Nobody Makes It Hot Like Me

me: I has present for you.

him: Ok

me: Kev dropped off some mail and I opened it.
You have your building cards
building, plumbing, and mechnical

him: Cool is that the present

me: yeah.

him: Ok then I have a present for you

me: I could tape them to my body and make you find them tonight, but I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say you're probably not into that.

him: Pancetta or something like

me: Ew.

him: For tatos

me: tattoos?

him: Patatos

me: potatoes
are we still talking about sex?

him: No my present to you

me: oh. Yes. panchetta for potatoes sounds yum.

Vegan/Vegetarian Broccoli Soup

My mom makes fantastic broccoli soup. Unfortunately it is very time consuming and full of fat and calories. I have been tinkering with a few recipes and have come up w/ this.

I dice and saute 3 cloves of garlic w/ an onion in a tablespoon of olive oil until it's soft. Then I add 1/4 tsp of red pepper flakes.

Then I dice up a potato and two "trees" of broccoli.

I put in 2 cups of vegetable broth, bring to a boil, then reduce and simmer for 20 minutes, until the potatoes and broccoli are tender.

I let it cool slightly, then put it in a food processor and combine to a consistency that I prefer.

If you leave the soup like this, it's vegan and not bad. I like to drizzle a little heavy cream and put shaved cheese on top (cheddar or parmesan are favs). Enjoy!

Quick Confession

Despite its horrid and offensive name, I find "Cougar Town" to be a very witty and entertaining show.

Just don't tell anyone...

You know those girls who can't wait to get married, and then they get engaged and it's all "my fiance this," and "my fiance that..."

...and then it's ALL about her wedding and she turns into the BRIDEZILLA FROM HELL and everyone hates her and takes up drinking but is nice to her face because "it's her wedding" even though we all know it's not going to last, and then the bitch gets knocked up and it's all about that damn baby and then she has the thing and all she can talk about is how exhausting her life is and then she tells you about the baby's poo? This post is like that....except it's about a bike.

A few years ago, when I was still living with roommates, one of the roomies got a (kick ass) bike to commute to work, and I was a little curious, if not envious, about getting a new (kick ass) bike, but we lived in a place that didn't seem like the kind of place I would want to ride a bike, and I had an old crappy one I bought at Target 8 years ago for $70, so I just pushed down those feelings and started drinking more.

Then I got a new job and used that as an excuse to move, and got a place about 3 miles away from the new job and would bike to work when it wasn't too cold out. Except the bike I had was shit. Once I was almost overrun by an old man on rollerblades on a trail and I had to pedal the hardest I have ever pedaled in my life because I will be DAMNED if a geriatric on wheels gets the best of me.

So I started looking for a bike, at a bike store, and the weekend after I found one I liked and I was getting ready to buy I was fired from my job and had to pedal back home in the middle of the day on my shit bike.

So. I had to put the new bike thing on hold and it broke my heart and I just kinda drank a little more. But all I could talk about was how much I loved to bike, even though I wasn't doing it. And that made me sad. So I had more vodka.

So I finally got over my superstitions that looking for a bike would mean I would be fired again (ha ha! doesn't insecurity, crippling fear, and the threat of homelessness make people just crazy) and ventured back to the bike store, which I kinda hated because I hate any situation where a salesman is involved (car, computer, bike). Mostly because I have found them to be condescending instead of helpful.

This time the bike store didn't have any bikes because they were having a huge sale two days later (what?! no bikes!!!!) and I plotted and antagonized about dealing with crowds and crowds of people and stupid salesmen, but my hunger/desire/craziness for a new bike overcame all of that and I went. At the crack of effing dawn to beat the crowd. And I lucked out and got one of the bike dealer dudes who travels around and gets people's opinions of their bikes. And I was demanding, and he brought me bikes, and I rode them around, and the told him that bike was too slow, so he'd bring me another, and I'd ride it, and then complain that the gear wires were in the wrong place. This man was a saint.

