30 November 2008

I could go for a pussy sandwich right about now.

Does it make me a total fucking douche to title a blog post with something exactly three classy broads will get? Maybe the better question is: Do I care? No. God, I have loved me some inside jokes for a long, long time.

How is the weekend over? How did this happen? Even with the two extra days there didn't seem to be enough time. What did I want to do with that time? Lay on the couch and watch TV. Aside from a two-hour workout, that's all I did on Friday. And most of the day Saturday, after yoga and before I went to Sarah's Thanksgiving leftovers extravaganza party.

It wasn't that long ago I would have flaked out on such a party. I knew three people there, and I'd hung out with the three of them exactly once. What's changed? I haven't a clue. Why could I go to shows by myself, but not go to a party where I'd only know a couple of people? Perhaps I've started to not give a fuck as I've gotten older. Maybe it's the blogging, because that's the reason I'm doing a lot of these going-out-and-meeting-new-people things.

Quite frankly, I don't care what the reason is. I'm just glad I'm doing it. Last night, I laughed myself to tears, a coughing fit or near peeing myself more times than I can count. And I had a second Thanksgiving dinner. Fucking score. A leftovers party is quite honestly a brilliant idea. I was able to get rid of the sweet potatoes and one of the dips I'd made.

Of course, by 11:00, I was wiped out. I mean, I had a hard day of yoga and laying on the couch. This totally explains why I didn't go to sleep until some time after 5:00 a.m., then. If I could get ready for bed in a reasonable amount of time (and if NewsRadio hadn't been on), I might have been fast asleep when The Boy I Currently Like e-mailed me. But I was up. And we had some catching up to do, seeing as he'd been out of town for nearly three whole days. As it turns out, we needed to catch up in person, which is why I was up so late. Seeing him is always worth it, but there was the added bonus of getting rid of a few more Thanksgiving leftovers, too.

And all this explains why I feel like I'm ready for bed at 9:00, despite not having been awake for 12 hours yet. Is it wrong that I am absolutely reveling in the laziness I've been able to accomplish this weekend? All of these marathons on TV, plus basketball, football, the Lord of the Rings trilogy AND the Star Wars trilogy. It's amazing I left my apartment at all.

I've been fairly productive since I left The Boy's house. I stopped at Rainbow, did laundry and made my lunch for most of the week. I made my favorite peanut noodles. However, I changed up the recipe just the tiniest bit -- I used soba noodles and natural peanut butter. The jury is undecided on these changes. The sauce is darker and thicker with the natural peanut butter, but it seems to taste the same. As for the soba noodles, I feel like I might have overcooked them, but the package said six to eight minutes and I took them out just before six minutes.

Oh well. The bite I tasted was pretty good. But I've been drinking while I've been cooking and we all know how that goes. My opinion could be vastly different tomorrow come lunch time.

I guess I've put off dishes long enough. The sooner I get them done the more time I have to lay on the couch before going to bed. I can't believe I have to work three whole weeks before I get another few days off. HOW WILL I COPE? How will you cope?

29 November 2008

This is ...

Golden Gopher Basketball!

I'm finally getting to watch a Gopher game. Their first televised game was actually Wednesday night, but I was busy drinking in bars that weren't showing the game (what the fuck?). In fact, I couldn't see a TV from where I was until we got to Stella's (which was Douche City, U.S.A.).

This is not my first experience with the Big Ten Network's basketball coverage, however. I've been watching games here and there for the last couple of weeks. I was watching the Ohio State game before the Gophers started and the announcing was getting on my nerves. Then the Gopher game started. I don't know about this Dean Linke guy. And I'm not sure how I feel about Spencer Tollackson doing Gopher games. I mean, he just played with most of these guys last season. The level of familiarity is weird -- he's calling everyone by their first names. However, he knows a shit ton about the team and can pronounce everyone's names correctly, so that's a bonus.

These two aren't really working well with each other yet. But I suppose that will come with time. They're talking over each other and saying random nuggets about this player or that and the other is ignoring whatever was said. It'll be interesting to see if they have teams that stay together throughout the season or not.

Regardless of the quality of the game call and the announcers' rapport with one another, I'm fucking thrilled that I get to watch the Gophers this year. God, I'm so glad it's basketball time. I'm done with college football. Until it's time to watch the Gophers in their shitty bowl game. Because I'm a sucker.

27 November 2008

Best Thanksgiving yet.

I truly intended to go to the gym this morning. As soon as my hangover went away. But wouldn't you know it -- there was an Arrested Development marathon on. Not to mention the House marathon, the Dirty Jobs marathon and the mini Tom & Jerry marathon. Yeah. Like I'm going to miss all that TV.

Oh my God. Our food today was SO FUCKING GOOD. We're getting better each year we do this. The 'rents called this evening while KayGee was dying from having eaten too much and The Prison Librarian and I were doing dishes. They asked what we had and after I went through the obscene litany of food (minus the three different appetizers I provided), they said we had more than they did. And there were 12 people eating at the farm, compared to the three of us here today.

