Deep breaths...in...out...in...out

It took me 1.5 hours to get home tonight - a distance of around 12-13 miles probably. All because some idiot driver flipped his semi and the double wide that was apparently on it. I was practically psychotic as I sat (and sat and sat) in traffic. I hate traffic. I would drive 30 miles out of my way just to avoid traffic. But every road, and I mean every road (because I pretty much tried them all), was a parking lot. Deep breaths...in...out...in...out...

I didn't think this day would come...

I think I've finally done something so mortifyingly embarrassing that I can't write about it here. That's bad folks. But in the "counting my blessings department," it could have been soooooo much worse. I just feel like I should maybe protect myself from the people out there who don't realize just how much of a spaz I am. My friends know the score and love me anyway, and if they had witnessed what happened - after they stopped guffawing - they would have comforted me and then laughed some more when it became apparent I wasn't really going to die from embarrassment. Sheesh - it's going to take a while to recover from this incident. 

Non-distress

You've got to love a problem that can be fixed with your dog's tennis balls (your dog's NEW tennis balls you should clarify)! It's not as nice as my mom's, but it's much better. The eggs have hatched and gone forth and prospered in all corners of the squares.

Distress

There is something seriously wrong with my down comforter. I just got it out (yes I know I'm a bit late), and it's just...wrong. I washed it last year before I put it away, which was actually in June (yes I know I was a bit late with that too). I didn't notice anything then, but now that I've put it on my bed, I don't even know how to explain it. I'm sure a lot of it can be explained by the fact that it's kind of cheap, but it's just bizarre. All of the down is in a clump in each of the little squares. It's like little eggs under the cover. I'm going to throw it in the dryer with some tennis balls and hope it makes everything spread out. If not, then I guess I'll be putting my comforter back on. 

Crap! I just bought new sheets and was really excited to have a pretty, soft bed. I'm trying to model it on the bed I sleep in at my mom's house. It's the best bed ever. The sheets are incredibly soft and the down comforter is all puffy and downy, and it's like you can just get lost in the bed. There's no way I'm getting lost in this bed. Crap!

Here's a picture of my new car. Let's take a look at the improvements over my former car:

Four doors.

Room for Elsa so she doesn't fall off the seat because she's too big to curl up on it.

Windows that go down and, most importantly, back up again.

A trunk that doesn't take the strength of Andre the Giant to open and doesn't threaten to close on you and snap you in half when it's cold.

A sunroof that doesn't have to be pushed to open.

A dashboard with nary a crack or view of the ground beneath.

I dashed out yesterday to Target and bought every possible auto protection/cleaner product I could. I always start with the best intentions...

It's completely childish.

What is wrong with me? Am I 8? Even in a relatively somber speech on a historic day, I can't NOT laugh when I hear the word "duty." It's just funny people.

And for a quick mini-rant: I wish all these people who keep saying that they're "finally proud to be an American" would just shut up! I think it's rude and disrespectful to all the people who have worked and sacrificed for the entire span of this country's existence. The historic magnitude of today should be just ANOTHER reason you're proud to be an American (and because I'm an American, I can say that. And because you are too, then you can disagree with me. And then we can both go on with our lives and the pursuits of our happiness. That's something to be proud of too.).

Anyway, yes, there are BIG problems. Yes, people in power have made some terrible decisions. Yes, we all hope that President Obama will save the world, the economy, the environment and invent calorie-less cupcakes. But you weren't proud of your heritage before today? That says more about you than the state of the country, I think.  

A book review, I guess

I'm actually reading two food books right now. The one I wrote about the other day and one called Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously. In order to stave off her biological clock and an impending nervous breakdown, Julie Powell (this is a true story, by the way) decided to cook every recipe - that's 524 - in Julia Child's seminal Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Hilarity, obscenities, offal and 10 pounds of butter induced weight gain ensue.

Anyway, it's been a really enjoyable book, and I'm sorry that I'm down to the last few pages. Although now I can comfort myself with her newest memoir, Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat and Obsession. French cooking mastered, she goes on to try her hand at butchery.

So, as I said, an enjoyable read. It's not rocket science, or food science for that matter, just a little peek into a year in someone's life when they decide to do something a little crazy. But then there's this thought, and it takes the whole thing to a new level (for me at least):

I knew this because for nearly eleven months Julia had resided in my brain, in those drafty, capacious, hopeful apartments where the ghost of Santa Claus still placidly rattled about, along with my watchfully dead grandmother, and reincarnation and magic and everything else that couldn't survive out in the brighter hard highways of my mean metropolitan mind.

So lovely and real and universal. I'm sure we all have these places in us. Harry Potter, my alternate existence as a hippie in a yurt, the idea of soul mates and karma happily wander around in mine.

Food for Thought/Something to Chew On/Insert Your Own Food Pun Here

I'm reading a book on the psychology of food and eating called Mindless Eating: Why We Eat More Than We Think by Brian Wansink, Ph.D. This book is nuts. On almost every page is something that sounds completely insane and ridiculous, but totally bears out in real life.

