Archive for December, 2006

It’s the thought that counts

December 20, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Where do you think you’re going? Nobody’s leaving. Nobody’s walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We’re all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We’re gonna press on, and we’re gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he’s gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.” – Christmas Vacation

In the spirit of sharing during this holiday season, I decided to participate in Neil’s Christmahanukwanzaakah Holiday Concert. A few things: 1) I haven’t played in like four years, 2) The damn thing hasn’t been tuned in five years, 3) I was only first chair of the clarinet section for like a year, 4) Playing an instrument is kind of like riding a bike, you never really forget how to make a really fucking awful noise that will blow your eardrums. Think bluegrass on crack. 5) Cell phone quality isn’t what it used to be. Or it’s probably better and I should get a new phone or perhaps not be playing my clarinet over the damn phone.

So here in all it’s (awful) glory is my rendition of O Come all Ye Faithful on the b flat clarinet. I song I chose for it’s easy as pie single sharp moderate tempo. Read: Even an 8 year old could play this shit and hell of a lot better than I. If you’re lucky in the New Year, I’ll play a little Pachebel for you.

O Come all Ye Faithful: The Lame Edition (so bad that it makes the baby Jesus cry)

On that note, I wish you all a wonderful Holiday. And I’ll catch y’all in 2007.

If you really miss me that much, I will be here and here.

It’s like a really bad episode of Standoff

December 19, 2006 | Filed under: Gruyere With That Wine

“Anger ventilated often hurries toward forgiveness; and concealed often hardens into revenge.” ~Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton

Well, I’m speechless. I’m rarely speechless. With the amount of hot air that exudes from my mouth and the way sentences flow from my fingers, I am the last person who has nothing to say. But oh my hell, it’s Tuesday. TUESDAY. And last night after coming home from a perfectly lovely dinner at Vidalia (eh, Bistro Bis is better) I went into the kitchen to find the wine opener and lo, it was still a disaster area and the Pillsbury doughboy must be having a motherfucking field day.

And you ask the requisite ‘Where was your roommate?’ Well, she was at home in the living room cuddling with her boyfriend on the couch and then they stood up and they began canoodling in the middle of the living room for, while I stood and poured my shiraz and silently cursed her and willed her to clean her shit up. They stopped briefly so that she could ask whether or not I enjoyed peanut brittle. Though on occasion I do partake in that buttery and nutty good stuff, I pursed my lips together and sighed then clenched my jaw so that I could politely decline. But if I hadn’t been feeling polite I would have said something to the effect of: “Yes, I would really like some Peanut Brittle, but what I would really enjoy right now is a clean kitchen. So unless that Peanut Brittle is also some sort of new fangled Clorox cleanup sponge, I would like for you to clean you fucking flour off the god damn counter and then shove the peanut brittle up your ass.”

But like I said, I am feeling polite. I haven’t even been my usual passive aggressive self because I don’t know what to think. What if it’s there for the rest of the year? Why should I be the bigger person and clean it up? It’s not my mess. If it were a few crumbs, then fine, OK, I’d grumble and move on, but there is flour in places that there shouldn’t be flour and how one manages to get chocolate on a cutting board that they weren’t even using, is beyond me. But oh my hell…(breathe)…What do I do? Because this is out of hand and it’s now Tuesday morning. Oh yes, Tuesday motherfucking morning and I’ve been to the gym, showered, etc. and she has checked her email, made breakfast and I sat and watched her glance around the kitchen, while I burned a hole into the back of her head with my eyes, because how do you glance around the kitchen, sigh and then keep walking?? HOW?

I just don’t know anymore, and I swear to God, if she leaves for Hawaii and that shit is still there, well all I have to say is that the lease is in MY name.

Crimes Against Cupcakes and other faux disasters*

December 18, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“People seem not to see that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Worship,” The Conduct of Life, 1860

While Stacy spent her Saturday working on the site, I spent mine in Georgetown for 12 straight hours – after parking in a pristine spot right on the corner of M and Wisconsin – and let her remind me over the phone that I obviously hate mommybloggers. And not only do I hate mommybloggers, but I also hate rainbows, puppies, babies, butterflies and Tony Romo. But yes, I dislike and spent my day contemplating such and intermittently asking El Madre when she was going to have Chris introduce me to Will and also being cantankerous. And well, it’s lovely when my avid pissy attitude spills all the way to Monday. So much so that I’ve spent more than my fair share of time, going between wishing for someone to lose an appendage and poking the bottom of each chocolate (in a two pound box) with a letter opener to see what was inside. Who the hell thought of a box of chocolates without a guide at the bottom was clearly smoking something that I would really like to be a part of.

