went back to work, I wasn't in the best of moods to say the least. I was very edgy and stressed because it's been a very busy week. There may have been growling. (See previous post about grocery shopping.) Then I realized it was because I hadn't been exercising. I was talking to one guy about the whole tendon thing and he said do NOT exercise on it until it's better. I said I know, but I feel so keyed up! It's driving me nuts. I feel like I have little buzzy lines coming off of me. And then he said the words that described exactly how I felt. "I know! It's like you're a caged animal!" Wow. I hadn't realized what an important role exercise plays in my life. It's a great stress reliever and I guess I'd just gotten used to it and didn't think of it quite that way. I've always thought of it in terms of calories in, calories out. So it's good to have some other trick to use on myself besides the looming threat of the scale. "Hey self! Do you want to be pissy and growly today?" "Why, self, no I really don't. I suppose I should go to the gym, then, huh?" "What a wonderful idea."

Well that turned out to be a bad decision I left the warmth of my house and headed to the grocery store. I had to order a cake and pick up a few groceries. As I looked for items on my list, I noticed that a. a lot of the stuff I wanted was not there. Grrr. b. there were SO MANY people. And yes, I admit wanting to ram a few with my cart while yelling "GET OUT OF MY WAY, DAMMIT!" It was like a Saturday there. (That store is closed on Sunday and it's completely overwhelmed on Saturdays.) Finally -- without my popsicle sticks, boxed chicken stock and roasted red peppers, might I add -- I got in a checkout line. "WHAT are all these people doing here?!," I wondered to myself. And then. Then I realized. It's a [expletive] holiday. No wait, I mean "holiday." See, I just happen to be off today. Not because of a "holiday." In my business, there are no holidays. Insert your own joke (and a guess if you want) here. So now I'm back at home in a much worse mood than when I went out. Because, see, I was just FINE before I went out. Oh yes. And I forgot to mention that a woman running a stop sign almost hit me. No, no. Not my car. ME. My self. My actual person. I hate her. OK, I'm better now. Thanks for listening, blog. I love you, blog. I'm going to shed this itchy sweater, make some soup and then return to reading my book.

Books So I'm "doing" this thing called Book-Itz with Maliavale and Maryann. From what I understand, the person read 50 books wins. I know I'm not going to win and that's fine. Really. I don't mind. There are certainly many many many faster readers than me. So we keep a list of all the books we've read and we're supposed to talk about each one when we're done. I haven't even done that. See? I'm terrible at contests. At first I get that shaky, jittery "I HAVE to win" rush. And then as soon as someone nudges ahead, I get a case of the "whatever"s. Anyway, here are the books I've read so far this year and what I thought of them. 1. "Love Walked In" by Marisa de los Santos A great book. Obviously a love story, but with an unexpected twist. 2. Arthur Frommer's Oahu, Honolulu, Waikiki Thanks to Maliavale for this one. I read it cover to cover; now it's all dog-eared and written in and well traveled. If you're going to Oahu, this is the book to read (and take with you). Hawaii was never really high on my list of travel destinations -- just because I'm not a big beach person. But now I've changed my mind. It's totally gorgeous and I hope we go back someday. 3. "Can You Keep a Secret?" by Sophie Kinsella I bought this to read on the beach in Waikiki and after I plopped down in the beach chair and opened to the first page, I realized I'd already read it. Sigh. I hate it when that happens. But it's the only thing I had, so I read it again. It's an OK read. Easy. I wouldn't really recommend it unless you're big on fluff, which I am sometimes. 4. "84, Charing Cross Road" by Helene Hanff A great book and a quick read. Nonfiction. It's a series of letters written from a woman in NYC to a bookseller in London, looking for all kinds of used books. They develop a pen-pal friendship. Highly recommended. It was made into a movie, but I haven't seen it (yet). 5. "The Undomestic Goddess" by Sophie Kinsella Yeah, yeah. I know. I said the other one wasn't that great. But this one is actually pretty good. I enjoyed it. I think it speaks to a lot of people in our generation who have careers they're not exactly thrilled with. Whew! All caught up. Only 45 more to read. I won't win, but I'll get there.

I's been busy

Banana bread (or banana chocolate-chip bread, if you please) 2  cups all-purpose flour 1  cup sugar 2  teaspoons baking powder 1/2  teaspoon baking soda 1/4  teaspoon salt 1  cup mashed ripe banana (2 to 3 medium) 1/2  cup margarine or butter, softened 3  tablespoons milk 2   eggs 1  cup semisweet chocolate chips (optional) 1. In a large mixing bowl combine 1 cup of the flour, the sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Add mashed ripe banana, margarine or butter, and milk. Beat with an electric mixer on low speed until blended. Beat on high speed for 2 minutes. Add eggs and remaining flour; beat until blended. Stir in walnuts. 2. Pour into two greased 8x4x2-inch loaf pans. Bake in a 350 degree F oven for 50 to 60 minutes or until a wooden toothpick inserted near the centers comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes. Remove from pans; cool thoroughly on wire racks. Wrap and store overnight, for easier slicing. Makes 1 large loaf or 2 smaller loaves. Make-Ahead Tip: Up to 1 month ahead, make and bake banana bread. Cool completely. Place each loaf in a freezer bag and freeze for up to a month. Thaw for 1 hour at room temperature before using. Also, I made these for our bedroom. They'll go on the wall over our nightstands. Maybe another photo when they're in place.

Thinking warm thoughts

Weekend I just realized I haven't posted since Thursday. Thursday! That doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about you, blog. I've just been kind of busy, you see. And now, I'll tell you what I've been up to. (Sitting on the couch watching the Food Network.) HEY! Who said that!?!? I most certainly was not. OK. Maybe I was. What of it? So Friday night when I left work, I'd realized we were completely out of bread. Not good. So on my way home from work I stopped at Wal-Mart. I got bread. By the time I got home, I needed a good unwind. So... here's what I was doing at 1 a.m.

Keeping with tradition (lately), I didn't go to the gym Saturday morning. I woke up early enough, realized it was pouring down rain, threw the covers back over my head and went back to sleep. But don't worry, I went Friday. But (ahem) not today. They changed my class from 10 a.m. to 9 a.m. (^&#$#&!!!) And if anyone else out there works until midnight, I'm sure you can understand the problem this poses. I get home by 12:30, go to sleep by 2 usually, but if I get up at 8 to make it to the gym at 9, that gives me only six hours sleep. And then I have to be fully functioning until midnight. It just doesn't work. Anyway, that's a long way of saying that Saturday, I got up, drank my water as usual, then had some breakfast and watched the Barefoot Contessa make some fantabulous-looking cookies. I wanted to make them so badly, but I knew I'd just eat them. And coupled with the not going to the gym regularly, that is not a good way to start the day. So I finished my breakfast and started some projects. One is artwork, the other... well. That was reorganizing my baking cabinet. I started it right after breakfast and then got distracted and started some artwork. But later that night, before we made dinner, I finished re-organizing the cabinet. Here's the result:

Now. About dinner that night. I made a lasagnalike pasta toss from 30-Minute Meals that turned out just OK. I'd make it again, but I'd probably change a lot of things. I'd use half the amount of beef the recipe calls for, and maybe a thicker tomato product. It calls for crushed tomatoes, which I used. The sauce just wasn't thick enough. The dish reminded me less of lasagna and more of Hamburger Helper. And I have never liked Hamburger Helper. Ever. Bleh. The thing is all the ingredients were really good separately. I'm not quite sure what happened when they came together. Oh well. Moving on. So that was Saturday night. For some reason, late that night I was craving Eggs Benedict. YUM. But I don't really know how to make it. And the place that I like it from best is Super Fancy -- they have a Super Fancy Sunday Brunch. Steamed shrimp, omelet bar, lots and lots of fancy Southern-style dishes. A Very Dignified Place. A 5-star kind of place. I didn't want to pay $45 a person just for some Eggs Benedict. Plus, I'm almost positive we couldn't have gotten a reservation THE SAME DAY anyway. Sacrilige. So when we got up Sunday morning, I decided I'd just make it myself. Now, I'd never poached an egg in my life. Biscuits, doable. Maybe. Hollandaise sauce? Hmm... I had no idea. So I looked up online (ain't the Interweb grand?) how to poach an egg. I could do that. I got out the Bisquick and made up some biscuits (note: Bisquick doesn't rise much. I had kinda flat biscuits. But whatever. They were biscuits.). Then I ran back to the computer to see how to make hollandaise sauce. I know it's not the best stuff for you (butter and egg yolk. Just kill me now.). So I looked on the Weight Watchers site for an alternative recipe. Um, no. They suggest mixing a tablespoon of hot water with some mayo, vinegar and adding yellow food coloring. I'm sorry. That is NOT going to happen. I looked up the real stuff. Hmm. Butter, 3 egg yolks, vinegar, hot water and maybe something else (Give me a break, I'm doing this from memory. Sheesh.). Since David said he didn't want to try it (SIGH!!! He hardly ever eats the stuff I cook.), I figured I'd just eliminate the sauce. What I really wanted was the egg anyway. So, I poached the eggs and they came out pretty good! Check it:

So that's what I've been up to. Except I would be totally remiss if I didn't mention that we went to Chrissy & Tom's last night for dinner. Tom made my favorite dinner of his. Roast beef and mashed potatoes. He makes the best roast beef, ya'll. Next time, I'll have to take a photo. And he's totally cute too because last night while we were eating, he said "So I have to admit my addiction." "Oh yeah? To what?" "Your blog." Awww. He is my favorite.

