30 October 2008

Oh sure, Lisa, some magical, delicious animal.

I have tasted heaven and it is two kinds of pork, one wrapped around the other.
A couple of weeks ago, I was perusing my recipe website of choice, looking for recipes to use up some of the meat in my freezer. One of the things I had in abundance was bratwurst from the farm. Are there really a lot of ways to cook brats, other than simmered in beer and then crisped up on a grill or in a pan?

It turns out there are other ways. There weren't a ton of recipes, but there were a few that used brats as a substitute, if you will, for Italian sausage. And a couple of "stews" with cheese and cream-based, condensed soup. Shocking revelation: I think those recipes were submitted by Wisconsinites. But lo! There was another recipe.

Bacon-wrapped bratwurst.

Bacon up that sausage, boy. Bacon it! God, I love it when life imitates The Simpsons. I immediately sent the link to The Boy I Currently Like. He said he didn't even need to click on the link to know that he wanted it.

Finally tonight, I made them for us for dinner. And they were fucking good. I realized when we were talking about having these bacon-wrapped brats, that I had made The Boy wait more than a year now to try bacon from my family farm. How did that happen? I mean, that is one of my big selling points: free bacon! That and the boobs. Why else would anyone want to meet me or hang out with me?

Seriously, I cannot tell you how good these things are. It was a borderline foodgasm. Throw in the oven-roasted potatoes and it is a foodgasm. Bacon-wrapped brats will become my signature dish, I believe. They will be the centerpiece of my bacon-themed birthday party, I can tell you that.

29 October 2008

The Followers.

A few weeks ago, I started noticing this section on blogs I read called "Followers." Or whatever the fuck it says. Then all of a sudden, it said I had a couple of followers. Since everyone was doing it and I'm a total fucking sheep, I decided to add the widget.

And now your numbers are growing. But I still don't understand what exactly The Followers are or what it means when you follow a blog. Do you get updates when I post? Is it just kind of like a reading list when people go to your profile? Is it a way to see who, other than you, is reading a blog?

Yes, I realize I could probably do a little snooping around and figure it out myself, but I'm fucking lazy.

Or is this something a bit more nefarious? I'm wondering if I can start embedding subliminal messages into my posts; slowly gaining your allegiance. You won't even notice the changes you're making in your life. They'll be very subtle -- so subtle as to not arouse suspicion. Then one day, when the time is right, I will post the trigger word. You'll spring into action to do my bidding and together we'll take over the world!

I mean, not that I would do something like that. Come on. World domination is so not my thing.

But I would totally be a kind and benevolent ruler. Promise!

28 October 2008

Changing my tune.

Not that long ago, I was railing about how much I hated the Big Ten Network and Comcast. But they kissed and made up and now I can watch Gopher football and Gopher basketball. YAY!

It wasn't bad not having BTN last year during football season because the Gophers sucked massive, hairy donkey balls. This year, I have BTN and the Gophers are totally kicking ass. This is pleasing to me.

Then today, The Boy I Currently Like sent me this link telling us that Gus Johnson is going to be doing play-by-play for the Big Ten Network. Sure, it's excellent that they've got someone people have heard of doing games.

But what about former Gophers? Lucky for me, the link The Boy sent included a link to Awful Announcing, where I found the following information:

Studio Team: Dave Revsine, Gene Keady, Jim Jackson, Tim Doyle and Gill
Play-by-Players: Wayne Larrivee, Gus Johnson, Craig Coshun, Tom Hamilton, Mark Neely and Revsine
Analysts: Steve Smith, Greg Kelser, Tim McCormick, Trent Tucker, Shon Morris and Spencer Tollackson

This is excellent news, indeed. Jim Jackson makes tingly in my lady parts. I have some sort of weird affection for Gene Keady. I'm terribly glad to see that Spencer Tollackson has found something to do post-college. And while I hate Wayne Larrivee, that is mitigated by the fact that I'll get to hear one Trent fucking Tucker doing games again.

Why I'm so stoked about this is beyond me. It's not like Tucker is a great announcer, but I miss him doing Wolves games. Maybe it's nostalgia or something, but I'm looking forward to hearing him give me some play-by-play action.

Of course, I was really hoping that Kevin Lynch would be involved somehow (I've had a crush on him since I was like, 14), but I just found out today that he's doing radio for the Wolves. This means I'll get to listen to him tomorrow on my way back from the gym. Yay!

I'm so ready for basketball to start.

27 October 2008

Get into the groove.

Do you have Madonna in your head now? I hope so, suckers. Even if you didn't at first, now that I've made you think about it, you're totally going to be singing it in your head until it drives you nuts.

get into the groove, boy
you've got to prove
your love to me

get up on your feet, yeah
step to the beat, boy
what will it be?

Fuck. Now I'm singing it.

This post is not about Madonna. It's about me. Duh. It's about me finally feeling like I'm hitting my stride. But that's not really the right way to describe how I'm feeling. When I first thought about it, I was thinking that I'm in a rut. However, saying you're in a rut has a seriously negative connotation. I'm not feeling negative about this. Even saying I've settled into a routine seems like it's too negative.

So, I'm getting into a groove. Work has seriously settled down, though, I'll be starting my training on The Big Account in a couple of weeks and that could upset the applecart a bit. I don't anticipate it being anything at all like the training I went through when I started. This is one dude coming out to show me all of these sources and then give me some pointers on how this client likes their research results to appear.

Outside of work, I am in the calm before the storm that is the holidays. I get out of work at pretty much the same time every day and I come home, eat something, change my clothes and head to the gym. My workouts are pretty good for the most part and I've even added in cardio before yoga. I'm still getting used to yoga starting a half hour later. It's crazy how much of a difference 30 minutes makes. Actually, it's more like 35 or 40, because in the infinite wisdom of the people who make the schedule, they took away the set-up-and-take-down time between classes. This means we start at least five minutes late because the class before us has weights and mats and steps and who the fuck knows what else.

And that's pretty much it. I'm able to run errands during the week before and after the gym, so my weekends aren't crazy full of errands and the gym and doing shit around the house. Yeah, I clean every other week or so and do laundry once a week, but there are no huge projects I need to get done. I can spend my weekends being totally fucking lazy if I so chose. That's delightful.

I was seriously broke all month, but that is letting up. Still, with the economy in the shitter, I'm going to try to be a lot more careful and conscious of where I'm spending money. This means fewer shows (not that there have been a ton that I've wanted to see anyway), entertaining at home (hello, Thursday Night Football!) and happy hours if I do go out. It means Two Buck Chuck and careful shopping. That's totally cool with me.