For instance, Wansink found in a study of waiters that they could pretty consistently pick out which customers would order what kind of food. You're thinking "yeah right," right? They specifically focused a study on soups. There was a list of 5 soups that they concentrated on, and from those soups they built personality profiles for each one. Of the soups listed, I chose tomato (in pretty much any soup situation I would choose tomato). This is what tomato correlates with, based on their studies: "Tomato, The Affectionate Reader: Often a pet owner, and a creative, book-loving thinker." In the words of Sid the Sloth, "I don't like this cat. He reads minds."

Here's another crazy thing. This one is kind of intuitive, I guess, but still pretty cool. When it comes to your favorite food in a meal, do you eat it first or save it for last? I save for last. People like me who save for last are typically only children or the oldest. This is because as an only child, or the oldest, there is less competiton for food so you can afford to wait to eat your favorite thing.

One of the things I love about psychological studies like these is that it proves that no one is really that different - we all do the same dumb things for the same dumb reasons. I find that kind of comforting. Anyway, I've become a fan of food writing, and this is a good book to pick up if you are too. My next food book is Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma. It sounds pretty interesting, but I'm not sure it could top this book for flat out "holy crap, I do that too" factor.

Music la la la la la

I wonder when iTunes new pricing goes into affect? There are 2 CDs I want (Alejandro Escoveda and Lucinda Williams) and I don't know whether to wait or buy them. With my luck if I wait for the new pricing, they'll be the CDs that go up to 14.99. I wonder how I can figure that part out too?

YAY!

I took the last of my nasty antibiotics 10 minutes ago. This is seriously a big deal; I never want to have to take whatever it was again! I'm trying to ignore the fact that I still don't feel all that great. I'm definitely better, but still not 100%. I don't think I'm ever going to get better. It's not just me either. I don't know what this is that's going around, but it's evil. Almost everyone I know has had it, gotten over it (kind of) and then a week later, gotten it again. It just doesn't want to go away and takes f-o-r-e-v-e-r to get over. Blerg.

Not to beat a dead horse, but...

...have I mentioned that I'm FREAKING OUT? I have no idea where I'm going to move, and I'm about to cry or possibly vomit. THE DOG seriously limits my options. I may end up in E. Nash. At least I have THE DOG to protect me.

Never Was a Cornflake Girl

I'm not sure I'm a scarf girl either. I looked cute yesterday - tan/black snakeskin flats, tan cords and a cute v-neck, long sleeve black shirt. I also wore a scarf. Here's the thing - I don't do winter well. I'm from Florida. I often forget to wear a coat and then have to rush back into the house to find one when I realize it's 30 degrees outside. Scarfs, hats and mittens - while very practical, and often very cute - kind of mystify me. So anyway, I was looking cute yesterday and decided to accesorize with a black scarf with two cute white embroidered birds. So it was part of the outfit, not just a cold weather blocker. I'm not sure about that. I wasn't sure about it yesterday, and upon (way too much) reflection, I'm still not sure about it today. The thing is, there were probably 3 other girls wearing scarves along with their outfits yesterday. I think they all looked really cute, although theirs were thinner, more gauzy scarves.

And since something like a scarf causes this much self reflection, maybe I should just stick with the scarf with coat model.

I'm checking out The Melrose tonight. I'll let you know how it is. In other, totally unrelated news, my dog, in her uncontainable excitement to see me, almost disemboweled me tonight. 

Freaking Out! Freaking Out!

I find out today when I will be homeless.

Something that is not one of my favorite things...

What's the deal with hot chocolate and how it settles down to the bottom of the mug? I could have made another cup today with all the sludge that was left over. I guess chocolate is heavier than water in a suspension (I totally don't know if I used that word right, but I will assume you all know what I'm talking about).

Anyway, it annoys me on many levels - practically, culinarily, metaphorically. Oh, I don't know. It was a long day; I'm tired.

Big Improvement

I have been awake all day - go me! There has been no napping on the couch, no giving up and going back to bed. I took Elsa on a walk and went to the mall and the grocery store. I did laundry and vacuumed. Boring stuff, but progress nonetheless. The nasty tasting, super-strong antibiotics are doing their job.  

Not that I'm complaining, but

why is it 60 degrees at 8:30 in the morning...in January?

Ok, I take back my voodoo wish from earlier; I got to leave early, which was nice. Now to the couch.

It's a sickness.

I just got back from the doctor's office where I was given super-strong antibiotics to get rid of the sinus infection that the first round of not super-strong antibiotics did not. I'm going on about 6-7 weeks of being sick now. It's awful and makes me really thankful that I don't have any kind of chronic illness.

I've tried not to whine about it too much, especially at work, although I'm sure I've whined about it plenty, but by the time I get home from work there is NOTHING left over for anything. The weekends? Same thing; I lay on the couch and sleep on and off for most of the day. I guess it's what my body has needed to keep functioning, but I'm tired of feeling so bad and having barely enough energy to make it through the day.

So I just took my first super-strong antibiotic and, unfortunately, I didn't take a big enough swallow of water to wash it down right away and it dissolved a little in my mouth. It may be the worst thing I've ever tasted - like I'm scared to take it again because it tasted so bad. It tasted like my dog smells, but a thousand times worse.

Now I get to go to work because "taking a sick day" apparently doesn't mean what I thought it did. Which I understand because we are insanely busy, and I said I would come in if they really needed me, but still, I wish I was contagious (for a select few at least).