Friday, August 29, 2008

I'll tell you where you can stick it!

I’ve decided how I’m going to make my first million – bumper sticker camouflage.

In 2004, I got laid off right after the election, and because I was interviewing, I took off my Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker. I didn’t want to have an interviewer walk me to my car, get turned off by my beliefs, and not give me a job.

Now, my car has been sufficiently restickered. I have an Obama sticker, one that says "1/20/09 – End of an Error", a Wag More/Bark Less decal, and one from the Stax Museum in Memphis proclaiming me as a “Soul Woman”.

I am proud of every last one of my stickers, but as it happens, we’re going to the mountains this weekend – and we’re the lone liberal family on the mountain. So, rather than catch a ton of shit from people who love their guns, family values and McCain, I park my car to where the stickers can’t be seen. It’s that, or listen to someone tell me that people choose to be gay, and can be rehabbed out of it. No and NO! Even if I don’t show my stickers, I’ll be getting an earful of opinions completely counter to my own, and that’s plenty. P-L-E-N-T-Y!

So, taking this into account, wouldn’t it be great if you could buy magnetic bumper stickers with benign messages to temporarily cover up your inflammatory beliefs?

“I Brake For Dolphins” , “My Mom Makes the Best Meatloaf” , “ I (Heart) The Smell of a New Box of Crayons”, “Don’t Forget to Floss!”

Think of the possibilities!

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Sartorial Thought For The Day

It doesn't matter how cute your shoes are - if they're causing you to fall down, don't wear them.

Despite what you may have heard, falling down isn't fashion-forward.

And that is why for the last time, I tried on my 4 inch wedge heel espadrilles, tripped around the backyard, then came in and put on the dowdy (but navigable) flat brown sandals.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Jelly, The Sequel

Since my first shot at this year’s pepper jelly wasn’t quite up to par to submit for judging, I tried again Sunday night. This time, with more pectin. As it cooled, it was pure liquid, and I resigned myself to submitting from batch number one and being a loser. Again.

But Monday night, I called Matt from Houston and asked him to take a look at it – and what do you know? It set! Really and truly set – like JELLY. So, now all I have to do is make one more “creative or unusual” batch, and watch the magic happen.

Glad to be back from Houston – a good trip, but really, when all you see is your hotel and their conference room, I could have been in Tulsa, Oslo, or Swababia* – there’s not a lot of difference. Although, the car ride was nice – I sat in the back seat, which meant I could ogle the landscape and wasn’t required to add much to the conversation, nor was I asked to navigate. I made myself comfortable and watched the trees, powerlines and Whataburgers whiz past my window. I also made a comment on how much I liked Michelle Obama’s speech which I gleefully knew would be met with a “hmmpph”. I love Republican Baiting. It should be a sport.

Friday, I meet my new doctor for the first time, get on the scale and subject myself to physical scrutiny. It might be a good thing for me to start having accountability, but then, it also makes me sound like I’m project managing my own body. Which, come to think of it, might be an interesting tack to take.

Friday evening, Matt and I will hit the road - we’re going to the mountains for another Work Day – where I’ll be feared by roadside overgrowth, which I’ll handily knock out with shears. Note to self – bring shears – using borrowed ones spells disaster. Last Labor Day, I stepped in a yellow jacket nest, got stung about 14 times. And found a dead jacket in my bra. Let’s hope for an incident free day this time.

Beyond that, no news is no news. I can’t believe it’s nearly September. In exactly two months, I’ll be 34. Which means, among other things, I’ve been donating blood for half my life. Wow, am I exciting!

*Swababia doesn't exist - Matt and I made it up. Although, technically, maybe it does exist and we just don't know about it.

Monday, August 25, 2008

O Yeah!


So, I am sitting here in Texas, watching the Democratic Convention coverage, and I have to say, Michelle Obama kicks ASS. Her brother is introducing her and I can't wait to hear her speak - she is just pure awesome - to paraphrase Talladega Nights - she pisses excellence.


And the crowd is going apeshit.


I missed Teddy Kennedy, so I need to YouTube that.


I forgot to affix my Women for Obama pin on my bag - I've got to change that.


I'm equally excited about Joe Biden - he gets on the train every night and commutes home to Delaware - that's impressive. Plus, he's a bulldog - he's a great VP choice.


Now, we worry - who will McCain pick?


Oh well - I'll just listen to Michelle and enjoy!
PS - Nice mention of Hillary, Mrs. O!


Uhhh. No thanks.

