31 May 2009

Why are you writing all of this?

Does anyone really give a shit about my weekend? Other bloggers do weekend wrap-up posts, so I guess someone, somewhere gives a crap? Meh. This blog functions as something of a diary for me, you know. So, it's not all about entertaining y'all. I feel like writing something, so read it and weep, suckers. Or not. Your choice.

I mean, I already talked a little bit about the '80s-themed birthday party I went to on Friday night, what with the the side ponytail and the inappropriateness of one of the party guests. It was a fun party for my friend's 40th birthday.

My outfit involved a miniskirt, so I decided it would be a good idea to change into the skirt when I got to the party and out of it before I went home, as I was taking the 21 bus. Otherwise known as the bus of creepy old drunks. Fortunately, on my way there, it was mostly working people. Oh, but I got hit on when I boarded the bus for the ride back. Fun! No, sir, I will not be allowing you to "listen to my radio." God bless the Walkman/Discman/iPod. You've saved me from many uncomfortable conversations.

Despite getting fairly drunk at the party, I was up and being productive yesterday. I went to the gym and the grocery store. I did dishes and pre-washed all of the produce I bought. Wheeeeeeee! Why do I get so excited about shit like that? Man, I got problems.

Last night I had a wedding shower. It was one of the least painful showers I've ever attended -- possibly the least painful ever. It was a stock-the-bar shower, where you bring booze for the soon-to-be-wedded couple. Honestly, I would get married so I could have one of those. In reality, it really wasn't anything like a shower. Well, we did sign the border area of a picture of the Doctor and the Physical Therapist. That's as close as we came to doing anything showery. Unless you count a fruit plate. We just drank and ate really fucking great food and hung out. Why don't more people do this? WHY?

Somehow, I ended up at The Boy I Currently Like's place later on in the night. He made us breakfast this morning with two kinds of meat. TWO KINDS OF MEAT -- chorizo and bacon. He did that last week, too. God dammit, I am a lucky woman. Seriously, if I wasn't such a freak, I would say I love him a little just for that.

I've managed to be productive again today since I got home. I did laundry and I've been fucking around in the kitchen getting things ready for the work week. I made a crustless quiche to have for breakfast with broccoli, spinach, onion and baby bella mushrooms (also, like tiny bits of four kinds of cheese). Yum!

Currently, I'm trying out the steamer my mom gave me. Last week, I steamed some broccoli that got way over-cooked. Well, I mean, it wasn't horribly over-cooked, but I like my veggies to have a good bit of crunch. So I tried it on half of the asparagus I bought at Rainbow. I cut the cooking time in half and that's about right for me. I also put some brown rice in, because you can supposedly use it as a rice steamer. After the allotted amount of time, the rice is super soggy. Bah. I really hope I didn't waste a half cup of rice just trying this thing out. I'm really trying to not waste food. Besides the fact that it just ain't right, there's the whole shitty economy thing, you know?

So, here it is, 8:45 on a Sunday night and I'm realizing that I am not dreading the work week. Well, there is the whole having-to-work-a-full-week-after-a-three-day-week thing looming. However, I know I'll be busy at work all week, and that makes a huge difference. And it was nearly 5:00 by the time I got home, so it's not like I've been sitting around all day thinking about what's coming up. Sweet! Hopefully things will work out so that I can have a pilates date with Stephanie on Thursday. I'm looking forward to that.

30 May 2009

I am on a mission.

To bring back the side ponytail. You heard it here first.

And it is totally okay, because I wasn't in on the trend the first time around. My hair was too short in the side ponytail's heyday to even consider doing such a thing.

I was kind of shocked at how awesome my hair looked in my side ponytail last night. And everyone loved it. Okay, so maybe I'll modify it a bit, but still, it will be a side ponytail.

Oh, and also -- people need to stop telling me I should get a breast reduction.

29 May 2009

I know my hair is beautiful, thanks.

How you managed to deduce this in a dark concert venue with the vast majority of my hair gathered up into what I like to call a half-assed bun is beyond me. And really, if you're the stylist ("I do hair!") you purport to be, you would probably know that most women don't appreciate strangers walking up and fondling their hair, regardless of how gorgeous and healthy it looks.

For Christ's sake lady, dudes do that shit to me all the time a the bus stop and at bars and God knows where else. You should know better.

28 May 2009

Skip Day.



Today is my nephew's 11th birthday (it is also Kristin's birthday!). I joined him and my sister at the Twins game this afternoon. We figured with his sign today, if he didn't get circled, he never would. Of course, I recorded the game and now I've fast-forwarded through most of it and it doesn't even seem that the people who got circled to win the lottery tickets were actually circled. Was Bert's telestrator packed up already for the road trip? There were barely any crowd shots and that place was full of fucking kids today.

Boo, FSN. BOO! And the dorks who got circled and got the lottery tickets? Their sign said: "We Want Twitter To Say 'Circled By Bert'." LAME. And the fan of the game is some fucking kid sitting in the front row behind the plate acting like a dork? Isn't having sweet, expensive seats award enough?