I'm going to have so much shit to bring to the leftovers party on Saturday. And I'll still be eating leftovers for a fucking week. Awesome.

I hope y'all's Turkey Days were as lovely as mine.

26 November 2008

Thanksgiving Eve: Quarantine and retro recipes.

The decision I made a few years ago to stop doing Thanksgiving with my family and start doing it with my friends was probably one of the better decisions I've ever made. It was crystal clear last year when there was all kinds of drama between my mom and sister about who was hosting. There was back-and-forth for days and I was involved because, well, that's the way it goes. And if my parents had come up to my sister's place, I would have tried to both hang out with my family for a bit and do my own thing with my friends.

Not long after my post yesterday, I found out that the family Thanksgiving is a huge cock-up again this year. The Nunnery is under quarantine. Many of the Brides of Christ who live there are old and not well; they are particularly vulnerable at this time of year. So the fam cannot have Thanksgiving with The Nun and my mom is now hosting 12 people at kind of the last minute. I can feel the stress and insanity from here and man, am I fucking glad I'll be in my own place tomorrow.

I'm especially glad because I can sleep in at least a little tomorrow. I'll probably need it because Thanksgiving Eve drinking has become another tradition with my friends, we're going out tonight. How can you not? Thanksgiving Eve is the biggest bar night of the year. We're starting at Chino Latino for happy hour and then God only knows where we'll end up. At least two people have mentioned turning over cars and bottle smashing. And y'all thought I was the violent one. This is an especially exciting Thanksgiving Eve because new friends of mine will be joining us in our drunken escapades. Or part of the escapades, anyway.

Finally, I'd like to share a retro recipe I came across recently. A bit of back story: They Boy I Currently Like told me he needed a cookie recipe a couple of weeks ago. It's for some work thing. And since I have been providing him with lots of baked goods over the last year or so, I guess it makes sense that he'd ask me.

He decided on Snickerdoodles. I'd made that particular cookie, but not since high school. I e-mailed my mom to see if she could find the recipe in one of her Lutheran Church Lady recipe books, because I knew that's where I'd gotten it. In the meantime, I found several recipes online that were all the same and baked a test batch that both The Boy and my coworkers found to be delicious. Then mom was here last weekend and gave me a copy of the recipe. She'd actually copied two pages from the book and I found the following recipe there.

Crackling Cookies

2 cups cracklings (from home rendered lard)
2 cups brown sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla
3 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon soda
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons cinnamon
2 teaspoons ginger

Mix cracklings, brown sugar, eggs, milk and vanilla thoroughly. Sift dry ingredients together, add to first mixture. Roll in small balls, dip in sugar, bake at 350 degrees.

HOME-RENDERED LARD? You can make that shit at home? As a matter of fact, you can. I've never cooked with lard, but my mom used to, back in the day. I also find it interesting that neither this recipe, or any other on the two pages I received, had any baking time. Those Lutheran Church Ladies didn't need no damn baking time suggestions. They knew their ovens. They knew that cookies generally take eight to 11 minutes to cook. They also have a propensity for suspending things in Jell-o and making hot dishes with cream-of-something soups. But they know their baking.

25 November 2008

Thanksgiving cards and dicks at the gym.

I know, right -- who buys Thanksgiving cards? Well, other than my mom. But she includes $20 of drinking money, so who am I to complain? I'm one of those people buying a Thankgiving card this year, though. Because most of my Minnesota relatives are heading to The Nunnery to have Thanksgiving dinner The Nun, I thought perhaps I should send The Nun a card.

This actually would probably have been one of the better family Thanksgivings, because my mom doesn't have to do any work, making her far less insane and stressed. I'm a little sad to miss it, truth be told. However, I adore Thanksgiving with KayGee and The Prison Librarian. It's all the food, plus booze (though, I had wine at The Nunnery on Easter), cursing and football, without the crucifixes, religious women and annoying family!

So I'm looking for a card for The Nun. Nothing too silly or racy. Nothing too childish or frilly. Jesus, it was tough. Did you know there are "romantic" Thanksgiving cards? Who the fuck buys these? What the hell do they say inside? "Hey baby, let's work off these food babies by practicing making real babies!" Wishful thinking. I'm certain the romantic cards are full of overwrought prose detailing just how thankful the cardgiver is to have the card receiver in her life (because you know dudes aren't buying Thanksgiving cards, romantic or otherwise... not straight dudes, anyway).

I suppose I could have looked to see what exactly appears in a romantic Thanksgiving card, but I was afraid. Also, I was on a schedule. Had to get to the gym for my almost-daily dose of asshole.

Asshole 1: Look Dick Face, if you're going to take the spray bottle filled with ... some sort of cleaning spray, I hope, with you to your machine (on the opposite side of the cardio area, I might add) instead of saturating a wad of paper towels like everyone else does, DO NOT fucking stop to chat with someone on the way, then stop on your impossibly long and circuitous route back to watch TV for a bit. Maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass, you'd see two people standing with paper towels in hand, waiting for the cleaner. Or maybe you wouldn't, because you're a fucking dick.