Now that I finally feel like I've settled into this lovely groove, it's less than a month before my nephew starts basketball. He has tournaments every weekend. Oh, and those pesky holidays. And the Ugly Christmas Sweater Pub Crawl. I'm going to enjoy this last month or so of lovely, comforting routine. Because shit's going to get hectic and I'll look back longingly at these days.

25 October 2008

I work, baby.

Toward the end of the Gopher game today (7 and fucking 1, motherfuckers!), I stumbled upon something wonderful on Vh-1 Soul -- New Jack Swing A to Z. The first video I saw? Big Daddy Kane's, I Get The Job Done.

New Jack Swing was the soundtrack of a good chunk of my life. Since I grew up in a small town and my exposure to anything even remotely new music-wise was severely delayed, I came onto the scene late, but damn did I embrace it. But damn, once we got into it, my best friend and I got really into it.

So many of these songs I'm hearing today just bring back a flood of memories. From cruising in the Delta 88 or going out to Teen Night at the Albatross to going to the Zoo in Wilmington to walking around campus listening to my mixtapes at the U or making out with football players to dancing at the clubs in downtown Minneapolis ... man.

En Vogue, Boyz II Men, New Edition (and Bobby Brown and Bell Biv Devoe and Johnny Gill ... I'm sure I'll see some Ralph Tresvant), Keith Sweat, Guy, TLC, Babyface, Jodeci, Joe Public? Hi-Five? Heavy D and The Boyz ... The countdown is only up through "J" at this point. I'm sure Mint Condition will be on the way in the next installment. As will R. Kelly, Tony! Toni! Toné!, Mary J. Blige ... I mean, shit, if Big Daddy Kane falls under New Jack Swing ...

Oh and these videos. The clothes. The hair. The dancing. The pagers. The women pretending to play saxes or trumpets. The keytars. Holy shit.

I was dancing around my living room like an idiot this afternoon before I'd had a drink. By the time this shit gets started again in just over an hour, I'll have a little buzz and then IT'S ON, motherfuckers! Dance party at Chez Jess.

24 October 2008

Shopping is exhausting.

In so many fucking ways, really.

Running errands at the mall is bad enough. Running errands at the Mall of America is damn near excruciating. However, Hugedale (as my uncle likes to call it) is right across the street from the office. And in the interest of saving gas, it's my best option.

After the Mall of America, I ventured to SuperTarget up the road. This is where it got ridiculous. It used to be that I could run into Target for toothpaste and I'd come out having spent $50, all in the matter of 10 minutes. Now, it takes me an hour to spend nearly $100. On necessities.

It's so time consuming. Not only do I have to scour food labels for calories, fat, fiber content and high fructose corn syrup, now I have to try to figure out which option gives me the best bang for my buck.

Do I have a coupon for that? More importantly -- is it with me?

That brand is on sale, but is it cheaper than the store brand?

What's the unit price on this brand versus that brand?

How much does this cost at Rainbow? What about Trader Joe's?

This is really feeling like the kind of thing that requires some study. Perhaps a spreadsheet is called for. Man, I can make any activity an exercise in obsessive planning if I really put my mind to it.

In other shopping-related news, I totally saw Sven Sundgaard at Trader Joe's tonight (yeah, I totally went to TJ's after going to SuperTarget. Lame). He is the tiniest thing. It's unreal.

This week, I've been carded twice at Trader Joe's. Tonight it was the guy who flirts with me every time I see him. Why on Earth would he be carding me tonight? Meh.

23 October 2008

I suppose it's about that time.

I've already had two -- count'em: two -- invites for Thanksgiving weekend, so I guess it's about time I start thinking about ...

Ugly Christmas Sweater Pub Crawl 2: Electric Boogaloo.

One side of my family has already claimed the Sunday or Saturday before actual Christmas. And I'm sure your families and work are clamoring for your time. So I think I need to get into the game.

My sister just e-mailed me to remind me that my nephew has a basketball tournament on the weekend I chose and she has tickets to a concert. She conveniently neglected to mention that it is also our brother's birthday, too. I can't decide if that means she's mad she can't go or if there's some other reason.

Anyway, mark your calendars, y'all: Saturday December 13. You want in? Drop me an e-mail. Or just await further instruction.

22 October 2008

Thoughts on my first look at the 2008-09 Timberwolves.

Who is that guy?
When did we get Kevin Ollie?
Kevin Love is a big pile of suck through the three minutes I've been watching.
Who the fuck is that?
Oh that's right. Vinnie Del Negro is the Bulls coach now.
Those uniforms aren't so bad. They're not so great, either.
I want to punch Kevin Love's Color Me Badd-reject ass in the junk.
Mmmmm. Kirk Hinrich.
Fuck you, Kevin McHale.
Oh God. Mike Miller. I'd almost managed to forget about that.
I miss Hanney and Pete when basketball isn't on.
Why is Joakim Noah wearing sport goggles?

The Dreaded Birthday Dinner.

Via Jezebel, of course.

This subject has been on my mind because not only do I have my own milestone-ish birthday on the horizon, I recently was discussing the dreaded birthday dinner because some friends had been invited to one and I thought maybe I'd dodged the bullet. Turns out, I just didn't check my Yahoo e-mail. The invite was there. I turned it down because, well, I don't really care for the person and I didn't want to spend a shit-ton of money on someone I don't like. I didn't feel bad and I'm not sure I even bothered to make up an excuse. If I did, it was "other plans."

The birthday dinner we declined was exactly the type of birthday dinner everyone hates. Under normal circumstances, The Birthday Boy (and sadly, his partner has succumbed to these evil ways) is always guilty of not paying his fair share of the bill. It's only going to get worse when he's the Man of the Hour. Mike said that when he and Sweetness went to the same birthday dinner last year, they ended up paying an extra $60. You all have those friends, don't you? Everyone does, right?

Save for a few, isolated cases, people always get screwed at these things. Not everyone gets screwed, mind you. But the people who aren't getting screwed are screwing everyone else.

Look, I like celebrating my birthday. Perhaps a bit too much. But what the fuck ever. It's my birthday, dammit. However, I don't expect people to pay for me and I don't expect presents. Though, I'm retarded and often forget the "no gifts please" part of the invite ... but the people who are going to get you presents will ignore that shit anyway. I know I do. All a part of the dance, I suppose. I just want to hang out and get drunk with my friends. Why is that so wrong?