I'm a little cranky because our row was jam-fucking-packed with assholes who kept getting up to leave and coming back during at-bats. What the fuck is wrong with people? Are you aware you're at a baseball game? I can't see what's going on when you're standing in front of me, shuttling in and out of the row. You can't wait until the inning break? What are you, five? God, it's so damn rude. Oh, and thanks to the fat, smelly fuck who showed up in the fourth inning (while Justin Morneau is batting, of course) and spilled into my seat for the rest of the game.

The loud assholes a few rows above us who wouldn't shut up ever and weren't talking about the game can go the fuck to hell, too. Maybe if I'd had more than one beer I would have not been so annoyed by everyone. Still, that beer and a hot dog at noon and the start of the game felt awfully delightful.

Wait. What? Only one beer? Yes, well, there is a reason for that. First, I'd have probably needed a nap. But the main reason is that I'm only home for a bit before heading out to the Varsity to see Doves tonight. I have been waiting seven years for this show. I'm not even convinced it's going to happen, because they've canceled on me at least two or three times in the seven years since they last played a show here.

I've seen a lot of shows since Doves played at the Fine Line with Elbow in June 2002, but that still ranks right up there with the best of them. They were supposed to come back later that year, but canceled to be on Letterman. The most recent time they canceled was because Jimi Goodwin's voice was all fucked up. They rescheduled every date but the show here. That was just scrapped.

WHY DO YOU HATE ME, DOVES? It's not Minneapolis they hate. Jimi Goodwin told me so. It was right around the time they canceled the show here to play Letterman that he told me as much. A friend was hanging out with him after a show in Dallas? Houston? I can't remember. But she called and said, "There's someone here you have to talk to." And I knew who it was the second he said "Hello." That was a delightful phone call.

So, I'm totally stoked for tonight. They have two entire albums worth of stuff I've never heard them play live. I hope most of what's dropped from the set list (where did I put that set list from the Fine Line show?) is the chaff from The Last Broadcast. The singles on that album were great, but the rest? Meh.

As it turns out, today is also Jimi Goodwin's birthday. If you're at the show and hear someone yell, "Happy Birthday Jimi," it's me. Well, unless someone beats me to it.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go cut the feet off some black tights so I can use them as leggings under a very short skirt for the '80s-themed birthday party I am attending tomorrow night.

27 May 2009

Is there a "shitty covers" channel on Sirius?

I swear to God, I had no clue there were so many horrible covers of songs out there on the airwaves. And I probably wouldn't be aware of these god-awful covers if I didn't hear them at the gym.

How I manage to hear all of these is beyond me; it's not like I'm even off my iPod for that long when I'm in the building. However, in the time it takes me to enter the locker room and change into my gym shoes, I hear at least one shitty cover a week. Today, it was some crap emo band covering "Boys of Summer." I've heard that one before. There are more, but for some reason I cannot think of a single one at the moment. (Oh, Google, how I love you so. The shitty cover is by the Ataris.)

In fact, I've had the idea for this blog post several times over the course of several months now. But by the time I listen to my gym playlist on my iPod for an hour and a half or listen to yoga music for an hour, I manage to put the horribleness out of my mind. Today, though, I started composing this post in my head while I was on the elliptical machine and it stuck.

Look, shitty bands doing shitty covers (I'm looking at your desecration of "Sweet Child O' Mine," Sheryl Crow), if you're not going to make the song different yet totally fucking awesome or make it a fucking spot-on copy (The New Pornographers doing ELO's "Don't Bring Me Down" at Rock the Garden last year is a perfect example of this), don't bother. You bring nothing to the table. In fact, you're taking stuff off the table and making me want to punch you in the junk.

The really odd thing is that I often hear good songs on the gym sound system. Songs that I like or even songs that are on my very own gym playlist. I heard Nikka Costa when I went in last night. Tonight, it was Hot Chip while I was changing my shoes to head home. Of course, the Hot Chip was followed by an emo/screamo steaming pile of excrement.

It's confusing. Almost as confusing as toilet radio at work, where I hear really bizarre covers. Like some French band covering U2, or Fine Young Cannibals doing "Suspicious Minds," (AWESOME) or the newest one, some lady who sounds Annie Lennoxesque doing a version of Ash's "Shining Light." Unless, of course, the Ash version is the cover, but I doubt that. OH MY GOD, IT IS ANNIE LENNOX. And she is covering Ash.

26 May 2009

Okay, I get why I'm invited.

Blergh. I got an invitation tonight on Facebook to my hometown's summer festival that is coming up in a couple of weeks. Can't you people just leave me alone? You're not even having my high school choir director's band play at the beer tent? No fucking thank you.

I was perusing the invitation list and I'll admit, I was tickled to see a handful of friends from high school who I'd not seen in years and I kinda miss. However, I apparently don't miss them enough to attempt any sort of correspondence. Sure, I'll accept if they send me a friend request, but I'm not the kind of girl who ... you know, sends friend requests, I guess.

Some of the people on the list were people I knew well -- The Stylist, my brother, Best Friend Ever and her brother. There were plenty of names I kind of recognized. But why the fuck was Brock Lesnar on the list? I probably would have remembered if he was from Janesville.