Clarification and correction. Please use your best voiceover imitation Clarification My pasta wasn't thrown out on purpose. Let's revisit the crime. It's like this, see.. (cue DA-DUMB music from SVU and the similar crime shows) Saturday: Dad and Sandy came to visit. Saturday night: We went out for dinner while David was at work. Sandy and I had the same dish. We both had leftovers. In the very early hours of Sunday morning: David saw two containers in the fridge when he got home from work and was making a pb&j before turning in. Sunday afternoon: When dad and Sandy left, she took her leftovers. Later I had some of my leftovers for lunch, saving the rest for dinner on a work night. Monday afternoon: Pasta safe in fridge. Monday night: The scene of the crime: David cleaned out the fridge. He thought I finished my pasta and didn't know Sandy had taken hers home with her. He figured what was left was Sandy's, so he threw it out. Tuesday afternoon: Jasclo notices pasta is gone, calls David and sighs repeatedly because it's gone. Just gone. (She's over it now though considering she told her husband that he had to take her back to the spaghetti a la greek resaurant. And now Jasclo will stop referring to herself in the third person. Because it's not something normal people do.) Correction In Tuesday's rant -- I mean post -- I said a case of Black & Tan was occupying the former spot of my pasta. But in fact, I've been informed, it is instead a case of Yuengling Light. I regret the error and most humbly apologize.

The Birthday Song Date: Monday, Feb. 6 From:Nabbalicious To: Jasclo Subject: [we never fill that out] Ben Lee is playing in Baltimore on 3/15, a Wednesday. Let me know if you want to go! *************** Date: Monday, Feb. 6 From: Jasclo To: Nabbalicious Subject: Re: Aww! That's my birthday! Is he headlining? Yeah, I wanna go! *************** I saw Nabbalicious later that day and we discussed more. Maliavale is going too. Yay! But I figured it would be nice if I told my husband about these plans before I actually purchased a ticket. Later that night: Me: Um, honey... Hi! I have to ask you something. Him: What's up? Me: Well, Ben Lee is playing on my birthday and Nabbalicious and Maliavale and I want to go. Him: OK. Me: You're not mad? Him: No... It's your birthday. You can do whatever you want. Me: OK. But... Him: That's my bowling [league] night anyway. Well then. Humph. OK! Ben Lee it is.Yay!

What happens when... You're already not in the best mood. You're getting your dinner together for work. You make your salad. And a sandwich (just in case) because you haven't had lunch. So you finish the sandwich, cut up celery and carrots to have a little side of vegetables with your chicken salad sandwich, package it all nicely in one of those sandwich containers with room for a side. Then you reach in the fridge to get the leftovers of your favorite pasta dish (spaghetti a la greek) from Saturday night when your dad was in town and you went out for dinner. Only in the spot where your pasta container was, there's now a case of Black & Tan. You look all over the fridge. No white syrofoam container. You call your husband, who until this moment was your favorite person in the world. "Oh was that your pasta?," He asks you. "I thought that was something else. I cleaned out the fridge last night. I threw that container out." You say, "Didn't you LOOK at it?!" He says no. And while in your head you're cussing him and perhaps throwing a little temper tantrum, you see that he threw out the pasta, but he left the little container of pasta sauce that goes with it. (You always order the sauce on the side. Too much sauce covers up all that tasty garlic.) Apparently he didn't look at that either. So now what do you do? Perhaps your Just In Case Sandwich just became the main course. And you were planning to make your own salad dressing just after you packed up your favorite (did I mention that it's YOUR FAVORITE?) pasta dish for dinner. But now your heart just isn't in it. Tears.

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming: Hawaii. Specifically, Chinaman's Hat

Warning: Not about Hawaii. Alternate title: A long time ago, we used to be friends A couple months ago, I wrote about someone I used to be friends with. Through the magic of Classmates.com, he sent me an email. I was stunned, to say the least. Turns out, I was right about him. In a way. He did get heavily into drugs, but he's really gotten his life together, is working with troubled teenagers and trying grad school again. It was weird and funny and cool to hear from him. Something must happen when we turn 30. He's about the fourth person I've gotten caught up with in the past year. I spent my teen years wanting so much to be already grown up and on my own and not in the town I grew up in. Then my 20s were all about making my own life and shunning where I came from. And I suppose the 30s is all about realizing it's OK to remember where we come from. Which I guess means, my god, I'm an adult. Scary. Weird. I feel kind of bad about what I wrote about him. And I thought about deleting it. But he doesn't know about blog -- as far as I know. So for now it stays. But THIS is why I didn't have a diary as a kid. I was always afraid someone would read it.

The ingredient hunt I've found all the alcoholic components, but I'm still in search of the orgeat. I found it online, but I'm hoping that World Market will have it -- I have to go there later this week anyway. And the simple syrup... well, I'll just make that. It's simple after all. Right? Yeah. We'll see about that. A conversation with BTV: Me: My next party is going to be "Mai Tais and Pupus." BTV: Make sure you invite me. Me: Surely! But it could be a little while. I have to perfect the mai tai, don'tcha know. BTV: Let me know if you need any help with research and development. Yeah, that's what I need. A panel of experts.

Plumeria tree

Mai tai withdrawal II Today is the day of the mai tai ingredient scavenger hunt. Ready, set, GO!!

Mai tai withdrawal I miss being on vacation. I miss Hawaii. But most of all, I miss the mai tais.

I decided I would make one last night, so I looked up the recipe. And well... it seems I'm a few items shy of having all the ingredients. Like, about four things. Royal Hawaiian Mai Tai • 1 oz. Dark Rum • 1 oz Light Rum • 1 oz Orange Curacao • 2 oz Orange Juice • 1/2 oz Lime Juice • Dash Orgeat • Dash Simple syrup A couple of which I've never even heard of. Dark rum, light rum... I'm with it there. (I have some rum, but not both kinds.) And OJ. I actually have that. And I may even have some lime juice. But what the heck is orange Curacao? (David knew. Of course) And Orgeat? I knew I should have payed more attention in college. I've heard of simple syrup, but I never thought I'd need to know how to make it. So here's the plan. I can't go to the ABC store today because on Sunday we apparently revert to 1920. (You know... Prohibition.) But, this is the year of the mai tai. I, Jaslco, do hereby declare that I will become an expert mai tai preparer. And perhaps an expert drinker of mai tais, too. Because what would be the point if I didn't?

Over the rainbow

Oh, the memories David deserves the credit for these great shots. Well, him and Hawaii of course. They were all taken on different nights. Tomorrow... rainbows.

Waikiki at night

The best things about Hawaii 1. It's warm, but with cool breezes. 2. Shrimp trucks/shacks. I could eat that every. single. day. Seriously. It's SO GOOD. 3. It takes only a couple hours to drive around the whole island and it's really easy to find your way around. 4. I did not get sunburned. (Thank you, Bullfrog spf 36.) 5. We saw whales. 6. I saw a huge rainbow while we were driving on the North Shore and I got really excited. But then we saw one every day after that, so I guess people don't get that excited about them in Hawaii. 4. You could stare at the scenery all the day long. Here's the view from our room:

So this is how jet lag feels. We got back yesterday around 1 p.m. I napped on the couch for a couple hours, but David didn't. We watched some stuff on the DVR and finally went to bed around 1 a.m. He went to work this morning. I wonder how he's holding up. I go back tomorrow. And thank god I'm not going today because I can't seem to get it together yet. I slept until 11 (a.m.) when Chrissy called and I told her to stop by to collect her island booty... a pineapple. Since then, I've just been laying around. We have no food in the house, so I need to go to the grocery store, but I just can't. When I close my eyes (or even sometimes when they're open... like right now), I still feel like I'm on the airplane. We have some great photos to post. I'll do it soon, I promise. But I think I need a nap first. (If Jasper will let me. He was all over me last night. He does that every time we come back from vacation.) Mahalo. (That means thank you.)

What month is this again? So here I sit in a tiny cybercafe on Kuhio Street in Waikiki. We just bought some t-shirts and some way cool vintage postcards -- David's on his way to drop them at the hotel before we go whale watching at 11. That's a.m. It's 9:45 a.m. here, which means it's 2:45 on the East Coast. I wanted to recap some of our days so far because I know I'll forget some of the great details by the time I get home. Well, not forget them forever. But forget them enough not to post them. And I want to remember because it's so beautiful here. The trip here was looooooooooong. But pretty smooth and uneventful. Thank God. A screaming baby on each flight. But they didn't scream for very long. I wonder if the altitude hurts their ears. It bothers mine sometimes. I was worried about that since I'd had a cold, but everything was fine. Anyway, who wants to read about that stuff? No. You want the good stuff. And there is some good stuff! Sunday night: We got to out hotel around 10 and got upgraded (nice!) from a city-view room to an ocean-view room. We surveyed the room (it's OK, nothing fancy) then went down to the "barefoot bar" in our hotel. As we sat drinking our beer (him) and our Lava Flow fancy schmancy drink (me!), we noticed this guy hanging out just outside the perimeter of the bar's terrace. To say he was weird would be an understatement. He was wearing shorts, a leather vest with chains and some of those leather wristbancs. He had scraggly blond hair (well, it probably was blond at some time). He was doing all these arm movements, like he was catching a wave and sometimes like he was lifting weights. Sketchy. And people kept taking his photo. We didn't. But now that I've talked about him, maybe we should. Hmm. Monday morning: Hiking up Diamond Head. Now. The guidebook saya "anyone can do it!" Well. I made it most of the way, but David braved the steps and the little tunnely thing you have to crawl through alone. I was fine with that. But the view was great. When we got to the top, he could see all of Waikiki. I just got to see the other side -- montains and valleys. Which was just as gorgeous. So there. On the way out of the park, some Japanese tourists insisted on taking a group photo with me. David and I have a running argument that they were just making fun of me. But I'm paranoid like that. He says they weren't. Monday evening: After showers, we went to a luau on the beach at the Royal Hawaiian. We thought we were in trouble when we were seated at this really long table right next to a group of seniors. But then some people our age came along. We talked with them all night. They're photographers from Milwaukee. You'll hear more about them. Oh yeah, and there was a show with a guy playing with fire. We got some great photos of that. Tuesday: We picked up our rental car and drove along the windward side of the island and up to the North Shore. Actually, we kind of call what we did the "restroom tour" because we had to stop so many times. I think I'm worried that I won't drink enough water while we're on vacation, so I overcompensate. Anyhoo. The mountains are so awesome. I can't remember the name of them right now. Maliavale? (She can help!) And we saw Chinaman's Hat, which is a little island that looks like a chinaman's hat! And the waves on the North Shore. Wow. HUGE. We stopped at a shrimp truck for lunch (OMG YUM) went to the Polynesian Cultural Center and then stopped at the Dole Plantation, but we got there right before it closed. So we drove back to Waikiki with the plan to go back on Wednesday. When we got back to the hotel, a girl asked if we'd gotten our free tickets for one of the restaurants in our hotel. I said "No!!" Then she said if we go to a presentation, we'd get $100. Hmm. OK. I didn't realize until later that it was a time share thing. Anyway, we went. We got our $100. But that pushed our trip to the Dole Plantation back some. I know this is long -- but here's where it got interested and all interconnectedy. We went into the pineapple maze. I got bored quickly, but David wanted to find all the little secret stations, so I said I'd go take the little train tour of the fields. When we reconnected, he said "Guess who I saw?" I asked him "Who!?" We're in Hawaii! Who could he possibly know here? "Sarah and Stephen!" The couple from the luau! Cool! So we talked for a long time at the plantation. They were leaving that night so we wouldn't get another chance to get together, so we all went to another shrimp shack. That one was different from the one we went to Tuesday, but wow was it good! When we finished eating, Stephen set up the camera to take a group photo. As we stood there talking, we wondered when the shack would close. One minute, the music was playing, the lights were on and then the next minute it all went out. And then we saw a guy in a golf cart driving away. With the generator. I think that's the first time I've ever closed down a joint! We exchanged e-mail addressed and Web sites and went our separate ways. We were sad to see them go. Well, that was last night. Today, it's off to whale watch! But first... I have to go find a restroom! I have more stories to tell, but I already owe $3.33 for using this computer, so I better save my money for dinner. It's expensive here, you know!

