My heart won't let my feet do things they should do...

Wouldn't it have been great to start off my first blog post after three weeks of zip-o with a grand and exuberant announcement that I have finally after quite a few months (I'm not ready to use the word "several" just yet) landed myself gainful, full-time, permanent employment?

Wouldn't that have been great?

It would have been great, but I'm sad to inform you that I'm still bumming around the house trying not to eat everything in sight while I watch too much reality TV.

Some days are better than others, like the days when a new episode of Project Runway is on, the days when there are actually job postings that I'm interested in and qualified for, or that time that Lady Gaga made a guest appearance on Launch My Line. Good times.

Today's a very good day because not only did I find the first disk of season 3 of The Mighty Boosh from Netflix and this week's New York magazine in the mailbox, I also found the big box of tangerines that my mom and dad shipped to me from the orchards down the road from their house in Florida sitting out there too.

Anyhoo... my job searching hasn't been all terrible. I hit a hot streak a few weeks ago and had two interviews with two very different companies in the same week. Both were for decent jobs that I'm actually qualified to do. I got a little nutty that week fantasizing about how I could wow them both and start a bidding war for my amazingness but the first company gave me a rejection email within a couple of days.

I gotta say that at the same time I was a wee bit sad that I didn't get the job I was also kind of happy that they let me know so quickly. I was almost compelled to write and thank them for getting that shit over with. I think waiting around is the worst part and they ripped off the band-aid so fast, ka-pow!, and made my life much more bearable.

The other company I interviewed with later that same week - not so much. Still waiting. And it's not like I didn't hear anything from them in the mean time. I got glowing feedback after the first interview, glowing, and I interviewed with 4 different people mind you. Then the following week they had me fill out all different kinds of forms and personality assessments and then after that they contacted my recruiter to ask if I was available to set up a second interview. That was almost 2 flippin' weeks ago and at this point I'm near my boiling point. I can only assume that the kind of people who play these cruel waiting games have never themselves been unemployed or they wouldn't fucking do it.

It's not like I mind if the process takes a long time. I get it. I absolutely understand that these kinds of important hiring decisions should not be made in haste, but for the sweet love of Ray J at least let a bitch know when she can expect to hear back.

In the meantime I have Project Runway, Let's Talk About Pep, and the new season of Millionaire Matchmaker to keep me busy and I just signed up to teach English as a second language at my local literacy center, although it'll take awhile before I get to do actually do anything because they have to do interviews and background checks and I have to go through some training courses that don't happen until late April. Stupid interviews. I thought it was odd that they have the volunteer tutors go through such hoops but when an over protective husband who attended orientation with this wife asked if the tu-tees were background checked the literacy center lady hemmed and hawed and finally said she didn't know. Interesting.

Also interesting, while describing the types of people who come to the literacy center for help, she also quickly, and I almost want to say under her breath, mumbled some things that sounded remarkably like "work release" and "parole".

The over protective husband also asked whether or not his wife's time spent volunteering would be tax deductable and whether or not she would be reimbursed for mileage. What a jackass, although I'm glad MDH didn't come with me because those are exactly the kinds of jackass questions he asked me when I told him I wanted to do this. My answer to those questions: I don't give a shit - I'm doing it anyway.

In other news, after 3 failed attempts I finally found a pair of boots that work for me (insert chorus of angels singing Ode to Joy here). The only sort of flaw is that they are not real leather, but leather was merely a nice to have, otherwise they meet all my fucked up leg criteria:


1. Must have a full side zip as I cannot bend my right ankle to accommodate a pull-on style of boot.


2. Must have pointed toe. I can't abide a round or square toe. With my giant frame? It makes my foot look like a hoof.


3. Must have an extra wide shaft. Yeah baby, you heard me right, I said extra wide shaft. (Seriously, all sexual innuendo aside, I've got big calves.)


4. Must be flat or have extremely low heel. Fused ankle. What can I do? My foot is stuck in that position. Any higher than an inch and I can't walk.

So I found a pair that work. Halle-friggin-lujah. Attention People Who Know Me - be prepared to be sick of seeing them.

Something weird just happened. My fingers went all nutty while I was typing and now the font of this post looks janky. I can't figure out how to fix it either. Dang.

So where was I? Boots. Yep. I got boots. What else? Oh hell yes - MDH and I are getting an enormous income tax return this year and are going to buy a new bed. King size.