Oddly enough, my mom asked today if I was coming home for Hay Daze. She said, "There should probably be room Saturday nite anyway if you wanted to bring a friend." Wait. What does that mean? Don't you remember the disaster when I brought the World's Worst Wing Woman? Did someone tell her about The Boy I Currently Like? Except no one really knows. Save for a couple of my aunts, and I was really vague with them.

This past fall, mom had asked if my sister and I were in relationships. My cousin's wife apparently told her that we both were and at least one of our situations was "pretty serious." Huh? I was able to be totally honest about my sister -- I didn't know shit. As for me? I just avoided answering the question at all. When I asked my sister later, she was equally perplexed. Apparently she had briefly been seeing someone over the summer, but it was never serious. I guess I wasn't exaggerating too much to say my cousin's wife was making shit up.

The less my family knows about my love life, the better. I dance around the subject if it comes up, but I don't want to lie. Why? Who knows. But I'm worried mom might ask again while we're in Portland. I've actually been dreading it since we booked the tickets. God, I don't know why I get uncomfortable and embarrassed talking about this kind of stuff with my family. Clearly, I don't give a shit about many random strangers on the Interwebs knowing entirely too much about my love life. Then again, y'all aren't going to ask "When do we get to meet him?"

25 May 2009

Crisis averted, but for how long?

Saturday night, I went over to hang out with The Boy I Currently Like. "Pffft. Big deal," you say. And maybe that's true for most people, but because I am a huge dork, it was kind of a big deal.

The Boy got the idea a couple of weeks ago to invite me over early in the evening on a weekend night, so we could hang out before we got to the sleeping over part. Again, not a big deal for normal people, but we're not exactly the most normal people having what most consider to be a normal relationship. Whatever.

With the extra weekend day, we finally got around to doing it this week. When he first suggested he mentioned that he would probably do some of the normal things he'd do hanging out by himself on the weekend -- updating his video games and whatnot. I might have to entertain myself for a little while.

He also said, "Maybe I'll blog a little (maybe you'll blog a little)." Being the dork that I am, this set off sirens and red flags in my mind. I never thought I'd end up being part of one of those blogging couples. Just couldn't see it. But here he was, nonchalantly mentioning doing that very thing. At least we wouldn't be blogging simultaneously? I'd have to take my laptop to his place for that to happen.

Either way, he ended up entertaining me all night. We had some drinks, watched the Twins and some basketball and some SNL and some stand-up. We played video games. He didn't do anything but briefly check his e-mail. Whew! However, if we keep doing this, we will get to the point where it doesn't feel like a big deal date night. I can see the day coming where you'll be reading a blog post where I'm saying "The Boy I Currently Like and I are blogging at the same time, in the same room. We are such fucking nerds." And I will shake my head and wonder how the hell I ended up here.

It was supposed to be not a big deal; certainly not some big date night. I mean, we've known each other for well more than a year now. You'd think we'd be over that silliness by now. But it wasn't that long ago I mentioned to him that for some reason, when he came to my house, it felt like a date, which made it a big deal, which made me a wee bit nervous. Turned out, he felt the same way. I was telling this to the World's Worst Wing Woman last night and she just gushed over how cute it is.

So wouldn't you know it, I started feeling a little nervous Saturday afternoon. OH MY GOD. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME? I'm so ridiculously lame. But I noticed when I showed up that The Boy was dressed far more nicely than I would have expected. He wasn't stinky, either. (Yeah, like all boys, he gets kinda stinky sometimes. For whatever reason, his manly funk appeals to me, so I noticed it was missing.) Those things didn't help it feel any less like a big deal. Nor did my taking a little extra care with my makeup and outfit, either. Christ.

At the end of the day, though, we had an awesome time. However, I really expected us to go to bed earlier than we did. With me showing up at 8:00 instead of 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning, you'd think we could get to sleep before, say, 5:00 a.m., right? Yeah, we thought so, too. Turns out we were wrong.

Hey, I love cheese as much as the next person.

Possibly even more. However, even I thought it was a bit odd to see a guy walking past me as I walked around Lake Calhoun earlier today eating a huge hunk of cheese; taking bites of it like it was a sandwich.

Yum!

22 May 2009

Can't go anywhere but down at this point.

At about 7:20 this morning, I heard a bit of a ruckus outside. It was mostly unintelligible shouting. Actually, it kind of sounded like someone was swinging a sick cat around. I looked out the window and saw what appeared to be two homeless hipsters having a stick fight on the sidewalk.

It was all over in a couple of minutes; they and their straggler friend were headed to wherever it is homeless hipsters go in the morning.

I don't see anything topping that brilliant production. Clearly, my day has peaked.

21 May 2009

Change of plans.

I was going to blog about how ridiculous it was that as different as my sister and I are, we are very much the same in some ways. When she came home from one of her many year-end school things tonight, I showed her the dress I bought after work yesterday to wear to our cousin's wedding next month and for the other damn weddings I have this summer.

She took one look at it and said, "I can't go to a wedding with you if you wear that dress. Let me go get mine." Turns out, both our dresses are mostly black, with portions featuring tiny white dots. What are the fucking odds? I volunteered to return mine. She had hers first. Of course, my second choice is also black with white dots. Now I have to go with my maybe third choice, which is white with a black design. However, it is also strapless. This means I not only have to buy the dress, a tiny cardigan and new shoes -- I also have to buy a new strapless bra. That will probably be as expensive as the dress. FUCK YEAH.