And then I found the bike I wanted, the bike I loved. Except it was $150 OVER my price range. So I thankfully had the brains to ask if there was a previous model for cheaper. And there was, but it had to be ordered. Which meant no instant gratification of a bike in hand. So I ordered it, because isn't delayed gratification one of the hallmarks of adulthood? (yeah, I know, that's bullshit.) And then I went home and had some more drinks to snuff out the part of me that was screaming that I still didn't have a bike.

And then I got a call 4 days later that the bike was ready. And we have been together ever since. The end.

For all my chai lovers -

I found this recipe online, and am on my second batch - it's a great recipe that tastes just as good as anything you can buy at the store or get in a coffee shop. Plus, tons cheaper, and you can adjust the spices and sugar based on your personal preference.

Chai Concentrate

Ingredients
1 14-ounce can sweetened condensed milk
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg


Instructions
Empty condensed milk into a jar or plastic container with tight-fitting lid.
Stir in the sugar, cardamom, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. Store in refrigerator.

To use
Brew a cup of strong black tea, such as Assam, then add two heaping
teaspoons of concentrate or more to taste.
Stir well until concentrate has fully melted.

To keep: Store in refrigerator for up to 6 months.

For Ernie

I am not happy about a snowstorm in February, but I can't deny it was beautiful.

Spring, I miss you. :o(

Bus People

I have joined a "very exclusive" group of commuters who take the bus. Although it is, at times, dis-heartening and disgusting, smelly, and oMG WHAT IS THAT ON THE SEAT?!, I find that taking the bus gives me a certain smugness that I can take with me throughout the day, knowing that by not driving I am a much better steward of the earth than all my friends and fools out there driving their gas-guzzling, take up the entire road, beasts of vehicles.

You all suck, btw. And just so you know, the fastest way to make me fall into a year-long, eyeball-rolling induced coma is to bother me with some petty bullshit excuse about "needing the space because we have a car seat (elephant, drums, dead body)" to cart around. I have a two-door hatchback, am 6 marvelous feet tall, and have managed for years to cart around nieces and nephews, their car seats, and various child accoutrements with no difficulty. Yes, I had to push the front seat forward to get to the back, my gawd, I don't know how I managed. Also, I've had a lawn mower in my car. That still impresses me.

Anyway, riding the bus has given me a new perspective on things. Sometimes I ride the bus and really, really hate people. Sometimes there are evenings where I see simple acts of kindness. True, heart-stopping kindness, that make me a little verklempt. Sometimes there are beautifully odd moments that feel like a scene from a movie. Sometimes I almost burst out in laughter (more about old man Bob another day).

Today wasn't any of those. I ride one of two bus lines, depending on what I have going on after work. Today I hopped a popular line that is always full. I recognized the bus driver, a lady who is a bit too chatty, and is best friends with about half the people on the bus. When I got on it was standing room only, so I stood in the front by the driver, and got an up-close look at how absolutely distracted she is hurtling that bus down the road at frightening speeds. At one point she had almost disappeared underneath the steering wheel, trying to fish something out of her purse all while carrying on a conversation with another passenger.

Halfway along the route, we came up to a convenience store. On more than one occasion this bus driver has stopped the bus, hopped out, and gone in to get something to eat. This isn't uncommon on the Indy bus routes. I think the drivers have to take occasional breaks while working (once in a snow storm, the bus driver told us she had to pee, really, really bad, and hoped we wouldn't mind that she had to pull over.). Today as we rolled up, I "noticed" 5 cops cars in the parking lot, a man handcuffed, and a police officer sticking a cigarette in the cuffed man's mouth and lighting it. The bus driver pulled up and opened the door.

Bus Driver: Hey boo, what's going on?!!!

Cuffed Man: You tell ma mama, FUCK YOU!

Cop: HEY SHUT THE HELL UP

Bus Driver: Aw no, fool, I ain't gonna say that to her.

Soon to be convicted felon: Nah, you tell her I said, FUCK YOU! (he never lost the cigarette in his mouth as he stood there cuffed and screaming)

Cop: I SAID SHUT UP

Bus Driver: Aw, Boo, I'm gonna let her know what's up. I'll see you around. (really, really, you're gonna see him around?!!)

And then she continued on with the bus route, driving with her head below the dash, digging out her cell phone to call this man's mother.