I can't remember the last time I had an actual birthday dinner -- maybe four or five years ago? When I turned 30? There has been dinner eating before the birthday drinking on several occasions, but that's of the "If you want to come early and eat dinner, Blondie and I will be there at 7:00" variety. No pressure, you know? And if people can't afford it, shit. I understand that. I've turned down many an event over the years because of brokeness.

This past year my birthday consisted of a movie night for the close friends and a happy hour for everyone. I think it worked out well. I'd intended to have a party at my house last year, but Sweetness wanted to have a movie night the same evening, so we combined the two into one. Score! Quite frankly, it was one of my better birthdays.

Maybe I'm wrong, though. Maybe I am one of those horrible birthday tyrants. God, I hope not.

I think this year I might do the party. I've had that bacon-themed party idea tucked in my back pocket for nearly a year now. It's about time I do something with it. And a house party is infinitely more affordable for everyone. Lord knows we all need that now. And I know I won't have to do everything myself, because my friends are of the helpful variety. The first thing out of several mouths is always, "What can I bring?"

Dammit. All this party talk has me itching to have one. In addition to the bacon-themed party, I was struck by another idea last night: trashy/retro/classic potluck. Think tator tot hotdish or deviled eggs or Swedish meatballs. Stuff your parents would serve at their parties when you were a kid. Stuff you'd see in a Lutheran church basement or at a post-funeral luncheon. We drink cheap beer and jug wine. Too much?

Clearly I've been in broke hibernation mode for too long. I need to entertain! At least Thursday Night Football starts in a couple of weeks. That's an excuse for a weeknight mini-party. I love being the only one in the group with NFL Network.

21 October 2008

Things I learn in Afternoon Trivia.

The band Steely Dan took their name from a steam-powered dildo.

Always with the open letters to people at the gym.

Dear Ol' Drippy,

It's nice to know that you've showered. I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, but your big, wet ass is going to leave quite the delight on the toilet seat behind you. Who knew, right? I mean, you're dripping water all over the floor, so why would the toilet seat be all wet after you sat on it? Crazy how things work, huh?

I had to use three massive wads of toilet paper to wipe the seat off. And that still wasn't enough. Granted, the toilet paper at the gym is shit. I don't know how anyone would imagine pooping there (oh, but people do it). And let's not forget about the fancy footwork I needed to employ to avoid the puddles you left on the floor.

So thanks for leaving a wake of water behind you without regard for anyone else. You couldn't pee before showering? Or after drying off? Forgive me. Lord knows how much I love cleaning up after other people at the gym.

Yours in Christ,

20 October 2008

Yoga FAIL.

Sweet merciful crap. I'm so fucking cranky. Our yoga class tonight was focused on balances, with a side focus of leg strength. So, you know, we were doing mostly leg balances.

I've said it before, but I'm not sure I can stress it enough: I SUCK AT BALANCING. And I suck roughly 1,500 times harder on the right side than the left for whatever stupid reason. Of course, I spent 45 minutes on the treadmill before class and used my inhaler, so I was all full of energy and a bit jittery. Oh, and my legs were tired. Let me tell you how much that helps when you're trying to balance. And the longer the class went on, the more I sucked and the more frustrated I got, which increased the sucking, because I was frustrated and couldn't get my breathing under control and focus.

Look, I know I have to do the stuff I suck at and the stuff that is difficult to improve. I spend a lot of time cursing under my breath at the gym, whether it's in yoga or when I'm on the elliptical machine or lifting weights. The stuff I hate doing is probably the most important for me to do.

What really pisses me off, is that I can bust out a Tree Pose or King Dancer in my kitchen or living room when KayGee and I are doing drunk yoga. Why can I do it when I'm not in class?

An entire class of epic levels of suck is apparently a bit too much for me to handle. Because I want to fight somebody right about now. I hate being a failure.

Dear Michelle Bachmann, Part II. (Electric Boogaloo)

I know I asked you to shut your fucking piehole a few months ago, but I'm thinking that was a mistake. And you didn't listen anyway. You did however, answer my rhetorical question about whether or not your batshit crazy statements ever cease. That would be a big, fat no.

And of course, after being called on your batshit crazy statements about Barack Obama being anti-American and calling for McCarthyesque investigations into the patriotism of the liberal members of Congress, you come back and say, "Chris Matthews made me say it!" Typical. And disappointing. If you're going to make outlandish accusations and propositions, you should really own them. How can anyone respect your convictions when, if pressed, you blame the media for making you say something? It's not like it was a passing thing. Sure, Matthews used the term "anti-American" first, but you took that hand off and ran the length of the field for the touchdown.

Have all of her crazy statements added up yet to make the voters in her district realize she needs to be voted out? You'd think so, wouldn't you? There was a time when I would have absolute faith in my fellow Minnesotans to boot her ass out of office, but that faith has been severely eroded over the past several years. It's bad enough that we made headlines (and SNL!) with the Crazy Lady at the McCain rally in Lakeville. At least that can be pish-poshed as a single loon. Now we've got Bachmann continuing her campaign of embarrassment.

I'll hold off on my weeping for humanity for a bit, though. Bachmann's opponent, DFLer Elwyn Tinklenberg, has been raking in the contributions since Bachmann spouted her ridiculousness. Perhaps this is the final nail in her coffin; her equivalent of Rudy Boschwitz's "Paul Wellstone is a bad Jew," letter in 1990.

Fuck. November 4 can't come fast enough.

Switching gears: in good Minnesota-related news, my beloved, bowl-eligible football Gophers cracked the AP and USA Today Top 25 for the first time in three years. And without even playing a game this week!

18 October 2008

Bonding, baking and bourbon.

My sister had to attend a baby shower this morning, so she dropped my nephew off on her way to the northern 'burbs so we could hang out. Of course, her dropping him off at 9:30 this morning meant I really couldn't go to The Boy's place last night. Fucking figures.

I baked an apple pie before The Nephew arrived. I didn't make it -- my mom makes up tons of them and then freezes them and doles them out to us throughout the year. The Nephew loves Grandma's apple pie and I could use some room in my freezer, so why not? Besides -- I have a reputation to uphold as The Cool Aunt. She lets you stay up late, lets you eat pie or sundaes in the morning and plays video games with you.

