Same song, different verse

So, I missed a week. Again. Honestly, I don't know if I've held a decently consistent enough posting schedule to count absence as "missing." But regardless, this time I have something that resides in the same neighborhood as an excuse: I was in Vegas. Now, I could have just scheduled some posts to go up while I was gone but, I didn't. Because I was 1) tired, 2) packing, and 3) lazy. Mostly lazy.

So, yeah, I spent a week in Vegas, gambled, shopped, and became the official Nerd Queen. How, you ask? Well, apparently, my long genetic history of Midwesterners and Southerners means that I am simply not bred for dry weather. I had an awesome time,  but by day four I had to buy nasal spray.

Just like the cool kids do.

By day five, my husband was so worried by/sick of the horrible noises I made whenever I tried to do something frivolous like breathe, that he had hotel send up a humidifier. I spent an entire day reading and gradually taking our hotel room's humidity up to rainforest levels. It was a good day.

But, despite my Urkel-like levels of nerdy nasal distress, I loved Vegas. Did you know that they have cocktail waitresses there? And that if you sit at a penny slot machine long enough, one will come by and offer you a drink? And that they will bring you any drink you want, and all you have to do is tip? Because that is a thing in Vegas casinos. That is an actual thing.

Anyway, I'm back in the Midwest where I (apparently) belong, and back to blogging. See you in a couple of days.

Hopefully.

Probably.

We'll see.

Can we talk about Anthropologie, for a second?

Like any good broke but aspirational twenty-something, I have an Anthropologie rewards/frequent shopper card. I like to imagine that there will be a time when I'm wandering my elegantly ecclectic home, swathed in a gauzy floral dress, serving basil duck (in this fantasy, I can make Thai food) on whimsical dinnerware.

In reality, I think I've used my Anthro Card twice.


But, still, having it means that I'm entitled to...a birthday freebie! You know, like an email or a postcard with a coupon!
Or...

I guess you could send a 15% off coupon in a linen pouch with a teensy little star button. If you wanted to be all...Anthro about it.

I got linked! Just like the cool kids do!

A while back, I made a banner for my husband's birthday. I've been meaning to post about it for the better part of a month, but I keep stalling/procrastinating.

Then, yesterday, it got posted on Epbot (!!) with a link to my blog (Hi, Epbot Readers!), so I figured it was about time that I actually posted about it here. Though first, for those who aren't familiar with Epbot, it's the geeky and crafty blog run the same person who writes Cakewrecks. Both of her blogs are fantastic, and I highly reccommend them.

Back to the banner. My husband's birthday was last month, and we threw a party. Though by party, I really mean that we had about ten people over to drink and watch The Happening (which is a movie so ridiculous, that one of our guests seemed downright offended by it). I made a bunch food, I made honeydew vodka (which was crazy easy to do), and I made this:

Thanks to the many craft and decorating blogs I read, I've been wanting an excuse to make bunting. But, since we don't have parties (being around large groups of people requires a three-week psyche-up on my part) there was never really any reason...until now! But it occurred to me that a whimsical mix of yellow and white printed fabric triangles affixed to a coral-colored ribbon wasn't really up my husband's alley, so I suggested this instead.

It's specially designed to suit my husband's personal geek-loves. It was, unfortunately, not specifically designed to actually hang on the wall. Apparently, I seriously overestimated the strength/stiffness of two layers of felt held together by craft glue and invisible thread. To get it to stay up like this we had to use strategically placed sewing pins.

Though this is something that I would have to majorly re-think before trying again, I do like how it turned out. Particularly the 1-up Mushroom:

And the Radiohead logo, which I put in as a surprise because:
1 - my husband loves Radiohead, and
2 - I didn't want to tell him about it until I was sure that I could make it. As you can see, it has a lot of pieces

 

So, overall, it was a success! So much so that my husband left it up over our breakfast table (which would more accurately be called our "mail & empty serving platter table") for the entire month. And the party itself was a success, too!