Asshole 2: Turn off your cell phone before yoga starts, you inconsiderate fucking twat. This is the second time it's happened. Actually, it's the third. When it happened a couple of weeks ago, you didn't silence the phone after the first call and then you got another call. You're lucky I didn't accidentally punch you in the face when you were standing too close to me in the locker room when I was putting on my sweatshirt. Namaste, Lady Jerkwad of Stupidton.

24 November 2008


I think it's a bummer that leftovers get such a bad rap. I guess I understand why it happens sometimes. There are things that should never be reheated, for one thing. Some stuff just doesn't keep well, even overnight. And if it wasn't good the first time, why on Earth would it be better later?

To be honest, I never used to be a huge proponent of leftovers myself. But something's happened in the last couple of years -- since I started cooking more. Maybe it's just that I'm cooking better to begin with. Or I'm understanding what kind of things not only work well the next day, but are often even better after sitting in the fridge overnight or being reheated. I mean, I spend my Sundays cooking to have leftovers all week. I often make something specifically to have it for lunch the next day(s). I won't do anything but taste a couple of bites to make sure it's okay.

My leftovers today kick some pretty major ass. When I brought all that pork home on Friday night, I realized it wasn't all going to fit in the freezer. Dammit. I was so close. I took out a T-bone steak, though, and problem solved. Well, the big problem was solved. Any time I go in the freezer and move anything, I have to spend 10 minutes moving stuff around so the door closes.

It wasn't that long ago I wouldn't eat meat that was even remotely pink in the middle. That makes for awful, rubbery, dry leftovers. I've changed my ways, though. I cooked my steak fairly rare (after marinating in olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, salt and pepper) and it was divine last night. Today it is just as good. The garlic broccoli? Yum. Oh, and the squash? Holy crap. Why do I make squash so fucking rarely?

Shit, I spent all day yesterday in the kitchen. I made raspberry buttermilk muffins, firecracker cornbread and a chipotle blue cheese dip with Baconnaise in place of some of the regular Baconnaise. I even made homemade blue cheese dressing to be used in the dip. Seems a bit much no? Well, I had a carton of buttermilk to use up. God forbid I let less than $1 worth of buttermilk go to waste. Not in this fucking economy, honey.

This is the week for leftovers, too. KayGee and I always make insane amounts of food as it is, but we go absolutely bitchcakes for Thanksgiving. Seriously. I cannot fucking wait.

23 November 2008

Thanks for nothing, Freddie's.

You know, you could have sent that invite to the "red carpet event" at the Mall of America more than 18 hours before it was to take place. I could have certainly used a free pair of boy shorts. And I think we all know how much I adore free cocktails.

Though, I'm not sure how much use I could have gotten from the "20 percent off everything in the store" part. It's been quite some time since I've been in a Frederick's of Hollywood retail location. I know when I did that you carried my size in the store, unlike some places. However, since I've bumped up to an even more ridiculous cup size in recent months, I'm not sure if that is still the case. I suppose I'll find out soon enough if I can start saving shipping charges on my bras and undies by simply popping across the street to Hugedale.

Freddie's isn't the only one to blame here. I would have had plenty of time for free drinks and free underwear if I hadn't had to drive to my sister's place after work on Friday to pick up my mom and take her to my nephew's first basketball game of the season. Why they couldn't work that shit out is beyond me.

Things probably worked out in the end, though. I once again have a freezer full of free pork. My mom gave me a Columbia jacket she wore briefly and decided she didn't particularly like. It's too hot or something. Hey, I'll take a nice winter jacket off your hands. No problem. She also tried to give me a pair of long-length jeans she mistakenly bought, too. My mom is not a tall woman and she certainly doesn't have long legs. I put them on and it was like, "Everything's coming up Milhouse!" In what universe these jeans might be considered "long" is beyond me.

After my nephew's team stank it up in their second game on Saturday morning, we decided a little retail therapy was necessary. When we walked into the mall, mother dear said, "I'll buy each of you one thing." It felt a little like we were all 10 years old instead of one 10-year-old and two 30-somethings. But she likes doing it and shit, I like getting a pair of new boots, so everyone wins! My sister and I also bought new hats and mittens. I'm all fucking set for winter now, kids.

The sucky kids' basketball I was subjected to Friday night and Saturday morning were foreshadowing what I was in for the rest of the day, I think. Good sweet Christ, why did the Gophers even bother playing last night? Or the last few games for that matter? I don't have high hopes for The Bob Saget fan club either. I'm leading and still have my kicker to go, but my opponent has two players left to my one. Boo.

But what does that matter? It's a short week. I'm so excited for Thanksgiving Eve and Thanksgiving, I can't even tell you.

21 November 2008

I am not sappy.

Honestly. I swear. Despite that one line in that single e-mail in a series of exchanges with The Boy I Currently Like a couple of days ago. I'm not romantic. I don't go in for all that girly bullshit. It seems cheesy and over-the-top and it all screams "I'm trying too hard!" I don't like being on the receiving end of it, either.

