Operation Pink Herring

Let's talk about TV because my brain is dead

Work is kicking my ass lately, but I just have to discuss last night's episode of 24.

Well, not so much discuss.  What I want to know is, when Jack's father was finally revealed, was I the only one who couldn't stop thinking "That'll do, pig.  That'll do."?

Seriously, HOW AWESOME WOULD IT HAVE BEEN if Phillip Bauer had said that to Graem, instead of all that lame "How could you double cross your own father" bullcrap?  "That'll do, Graem, you goddamn government conspiracy pig.  That'll do.  Seriously, you'd better shut up before your brother kills you with his teeth like he did to that other terrorist."

And what is up with the weird spelling of Graem's name?  Just in case we couldn't tell that he was a douchebag from the way he constantly wears that bluetooth headset, oh, and the fact that HE SHIPPED HIS OWN BROTHER OFF TO A CHINESE PRISON, they also had to get all hippie and spell his name all crazy-like?  I don't like it.  I don't like it at all.

Um, also... for all you Prison Break watchers (I know you all watch it, Michael Schofield has you all hypnotized too, don't lie to me), how did you like the way Fox threw their own news program in the show like that?  I thought it was totally LAME (but not unexpected from Fox); Joel thought it was better than making up a fake news program like 24 does. 

I have to go home now and drink a few glasses bottles of wine while I watch Heroes on the Tivo.

The next innovation in home goods

This weekend, I went to visit my brother and his girlfriend in New Jersey.  My mom also came down, as this was a belated birthday party of sorts for my brother and I, whose birthdays are a mere 5 days apart (2 years and 5 days to be exact, we're not some kind of miracle twins) (It's actually sort of funny, because when we were growing up, I'd have my birthday and my brother would be depressed that I was now three whole years "ahead" of him, then 5 days later he'd have his birthday, and he would get all excited that he was "catching up" to me.)  We went bowling, where I dazzled everyone in the alley with my patented between-the-legs style and my  high score of 90, and then we went back to my brother's "new" apartment, which is not really new at all, but I had never been there before, so it was new to me.  His apartment was super cute, and I'm guessing that is mostly his girlfriend's doing.  He has the comfiest couch I've sat on in a long time, which includes two electric recliners and a built-in table thingy (which I'm guessing was mostly his doing) and two adorable, playful kittens that were a pleasant change from my own surly, anxious friends.  His girlfriend, with the help of my mother, cooked a wonderful and enormous dinner, and it was overall a wonderful time.  I wonder, is that what people who live nearer to their families do all the time?   Because that would be kind of awesome.

But by far, the highlight of the day was when we stopped off at my brother's girlfriend's sister's house (how's that for three degrees of separation?).  She has twin 14-month old boys that were all kinds of adorable.  They were dressed in matching little jumpsuits and they toddled around happily in the living room, only giving all of us strangers a suspicious glance or two.   I declined to hold them, since it turns out that I am still scared of babies, but they happily showed us their toys, which included blocks that they could build and then knock down with more power than a wrecking ball, a book in which their "favorite" page showed an apple and an orange, two dancing Elmo dolls, and a toy Dustbuster vacuum. 

I think it's hilarious that they have toys for household appliances like vacuums, and I only wonder why someone can't make one that actually works.  How great would it be if your toddler, while he was playing, was also vacuuming up after himself?  My brother used to have this toy lawnmower that he loved to push around, and I'm pretty sure my mom would have been ecstatic if he was actually out there killing dandelions with it. 

Anyway, back to the toy vacuum.  Not only did it spit around confetti and balls inside of its toy canister, but it also talked.  "Nice work!" it would say, as you moved it over the floor.  It had several other generic phrases, and then when I picked it up and ran it over the section of carpet at my feet it blurted out "This floor looks GREAT!"  I almost peed my pants, I laughed so hard.  I mean, how awesome is that?   I think that the next Dyson model should give you compliments, and then it really would be the perfect appliance.  Just imagine, you're pushing around your cute purple vacuum, which never loses suction, and periodically it tells you "This house looks fabulous!  I love what you've done with the place.  By the way, have you lost weight?"

A whole post about defrosting meat

I know I'm not exactly a candidate for Top Chef.  I have no natural talent for the culinary arts, but I've come a long way from my college days of eating Rice A Roni for dinner 4 nights in a row.  Sure, I've had my share of disasters.  There was the pumpkin roll cake that did not roll, nor did it taste like pumpkin.  There was that casserole dish that just sort of fell apart that one time.  And my family still likes to bring up the time when we were having Grands rolls with dinner (pretty much every night when we were growing up), and I decided to save the roll for last, since those Grands biscuits are amazingly delicious.  Well, my roll got cold and I wanted it warm, so I asked my mom if I could put it in the microwave.  She said sure.  I asked for how long.  She said oh, about 10. 

A few minutes later my brother noticed a strange smell, a smell that was distinctly different from the fallout from my family's regular dinner table farting competitions.  "Ew, what's that smell?" he asked.  Because, you know, someone who is fond of weighing himself before and after he visits the bathroom and then announcing the difference has easily offended sensibilities.

But there was a smell, and I jumped up, remembering that my biscuit was still in the microwave.  I took it out, and it looked like a lump of coal.  A sad, ugly lump of coal.  "How long did you put that in there for?" my mother asked incredulously, and I replied that I'd put it in for ten minutes, just like she'd told me to.  Of course, she meant 10 seconds, and I really think this was a lesson in how people should really learn to be more specific when giving directions.      