Our first big purchase as a couple 10 years ago was our queen size bed that we currently use. I use the word "we" loosely as most nights I start off in in that bed, but typically I end up running away to the guest room after having been driven off by some combination of MDH's ungodly snoring and my chronic back pain (because the bed now folds up like a taco when are both in it). I think it goes without saying that it's time for a new bed.

That's it for now except that I'd like to say a hearty congrats and sad farewell to my young friend Jogger who is getting married this Saturday and then moving away to Texas. Good luck kid. Stay in touch or I will hunt you down.

Here's the song I've been singing around the house today, hence the title of my post ...

In a Sentimental Mood

Gwen, my very good blogger friend over at Everything I Like Causes Cancer has asked a favor of her readership:

"I want you to do me a favor. Tonight when you get home from work, or today while the kiddos are napping, go find your clothing/footwear/accessory equivalent of my pajama top and take a picture of the revered item. Post the picture on your own blog tomorrow and tell us the story behind it. You don't have to link back to this post because I don't get fussy about stuff like that but please do come back and leave a comment so we can find and enjoy your stories."

The request was pretty specifically about clothing, accessories or footwear and I have simply never been one to get terribly attached to that kind of stuff. I outgrow the something, diet and by the time whatever the thing is fits again it's out of style or totally moth eaten. For the most part to me - it's just clothes.

MDH, on the other hand has 3 boxes in the basement filled with rotting concert t-shirts and such treasured items as the suit he wore when he went on his first job interview after college in 1987 when his waist was a size 32. He accused me of being heartless, barbaric and cruel when I suggested on my last purge that we should pack up his old size medium ski pants and give them to charity. I have known this man for 10 years and in this time he has never once even hinted at going skiing or been close to anything sized medium besides a pizza.

I purge my closet a couple of times a year and give away anything that I have not worn for 3 years to charity, so there is literaly nothing in my closet or any of my dressers that is more than 5 years old and nothing in particular that I couldn't part with if push came to shove.

Except this:

It would figure that the one thing I have in my closet of any sentimental value to me has a story relating to my husband. I wore it on our first date. A blind date.

He took me to a UMass football game and mentioned in passing while we were making plans over the phone that the school colors were maroon and white so the night before our date I went out and bought this maroon cardigan. It wasn't expensive or particularly cute, but I wore it the next day with a long sleeved white t-shirt and khaki pants. When I met him for our date he was bowled over that someone he had never even met in person made the effort to wear the right colors.

He was impressed and the rest is history.

I wore it 3 or 4 times after the date before casually tossing it in my laundry basket, never realizing that it was wool. (I got at NY & Co. so I assumed it was acrylic or some other craptastic fabric.) Basically it turned into a hand puppet in the wash. I was able to stretch it out so that it was larger, but it remained freakishly mishapen. It's all mushy now and has texture not dissimilar to one of our cat's dried up hairballs. It's kind of gross.

I won't give it to charity though for fear that some poor and needy soul might actually buy this hideous thing and wear it in public.

You know if Gwen had asked me to make her a sandwich I would have sliced it into quarters, cut the crusts off and given her soup and an extra pickle spear on the side. That's how I roll. So even though they are not quite the kind of items she asked for here's a couple more pictures of things around the house that I'm sentimental about:

My little Baily's coffee cup. A present from my precious aunt Jesse

My teapot collection

There's more stuff, but if I don't hit publish right this instant I'm going to be late to meet my friend Rachel at the movies. Have a wonderful evening. I'm planning to. Please forgive any mispellings or grammatical errors. I've gotta haul ass.

Love,
Lady

Elle aime le jazz

It's going to take every ounce of strength in my being to make this post into something other than a year long rant about how fucking sick I am of college basketball right now. And there you go. I've done it again and dropped the f-bomb in the first sentence, but I suppose it can only demonstrate how I really very sick I am of college basketball.

sickofit - you might say in a tight lipped whisper yell like the kind your mom or aunts used to give you when/if you farted really loud in church (Who? Me?). Let's face it, it's not possible to fart quietly in church, all church farts are loud, but it is possible for your mother or aunts to beat you and scream at you in church or other public spaces without anyone noticing. It's a gift they have.

Anyhoo... that's all I'm going to say about college basketball today.

Instead, while my darling husband hogs the TV on yet another Saturday night, I'm going to busy myself writing a post about things that I want and before I get started I suppose I should explain the title of my post.

