I have sort of a problem when it comes to zipping up my pants. If my pants have the standard fixtures — one button, one zipper — everything is fine. But if there are, say, two buttons and a zipper, my dumb brain makes me fasten the two buttons and then says “we just fastened two fixtures, time to leave.” So this means I am often running around the workplace with my pants unzipped. (more…)
Hello! Long time no write.
Last week I went to Natchez for a work thing, and instead of staying in a hotel I drove a little extra way to go see my grandmother. This makes me sound like I am a nice person, but really, I just wanted some fried chicken and apple pie. My grandmother and I had a big dinner and then got into our pajamas early so we could watch tv uninterrupted (she is my kind of lady). It turns out that we could not watch tv uninterrupted because she kept talking…during Grey’s Anatomy when Meredith was hovering between life and death and hanging out with Denny Duquette! I managed not to punch her somehow.
I told my grandmother that I like medical shows, especially ones that feature gory surgery:
Me: I think I was a doctor in a past life.
Grandmother: (skeptical) Well….maybe a nurse.
Ahem.
The rest of my weekend was pretty low-key (except for driving around with Gorjus and drinking Milwaukee’s Best) and then last night the excitement level rose pretty high. I was making spinach fettucine and had started on the alfredo sauce when I heard something rustling above the cabinet. I thought it was nothing until I heard it again. AND THEN I HEARD IT AGAIN so I did what anyone who has a man in the house would do and I yelled for Larry to come investigate the potential rodent that was watching me make alfredo sauce.
He came in, got on a ladder, found no rodent, told me I was crazy, went back into the living room. AND THEN I HEARD IT AGAIN so I yelled for him again. This time it sounded like it was coming from inside the cabinet, the one directly over the stove. What happens if whatever’s up there falls into the sauce? Larry asked. Then we go to McDonald’s, I said.
Larry opened the cabinet, and the biggest, most horrifying, at least three-inch-long roach fell out of the cabinet…and directly into the saucepan. At this point Larry turned and left the room. It is possible that he scurried a little. Ok, fine: he ran.
While it didn’t occur to me to, um, move the pan before opening the cabinet of death, we didn’t end up going to McDonald’s after all — I hadn’t added the cheese to the sauce yet so I just started over (Parmesan is a bitch to grate and if I’d already added it, we would’ve had Big Macs for dinner). I told Larry that if Anthony Bourdain was there he would’ve called us pussies and eaten the sauce anyway, citing the tiny Ecuardorian village that considers roaches floating in cream sauce a delicacy. And then we debated whether roaches are eaten in any culture, or if they are emperically and universally considered vile, loathsome harbingers of evil and pestilence.
I celebrated President’s Day like George Washington and Abraham Lincoln would’ve wanted me to. I read a book and went to a movie. (more…)
I took yesterday off to go to a couple of doctor’s appointments, and then one of them was cancelled, so basically I took the day off to have my endocrinologist feel up my neck for 15 minutes. Therefore, I made Valentine’s cupcakes.
I have to go do official things now, like eat Girl Scout cookies and find the answer to questions. And read Us Weekly’s blog.
Happy Monday, and welcome.
I give you the funniest picture of my animals of all time, taken with the worst camera of all time (the Polaroid i-Zone — one of those instant cameras that gives you a picture about an inch big — which I found in a bowl (?) under the bed in the guest room and which was the first camera handy). (more…)
In which I get called fat, I want to order ugly checks, and I am more high-tech than you. (more…)
Here in Jaxxon the celebrity sighting quotient is rather low. So when Larry and I were having dinner at Fenian’s Saturday night and Ty Pennington walked in, it was kind of exciting. If by “exciting” you mean “made me laugh really hard for no reason.” (more…)
Do you miss the days of going to your mailbox and finding an unexpected letter from a friend? Did you ever have such days? I did, and I check the mail each day hoping that someone has written me a letter. Besides Chase Visa. Corie at Callalillie misses those days, too, and has started The Modern Letter Project. If you are epistolarily inclined, join it, why don’t you?
I was just in a meeting with no less than five women who were dressed like this:
black pants
black hose
black flats, probably Easy Spirits or Grasshoppers
white silk shell
loud tweed blazer
There was also a lady wearing a fleece jacket with two snowmen on it. I know I am being close-minded, but the snowman — especially worn as adornment here in Mississippi where we HAVE NO SNOWMEN — should be relegated to the Christmas season only. But maybe they were valentine snowmen and I am being insensitive to the year-round snowman culture. (Oh god, please let there be a year-round snowman culture!)
This lady was also in the meeting. She said hello and fake smiled at me. I know it was a fake smile because I could still see her when she turned away and her face went totally slack. I sort of love how our lack of affection for each other is equally matched.
After the meeting lunch was served. People: I have seen the enemy, and it is the beef stroganoff I just attempted to eat. I hate stroganoff of any kind, generally — the tough meatball variety was in my [redacted]’s repertoire and I had to choke it down for 10 years — but I thought it might be fun to try it again. I chose the wrong place for revisiting my demons. First, the only thing “stroganoff” about it was the presence of egg noodles. It was ground beef (flavorless, like the kind on top of a Totino’s Party Pizza) and egg noodles floating in broth. Where was the creamy sauce? Where was the tender beef? I’m looking at the wikipedia entry now and after carefully comparing notes, one thing is clear: I just ate a few bites of stroga-not.
Um. Top Chef finale. Kind of boring. Especially since I already knew who won. Thanks, internet.
But on to more pressing matters: Lulu, o she of the high-pitched bark, is having hip surgery today. I always admired her slender figure but it turns out her little hips just do not work, and she has really bad hip dysplasia, and now it is time for the surgery. If I was Oprah, Lulu would get two brand-new hips; as it is she must get the ghetto hip salvage surgery. Surgery at all is better than Pete having to push Lulu’s puppy wheelchair, so if you can, please send us some positive veterinary vibes today.
In other news, after overdosing yesterday on crappy food I decided to keep it coming; at lunch I went to Sonic and sat in my car eating fried cheese and reading a book about neuroscience while “SexyBack” played on the radio. Hi. My name is Sally. I am odd.