Except for the cake. I'm going to be real with you - I'm pretty good with cookies, but cakes are not my strong suit. And by "not my strong suit" I mean that the cake was like a chocolate-frosted brick.

But there were cookies (sugar cookie cups filled with lemon curd. Just sayin'), plus guacamole and booze. So I'm still calling it a win.

The gift that keeps on giving?

I've been searching for DIY Christmas gift ideas online, because this year is shaping up to be my brokest ever.I always lean toward food ideas, but since I give my friends their Christmas gifts at a party where I force-feed them sugar for a few hours, food-as-gift is kind of redundant.

But then I had an idea: I would give them jars of things! Homemade things like apple butter, and lemon curd, and other things you put on toast! It's like giving the gift of breakfast!

I got really excited about that idea for like, a day. Then I dropped it. Partially because I'm worried that the cost of supplies could end up higher than my miniscule budget, but that I'll be locked in to the project by the time I realize it. But the main reason is this: if I knit something for someone, worst case scenario is that they hate it and never wear/ use it. That's not ideal, because I try to make things people will like, but it's not the absolute worst thing in the world. Because with canning, the worst case scenario is that your homemade salsa's secret ingredient turns out to be botulism.

It's the gift that keeps on giving. Until it, you know, paralyzes you.

So canning is officially off the table.

I'm currently seeking less potentially fatal ideas.

Fear and logic don't really mix

I've been meaning to talk about The Walking Dead. Mostly to say that it's a really good show.

Well. Point of clarification: the pilot is fantastic. Apparently the second episode is as well, but since I haven't yet watched it (and may not ever), I wouldn't really know.

You see, me and horror? Not so much. My husband and horror movies/books/shows are BFFs who would gladly wile away a weekend French braiding each others entrails, but I just can't handle it. But I watched the pilot for The Walking Dead, because I read the comic and - as my husband repeatedly pointed out - it's more character-driven than scare-driven. So I watched it. And here's the thing about a character driven zombie story: instead of sudden moments that make you scream, you instead have sort of a looming sense of panic and danger that just never goes away.

But I made it through, even in spite of some very realistic-looking zombies. I was super proud of myself. Until after the show was over. Because it was then that, walking by the bathroom,  I saw that the shower curtain was pulled shut.

I looked at it and thought to myself "I'd better pull that curtain back, so I can make sure that a zombie didn't come up the drain."

And then I thought about the fact that for that to be possible:
1) Zombies would have to BE AN ACTUAL THING.
and
2) A full-sized (albeit slightly decomposed) human being would have to be able to fit through our bathtub drain.

I gave both of these things some thought and decided that yes, that seems entirely plausible, and actually checked my tub for hiding zombies. Because if I didn't, and a zombie later ambushed me when I was trying to use the restroom, I'd have no one to blame but myself.

Why I don't watch game shows

Sometimes, I watch Jeopardy and someone misses an answer that I know. Then, of course, I point and laugh because "ha,ha - you rage against the dying of the light, not fight against it! Look at how stupid you are, with your stupid face!"

And then I remember that these people are making thousands of dollars by correctly answering questions that I not only don't know, but occasionally don't understand. Then I go back to rotating between Snapped and A-list New York so that I can get all cozy with my inflated sense of superiority.

Obligatory Bone Thugs-N-Harmony Reference

It's November first, which means that it's Rabbit, Rabbit Day.

Rabbit, Rabbit Day, according to something I saw on Nickelodeon when I was about 10, occurs on the first day of every month. The idea is that if the first thing you say when you wake up on the first day of the month is "Rabbit, Rabbit" you'll have good luck all month.

Rabbit, Rabbit Day has been the bane of my existence for sixteen years. It's not even that I believe in it, it's just that I want to say it just once, just for the sake knowing I did it. But on Rabbit, Rabbit Day, I always fail. Always. 70% of the time it's because I completely forget it even exists, but the other 30% it's...more of a personal failing.