You see, sometimes when I tell my husband that I want something it is his little joke to say back at me "Je vousdrais, Je vousdrais, Je vousdrais", which all this time I thought meant "I want" in French. I have even heard him say this to waiters while pointing at menus in French restaurants - in France, so I thought it would make a cute title for my post about things that I want.

Never one to take this blog thing lightly (or at least that's how I feel about it today) I decided before I make a total ass of myself I should probably do a little research and find out the exact translation of "Je vousdrais" and have come to discover that there isn't one. Apparently it doesn't mean a damn thing, except maybe, "Hello snooty Parisian wait person. I am a boorish American asshole. Please smirk at me and drop ashes from your cigarette into my food before you bring it out from the kitchen. Merci!"

So I had to scrap using "Je vousdrais" for my title as I have been unable to prove that it means anything at all, but the desire for a title in French remained. Sadly I remember very little of high school French, (hence my gullibility with believing the whole "Je vousdrais" thing) except for one little phrase that has stuck with me after all these years.

It is a phrase that I remember listening to and trying to replicate while wearing headphones and sitting in a carrel in the foreign languages lab at my high school. It always seemed, especially after hundreds of hours of repetition, profoundly silly. Elle aime le jazz. What? Who talks like that and who gives a merde?

So what was I talking about? Oh yes. Things I want. Just for today, for the sake of my sanity and to reduce the number of scathing comments that I might receive from those more socially conscious readers (if there are any out there), that although they do not appear on this purely selfish list of things that I want, please assume that I truly do want world peace and the end of hunger and poverty.

1. I want living room furniture. New living room furniture. Furniture that hasn't been owned by other people before coming to live with me.

2. I want my neighbors dog to be struck suddenly with larangytis and stop barking all the time (and yet see want #6 - I'm a woman filled with contradictions).

3. I want warm cherry pie with a dollop of vanilla ice cream to magically appear before me, as opposed to me just sitting here craving warm cherry pie a la mode and not wanting to put on pants and leave the house and go to the store to get it, heat up the pie myself etc.. and end up settling for eating an apple (although they are delish) and being dissatisfied which is what will most likely happen.

4. I want our hot tub to go away and be replaced with a covered patio paved with red bricks in a herringbone pattern.

5. I want to get out of going to my Uncle Dan and Aunt P's for Easter next weekend.

6. I want a dog. Specifically this dog - her name is Dollie and she's available for adoption from the West Michigan SPCA. Damn. I should know better than to ever look at Petfinder.com. Isn't she cute? She's a dachshund, chihuahua mix. I'm not getting a dog. MDH and I travel too much and we think it would be too traumatic for our cat, who really doesn't like other animals. Maybe someday.

7. I already mentioned the pie.

Well, I guess that's it. That's all I want for now. Other than for a certain sport that rhymes with tasketwall to be over - forever - or just for this year.

Here's a fun pretend French song by Flight of the Conchords. It sounds like Jemaine says "Je voudrais un croissant", but it's hard to be sure:

Dishes Best Served Cold

When I started getting hungry at work this afternoon at around 3:30 or so all I could think about was eating a fork full of the leftover chicken and noodles I made this weekend - cold from the fridge.

Not that my chicken and noodles aren't dandy tasting when they are hot and fresh the day that I make them, but there is something quite satisfying to me about eating them cold from the fridge.

There are many other foods that are meant to be served hot but I don't always heat up the leftovers because I enjoy them so much cold. Some people (like ones that I'm married to) are grossed out by this so I usually keep this type of information to myself and reserve my cold food dining for moments when some people aren't around.

Like tonight for instance.

Some people have fancy important jobs and occasionally have to wine and dine certain big-wigs from out of town at fancy-schmancy restaurants on their expense accounts. While others of us are left home alone and don't mind a bit because they have looked forward for weeks to having an evening alone so a big dish full of cold chicken and noodles can be happily consumed in peace while guiltlessly watching last weeks episode of What Not to Wear on the DVR.

Tonight it's just the chicken and noodles, but here are some of my other favorite cold foods:

• Pepperoni (but not sausage) pizza
  
• Fried chicken
  
• Dressing (like the kind made from breadcrumbs left over from Thanksgiving) in a sandwich (wheat bread) with cold turkey gravy


• Mac and cheese (but only homemade because cold Kraft mac & cheese tastes like ass (not that I would know))


• Tuna noodle casserole


• Cherry pie

Hungry yet?

Please make me feel less freakish and tell me about your favorite cold foods.