"Hey, your boy is at the Super8 cuffed with cops all around him. I dunno what he did, but it don't look good. .."

So This Is Where I Officially Lose My Soul...

...because I'm going to mock my family.

Old photos are horrifying. To me. I can't figure out why. I hate history, I hate learning about it, hate hearing about it, and detest looking at old photos. Why? I don’t know, maybe in a way it’s a reminder of how insignificant I am and that we’re all going to die. Sure, it’s a bit of a leap, but that’s how the gears turn in my head. It’s all about me, and how eventually I am going to die. 



Today in my inbox was a link. Someone in the family had uploaded a bunch of old pics online. As I scrolled through the photos two things were immediately clear – one was that most of the photos were terrible and I could barely tell if there were people in the pictures, the contrast was non-existent. The second revelation was that, of the photos where I could detect relatives, I decided I wasn’t sure I wanted to be related to any of the odd-looking anorexic bobble-heads, because Oh My Gawd, my aunts, mom, and uncle were seriously underfed.

So skinny. So so skinny. All razor-sharp elbows and knee caps jutting out from heads that look 3-times too large for their stick-figure bodies, with too-large facial features. 

I’m not so sure if I should be worried that my mother was anorexic, or if grandma had a close encounter of the freaky kind and genetically I am one-quarter alien species. You decide. 



It's just a waiting game...

....to see if I can survive winter.

Re: the comments

I got a few complaints about having to sign-in to comment, so I've disabled that feature now and you (hopefully) can comment at will without any tedious hoop jumping.

I'm reading, y'all.

So I haven't really gotten into the blog groove of late, and I feel crappy about that, cause I have things to say! And stories! Because I ride the City friggin Bus, y'all. My immune system is growing by leaps and bounds. BRING ON THE SWING FLU, BITCHES!

Ok, I'm a bit crazed with the exclamation points right now (!!!!!!!!!!).

Aside from interactions with people I didn't know existed - ! Dude, a big black man twice my height and my girth asked me if he could smoke in the bus shelter and I was like "DUDE, You can't smoke in here, do it outside," and HE DID. Last week an old drunk yelled at me to sit down and I yelled right back that I didn't want to sit cause I'd been doing it all day. And he shut the f*ck up. Apparently I have powers over the impoverished yet rude people of the city. - wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, I have had plenty of time to start reading again. Something I haven't done in about 5 years. I'm currently juggling two.

The first is by Bruce Campbell, of "Evil Dead" fame. I am enjoying it, because he is a hilarious writer (or his ghost writer is). My only complaint is he drags on in certain sections describing movie camera shit that is not at all interesting to me. But I read and re-read the parts about growing up with his brothers. Growing up with brothers, as it turns out, isn't all that different from growing up with sisters, in that we all just pounded the crap out of each other while our parents tried to balance the checkbook.

If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of B Movie Actor

The other one is more serious in nature, "Hungry," by Crystal Renn, who is now a plus-sized model. I thought the beginning dragged, but it held me captive because she grew up in a situation similar to other people I know. And let me tell you, being tall I had my share of people saying I should model (because I was tall, I'd like to point out, never because they thought I was pretty) (assholes) and reading this is chilling me to the bone and making me beyond thankful I never really tried. I thought I had some body image issues - but I wasn't 98-pound teenager being told by adults to loose weight. This book is heart-wrenching and infuriating and absolutely fascinating.

Hungry: A Young Model's Story of Appetite, Ambition and the Ultimate Embrace of Curves

So what are you reading?

Hmm..

I bought a can of bean dip the other night. That alone isn't so remarkable, but I ate most of it. The problem really began the next morning when I put on a pair of control-top tights. I don't know about anyone else, but when I wear a control top to keep things nice and sucked in my gut gets a little angry. After lunch it was especially pissed and I knew it wanted some room to "breathe."

At the end of the day I had an appt with a chiropractor. Once in his office I quickly changed out of the tights into a pair of yoga pants. My stomach seemed quite pleased that it was no longer restricted, and made a happy gurgle. And I thought all was well.

