Same Time Last Year

This afternoon as I was pulling on an extra sweater I realized that exactly one year ago today MDH and I were sitting on Poipu Beach in Kauai, sucking down fruity cocktails and looking out at the Pacific Ocean trying to spot humpback whales, or hump spotback whales, I don't know, we were pretty tanked. Since I'm having such a hard time writing lately, here are some pictures.

The view from my lounge chair.

MDH busted (from our balcony with the handy zoom lens) taking a break from grilling our dinner.

A monk seal stopped by for a nap as well. (Don't worry she's not dead, just sleeping.)

Above the taro fields - we'll go back someday...
Damn, it's cold here today.

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 ...

Ridin' the Flavor Train to Tastytown

My favorite winter sport is eating. Not in a competitive way, just generally. Now that the holidays are over I've put the brakes on the crazy rich foods (the cookies, oh god, the cookies) and have been making more sensible yums (the banana waffles I made for brunch yesterday don't exactly count as sensible - but hey, I used whole grain flour and there were bananas involved so shut up - I should have snapped a photo of them because they were gorgeous.). This weekend I've been particularly productive in the kitchen and thought I would share with you some photos of the tasty treats I've concocted:

The hummus (MDH and I dipped into it a smidge before I snapped the photo):

The cucumber chips:

What remains of my whole grain pasta with spicy Thai peanut sauce with onions and sweet red peppers (chopped raw scallions on top for garnish and a little kick). I wish there were more left over cause it's one of those dishes I like better cold:

A little something I like to call "Grape Salad", but is really just green and red (or black) seedless grapes removed from the vine and stem and rinsed like mad. If you get the right mix of grapes they should be sweet and tart. They look so pretty don't they? Another one of my alternative snacking ideas as they are good to reach for instead of popcorn or chips:

What the hell else am I going to write about on a lazy Sunday, eh? I'm having so much fun sharing the food pictures, I'm going to throw in some other photos I've taken recently:

Look! My amaryllis finally bloomed. It's freaking huge too, like more than 3 feet tall. Now that it's actually flowered it's no longer creepy. In the background of this photo you can see the shopping bags filled with Christmas tree ornaments because I was in the process of taking down our tree:

Traditionally I shop for Christmas decorations the week after Christmas when everything is 75% off. It's pretty dumb to pay full price for this crap. I leave the new ornaments wrapped up and forget all about them until the next year and then it's like having a bunch of little surprises when I'm decorating the tree. Next year I'm sure I'll be delighted when I unwrap this goofy toadstool ornament. (That's my friend Jogger's wedding invitation on the table in the background - February 2nd is the big day!):

Below is what might be one of the worst Christmas presents I've ever gotten. It's safety orange nylon. NY-LON. It's even more revolting in person. No gift receipt either. To make matters worse I felt bad because I knew my mother was unable to go out Christmas shopping this year (she broke her pelvis this past fall and is still recovering) and bought everything on QVC, so I told her it was cute. I am a big fat liar-head.

On a bright note, this is one of my oldest and most favorite and most miraculous Christmas ornaments. It's a hand blown (I assume) glass snowman and it's very delicate. It feels like a feather. The thing that is miraculous about it is - look at it's nose - that it's nose is still intact. All these years (about 8) and I haven't managed to smash it or break the tip of that snowman's nose. See you next year little snowman...

Happy Sunday.

Because I'm Better Than You, That's Why

Sometimes, sometimes I don't wash my hands in public restrooms. Now you know. Don't hate me though. Keep reading. I have my reasons and alternative solutions. I feel a little bit funny about it when I don't, but then I think it's probably OK because typically I don't have to touch my lady junk directly, so to speak, and I don't pee on my hands when I'm using a public toilet (or anywhere else for that matter, at least not on purpose - I felt I must clarify for those of you smarty pant-ses out there) and since it's not physically (it's really a mental block) possible* for me to poop in a public restroom the difficulties that might sometimes arise in cleaning up after that simply don't come up.

Now that I've gotten that important announcement out of the way I'd like to say that what I worry about more than sometimes leaving the ladies room without washing my hands is that sometimes other public women's room patrons (see bullet points of previous post below mentioning my friend Dan's extensive, habitual use of women's restrooms - we don't want to be politically incorrect and assume that all women's room patrons are necessarily women now do we?) seem to notice that I haven't washed my hands and when they do they give me the hairy eyeball, or at least I perceive that they do and this post is my way of giving an explanation. You see most times I do wash my hands in public restrooms provided that the circumstances are such that:

A. There is an option for warm water to be dispensed from the tap. When you live in colder climes having the water blast from the tap at minus ice balls degrees is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing when you'd like a nice cold glass of water to drink and a curse when you would like to wash your hands after using a public toilet and discover the water is not only coming out of the tap freezing cold enough to stop your fucking heart, but also that there is really no option to warm that shit up. Oh sure the tap has an "H" on it indicating that hot water might be available if only you wait long enough, but some middle management penny pinching asshole has turned the hot water off and you are only kidding yourself that it will ever warm up. Not to make a pun, but hell will freeze over first before that water heats up. The hot water is a ruse. I'm not washing my hands here.