I can take a joke, and I'll be the first to admit that my cooking isn't going to win me any prizes at the county fair, but honestly?  I do not think it's "bad".  More like "limited in scope". I've come a long way.  Sure, there have been a few meals that I would rather not remember, but there are several things I do really well now.  Oh, and also?  I am not completely retarded.

Where is this going?  Well, on Tuesday night as we were lying on the couch trying to decide what to have for dinner, I voted for pizza and Joel voted for pasta (we're all about the nutrition here).  Since we there was no meat defrosted for the pasta sauce, I suggested that we have pizza on Tuesday and pasta on Wednesday (I'm all about the fairness). 

On Wednesday morning, true to my bargain, I took out some ground beef from the freezer and put it on a plate in the toaster oven to defrost.  Before you think that I'm toasting my ground beef, let me assure you: NO.  It's just where we put things to defrost, because the other options are 1. The fridge (too slow), 2. the oven or microwave (opaque doors, will be forgotten), or 3: the counter (have I ever mentioned that I own cats?).

After work and a trip to the gym, I arrived home and noticed that Joel had moved the ground beef to the fridge.  I wondered if he had come home between work and coaching, but when I poked the meat (I'm also very scientific), it was still frozen, so I knew he must have put it in the fridge right after I left for work in the morning.  I guessed that he must have thought it had been out all night defrosting (even though it was still frozen solid, as a he would have seen if he's just poked it), so he put it in the fridge just to be safe.

(I swear this is going somewhere.)

(Also, I should mention that we buy meat at Sam's club, because we are the stingy people who look at the price per pound on EVERYTHING at the grocery store.  Sam's has good deals on meat, and we just divide the chicken/pork/beef up when we get home, wrap it in Saran Wrap, and freeze what we can't use in a week or so.)   

I took the meat back out and put it in the toaster oven again and went upstairs to take a shower.  While I was in the shower, Joel arrived home.   As we were settling onto the couch for the night, I announced I was going to go make dinner, as I do most nights.   Joel did ask if I needed any help, which I'll give him credit for.  I said I didn't really need any help to make pasta, so he could clean off the coffee table (aka our dining room table) instead, since it was covered in all sorts of nastiness.

Just as I was about to put the meat in the microwave to defrost, Joel came downstairs to get the vacuum, and freaked out that I was about to put the ground beef in the freezer with the saran wrap still on it.  I told him, 1. I have done this a million times before, and the plastic wrap has never melted before, 2. please don't walk in and tell me all the things I'm doing wrong, YOU KNOW THAT DRIVES ME CRAZY.  I started to put it in the microwave again, and he started to protest again, saying crap about how it was going to release CFCs and melt into the beef and poison us.  I rebutted that when you try to remove the plastic wrap from frozen solid ground beef, some of the plastic gets stuck in the nooks and crannies, and then I have to try to make sure I pick them all out when the meat is defrosted.  You want to know how I know?  I HAVE DONE THIS A MILLION TIMES BEFORE,  AND I'VE LEARNED A THING OR TWO.

Joel would not let it go, and this ended with me storming upstairs.  I told him if he honestly thought I was incapable of making pasta THE SAME WAY I ALWAYS MAKE IT (AND WE HAVEN'T DIED YET, HAVE WE) then he could just cook the damn dinner himself.   He did, and I watched Tivo-ed episodes of Gilmore Girls and One Tree Hill while we ate, just to piss him off.  He hates those shows as much as I hate Battlestar Gallactica and Naruto, and usually I watch them when he's not around.

I promise that after I finish writing this, I'm going to let it go.  But I want to know, what do you think?   I am I overreacting?  Is this a problem anyone else deals with?

I'm a little sensitive to the issue because I do 80-90% of the housework.  We've been trying to find a way around this for.... let's just say "a long time", but nothing has worked.  We tried a checklist, dividing chores up, making a schedule, Joel promising to just do more, etc etc etc.  And after a week or two, I'm getting mad again because I just can't find time to vacuum the bedroom, finish the laundry, wash all the dishes in the sink, pick up all the clutter on the floor.... I HATE feeling like a nag, and I HATE asking Joel to do specific tasks like emptying the dishwasher or folding the laundry.  It makes me feel like his mother, and although he always does what I ask, I don't want to have to ask.  (I know I sound like Jennifer Aniston in The Breakup, but I want him to want to do the dishes).  But my only other option is to feel like an underpaid maid, and that's no good either.  Well, I guess there's another option, which is actually the one I've been choosing lately: live in a house that looks like crap.  Cat hair tumbleweeds blowing across the hardwood floors, pulling things directly out of the dryer when I need clean pants or socks, piling up dishes in the sink and shoving all the papers on the desk out of my way when I need to use the computer.  The problem with this is, clutter makes me nervous.  I'm no neatfreak, but the feeling that everything is going to hell around me makes me unhappy.  And so, I start cleaning, and then getting mad that I'm not getting any help, and then we're back to square one.  Joel once made a comment, something like "but you love cleaning."  Um, NO.  I am not insane.  I do not LIKE cleaning. But I do love not living in a messy house, so cleaning is necessary.