Houston in August? I must be the luckiest girl alive!

Last time I was there, it was in September 2005, post-Katrina, and I ended up hauling ass out of there to avoid Rita.

This time, it's a 24 hour trip, and as soon as my ass hits the plane seat tonight, I'm getting a nap. I'm tired already, and I just woke up.

Training tomorrow afternoon, followed by a flight home, a regular rest of the work week, then a mad dash to the mountains for work day Saturday.

I'm tired just thinking about it.

I'm just not a huge fan of Texas, that's all.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Surprise?

Yesterday, I was feeling kind of off, kind of gummy in my ears, and everything sounded really "metallic" - so I went to the Minute Clinic over at the CVS, and good news - my ears are just fine.

The bad news? My blood pressure was high.

Not so high that I rushed to the ER or anything, but high enough that she told me to go see a doctor and get some meds.

I was, at first, completely floored. Hypertension? Me? Really?

And then I started actually thinking about it, and well yeah - it starts making some sense. For instance - my feet ankles and legs getting really swollen during my trip to Seattle - that vague quasi-dizzy feeling I've had for a few weeks. Hmmm.

Not to mention, the fact that I've eaten exactly what I wanted for the past six months. And my lackluster workout schedule. And the stress, and the genetic predisposition.

The irony is that I was talking with my boss yesterday about hypertension - he's prone, and because of that, he drinks VitaminWater for the low sodium. And then later that day, I'm blindsided with the same damn thing.

So I've got a consultation next Friday, and I'll have to do a physical after that. And I'm sure my weight is going to come up, and my inactive lifestyle, and of course, the fact that Dad is a diabetic with kidney and heart issues.

Looking forward to that.

Of course, in pure "kill the messenger" fashion, I told the nurse practitioner, "Well, at least I don't smoke." I knew she was a smoker because of her distinct aroma when she leaned in to check out my perfect ears. Granted - she was super thin and probably in great health, but screw her - I was scared and angry and I lashed out. If she didn't want that treatment, she shouldn't have gone into medicine. I'm kidding. In retrospect, I do feel bad getting that dig in at her, but she shouldn't be a smoking nurse, either.

Oh well - I guess I'll be back riding the Weight Watchers Train to Healthytown!


All aboooooooard!

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Mama's Got a Brand New Bag

Paranoid as I am, I’ve often suspected that at some point, select girls were pulled aside by an all-knowing council of elderwomen and given a quick rundown on how to look “pulled-together”. You may have been one of these girls – you certainly know a few of them. The women who know what hairstyle works for them and they execute it correctly every day. The ones who, when wearing an evening dress or business suit look as comfortable as they would a in pair of jeans and a t-shirt. And when they do wear jeans and a t-shirt, they look chic and never sloppy. These are the women who were born knowing how to apply eyeliner and choose foundation that doesn't look orange - they also know how to blend it.

When I think of these women, I think in particular of an old classmate and friend of mine. To protect her perfect identity, we’ll call her J.

I’ve known J since we were in first grade – she inherited her savoir-faire from her mother, C. When we were in high school, I sought out the name of her hairdresser. My results were mediocre. My mother started seeing the same stylist, and has been going to her ever since. My mother gets stopped and complimented on her hair regularly. I like to think that I’m the catalyst for all that hair love. I have a great hairdresser, but she’s got some challenges – for one, I can’t execute anything overly complicated. So if it’s going to take more than 5 minutes a day to replicate, I’ll fail. I also have some massive hair – it’s coarse, wavy, and I have a lot of it. So, it tends to get either clowny or helmety , depending on the season/humidity if it’s cut wrong. I keep trying.

When J and I were in 5th grade, all the girls started carrying purses. I seem to remember that the purse to have was a small rectangular Liz Claiborne bag – with tiny little Liz triangles on it. I recall that they were probably expensive (relative to a 5th Grader), and of course, aside from the occasional babysitting gig, I was more or less insolvent. I suspect my parents wouldn’t have funded that venture, so, I went for a more casual look – a woven bag – pastel stripes with a rope strap. Tres jolie!

What I put in the purse, I couldn’t tell you. It’s not as though I had a wallet, makeup, a cellphone, keys or…well, any of it. I was also constantly leaving my purse places – a phenomenon that plagued me through high school.

The next purse I owned was in 6th grade, and it was red, faux leather, and it matched some shoes that I loved. There’s a picture of me somewhere, first day of sixth grade with that purse, my new skirt and blouse, and huge red earrings and bracelet. Stylin’. I wore my hair short in those days, and there it was, helmety.