Also, that dress doesn't make my ass look nearly ass good as my first choice. God fucking dammit.

However, I got fucking stuck in traffic on my way home. At 10:00. All I wanted was to come home, watch The Daily Show, have a glass of wine and go the fuck to bed. But no! I spend a half hour driving one goddamn mile trying to get home.

I want to fucking stab someone.

20 May 2009

Future planning.

This afternoon, I had an interview with one of the consultants working on my dad and uncle's succession plan/exit strategy for the farm. Despite talking to my sister and mom, I wasn't entirely sure what this was going to be all about.

Turns out it was a fairly interesting conversation. She asked about my dad and uncle's relationship and how they work together. Also about whether or not my parents really are going to move to town (my mom has said she'd move to town without my dad if she had to). It was pretty easy for her to clear up whether or not I had any designs on taking over the farm or wanting to buy the home place. Thanks, but no. I now appreciate the experience I had growing up on a farm, but it is absolutely not the life for me.

It was kind of sad to think about the house in which I grew up being sold; about all of our land being sold, possibly piecemeal to God knows who for purposes unknown to me. Not to mention no more hog farm means no more free pork. *sob* Oh, and to think about my parents' mortality was mildly unpleasant, too.

She inquired about what things -- personal assets, she kept calling them -- I wanted of my parents' when they die. I can honestly say I've never thought about that. Maybe their sweet TV? I don't suppose that's the kind of thing she had in mind. Now I need to take a good inventory of my parents' shit next time I'm home, and start staking my claim on stuff. I should probably make a list and take pictures, huh? My sister had the same idea, so at least we can get our fights out of the way now.

And what about their money? Is it odd that I really have no opinion on what they do with their money? I'm certainly not planning on getting a hunk of money from them at some point in my life. They can spend it all on themselves for all I care. It's their money.

I never thought she'd ask about my relationship status. Oh, but she did. No ma'am, I am not looking for a farm boy. I'm quite fond of a particular nerdy city boy. He's much more my speed.

19 May 2009

Monchichi can kick your ass.

Tonight was my appointment for my free personal training session at the gym. Yes, I kept the appointment. And you know what? I'm glad I did. Though, there were several points in the relatively short session that I wished to fucking Christ I hadn't. Holy Jesus. She kicked my motherfucking ass. I thought I was getting into decent shape? HA! Hahahahahahahahahahaha.

First of all, my asthma is very much alive and well. It's been a very long time since I really, really needed my inhaler. But man, I needed it tonight. I needed it after running a couple of laps around the track upstairs. Yes, you read that right. She got me to run. I don't run. Except I did tonight. It wasn't terrible, aside from the not-being-able-to-breathe part. I'm so glad I bought that bra. And I'm glad I finally put it to a real test.

Despite the fact that she really pushed me -- I mean, she really pushed me -- I didn't punk out. Well, I had to give up halfway through my side plank ab work on the right side because of my stupid shoulder. But I did everything she told me to and I did it as hard and fast as I could. It was definitely a short, intense blast of a workout. Not a lot of reps of anything -- just a short, fast set and a quick move on to the next thing. I briefly considered puking afterward.

I was pleasantly surprised to have her not pressure me for training sessions. She did offer up the small group thing she does, which is considerably less expensive, but I still don't know that I have $249 to spend on 10 sessions. She did say she thought I'd fit into the group very well (of course I would, as long as I can pay for it!). And I was as honest with her as I could be about what I'm doing now and she seemed to think I was on the right track. I guess if I'm dropping about two pounds a week, I'm on the right track.

She's totally not as irritating as I thought she'd be, either. Damn me and my judginess! She was pretty good with the motivation -- "Come on. You're doing great. Nice form! I wish I was as flexible as you." Oh yeah, she totally stretched my legs out afterward. She did say my name a few too many times. I don't know why that annoys me, but it does. Probably because it feels like the person saying my name is either trying to gain my trust and/or sell me something.

So, I'm glad I went. It didn't take too after for the wanting to die/puke to go away to be replaced by the awesomeness (and soreness). She did give me some good ideas. I'm definitely adding interval training to my cardio and I probably will be doing some free weights and balance/instability ball work. Did I really just type all that? Christ.

I totally told her that I'm bad about eating when I come home from the gym. I know I should, but I'm not hungry most of the time. Guess what I'm not doing tonight? Dammit. She seemed to think I might not be getting enough protein. My lunches of veggie burgers prompted her to ask if I was something of a vegetarian. Hahahahahahahahahahahahah. Oh, that's a good one. I should probably defrost some bacon, huh?

Oh! In the training room, the trainer who would be totally hot, but there is just something off about him except when he has a beard, was all, "Those are sweet kicks. Are they new?" And I was like, "What? Are you talking to me?" No, they really aren't that new and how the fuck would you know if they were or not? I mean, other than the fact that they're not dirty or worn-looking. Also, I hate them because they're pink. Word of advice, dude: you should grow that beard back and keep your mouth shut. Seriously.

