Thursday, September 30, 2004

I might be watching too much television.

This morning I was in the middle of a dream, and then out of the blue, there was the image of that creepy kid meowing, from the preview of that new Sarah Michelle Gellar horror movie, The Grudge. Then I woke up to my cat fighting outside my bedroom window. Eew.

Saturday, September 25, 2004

No pun intended...

I'm trying to come up with an interesting idea for a birthday dinner that I'm hosting on Monday. I was thinking about doing one of my favorite ideas - cornish hens stuffed with jambalaya. (Thank you Kenny for the idea...If anyone wants my recipe, just let me know). The only problem with this recipe is that after eating an entire hen stuffed with jambalaya, there's no room for dessert. Trust me, dessert will be amazing. SO....I figured I could use those little tiny baby fryer chickens instead! I would have to set a bowl of extra jambalaya on the table, obviously, but two tiny chickens on a plate would make for a really fun presentation...Maybe a thin gravy drizzled on the plate as well.

I've never done anything with baby fryer chickens, so I decided to consult my good friend Yahoo for ideas. I caught myself just before hitting "search", when I realized that I had typed "baby fryer" into the search field. After momentary mortification, I thought, "Oh, what the hell." Nothing interesting came up. Apparently Yahoo doesn't have a sense of humor.

Anyone in the mood for a little Steppenwolf?

Yesterday Sean said that I rock socks. And THEN....This morning on the way into work, Matt and I were behind a truck with a license plate that said "GRSYRDR". It's going to be a great weekend.

Die pink, DIE!

Last night I got my hair cut and colored. It's brown now, or chestnut, I should say. My hair now matches my eyebrows; if you haven't seen my hair lately, this is a big accomplishment. This morning I woke up and found a poem that Matt had written for me:

The New Beatitudes

Blessed are the hairstylists
For they know the truth
That you cannot cut strand by strand
But in swathes and ribbons
As if hair was woven by strands of imagination

Blessed are the comb-makers,
The metallurgists,
Who provide the tools that add texture.

Blessed are those who mix the shampoos
Who blend the pomades, the conditioners
And hair gel.
Blessed are the makers of barbicide.

And blessed am I
Who watch you emerge from
Nylon sheets and plastic hair nets
Like beams of moonlight on my face
As you discard your shadowy veil.

You pay the girl and walk to me.
You smile at me.
You take my hand
And we walk out together.
Pixies lean against my ears and remind me:
I am blessed. I am blessed!

Friday, September 24, 2004

And you thought I was cool before...

My dad drives a truck for a living, and he was in town today so I met him for lunch. He happened to drive through Sturgis during the bike rally, so he bought me some biker shirts to wear on the scooter. One of them is white with a flame painted on the front. It says "Highway Hottie".

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

You are the least helpful person ever.

Here's the conversation I had with the gentleman behind the meat counter yesterday:

Me: I would like 4lbs of lamb cut into stew meat please.
Him: Sure. What would you like?
Me: Shoulder would be great.
Him: Well, I can cut shoulder for you, but you're not going to get very much meat, and you'll have to pay for the steaks anyway...
Me: Okay, how 'bout shank or rib?
Him: Mmm, that's not a good idea either.
Me: Alright, what would you recommend???
Him: Probably leg. You would get lots of good stew meat from the leg.
Me: That sounds great.
Him: We don't have any right now.

Saturday, September 18, 2004

A special kind of "cool"

This morning Matt gave me a ride into work on the back of his moped scooter. It was raining, so I wore my leather chaps. Matt wore his bright green rain pants. We rocked the party.

Friday, September 17, 2004

Save it for the shower

If you're one of those people who sit in the back of the bus and sing aloud with your headphones on, please stop. To the best of my knowledge, no one was given a special "exception" pass which would allow them to sound good while singing with headphones on! Just don't do it.

"Pie and Pastry Bible", you are the DEVIL!

Matt gave me a new cookbook last Christmas, called "The Pie and Pastry Bible", and I've learned to loath it. It's very difficult to read, being that the author sends you to several different sections during the course of a recipe. If you're baking a tart, you have to go to one section for the main recipe, then she sends you somewhere else to read about the crust. While you're reading about the crust, you have to go to another section about pan preparation!

My hatred acquired a new level the other day when I wanted to see how her pie crust recipe compares to mine. I looked up "Pie Crust" in the index, which directed me to "See Crusts". "Crusts" directed me to "See Flaky Pie Crust". "Flaky Pie Crust" directed me to "See Basic Flaky Pie Crust". Does anyone else see a problem here???

Thursday, September 16, 2004

Miscellaneous pictures and bringing back the great phrases

I just sent a bunch of film into for developing/online posting. I had 5 rolls of vacation photos, and 5 more rolls that were just floating around in my camera bag. When I received notification that my photos were posted and my prints were in the mail, I didn't waste any time in going to the website - I wanted to see how the vacation shots turned out, and also to see what was on all of those mystery rolls! The vacation photos turned out really well (if you're not in my immediate family, please let me know if you want an invite to the album, as I might not remember to send the link to you!), and I was happy to see that the mystery film consisted of pictures from a few football games, and some family visits. I was happily perusing my pictures when I suddenly became completely confused. At the end of one of my albums is a photo that I don't remember taking. It was obviously taken in downtown Seattle, on a rainy day. I'm looking at a stack of soggy couch cushions in the middle of the sidewalk. I've added that picture to the end of all my photo albums. Because really, what's a photo album without soggy couch cushions?