I especially loathe romantic comedies. And I so strongly dislike movies with Hugh Grant. But God help me, I adore Love Actually. I cannot stop myself from watching it when I come across it on TV. How does a romantic comedy reach that pantheon in my life? How does it get to share that rarefied air with the Star Wars trilogy, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Sixteen Candles, The Commitments, Heat, The Usual Suspects, The Shawshank Redemption, The Breakfast Club, Weird Science, Purple Rain? The movies I will watch no matter where I catch them when I'm flipping through channels. How did this happen?

I actually saw it in the theater. My sister conned me into going shopping with her the day after Thanksgiving. Then she somehow conned me into seeing a romantic comedy, featuring Hugh fucking Grant. God, I am such a good fucking sister. And I hated myself for loving Love Actually. I can't explain what it is that makes me love it, but I do.

Oddly enough, when talking about movies The Boy thinks I need to see and which of us is going to Netflix them, he said that if it is a movie he wants me to see, he will Netflix it. However, "You suggest something like "Dream a Little Dream" or "Love Actually", than that will come out of your Netflix Account." Sure, I've never seen "Dream a Little Dream," but how did he know to bust out "Love Actually?" Damn him.

It's a good thing that the Wolves are getting their asses kicked by KG's Celtics, because I don't feel bad for ignoring the game to watch the movie. It should be noted that I'm not crying when seeing KG and I can actually watch commercials featuring him and I'm totally able to watch entire Celtics games. This is progress, people.

But KG will have to wait until I get my fill of sappy, romantic holiday movies.

I'm only a little ashamed.

20 November 2008

Meeting the friends.

After months of, "When are we going to meet [The Boy You Currently Like]?" and "Are we ever going to meet this guy?" and all the other variations, a couple of my friends finally got to meet The Boy I Currently Like.

KayGee and The Prison Librarian came over for a taco buffet, Thursday Night Football and The Office/30 Rock. There was some playing with yarn, too. Despite the fact that The Boy and I had quite awful timing and were ... busy when they showed up, there was really no awkwardness or anything.

For months, I'd been putting it off because I knew that it was a big deal for The Boy. I only met one of his friends a few months ago, and after that he explained why it was a much bigger deal for him to meet my friends than me to meet his. It even made sense.

But it wasn't just about him. I was a little freaked out about it, too. However, I didn't realize why I was freaked out about it until very recently. I thought it was just because introducing my friends to someone I really like is a big deal. That wasn't it, though. I realized the big deal was me asking him to do it at all. Like, for real this time. I'd mentioned it off and on, but never seriously. This time, I was asking seriously.

As it turns out, the big deal with asking him was his answer. If I asked him to do this thing that was important to me and he blew it off or just flat-out said no, that would clarify whether or not he gives a shit about me. And I gotta tell y'all, I was fucking terrified waiting for his answer. Because if he can't be bothered enough to try ... well, then I know it and it's right there in my face and that's where I stand. How could I keep going along, knowing he doesn't even care enough to try?

Once again, my gift for automatically rushing to the worst case scenario had me all worked up for nothing. But at least I was prepared, right? But he didn't say no. He said yes. He followed through. He was great. They were great. Fun was had. A hurdle was cleared.


18 November 2008

New Year's came early.

The gym has been pretty crowded the last couple of weeks. At first, I attributed it to the change in the weather. It finally got cold, so people aren't doing their exercise outside any more.

Then last week before yoga, I found out that the Bally in Bloomington had closed on October 31. Apparently, the luxury car dealership (BMW? Mercedes? I'll never have one, whatever it is) next door wanted to expand. So they bought the lot and the club closed. Clearly, expanding your luxury car dealership is a brilliant move in this economy. I wish you douchebags all the best.

Where will all these people go? The Bloomington club was pretty fucking big. It was certainly bigger than St. Louis Park. It's bigger than Little Canada. Possibly bigger than St. Paul. It was big enough that I could get on a treadmill at 6:15 before yoga right after the first of the year when I used to go there for yoga.

Yesterday, I found out that plenty of them are coming to St. Louis Park. And it threw me into a panic. I got there at 7:00 and there wasn't a single piece of cardio equipment to be had. It was tough to even walk around the track because there were so many people. Lucky for me, I have good vulturing skills and got a treadmill for 15 minutes of pre-yoga cardio after a single lap around the track.

But if it is mid-November and the gym looks like it is January 2, what the fuck is it going to be like after the New Year's Resolutioners show up? I'll be working out until the club closes at 10:00.


So, I panicked. I started running through my options.

1. Take the bus to work: Sure, I get home later, so I don't have to kill two hours between getting home and heading to the gym. However, I'm still working out late and I have to get up early. Um, no.