I sure hope whatever you were eating was delicious.

It must have been, because you, unlike your compatriots, didn't fly away in time to avoid Barbie's left front tire as I drove to work today.

Stupid bird. I don't even like you; birds creep me out. However, that doesn't stop me from feeling terrible about killing you. Thanks a lot, jerk.

18 May 2009

Nothin' to see here, you lookie-loos.

We had yoga outside again tonight. It was fucking marvelous. I'd been looking forward to it all day. With the nice weather, of course, comes more people walking, biking and driving by on the street. Christ. You'd think some of these dorks had never seen anyone doing yoga before. I get the little boy riding by on his bike who was staring. But the grown-ass father of two? His wife/baby mama seemed awfully embarrassed. Poor thing.

The only bad thing about outdoor yoga is that it is damn near impossible to fully relax in Savasana with stupid ants crawling on my arm. But I still feel awesome. Until I remembered I had my training appointment tomorrow. Boo!

A few other things I'm currently hating: this week. I want my short week now, dammit! I'm actually only working three days next week. Score for me! Also, Jesse fucking Crain. I HATE YOU SO MUCH. But hey, he didn't give up any homers or even any runs this inning. Baby steps Crainwreck (not mine ... The Boy I Currently Like's coworker came up with it. I like it, so I'm using it). Baby steps. This series has been fucking painful.

Finally, how did I end up living in a neighborhood with so many damn lilacs? God, I hate the that smell. It's so fucking cloying, it makes me want to gag. And it seems every other yard on the block has them. Fun!

15 May 2009

What are you doing this weekend?

If you're looking for something to do on Saturday night, Minneapolitans and St. Paulites, might I suggest you head out to see a local rock show? The Slats are playing a show at the Hexagon Bar in Minneapolis.

Okay, so I am friends with the band. But that doesn't make them any less kick-ass. I have a hard time understanding why they've not completely blown up. I've seen them play with former indie darlings Tapes 'n' Tapes as well as current darlings Solid Gold. And The Slats smoked both.

To be fair, I apparently didn't even realize I'd seen Tapes 'n' Tapes several times when they started blowing up. Maybe I was drunk. Okay, probably I was drunk. Fine, I was assuredly drunk. But I generally don't forget entire bands for Christ's sake. Then I finally saw them on Letterman and nearly fell asleep. That would explain why I never remembered them. I gave them another chance, though. Two years ago at the Taste of Minnesota -- I gave them two whole songs to get me to stay and watch them after Morris Day and The motherfucking Time finished up. Yeah, you just can't follow The Time.

Now, I do recall seeing Solid Gold. They and The Slats opened for Silversun Pickups at the Entry ... probably almost two years ago now. I specifically recall saying to my friend while they were on, "These guys are a good soundtrack for the drinking and chatting we're doing right now. They're good background music." And here they are playing Rock the Garden. Go figure.

Incidentally, Solid Gold is playing the return of the Lyn Lake Street Festival on Sunday. Is it block party season already? I damn well better find someone to go with me. How can I not go to a block party up the fucking street? How, I ask you?

Anyway, if you're looking for something to do tomorrow night, come to The Slats show. I'll be the drunk bitch in the "I heart dirty rocker boys" t-shirt.

You can't call it "hanging out" after 3:00 a.m.

"Are you ever going to answer your phone? I want to hang out." That's the actual message I got from Booty Call Matt in the wee hours of this morning.

*sigh* Really?

Every. single. time. I think I've heard the last from him, he pops back up. Dude, I've not seen you in going on two years. It's been more than a year since I've spoken to you. Why do you keep calling me? More importantly, what on Earth makes you think it's okay to call me 16 times between 3:19 and 3:30 a.m. after not calling me for several months?

Okay, I know he keeps calling because I never officially ended things with him. But Jesus fucking Christ, an hour after bar time on a weeknight is not the time to have that discussion. If he'd call at a semi-decent hour, I would explain the situation to him. I no longer fear a repeat of what happened when I tried to break it off with him once before (after 45 minutes of whining and begging on the phone, he ended up at my place "to say goodbye." I'm sure you can all figure out what happened). However, I don't think I owe it to him to actually call him and tell him what's up.

Now I'm fucking exhausted, of course. I had to wake up and figure out how to silence my ringer, which is no easy task when the calls are coming one after another with just seconds in between. Dammit!

Knowing he's still around and interested is kind of the last fucking thing I need right now.

14 May 2009

Thirsty Thursday.

It really should be Friday by now, shouldn't it? Come on.

First of all, I got a call from some woman telling me I needed to set up a phone interview about my parents' business succession plan. Wha? Lady, are you sure you have the right Jessica at the right phone number? Shouldn't I know something about this? "Yes, you should," she said. Turns out my dad told my brother and sister, but somehow forgot to tell me. I guess it's just a formality, to make sure there's a plan if something happens to my dad or to my uncle; so spouses and children know what they're supposed to do.

Fun!

Tonight, I met up with Stephanie at the gym for the yoga/pilates class. She wanted a little motivation to actually go to the gym and I needed someone to make me break out of my schedule to actually give that class a shot. So, yay for both of us! Renee, our delightful instructor, seemed oddly pleased to see me there (she teaches my Monday and Wednesday yoga classes, too). It was a little odd, but a little nice. I'm glad Stephanie got me to go.