Oh and I mentioned spill which means that it’s an easy segue into the state of my kitchen. My kitchen which looks like a baking experiment gone awry and has looks that way since Saturday. And again, I emphasize how very Monday it is, which is a long way from Saturday, which means that I shouldn’t still be looking at the same pile of flour on the kitchen counter that I was looking at Saturday night**. And please tell me what kind of person leaves cupcakes out in the open, not in an airtight container? So not only has she wreaked havoc on my kitchen – not that I use the damn thing, but really, I would enjoy some TJ’s Mac & cheese without having to reach over dried up chocolate sauce on the stove – but she also disregards the feelings of cupcakes. And as a lover of cupcakes I must say that I am appalled, by these crimes against cupcakes and will deal with my roommate accordingly.

*I’ve decided that if I’m ever propositioned to write a book with segues and paragraphs and shit, then the first one would be called (first, meaning that I get a contract to write two books and a seven figure advance. Oohhh, sorry, hell just froze over) This Isn’t Education and the second would be called Crimes Against Cupcakes.

**I’ve been trying to post a picture of the damn kitchen for like 15 minutes now and I can’t. And it’s driving my crazy. And blogger is a dirty whore.

Acadiana*

December 15, 2006 | Filed under: Food-ay

(Another stab at food blogging. Work with me here people)

“Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.” ~Voltaire

I made the decision to drag the Wry one to Acadiana the other evening under the guise that because it’s owned by Jeff Tunks and Gus DeMillo, then it must be excellent. While Geoff Tracy holds a very special place in my heart and has been with me through thick and thin for five years, I cannot pass up what I’ve dubbed the Oysters of Love™. The oysters are still in the shell and I’ve dried before to explain the way they swim in a sea of garlic butter and are broiled with parmesan cheese on top, and how looking at them and dipping the loaf of French bread into the garlic butter makes my heart melt. It’s probably not perfect by any means, but I’ve never been an avid oyster eater this a manifestation of my lack of sexual prowess. But still the oysters that I consumed prior to the redfish - that really isn’t worth the mention, a) because I don’t remember it (due to alcohol consumption) and b) it just wasn’t that good – were as always mouth watering. I feel that if I can recall a dish weeks – nay months – later and still reminisce fondly about how every time I see these oysters I salivate, then that it is a good thing and that makes a food worth it. If all I can remember about the red fish was that it was light and probably good enough that I ate it, then one could say that it was just average and not worth three prolific pieces on how much in love I am. But that’s just me.

Despite the omitted and possibly repressed fish, it’s always nice to be able to go into a restaurant and be comfortable. It may have been the company; because there really is nothing better than drinking with the Wry one and imitating Citizen Kane (“Rose…bud”) and discussing whether or not Joe or Steve is better (JOE!), but I digress. There’s just something comforting about the atmosphere there, which is unpretentious. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not all that pretentious, especially when it comes to my food (have I mentioned the filet-o-fish yet? Yes? Really?). But I enjoy going into a restaurant and having that nice atmosphere. I think that’s why I always loved Chef Geoffs, not that the food was perfect – though they did have banana wontons with caramel ice cream for years and that was beyond perfect – the service worked for me because most of the servers were my classmates and I felt rather at home there.

Though I’m beginning to think that I feel at home at places when I’m with people that I adore and restaurants that I frequent. And really I’m not sure where I’m going with this, except to say that OYSTERS. I repeat: OYSTERS.

And because I’m nosey, I would like to know a few things:

a) Your favorite restaurant (name, location)

b) Your favorite dish there

c) If you had to choose between Grey Goose and Tonic and Wine, which would you choose? Because I chose the former and regretted it for 36 entire hours until I had my first mojito last night.

*fuuuuuuuuck and it’s Blog Crush day and Ummm I forgot, but was just reminded. So, who do I have a crush on? Jonniker (Close runner up: Schnozz). I will write more about her later, and by later I mean Monday (ish) which makes it rather moot, but whatever, I try.