Really, all we did was play Wii and watch Cartoon Network. I totally kicked his ass playing laser hockey, often with my left hand AND while I was in the kitchen making lunch. Now that's talent, fuckers! He kicked my ass in everything else but the shooting game and baseball, which we both sucked at. Getting beat by a 10-year-old is fun! I'd not played Wii in a while. Why do I do stuff like that? Just completely forget about something until someone else prompts me to play it, read it, watch it or listen to it? Stupid short attention span.

In addition to baking the pie, I'm also in the middle of my second attempt at real bread. I've got a loaf of whole wheat bread in the oven. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong, but it took FOREVER to rise. Maybe it's just because my apartment isn't warm and humid enough. I finally had to sit it on top of the oven while I preheated it (and then some). It seemed to rise enough after that, but I won't know the final verdict for another hour or so. Cross your fingers for me. A warm slice of homemade bread with some butter would really hit the spot right now.

Oh my God. I just caught a whiff from the oven. I need it to be done now! If this turns out, I'll totes be making my own bread all the time. I'll save money and it'll be preservative-free and all that. Score.

Alas, the bourbon will have to hold me until the bread is done (especially because my black bean hummus really needs to sit in the fridge overnight before it reaches the peak of deliciousness). I made a particularly lovely and delicious Manhattan. Those cherries at the bottom of the martini glass are just so beautiful. It's going down awfully well, too.

Keeping with the "B" theme again, what the fuck's going on with TBS and the baseball game? Guess it just gives me more time to clear shit off my DVR. Oh, Arrested Development, I love you so. And NewsRadio -- I miss you dearly. Once the comedies are done, maybe I'll get drunk(er) and play Guitar Hero. Whoo.

17 October 2008

Goose Poop Obstacle Course.

I heart walking around Lake Calhoun in the fall. It's a treat to have to dodge the copious amounts of goose shit littering the walking path. At least there are very few people to dodge while dodging the goose poop. God, I fucking hate geese.

That was probably my last evening walk around the lake for a while. Isn't it nearly time for us to fall back? It was getting pretty dark by the time I got home tonight. And Lord knows that I can't be out running around by my lonesome on the dark streets of Minneapolis. Oh, I'm sure there might be a random Saturday or Sunday where I can get out for a bit of fresh air. But those days are going to be few and far between for a while.

How did it get to be so late in the year already? Wasn't it just October not that long ago? Damn.

16 October 2008

How do you forget your bra?

I generally try to get the same locker at the gym. Just like I try to do weights in the same order. Just like I try to use the same elliptical machine. God, I'm such a fucking creature of habit. It makes me a little ill sometimes.

For whatever reason, I can't seem to get the locker I like on Tuesdays. And I have to open at least three before I find one that doesn't have shit in it. The people who leave their shit in unlocked lockers are lucky I'm not a bigger bitch. Because if I was, I'd move their shit or throw it away. Hey -- you put that shit in there and didn't lock it. If you're taking that chance, one of these days you're going to lose.

Alas, I'm not that big of a bitch. I just slam the doors with much authority and curse under my breath and keep trying until I find an empty locker.

Next to my normal locker, there has been an open locker with a black bra in it for the entire week. There are so many things about this that confuse me. The gym gets cleaned. Lockers with shit in them do get cleaned out. But not this one. It's also been open the same degree all week. How does that happen?

And who the fuck forgets a nice, black bra at the gym and doesn't come back to get it? How do you leave without your bra? Okay, maybe she changed from work clothes into gym clothes and the bra didn't make it into the bag. But even if that is the case, why not come back to get it? Too embarrassed to check to see if they have it in Lost and Found? Do you have so fucking many bras that you didn't even notice that one is missing? Must be fucking nice.

If I lost a bra, I would realize it in very short order. I wish I could afford to have so many bras I wouldn't miss one. Or if I missed it, I wouldn't need to go back and get it. Sadly, that is not the case for me. Each of my bras is precious and vital to my boobies.

15 October 2008

Things that begin with "B."

Blackberry. Oh, that's right. I've got a Blackberry. I got the Pearl, which I think is the smaller version. I don't have a full keyboard. Fancy, huh? Normally, I'm not one to go for a fancypants cell phone. I need neither a camera nor an MP3 player, as I have both of those things already. And I certainly don't need an FM radio.

The problem I had, however, was that all of the cheap or free phones had all that extra bullshit and it seem to make them bigger and clunkier. It's like cell phones are trending backward in a way. The Blackberry Pearl ended up being only $10 more than the least-tolerable other phone T-Mobile had to offer, so I said, "Fuck it." It scared the bejebus out of me when it arrived last week and I only just got my interwebs and eBays on it Monday, so the jury is out. As a phone it seems to work better than my last model. It took forever for calls to connect for some reason. It seems to do alright for now, I guess.

Broken Social Scene. Despite waking up at 4:30 a.m. on Monday, I somehow managed to suck it up to go to a late show at First Ave with Macho Man and the World's Worst Wing Woman. We went to see Broken Social Scene, who I last saw at the 400 Bar in early 2004. I was so close to skipping it. In addition to the epic tiredness, I had no money for drinks and that always makes me feel like I don't want to go. My ticket had been purchased weeks earlier, but um, not drink at a show? Are you a Communist or something?

Turned out I got a major boost of energy at the gym and then I had extra time at home to have a drink and then another drink when the others showed up at my place. When we got to First Ave, Macho Man sold the extra ticket WWWW had and she bought us drinks with the money. Score!

But oh, Broken Social Scene. I can't remember the last time I was so geeked up after a show. I still am today, even. I figured I'd gotten my $20 worth within the first half of the show. I'd been listening to them a lot lately, but I can't understand why I sometimes go so long without listening to them at all. And I love them in every incarnation -- Kevin Drew and Brendan Canning's solo stuff, Stars, Apostle of Hustle, Metric, Feist, that new guy's band that I can't remember the name of ... I suppose Emily Haines's solo stuff counts if you're going to include all the others. And Amy Milan's solo album. Fucking Canada. Is there something in the water up there? Here's a little "KC Accidental" for your listening pleasure.

Broke. Just like everyone else, right?

Blah. This week is dragging. Last night, I could have sworn for a while that it was Thursday. WRONG. Christ. It's only Wednesday. How am I going to get through this week? I'm so. fucking. tired. I certainly won't be getting to bed early tonight. It's always nearly 9:00 by the time I get home from yoga. Then I have to shower and eat and watch the debate. I should do dishes, but ... maybe they can wait until tomorrow. At least tomorrow is Thursday. We're getting there.

Black Beans. My current food obsession.