I'm not entirely sure what I think of the class. Pilates requires a bit more coordination than I have. Or maybe I should be a bit more charitable with myself and say that hey -- it was mostly new to me and I'll get it figured out soon enough. I'm not sure what I'll do about the awful motherfucking foot, calf and hamstring cramps I got, though. Holy balls. OUCH. My right calf still hurts. I need some damn bananas. But I'll totally go again. Probably only with Stephanie, though.

When I got home, I was ever so productive. I oven-roasted some asparagus from the farm. Then I made rhubarb crisp with the rhubarb I picked on Sunday. I totally used half whole-wheat flour for the crumb topping. So, it's healthy, you know. Good news -- it tastes the same! God, it's so tart and just a bit sweet. Any other fruit crisp just can't compare. They're all entirely too sweet. But rhubarb? Fuck and yes. The balance is delightful. Also, I very nearly made tzatziki sauce, but ... I'll do that tomorrow or Saturday.

I think that's it for tonight. I think I had more to say, but that 13-inning, nearly five-hour Twins game last night is catching up with me.

13 May 2009

Do you ever have those days?

You know, the ones where you want to punch damn near everyone you see in the face. Or possibly in the junk, if they seem especially deserving.

12 May 2009

This is what happens when you can't say, "No."

You know how you can tell when someone is coming to talk to you, even if you don't know her and she has no reason to talk to you? That happened to me tonight. I'm on the shoulder press machine at the gym, listening to my iPod, kind of zoning out. And one of the trainers starts weaving through the machines toward me.

Fuck. What the hell does she want?

"Have you had your free personal training session yet?"

Why the fuck didn't I say yes? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? Why can't I lie when it will get me out of an awkward situation? WHY? Maybe it's because I've been a member of that damn gym since 1996 and haven't gotten a damn free thing from them. But I don't want a free personal training session, so that doesn't exactly make sense.

Dammit. I tried to make it difficult to schedule me for a session. Dude, I'm here at 7:30, why do you think I might be able to get here by 4:00 p.m. or why do you think I'm going to yoga in the morning? Eh. She got me scheduled for next Wednesday. We're going to go over free weights! And active resting (is that like, Kegels and leg jimmies? 'Cause I've got that down)! I've used free weights. Part of the reason I avoid them at this gym is because I'm worried I might "accidentally" drop a weight on the toe of some douchebag who is slamming his heavy weights to the floor and disturbing me during yoga. Oops!

But then, yay me! I remembered I'd just agreed to go to my goddaughter's birthday dinner on Wednesday. Besides, I can't afford personal training sessions, which is what this is all about. So, I stopped in to tell Amy (who might not even be in marginally better shape than me ... seriously, I can't even get one of the hot trainers? Honestly) that I couldn't make it. Her schedule was super busy, so she was going to pass me off ...

To the trainer who looks like a Monchichi. FUCK. I cannot stand this overly-fake-tanned girl. At least she's not wearing the ridiculous weaves any more. Girl, you're not fooling anyone when you're here one day with hair that can barely be pulled back into a tiny ponytail and then the next day, you've got hair spilling out all over the place. The headbands are a dead giveaway, too.

Oh God. What have I gotten myself into? I can't call in sick, because I don't want to skip a workout. Dammit all to hell. Maybe it'll be good to change things up a bit ...

11 May 2009

"I was starting to get worried!"

The very first time I slept at The Boy I Currently Like's place, my family went batshit crazy because I didn't answer my phone for a few hours. There hasn't been a repeat of that situation since, because, well, people just don't call me that much.

Or so I thought. For some silly reason, I brought my phone into the bedroom when I showed up at his place Friday. Not the best idea I've ever had. First of all, I'm not a terribly sound sleeper. And The Boy has no white noise like the fan(s) I have running in my bedroom that keep me from hearing little noises that might wake me up. So, I heard my phone vibrating in my purse at 8:34. I think I might have slept through the 9:29 call, but I heard the 10:00 one. Okay, okay, I'll check it. Call log says: Mom, Mom, Dad and three voicemails.

Something must be wrong. Right? Wrong. Mom is garage saling and wants to know if I need a new coffee maker or an expresso [sic] machine. That takes two messages. Dad has 10 minutes before he has to put his phone away and wants to know what meat I want from the freshly-butchered hog.

Of course, I think "this shit can wait," and I crawl back into the warm bed and try to go back to sleep. I probably could have called back. You could drive a Mack truck through The Boy's bedroom while he's sleeping and he would not wake up. But what if he did wake up? I'd feel bad. Also, I don't want to fully wake up. There's no way I could get off the phone in less than 10 minutes even if I tried.

Despite returning to the warm bed and cuddling up next to a warm body, I heard the next two calls, of course. We finally got up and I called my mom back right away. An entire five hours had passed and SHE WAS GETTING WORRIED. Oh my fucking Christ. That call lasted more than 10 minutes and there were apparently three false endings, according to The Boy. Which is exactly why I didn't call her back earlier.