Apparently, it's impossible for me to go more than five minutes in the morning without announcing "I'm going to watch Scooby Doo until breakfast is ready," or "wouldn't it be cool if Alan Tudyk was on Supernatural?" or "man, I wish I still had a Popple." This happens without fail. Even if no one's listening.

For sixteen years, I've been unable to achieve the (relatively) simple goal of saying "Rabbit, Rabbit" on Rabbit, Rabbit day just once because I am physically incapable of keeping my mouth shut.

Which, I guess, is why I have a blog.

A dubious honor, but still...

I've created a new game; it's called "Businessman Chicken."

Which, technically, in the name of equality, should probably be "Businessperson Chicken," but whatever.

It works as follows: First you initiate a handshake. Then you continue the handshake way past any reasonable point. Then you start saying vaguely businesslike things to the other person. But businesslike in a 60-year-old on an 80's sitcom sort of way. Examples:

"I'll have Johnson fax you those reports in the morning."

"You just don't have what it takes to get ahead in this game, son."

"How are your quarterlies coming along?"

"I won't stand for you whipper-snappers running around like you own the place."

"You've got the steely-eyed glint of a true negotiator."

This continues until the other person either laughs or disengages the handshake and walks away, shaking their head at your inability to carry on a normal, adult conversation.

I am the queen of Businessman Chicken.

Constant Reminder

This is the Ikea TV stand we have in our bedroom.

Though it's worth noting that our TV isn't near as schmancy as that one.
The TV stand in 22 inches tall.

Sometimes, on the days that I think to myself, "I'm a perfectly reasonable height for a person to be," I look at my short little TV stand. Then I look at the scar it left a good three inches above my knee when I scraped my leg across one of the corners last month.

This make me feel short and sad.

Fickle as ever

Remember when I said I was trying to teach myself French? Yeah, that got shelved. Mostly because French pronunciation is basically impossible, and I lack the attention span for the BBC Languages audio course (which I do actually recommend if you, unlike me, have the attention span to focus on one thing at at time).

But I still needed a project. So I started crocheting blanket. And found a bunch of recipes to try. And I started knitting a blanket.

Oh, and a I bought a flute.

Which isn't really as random as it sounds, since I actually used to play flute. A decade ago. And, as it turns out, it's not really how I remember. For one, it really hurts your face. I would have imagine my tendency toward judgmental frowning would have kept the muscles toned, but apparently not. I was also surprised to find that when you pick up an instrument for the first time in ten years, you sound awful. Truly awful. Playing "Yankee Doodle Dandy" six times in a row in the vain hope of doing it correctly is....humbling. But the biggest thing I forgot was that flutes? Get spit in them. Not as much as brass instruments do, but enough to offend my delicate, ladylike sensibilities.


I should have just bought a violin. I could have figured it out eventually.

Compulsive is ...actually probably a fair description

This requires a bit of set-up (most of my stories do).

On Blogger, you can add blogs to your reader just by typing in the URL. Every time one of these blogs has an update, it shows up on your blogger main page. Then you just click through.

At some point, probably a few weeks ago, Blogger added all of the blogs I've been following (of which there are several) to my Google Reader. So when I discovered Google Reader today it said that I had 340 updated entries that I'd yet to read.

At this point I need to clarify a few things.

1. I've already read all of those blog posts through my reader on the Blogger home page.
2. I'll probably never use Google Reader again because it puts the entire entry right in front of you, whereas on the Blogger page you just get the opening paragraph, and then you click through to the person's website. I like clicking through. It makes me feel like I'm contributing to...I don't know what. Something, though.
3. And, on a less crazy note, you get to see the actual set-up of the person's blog. On the reader, it's just a plain white background.

I say all this so that you'll understand that when I spent half an hour (the internet here is slow. Like, your dial-up modem from tenth grade, slow) trying to scroll through Every Single One of the entries it claimed I hadn't read, the only reason was that the thought that big, bold number of "new" entries would have haunted me all day.