Boots. I've busted out my tall, black boots for the cool weather. They make me feel kinda bad ass. And they look quite good with a skirt. If only I had occasion to wear one of my short, plaid, pleated skirts with the boots. But, if you'd hearken back to the section on "Broke" you'll know I have no place to wear said boots with said skirt. Then again, who said I can't just wear that shit at home?

14 October 2008

It's been a year already?

Damn. Time flies and all that. One year ago, The Boy I Currently Like and I met. It doesn't seem like it's been a year. Or maybe it does. I'm not even really sure what a year feels like anymore.

Quite frankly, it was about damn time. We'd struck up an e-mail correspondence several months earlier. After a while it started to seem a little bit inevitable that we'd meet. He's got some ... quirks that made me at least try to sit back and be patient and let him ask when he was ready. However, my impatience did get the better of me and I scrounged up all my courage in the face of my nearly crippling fear of rejection and I asked. His response? "Honestly, what were you waiting for?" Fucker.

Looking back now, it does seem pretty silly that I was so worried about whether he'd say yes or not. But it's hard to see that stuff when you're in the midst of it.

I'd refrained from mentioning him here because he used to read this blog and OMG, what if he realized I was talking about him? Also, one of the first things he ever mentioned to me was that my personal, confessional style of blogging had a tendency to make him uncomfortable. He managed to get over that for quite a while, though. But of course, once I'd done the big, scary asking-him-out thing, in addition to being all, "What took you so long?" he was also all, "I'm going to go check your blog now to see if I've finally made it in there."

But I waited. So he was apparently okay with me writing about him. I wasn't so sure if I was. I finally broke down and wrote a thinly-veiled hypothetical scenario. I couldn't contain it any longer. I was getting nervous and had to get it out somewhere.

Wouldn't you know it -- that post unleashed a whole load of Crazypants I had no idea existed. There were comments. There were e-mails. There were 15 visits a day showing up in my site stat tracker (that had actually been going on for quite a while ... suddenly I had an explanation). The whole situation completely freaked me out. I very nearly called the whole thing off. I agonized and asked friends for advice. As if it wasn't bad enough to have the nervousness of meeting for the first time -- and wondering if we'll get along, if we'll have anything to talk about, if I'll think he's cute -- I had to worry about feeling like some sort of virtual homewrecker, despite the fact that there was no home to be wrecked.

In the end, I didn't call it off and I didn't tell him about the e-mails until several days later. Turns out he'd been wondering whether to talk to me about it, too, since he'd gotten some e-mails as well. I actually knew this because one of them was included in an e-mail to me. Hey thanks. I got more of the story and we both thought that was that.

That wasn't it. Not by a long shot. There were more comments. More e-mails. More days of multiple visits showing up on the stat tracker. Blog posts. It went on for months. I tried so hard to ignore it, but here's the funny thing: when someone is obsessed with you, you end up getting a little obsessed with their obsession. And it ain't fun. It stressed me out. It made me a little crazy. It really upset me sometimes. I wanted to write about it here, but that would have only fueled the fire. The worst part about it was that I never should have been pulled into the scrum in the first place. It was between the two of them. I couldn't provide any closure and I certainly didn't want to be friends with someone who caused me so much fucking unnecessary grief.

Honestly, I'm not even sure it's over now. The visits seem to have stopped, but I don't see everyone who reads on Bloglines or Google Reader. Finally mentioning it now might unleash a whole new shitstorm. I really hope not. Lord knows we both had to deal with plenty of other shit in the last year. He found out his job was going to be eliminated right before we met. About two weeks after he started his new job, I got the ol' heave-ho from mine. I've only recently started settling into my second job of the year and he just moved. Fucking life changes. Jesus.

Over the last year, I've also gotten past worry about the artificial timetables people set. Friends mean well, but not everyone does everything on the same schedule. So we're moving super slow, big deal. It works for me. I worry about losing myself, but that's not a concern for me now. Yeah, I've got my own issues. Who fucking doesn't? I liked my life the way it was before I met him -- doing my own thing on my own schedule and my own terms. And that's still how it is. I like that.

We have fun. He's turning me into a nerd. Well, more of a nerd than I already was. I try to get him hip to what the kids are listening to these days. We can watch Tom & Jerry together. We've yet to have a big fight. Well, we have lots of big fights in my head. He's never actually been involved in any of those. I've had to learn to be more patient and understanding. That's good for me. He seems to be making little changes here and there that quite frankly have freaked me out a bit. In a good way, though. I think. All of these things seem to be good, but what the fuck do I know? I suck at this stuff.

I still can't believe this all started with me clicking a link at Deadspin more than two years ago. Yay for the internet tubes.

12 October 2008

Too hot to cook.

In October? Oh, Minnesota. You always keep me guessing.

I had big plans for the kitchen today. And really, I carried most of them out. I made whole wheat beer bread this morning. There are homemade black bean burgers in the oven right now, with some soon-to-be-oven-roasted broccoli. The only thing I didn't get to was making focaccia. I'd planned to do that this afternoon, but it was too fucking hot in here to do that.

Being hot all night should have been my first guess that it would be warm in here today. The heat in the building was turned on earlier this week. And wouldn't you know it, as soon as they do that, it warms up. So last weekend I was freezing my ass off and this weekend, I'm dripping sweat while washing dishes.

There is a reason I haven't taken my air conditioner out of the window yet. And it isn't because I'm totally fucking lazy and can't be bothered. Okay, that is part of the reason. But the main reason is that there is always a spate of warm weather well after everyone puts their summer clothes away. I'm always trying to outsmart the weather. So why haven't I been running the AC today? I mean, I'm sweating my ass off. It's one day. It won't make my electric bill that much higher.

I don't do it because the heat has been turned on and it seems completely counterproductive to turn on the air. Besides, what if that triggers the heat? Then I'm really being dumb.

There are plenty of cool days on the horizon for me to attempt the focaccia. Why I got the bug up my ass to make that is beyond me. But I Must Do It. Meanwhile, I'm totally ignoring the veritable shitload of apples I have around here that need to be used. Seriously, if you want some apples (Fireside, mostly), I'm your girl. I should make applesauce or something. That'll probably have to wait for next weekend.

Oh, verdict on the whole wheat beer bread? Delightful. I had a Newcastle in the fridge and I used that. It's totally easy, too. The black bean burgers are still cooking and I'm totally not hungry, so I might not know until tomorrow if they're good or not. However, I can tell you right now that they look and smell better than the Morningstar Farm Spicy Black Bean burgers I so love. And they are about a million times cheaper.