In other news, someone told me that they like my blog, and I said "Oh goody!"

Wednesday, September 15, 2004


Matt and I went out and saw Garden State. You must see this movie. Now. Oh, and buy the soundtrack too.

Saturday, September 11, 2004

Blame it on the rain

Apparently there's a bit of a sandpit next to the driveway at my mother's house, and the kids like to build sand castles there after it rains. According to Mom's email, the most recent attempt was a bit of a failure:

The kids just returned. They destroyed their earlier creation, declared it a disaster, saying Ivan did it and now they need to start all over.

Friday, September 10, 2004

An offer I *almost* can't refuse...

Here's today's email from Mom:

You want a couple kids? I was on the verge of calling the police a little bit ago. We finished school and told the kids they were going to get baths in a little bit. We then let them go outside to play for a few before bathtime. Daniel went in, got the tub ready then headed out to call the kids in. I waited a few then went out to see what was taking so long. Looked around, didn't see anyone so started calling out. Daniel came walking up the drive, saying he was looking for them. Huh? He went one way, I went another calling thier names. No sign of them. I was getting desperate! I even looked in the freezer! Everything was so quiet! Finally I thought something must have happened and we would need to call the police. I yelled out as loud as I could "NATHAN!!" It was then that I heard giggling and they came down from their hiding spot in the trees saying they didn't want to take a bath. They haven't gotten a lecture like they did then in a long time!

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

i No Molestar Los Animales !

In Yellowstone, they have warning signs for different perils, which all feature the same kid. There was one about the dangers of buffalo gorings. The image was of this child, being thrown through the air by a buffalo, baseball cap flying in one direction, and camera off in another. We went to check out the canyon, and there was a warning sign about staying on the trails. Same kid, falling off a cliff; same baseball cap and camera flying through the air behind him. I totally want to see him on warning signs for alligators or sharks or something.

Saturday, September 04, 2004

Part 3: The Picture Book

As Anna sat in the high back chair, she thought about what she had done, as her mother had instructed. She really hadn’t thought it was such a big deal to be playing with the glass angels in the china hutch. She supposed that mother had gotten so angry because they had been grandmother’s. She couldn’t help it, though. Every day she looked at those angels on the top shelf, and admired their beauty. She played with them nearly every day after school, before mother got home from work. Today mother had come home early; just early enough to catch her with all of them on the floor around her. Of course, knowing what horrible punishment it was, mother sent her to sit in the uncomfortable chair in the corner of the front room.

No longer able to analyze the situation, her gaze began to wander about the room, looking over things that she always looked over when she was sent to the corner. There was the piano, which mother made her stand at and sing while she played various songs. During birthdays and Christmas, they would all gather around and sing songs. Of course, mother had a terrible voice, so it was never much of a treat, but she always insisted, saying it was tradition.

ON the floor next to her chair sat two jugs. They weren’t anything special; just two plain, glass jugs, which were about the size of milk bottles, perhaps a bit larger. She never knew where they came from and thought they were actually rather ugly, but mother always insisted on keeping them there. Perhaps this was also part of her strategic punishment; making her sit by ugly bottles.

Across the room was the glass door, which led to the dining room. Anna loved to sit in that room as much as possible and look outside. They lived on the fourth floor, so it was a wonderful view of the people below and the park across the street. Sometimes after sitting at the windows all afternoon, she would turn around to see mother standing in the door way with tears in her eyes. She would never give details as to why she was crying, though, always saying something about memories of grandmother.

Next to the glass door was one of grandmother’s old bookshelves. Anna missed her so, and had immediately started reading the books on the shelf, as soon as she had been shown grandmother’s favorites. She was quite the reader at such a young age, so she heard mother and many of her friends commenting. She didn’t know much about that, but she did love to read. She was currently in the midst of a wonderful novel called The Merchant of Venice. Mother didn’t approve much of this book, but let her read it anyway. She had begged and wailed when mother said she didn’t want Anna r3eading the book. Anna was torn, as mother had just finished telling her that this had been grandmother’s very favorite. Finally mother consented, saying that she could read it, but not all at once; she had to read just a bit every day. Anna could sit all-day and read for hours, many times finishing entire novels in one day. She was about halfway through this one and understood why mother hadn’t wanted her reading all of it at once. It was a very intense novel, full of violence and revenge.

The more she thought about this book, the more she wanted to be reading it right now. She knew that she shouldn’t as mother had instructed her not to move from the chair until she was called to dinner. Also, she had already read part of it that day, and she knew the rules. Unfortunately, Anna was quit the troublemaker, even she knew that. So, with mother in the kitchen preparing dinner, Anna sneaked across the room to the shelf and quietly stole the book, running back to her seat to read. She became so caught up in the story that she hadn’t noticed on of her stockings falling below her knee, or mother calling her for dinner.