You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July 2008.
And, tea. I am tea.
I was just thinking about how at lunch today, the cafeteria offered french fries. I really, really wanted some fries. With some ketchup. But I reasoned with myself that I could definitely find other, worthier, healthier, less-caloric options. Clearly some of the other options were out: corndogs, or hot dogs with a bun, or cold cuts. I’ve been steering clear of cheese the last few days with my upset stomach. So, all I came up with as my lunch was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I ate it slowly, disregarding my fellow lunch mates’ plates of fries. And their ketchup.
Yes, in addition to my sandwich, today I have consumed everything else I’ve listed. If I am what I eat, I’d rather be any of these things because it’d be better than being fries. For one, I wouldn’t be greasy. All the other things I ate are neatly transportable. And can be consumed at room temperature. Fries have to be warm. They may be a convenient thing to eat some times, but you wouldn’t, say, take them with you to work to eat for your afternoon snack. Gross. I don’t want to be gross.
I am pleased with myself for not eating fries. Even though, truth be told, I’d still love to go eat a big plate of them about now. With ketchup. Funny how the same mind that tells me to eat healthy still has a rebellious side.
Yep, moving in circles these days. Lots going on in my head, none of which I can focus on.
Yesterday I went home sick from work. My stomach hurts still, and so does my head, but even while I was home trying to recover, I was and still am full of distractions. Yesterday was the day to make the Friendship Bread my sister sent me, otherwise I don’t know what would have happened to it. Also, I had the brilliant idea of clipping my dog’s nails myself – which I’ve never done before.
I got home and started working on Hunter’s nails. The front paws went exceptionally well, for which Hunter received ample praise and treats. I told him we’d take a break and do the back legs later. I washed my hands and got work on bread baking. All the while, I wasn’t feeling great. I also need to straighten up the house for Octave practice, which was to be at my house last night.
Hmm. Being sick + Baking bread + Needing to finish Hunter’s nails + Needing to straighten up the house + other miscellaneous worries too petty to name = disastrous things are bound to happen, right?
Right.
I followed the instructions on how to bake the bread, or so I thought. The details said to add all the ingredients together and then scoop some of it into a new baggie to keep the starter going. At least, that’s what I thought they said. I thought the starter looked different than what my sister sent me, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. I put the bread in the oven to bake and turned to my dog so we could take care of those long nails on his back legs.
The first one I clipped went fine. But then I clipped the next one, he yelped, and the blood came seeping out as I had struck his quick. Poor guy. I felt horrible! It kept bleeding for a little while. I tried to make him keep still, but he kept walking around. Then he lay on his side and chewed on the back nail, which, in addition to make it bleed worse, caused him to pull a muscle in his neck which made him limp on his front end. So he’s limping and bleeding all over the kitchen, and I’m trying to figure out if I should call the vet. I scold myself thoroughly and then decide his foot needs to be cleaned off a that point, and he need to stop inducing the bleeding. I put him in the bathtub with some water, rinsed his foot off, drained and wiped down the tub, and then made him lie down in the tub on some towels for a while.
Meanwhile the bread is baking. Fortunately, nothing bad happened during the baking process as it would have required me leaving Hunter upstairs with his blood foot. After a bit, I take a look at his foot and the nail seemed to be dried up. I took him back downstairs and checked on the bread, my heart breaking as Hunter limped around and stared up at me like, you hurt me, so feed me some treats to make me feel better.
That’s when I noticed a step on the instructions for the bread that I had completely missed. You’re SUPPOSED to add flour, sugar, and milk to the starter, then dole out the starter into 4 bags (to share with friends) and THEN proceed to adding the other ingredients. I am a knucklehead. So I really doubt my starter is any good as it has eggs in it. I had thought it was weird for the starter to have eggs in it, but hey, I was just following instructions, or so I thought.
I finally got to lie down for a little while, but I couldn’t sleep because I was worried about the dog, wondering why I had messed up the bread starter when I am actually literate, and I worried about rehearsal preparation. I pondered how I had made two mistakes in the span of 30 minutes. I thought about how much my husband is going to be out of town the next few weeks. I thought about how I need to schedule a dentist appointment and go get the oil changed in my car.
Mind, do you mind winding down a bit? You’re making me sick. I’d like to get off now, please.
then shouldn’t the movie be like the book?
Yeah, I finally watched The Other Boleyn Girl. I loved the book. It was partially chick lit, partially historical fiction, and it was totally impossible to put down when I read it a few years ago. Imagine my excitement when it came to the theatres. I didn’t get to go for various reasons, but I finally got my chance Saturday night. Sheesh! Could you at least PRETEND the story in the film should be anything like the book? Would it be that difficult?