B. There is a paper towel option for drying my hands. Those air dryers are for suckers. It takes a year and a day to make any progress and I've got places to go and people to do. The air dryer fritters away my life and I haven't got time for that shit. Half the time when I do consent to using the air dryer the air blowing out is just as freezing cold as the tap water and/or I end up frustrated and drying my hands on my pants or desperately going back into a stall and dabbing at my hands with toilet tissue to dry them. Either way it ends in tears.

C. Please don't even get me started on the cloth diaper towel dispenser type of hand dryer that just spins and spins in filthy, germy circles. I have never in all my travels encountered one of those contraptions that wasn't brownish-yellow and dripping wet with ladies room cooties. No thank you. Even if I had whizzed all over myself why would I wash up and then dry off with that gross spinny diaper towel.

D. The absence of miscellaneous other minor gross outs and inconveniences including but not necessarily limited to:

No soap. No towels. Broken hand dryer. Bathroom filthy in general. Sink clogged with tissues or paper towels. Puddles of water (I hope it's water) on the counter and no place to lean without touching it. Not enough sinks and/or towel dispensers thus causing me to have to wait in line to wash my hands or stand dripping waiting to dry them afterwards. Unable to make the appropriate Ninja moves or otherwise psychically connect with the automatic laser tap/laser soap/laser towel in such a way that causes the laser dispenser to hook me up with the necessary hand washing supplies to make it happen (I'm performing freaking Tai-Chi in a mirror front of ten strangers who are waiting to use the facilities after me and nothing is happening).

So in closing the main reason I don't wash my hands in public restrooms is because I'm a germophobe. Would you like another helping of crazy?

If it makes you feel any better or at least less inclined to hit me with the stink eye, rest assured I usually carry disinfectant wipes in my purse that I employ just in case of such emergencies as not being fully satisfied with the cleanliness of the facilities at hand. I'm not going to pee, leave the rest room without washing my hands and then run off and make you or anyone else a sandwich. It's cool, don't worry about it.

*For those of you that may have been reading my blog for a long time you might remember** that I have previously mentioned being able to poop anywhere. That used to be true but is not anymore. At one point when I was living my life on the road (anyone seen the movie Up In the Air yet?) I adapted my body so that I could poop or sleep anywhere*** and under any conditions.

**It's kinda creepy that you remembered that Dude.

***Anywhere indoors. I have always and probably will always**** be unable to sleep or poop out of doors.

****OK. Like maybe if end of days came and everything was destroyed and I was left here with no running water (how will I make my tea?) and only pine needles for a bed, because I can guaran-fucking-tee you that I will not be called up to Jesus when the rapture comes. When that happens, that's when I'll poop outside.

Life's candy and the sun's a ball of butter

There isn't much to report but today I'm compelled to write a blog post anyway so what you're probably going to get is a rambler. I'm just going to keep typing and see what shakes out. I'm pretty sure that bullet points and blurting out whatever comes to your stupid mind are how Byron and Tennyson and did it.

Let's see... it's kind of late for all the happy new year well wishing stuff (consider yourselves well wished) and I wouldn't share with you my list of resolutions because I don't make new year's resolutions. I'm patently opposed to them, although for some reason I seem to come up with all of my brightest ideas to incorporate big changes and/or improvements to my life in early January. I keep these to myself until mid-February or so... just so they are not mistaken for new year's resolutions.

One of my bright ideas for life style improvements that I will not be implementing officially until mid-February, and is most certainly not a new years resolution, is the need to incorporate more exercise into my daily routine. I have recently been toying with the idea of rejoining my old gym and I just can't bring myself to do it. Not in January. What is more pathetic than a middle aged fat chick joining a gym in January? I guess maybe a fat chick never joining a gym at all, but still. Or now that I think of it, more pathetic than that is the fat chick who joins the gym in January and then stops going in early February and yet continues to pay for that shit well into the next year. Especially more pathetic when said fat chick already owns enough gym equipment to train the US Olympic.... um what? I was going to say women's basketball team or something like that just to be silly, but after taking a quick mental inventory I've realized that I probably realistically could train the curling team right here in my very own home. Have you seen those guys? What could they possibly need that I don't have in my basement this very minute. I'm pretty sure I have all the necessary equipment, which is to say a treadmill, two stationary bikes, a set of 3 pound weights (pink ones) and an industrial size push broom. Something to think about...

But enough about my semi-real plans to coach Olympic curling...

What else is new? Did I ever tell you about my best friend Amy's stalker? It's her ex-boyfriend from forever ago, blah, blah, blah. It's kind of old news. He's deranged and he lives in Los Angeles and for some reason is still upset about the fact that she broke up with him well over 15 years ago. Now that's a grudge. Anyhoo... he's just your average psycho ex-boyfriend stalker sending threatening emails and such. Amy has a restraining order and followed all the proper channels. Yawns all round. But what is very interesting and exciting news is that Amy's stalker must have gotten bored of her ignoring him and has recently been stalking and making prank phone calls and sending threatening emails to her ex-husband Assface. Saying all kinds of lovely, obscene things about Amy to him. It's delicious and not just because it makes Assface so very angry, but also because Assface doesn't have the same amount of common sense that God gave to hamsters and refuses to hang up the phone or put the stalker on his block-senders list. He listens and reads and sets himself up for a right huge hissy fit every time. Funny.