2. Take the bus to work and work out at the Richfield Bally: Still have to get up early, but the bus stops right in front of the fucking club. Sweet! However, that means working out when everyone else is, too. Maybe the Richfield club is big? Less busy? I would have to haul my gym shit to work every fucking day. This isn't terrible, because the buses weren't ever crowded when I've been on them in the past. It's just a pain for me. Also, riding home on the bus stinky. Because I know St. Louis Park, Bloomington, St. Paul and Little Canada are all nasty, I'll feel safe in assuming Richfield is as well, and I won't want to shower there. Plus, that's even more shit to haul. Also, the bus going home from there runs every half hour at fucking rush hour. The bus stop is pretty desolate and quite frankly, I'm not sure I'd feel safe there in the dark by myself. And having to time it perfectly to catch the one perfect bus is not my strong suit.

3. Switch to the Y: It's a bit more expensive. The YWCA in Uptown is probably a pain to park at and in the winter, I doubt I'd be inclined to walk. I'm not proud of that fact, but it is what it is. The YMCA on Blaisdell is probably just as close to me as the YWCA. Plus, that location is being renovated. The Y in Mankato was new when I worked out there and it was pretty bad-ass. It's a possibility. But I love routine and I've been with Bally since I finished college.

4. Work out in the morning: I've tried this and it was an epic failure. However, that was like, 10 years ago. Maybe I'm different now? Maybe I should give it a try? That fucks with my yoga, big time. Perhaps I could still do yoga and work out in the morning ... It might be worth a two-week experiment. What the fuck would I do with myself at night though? Drink and watch basketball? *strokes chin thoughtfully* I'm listening.

5. Adjust my work schedule: This would probably happen if I started working out in the morning anyway. I can be flexible with my work hours. People start coming in at like 7:30 all the way through 9:30 or even 10:00. If I'm not getting home from the gym until 9:30, why not work 9:30 to 5:30 or 6:00 so I can get a little extra sleep in the morning? Again, it would be a huge adjustment for me. I'm not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, but I really like my work day to be done as early as I can handle it.

But wait! Maybe I freaked out a bit too much, too soon. (What? Me race to the worst-case scenario immediately? Shocking. Absolutely fucking shocking.) Tonight, I got to the gym at like, 6:45 and there were a ton of cardio options. I was able to do all my weights. Or, I would have if I didn't have a cold and hadn't coughed myself into an awful, awful headache.

I kind of hate myself for immediately going into Chicken Little mode. I try not to do it, but ... well, it's who I am. I'm pretty sure frequent readers have caught on to that. Lord knows people who know me see it all the time. Maybe I have to give up the cardio before yoga. I'll live. I'll have to get to the gym on Fridays for extra cardio, but fuck. It's not like I have a life or anything.

Perhaps I'll just take a deep breath, take a step back and see how things shake out over the next couple of weeks.

17 November 2008

Oh, come on.

Fuck off, Hollywood. 'Greatest American Hero' flies again? Believe it or not, yes

Making a movie version of The Greatest American Hero is bad enough. But why stop there? I mean, there have been so many shitty movie versions of TV shows I loved as a kid. Let's make it worse, shall we?

I want to do the same thing with the 'A-Team' movie. John Singleton is directing the 'A-Team' and settling in on casting, we have been looking at Bruce Willis, Woody Harrelson and Ice Cube but I'd want the original guys to feel welcome. And we're also doing '21 Jump Street.' It'd be amazing to get Johnny [Depp] back in ... I mean, if he'll come! He's not exactly looking for a job.

No. No. NO. Please go straight to Hell, Stephen J. Cannell. Why must everything I loved as a kid (or a teen) be ruined? WHY? Also: Woody Harrelson? Really? What. The. Fuck. Ever. (via Jezebel)

Fuck off, Prince. Gay marriage and doing 'whatever you want' is wrong, says Prince

Literally thumping the Bible is an especially nice touch. You know the Bible has been used to justify all kinds of hate and intolerance over the centuries, right? Like, oh, slavery? Treating women as second-class citizens? War?

Someone needs to watch the clip of President Bartlett totally pwning a conservative radio host who uses the bible to bash gays.

Fuck off, Coldplay fans. A chilly start, the Coldplay was hot

For Christ's sake, it wasn't like the Jon Bream's review said the show was terrible. Or that Coldplay blew donkey balls. I especially like the douche in the comments who said the next review should be done by a "real" Coldplay fan. Go to a fucking fansite if that's what you want. Critics critique. It's their job.

Also, they're not even doing "Trouble" anymore? FAIL. You're not even a poor man's Bono, Chris Martin and your band will never be more than a fourth-rate U2.

Wow. So much crankiness. I've got PMS and a cold. Cha-ching! However, on my way home from work this afternoon, Mary Lucia was zoning in on my brainwaves as always. She played the very first Elbow song I ever heard, Any Day Now. And I am now filled with happiness and light. In fact, here is the entire album, Asleep in the Back.

15 November 2008

Adventures in drunken clumsiness.

I didn't get to ride one of Metro Transit's lovely new hybrid buses until a couple of months ago. They're new, so they're nice. They're quiet.

They're also smaller. And the quarters inside are rather tight. Those close quarters, combined with my long legs, high-heeled boots and the 947 glasses of wine I had at Nami last night are why I have a giant, bruised goose egg on my right knee, which I bashed into the seat when I slid in and sat down.