During High School, I know I owned purses, but I seem to remember throwing it all in my backpack – but I don’t remember. High School is when I started in on evening bags. Because I went to Homecoming dances and Prom, I ended up with a few cute bags – one that I still lament getting rid of – it was a small clutch with multicolored sequins. To this day, I have a small black velvet bag which I’ve pulled out on many occasions, dating back to my sophomore Homecoming dance – hair was longer, clowny. I also had braces and a huge zit in that picture. Also, I had a really pale date, and in my dark dress and his dark suit, we look Executive Goth. I'm only sorry I couldn't find that photo for my post.

Again, I am sure I had purses in college, but again, I think my backpack was the default carrier of choice. I can tell you that I started using my maternal grandmother’s evening bag around then – It’s black cloth and it’s a chic little thing that gets compliments every time I use it, even though it’s looking a little worn these days.

When my paternal grandmother died, shortly after I left college, I got one of her evening bags – not entirely vintage, but nice. It’s essentially a structured rectangular box covered in concentric circles of shimmery white beads. I haven’t used it yet, but you never know.

It was around the time she died that I bought myself a few serviceable bags – Liz Claiborne, but low-end, faux leather. I bought them on sale at Dillard’s- one brown, one black and one red. I still have the black one. Great bags, all three – except that they’re all short-handled and I tended to carry them over one arm, a la Aunt Bee of Andy Griffith fame.

When Matt and I started dating, it got to be a tradition where he’d buy me a summer purse at Easter time. Target sold them – they were fabric lined straw bags, small, zip top with some kind of design done in fabric and bead on the exterior. I had one with flowers, one with a pineapple, and one with dragonflies. We stopped because, even though they were only $10, they tended to fall apart by late July.

Around the time of the last straw (bag), I got my first hand-me-down from Laura. Like J, I suspect Laura got pulled aside at some point, because the bag she sent me was real leather and very nice. Nine West. I carried the living hell out of that one. Still have it.

When I got married, I gave all three of my bridesmaids LL Bean Tote Bags – and the following year, I bought the mini tote in the same colors to use a purse. Turquoise with lime green handles and my initials monogrammed in lime as well. I used that as my summer bag, used the hand-me-down in the winter, and continued until last Fall, when Laura sent me a new hand-me-down – a Wilson Leather hobo bag – brown. This spring, I ordered another mini-tote this time in bright yellow with lime green handles/monogram. It’s adorable, functional and fun – but it definitely shows dirt. And when I start looking at the purses of the women around me, I realize, my purse doesn’t say “business”. It says “I don’t match with anything Allison owns, but I’m whimsical, dammit”.

I could start using the travel purse I bought for our trip to Europe – it’s black, but it looks a little too much like luggage, or worse, a diaper bag. Also, I lose my keys in it regularly.

So, when I started thinking about what I might like for my 3rd (Leather) Anniversary), I thought a handbag would be just the thing. Sure, a real leather bag would be expensive, but – hey – I’m worth it!

Apparently, Matt agreed – he picked out a brown leather shoulder bag from Fossil – nicer than any I’ve ever owned. He did a great job - and I feel like a grownup!

On Sunday, I have an appointment with Libby at Trim – do I dare hope for a new, grown-up, pulled-together hairstyle?

Or am I pushing my luck?

Monday, August 18, 2008

Have I ever told you about the first time I left Georgia?

The Germans call it Heimweh, the French would say I’m nostalgique. What it boils down to is that I’m feeling a little homesick.

This is not entirely unreasonable. Next week will mark my 3rd year of living in Nashville. I spent my first 30 years in Atlanta, so you know – it’s a 1 to 10 ratio. Add to that, I had a fun weekend with Dad, who has recovered so remarkably from his heart surgery that I really can’t even express my surprise and joy.

We drove down Friday night, slept, got up and Dad, Matt, me the two dogs (Maggie and Lola) loaded up and went to the mountains. The weather was perfect – cool, clear, and the company was exceptional. The dogs got along pretty well, we ate, drank and were merry –it was chillaxing in its highest form.

I also got Dad to tell stories, and I told him a few of mine.

So we got home last night, and as I was falling asleep, I got that unmistakable twinge of homesickness that I used to get a lot at the beginning of my move up here, but haven’t felt in a few years. As a kid, I was prone to bouts of it that were legendary – I often got panicky around 10 or 11 PM during sleepovers and ended up calling my parents. I can’t explain it other than to say, I used to feel that as long as I was near my family, nothing bad could happen to them or me.