So, anyway.  I have no darling solution or epiphany to end this with.  Joel is cooking dinner for the rest of the week.  I did help by taking some chicken out of the freezer to defrost this morning; I cut him a break there since he left for practice at 5:15am.  But I put it in the toaster oven to defrost, and if I hear any comments about how it's been out too long now and we're going to get salmonella... well, I don't know.  But it won't be pretty.

Explanation about the hideous pink pigs

Or, Reason #473 I'm glad to be home:

So, I gather you were all a bit alarmed by the florescent pink piggies?  Well, they're not exactly pigs, although I don't get the real difference.  They're javelinas, and they are Arizona's unofficial mascot, from what I could gather.  They have statues all over the place that are done by different artists (but all using the same basic statue). 

For instance, we also saw this one on the same block in Sedona:

These kind of city-wide statues are pretty common, New York has their cows and Baltimore has its crabs.  And as un-cute as crabs are, this:

is on a different level than this:

But I guess we can't blame AZ for choosing the javelina to be their mascot-thingy. I mean, what else do they have to choose from?  I'll tell you: 5 different kinds of poisonous snakes, grizzly bears, cougars, bobcats, and scorpions.  Have I mentioned how happy I am to be home?  Because last night was the first night I got into bed without shaking out my sheets, and it felt great.

I am so ready to come home

Overall, this trip has been better than expected.   Well, I should say it was less bad than expected.  It was OK.  What I'm trying to say is, I'm ready to come home.  Now.

I'll give you this: Arizona is very pretty, in a bleak, desert sort of way.  My friend and I escaped from the meeting this afternoon and drove to Sedona, which everyone said was "cool" and a "must see" and "only a short 2-hour drive away".   It was gorgeous.  And cold.  And windy. We didn't see any snakes, because did you know that snakes hibernate in the winter?  I did not know that, and hearing that snakes give you a four-month break of looking out for their slithery, venomous bodies was pretty much the second-best news I've heard all week (right behind the "you don't have to give a presentation" news).

After we went on our overpriced but lovely guided hike around Red Rocks, we decided to stop in a coffee shop to go to the bathroom and get warmed up before taking off for the 2-hour ride back to Scottsdale. Except the coffee shop next to our car was closed. As was the one down the street. And the rest of the shops on the block. All closed. It was 5:30pm.

The only thing that was open was a diner, so we stopped in, had some coffee and soup, and used the bathroom.  In the 30 minutes we were inside, it apparently started to snow.  A lot.  Like, half an inch in half an hour.  You know what they should really put in the trunk of a rental car?  A snow scraper.  Or even a snow brush, or ANYTHING TO BE USED TO WIPE SNOW OFF THE WINDOWS.  We used a t-shirt (the one my friend happened to be wearing) to wipe off the back, and I decided to use the old roll-down trick on my driver's window.  This resulted in me getting a half-inch window-sized block of snow in my lap.  I swear, I have used this trick a million and half times in my twenty six years on this earth, and NEVER has the snow fallen INTO the car before.  Never.  Arizona snow apparently responds to a different gravitational force than East Coast snow.  Must be something to do with all those energy vortexes that we were supposedly driving over.

After I drove the car into a curb trying to make a U-turn on the highway (I thought I was turning into a parking lot, damn snow on the ground makes it hard to see) (as does snow falling from the sky in biblical proportions), we thanked the vortex gods that we had decided to spend that extra $23 on rental car insurance and sped home.  The one thing I have to say I love about Arizona:  Speed Limit 75, baby.

So now I'm home in my hotel room, and I really should be packing, but I'm so bored.  Really, what hotel charges this much money for a room and then has only ONE channel playing an actual show?  In what alternate universe is my beloved USA an All Car Shows, All The Time Network?  WHERE ARE MY LAW AND ORDER RERUNS?  I just ordered my room service favorite, French Onion soup, and it came in a styrofoam container and that was the final straw. I just spend $11 to rent a movie (a first for me), and then I'm going to sleep and in 12 hours I'll be on my way home. 

(Yea, don't even ask about this.)

Good news and bad news from Arizona

Well, here I am in Scottsdale, AZ.  This is the first time I've ever been to Arizona, but it looks exactly like New Mexico, which I spent a week in a few years ago.  It's very pretty, in a brown sort of way.  For instance, we saw a gorgeous sunset over the mountains (which mountains?  your guess is as good as mine.  Actually, it's better, considering my sense of geography.  Rockies?  Cascades?)  We had plenty of time to fully enjoy the beauty of the setting sun, since we had to stand outside the conference center for an hour waiting for our hotel shuttle.  "Cabs don't like to come out here", apparently.

Um... can I just say that Joel was 100% right?  We should have rented a car.  I didn't want to, because it's extra hassle, and it's easier to just take a cab.  It's not like we're staying out in the burbs of Chicago, like Joel does when he goes on business trips.  It's not like we couldn't just walk around the city to find someplace to entertain ourselves on Friday afternoon, when we have "free time on our own".  Um... right.

This place gives a new meaning to suburban sprawl.  If I left my hotel and walked in one direction, I'd be wandering in the desert.  If I walked in the other direction, I'd be wandering on the highway.  The closest civilizations are two giant outdoor malls, downtown Phoenix is 40 minutes away, but we shouldn't bother going there anyway because "there's nuthin to do there," according to our knowledgeable shuttle driver.

In other words, Scottsdale is sort of boring, it seems.  But the hip local shuttle driver did give us the DL, telling us to skip Phoenix altogether and go to Oldtown Scottsdale on Friday instead.  So that's what we'll be doing.  I'll let you know how that turns out.