And we're off... To beautiful Hawaii. The plane leaves in about 7 hours. I guess I better get some sleep. It's funny, we planned this trip months and months ago but I didn't really plan too much other than the plane(s) and the hotels. (We've established that I'm the planner because I'm "better at it.") Until about two days ago. Now we're planning to hike Diamond Head, go to a luau (you have to, right?!), drive to the North Shore (where Lost is filmed) and visit the Polynesian Cultural Center, perhaps hit the pineapple plantation on the way back, drive to the rainforest, go on a whale-watching cruise, tour the palace, go to the zoo and do some beach walkin', maybe some bummin. I can't wait to get started! See you guys in about a week! Oh! I almost forgot. Aloha!

It's amazing he still loves me

Spo-ho-hoky Our first stop on Christmas Day was to see my dad, his girlfriend and her family. A while after we got there, some family other members showed up. We hadn't met them before -- it was a man, a woman and a little girl. The girl was probably about 8. After they got there, dad came and sat next to me at the kitchen table. "You see that little girl over there?" "Yeeeeah?" "She has a ghost that follows her around." "LALALALALALALALA. Don't tell me this stuff! EEK." But then I leaned in. After all, it wasn't dark. Yet. "What do you mean?" "Well, they live in this really old house that's on a Civil War battleground. And one day, her mom asked her if she wanted some lunch and the little girl said, 'OK. Deena* wants some too.' Her mom figured she had an imaginary friend amd didn't think much of it. But she kept doing stuff like that and just having conversations seemingly with no one. So her mom would ask her who she was talking to and the little girl started telling her stuff about this Civil War soldier." Then the mom started researching the stuff the little girl was saying and they found the guy's name. "Sometimes," dad said, "he goes places with her." "Oh my god. Is he here NOW?!" "She's acting pretty normal. If he was here, she'd probably be talking to him and she's not doing any of that stuff." "Holy hell. I'm never going to her house!" *I think that's the ghost's name, but I can't remember. And I forget the little girl's name.

Now just one minute I bought some Zicam yesterday, which by the way, you cannot get in any kind of pills. What is that?! All I saw were nasal swabs (ew and I can't use those anyway: "Do not use if you are prone to nosebleeds."), some liquid you poor into a hot drink (ew again) and some chews. With those choices, which would you go for? I chose the chews. mmm-MMMM. OK I'm lying. They're awful. First of all they're like big hunks of wax. Second they're "strawberry." And there are all kinds of rules. Don't eat or drink for 15 minutes after you chew your chew, no citrus juice for 30 minutes before or after. It makes my already-hurting head come very close to the explosion point. I was telling someone about the stuff yesterday. I'd seen commercials that say it makes your cold go away a lot faster. And I'm on a timetable here. So listen up germs! You're out of here by Saturday! No germs in Hawaii! My friend said he's used it once before but then saw an ad that linked some ingredient in it to heart attack and stroke. Great. It's probably for people who already have some risk factors, but still. I figure I'll use it this once because it's an emergency-like situation but no more after that. Oh yes, and the box says chew thoroughly before swallowing. So many rules! The whole time I'm chewing one, I'm thinking "OK, is THIS enough. Just a few more. Maybe now. No, wait. One more. There. Uh-oh, it's going down in one big lump. I guess that's OK because the box doesn't say otherwise."

Cracker Barrel Saturday morning, David and I went to Cracker Barrel for breakfast/brunch. We had the best pancake (one for me, three for him) we've had in a long time. It was thick, crunchy on the edges and as big as the plate (which is why I get only one). I should have taken a photo. It was that good. Anyway, when we were leaving the restaurant we noticed there's a lot of housing construction going on very nearby. "Could you imagine living this close to Cracker Barrel?! We would be in so much trouble," I said. "That would be like living in Las Vegas," He replied. "Except we don't really gamble. I don't like losing money." "Well, I play that claw machine." "I hardly think that qualifies as gambling." "But I put TWO DOLLARS in there! And I still didn't get that stupid monkey." "HAHA. Do you think we can still pay the mortgage?" Do you know the claw machine? Oh, you've seen it in grocery stores and Wal-Mart probably. My dad doesn't pass by one without trying to win some stuffed animal from it. So then David started trying to win stuff from them. I played along knowing he wouldn't get some silly stuffed rhino or something that I would have to stuff in closet somewhere. "Oh honey! You almost had it!" Then once when my dad was visiting, they stopped at one of those things while we were out. I said, "Oh David never gets anything from those things!" I should have kept my mouth shut because he won it, whatever it was. And now he always stops at them too. Last night we were supposed to go bowling, but I wasn't feeling well (just a little cold which WILL be gone before we go to Hawaii). He went by himself and picked up some milk on his way home. I saw something red as he walked through the door. Jesus, I thought to myself, he's gotten another freaking stuffed animal. He proudly plopped it down on the counter. "Who's that for?," I asked. "Abigail. Or maybe the new baby. I don't know." So there it sits on my kitchen counter staring at me. A red stuffed dog with "Puppy Love" written on a little heart-shaped collar. It's smiling. I think it's just mocking me.

Megan Elizabeth

And big sister Abigail, who kept exclaiming "Look at her little nose! And look at her little ears!" Chrissy, who I'm sure will appreciate that I haven't posted any post-baby-birthing photo of her, said she told Abigail that she'd be coming home from the hospital on Sunday. Abigail said "And Megan too? We get to keep her!?":

And big brother Griffin, the mischief maker... he's aaaallll boy. Can you see those baby blues? He's been loving on the baby, too:

Baby No. 3 We're godparents! Again! It's a girl, which we didn't know. They'd found out the baby's sex for Abigail and Griffin, so this time they wanted to be surprised. So surprise! Another girl... YAY! I wonder if she'll be anything like her big sister Abigail. When Chrissy called last night around 9:30, they didn't have a name yet. They're notorious for this. When they had Abigail, she didn't have a name until after she was born either. (They had Griffin's all figured out though. Go figure.) I guess they just need the pressure to decide what they really like. She went in at 7:30 yesterday morning and said they'd pondered names all day long and came up with three boy names. No girl names. So of course they had a girl! While they were discussing names later, Chrissy said, "I like Annabell." Abigail replied, "But I like Tinkerbell!" Photos -- and name (hopefully) to come.

Lateness So we're waiting for a pet sitter to come meet us (and the cats) and she was supposed to be here at 10 a.m. Yeah. It's 10:20. No other number sounds like 10 to me, so I'm pretty sure I didn't mishear. Should I call her? Maybe she's lost? Maybe she forgot? Update I: I called her. Her: Hello? Me: Wendy? Her: Yes? Me: Hi, this is [Jasclo]... Her: Hi! How are you? Me: Um.. I'm fine. Her: Actually, I was supposed to meet you today! Me: Um... yeah. Her: I'm sorry. I just got in from another job. Will you be there in about an hour? Me: Er... yeah? (It just came out as a question because I don't know if I even want her to come by now.) OK, I just made the appointment yesterday. She's supposed to come by "within the hour," but I think I'm going to call her back and tell her to forget it. I don't feel good about this anymore. Update II: Well, I guess it couldn't hurt just to meet her. Right? Update III: We met her and actually, we really liked her. Jasper sniffed her out really good and then hissed at her when she was talking to him. I wish he was as sweet to other people as he is to us. And Chloe, well, she just ran upstairs to hide.

Why do you suppose... Anyone watch Wings? I loved that show. There was a minor character named Carlton on there for a while. He was an old man who asked a lot of stupid questions. So here's my Carlton question of the day: Why do you suppose that if I brush my teeth before I go to bed, in the morning my breathe is worse than it would be if I hadn't brushed them? And when I wake up, it's like my gums are glued to the inside of my lips. I just brush them again and it's fine. But still. I wonder.

Companies Suck I ordered some pillowcases and a blanket for my grandma on Dec. 4. It never arrived. I've emailed the company (they never emailed me back) and I've called them twice. I just want my money back. But oh, they can't give my my money back unti they've confirmed that I never got the box. (And that could be 12-14 days from NOW.) Why would I spend my time emailing and waiting on hold if I didn't have to? I hate them and I'm never ordering anything from them again. Can I say the company's name without being sued? This is what sometimes happens when you think you're taking the "easier route" to buying Christmas gifts. I'm emailing the Better Business Bureau. Like right now. *#&$#*!