My general klutziness had nothing to do with this of course. It was the wine. And the other stuff. I mean, I certainly don't have a gash and bruise on my other knee from slamming my knee into the strike plate on my closet door while changing my underwear totally sober after work on Thursday. No way. Not me.

12 November 2008

Sweet bacony Christ!

A couple of days ago, the incomparable Justin from J&D's Bacon Salt dropped me a note to tell me he'd sent me a little gift. You may remember me talking about Bacon Salt on any number of occasions. Let me remind y'all: that shit is fucking good.

I had my first day of training for The Big Account today and the weather has been shitty, so I promptly forgot about Justin's e-mail. Well, I'd forgotten about it until I opened my door and a box fell on my foot when I got home after work. I might have peed a little from all the excitement. It's hard to say.

Let me tell y'all, "little gift" is the understatement of the year. In this box was The Ultimate Bacon Lover's Gift Pack. Wanna know what's in it?

The Ultimate in bacon goodness. For a friend, for you, or a random act of kindness. Includes a jar of Original Bacon Salt; 5 delicious new Bacon Salt flavors (Applewood, Cheddar, Mesquite, Jalapeno and Maple); a jar of Baconnaise (please specify Regular or Lite); and J&D's Bacon Lip Balm. All in a fun gift box just in time for the holidays!

Baconnaise! Holy shit! I got Baconnaise! It is the full-fat version. I was all ready to order the Lite, but I was waiting to order because I thought ordering just that was dumb. So I was going to maybe order some Christmas presents or something, but I was being lame and God, who can think about Christmas presents before Thanksgiving? Anyway, I doubt I will ever bother ordering the Lite version now. There's a reason for going to the gym, you know.

How to describe the taste of Baconnaise? Well, the smell is delightful, first of all. I had a bag of regular Popchips ('cept they are from Trader Joe's, so they are way cheaper), and I decided to use them as a means of conveyance for the Baconnaise to reach my mouth.

When the Baconnaise hit my taste buds, I'm pretty sure the Earth moved and angels sang. It tastes like the second coming of Christ. In my mouth. (That's what she said.)

Honestly, I think the fact that it is the full-fat version and I'm very much used to eating low-fat mayo might have had something to do with it. The heavy, velvety, creaminess of it makes it feel so luxurious. But it doesn't even taste like mayo. All you can taste is the bacon. It's like Bacon Salt on crack. IT IS SO FUCKING GOOD. You should get your ass some as soon as fucking possible. I'm not kidding. It's kosher and vegetarian. YOU HAVE NO EXCUSE. Well, unless you're vegan. Then I'm so, so fucking sorry. You poor bastards.

And the nine million bottles of Bacon Salt? Holy shit. I'm so excited to use them all. I'm going to be putting Bacon Salt in everything. I still haven't put Bacon Salt on peanut butter. I think that needs to happen post haste.

Oh, and the Bacon Lip Balm? Totally smells and tastes of bacon. I will be bestowing bacon-flavored kisses on anyone and everyone who wants them as long as that shit lasts. I'm not kidding.

So thank you, Justin. I should also thank Dave, 'cause Justin didn't do this all by his lonesome. I think y'all should win some sort of humanitarian award for all the good you've done for this world.

10 November 2008

When the big hand is on the six and the little hand is on the seven.

Dear Pat,

Your class ends at 7:30. Your ... step? strength? aerobics? class has mats, weights, steps and God knows what else that your students need to put away once the class is finished. As it turns out, yoga starts at 7:30. No one likes the new schedule. However, Kari teaches a class similar to yours on Wednesday right before yoga and doesn't leave our class starting 10 minutes late.

Look, I'm sorry that you apparently have some sort of disability that leaves you unable to read a fucking clock or whatever. If that's the case, maybe you should set an alarm on your cell phone. Or perhaps have one of your students let you know when you should start wrapping shit up. FYI: the time to start wrapping it up is not five minutes into the start of our class. It's been two fucking months, you dick. Make some goddamn adjustments.

While I'm kind of talking about your students, maybe you could ask them nicely to pick up all of their shit when they are done. It's bad enough that we have to wait for you to go over your time limit and then wait for the majority of the participants to put their stuff away. But it really fucking pisses me off when I have to put away steps and exercise balls that your assfuck students left behind. I hate to be the one to burst your collective bubble, but y'all are not any better than anyone else. You got the shit out, so you can put it away, douchesticks.

It was bad enough that the gym was smelly and dirty. But I'm really pissed that you ruined the warm fuzzy buzz I got while watching our president-elect take his tour of the White House while I was doing cardio before class. I'm annoyed that it's almost goddamn 9:00 by the time I get home from class. I kind of hate you and want to punch you in the junk. I hate that I let assholes get to me and make me crazy.

I hope you all get a virulent strain of gonorrhea.

Yours in Christ,

09 November 2008

Needs more salt.

God dammit. How do I forget to add salt at two crucial points of cooking?