I'm always cooking at night or on a Sunday to make lunch for the next week and doing it just to do it. I often don't eat any of what I make until the following day. That broccoli is going to get eaten tonight, though. Man, I don't think there is a single vegetable that you could oven roast with some olive oil, salt and pepper, that I wouldn't eat the fuck up.

10 October 2008

I'm not ready for that level of commitment.

Monday was my annual tune-up with the cooter doctor. I know you're jealous. Don't try to hide it. Everything is delightful. I even get to skip my mammogram this year.

I did have one thing I wanted to discuss with my doctor -- my birth control. I've heard all kinds of good things about the IUD. Well, mainly that it's set-it-and-forget-it five years and you stop getting your period at all by the end of the first year. Sure, it isn't pleasant having it inserted if you've never had kids, but what's a couple days of discomfort for five years of carefree sex?

Now, the IUD isn't something you just pop into the doctor and get that day. I know it's a process, but I have no idea how long it might take. Gotta find out if my insurance covers it, because if not, there is some really serious planning that needs to happen. I wasn't even sure if I was ready, but what can it hurt to at least ask about it, right?

So, we discussed it. And I'm so not ready for it. Like, I'm not even going to consider discussing it with The Boy I Currently Like. There's no point. It's too much.

My doctor said that first of all, you have to be absolutely certain you don't want kids. No problem there. I told her I'd never wanted them. She kept saying things like, "Well, if you've come to terms with that," or "As long as you've made peace with that." Lady, there's no terms to which I need to come nor any peace that needs to be made. I've never wanted to have children. Sure, I could change my mind at some point, but after 34 years, I just don't see it.

Secondly, apparently I need to be in a Very Serious Monogamous Relationship. Like, bordering on marriage. What if I don't know if I ever want to get married? No IUD for you, sister. Not ever.

Look, I'm okay with The Pill. We've been together for nearly 15 years, since right after my first and only pregnancy scare. I know how my body and emotions react to it. I know when I'm not on it, I can get a little crazy. I've gone off for a few months a few times over the last 15 years, and to be honest with y'all, I don't like myself when I'm not on it. Sometimes you just need to see what else is out there, right? I've seen it and I'm happy with what I have now. It's a month-to-month commitment. Not that I'm going to use the option, but it's nice to know I have an out.

09 October 2008

I don't know if I'm ready for this level of camaraderie.

Now that I am back in the Corporate World, I have to get used to doing corporate stuff again. Doing things like company outings. Except I don't like those kinds of things. Shocking, no?

Today was our fall outing and I totally skipped it. I ended up having a decent excuse to skip. I took off some time Monday afternoon to fulfill my duties as Emergency Contact for my nephew. So I not only had to make up time, but he also had a playoff football game tonight. Also, I was actually very busy today and was being a busy worker bee until I left. How could I go to the company outing that lasted from 4 to 6 when I had to work until 5:00?

The outing was a wine tasting. It was also nearly in Wisconsin. We had to drive ourselves because apparently, since the person in charge was not aware of any "closet wino's" [sic] at the company, why would it matter? Obviously, these people have never hung out with me.

Look, I love wine. And there are a few people at the office I wouldn't mind talking to outside of the office (one of them was out for Yom Kippur, of course). But I'm not spending at least 45 minutes in the car to go drink wine for two hours so I can turn around and drive 45 minutes home.

I'm a fun hater. I'm not a team player.

I'll totally go to the holiday thing, though. Sounds like they do it up quite well for the holiday party.

07 October 2008

If I ever see you reading this book, I will slap the shit out of you.

Well, maybe I won't slap the shit out of you. But at the very least, you'll get a look of Incredible Disappointment, combined with a shaking of my head. Because I just don't understand.

The source of my disdain today? A discussion on Jezebel on a book about tricking your boyfriend into proposing. The Get-Your-Man-to-Marry-You Plan: Buying the Cow in the Age of Free Milk is written by Lori Uscher-Pines, a 29-year-old public health researcher, so you know we're getting this from a very wise relationship expert.

In an New York Post article, Uscher-Pines reveals her top five dos and don'ts. The don'ts are pretty much common sense. The Do List, however?

No. 1: Do talk about expectations.

Uh, no shit.

No. 2: Do spend time with all those marrieds who seem so crazy happy in love. "You want peer pressure to work for your advantage," she says. "Men get turned on to things when they see their peers doing the same."

Oooh, peer pressure! That's bound to work. I surely don't know a single soul who has never regretted succumbing to peer pressure. Who wouldn't want to get married to a guy who wanted to get married because all of his friends are doing it? Lord knows I wouldn't want a man who does his own thing. Let's just hope for your sake sister, when he see half of your married friends divorcing he doesn't think he needs to follow suit.

No. 3: Do remove the "barrier" he's created, such as not being able to afford the ring, or the house, or the wedding, or you.

Look, if you weren't such a high maintenance bitch, we could have gotten married years ago. Those barriers? They sound like excuses. Don't you think that if you're with someone who truly knows you (and if you're marrying someone, don't you want them to truly know you?), he would know you don't give two shits about a ring or a house or a wedding? Then again, if you're buying this book and taking Uscher-Pines's advice to heart, you probably do care deeply about the ring and the house and the wedding. Sucks to be you.

No. 4: Do create some dependency, you scheming bitch. Ha ha, kidding. But really, do this. "Get him to depend on you a little bit," she says, "and then show him what life is like without this benefit." Cook him a gourmet meal every night and then stop. Pay bills and then stop. Get his car inspected and then stop. You're so bad, you're good!

Rampant inconsistency is fun! It doesn't make you look unstable at all. I swear! He'll think every day with you will be an adventure. But you have to do it long enough to make sure he's become used to your behavior and then suddenly pull the rug out from under him. It's the only way he'll ever learn to appreciate everything you do, and then stop doing, for him. And when he asks why you've suddenly stopped paying the cable/giving blow jobs/making dinner, you're going to have to lie, aren't you? Because I'm pretty sure, "I'm trying to trick you into marrying me," will not really be an acceptable response here.

No. 5: Do initiate a major life change. This means saying you might go to grad school or move to a new city or any kind of "fish or cut bait" decision-inducing measure. Basically, create a negotiation point. "An ultimatum isn't manipulative if you think about it," she says.

An ultimatum is absolutely manipulative. It is direct, for sure. But that doesn't mean it's not manipulative. How would you respond to an ultimatum? I imagine I would either say, "Okay then, fuck off," or I would say "Okay fine, I'll do X," and then grow to resent the person who gave me the ultimatum.