This entire trip has already been a roller coaster ride.  First, I find out we don't get comp or overtime (Bad).  Then I find out that my friend/coworker (we were friends first, coworkers second) will be taking my boss' place on this trip (Good).  Then it turns out that someone will have to stand in for the boss in his presentation, and he nominates me (Bad).  However, when I look up when this presentation actually is so I can see how long I have to contract ebola or bird flu to get out of doing it, I realize that it's during the last session on Saturday, at which time I'll already be on a plane somewhere over the Middle America (Excellent).

(Just in case you didn't catch that: NO PUBLIC SPEAKING!!!!1) 

On the flight this morning, I was unknowingly on the same flight as an office higher-up (Bad).  She didn't see me, and I didn't see her until the flight was over, so I didn't get busted wearing my sweatsuit on the plane (Good).

The hotel does not have the good cable channels, and the only thing on are car shows and American Idol (Bad).  My friend/coworker and I are the only two from the conference staying at this particular hotel, meaning we could go out to dinner alone and talk about non-work appropriate matters (Excellent, and a much needed break).

This conference is apparently business casual attire (Good).  I didn't get that memo, and I only brought suits (Bad).

That's about it, because I need to medicate myself and try to fall asleep so that I can get up for a full day of networking tomorrow, starting at 8am Arizona time.  Which... I think... is 10am East Coast time?  So it should not be so bad?  Right? 

PS- Thank you all so much for your book recommendations!  I am so  excited to get started, which says volumes about what a geek I am.  I went on a shopping spree at Barnes and Noble this weekend, and I finished that stupid Jennifer Weiner book on the plane, so I'll be kicking the chick lit to the curb effective immediately.

PPS- Holy god, I didn't even get to say anything about my wonderful weekend in Virginia with my gorgeous and hysterical friends.  Or about the premier of 24, with all its neck-biting and nuking and glass sticking out of the thigh of the actor formerly known as Kumar.

I swear, we didn't have MLK Day off last year

After much confusion in the office, it has finally been determined that we do, in fact, have Monday off as a holiday.  This is a fabulous surprise, since I am positive that last year we celebrated the Reverend Doctor's day by going to a lunchtime tribute in the auditorium.  Jesse Jackson spoke, and he was crazy and sort of entertaining.  But not as entertaining as a whole day at home with my Tivo, that's for sure. 

What this extra day off means is that I not only get to drive down to Virginia to hang out with two of my bestest friends, (thanks to the Society of Historical Archeology's decision to have it's annual meeting in Colonial Williamsburg this year), but I also get to have a whole day filled with sitting on the couch and compulsively organizing things around the house. So happy birthday and thanks again, Dr. King.  I'll toast you while I'm out with my friends on Saturday night, and again when I'm sitting on my couch at noon on Monday, drinking a glass of wine just for the hell of it.

I'll be driving down to Richmond on Saturday morning to meet up with Jenny, and then in the afternoon we will be kidnapping our grad-school friend, Beth, away from the horrors of professional networking and Historical Archeology talks in favor of watching period actors walk around in Colonial Williamsburg and hitting up the outlet mall that is supposedly nearby.    We're planning to go out in downtown Richmond on Saturday night, which is sort of scary because the days of my getting dolled up to go barhopping are long over.  Plus, all the girls in Richmond are gorgeous Southern Belles with pointy shoes and cute sundresses.  They make me feel inadequate, but it's nothing a few drinks can't help me overcome.

Speaking of the horrors of networking and feelings of inadequacy, next week I will be departing on a trip to Phoenix for a work conference.  This is different from the work meetings I usually attend, because instead of sitting in the back of the room and silently observing, I will be expected to pay attention.  And contribute.  And network.  I hate networking.  I suck at it, and I hate it with the first of a thousand suns.  In the evenings, instead of locking myself inside my hotel room and ordering room service while watching HBO all night, I'll be expected to go out to dinners and cocktail receptions to network more.  Have I mentioned that I hate networking?

As if I weren't already dreading this trip already, I've just been asked to fill in for my boss and give a "short" and "easy" presentation to the entire society that will be at this meeting.  About something I don't understand at all.   But don't worry, it will be easy.  My boss thinks I can do it, and I'm sure he's right.  I just don't want to do it.  At all.  You know what I hate more than networking?  Networking AND public speaking.

So I guess I'll have to go and have an extra fun time this weekend to balance out what is sure to be a no-fun-at-all trip.  Did I mention that I have to be there all day Saturday as well?  Unpaid? 

In better news, I went on a shopping spree last weekend that ended with a trip to Best Buy and the purchase of the new Gwen Stefani CD, among other things.  I don't buy CDs unless I am at least 90% certain that I am going to like all the songs on it, because otherwise I just tell myself that I will just download the songs I actually like from Itunes.  You know, when I get an iPod.  Which I have no plans of getting in the foreseeable future.

Anyway, I sprang for The Sweet Escape because, in general, I think Gwen is pretty awesome.  I have never been disappointed by her singles,  unlike, say, Beyonce, whose CD I also considered.  Some of Beyonce's stuff is great, like that you just don't know 'bout me song.  I love that song.  It's catchy.  But then she comes out with crap like Ring the Alarm.  No one wants a CD with air raid sirens, B.   