The look of the film was beautiful.Couldn’t the film have been the fulfillment of what the reader actually read? Now I’ll pretend the actors and scenery from the movie actually did the things in the book, or I might just stick to my own original mental representations.
I spent the entire 2 hours thinking, nope, that’s not how it happened in the book. Nope, not that either. I know it’s a long book, but so are the Harry Potter books, but the Harry Potter films at least have a semblance of their source. I spent the entire 2 hours thinking of other stuff, like painting my toenails or how long would my hair grow if I never cut it (don’t worry, honey, I wouldn’t do that to you). I never did that during the book as I never put it down voluntarily. I only put that book down to, you know, like sleep and eat. That was it. Otherwise, my attention was totally snapped up in that book; I never considered my toenails or my hair.
Disappointed, party of one. Sorry, if you liked the film!
I started my painting I mentioned. And I also have gotten mentally geared up for some more re-purposing. Now they are in conflict with one another, like siblings vying for my attention: look at me! look at me!
Silly projects. So self-important.
It’s also hard to work on them while I want to read some books I got at the library. The school library is closed until school starts, so it’s the public library for me. I put some books on hold so they’ll be delivered to the branch near our house (I love that I can walk to it!). Not very clear on how holding books works, I stopped by the library the day after I put the books on hold, as I recalled my neighbor saying her books she’d put on hold were there the very next day. Turns out I am dim. I am in a cue to get the books, but I must wait my turn. Though I am number 1 in the cue, I must wait until the materials are actually available. While I am waiting on the books I put on hold to arrive, I am reading some books I got from the library – why not check them out? They’re already there.
I’m re-reading The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. What a great book. My favorite part of this book so far is that someone who read it before I did took the liberty of taking notes on pretty much every page. Spelling things out for those of us who need the help, like explaining who someone is when they are referenced early on but not introduced yet, or writing literary terms over the paragraph where such literary terms reside. The note-taker also underlines words copiously. It’s like reading your teacher’s copy of the book from which he or she would teach year after year. I think it’s neat!
Were it not for the note-taker, I might have a hard time focusing as it’s becoming very difficult for me to focus lately, even on things that I enjoy. I am blaming the heat. I can’t even hula hoop lately because I keep remembering something else I meant to do. Then when I do whatever it was I interrupted myself to do, I fall into the snare of other distraction. I really hope it’s the heat!
When my husband and I moved to our neighborhood last August, we knew it was “in transition.” We’d both lived or worked in the downtown areas of Boston and Atlanta, so we felt particularly capable of coexisting with a little variety of folks. Actually, I was quite excited about the prospect of living in and among people of different socio-economic statuses.
Our neighborhood flanks a major thoroughfare between several public housing projects and more affluent areas. On their way to Smyrna or Buckhead, our neighborhood is full of temptation: up-and-coming professionals occupy attractive, newly-built houses, and their many possessions are visible through the occasional open set of blinds or garage door. Most of them work during the day, leaving their homes vulnerable to attack.
Yesterday, two houses were burglarized in Riverside. One home was without its vacationing owners. The other belongs to friends of ours who are wonderful and it kills me that somebody hurt them by hurting their house.
I’m trying to keep my cool about the situation that our neighborhood is in. It would be waaaay easy to say, well, screw it! It’s not safe here, we’d best be movin’ on! But I love our neighborhood. A lot of really cool friends live here, some we knew before August 2007, some we’ve met after. I adore our narrow streets and tall trees, and even the daily dose of squirrel dodging on the way in and out of the ‘hood. I know it’s rough around the edges, and even within, but I love it here.
I’ve been glued to our forum all day, and I’ve been pretty opinionated on there. That’s because a few folks – and I don’t blame them! – seem a little pessimistic. One person said, “There goes the neighborhood!” I can overlook that cliche, but I can’t overlook the message of giving up. It’s OUR neighborhood, by golly. Just because people keep breaking into houses and cars, it doesn’t mean our very good efforts that we’ve put in place amount to nothing. I hope we can all become active in taking back our neighborhood.
If you haven’t already, do go and check out Ideal Bite. It’s just awesome. I’ve been subscribing to their daily emails for about a year now and am a big (and now smarter) fan. 
(WARNING: perhaps the faint of heart should read with caution.)