I think there is no better way to end a shitty rambling post like this one than with bullet points detailing the highlights of our trip to Columbus to celebrate New Year's Eve:

• Dinner at the swanky restaurant was a bust. It was a four course prix-fixe menu which at $45 per person seems very reasonable, but the food kind of sucked. We would have been better off to rent a room at Claddaugh and doused ourselves in beer and corned beef.
  
  
• Alas before Frenchie had the chance to get drunk enough to pass out while sitting up she and Nature Boy got a call from the sitter that their son young Jimmy Neutron was sick and they had to leave the festivities early. Bummer.
  
  
• The rest of us were able to rally until midnight and watch the ball drop with what remains of Dick Clark. Guilty laughter filled the room as Amy dared to say what we were all thinking - he looks a bit like Cha-ka from Land of the Lost. I'm not saying that he should be hidden away. Why should he? You go Dick! I admire his bravery and fuck it - he owns the goddamn show and he can host if he wants. More power to him. But how about some fucking subtitles? Nobody could understand a goddamn thing he was saying. I take that back. Seacrest and Clark were like psychic friends, simpatico, slurred speech and drowned out by a crowd of thousands cheering in the background, Seacrest seemed to understand every word:
  
  Clark: Aahhh mahh gah heeba Ryah!
  Seacrest: That's right Dick.
  
  
• I might be a terrible person.
  
  
• Fuck it. Dick Clark had a stroke and his face looks funny and it's hard to understand him. Big deal. Host the show my old friend, but maybe have someone smarter than Ryan Seacrest translate for us.
  
  
• I spent New Year's Day with 2 of my very best friends in the world, Amy and Dan. We went to see Avatar, but not in 3D for fear that I would get motion sickness and throw up as I have been known to do when I get caught up too tightly in the action.
  
  In the middle of the movie I had a full on, nearly peed my pants, silent laughing jag when Dan came back from his second trip to the bathroom during the film and whispered to me, "I've been to the bathroom twice during this film and just now realized that both times I was in the women's bathroom."
  
  Apparently he just thought it was one of those really nice, all stall men's restrooms. Sure.
  
  
• My new favorite breakfast food in the whole wide world is pho and my favorite place to get it is here. We stopped by on our way out of town where I quickly slurped it down and then grabbed a bahn-mi to go for my lunch later on. Who knew that the girl who never even tried canned tuna fish until she was 20 would love Vietnamese?

That's all I've got. You still there? Thanks for sticking with me.

Auld Lang Sausage

Howdy! I don't have much time to spend on a post today as I'm busy packing and running errands, getting ready for our annual trip to Columbus to spend New Year's Eve with the usual suspects.

This year we're doing it in high style and half of us are staying in a swanky-ish hotel downtown where all of us are meeting for cocktails and having a nice dinner together followed by yet more cocktails consumed into the wee hours of the morning. Or if previous New Year's Eve history dictates we will probably all eat too much, get incredibly drunk and then crash and burn before 10:30pm at which point:

• Frenchie will already have passed out cold, but somehow still be sitting up.


• Steph will have exhausted the hotels entire inventory of stemware because apparently she needs a fresh glass each time a new kind of wine is poured.
  
  
• MDH will have snuck out for an after dinner Italian sausage and pepper sandwich snack from the street vendor outside the restaurant.


• He will hide the sandwich in his pocket and save for later consumption.*

That's how we roll.

Have a safe and happy weekend. Oh and HAPPY NEW YEAR!

*The sausage thing happened on one of our first New Year's Eves together, long, long ago. MDH bought the sandwich when we were all leaving a night club and nobody saw him. With the exception of Nature Boy, our designated driver, we were all totally polluted, stumbling, drunk. Hours later, after we had been safely deposited back home, MDH and I were drunkenly making out, still fully clothed and when we came up for air I looked over and noticed that all of a sudden he was wailing on this sausage and pepper. Even if I hadn't been so drunk I couldn't have imagined where in the hell it had come from so I asked, incredulous, and not just a little jealous because sausage and pepper sandwiches from dudes with street carts are pretty damn good drunk food, "Where did you get that?" to which he replied, matter of factly, "Eh whass in mah pah-ket."

It's Day Old & Bold Baby

Merry Whateveritisyoucelebrate!

Today MDH and I are celebrating not having to drive 2 and a half hours to spend Christmas day at my uncle Dan's house. We are celebrating having the banana pudding I made yesterday to take to my uncle's all to ourselves. We are celebrating the biscuits and gravy I'm going to make us for brunch, and the icy roads that made it all possible.

There is nothing like the glory of wiggling out of visiting elderly relatives with an excuse that is not lame.

The Pudding
The Solid Sheet of Ice That Is Our Driveway and Street

Best Wishes and Happy Holidays to You and Avoiding Yours!