Thank you, Netflix Movie Title: The 40-Year-Old Virgin MPAA: UR Genre: Comedy  Availability: Very Long Wait

Here and now I've been putting this off -- talking about it and dealing with it -- but Maliavale's post about her dad telling her to put down the book and go outside has given me a little nudge. And while you'll probably be wondering what the hell my post has to do with hers, just be patient. My sister called me a day or so before Thanksgiving and said she had to tell me something. She paused. I waited. "Debbie died." "WHAT? Are you KIDDING me?" "No. I'm serious." "What happened!?" "She had an aneurysm. She was just walking down the street when it happened." "WOW. Holy crap. Wow." Now. Who's Debbie, you ask. In short, she was our stepmother. She and dad got divorced at least 10 years ago. I haven't seen her since. My sister and I've been having a hard time with this. You see, we didn't really like Debbie. She wasn't very nice to my sister, and I'd never really forgiven her for it. The thing is, she would do and say mean things to my sister when no one else was around. And my sister used to tell me that Debbie didn't like her, but I wouldn't listen. (She never gave me specifics until much, much later.) It wasn't really that I wasn't listening to her, it's more that I felt helpless. What could I do about it? I was just a kid too. She didn't do or say anything mean to me (because I think she knew she wouldn't get away with it. Wait except potentially one thing I'll tell you about later). She was just... uncomfortable to be around. My sister was about 3 when dad and Debbie got together. My sister and our dad have always been close. She's always been daddy's little girl. For some reason, lots of women are apparently threatened by that. I guess I fail to see the logic in it, but whatever. I remember staying at dad and Debbie's. She had two sons, both younger than me. They shared a room. And there was a room for me and my sister. Debbie babysat some kids during the week. All day, we'd all be relegated to the backyard. No coming in, though now I don't remember why I would have been there during the week. I do remember, however, spending lots of time in the school library choosing books before spending weekends "with my dad." The quotes are because I don't really remember him being there very much. He must have been working. Debbie "babysat," which pretty much consisted of the kids playing outside while she laid in the sun. Every day. For hours. She used Ban du Soliel. (Or however it's spelled.) It was kind of orange. Which is kind of the color I remember her skin being. Oh and in addition to being ordered outside all day long, we went to bed at 9 p.m. No matter what. Even when I was a freaking teenager. I hated going there. Once, when I was a freshman in college, I decided I wanted a perm. Now I don't need a perm. My hair is all kinds of curly, but she as a stylist and gave me a perm. It was these tight little curls. It was awful. I cried for a week. And I've often wondered if she did that on purpose. I have one nice story about her. She did my hair for my junior prom -- and actually, I think for my senior photos too. It looked pretty good both times. But for the prom, I'd driven my mom's car to the salon because mine didn't have air conditioning. Her car was a little bit bigger than mine. I misjudged some distances when I was pulling into the parking space and scraped the car next to me. I was scared and didn't know what to do. I went into the salon and while I Debbie was shampooing my hair, I told her what happened. "Well, do you want to leave a note?" she asked me. "OK." So she helped me figure out what to write and I took the note and put it on the car with my (mom's) phone number on it. (Everything turned out fine.) All this to say... my ex-stepmother died. I hadn't seen her in years and still had/have a lot of bad feelings -- I don't think anger is the right word. The weird thing is that neither my sister or I told our mom. She just asked me about it a few days before Christmas. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. Why indeed. I don't know. I guess I just didn't want to think or talk about it. It's hard to know how to feel when someone you didn't like very much dies. Can you grieve? I don't know. Maybe it's better to hold on to one good memory and let the rest fall away.

A wine-tastic mystery Christmas morning, we got up early, opened our gifts to each other, showered, dressed and packed and headed off for a whirlwind family visitation. Our first stop was (are you ready for this?) my dad's girlfriend's daughter's house. Wow, that wasn't so hard was it? OK. Anyway... my dad's girlfriend showed me this bottle of Italian red wine she'd gotten from work. A $200 bottle of wine, she said. Let's open it, she said. Whoa! Hold on! Maybe we shouldn't open it. The air around me tingled. What if it would be worth thousands in a couple of years? I was dying. But I'd given her a wine book as a gift, so we tried to look it up. Nothing. She said they'd looked it up on the Internet and it really was worth that much. She opened it. We tasted it. She doesn't like red wine. I thought it was pretty yummy and it hadn't even breathed. No one else really liked it either. So she sent it with me. I have half the bottle sitting in the kitchen. I've been trying to find it online and unless I've goofed somehow, it seems that it's really $35. Anyone know differently? I'm going to save the label just in case. Also, I guess I should probably drink the wine sometime before it goes bad. They also had a bottle of Cristal in the fridge that someone brought. I'll make this one easy on you. The girl's house we were at? Her boyfriend/fiancee's (I'm not really clear on that) brother brought it. He's a Broadway actor and his director gave him the bottle. They opened it way after we left though. Sigh. Ah well. I don't really like champagne that much anyway.

It's good to be home We weren't gone for that long and we really enjoyed seeing our families, but it's always good to come home. We missed our Chloe and Jasper. I know they're cats and all, but they're our family and I hate leaving them. Especially on holidays. Now... I'm preparing for leaving them for a week when we go to Hawaii. I'm very anxious about it. I hope Chloe does OK. She doesn't like it when we go away. Yesterday, David made us breakfast on his new George Foreman G5. (That's what Jasper unwrapped) And I'm anxious to figure out how to use my new camera (thanks mom!). I have photos on there, but I don't know how to get them off yet. Also, I need to make a salad so I can use my new knives. Yeeeeha. Today, it's back to work with us. I told Santa I wanted a big bag o' money. That man just doesn't listen.

Merry Christmas! We're off to visit some family. I'm leaving you with this piece of old artwork. Something I gave my mom when I was maybe 6 or 7. My handwriting and spelling have improved since then. (And that's a nickname my dad gave me when I was born.) Have a great holiday, everyone!

Someone's still in the kitchen Sorry guys, I got busy wrapping gifts and running around like mad because of a Christmas Surprise, which I can't really tell you about right now. Anyhoo. Here's the recipe for the cheddar crackers. And this is brought to you with much love and Christmas spirit, because instead of doing any of the baking or wrapping that I need to get done before Christmas morning, here I sit typing out a recipe just for you. I promise to post the others so they'll be on here permanently (because Food Networks says those are on their site for a limited time), but it probably won't be today. By the way, I had to turn off the all-Christmas-all-the-time radio station. Ay yi yi. Cheddar crackers (See photo in previous post) Make the dough for these crisp appetizer tidbits in advance and freeze up to 6 months. Thaw in the fridge, the slice and bake. 2 c. (8 oz) cheddar cheese 1/2 c. butter 1 1/2 c. c. all-purpose flour 1/4 to 1/2 ts. salt 1/4 t. ground red pepper (or any kind of pepper you want to use. I use chili powder) 1. In a large mixing bowl (or use your Kitchen Aid mixer bowl) combine cheese and butter. Bring to room temperature, about an hour. (Jasclo note: You might do better to leave the cheese and the butter on the counter for a couple of hours before you want to make it . If the butter is at all cold, it's harder to combine and you'll end up doing a lot of the combining by hand -- because that warms up the butter best.) 2. Beat with an electric mixer until combined. Stir in flour, salt and pepper. Divide the dough in half. Shape it into two 7-inch logs. Wrap and chill for at least an hour. 3. Using a knife or a crinkle cutter (Jasclo note: I use the crinkle cutter because it gives the crackers a nice professional look), cut the logs into 1/4 inch slices. Place slices on ungreased baking sheets. (Jasclo note: I had trouble with sticking using my airbake pans. Then I used a nonstick pan and they came right off.) Bake at 350 for 15 minutes. Cool on a wire rack. Store in a tightly covered container in the fridge for up to a week or in the freezer for up to 3 months. Makes about 54 crackers.

Cheddar crackers

Cheddar crackers Make the dough for these crisp appetizer tidbits in advance and freeze up to 6 months. Thaw in the refridgerator , then simply slice and bake. 2 c. sharp cheddar cheese, shredded (8 oz) 1/2 c. butter 1.5 c. all-purpose flour 1/4 to 1/2 ts salt 1/4 ts. ground red pepper (or any other ground pepper you have) 1. In a large mixing bowl, combine cheese and butter; bring to room temperature -- about an hour. (Jasclo note: Leave the butter on the counter overnight. It will make it so much easier to combine. I didn't and the mixture was very crumbly and wouldn't stick together that well.) 2. Beat with an eletric mixer until combined. Stir in flour, salt and pepper. Divide dough in half. Shape into two 7-inch logs. Wrap and chill for at least an hour. 3. Using a knife or a crinkle cutter, cut the logs into 1/4-inch slices. Place on ungreased baking sheets. Bake in a 350 oven for 15 minutes. Cool on a wire rack. Store in a tightly covered container in the fridge for up to 1 week or in the freezer fpr up to 3 months. Makes about 54 crackers.

Someone's in the kitchen I watched the Barefoot Contessa's holiday show on HGTV. I learned a couple things. Which is good. But it also spurred me into a baking frenzy. Which is fine, but who's going to eat all this stuff? The good things I learned: 1. I've been using the wrong attachment on my Kitchen Aid mixer for mixing cookie dough. I've had that thing for four years. I've made a lot of cookies with it. Using the wrong attachment. I've been using the whisk. I should have been using the paddle. Who knew!? The Barefoot Contessa, that's who. 2. She had the coolest container for her flour and it was massive. The Web is a wonderful thing. I used it to find out where I could get something similar. It's an old fashioned glass jar. They have a huge one -- 2 gallons -- that's not on the Web site. I got the 1-gallon (for flour) and the half gallon (for sugar). Merry Christmas to me. Thank you, Chrissy for picking them up for me. Anyway, I started with the jam thumbprint cookies. (I'll post the recipes in a bit, in a separate post. For now, follow the link.) These are my new favorite cookie. They remind me of Girl Scout Somoas. Or Caramel Delites, whatever they're called where you live. I'll be making more of these.