A few minutes later I was lying on my side, while the doctor told me to take a deep breath and relax. As I did so and he leaned forward to squash the hell out of my back, I realized I was a little "too relaxed." A split second before he adjusted me, I knew what was going to happen, and I had a choice. I could tense up and probably end up injured by the doctor, or I could just let go and let God.

And by god, did I let one rip.

So cute, I want to eat their faces.

More Critters

If I played my cards right I could probably have an entire gallery showing of these. :o)

(note: the dog isn't mine)

Say Cheese

I've developed an odd habit/tradition, of photographing myself and my critters w/ the Photo Booth app on my computer. Lately I've extended it to any critters. Pet sitting for a friend turned into a photo op for Ally and me, but she couldn't quite get it right.

I will also pay to be slapped*

For the second time in my life, I have gone to a salon, requested a hair cut, and been denied. Or more exactly, been told, "oh no, you should grow your hair long," and then paid a lot of money for someone to basically run a comb through my hair (which, let's be honest, I don't do that, so I guess there is some benefit).

I'm not sure where this falls on the spectrum between "you are so ugly you should hide that face with as much hair as possible, and add some more to it just to be safe," and "I, the stylist, whom you will pay lots of money to, am hung-over beyond belief and pissed that you booked a 9 a.m. appt. I can barely see the numbers on the clock, let alone try to figure out how to use sharp objects around your head without bodily harm. Just let me tell you you're pretty, and tip me well."

I tried to be pleasant while I was there, but when I get home and realized I paid to look the same I almost took scissors to my hair. Instead, I decided to be rational, and called the salon back up, asking, "bang trims are free, right?" Oh sure, I don't want bangs, I had wanted a bob, but you know, at least I'm getting something for my money.

*Actually happened. I had a gift card at a salon and got a "facial" that involved being hit (they referred to it as "tapped") repeatedly in the face.

Things that have made me laugh today.

The lady at Target, who didn't move away from the card swiper after she had paid, and then yelled at me when the cashier rang up my items and gave me my total. Not exactly sure what her end-game was.

The fact that Roger inhaled her breakfast this morning and then promptly barfed it all back up in the water bowl. Birdie and Luna watched in disgust.

It was the disgust on their faces that killed me.

My New Favorite Quote

"If it were true that women are turned on by a man who makes them laugh, Woody Allen wouldn’t have had to marry his own daughter."

A Girl Under the Influence

I just discovered that I'm growing an ass on top of the one I already have. I have a flat chest and a flat stomach, which is a mean trick as I don't gain weight there, but I do on my backside, and area I don't ever catch a glimpse of. If I want to see what's happening back there, I have to commit to a getting out several mirrors and performing a bit of a magic show. Which I don't often do. So I wasn't even aware of the extra ass situation until I got out last year's slacks and put them on. Or tried to put them on.

I occasionally bemoan that my clothes are getting tighter, but right now I can't actually button up some of my pants. And that makes me want to throw myself off the roof. Besides the obvious horrors of gaining weight, I am dealing with an issue of economics. I spent a lot of time and money over the years, not only buying clothes, but paying even more money to have them altered so they will perfectly fit. And now they don't.

I've evaluated the situation, and decided the cheapest solution is obviously to get rid of the second ass. I think even surgery would be cheaper than new clothing. And before I'm accused of being a bit dramatic, I should point out that I have a 35" inseam, which is 1" too long for most "long" pants, and 1" too short for most "x-long" pants, making finding perfectly fitting pants a full-time job, people.

I'm perhaps deluding myself right now, as I believe all will go back to sanity if I just lose 10 lbs. (yeah, I know, that makes me a member of the just lose 10 lbs club, ha). I have separated my clothing into several piles. A pile of clothing that doesn't fit that I am willing to part with (it's very small), a pile of clothing that I can currently wear (also small), and a pile of clothing that I believe I can fit in to if I lose some weight (that pile is not so small, rather a lot like my ass).

As I was going through all the clothes yesterday and trying not to become suicidal a friend texted me a question, to which I replied, "That is the least of my problems. I'm looking at myself in the mirror trying to figure out how to stand in my pants so I don't have a camel toe."

Yeah....I think I might go ahead and put those pants in the give-away pile.