What I'm trying to say is, The Sweet Escape is awesome.  I should know, because I've been listening to it at work for 4 days nonstop because I'm too lazy to pop it out and put another CD in.  My favorite song is Early Winter.  If you are more tech-savvy than this reporter, you should download it.  You'll find yourself singing along in your office in no time.  Ahem.  Not that I'm doing that right now or anything.

Well, now that I've given you some good recommendations, how 'bouts a little qui-pro-quo, Internet?  I am in sort of a desperate situation.  You know that whole "I'm going to read more" resolution I made?  Well, I need a new book to read.  A GOOD book to read.  And I need it before I board the 5-hour flight to Arizona. 

Over the summer, I unknowingly screwed myself by picking up The Lovely Bones and The Time Traveler's Wife on the same trip to Barnes and Noble.  They both had pretty covers and looked intersting.  When I read the former, I actually had to take crying breaks so that I could see the pages I was looking at through my tears.  With the latter, I had to keep myself from crying after I finished it, so depressed was I that it was over.  I would highly recommend both, but with this warning: you're going to have trouble suffering through chick lit afterwards.  Recently, I've been reading a  bunch of books I've borrowed from my mother and my friends.  Some of them were OK.  Some just plain sucked.  I would not call any of them "good", and I have this problem where I am physically incapable of not finishing a book I've started.   Right now I'm in the middle of Little Earthquakes, and it's also making me want to cry... because it is so god-awful boring and predictable.  If you read it and liked it, please know that I mean no offense at all.   It's just the last in a long line of diappointing books, and I'm at the end of my rope. 

So, won't you please help me?  Can anyone give me a book recommendation that won't make me want to stab my own eyes out?   PLEASE.  I have a Barnes and Noble gift card just burning a hole in my pocket here and a holiday Monday to spend perusing the bookstore. 

Oh that's right, I said something about pictures, didn't I?

Thank you guys for all of your internet-birthday wishes.  I usually do not like to make a big deal out of birthdays, because 1. I get really embarrassed, 2. Inevitably, people ask what your Big Birthday Plans are, and I haven't had any Big Birthday Plans since I turned 21, and even that was kind of a bust (you try turning 21 after being in Spain for a semester and legally drinking the whole time, when only one of your friends at home is legally allowed to go to a bar with you, when your birthday is over winter break and you live in New Jersey and there is NOTHING TO DO on a random Tuesday night that just happens to be your 21st birthday. If you do try this, you will probably end up at an empty bar in Morristown, only mildly buzzed at 1am when the bar closes, and you'll probably have to call your 19-year-old brother to come and pick your sorry ass up, because OH YEA -- NO CABS IN NEW JERSEY!).  But this birthday was really quite nice.  My coworkers baked me a yummy cake, I got lots of pretty cards and nice phone messages (as a rule, I think you do not have to actually talk to anyone on your birthday -- you can just call them back later in the week) (seriously, guys -- I will call you all back.  And I did appreciate your calls, very much!), and Joel took me out to dinner at a yummy and wonderful restaurant.  Oh, and he also surprised me with a nice present (picture to come).  Which I am in love with.  And afraid to use, because I have a bad habit of losing things.  (See: Henry.)  (See also: wallet.)

I also used to have this totally irrational fear of birthdays.  When I was a little kid, I was afraid to go to sleep on the eve of my birthday, because I was convinced that when I woke up and was 5, instead of 4, I would be a totally different person.  Would I remember what kinds of food I liked?  Would I still know my friends?  What if I forgot to watch Sesame Street?  I'm not kidding, my neuroses really do trace all the way back to conception.  I am pretty sure that while I was in the womb, I was worrying if I was going to oversleep and miss my  own birth.

When I got older, I just didn't want to turn a new age, because I liked being seven.  Why fix something that isn't broken?  Who needs to turn eight years old, anyway?  Who needs to turn 15, or 19, or 20, for that matter?   The only exceptions were the obvious: 13 (got to be a real teenager) and 17 (got my driver's license).  21 was anti-climactic, since I had already been using my fake Connecticut non-driver ID that said I was born in 1977 for three years at that point.   (Dear mommy: just kidding.  I have never drank alcohol, ever.)

Anyway, I somehow got over all these obstacles, without too much therapy.  I think 26 has a nice ring to it.   I'm ready to be 26.   Which is good, since, um, it's already happened, and OMG this is SO two days ago, can't she move on already?

Ahem.   Let's move on to something that's more like so three weeks ago.  Christmas pictures!

On Christmas Day, Joel and I took the train to New Jersey, where we spent the day with my family.  Here I am opening presents in my mom's living room.  You may recall my soapbox preaching about how my family doesn't really do presents, because we value spending time together more than material goods (and all that other high-horse nonsense that comes out of my mouth when I'm not paying attention).  Before you crucify me, you should note that the present I've just opened is a cat toy.  After all, cats should not be deprived just because their owner is a bitter, grinchy hag.  Think of the children.

(I did make out with a Starbucks and Barnes and Noble gift card, though.)

My mom actually wrapped the cat toys up and signed them "from Grandma".  I chalk that up as a clear victory in my battle to convert all my relatives into a Crazy Cat Family.

Shadow, the only actual cat present, was very excited by all this.  No, really -- that is her excited face. 

On the 26th, I used my mom's friends as guinea pigs for one of my cooking experiments.  I made them bacon-wrapped scallops in a maple syrup reduction, which I learned how to make in the cooking class we took in December (Joel's bday present from me).  We also had salad, garlic bread, and chicken parmesan.  And wine.  A lot of wine.  I considered my first sort-of-dinner-party a success.  And now I am hungry for bacon.  Crap.