Then I made rice krispy treats (we all know what those look like, so no photo of that), a fudge wreath (see photo and recipe here. Mine didn't photograph very well) and these little things. I kinda made them up, so we'll call them cinnamon pinwheels. They were really easy. I had some pie crust dough that I hadn't used, so I unrolled it, spread some butter on it, sprinkled cinnamon and sugar all over, then rolled it back up, stopping to brush it with egg white then sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on the bottom as I rolled. then sliced it and baked it for about 12 minutes. Next time, I'd put something else other than just cinnamon and sugar. Maybe cinnamon chips? I don't know. Experiment!

And I'd already made these cheddar crackers to give to my friends and co-workers. (Recipe to come. It's in a book I have.)

Overheard In Target when I was passing the aisle containing the "family planning" items. A 35ish man and woman, a cart with a toddlerish baby. The kid may not have been walking yet. So let's presume that he/she doesn't talk. Man: How about this one? Woman: Well, is that warming? Man: I don't know. (He points to another one) But this one is. Woman: Well, you might as well just use Ben-Gay! Someone in the aisle who was unrelated to the conversation: HAHAHAHAHA Woman: Well, it's true!

Christmas casualties Meet Jasper. This is Jasper sitting under the tree being good. I'm sure he's plotting something. Christmas is prime "Stinky Man" season. (Just check out what he was up to last year.) Let's see what he does next. (I've circled our special ornament from last year. This will be important later.)

Jasper's been a busy man. One of his favorite things to do this year is unwrapping his dad's Christmas gifts. (I've blacked out spots where you can tell what it is.)

He also enjoys snatching ornaments from the tree and playing with them. This one didn't fare well. It is/was the ornament we bought last year. I loved it and am very sad. It's Swarovski crystal.

Last night his dad put some little presents into his and Chloe's stockings. But Jasper couldn't wait until Christmas morning. (Until I saw him doing this, I didn't know where the little ball came from that he was playing with early this morning.)

This is where Jasper runs to hide from his mom when he's been a very bad man. And you can tell from the look on his face that this is one of those times.

Let it snow. Just not on my shirt. I like Christmas. Actually, I love Christmas. I especially love Christmas music. I know most of the carols and even have the car tuned to the all-Christmas-all-the-time station. (Yes, breaks are necessary.) I don't consider it Christmas until I've heard the Eagles' version of "Please Come Home for Christmas." I've never had a copy of this song, I just wait and wait to hear it on the radio. The other night, I had a little epiphany and went to iTunes. It was there. Ninety-nine cents later, it was mine. And now of course I've heard it on the radio about three times. (The other song I love to hear at Christmas, and my college roommate never lets me live down that I have this CD, is "Old Lang Syne" by Dan Fogleburg/berg. I love, love, love that song.) Anyway. That was not the point of today's post. Today is dedicated to Christmas attire. As I've said, I love Christmas. I do not, however, love Christmas clothing. I just can't do it. Those sweaters with the bells and balls and snowmen and the glitter? Forget it. Ugh. The thing is, though, I have one fleecey holidayish shirt in my closet. It's red and has three snowmen on it and it says Let It Snow. I've worn it once in about 4 years. I don't know what really possessed me to buy it. I guess I was thrown off by the lights and the atmosphere in the store. Chrissy and I are planning to get together and bake today and the yoga pants will be worn. As I stood this morning staring into my closet, I spied that red (It's not really a shirt, not really a sweater and definitely not a sweatshirt. I guess we'll just call it fleece) fleece on the bottom of the top shelf (a sure sign that it hasn't been worn in a very long time). I pulled it out, looked at it. And put it on. I didn't have to look in the mirror. I just looked down at myself. That did the trick. I shook my head, wrinkled my brow, took it off, refolded it and put it back on the shelf, shut the closet door and turned off the light. Clearly madness had overtaken me for just a moment, but I've recovered. Accompanying the black yoga pants today will be a black short sleeved shirt and then a kind of heathery darkish blue cashmere sweater and black moccassins. Ahh. But... bells will be ringing while we bake. That's a take on the first line of "Please Come Home for Christmas," in case you didn't know. Here. Have a dose: Bells will be ringing the sad, sad news Oh what a Christmas to have the blues My baby's gone, I have no friends To wish me greetings once again Choirs will be singing "Silent Night" Christmas carols by candle light Please come home for Christmas Please come home for Christmas If not for Christmas, then by New Year's night. I could go on, but I guess I won't. If I had audio, I'd sing it to you. Wait. Nah, I wouldn't do that. Only if the real song were playing in the background.

ornaments originally uploaded by jasclo.

Following our tradition, we chose a couple new ornaments this year. And now I'd like a latte, please.

The ghosts of Christmas tape. And scissors. All my life I've battled with scissors and tape. It must be hereditary because I remember when I was living at home, my mom was always yelling about who took the effin scissors?! And where was the bloody tape!? Hey, she had kids to blame it on. But I don't. So I have to assume there's a ghost. It couldn't possibly be ME who's the problem? Nope, nope. Every year before Christmas, I must buy at least four rolls of tape. I usually use a whole one. And then I'm left to wander the halls of my big old house* looking for the other three. How hard can this be? They all come in the same package. They divide and conquer, apparently. Right before Thanksgiving I bought a couple rolls of wrapping paper and some tape. Yesterday, I was preparing to wrap my first Christmas gift of the season. I went to that bag in the closet where the wrapping paper is. Wrapping paper. Check! Accounted for. Tape? Nope. Not in the bag. Now in defense of the ghost, I'm pretty sure I probably put THAT roll where I thought I wouldn't forget where it was. Yeah. Right. Now the scissors. I bought two pair of scissors a couple months ago. Both are accounted for. But before that, I'd spent months wondering what happened to my favorite pair. We have lots of dud pairs of scissors in the drawer. Two, perhaps. Why don't we throw them out? I don't know. Maybe I will. Today. Because everytime I'm in the middle of some involved project (which is not unoften) and I ask David to bring me some scissors, he ALWAYS brings me a dud pair. Always. Which triggers the conversation about what happened to the good scissors. I've given up on them. They've run off somewhere with the tape. The irony of all this is that there is a roll of tape I can always find. It's always in its rightful place. And that's the one that doesn't tear well. I go to tear off a piece and it makes tracks in the tape and then slides every which way. It's always an ordeal. I guess all this is a good case for gift bags. But I like the wrapping. It's fun and satisfying. And I'm pretty good at it. So I'll just struggle along with my crappy tape. Perhaps I'll find all those rolls eventually. Before they turn to dust. Somewhere out there, the ghost and the tape and that favorite pair of scissors are having a good laugh. But that's all right. * There's only one hall and the house isn't big. I just thought that would add to the charm and liklihood of a tape n scissors ghost.

Stupid, stupid, stupid I went to the post office Friday, but I left because there were about 20 people in line. All with several huge boxes. Me, I have a small box and not a lot of time. I went today. Big mistake. Huge mistake. I should have stayed there Friday. Today, there must have been 50 people in line. I did not stay.

A letter Dear Squirrely T. Brushtail, My mom said you may have clawed your way onto our screened porch looking for food. She said maybe I could throw some bird seed onto the snow in the backyard and then you wouldn't be so hungry. So I figured I'd buy some birdseed for you. But my friend, Nabbalicious, said "NO. DO NOT FEED THE SQUIRREL." Then she told me about someone we know who fed a squirrel (you probably don't know him. He lives miles from here) and it started scratching at her window. We wouldn't want to start something like that, S.T.J. Because that would just freak me out. And the cats... the cats would be basketcases trying to get to you. They want to eat you. You know that, right? Anyway, S.T. -- do you mind if I call you S.T.? -- sorry, but I guess you won't be getting any food from me. I feel bad, really I do. But Nabbalicious said that if you're a good squirrel, you should have some kind of food reserve. Did you just move here? If that's the case, maybe we can talk. I'd be happy to leave you some food, say somewhere way down the street? OK, I have to get going now. It was nice talking to you. Oh, and by the way, thanks for not eating through our recycling bin to get back onto the porch. We really appreciate it, S.T. Sincerely, Jasclo

Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep Oh my GOD. That effin squirrel is back on the porch and David's gone to work. Now I have to 1. get it out of there (SCARED!) and 2. do something about that hole. HELP. Update: It's about 15 minutes later and he's gone. Again. For now at least. I went around the house and opened the door, then booked it back to the front door. I watched him as he tried to climb through the screen. He kept trying the corners of the screened sections. Like he knew he'd come in a corner but couldn't figure out which one it was. But the door was wide open. I slid open the sliding door and slinked out there staying on the opposite side of the porch. But then he came toward me and I yelped and went back inside, which was a feat in itself with two cats on the other side itching to get out. I called David and whined about how stupid the squirrel is. A few minutes later, he booked it out the door. Like, "OH YEAH! That's where I came in! TWICE! HAHAHA. Dumb lady!" I slammed the door and put the recycling bins against the hole. You know, it's not even a hole, really. It's just where the screen has come undone from the bottom of the door. God. I hope he doesn't come back. And I hope he doesn't come back and bring friends.

squirrel! originally uploaded by jasclo.

Don't touch that squirrel's nuts!
There was a squirrel taunting Jas this morning. He was climbing all over the screened porch. And the next time we looked, he'd apparently invited himself onto the porch by way of a little spot where some of the screen has come away from the door.

We figured maybe he'd find his way out, but after a little while we figured we might want to help him along. So David went out the front door, around the house and opened the porch door. The squirrel ran to the back of the porch, then up the side. Then down, closer to the door, then up the side again. Finally, it ran out the door.