How funny it should be that during lunch at home the following day, Mom should say that she doesn't use her cell phone that much because she doesn't want it attached to her hip; she doesn't want people to be able to get ahold of her 24-7. Oh really, Mom? Yet, you want your children to be constantly available. GOD DAMMIT.

I'm trying to get them to wait at least eight hours before they send out the fucking cops to find me. I don't want The Boy to get arrested or anything.

10 May 2009

Things forgotten.

My mom had a copy of The Joy of Cooking for me when I came home today. It's Mother's Day and I get presents? Score! I also got fresh asparagus, rhubarb that I picked myself and a buttload of meat from a freshly-butchered hog. But no bacon.

Oh, why does it take so long to smoke the bacon so it's bacon? How do my parents run out? I mean, it can't possibly have anything to do with me taking a package or two every chance I get to keep a good stock in my freezer. And to give to The Boy I Currently Like (especially if he cooks it for me for breakfast). And to give as gifts to bribe people to like me. It's not like my sparkling wit and personality are winning me friends or anything.

But back to The Joy of Cooking. As I was perusing it, I came to the good-sized chunk of drink recipes in the front. In the gin section, there was a recipe for the gimlet. I've not had a gin gimlet for ages. So I made myself one. How did such a wonderful concoction of ginny, limey goodness escape my memory for so long? How? God, it's so good.

I'm a little ashamed of myself, but I believe gimlets might be my Jameson-and-ginger-ale of 2009.

09 May 2009

Brush with fame.

I went to the Twins game tonight with my sister and nephew. We were SO CLOSE to the Hormel Hot Dog Row of Fame. It was like, across the aisle and down a couple of rows.

One of my life's dreams is to be in the Hormel Row of Fame (I would also like to flip off an entire sports arena if I'm ever on the Jumbotron, but that's another story) and I've never been as close as I was tonight. There were some times in college at Gopher football games that the row of fame got into the student section, but tonight it was so tantalizingly close.

I don't necessarily understand the way they pick the rows, though. The row tonight was mostly empty, and so they had to pull people in from the surrounding rows. That proved to be a bit of a fucked up decision, however, when a dude came back to find his seats filled with people getting free hot dogs. Of course, this dude was toting two enormous, Chicago-style hot dogs.

Sucked to be that guy.

07 May 2009

Things, life, whatnot.

While I was at the gym tonight, I decided I was going to do some deck blogging when I got home. However, the Twins tied up the game while I was walking from my car to my apartment and so, I have to watch the game.

Of course, my cable box had decided to reset itself now twice. It even managed to do something to my Wii. What the fuck? Perhaps my Wii was fucking shit up? The disc slot is now glowing blue, so there's a software update and that just came on after the second reset. At least The Boy I Currently Like is recording The Office and 30 Rock and he will save them for me.

Back to things, life and whatnot. Yogi McJudgerson struck again yesterday. I was talking to our instructor before class about the weather; it was raining so we couldn't go outside. And I said something about seeing that it was indeed raining when I came down from upstairs. Yogi McJudgerson must have been listening, because as we were setting up our mats, she was all, "You were doing cardio before this? (Yes.) How often do you work out? (Uhhhhhh ... As much as possible? Today was day six in a row.) Then when do you see your boyfriend? Like, once a week? (He is not my boyfriend, but something like that, yes.) And blah, blah, blah.

Fucking whatever. First of all, they have these things called weekends, which give you time to work out and do fun things without having to squeeze them in around your stupid job. Also, while I often eschew school night activities to go to the gym, I have zero problems skipping a work out to hang out with The Boy (besides, I still do get a work out those nights *wink* *wink* *nudge* *nudge*).

And you know what? I would say I'm happy with the balance at this point, especially when he tells me I look good naked and notices my ever-increasing flexibility. Granted, he thinks I look good naked because he gets to touch my boobies and whatnot, but still. He notices the changes in my body and it's fucking nice to hear. So fucking sue me.

I wish I knew how to say these things to people without coming off as a raving lunatic bitch. Alas, I just struggle along, trying to be polite and let y'all read the things I really wanted to say. Aren't y'all lucky?

Gym whatnot: There is another locker-shutter at the gym! I don't know why such little things bother me, but Jesus H. Christ, is it that fucking difficult to shut your locker after you remove your things? Anyway, this girl was shutting lockers as we left the locker room tonight and I was all "I do that, too!" We had a little bonding moment and it was awesome.

There was some shit on CNN that I think I wanted to write about, but I'm forgetting what it is. Some nonsense Lou Dobbs was spouting, no doubt.

Sports whatnot: Brett Favre is apparently going to stay retired. For now. As I said a last year, I'll believe it when the season starts and he's not in uniform. He's such a fucking attention whore. He's like the faux lesbian girls at the bar who make out with each other for attention and then get all offended when dudes look at them or hit on them.

In other sports news, I still don't have my fucking fantasy football money. Stoner Commish and the rest of the douchebags in my league can fuck the hell off. I hate them so much.

Finally, I have an admission to make. This season, I've actually been watching snippets of Survivor at the gym. Why? Because Taj from SWV is on it this season. I kept seeing her out of the corner of my eye, and I was saying, "Damn, that looks like Taj from SWV." Turns out it was her. Taj was my favorite of the Sisters With Voices, even though stupid Coko and her nasty fingernails hogged the spotlight. And SWV were one of my favorite '90s girl R&B groups (others include Jade, Xscape and Brownstone).