The next day, we got back on the train and headed to Vermont to visit Joel's family.

It was a 10-hour train ride to Waterbury, and then a 25-minute drive to Joel's house. After we passed New York and the train cleared out, the time flew by.  After I embarrassed Joel by taking pictures out the window of the NYC skyline, we settled in for a relaxing time. We brought a laptop and movies to watch, we napped and talked and read. It was approximately 134872348 times better than the time we thought it would be a good idea to drive from Baltimore to Vermont. In Joel's pickup truck.

The train stopped for 20 minutes in New Haven, and being the nerd that I am, we took pictures.

The other passengers probably thought I was from Uzbekistan, on my first trip to America, the way I was carrying on to get Joel to stand next to that New Haven sign for a picture.  He's just lucky I didn't ask a stranger to take a picture of both of us.  Because I did consider it.

 

My new travel uniform.  Those fleece pants from Old Navy are the best. pants. ever.  Which is why I don't feel the least bit bad that I paid $8 to have them professional hemmed.

At 8:30pm, we finally pulled into the station in Vermont, and Joel's parents were there to meet us.  I tried to be all happy and festive, but holy hell.  It is cold in Vermont.  I guess they did not get the memo that winter is canceled this year or something.   COLD. SNOW. NOT COOL.

We visited with Joel's parents, and his two sisters and little brother.  Want to know what Joel looked like when he was a kid?

 

Well, he looked like this.  The resemblance between the pictures of Joel at this age (which were abundant, I even got to see home movies) and this cute little kid were uncanny.  It's actually sort of freaky.  They could, like, be brothers, or something!  Oh, wait.  Nevermind.

We took a day trip to visit Burlington, which was about an hour away.  On the way, I insisted that we stop at the Trapp Family Lodge.  Does that name sound familiar?  Perhaps you've seen a little film about a nun named Maria?  THAT'S RIGHT, PEOPLE. Trapp, as in VON TRAPP.  As in the people who sang songs about brown paper packages tied up with strings and being sixteen going on seventeen. I SAW THEIR HOUSE. 

Or at least I saw the house they built to rent out to people who wanted to cross-country ski, after they hiked over the Alps and frolicked off into the sunset.

It was very pretty, but I'm pretty sure these hill are not at all alive, because they are too busy being FROZEN SOLID.

Burlington was a cute little town, although it was also COLD AS HELL.  We didn't see Champ, the Vermont cousin of Nessie The Loch Ness Monster, because I'm pretty sure he was hibernating until the water gets warmer.  Or maybe we didn't see him because I only stood still long enough to snap this picture, and then had to get moving to keep the blood circulating to my extremities.

I got a great cup of coffee, and we spent an hour waiting for a slice of pizza.  I also bought a kicky little pink down vest, because when in Vermont, do as the Vermonters do. (The Vermonters bundle up.)

On the way back to Joel's house, we stopped at a Vermont rest stop, and this might have been the highlight of my trip.  Rest stops in Vermont are not like those in the rest of the world.  Or, at the very least, they are not like the nasty, overcrowded, overpriced rest stops on the New Jersey Turnpike.  No, Vermont rest stops look like log cabins.  They have displays of local animals and wildlife and other interesting facts inside.  They are clean and quiet.  Soothing music might even be playing.  There is a staffer sitting at a desk, who would be happy to to help you with directions, or answer any questions you have about the Green Mountain State.  Oh, and also, THEY HAVE FREE COFFEE.  That's right.  Forget Starbucks and their long lines to purchase $4 mocha venti lattes.  In the Vermont rest stops there is free Green Mountain Coffee (which is damn good) for everyone.   

All in all, I have to say that Vermont is a pretty cool state.  I mean, it's no New Jersey, but I'd say they more than make up for their lack of cheesy 24-hour diners with the free coffee at rest stops thing.  And when I looked up that Wikipedia link for Champ, I read this:

"The state government of Vermont has put Champ on its Endangered Species List, so that if such an animal does exist, it would be protected by law."

...which is pretty much the coolest thing I have ever read.  Ever.

Now if only it weren't so damn cold up there.

The Real New Year

I am not a big fan of New Year's as a holiday, because I feel that it is highly overrated.  Don't get me wrong, I am 100% behind any holiday that means offices nationwide are closed... but I feel that the typical New Year's celebrations are overpriced, overcrowded, and overly glitzy.  This year, Joel and I spent New Year's Eve the same way we have for the past several years: in our living room.   We made steaks for dinner, drank a lot of wine, and watched a marathon of Man vs. Wild that we had Tivo'ed.  At midnight, we went up on our deck to watch the fireworks in the freakishly warm weather.  Then I stayed up until 3am reading a book.  Rockstar, that's what I am.

Another thing I don't like about New Years is the resolutions that everyone makes, and no one keeps.  I'll lose 10 pounds!   I'll write the great American novel!  I'll solve world hunger! 

So, instead I make birthday resolutions, for the new year in my life.  A Rebel, that's what I am.