I'm thinking he probably wouldn't have figured out how to get out without destroying something. I hope he forgets about that spot in the screen. Note to self: Must get that fixed.

Speaking of squirrels, we saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory the other night. If you haven't seen it, you should:

"Don't touch that squirrel's nuts! He'll go mad."

"They're testing to see if she's a bad nut. And... she is."

name art
Originally uploaded by jasclo.

Name: Jasclo

Mission: A great gift for some great godchildren.

Where the idea came from: I don't know. They just pop into my head. And then I'm charged with creating exactly what I see. Which, for those who know me, know it can be a very painstaking process.

How long it took: A VERY long time. Especially the top one. I made that matte and threaded that ribbon through it myself. I worked on them for a couple weeks. And Griffin's was the second idea. The first one didn't really work out. The original involved paper with M&Ms all over it.

Will I do it again: The Magic 8 ball says ask again later.

I don't make this stuff up There's this house down the street that's a constant source of amusement for us. It's not a funny house or anything. But you see, they have this duck. No, no. Not a real duck. A ceramic duck in the front window. It's a brick rancher with one of those picture windows with the ledge on it. Do you know what I mean? They've hung a curtain, which keeps nosey passersby -- like me, apparently -- from looking in. But there's a big ledge between the curtain and the glass, in which to display things, I guess, to those nosey passersby -- like me. Anyway, so there's the duck. We've lived here for three years and I'm not sure when we discovered the duck. But every time (well, most times anyway) we pass by, one of us will go wack, wack. I know it's supposed to be quack quack, but wack, wack is just funnier somehow. Sometimes when people visit us, we'll point it out. It hasn't proved to be very successful. Once some friends we met through Nabbalicious were visting from out of town and we'd made dinner. Afterward Trish and I went to pick up some ice cream. I tried to point out the duck on the way back and tell her the wack, wack story, but it didn't go so well. The ice cream, you see. It was sitting on the floor in containers with very wishy-washy lids. And when I hit the breaks, the lid popped off one of the sundaes. And well, ice cream leakage is never fun. Then once when my mom was visiting, I tried to show her the duck. "Mom! Look! See the duck?! Wack, wack!" "What?! What duck? Where? I didn't see any duck!" Perhaps the problem is that I don't give enough warning before I spring the duck on people. But I can't help it. It's not one of those things you think about all the time. It's like a leaf stuck in your windshield wiper. You think about it the entire time you're in the car because it's right there and it's making that noise. But when you stop the car, do you remember to get it out? If you're like me, no. You don't think about it again until you're once again driving with that damned leaf pfffffbbbbting the whole time. (Solution: Just turn up the tunes.) Now it's not one of those ducks that gets dressed up for every season. It's just a white ceramic lump with a light yellow beak. But the other day, we were on our way home and I dutifully looked over to make fun of the duck. And what to my wondering eyes did appear? The duck has donned a Christmas cape. Red with white fur. David didn't see it, so I made him go back. I laughed for like 20 minutes. I don't know why I thought it was so funny. He laughed too, but not like I did. I just could not stop laughing. A Christmas cape for the duck! The person was probably so proud! I bet she (Come on, we KNOW it was a she) stood in the yard and admired her handiwork and creativity. "There! Now the window is perfect! Christmas! A cape! For the duck!" Wack, wack.

Let's just hibernate, mmmmkay? It's really cold out. I assume this because it's snowing. I got up to go to the gym. The class starts at 10 a.m. It's 9:26. I really really don't want to go out. You're going to make me go aren't you? Dammit.

Chocolate cake update For all you droolers out there, I've updated the Nov. 30th cake post to include the recipe for the cake and the chocolate glaze. (And I'll add it to my recipe list in the sidebar.) Happy baking! If anyone makes it, let me know how it turns out and how you liked it. Bon Appetite.

I spied, so to speak A couple years ago when I got my Mini Cooper, I drove everyone nuts trying to find the perfect vanity plate message for it. I think it took a couple of weeks to satisfy my thirst for something original. I checked on lots of things that had been taken. Here are some that I remember: NUGGET GOLDRSH KARAT GLDNNGT 24 KARAT 24K GOLD SLD GLD (yeah, I know that one looks like sold) Finally, with some help from my friends, I found something that I liked. It's perfect and I love it. Now fast forward about two and a half years. To yesterday. I was driving to work and I glanced at the car in front of me. A silver Rav-4. And its license plate was 24K GOLD. WHAT? I mean really. What a waste. I thought well maybe he's trying to be ironic. Gold on a silver car... but it's just not funny. Maybe he used to have a gold car. But the one he was driving didn't look new at all. In fact, it was kinda dinged up. Oh well. I'm glad that plate wasn't available. It's just so obvious. [Eye roll.]

Birthday cake originally uploaded by jasclo.

Mmmmmmm. Cake. Ingredients include bittersweet chocolate, butter, flour, sugar, eggs, 2 cups of Starbucks coffee. The following recipe is from the cookbook "Spago Chocolate." Fudgy Chocolate Cake This wonderfully moist, fudgy cake can be made in a 10-inch bundt pan, as below, or in two 9x5x3 loaf pans (baking time would be 35 to 40 minutes). We first tasted this cake when Jean-Paul De Sourdie, a caterer in New York, brought it as a gift. We liked it so much we decided that, with our minor additions, it belonged in the Spago repertoire. Equipment: 10-inch bundt pan, sifter, medium heatproof bowl, electric mixer with large bowl, 10-inch cardboard round. (Jasclo note: I just use a big round plate. Just make sure the cake will fit on whatever you use. And remember you'll need some room for the chocolate glaze.) Ingredients: 2 c. all-purpose flour 1 teaspoon baking soda 1/2 teaspoon salt 12 ounces bittersweet chocolate, cut into small pieces 8 ounces unsalted butter, cut into small pieces 2 eggs 2 cups granulated sugar 1 tablespoon vanilla extract 2 cups cold coffee 3 tablespoons Kahlua or Grand Marnier (Jasclo note: I use Kahlua) 1. Position the rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 325 degrees. Butter or coat with vegetable spray a 10-inch bundt pan, making certain you coat all the ridges plus the inner tube. If the pan does not have a nonstick coating, dust it with flour, tapping out any exess. Set aside. (Jasclo note: Mine has a nonstick coating, but the cake sticks unless I coat it with flour.) 2. Sift together the flour, baking soda and salt. Set aside. (Jasclo note: I used to sift the flour until I realized the flour bag says presifted. So I've stopped. And I haven't noticed a difference. I just combine the flour, soda and salt and mix it together with a fork.) 3. In a medium heatproof bowl set over a pan of gently simmering water, melt the chocolate and butter, stirring occasionally. When almost melted, turn off the heat and let melt completely. (Jasclo note: HAHA. I totally use the microwave. It takes about two or three 30-second heatings. Stir between each heating.) 4. In a large bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle or beaters, whip the eggs. On low speed, gradually pour in the sugar and continue to beat until well incorporated, raising the speed when all the sugar has been incorporated. On low speed, scrape in the melted chocolate mixture, add the vanilla and mix well. (Jasclo note: I actually do all of this.) 5. Alernate adding the flour mixture and the coffee, starting and ending with the flour mixture (three additions of flour and two of coffee). Do the additions on low speed and then turn the speed to high. Stop the machine occasionally and scrape around the bowl and under the beaters. Add the Grand Marnier or Kahlua and beat just till combined. 6. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan, distributing it evenly around the pan (tap the pan to level the batter). Bake until a cake tester inserted into the middle comes out clean, about 1 hour. Cool on a rack for 15 minutes, then invert onto a 10-inch cardboard round and return to the rack to cool completely. (Jasclo note: Or invert it onto your plate. Whatever.) 7. To serve, cut the cake into slices and serve with a dollop of whipped cream. Scatter a few fresh raspberries or slices strawberries around the cake. Or spoon a little of the chocolate glaze onto a plate and set the cake slice on top. (Jasclo note: I just pour it on the cake. And no raspberries. Strawberries maybe. But definitely no raspberries.) Chocolate Glaze A glaze differs from a frosting in that it is poured over a cake. It has a shiny glossiness when it sets. A glaze has many uses. Before frosting a cake that's not completely smooth, we pour a glaze over, let it set and then frost. The frosting then will be much smoother and give the cake a more professional look. When the glaze becomes slightly firm, it can also be rolled into small truffles or piped two cookies as a filling. Equipment: 2 medium heatproof bowls, whisk, fine-mesh strainer Ingredients: 8 ounces bittersweet chocolate, cut into small pieces 3 ounces (3/4 stick) unsalted butter, cut into small pieces 1/3 cup light corn syrup 1. In a medium heatproof bowl, combine the chocolate and butter and set over a pan of simmering water. Do not let the botton of the bowl touch the water or the chocolate may burn. Let melt almost completely, turn off the heat, and let the mixture continue to melt, stirring occasionally. (Jasclo note: Yep, you got it. I use the microwave.) 2. Whisk in the corn syrup until smooth. Pour through a fine-mesh strainer into a clean medium bowl and reserve, covered, in a warm spot until needed.

Today is someone's birthday! Happy birthday, David! I hope you enjoy your present. Since we're both working tonight, we'll be having a celebratory lunch and my sweetie's place of choice. If you know him at all, you'll probably already know that means Cheeburger Cheeburger. I know he's getting a burger. But here's the mystery: Will I order a the portabella and grilled chicken salad and perhaps a small order of Frings (for the uninitiated, that's fries AND onion rings) or will I go all out and have a burger? I'm hoping I order the salad. But we'll see! I have to get ready for lunch now, but stay tuned for photos of David's birthday cake. I made it meself.