Is it my subconscious? My blood pressure was high enough a year ago that my doc put me on meds. I'm fairly sure it's because of the Pill, but obviously I can't give that up. Then again, when I made scrambled eggs for breakfast after going to the gym this morning, I over salted a wee bit and they just weren't very good. Maybe that's why?

I really can't even blame drinking this time, because I'd had maybe a glass of wine (okay a glass-and-a-half) when I started cooking. I post-salted where I could. We'll see how the "cornmeal crunch" turns out when it's finished in the oven. I use the quotes because um, that's totally just baked polenta. However, it's my first attempt at polenta, baked or otherwise.

And you know what? I tried a bit of the pre-baked polenta. I think it would be totally fucking delicious if it had any goddamn salt in it. Fuck!

08 November 2008

It really wasn't me.

Last night I went to happy hour with my former coworkers. As it turns out, yesterday was essentially the last day of the company. Oh sure, there are some loose ends that need to be tied up (like those two three-year projects I brought in last year ... not sure how that's going to work out), but the office has been emptied and everything sold or stored in the lone remaining storage unit and the only full-time employee left was done as of yesterday.

I was fairly certain things would turn out this way after I was let go, but it took a lot longer than I thought it would. And I really felt like shit a few months ago when I hopped on to the website to see if they were doing anything and saw there was a new researcher. Oh, so I get canned and then six months later you hire someone to replace me? I felt like it was an indictment of me -- that I wasn't good enough and it was my fault.

Knowing that wasn't the case makes me feel a lot better about myself. It really was their fault for not bringing in any work and neglecting the business. I do feel bad for the new researcher -- he apparently had no idea that they'd only be keeping him on through the end of the year. Wish I could say I was surprised by that kind of dick move on the boss man's part. But he's a dick, so it was less than shocking.

It was surprisingly good to see those guys. I had a blast. We're planning on doing it again in the not-too-distant future. Maybe there's something about the new shared bond we have in that we were all let go.

06 November 2008

Thursday Night Football.

'Bout damn time. I've been waiting all season for NFL Network to start showing games on Thursday nights. This is my whopping second year with NFL Network, but it seems to me the games are marginally better than last year.

I'm just stoked about the opportunity to host Thursday night mini-parties for my friends. If I have a rooting fantasy interest in the game (as I do tonight if I start Brandon Marshall), all the better. I'd be watching the game anyway and since I'm the only one of my friends who has NFL Network, it would be cruel of me to not open my house up. And I am a giver, you know.

Trying to come up with food ideas for the next several weeks (Thanksgiving is already covered) might be tough. Mexican tonight. I've been itching to make lasagna. But that leaves ... five weeks to fill? I best get working on that.

But thinking about what I'm going to feed people in the coming weeks should really be a backseat to cleaning up my apartment. Why do I always wait until the last minute? There's Guitar Hero and Wii stuff everywhere. My kitchen is full of crap that needs to be put away ... Man, I suck.

05 November 2008

Excuse me, sir.

But it seems that you've forgotten your pants. I mean, I can't imagine you intended to work out in that Flashdance sweatshirt and ... Sweet buttery Christ, is that a red, white and blue Speedo?

Look buddy, I know we were all feeling totally patriotic last night after doing out civic duty. But that is no reason for wearing a Speedo to the gym and not swimming in it. That is horribly, horribly inappropriate gym attire. You trump the unitards, the guys in jeans and the woman wearing clogs. I hope to fucking Christ they hosed that place down with bleach last night after everyone went home.

And you, Trader Joe's cashier, I know we bonded over our shared Irish heritage last time you rang me up -- your lovely tattoo and my necklace -- but after last night I kinda think you're a bit of a douche.

It's nice to be chatted up while you're scanning and bagging my groceries. And even offering me workout advice is not totally out of bounds. But trying to impress upon me just how salient your advice was by dropping the "I played DI sports," nugget was too much. But you didn't stop there, did you? You had to say DI A sports. No AA for you, huh? Honey, I've been to college and I've had plenty of contact with D1 athletes. I am not impressed.

04 November 2008

So this is it.

The most important election of my lifetime thus far, will be decided today. Hopefully.

Man, I remember 2000 all too well. This was back when I had a TV in my bedroom. I left it on when I finally succumbed to sleep because the election hadn't been decided. I kept waking up all night and it still wasn't over. Florida had been called. A few hours later I woke up and it was still in play. I was positive I was dreaming.

I don't think I can handle a repeat of that.

It took me an hour and 10 minutes this morning to vote. Quite frankly, I was glad to get to spend some time outside in the lovely weather. Jim was in line a few people ahead of me. A girl who goes to my gym was also there. (Now I feel less bad about working out there and driving since someone else in my 'hood does the same.) I was voter number 404 around 9:30. They had to empty the ballot box while I was there. I'm not at all surprised. Minnesota consistently leads the nation in voter turnout.