We now know…that’s not entirely true. But we can't prove it completely untrue either.

In an effort to stave off some of the blues, we went to La Hacienda last night where I had a large bowl of Caldo de Res – beef vegetable soup. It’s like heaven in a bowl. Apparently, my soup levels are dangerously low these days – it’s the one food I crave constantly. I once told Matt that soup helps replenish tears. That’s not strictly true, but it’s not a terrible thought.

That said, having been in Nashville since 8/24/2005, I can tell you that I am happy here. I have a great husband, plenty of fun friends, a nice home with terrific neighbors. There’s always something to do, and traffic is a breeze.

I do have a wish list, though, since you asked:

1. Decent Chinese food. PLEASE. PF Chang’s is great, but it’s not Chinese food. August Moon is OK. I’d give anything for Yu Shang Pork like I can get at China Garden in Roswell, GA. To say nothing of (you guessed it) their Hot and Sour Soup.
2. Crate and Barrel. Don’t you think Nashville is ready for it? We have World Market, Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s (coming soon). Macy’s is finally starting to shape up – Crate and Barrel needs Nashville. And we need Crate and Barrel.
3. IKEA – yeah, yeah – I could drive to Georgia, Illinois or Ohio – and yes, thank you very much for the Atlanta store – we love our bookcases. But hear me out you crazy Swedes – if you put one in, let’s just say Murfreesboro – you’d being bringing much needed jobs – the kids going to school at MTSU, UT -Knoxville and Chattanooga (and maybe Martin, Memphis and Tullahoma while we’re at it), Vanderbilt, Belmont, Lipscomb, Fisk, TSU would have cool stuff for their dorms. I know it’s a pipe dream, but if you can open and succeed in Charlotte (really, why?) then you can make it here. Don’t make me beg.

See, that’s not so much to ask.

Tonight – housework and anniversary present shopping.

And maybe some soup.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Jealousy - Deep Stuff Here

I'm feeling a little jealous today. The reason? My mother (aka Granna, aka Nanners) is in Kansas visiting her grandbaby - our beloved Henry. I'm jealous that she's there and I'm not. I'm also jealous of Laura - who gets Mom's helping hand (and homecooking) for a few days. If you recall, the last time Mom went to Kansas to see Henry, I got the dubious honor of finding Dad a cardiac rehab facility. Meanwhile, Tom and Laura were eating homemade lasagna.

In fairness, Matt and I will spend this weekend with Dad (who is now healthy), and we're going to the mountains, so it's not all bad. Also, my mother has offered to come to Nashville one weekend this fall and help us with a few things around the house. I'm hoping that includes lasagna - or whatever.

But it has taken me years to battle my green-eyed monster, and I don't always win.

I remember when I was 11 years old, my paternal Grandmother, who we called Baba, informed me that she was taking my sister to Denmark - two of my cousins were having a double wedding there. She asked me if I was jealous, and I told her I was. She basically shot daggers back at me and asked me why.

I was thoroughly rattled, and hey - I was eleven, so rather than articulate, "because it's unfair and it sucks". I basically did a 180, told her it was fine, and secretly thought to myself that Laura was getting to go to the wedding because she was pretty, I wasn't, and nobody wants to haul an ugly kid to a European wedding. So I turned my jealousy into self-loathing. The truth of the matter is that Laura was willing to take care of Baba, and I wasn't. And she wouldn't take us both, because she knew we'd team up against her. Smart lady.

Fast forward 19 years. My parents decided to buy my sister a nice piece of jewelry for Christmas. She truly, truly deserved it - and it was a nice gesture that I knew she would appreciate. Dad asked Mom if she was jealous, and she said no. I mentioned that I was a little jealous. Dad's reaction was just like Baba's - although, this time, he had a point - my parents were planning a beautiful wedding for me, they had been beyond generous, but sibling rivalry and psychological scars run deep. This time, I was older, less easily intimidated, and I explained to Dad that while I knew it wasn't rational, it was how I felt.

What I tell you now, I tell you with dread and regret.

On Christmas morning, Laura and I both got jewelry. To this day, whenever I wear that necklace, I feel vaguely guilty and bratty. It's not that I wanted my own piece of jewelry necessarily, I was just expressing a gut emotion at the time I was feeling it. Maybe I should stop feeling guilty, and start feeling grateful that I have such kind, generous parents.

But the fact of the matter is that no matter how grown up I think I am, sometimes I'm still that awkward kid who doesn't feel like she deserves to go to Denmark.