Anyway, Taj is married to former NFL running back Eddie George, and he visited her tonight and was all rubbing her dirty feet and kissing her hand and I thought it was so sweet. Which is odd, because I usually think shit like that is lame as hell. But whatever. It made me want to come home and listen to SWV, so I thought I would share a very appropriate song with y'all: "Weak."

05 May 2009

Why?

Why do I always seem to wear skirts on windy days? I'm certain that everyone in the parking lot does NOT need to see my ass.

Why do I let the spiders in my apartment live so they can kill other bugs if they're not going to kill the ants in my kitchen? Fucking douchebags.

Why does my hair only look awesome on days I'm going to be at work and the gym and no one who matters will see me?

Why won't Brett Farve just GO THE FUCK AWAY ALREADY? Fucking douchebag.

04 May 2009

Dirty.

You're bound to get dirty when you do yoga outside. But the dirt and grass on my yoga mat, the bugs, the dirty hands and feet and the dirt and grass in my hair is so worth it to be laying on the grass, looking up at the clouds with a light breeze playing over my face. I even managed to keep my hand out of the bird poop in the grass in half-moon pose.

Oddly enough, it's much more quiet out between the parking ramp and street. The cars driving by or starting up in the ramp behind us and even the planes flying overhead aren't even noticeable the way the gym noises are. Maybe because I live on a busy street and I have cars going by all the time. Planes fly overhead fairly often, too. I'd rather hear those noises than assholes talking about their jobs or jerks slamming their weights to the floor upstairs.

After my mildly crappy day, yoga outdoors was exactly what I needed. Ahhhhhhh. We did have to move before we started, though. Someone had left their yappy, annoying poodle in the car in the ramp and the stupid dog was barking at us nonstop.

I do not understand that. Why take your dog with you when you go to the gym and then leave it in the car? That ain't right. It's kind of a dick move, really.

Oh, and P.S. to the lady in the minivan behind me at the stop sign at Irving and Lake: I SEE YOU PICKING YOUR NOSE. Hope you got what you were going for. You would have grossed me out/made my day if you'd eaten what you found.

Maybe next time?

03 May 2009

Wrapped meats, soft pretzels and beer, oh my!

The beer-tasting party was a success. I think. I hope. The neighbors were shutting their windows at 10:00 while we were all out on the deck, so that's a good sign. Right? I mean, not such a rockin' party that the cops were called, but still ...

At one point in the afternoon yesterday, I was realizing that not a single one of my oldest? closest? core group? of friends had RSVPed yes. Or even bothered to RSVP at all for that matter. I was fairly disappointed. Macho Man did show up, but we've only been friends for a couple of years.

But you know what? New friends fucking RULE. Sarah and Diana were a blast as always, as were their husbands. And I'm delighted that I can now say I know Emily and Stephanie. And their boyfriends. (Two of The Brutes rounded out the guest list.) You know how people say it's so hard to make friends once you're out of college? It's true. However, the magic of the interwebs can really change that.

I feel like I was a bit of a shitty hostess. I'm bad at mingling; be it at my own parties or at events hosted by others. Seemed like everyone got along splendidly, though.

Oh, and we had many really great beers last night.

01 May 2009

Portland, here I come.

I just booked tickets for me, my sister and our mom to go to Portland in June for my cousin's lesbian wedding.

AWESOME.

I was worried I wouldn't be able to afford the trip, which broke my heart because half the family isn't attending the wedding because my cousin is marrying a woman. Going and supporting them was SO. IMPORTANT. to me. But there's the whole new car and taxes and more expensive insurance that have been taking up a lot of my money. Oh, and you know, that economy thing that makes us all fear for our jobs.

Mom, after saying for months she wasn't going to go and complaining her ass off, decides (the day after I came to the painful decision that I wouldn't be able to afford to go) that she will pay for everything after my sister and I pay our plane tickets. Flights were expensive, though. The "cheap" flights had a stop in Denver or Seattle and had us arriving in Portland in the evening. Fuckers!

After watching flights constantly for a few weeks, I finally told them tonight that I wouldn't be able to afford a ticket unless it was less than $300. The current cheap flight at the time was a one-stop, eight hour trip through Denver that had us arriving at like, nearly 8:00. My dad, who constantly is on my ass about money, was like, "What difference is $20 going to make? If that's going to break you ..."

First of all, I'm actually trying to make a responsible, adult decision with my money and the very people who are constantly questioning my finances are conspiring against me. Thanks so fucking much, assholes. And really, don't I have to draw the line somewhere? Well, if $20 isn't a big deal, what about $50? maybe $80?

The ticket wasn't cheap. It's more than I wanted to pay, but ... oh well. Mom can fucking wait to get paid back if she's so all-fired ready to go. My sister thinks my mom might be uncomfortable around a bunch of lesbians. This never occurred to me. She'll just have to get over herself.

Now, I just need to decide if I'm going to buy a Rock the Garden ticket and try to go to that as soon as I get back.