Moving on

December 14, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by. How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment? For the moment passes, it is forgotten; the mood is gone; life itself is gone. That is where the writer scores over his fellows: he catches the changes of his mind on the hop.” ~Vita Sackville-West

As the founder and president of Over Thinkers Anonymous™ it’s my duty to you know, think things over and obsess and really put my nose to the grindstone on every little detail and hot damn, I’m fucking awesome at it. But much like all things that are fairly routine, I’m starting to realize that’s getting a little old and my obsessive nature is just bothersome and overly tiring. I mean, try spending two solid hours devising the most illogical scheme possible and then making it seem as if yes! That totally makes sense! Why don’t you follow?! It’s damn hard and now I’m terribly tired.

So now I’m toying with divulging more about the oysters of love over at Acadiana or why I am most certainly not a home wrecker, or how I baked magic cookie bars last night that got stuck to the bottom of my good pyrex dish, or how I find footless leggings to be God’s gift to the free world, or you know more about my holiday (let’s be PC now shall we?) shopping is so not even started, or a myriad of other boring ass things, that I can make seem really interesting, but ummm, no.

Instead I leave you with the following, which I wrote for BlogHer. I’m sharing it with you all because I never share anything that I write there over here for no particular reason other than, I’m lazy and if I write about my personal finances etc here, then there’s less time for incessant and unnecessary complaining. Which we all will agree I’m really terrific at.

S.I.N.King and loving it

It’s pretty much been the same tune sung day in and day out in regards to the fund crisis that is the life of a 20 something. It’s not necessarily crisis but it can be mildly frustrating and while there are aspects to being in your early 20’s, like a high metabolism and it being acceptable to have a constant hangover, it’s still just a nagging thing that I’m sure I will laugh about in the end. And while I will readily complain about the former, I cannot say that I don’t enjoy having a rather disposable income. I can do pretty much what I want, when I want and if I really wanted to pack up and move across the country tomorrow, there is no one else that I would have to check in with. If I wanted to invest in Alpaca and make a new career as a sheep herder, then no one can stop me. It’s actually quite a beautiful thing and to quote Dave Matthew’s I shall miss these things when it all rolls by.

The reason I began blogging was because it was a platform to discuss/whine about the above. That the immediate time after college where you’re pretty much in flux with things, is rather tumultuous and given that 99% of people happen to go through it, I felt that there would be some sort of support or something there. And as the time has gone on and I do have an avid ‘You rock’ etc. readership, it’s not the same, being a single female blogger (since blogging can be very niche like) and getting that same support mechanism of say a female who happened to have a child, for instance.

I write the above with extreme trepidation because I don’t want to be labeled a hater of those who write blogs of the parenting genre, mostly because I don’t dislike and embrace them with enthusiasm, hell, I garner much of my disposable income from babysitting for a “Mommy blogger” but I do find it all rather interesting. I was speaking with another blogger about this earlier in that I am a single person with no kids (Single Income No Kids) and like I said, disposable income, from a business stand point it would make sense to swoop me up and offer me things and realize that with my disposable income, I can buy whatever I feel like buying, but alas they don’t. Not to mention (deep breaths) that ad offers aren’t the same either, I mean it’s a known fact that bloggers who are parents are considerably more desirable than those of us without children. It’s not a criticism but just a true fact.

But like I said, I don’t dislike parent bloggers I just find it interesting the way women in particular will flock to another woman if she is pregnant but if I were to get a new job or decide to make a career change into acrobatics, I doubt anyone would be equally as enthralled with my journey and/or search me out for premium ad space. It’s just how it goes and you can be assured that I’m not the only SINK (or Dual Income No Kids) who is equally flummoxed by this entire “parent blogging brings all the ads/love to the yard”, phenomenon.

An excerpt from a very excellent post by Stacy of Jurgen Nation:

The bloggers I read faithfully are, in my mind, friends. Some of them are parents, some aren’t. I don’t really think of them in terms of mommies or daddies, I think of them as [blogger] friends - “Blends”, if you will.

What bothers me is not that the Mommy Bloggers have a network. Nay, what vexes me is that the personal bloggers, i.e., the SINKs (Single Income, No Kids! Hi Mom! Over Here!) and DINKs (Double Income, No Kids) don’t have this built-in support system. The Mommy Blogger has that extra wonderful layer. If you’ve never witnessed the Mommy Bloggers in action, it’s truly astonishing. They form an umbrella of support and cheerleading for each other; one could even describe it as “mothering” or “nurturing” (I know!). It’s almost as if, when a new mom starts a new blog The Moms form a caucus, the sole purpose of which is to pair that new mommy blogger up with a mentor or buddy until she gets the hang of it and becomes A Mommy Blogger (echo, echo). And then, like bees, they all descend on each each other to encourage, cheer, support.