A conversation I came out of the shower and while combing my hair, I heard some hideous 80s metalish music on the TV downstairs. David had gotten into the shower when I got out. I went back in to return my comb to its rightful place. "What the hell did you turn the TV to?" "What're you talking about?" "Oh, come on. That music reeks of you." He laughed. "I didn't turn it to anything." "Well, it's some really awful 80s hair band music. It must be a music channel." "Are you sure it isn't Leno or something?" "Maybe it is." "It's probably The Darkness." "The wha?" "The Darkness. It's this horrible band going around thinking they're so cool. They play 80s metalish pop music. It's horrible. They think they're the coolest." The good thing about DVR is rewind. I came downstairs and hit the rewind button. Oh, hi Dave Letterman! I love you! Ahem, I mean, it was David Letterman. I backed the show up to the previous commericals and then let it run. He talked about Amanda Pete, who apparently had just been on. Seems he has a bit of a crush on her. Then he picked up the CD on his desk saying something about England and please welcome The Darkness. Well. I'll be damned. That's a pretty good guess for only having 80s, metalish and hair band as descriptors.

Of teeth and numbness I called my dentist yesterday because since Sunday afternoon, my two front teeth had been kinda numb. I thought I'd read somewhere once that if your two front teeth were numb, you were surely about to die. So I called my dentist, whose number I happen to know off the top of my head. No, I really don't know why. I guess it's just easy to remember. Plus, I've been going there for at least 5 years. The hygenest answered. The great thing about my dentist's office -- there are only three people who work there and if I call and tell them my name, they know me. Not "Oh yeah, you ARE a patient here, I remember seeing your chart" but "Hi [Jasclo]! How are you?" So I told her the problem. She asked if I'd bitten into anything. Nope. Any sinus trouble? Actually, I guess I'd consider a massive nosebleed a sinus problem. I'm to take Advil and call them if it gets worse or if there's any swelling under my top lip. I guess I won't be dying immediately, which is good because I'm kinda busy today.

I am a bleeder, which is why I have tissues in every room Since I was a kid, I've gotten nosebleeds. It used to be because we had a wood stove in our house when I was young. I remember mom taking me to the emergency room once because it just wouldn't stop. I was probably 6 or 8? I don't know. The doctor said if it kept happening, I'd have to have my nose packed. I don't know what the hell that means, but it doesn't sound good. Apparently, mom didn't think so either because she never took me back to the doctor about it. Don't worry, though. I turned out fine. Mostly. Starting in November, my nose gets really dry. We have a humidifier in our bedroom and we have a heat pump, so it's not like the heat is super dry (or is it? I don't really know). The humidifier just doesn't seem to solve the problem completely. Sunday morning, I woke up and as usual, reached for the tissues. I blew a little too vigorously, I suppose, because I felt something drip and I knew I was in trouble. I was about to freak out because I thought the blood droplet had fallen onto the new comforter. But, whew! It didn't. Just onto my shirt. It was a pretty heavy one, but I managed to stop it pretty quickly. See, I've learned the techniques. You have to pinch the ridge of your nose. (Slide your fingers down your nose. You want to pinch right under where the bone ends and the cartilage begins.) I know the impulse is to tilt your head back, but don't do that. If you do, the blood just goes down your throat. And ew. Of course do it till you get a tissue or something, but then just hold the tisse against your nostril and use the other hand to pinch. It should stop in a minute or so. If you've gotten punched in the nose, though, you're on your own. I don't think the technique works for that.

No turkey in this oven. Or, I am the turkey Since David and I both worked on Thanksgiving, I was going to make us a turkey breast today with "the trimmings," as they say. But I got involved in a project this morning and spent four hours pulling ribbon through paper and then glueing it to matte board, but that's another story all togther. Since it's David's only day off, he wanted to go out and buy some toys for a friend of his who is taking donations for church. So we had to go out. And I needed to go to a paper store and then get some groceries if I was going to cook all that stuff. Call me the Queen of Almost. It was 2 when we left the house. We'd only had breakfast, so while we were wandering the toy aisles at Target, both our heads started to hurt and our stomachs were growling. We bought some very cool stuff -- some people even commented on it. A medeivel castle set, a football, a basketball game, a 3-foot long tractor trailer filled with matchboxy cars, a Tonka truck you put together and can paint and something else that I can't remember. Even though I think boy toys suck, I kind of admire the stuff David picked out. I got a girl Barbie, a boy Barbie (Steven!), a princess castle set and my favorite -- a ballerina (pink, of course!) sleeping bag in a backpack with a flashlight and a little water bottle. The toys were very cool. But this is about the turkey. So we were starving when we left Target and unlike the one right near our house, this Target didn't have a Taco Bell in it. So we drive down to Taco Bell to get a taco to hold us over till we got home to cook the turkey. Only on the way there, I said, "We could just get dinner out." It wasn't that I didn't want to cook, it was just that it was 4:45 and the turkey had to cook for about 2 hours. We went back and forth and finally decided I'd cook the turkey. So we head home (I was going to get it started and David would run over to the store to pick up the stuff we needed). I get out the roasting pan, the rack and take the turkey out of the fridge. I look on the back to see what temperature to use. Then I noticed the chart. I think the turkey breast is 6 pounds. Or maybe 5. The chart says a 5-6 pounder has to cook for 3.5 to 4 hours. It's 5:30. We're so not having turkey for dinner.

Call it what you want For the longest time, I thought Sara Lee's slogan was "Nobody does it like Sara Lee." Which might I add, I think is actually better than the real one: "Nobody doesn't like Sara Lee."

Ahh, the memories In honor of Black Friday, I've found the story I wanted to share. I was in an introductory reporting class and before Thanksgiving break, the teacher told us to write about our holiday. He didn't give any other direction. So I wrote this. I showed it to my mom later and she howled with laughter. She thought it was so funny that she showed it to someone she worked with at the time. "Isn't it funny?!" Mom asked the woman. "No," the woman replied. "I think it's sad. It's dysfunctional." Well, lady, who isn't? But reading it now, 10 years later, I don't think it's as hilarious as I used to. It sounds kind of mean. But I didn't mean it that way. I love my mom and my dad and my sister and my grandma. But you know how your family just knows how to push that one button that no one else knows is there? When my mom, sister and I are together, the buttons get pushed. It just happens. We don't really do it on purpose. Mom's spastic, my sister and my mom have quick tempers. My sister says something, my mom gets huffy, then I get mad because they won't stop arguing. Yeah, we're kind of a mess, but I think it's just a byproduct of being a family. And I love them. So take this story with the grain of sarcastic salt -- because that's the way it was intended. And feel free to nod along, because I know many, many families are like this. (By the way, I got an A on this paper. And the teacher said "I didn't know you were funny until I read this." I told him, "Hey, I just report the truth.") [My name] "holidays" In my family, the holidays carry sleighs full of tradition. It’s mostly like the rest of the year except we all get to argue more during the festivities. Let’s face it: Christmas really starts at Thanksgiving. That’s when the fun begins at my house. The first tradition: Mom cooks Thanksgiving dinner, but my sister and I aren’t there to enjoy it. We go to our paternal grandmother’s for dinner. It’s been that way since our parents divorced. Dad gets us for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Mom gets us the rest of the year. Mom is left with her mother, who every five minutes says, “I don’t want to tell you how to cook the turkey, but…” The day after Thanksgiving is one of the highlights of the season. My mom, sister and I go shopping. Sometimes my boyfriend joins us if he’s feeling brave. This year, he stayed home. I should have stayed home with him. We dared the mall. It was packed. There were many men sitting on benches, which is a sure sign that the shopping season has begun. OK, we’re driving around the parking lot looking for the furthest possible parking space from the mall. Mom just bought a new truck and doesn’t want the paint scratched. After we walk the mile to the mall, we go to the music store. My sister, 13, decides that while we’re Christmas shopping, she will spend all of her money on herself. First, she buys two CDs, then wants to get her picture taken with Santa. But she won’t stand in line by herself. She throws a fit. Mom decides to go home. We’ve only been out for an hour. We take my sister home, which takes about a half hour. Then mom and I go back to the mall and finish our shopping in peace. The next adventure this season will be getting a Christmas tree. Every year it gets worse. It’s like a scene from Christmas Vacation. The second week in December, we will walk around a tree farm, knee deep in snow and argue about which tree is better. When we finally agree, mom will cut down the tree with a handsaw, drag it to the truck and go home. Then the real “fun” will begin.

"Did you confuse it for your own sandwich with the Moist Maker!?" As I made my turkey sandwich today, I was reminded of Friends. The One with Ross's Sandwich. The one where someone eats some of his turkey sandwich with the "Moist Maker!" and throws the rest away. He freaks out, you remember?, and gets sent on sabbatical. I looked in the fridge today for the little turkey sandwiches that I saved from last night, but I couldn't find them. I called my husband because I had a theory. I'm sleuthlike that way. It was what I'd figured. He took them. In the baggie were three sandwiches on little rolls. I told him I brought him a country ham roll. The other two were turkey. Those were mine. But he took the whole baggie thinking they were all for him. I forgive him. But the funny thing is... the turkey ones (at least one of them) had mayo. He hates mayo. I guess we'll call that my Moist Maker.