A few of my friends wanted me to give The Boy I Currently Like an ultimatum to ... ask me out or something last summer. I'm still not entirely sure how it was supposed to work. The World's Worst Wing Woman was the instigator, but she had backers. I threw out six weeks as the "Or else!" date because I just wanted to stop talking about it. I don't do ultimatums. They are so not my style. I really fear doing something that might cause someone to resent me down the line. So the six weeks came and went. Another sixish weeks passed and then I decided one day, "I'm just going to ask him." And I did and here we are.

If you need to manipulate and scheme to get your boyfriend to propose to you ... why on earth would you want to marry him? I cannot wrap my head around it. Why is getting married SO IMPORTANT? I'll never understand women who absolutely must get married or their lives will never be complete. Marriage is not the be-all and end-all.

Sometimes this whole discussion makes me feel like I'm crazy. Then I look back on posts like this, about awful marriage proposals, and I read the comments and I know I'm not alone, so I feel a tiny bit better. The whole situation still makes me weep for my gender, though.

PS: Blogger spellcheck recognizes "blow jobs." I never know if it's a compound word or two separate words. Blogger says it's two. Good to know.

06 October 2008

Hasn't Golden Gopher Basketball suffered enough?

Let's see, there was the rape scandal under Jim Dutcher in the '80s. Dutcher's replacement, Clem Haskins, brought us the delightful academic cheating scandal. And who can forget Dan Monson's Reign of Craptasticness?

I thought things would be different under Tubby Smith. I really did. Then today, I see this in the Star Tribune: U of M coach named state's most eligible bachelor.

When it comes to good-looking single guys, a University of Minnesota basketball coach stands tall above the rest.

Steve Goodson, 25, has been named Cosmopolitan magazine's most eligible bachelor in Minnesota and will represent the state in magazine's 2008 Bachelor of the Year contest.

I'll spare you the beefcake photo. Oh wait, it's been removed from the story anyway. There are so many things wrong with this. It's fucking Cosmo for one thing. God, I hate that magazine so much. I have been done with it ever since the day I read an issue that feature such helpful tips as, "Why don't you try ... fainting to get attention!" and "It's okay to eat a hot fudge sundae. Just don't eat anything else all day." Go to fucking hell, Cosmo.

For whatever reason, this story makes me feel gross and squicky. At the same time, I have no problem with some skanks with stage names from my alma mater getting naked for Playboy. Is it a double standard? Am I being sexist? Probably. Do I fucking care? Not in the least. Tubby Smith really has an air of class about him, and this is just ruining it.

Really, I'm just embarrassed for everyone involved here. It's kind of the same way I feel about the New Kids on the Block comeback. Or the Key Cadillac Girl getting her roll on in that billboard.

Besides, I don't even think he's cute.

05 October 2008

Welcome to St. Paul! (when appropriate)

I wrote a year ago about how horribly guilty I felt for not going to watch my brother run the TC Ten Mile, which is a part of the Twin Cities Marathon. But not this year. This year, he was running the marathon and I was a Good Sister.

Things nearly unraveled. My sister and I had made plans yesterday to go. She called as I was running a couple of errands after my nephew's football game to tell me that now she wouldn't be able to go because her jackass ex-husband was fucking shit up. Then she called back to say everything was fine.

Of course, this morning, he was back to fucking shit up. What a shock. I have no idea why I didn't plan for that. Guess I'm always giving people the benefit of the doubt, even after they've proven time and again they don't deserve it. There was a time when I thought maybe I'd get up early and head over to watch Baby Brother as he ran around Lake Calhoun. However, I was awake half the night (I've been sleeping like ass this week), and slept until it was too late to get over there.

So my sister couldn't go and it looked like I was going to have to brave the rain on top of having to go by myself. Not that it was a huge deal to go by myself, but this was the kind of thing that would have been considerably more fun if I had someone to talk to while I was waiting. But that wasn't going to be. I sucked it up (hey, it stopped raining!) and headed over to St. Paul to try to catch him at the finish. His friend had left and his girlfriend and her mom were across the street, so I couldn't watch with them.

I was surprised there weren't tons of people lining the fence close to the end. I had plenty of room -- no one on either side of me. Maybe the crowd was a bit thin because it had been raining and it was fucking cold. Who knows. I was just glad to get a spot where I didn't have to fight to see, and maybe my brother would be able to see me.

After a half hour, I finally saw his orange shirt and gray shorts coming down the street. I managed to get a few pictures and was hollering my ass off as he passed. He said, "Hey Jess." Goodness, he was looking a bit rough. He called while I was on my way home and said he was starting to cramp up there at the end. I stayed a few minutes longer to see his friend, who looked much better. I was yelling for him, too, and I got a "Hey Jess!" from him, too. Neat!

Baby Brother finished in 3:27, which impressed the shit out of me. Especially for his first marathon? I think my cousin's goal for his first marathon was to finish in under four hours.

I was blown away by how totally fine most of the runners looked as they passed me. Some looked so loose it was ridiculous. YOU'VE RUN 26 FUCKING MILES HOW CAN YOU LOOK SO GOOD? And the people sprinting at the finish? I can't even comprehend. There were people running with balloons and signs. I saw one guy running in a toga, which was excellent. The Spectator Guide had suggested cheers, some of which cracked me up, including the one I used as the subject line for this post. The first on the list was "Keep smiling!" Let me tell you, I saw very few smiling faces. There was a great deal of impassivity, a lot of pain and a ton of grim determination.

Running is something I'm never going to get into, but the people who undertake the training and actually run such a grueling fucking race certainly have my respect. Congratulations to all of you.

04 October 2008

Beware the dangers of the interwebs!

Oh, 1995. Weren't you delightful?

Since going to see The X-Files movie, my love of the show was renewed and I've been recording old episodes on SciFi and TNT. I watch them when I can't sleep or on a night like tonight when there's not much on TV.

I'm watching 2Shy right now, and it is cracking me the fuck up. The plot:

The corpse of a woman, or what's left of it, is discovered in a car in Cleveland, Ohio. Mulder traces the questionable homicide to previous cases in which the victims, all female, subscribed to a newspaper column. The killer has now found his way on to the Internet.

Yes, he found his way onto the interwebs. IT'S ONLINE DATING. This crazy dude is liquefying the women who were silly enough to meet some stranger from the interwebs. OH NOES.