So on this day, the beginning of my 26th year on this earth, here are my resolutions.  With The Internet as my witness, this year I resolve to:

• Break some of my unhealthy eating habits.  I'm not giving up frozen pizzas or Diet Cokes, but I need to cut back on the chips and other salty crap, and replace them with more fruits and veggies.
• Continue on my odyssey to become a better cook.  I want to try more cookbook recipes, and add at least three new dishes to the list of Things I Can Make Really Well.
• Continue reading for pleasure.  This was my big resolution last year, after falling off the reading bandwagon for about 10 years.  I used to average a book a week when I was a kid, and sometimes I'd go through a novel in a single day.  Then school took over my life somewhere around age 13, and I got into this rut where I felt like if I was reading, I should be reading for school... which lasted all the way through college.  Since I never felt like reading for school, I stopped reading altogether until last year.  This year I want to continue what I started, and read at least one book a month. 
• Start a reading journal.  I am totally copying this from another blogger, because I think it is a great and fun idea.
• Write something for fun.
• Be less judgmental (of myself and others).  I also made this resolution last year, and jury's out on whether or not I succeeded. 
• Find a volunteering gig that I actually like, and stick with it.
• Finish some of the billion projects I've started at home.   I would love to finish My Wall, or at least make some really good progress on it.  Ditto for the painting, which has come to a standstill lately as we waffle about colors for the first floor. 
• Fully fund my IRA.
• Start dressing my age, instead of masquerading as a college student in my sweats-and-sneakers weekend uniform. 
• Stop being sporadic about exercising.  Start running outside once the weather is better, and try to mix in hiking and yoga when I can.

If I can get all of those things accomplished, I'll consider it a very good year. 

I've been overwhelmed already today with emails and e-cards and good old fashioned paper cards and even one comment on here wishing me a happy birthday.  My mother sent me an email that made me cry.   I totally overslept and was half an hour late to work, and nobody fired me.  I'm wearing a new dress and new shoes that I bought this weekend, on sale.  Tonight Joel is taking me out for a surprise dinner (I know we're going out, just don't know where), and there's an oreo ice cream cake in the freezer.  So far, it's shaping up to be a pretty good year.

My Cat Went to the Vet, and All I Got Was This Lousy Flesh Wound

Oh, hey guys.  Did I say I would post pictures of our Christmas/New Years "tomorrow"?  You know I meant "whenever", right.

Believe it or not, I did load onto the computer yesterday.  It was super easy, since Joel got this amazing new camera with his Sony credit card rewards points, which he had been saving for about 22 years.  It is slim and cute and white and looks just like a little Ipod, unlike our old camera, which was giant and heavy and needed to be lugged around in a case around your neck.   The new camera just slides up and down to turn off, while the old camera had a sweet lens cap that was always falling off inside the giant case and getting lost.  Best of all, the new camera has an all-in-one cord, making transferring pictures much, much easier.  Oh, and the pictures it takes are not blurry, nor are they color-distorted, which is also nice. 

Despite how easy that was, I didn't get a chance to load them on here, because: work.  It is killing me.  And today, I have a little more time, but I feel like talking about the worst visit to the vet EVER, because my arm still hurts.

Back before Henry made his Great Escape, I had scheduled a vet appointment for him to get microchipped and neutered.  It was supposed to be last night.  I never canceled it because I am lazy and I forgot and I was still secretly hoping that Henry would turn up.  Since he didn't, the vet called to see if we wanted to cancel our appointment.  I decided that instead, I would keep the appointment and just take Madison in to get microchipped, since I have been meaning to get this done for, oh... a year or so.  Madison runs away at least three times a day, and one of my greatest fears is that one day, instead of going straight for the alley to sniff our neighbor's plants, he will realize there is a whole wide street and city and world out there, and he will be Lost For Real.   Believe it or not, Joel is the one pushing for this microchipping more than anyone, because he claims he does not want to deal with my constant pet-loss-paranoia any more.  And he is right.   There is no more reason to put this off. 

So, I decided to take the cats in separately, which is proof that, occasionally, a single lucid thought does waft through my brain.  Madison got to be first because I didn't feel like carrying Max 4 blocks, and my car was parked far away.  I rushed home from work, got out the carrier, and managed to trick Mads into eating one of the tranquilizer pills the vet gave me the last time he was there, which was over 2 years ago.  They were over a year expired, but I figured what the hell.  Can't hurt, right?

We got to the vet right on time, and took a seat to wait our turn.  I made mistake #1 when I let a dog that looked like some kind of husky mix come over and sniff Madison's carrier.  I thought he wouldn't mind, since he has no problem with dogs.  He even seems to like them.  The dog's owner remarked at what a calm, nice kitty Madison was.  I was tempted to laugh, but I held my tongue and agreed that yes, he was behaving himself very nicely.  I think that when I passed her half an hour later, dripping blood and shaking, she realized that looks can be deceiving.

Then in came an extremely rambunctious golden retriever, practically dragging her owner behind.  Ms. Thang proceeded to start a hump fest with the Husky-type dog and another lab that was waiting.  A very loud, animated doggie orgy.  And then the Husky-dog remembered his new Cat Friend, and decided he should have a piece of this Hot Golden Action.  This riled Madison up, just a tad.

Mistake #2 was forgetting that Madison can turn into the Tasmanian Devil on command.  Once we went into the exam room, he grudgingly came out of his cage, and stood on the scale.  Then he decided he didn't like the way the vet was looking at him, so when she tried to look in his ear, he took at deep breath, and then started spinning his head around in full circles, claws flying.   I made mistake #3 by trying to restrain him without putting on a full set of body armor, and for this transgression, Madison decided I deserved to have my arm ripped out of its socket. 