Two nights ago, I let Hunter out, per usual, before we all went to bed for the night. I was in my usual daze I experience as I wait outside for him as he pokes around in the yard and eventually does his business. Suddenly I heard this, well, squeak. It was a rapid-fire squeak, though, not a singular yet repetitious squeak. I also couldn’t place it and couldn’t see very well as I gazed out into the yard next to us, where I fully expected this mystery creature to be, based on the direction of the squeak. Seeing nothing, I tried to find Hunter in the darkness of that side of the deck, where, let me tell you, the lights don’t shine at all.
I spotted Hunter down below, but he seemed to be just meandering around like he always does, seemingly obvious to the sound. Odd, thought I. Why isn’t he reacting to that really loud squeaky noise?
Upon further investigation, I realized that Hunter was the source of the squeak! Eek! Not so much by himself, but via his assistant, er, victim. I ran down the steps on the opposite side of the deck and yelled out to him to Come, let’s go, etc. I wasn’t wearing any shoes so I couldn’t march over to him (you wouldn’t choose to walk barefoot below our deck, either). My husband ran outside to see what was afoot, and we both ran back inside to get shoes and the flashlight.
By the time I shined the flashlight down on that ragamuffin dog, his victim was either consumed or had escaped. My bet is that it had escaped, as Hunter seemed to be sniffing around for it, like he was thinking, Had it here, Lost it there.
Enough was enough, and so I went below deck and collected him in all his hunter Hunter glory. He didn’t have any (ew) blood on his face or body, so whatever it was, we think it got away.
Later my husband and I discussed what we thought Hunter might have been attacking. We’re pretty sure it was a rodent, based on the noise, probably a chipmunk, which we have spotted on occasion and with which we don’t generally take issue. I had an absurd thought that, well, the squeak was too high-pitched to have been a rat (I was thinking it to calm myself down). How did I associate that squeak I’d heard with being too high pitched to have been a rat? Did I think rats, because they are bigger, had a lower, more Barry White-like bass squeak? At which point I started cracking up laughing while I brushed my teeth. I kept making Barry White style squeaks for my husband, who, fortunately, tolerates me.
Hi, I’m Hunter, and I like to kill things in my back yard!
There was a sketch on SNL once with Ana Gasteyer and friends in which she had been named a finalist for MTV VJ. Upon being named, she exclaims, “When I found out I was a finalist, I totally did a pirouette!” which she then demonstrates. So funny. I love this stuff.
Well, my substitute for this statement would be “cartwheel” in lieu of “pirouette” except I don’t actually go and do it at the time. Even if I want to, the conditions are not always suitable. Today I want to do a cartwheel, but I am wearing a dress that would totally do a Marilyn if I did a cartwheel.
Why do I want to cut a cartwheel? Because…
I’m 28 years old and I’m FINALLY going to Europe! (I’ll be 29 when this actually takes place.)
Where I can be whelmed, because, according to the dialog in 10 Things I Hate About You, the question is posed and answered:
“I know you can be overwhelmed, and I know you can be underwhelmed. But can you ever just be whelmed?”
“I think you can in Europe.”
My husband just bought our tickets for a trip to Germany and Belgium next spring. I finally get to see my best friend from high school where she’s been living for three years. I finally get off my native continent. We finally are going to take this trip we’ve been planning theoretically for years. Sweet!
For real, though. Dude, I’m seriously cutting a cartwheel once I get home.
On Saturday morning we went to the Peachtree Road Farmers Market. We’d been planning all week to go as we’ve not been in town on a consistent basis to justify going there and buying a bunch of stuff that would inevitably go to waste in our absence. We bought some lemonade to drink while we walked around. We also purchased blueberries, lemon cucumbers, green beans, zucchini, grape tomatoes, cheese (yum!), and some candied almonds. My bag was full and my wallet was empty by the time we were through buying all that stuff so we had to leave.
Then we went to the art store and bought a big ol’ canvas! It’s ginormous. 48″ x 36″ to be exact, or 4 feet x 3 feet for those of you who need the conversion. We somehow managed to fit it into my tiny car and took it home. I did some preliminary drawing on my sketchpad to plan out my painting. I consulted with some of our Putumayo cds for inspiration as this painting will have a set of tropical islands in it with people dancing on the hill side in the foreground. I <3 Putumayo’s music collections! Once I had my design down, I set to work with color pencils to draw in the design. The most tedious part is going to be the town that will fill out the hillside just beyond the foreground. It took me several hours to fill in maybe a third of it so far, but it was so much fun to create these houses from my imagination and inspiration from the cd covers. There is also definitely some influence from my husband’s pictures of Puerto Rico and his aunt’s pictures of Greece. While it bothers me a little bit that this painting isn’t based on an actual place with its distinct architecture, I believe I am trying to create a Utopia of sorts, one that is multi-cultural in its people and architecture.