In lieu of There's this hilarious story I wrote for a college class, but I can't find any copies of it. My mom had it on her computer, but she got a new one and now can't open the file. I hope to find it soon and will post it when I do. Instead, I bring you the story of my morning, which is actually kinda funny. Not really funny ha ha, but funny ironic. Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY MALIAVALE!! It was dark when I opened my eyes this morning. That's because it was 6. Jasper was knocking stuff off my side table and just generally living up to his nickname The Stinky Man. (You understand he doesn't actually smell bad, right?) I got up to go to the bathroom, came back to bed. And just laid there. I couldn't go back to sleep. So I thought about what I'd do today. I'd been thinking about it for a couple days. I have a couple of turkey breasts to cook and take to work (We have our own Thanksgiving. Festive!). And I'd planned to write out some Christmas cards. After, of course, I'd looked at all the Black Friday ads. (Except the one for the farm supply store. I think it's safe to skip that one.) And generally be as festive as one person in a house with two cats can be. Because hey, I'm thankful for a lot of things. I'm a fortunate person. Anyway, so I'm laying there thinking about the day. I wondered if the paper was here yet. Probably not. It's not even light out yet! WHAT AM I DOING AWAKE?! I wanted to get up, but I knew I shouldn't. Why, you ask? Because you know that saying "Death never takes a holiday"? Well, my job is kind of like that. Just insert my career industry and a new saying is born. Where was I? Oh yeah. Working today. I won't get home until midnight. And I've found out from experience that if I get up at 6 or 6:30, I will run out of steam well before then. So I laid there and forced myself to go back to sleep. David got up and went to work. (Pitiful, ain't it? We're fine though, don't feel bad for us. Well, maybe just a little.) After he said good-bye, I drifted off for a few more minutes. When I woke up again, it was a little before 9 and Jasper was curled up next to me. Aww. He's a sweetie. Nevermind that I'll have to use several layers of the lint roller to get his hair (and Chloe's) off the bed. It's totally worth it. Then I remembered and grabbed for the phone. My whole plan may be ruined!! I dialed. David answered. "Please tell me you did not take the newspaper with you." "Erm, yeah. I did." "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I wanted to look at the ads. I planned my whole day around it!" "Honey, I'm sorry. I wasn't even thinking. I just grabbed it." Sobbing. GRR. The whole day! RUINED! OK, there wasn't really sobbing. Though a stray tear may have formed. (Again, not really.) But I was very sad! I thought, who's paper could I steal!? Then dismissed that thought because a. it would be wrong, right? and b. I don't think anyone else on our street gets the paper. (Losers!) So what could I do to save the plan? I'll have to go out and find one. I got up, threw on some clothes and hopped in the car. First store: gas station nearest our house. Out of papers. Hmm. This could be interesting. I figured I'd go to Sheetz. And on Thanksgiving, they give the coffee away. (Note to self: Go there before work.) But on the way there, I figured I'd have to be smarter than other people. Lots of people go to Sheetz. Of course they're probably going to be out of papers. Gas AND a convenience store. Hmm. Just then I passed a 7-Eleven. No gas to be had there. But I couldn't get to it easily. So I spied a gas station with only a little hut, no store. From the car, I could see a newpaper box. And hallelujah, there was a paper in it. Praying I had change, I u-turned and pulled in. I inserted my quarters and pulled open the box, while saying a little prayer. "Please let there be a paper with the ads in them." Because you know how people are. Sometimes, they pay for one and take more than that. A stack of thick newspapers greeted me. "Oh hello, little newspapers. You've just saved my day." See, there's so much to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

stood up originally uploaded by jasclo.

Art
One of my favorite pieces of art work in our house. David always has the booth next to the artist, Rhonda Corley, at an art show he's in every year. I told him I really liked it and he got me this print. I Googled her -- her name comes up, but I couldn't find any other examples of her work.

It sucks when... I've decided to develop a couple of standing post titles. I present "It sucks when..." and "It rocks when..." Sadly, today (actually yesterday) is not the day that something rocks. Today something sucks. And here it is: It sucks when...* You go into the grocery store and it isn't raining, but when you come out it's pouring buckets. And further, you already have some stuff in the boot (let's face it, it's not really a trunk) of your Mini Cooper. So you try to stuff bags in using one hand because the other hand is holding the umbrella. And you just want to throw stuff on the ground and cry, but a. that will make it harder to get things into the car without everything getting soaked and b. the store is near your house, so it's not fair to assume that no one you know is there or that those people would never remember you. Because they would. So, yes, you say to your husband, that is what happened to the Honey Nut Cheerio box. You couldn't get it into the boot using one hand and the box fell out of the bag onto the ground. Now the box is soggy. But life goes on. I think the Cheerios will survive. There is an upside to this "It sucks when..." though. And that's when you've finally gotten everything shoved into the car and you're driving home. You can laugh at yourself a little before you realize that when you pull into the driveway, the process starts all over because you have to get everything into the house. It will not, however, be in one trip this time. It will be in three trips and you will hope that in the process of getting it into the house, the cat will not run outside becuase that would be the last straw. (To his credit he didn't. This time.) When you finally get into the house, you will need just a minute to collect yourself before you can put everything away. And while you're having that minute, you hope the cat will not be chewing on the container of strawberries. (On the plastic. Perhaps to get at the berries.) Or pushing things off the counter with his head. *Most "It sucks when..." postings will not be this long. Probably.

A show of solidarity Since Darren was so honest and told us of his... incident, I thought I would show some support and tell a couple of stories myself. Now, this isn't the kind of stuff I usually talk about. Oh sure, it comes up with my girl friends once in a while. I mean, we all share bathroom stories with our best friends, right? While these vignettes are not in the same category as Darren's, I thought they might provide a laugh anyway. I give you my series of Bathroom Issue Stories from this weekend. Scene I: Friday, Nov. 18, about noon I'd gone to the mall with Chrissy and the kids to Hecht's for "Friday Door Busters." After we bought a few things and let the kids play at the little playground, we went to the food court for some lunch. I drink a lot of water -- and it's rare to see me without a water bottle. So of course I have to take lots of bathroom breaks. I ate my grilled Chick-Fil-A sandwich and headed to the mall bathroom. I don't like public restrooms, but what're you gonna do? When you gotta go, you gotta go. So I head for the first stall (because Nabbalicious has told me about a study where the first stall is usually the cleanest. People apparently usually skip that one. Of course, the study and the info being out there now probably makes that that null and void.) I open the door, do a spot check. Clean seat. Toilet paper. All systems go. But too late I realize the toilet paper thingy (Yeah, that little spinny thing in the middle. What the hell is that called? I hate it when my mind blanks on the smallest words.) won't spin. I stick my hand into the holder and try to move the roll of paper. Nothing. COME ON! I was so careful! UGH. I sat there and debated for a minute. What to do? Certainly, this isn't a new situation. It happens to people all the time. But what's a girl to do? Fortunately, there were those seat covers hanging on the wall. So I used some of those. Not pleasant, but hey. I was desperate. So now I spose I'll have to revise my criteria process. Is the seat clean? Is there toilet paper? Does the toilet paper actually come OUT? Scene II: Sunday, Nov. 20, afternoon I was contemplating switching from Sam's Club to Costco (anyone see a big difference between the two?). So Chrissy and I went to check it out. We looked around a while then stopped at the "food court" on the way out. We each had a slice of cheese pizza and a drink, then headed to a fabric store. We browsed, I bought some fabric that I needed for a project. While we were standing in line at the register, my stomach started to feel pretty bad. Roiling. I don't think it enjoyed the pizza very much. I wondered if there was a restroom in there, but decided I'd be OK. We paid and left. At our next stop, Ben Franklin, we were looking for a white shadow box frame for another project I'm working on. (I'm full of 'em these days.) As we're walking around the store, I get that feeling again. This time, I really need to find a restroom. A clerk is walking by. I ask where it is. She tells me, though I'm not entirely clear on her directions. I see some double doors she was talking about, but the doors have an employees only sign on it. I was glad to see another clerk near the doorway, so I asked if that was the way to the bathroom. It was. Hallelujah. It's a two-stall bathroom. Someone's in the first one, so I have to go into the handicapped one, which is always disconcerting to me. The other person will leave. And then what if someone comes in who really needs the large stall? Will they think I'm just rude and use that one because I just felt like it? Oh well. No time to ponder. Besides, it's not like I'm in Target where everyone knows where the bathrooms are. The stall is fine. Clean enough. You know sometimes when your stomach feels really really bad and you start to feel lightheaded? And your mouth kinda waters like you might throw up? It was one of those days. The first person flushes and leaves. She may have washed her hands. I don't know. I couldn't be bothered with that sort of information at the time. I hear some talking outside the bathroom doors. "Well is there just one stall?" Then the door flies open and in come three loud people. Two adults and a kid. One of the adults goes into the available stall. The second one yanks on the door to my stall. Oh god, go away, I thought. But it's locked, right? So ha! Only a few seconds later, she yanked on it again harder. And the door flew open. I yelped. "Oh god! I'm so sorry. I didn't unlock it! I didn't unlock it." Whatever lady. You totally just almost yanked the door off the hinges. I have to get the hell out of there. Meanwhile, I can't right that second and the door is ajar and it's too far away to reach. I got myself together, flushed and came out of the stall. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," the lady kept saying. "It's OK." I washed my hands and got the hell out of there. This is why I hate public restrooms. HATE THEM. Scene III: Sunday, Nov. 20, around 11:30 p.m. David and I went to see Harry Potter 4 and as happens sometimes, I had to go to the bathroom during the movie. (The water thing, you see.) So I run into the ladies' room and again take the first stall. That trick doesn't always work for me, but sometimes I get lucky. Clean seat? Check. Toilet paper? Check. I'm in a time crunch, so I risk it and assume the paper will come out. It does. So I was in the stall and two girls (I'm assuming they were teenagers) came in and take stalls. Here's the conversation they had: Girl 1: You know, I have to admit, I'm a sitter, not a squatter. I thought what the heck is she talking about? Then it became clear. Girl 2: Oh me too. I just put down toilet paper on the seat. Girl 1: Oh I don't even do that. I go bare-bottomed. Girl 2: Oh my GOD. What if there's a pube or something on the seat? Now sadly, I don't remember what Girl 1 said to that. I'm sure it was an interesting answer. And I think she may have said she wipes it off, but I can't be sure. I had a movie to get back to. So there you have it. I guess you can divide females into two groups. One that sits right on the toilet seat and one that has to have a buffer. Discuss.

In case you were wondering why there's a dry creek bed running through my front yard It's not just for looks. We had some water issues to address, so the runoff goes into the creek bed and then into a collection box underneath and then out to the street. Pretty smart, eh?

And a dream becomes reality
Click on the photo and you should be able to see the montage larger.

aww pretty yard originally uploaded by jasclo.

Progress! originally uploaded by jasclo.

Looking good
1. Last winter
2. Beginning of Day 2: The Overview
3. Beginning of Day 2: The Creekbed