A vet tech who is "good with difficult animals" was brought in.  A towel was used.  Curses and claws flew, and the vet realized that this was just not going to happen.  We're going to have to sedate him, she decided.

Oh, I already gave him the pill before we came, I told her.  She tried not to laugh, and left the room.  She came back with a big needle, and somehow managed to stick Madison through the towel.  Then she and the vet tech left the room "to give him some time to calm down".

I stayed in the room with Mads still flailing under the blanket, and just like magic, his movements got slower and slower, until finally he just conked out.

Not so tough now, are you big guy?

After about 10 minutes, the vet came back and lifted the towel off, and there was Madison, completely limp.  At first, it was really disconcerting to see him like that, especially because his wide open eyes gave the impression that he was just paralyzed, and busily plotting to kill me in my sleep for this indignity.  After the vet assured me that, just like with human anesthesia, he would have no memory of this time, it started to be sort of funny.  The vet checked his teeth, poked him all over, gave him his vaccines, and injected the microchip, all without so much as a blink out of Madison.  Then she took the opportunity to clip all his nails and comb out a mat in his hair.  When she asked me if there was anything else we should get done while he was asleep, all I could think of was to brush him, since he'd take off your head before he let a brush touch the hair he spends so many hours styling, and so she handed me a brush and I proceeded to remove enough fluffy hair from his coat to stuff an entire shipment of cute Ikea throw pillows.  And then we noticed that there was blood seeping through my pink JCrew sweater.  I pulled up the sleeve and found this:

This is after the vet cleaned it!  After it had been treated by a medical professional!  I swear, it looked a lot worse than that in person. 

I immediately started to gag, because I cannot stand the sight of blood.  And then I gagged some more, and when I started to shake, the vet left Madison passed out on his towel and ushered me to the bathroom, where she washed my arm with veterinary antiseptic and tried to assure me that I wasn't going to die.  Unless it swelled up more, or started to itch, or a rash formed, in which case she said I should go to the ER. 

Ow.

After she bandaged me up, I went back to wait with Madison until he woke up.  I passed the time by reading the book that has taken over my life, and when he started to wake up I almost felt sorry for him.  He looked so confused and would use all his might to lift his head a centimeter, only to have it fall back down.  But then I looked at my bloody arm, and I didn't feel bad for him anymore.

But wait, there's more.  Mistake #5 came when I decided to drive home, since my car was only a block away.  I thought, hey, I'll just drive, since I don't feel like carrying this cat with my busted arm, and my car's right here, and I should move it closer to the house anyway.  After half an hour of driving around looking for a new parking spot, I ended up parking in a spot would have comfortable fit a matchbox car, which was even FARTHER away than my old spot.

Oh, and even though the microchip itself only cost $38.50, Madison's little antics pushed the bill for this visit up to $153.45.

When we finally got home, I kept Madison in the carrier for about an hour, because 1. the vet recommended it, and 2. I didn't feel like being mauled by my own pet twice in the same night.  After listening to him growl and rattle around while we watched a thrilling episode of our new favorite show, Man vs. Wild, we opened the cage and stepped back.

What ensued was just short of hysterical, maybe because I'd lost a little blood, maybe because I was really tired, or maybe because payback really is a bitch.  Whatever the reason, watching Madison stumble around the living room, tripping over his own four feet made my night a little brighter.  It was so funny to me, that I decided to use our new camera to take a video of it.   I don't feel bad, not one bit, for mocking his confusion and mental anguish.  Please see references to $153 and BLOODY ARM above for my reasoning.

[video has since been removed, because as it turns out, I don't know how to properly insert video clips]

In the video, it takes Max approximately 40 seconds to decide that he wants to leave the room because HEY, GUYS SOMEONE LET A DRUNK FERRET IN HERE, but we kept the door shut so that Madison couldn't fall down the stairs and further injure himself (therefore requiring another vet visit, God forbid), and at :45, Max actually hisses at Madison.  I have only heard Max hiss once before, and that was when a strange man was trying stick a thermometer up his butt in a room filled with pictures of snakes.  Madison tries to slit Max's jugular with his claws on a daily basis, but apparently Max found his stoned stumbling very threatening.  After that, Madison lurches around for another two full minutes before I realize, hey, this is boring, I should turn off the camera.   There is a guest appearance by our Tivo and my new purse, though.

You can send my Grammy directly to my home address.

Too Much Reisling. Abort Mission. Kill Alarm Clock.

I had to do something to get that bitter post off the top of the page, but man.  I have nothing to say.  We traveled and visited and ate lots of yummy food and had a wonderful time, but I'm just sitting here, staring at the computer, thinking durrr?  What is this website thing I seem to remember having?  And hey, don't I, like, have a job or something?  That pays me money to buy food?  Crap, I guess I better start going to that again.

I really think that January 2nd should be declared National Re-Setting of the Circadian Rhythm Day, because staying up til 3am on New Year's Eve = sleeping until noon on New Year's Day = can't fall asleep until 2am = brain no work.  Coming off a 10-day vacashun is hard werk, dudes.   I feel sleepy.  Nighty night.

I will try to be back tomorrow.  Maybe with some pictures.  Definitely with some stories.  Maybe even with a coherent sentence or two, but no promises there. 

Hope you all had a happy and safe new year.  Now welcome back to the real world, bitches.