Crazy how things change, no? I mean, yeah, you still need to be careful meeting strangers from teh interwebs. Then again, how many times have I thrown caution to the wind? I invited The Boy I Currently Like here to watch football for our first "date." And, he's a poet, just like the liquefying dude from The X-Files. Man, did I dodge a fucking bullet. I mean, if he was going to liquefy me, I'm pretty sure he would have done it by now.

03 October 2008

What has happened to me?

This afternoon at work, I was reading an e-mail from an old friend. It made me think of how it wasn't that long ago that I used to spend Friday anticipating whatever big plans I had for the night and the rest of the weekend. I'd get all whored up to head out to preparty somewhere and then we'd head off to a club. Okay, that was actually several years ago. In more recent years, there's still plenty of whoring up going on, but maybe just for happy hours or dinner or something like that.

While I was reminiscing, it occurred to me that I can't even remember the last time I had plans on a Friday night. There were a few times this summer that I went to someone's house or had a couple of people over for drinks on the deck. But real, honest-to-goodness Friday Night Plans? It seems to have been ages, because I can't recall a single occasion.

Saturday night plans are few and far between, as well -- especially now that block party season is over. There was Sarah's bachelorette party a couple of weeks ago and I guess I am going to Fleet Foxes next weekend. Look at me! I'm a social butterfly.

I suppose it's good that I'm perfectly content to stay at home, since I'm totally fucking broke. But I really am perfectly happy to hang out at home. I've been cooking and baking on the weekends. Tonight I'm making black bean hummus, which since I'm only using the food processor, probably doesn't count as actual cooking. I feel like I want to bake, too, but I don't know what I should make.

With no baseball on (I realize there is baseball on, but with the Twins out of it, I don't care), I can also clear some stuff from the DVR and read the comics The Boy I Currently Like gave me last weekend. The drinks and food here are uber cheap. And I totally control the music. Maybe I'll be drunk and play DJ later. Really, the possibilities are endless.

I'm sure I'll get the itch to go out soon enough. For now, though, I'm happy to be a homebody.

02 October 2008

Pain in the ass.

Okay, so it's actually my coccyx. It feels as if I've slid down the steps on my ass. But it also feels like it happened a few days ago. It's not terrible, but it's annoying.

I don't know where it's coming from and it really only bothers me at work. There must be something about the chairs here. It's been happening off and on for at least a month, because I do notice it when I'm sitting in my ... um, lawn chair? camping chair? You know, that chair that comes in a bag. The one I sit in when I go to my nephew's football games.

My sister is convinced it's probably from yoga. And it would make sense if it hurt after a class where we did Boat Pose and that pose where your body is in the same v-shape as Boat Pose, but you're holding your big toes and straightening your legs straight forward or out to the sides. Clearly, I don't know the names of all of the poses.

However, last night was a back class. I guess my tailbone got some contact rolling into and out of Plow Pose and shoulder stand. Fish Pose? Maybe I'm just getting old. Or maybe it's another result of me having less padding on my body.

Yoga is really the only explanation, unless I'm engaging in bizarre activities while I'm sleeping.

Moving on, how much do you think I'll have to drink tonight to keep myself from jamming forks into my ears whenever Sarah Palin speaks? I'm worried that it's going to be copious amounts and I probably won't be home until right about start time. HOW WILL I STAND IT? And quite frankly, I worry that if I can actually listen to what she is saying, I might do worse than jam forks in my ears.

01 October 2008

Perhaps it is the Minnesota Nice.

Astute readers may have noticed (and probably rejoiced) that I haven't been whining about my job lately. At least I don't think I have been doing that. Things have been getting steadily better, and with all the life changes going on in people's lives around me, I don't believe I ever got around to talking about the Big Changes happening.

For a while I was worried. Closed doors, talk of change, e-mails circulating from the higher-ups to everyone but those of us hired since the first of the year ... those things can get a girl's anxiety meter running in the red -- especially when the economy is in the shitter. And also when said girl got the "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to let you go. There's just not enough money," talk in the past year. Not to mention the stories I've heard about people being hired and laid off shortly thereafter in the past at this place.

Turns out the changes were going to be good for me. I found out about a month ago I was to be moved from my nebulous department that served all the departments in all of the offices. I was going to end up in one of the two departments in the Minneapolis office. Hooray! Actually, once my training was over, I started doing most of my work for the Minneapolis office departments, so it wasn't a huge change.

I think it was about two weeks ago when I unofficially got word of my future. I was working on a project for my boss-to-be and went to update him on my progress. He actually shook my hand when he thanked me for all of my efforts. Um, okay. It wasn't really that tough of a job. It was just a ton of work.

After thanking me, he asked me to close the door and sit down. He explained a little bit about the situation and said it looked like I was going to be in his department. I said, "That's great!" And he was all, "I'm so glad you think that." Did he maybe think I was going to be all crestfallen and say, "Oh. Okay," or something of that nature? In truth, I wasn't disappointed. I wasn't exactly excited, either. But I'm not an ungrateful asshole or anything. It seemed like he was really glad to have me on board.

So, it turns out that I am going to be spending about half of my time working for a Big Client. I believe it is our office's biggest client. Sweet. Unfortunately, this means I have to go through training again. However, I'll just be getting trained in the myriad of sources to which this one particular client has access. And while the guy training me is in the New York office, he's not one of The Trainers. He's the guy who will be doing the other 50 percent of the Big Client's work. The rest of my time will be spent working for my department and the other department in our office. I guess I might still do some work for New York, but they'll have to pay a pretty penny for my time.

When my boss-to-be told me all of this, he said I should keep it confidential until I got the official word from our general manager. No problem. I can totally do that. Then last week, the building had a tenant appreciation and everyone went but me. I was leaving early that day to go to Fredder's wake, so I didn't want to take any extra time. Turns out, my boss-to-be spilled the beans to a whole table full of people about my new role. Alrighty then.

Finally, on Tuesday, I got The Official Word. And like The Trainers, my boss-to-be and the GM were effusive in their praise of my work. But I totally bought it from these guys. Is it just because I could see them while they were saying it? Because they are in the Minneapolis office? I don't know. The GM made sure to tell my boss-to-be that I was a good writer and brought up some things I said in my interview six months ago and that they should get me on some writing projects, stat. Excellent!

They think I will be a valuable asset. New Boss thinks the work I will be doing is going to be great for my career development. I don't know how to feel about this. It's totally corporate-speak. And while I'm feeling less guilty about working for The Man, I still feel bad for not doing Good Work.

Oh well. At least I have a job.