Do y'all have big election night plans? Not me. I'm going to the gym, as usual. I'll get plenty of CNN while doing cardio. I just don't think I can sit all night watching coverage. It's too much. And it's the same thing over and over and over until it gets to be later in the night. There are too many swing states this time around -- too many new swing states. Virginia? North Carolina? If things are close in traditionally red states, they won't be called until everyone is sure. Besides, I'm so nervous, I'd be drunk before the fucking polls closed.

There is one electiony thing I'm doing tonight, though. I'll be stopping at Ben & Jerry's on my way home from the gym to get my free scoop.

03 November 2008


Tonight in yoga, for the first time in ... a long motherfucking time?, I did wheel pose. The last time I tried was maybe two months ago or so and I just couldn't push myself up. My arms wouldn't go. Tonight, though? I popped right the fuck up like it wasn't no thang.

I can't remember the last time I was able to get into the pose, but it has to be at least five years ago. My right shoulder has been fucked since I dislocated it five years ago. I never got my full range of motion back (thanks, shitty physical therapy!) and it's taken me forever to get my strength back. Plus, my arms are weak as hell, anyway. What happened over the course of the past couple of months to allow me to get into the pose is beyond me. I haven't noticed any huge gains in strength or flexibility.

We'd just done bridge pose a couple of times. We even did a leg extension, which was not too difficult. And after bridge, comes wheel. I strongly considered just doing bridge again, and maybe this time grabbing my ankles. I mean, why try? I know I can't do it. But I had to try.

So I shocked the shit out of myself by getting into the pose. As I was sitting there, marveling at how easy it was and how strong I felt, I thought, "Oh shit. How the fuck do I get out of this?" I envisioned myself coming down and my shoulder popping out of its socket. That is not something I want to experience ever again. I got down, but it wasn't graceful. But really, I was happy as long as I didn't have to go to the hospital.

I didn't realize how much I needed this little boost in confidence; this validation that I am always making progress, whether I notice it or not. It has really made me feel like I can keep going.

02 November 2008

You can go straight to hell, Garmin.

It's just barely into the second quarter of the first football game of the afternoon on November 2 and I've seen TWO Christmas-themed commercials for Garmin, complete with their bastardization of "Carol of the Bells." And there's a fucking snowman on their homepage. Fucking delightful.

As I was typing the previous paragraph, there was a Christmas commercial for MasterCard. I saw a huge display of Christmas cards at Target nearly two weeks ago.


It's pretty clear to me that I'm going to go on some sort of murderous rampage shortly after Thanksgiving if this bullshit keeps up. Unless I already gouge out my eyeballs and slit my wrists first. Whatever makes it stop.

01 November 2008

It's Jesus!

Earlier today, I went out to a church in the suburbs for my goddaughter's First Communion. Turns out, this is one of those mega churches -- there was a fucking Guest Services Center right there when I walked in. For a moment, I thought perhaps I'd gotten lost and ended up at a mall or a hotel.

I've never been to a mega church. It was absolutely as bizarre as I imagined it would be. There was stadium seating in the "worship center." There were three huge screens above and on either side of the stage. Yes, there was a stage. With a fucking rock band. Of course, I use the term "rock band" incredibly loosely. But there were drums, a bass, lead electric guitar, acoustic rhythm guitar and a piano.

The big screens showed the lyrics to the songs the wannabe indie pop, Cities 97esque band was playing. Look, just because you have a hot drummer with floppy indie hair doesn't make you anything other than a fucking church band. This is not a concert. It's church. YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ANYONE.

Actually, the "band" was mostly kids -- the drummer and acoustic guitar player were adults. Kinda looked like a lame as fuck version of School of Rock. You are not Jack Black, dude, and these kids aren't that talented. I should probably feel horrible for ragging on a bunch of kids (not all of them, though). However, someone's harmony was decidedly not harmonious and my ears were offended. Yeah, I'm a bitch. I can live with that knowledge.

They tried to get the ... parishioners? attendees? flock? to clap along, with minimally successful results. The back-up singers were doing some sort of arm wave. I wanted to die. Or die laughing. I was conflicted.

But then it got better! As the band is finishing up, this dude walks out on the stage. DRESSED AS JESUS. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. How I managed to not piss myself and fall over laughing is beyond me. My goddaughter's little brother says, "It's Jesus! ... Is he alive now?"

Jesus proceeds to tell a story about the Last Supper. He tries entirely too hard to make it accessible and he sounds like someone's dad trying to be hip and using slang that's about 15 years old. He breaks into song. Twice. He gives us a dumbed-down version of The Lord's Prayer, but then sings a very traditional version of it. That song was the one thing that I recognized as being a part of a church service. This place didn't even have an alter, for fuck's sake.

There was a pastor who came out after Jebus to do some sort of homily type thing. She said the little Jesus vignette "must be what it felt like to be there that night." Lady, I highly doubt Our Lord broke out into fucking song during what was essentially the first Eucharist. And if he did, I really don't think it was fucking showtunes. Bonus! She also did a modernized version of "Love Is ..." So I got to hear, "Love is never rude ..."

God, it was just so weird. I never want to do that again.