And then, when I'd gotten through 280 of the 340 entries I noticed the "mark all as read" button.
So now that will haunt me instead.

Full Day of Crazy

What did you do over Labor Day weekend? Grill? Visit family?

Me? I watched Snapped. For like, a day. With some Daria (I love you, Logo - you give us Daria, Buffy, and RuPaul) and a little really inept yoga thrown it. But yeah, mostly Snapped.

Have you ever seen Snapped? It's amazing. Every single episode is about some woman who snaps (I love an informative title, don't you?) and kills her husband, or boyfriend or...actually it's usually one of those. Oxygen airs it in basically day-long marathons every Sunday, and it's completely genius because once you start they have you for the entire day. You're barely done hearing about the verdict that left a community reeling when a 15-year-old killed her parents and they've already moved on to telling you that this quaint home in small-town Texas might seem like a dream...but for the Hall family, it was about to turn into a suburban nightmare. It's like Dateline without the gravitas. I don't know that I've ever come across Snapped without watching at least three episodes. Sunday I watched four. And DVRed 3. I watched part of one while getting ready for work this morning.

I kind of have a problem.

Diary of a Winner

I threw my tennis shoes away in May.

It wasn't some huge symbolic stand against the perpetual onslaught of diet plans and workout tips aimed at women or anything. I had to throw them away because I'm an idiot. I dropped a Pyrex bowl and my kitchen floor and it shattered (which I didn't even realize was possible. I kind of believe Pyrex to be magically unbreakable), and I - reasonable person that I am - immediately ran to put on shoes so that I wouldn't step in glass as I stood there scowling and crying out to the heavens about the glass-infested chicken that would now have to be thrown out. And, you know, also cleaning up said glass/poultry debacle. The problem is that it didn't occur to me to first check if I'd ALREADY stepped in glass. Which I had. I know this to be the case because, when it occurred to me to take off a shoe and check, I shook out a tiny shard of what once was a medium-sized Pyrex storage bowl. Also, because I was bleeding. So, rather than clean the glass off in the kitchen sink, I risked further injury and put my glass-filled shoes sneakers back on, grabbed a pair of flip-flops, ran to the bathroom, and washed my feet off in the bathtub (because if feet ever go where my dishes go I will never eat or drink anything in my apartment again ever), put on the flip-flops, trashed the sneakers, and cleaned up the chicken.

This is not the part of the story that makes me feel super-dumb (though it ranks).

After this, because I am cheap/broke/lazy/broke, I didn't replace the sneakers and just spent the next 2 months wearing flats all the time. Apparently that's a terrible idea, because the human foot, which is designed to allow you to stand flat on the ground, isn't designed to stand flat on the ground. It's designed to be lifted at the heel and snugly embraced at the ankle by overpriced running shoes. But, since I didn't know that, I scoffed at all manner of air-cushion technologies and walked around wearing what amounts to fabric on balsa wood. And so I ended up hobbling around due to problems involving stressed tendons and anterior Achilles something-or-other and lots of other words that basically amount to "hey, you seem to be hobbling" and end with me being under doctor's orders to immediately buy some super-snazzy running shoes and wear them all day, every day for a month. Seriously all day. His words were "You know when you get home from work and you're ready to unwind, so you slip your shoes off and relax on the couch? Don't do that."

So trying to duck paying $40 for some Shoe Carnival (don't judge me) sneakers, cost me a co-pay, plus running shoes, plus fancy runners' socks since I wore flip-flops to the doctor. That put me down about $90 from where I would have been if I just replaced the stupid shoes in the first place.

That's also not the part that makes me feel dumb.

What makes me feel like a complete moron is this: since I have to wear the running shoes non-stop for the next month, I'm doomed to four work weeks of office wear from the ankle up and big-ass, puffy sneakers from the ankle down. I'm one giant set of shoulder pads away from looking like some long-forgotten extra from Working Girl.