My advice - if you are having a feeling that makes you feel uncomfortable, you should probably stuff it down for years and years. Eventually, it will manifest in a totally inappropriate way, and you'll be wearing a gorgeous opal and tanzanite pendant.

Seriously, though? I don't have any good advice. Except maybe...



Hold out for the matching earrings.

I think I'll just try to enjoy my weekend.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Open Letter To Ronald McDonald

Dear Clown:

So, there I was, watching the Olympic opening ceremonies with two friends, both of whom are not Americans, but love their adopted homeland nonetheless.

A nice, heartwarming ad comes on touting the hard work and dedication of the Olympic athletes - only the reveal comes, and it turns out they're working hard to find a fast food chicken sandwich from McDonald's. I said to my friends, "That ad makes me ashamed to be an American". My Ukrainian friend replied, "It makes me ashamed for you."


Another similar ad came on last night, talking about getting up early and working hard...to get to McDonald's before they stop serving their breakfast - and chicken biscuits. My husband was as appalled as I had been some nights before.

Here's the thing - the ad campaign is tasteless, but then again, so are your chicken sandwiches.

If I want fast food chicken, McDonald's is going to place somewhere on my list below searching a dumpster at an abattoir.

Would you like to know why? This decade old photo of an actual McNugget that one of your customers found in their 9 piece box:





There is no amount of special sauce to cover up the fact that it's a chicken's head. Ew.


Now, I'll be the first to admit, I love your fries, I have a special place in my heart for your Quarter Pounders with Cheese, and sometimes, I actively crave McDonald's, even if I'm not drunk.

But I hate your ads. Sure, they got my attention, but then, so do loud noises and shiny objects.

I should have said goodbye as soon as the credits rolled on Supersize Me. I once kicked my addictive habit of your late night drive-thrus, then after six months, relapsed.

But Ronald, it's time you knew. We're done here. I'm just not that into you.


I'll miss your finely diced onions on the double cheeseburgers, I'll miss our secret early morning, calorie-laden trysts. But what it comes down to is this: I deserve a break today.


I'm Not Lovin' It,

ae

Good Ships Go Out To Sea And Bring Good Soups Back Home To Me

So ever since I got back from Seattle, I had been jonesing for some chicken soup – not anything from a can either – I wanted the real thing – with Matzoh balls, if at all possible. After several attempts to get to Noshville – we finally hit it on Sunday.

Noshville, for those of you not intimately familiar with the Nashville deli scene, is the place for Matzoh Brei, Dr. Brown’s, Tuna Melts, Sweet and Sour Cabbage Soup and pickles, pickles, pickles. But it’s also the only restaurant where I’ll get Matzoh ball soup. It’s comparable to Dad’s, and it doesn’t get any better than that.

What is it about soup? I love it. I could eat soup every day. Maybe it’s the salt? Maybe it’s the comfort it inherently brings? Maybe it’s the wholesomeness factor – I d on’t know exactly. Matt doesn’t share my enthusiasm – he likes soup, but to him, it’s part of a meal and not the whole meal.

In other, non-Noshville or soup-related news – I haven’t slept well for two nights in a row now – if I don’t sleep well tonight, I may very well lose my mind.

The family - at least, my side of the family, has committed to Thanksgiving in Nashville – for the 3rd year in a row! I love it – I get a big kick out of hosting. Laura, Tom and Henry are all heading down in the mini-van from KS. Of course, I don’t know how I’ll manage to fit them in the downstairs bedroom, but ingenuity is my middle name. Or it should be. Lola has graciously offered to stay at the vet for the holiday, but in return, I’ll give her a Welcome Home meal –home cooked – to remember. As for Matt’s family, they’ll be more than welcome, and I suspect that the baby might entice them to come, if one of the cousins isn’t also hosting a dinner. I have a little more competition on Matt’s side.

Speaking of parties and planning, our favorite folks from Kokomo, IN – Jenny and Nick, along with their puppy Coconut, are moving back to Indiana. We’re bereft, but we’re going to party later this month and wish them well. I have some serious stywork to get done to make it happen, but I’m glad to do it – because I can only take so much.

I went to have dinner (ribs and apple pie) with my two favorite bachelors last weekend – we watched the opening ceremonies of the Olympics together, and we’ve all decided that half of the places in the parade of countries were made up. In deference to those alleged countries, I won’t say who we suspect. That said – Marie Callender makes an apple pie that is off the chain. Pick one up today!