Later on Saturday my oldest sister arrived with her two children in tow, as well as my mother, who had been invited along to help my sister with her little ones. It was awesome to see them! Our niece is now 5 and our nephew is 2 as of today. Hunter and our nephew befriended each other last September, and the friendship has stuck. They are boon companions at this point. Plus, Hunter is quite happy to clean our nephew’s face off as our nephew is the perfect height for Hunter to do so.
My mother gave me some Friendship Bread that our middle sister made and sent along. She had also sent along the bread starter. My mother seemed to think that Friendship Bread and chain letters are akin to one another, and as such she gave both the bread and the starter (with its instructions) with apologetic comments like, “Well, if you want to make some bread, here is the started, but don’t make it if you don’t want to.” and “Here are the instructions, but you don’t have to make the bread if you don’t want to.” I finally said that it looked like fun and I thought my sister was very sweet to send it all along. And I do think it sounds fun and I’ll try it out. I already have failed a little, though, as I did not follow yesterday’s instructions to “mush the dough” on day 2. Whoops. I really enjoy the instruction sheet the most in the line that I might need to “burp the dough” at times. Hee hee.
Sunday afternoon I went to go see The Color Purple at the Fabulous Fox Theatre with my mother-in-law and her childhood friend, who also brought her sister and six-months-pregnant daughter. It was a wonderful production and a wonderful tale. The Fox has issues though! Without going into to much detail, I must mention that the Fox should take a good look at the stairs going up to the balcony and issue warnings for people with canes and knee problems who want to purchase tickets up there. Also, they should investigate the sturdiness of their railings as we saw one lady completely wipe out. And the ushers should not chat during the show. That’s all I’ll say. Anyone who wants more detail is more than welcome to ask me.
It was a nice weekend, all-in-all. I came to the realization last night that I need to go back on the diet wagon again, at least more on the exercise wagon. I’m not eating badly, but I haven’t been hoopin’ it up like I should or walking as much as I should. I made it this far doing so many things right, with a plan I made for myself using wonderful resources found in other people I know. I can’t just let myself go like I have been the last month or so. I came to this realization because I was lying down on the couch (lazy girl!) because I had a migraine (legitimately) when my husband gave me an affectionate pat on the back, expressing his hope that I would feel better soon. The resulting wiggle of fat all over my mid-section that I experienced was totally disgusting so I got up right then and hula hooped for 30 minutes. Later I hula hooped for 30+ more minutes while I watched a movie. I gotta get away from the tv more often. I need to read more and of course work on my gargantuan painting. And my house could use some cleaning, too. My command to myself: stop being lazy!
Come on, celebrities?
I am really, really sick of celebrity worship. Yes, it’s nice to have a favorite actor or actress and follow his or her career. It’s nice to care about the progression of an actor as he moves from bit parts to a leading role. It’s way too easy to slink into wearing the Shoes of Worship, though. I’ve been there. I totally had a thing for Heath Ledger. But I think his tragic death really woke me up to the reality that as much as I can care for someone who exists somewhere out there, elusive to an actual friendship, that person doesn’t know (and probably doesn’t care) who I am.
When (and if) I act crazy, Britney does not go grocery store shopping to find photos of me plastered to the cover of the Inquirer.
When I do something good (because in the past, all I have done is be selfish), Paris is not going to come across an article about me on cnn.com and feel better about me.
If I gain weight, get photographed on the beach looking horrendous, Nicole and Lindsay do not laugh at me on the cover of US Weekly. Maybe rumors will circulate that I am with child, but once it’s confirmed that, oh, I am just fat, maybe Kiersty Alley will call me up – but it’s not likely.
I just can’t find it in myself to continually care about these people. They are not my friends. They do not call to check up on me. They don’t send me Christmas cards or Google Map my house. They don’t search for my name online or look me up on imdb.com.
You may say I’m jealous. That I want to be famous. No, Not really. I just worry that worship these people who have an ability to get recognition because of other people we don’t know about – casters, promoters, agents, etc., their lives are no longer their own. Personally, I enjoy NOT being followed or photographed everywhere I go. I like the freedom of buying what I want, and that doesn’t have to include being fashionable, lest someone poke fun at me in writing. I like being able to travel down the road and not having to worry about getting into an accident because the paparazzi are in pursuit of an exorbitant magazine cover shot.
I also really like being friends with and caring about people I actually know. Friends that I think are just as beautiful, talented, and fashionable as any Hollywood starlet. I’m in love with the Leading Man of my life, and I will always be his Leading Lady. I love caring passionately about music, our marriage, our dog, our faith, our home – and I love that no one is documenting it other than us.