Unexpected turn of events – I left my jelly alone for a week, and it set without me! The nerve. I’m going to take some to my Dad for inspection, but this may be what goes to competition next month.

Next week, Matt and I celebrate 3 years of marriage – to each other, that is. No idea what our plans are. Dinner at Krystal was the best idea I could muster (crystal being the contemporary gift for 3 years). Suggestions are welcome!

Other than that – nothing new to report. Work continues to keep me busy, Matt and I are enjoying some cooler weather here in Nashville, and that’s pretty well it.

Mmm, mmm, good!

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Runway, Trapper Keepers, and Anti-August Sentiment

Tonight, Episode Four of Season Five of Project Runway. My tradition, starting mid-season 2, has been to go watch with my friend Rosie, who is the hostess with the mostest, and fabulous and fashionable to boot. Also, Matt refers to it as the "Screaming Queen Hour" - and though we're both as Straight-But-Not-Narrow as they come, he has a point - this show seems to attract some dramatic homosexual men as contestants. What's the pithy saying? Stereotypes and generalizations are a real time-saver!

Before I get to that though, I need to hit Staples. I need a binder, some dividers and I'd like a cheapo cork board - my office overfloweth - actually, I could hit up Michael's for a poster frame, make a collage and essentially accomplish the same thing for cheaper. As for the binder, I need that, and I need it now. That would be ideal. Although, the bossman suggested that I order it thru the company - see, that's why he's the boss.

I still need to hit up Michael's.

But in re: binders - do they still make Trapper Keepers? And if so, what's on them? Dora the Explorer? Hannah Montana? And to that point - why do all kid entertainment entities have to rhyme? Jeez.

And finally, I submit a piece they republish every year on Slate.com that never fails to amuse - it talks about getting rid of August - one of the reasons? It's the only month without a holiday - and that, mes amis, is exactly why Matt and I picked that month to get married.

Here's the article, by David Plotz: http://www.slate.com/id/2196776/

Amusez-vous bien!

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Uneasy Rider

So, right after we got married, Matt thought it would be fun for us to pursue mountain biking together. He already had a bike, but I hadn't had one since...3rd Grade?


I ended up with a really nice Specialized - it's blue. That's all I can tell you about it.


Having been out of the biking arena since the early 80's, my skills, which were back then weak and painfully clumsy at best, had deteriorated some more, and my understanding of biking technology, which ended with coaster breaks, was way behind the times.

Anyway, since we bought it my bike has mostly sat dormant in the basement - and riding a bike, well, it's not just like riding a bicycle - you do tend to forget how. But a few weeks ago, I took
"Old Blue" into the shop for a tuneup, and today, Matt and I hit the road.

Well, it wasn't a total disaster, but I was terrified on the hills, and found that using my feet to stop the bike was ineffective. Hand brakes. Hmm...I guess I could give those a shot.

I started to get the hang of it about 10 minutes into the ride, which is about the time my stamina gave out - I am woefully out of shape. The fact that we started the ride at high noon didn't help matters. Plus, my hair+helmet= Cranial Easy Bake Oven.

But nobody got hurt, I'm no worse for the wear, and I know it's doing me some good. I just need to get back on the bike and keep pedalling.

And yes, after the initial terror wore off, it was kind of...dare I say, fun?

In other news, my first batch of jelly didn't set. I'm thinking of labeling it as a glaze or marinade and gifting it to the unsuspecting at Christmas. It only yielded 8 jars. The bad news is, I have to wait a week for more peppers to ripen/grow til I can try again. Oh well.

We've been trying to get to Noshville for over a week and today, we finally made it there and they were CLOSED. I know not why, as we were driving past the entrance when I saw the sign.

I need soup. Matzo Ball soup. I think it's the salt.

Only Dad's or Noshville's will do. Dad's being the top preference.

Speaking of food, Matt's doing yard work, I just FINALLY (3 hours later) caught up on some work I brought home. I need to scare up some dinner for my hard working yard working man!

Friday, August 1, 2008

It's that capital Q that gets you

"He who of vodka, distilled from potatoes, partakes should take warning;
He’ll be jolly tonight but morose when he wakes in the morning."

- Willard Espy

This is all I can think of, having recently partaken, not of vodka, but of its medicinal equivalent, generic NyQuil. Distilled from…well, not potatoes, that’s for sure. Fermented fennel is what it tastes like.

Yes, I slept, sans annoying cough.

But I am dragging.

D-R-A-G-G-I-N-G.