Ok, Bitches.

Not to be a total OCD bride, but somehow I managed to pick out a dress that, while totally gorgeous and stunning, isn't necessarily the most *ahem,* forgiving.

Let's just say that I'll look like Catherine Zeta Jones' slightly taller cousin in it if I manage to cut out the bottles of wine and wheels of cheese while also waking up early enough to do something other than eat peanut butter by the spoonful in the mornings.

If I don't accomplish those things - I've unfortunately selected a dress that will not only provide ZERO support for an increased bust size, but also highlight any folds of back fat for all the world to see with the added bonus of making my hips look like a baby hippo (aw, cute!).

You'd think that with nuptials approximately 9 months away, and a dress fitting looming in only 4... that I'd have my ass firmly in gear.  Or that I'd at least be reacquainting myself with the large, scary trainer man of my past... but NO.

Nothing of the sort.

Instead, I've moved back in with my parents (who cook large well rounded meals daily, and also have a massive wine cellar which is tapped every evening..), quit the gym, and allowed myself to foolishly purchase pants in a larger size (dammit!).

This leaves me in a diminished state and not nearly as toned, firm, or confident as I was exactly this time last year.

So, what does a desperate white female do when faced with such a situation?

She watches infomercials.

Yup, infomercials.

Then she googles, said miracle product and manages to do a "thorough" online search to qualify the likelihood that somehow a skinny blond bitch bouncing around to b-list hip hop will somehow be motivating enough for me to do 374 jumping jacks and 82 minutes of lunges.

Even as I hit "purchase" I knew that I was doomed.  When the skinny bitch can't see that I've opted to take a 8 minute break in the middle of her "inferno" workout.. how am I supposed to be held accountable?

Regardless, I've purchased it.  I feel that if I don't stop for a snack in the middle of the first workout, I will have been moderately successful.

But seriously, who wouldn't want to jump around with this crazy chick?

Reheating

Generally I am proficient at food preparation, specifically when I'm preparing left overs.  I know how long to microwave garlic mashed potatoes to get the cheese stretchy without drying out the butter... how long to bake lasagna back to perfection and how long it takes to reconstitute chowder on the stove with a little extra wine and milk..

Burgers, however - are difficult.

Sunday night the boy and I made DELICIOUS sliders on the grill (yay! the grill is back in use for the season), and we had leftovers.  Which I wanted.  badly.  However every method I consdiered sounded crappy.

Microwave?                ew, rubber
Oven?                         crispy..
Back on the Grill?        dry, dry, DRY

So, I started texting.  Texted the boy - "microwave with cover?"  Uhhhh no, thanks though! Texted my mom - "uhhhh eat it cold?" and miss out on the fatty juices!? no thanks! (did I mention I put blue cheese crumbles IN the patties, cause I did!)

Finally McCloud had a stroke of brilliance, "Call Lindsay."

Lindsay! of course! why didn't I think to call the only girl I know who a) lives in the heartland, b) owns a grill and c) can generally be considered the proud owner of over 200 lbs of buffalo meat in her freezer.

Lindsay.  Lindsay will DEFINITELY know how to solve my hunger problem.

She didn't answer, so I sent the SOS text that garnered an immediate reply "S.O.S. Domestic issue, call!"

She called. immediately.

I repeated the issue, conditions and concerns (burgers, cold, grill, microwave, oven and stove at my disposal, don't want them dry or gross). She pondered for approximately 1.2 seconds before declaring:


"Skillet on high, use beer."


Obviously.  Obviously there is beer involved, why didn't I assume that was the solution? I usually assume that beer is the solution, I must be losing my touch...

So I went for it. cracked a coors light, put about 1/4cup into the hot skillet and tossed my little patties in there.  It worked like a dream.  The steam kept the patties moist, the skillet kept the outside "grilled" and the cheese got perfectly gooey!

I only had one bun left, so I had to improvise with lettuce tops for the little guys, but all in all it was a delicious success. A delicious, juicy, melted success.

One that I regretted only slightly at my 5:45am wake up call for the gym. 

Office Apparel

It's monday. its raining. and I have a cold. 

Not a lot going for the day so far aside from the caramels and Thin Mints that I shoved in my congested face for comfort (even though I could barely register their taste).  kudos me, I don't even have to taste junk food to justify it!

Anyway, McCloud mentioned that she was wearing the same outfit as last night, which immediately reminded me that I am am wearing the same thing I wore out on Saturday night.  Granted I traded mine in for sweats and a blankie yesterday (along with a box of tissues and some sudafed).  But it did get me wondering.  How in the hell did I say to myself "nice outfit Gingham, go paint the town!" on Saturday, then wake up this morning and think "gee I look professional." about the exact. same. outfit. same shoes. same shirt, same scarf. SAME SAME.

Questionable?

The real alarm is I can't tell if it's a great saturday night outfit, and a ridiculously inappropriate office ensemble, or vice versa. Or what if it's neither? and its just a sad boring outfit regardless of the time of day??

This cold is seriously messing with my ability to think clearly.

snoodles. time for more tasteless candy.

Tennis, anyone?

McCloud and I have come to the shocking realization that we often have an easier time making plans (and friends) with folks we don't know, than we do convincing our current acquaintances to join us for an event.  Sure, we're strong personalities, and sure that's not everyone's cup of tea.  But it does seem like at some point it should be easier to convince current friends to come out and play than to convince total strangers to buy us a drink.

On more than one occasion we have had space (in the hotel, on the plane, in our bed) for someone, and struggled to get anyone from the current roster to partake, whereas we seem to easily garner attention (and presents!) from random folks around town (on the street, at the bar, in our bed...).

Is this another red flag? what does is say about our friends, ourselves or our choices??

hmm.

in other news, anyone want in on a lecture with us this evening?

Job. Interviews.

So, I'm applying for my boss' job. Yup. Hoping to join the ranks of big kids as a manager.

Odds? Completely questionable.

The internal interview process has been, well...extended. And I'm suited (or should I say skirted?) up for the final one. Today.

According to my co-worker, "you look much better wearing what you are today than for your first one and the second one in your wool sweats."

Thanks? You are the BEST at backhanded compliments. And, those aren't sweats. The waistband rarely fits and they were expensive. Asshole.

In good news, I'm fairly certain I'll be able to keep a smile on my face as I just saw a woman moon most of 4th avenue. At first I wasn't sure it was a woman ass I had just seen . In fact, I kinda thought it was a dude's UNTIL I looked again (yes, I stare at car crashes, and anything vaguely grotesque: I consider it to be one of my human "conditions") and I saw her flashing her tits for everyone on 4th. So it's a chick. Nice. Awesome. I saw multiple people do U-turns on the sidewalk.

And yup, I laughed out loud. Like a guttural belly-laugh. I'm resigned to the fact that I'm going to hell, so it only seemed appropriate. In fairness, I know this woman is most likely severely mentally ill (or just awesome!) and I wish her all the best in her pursuits. And I thank her unjudgingly (I may have made this word up) and unconditionally for putting a smile on my face today.

Wish me luck. Please.

Bachelorette Backslide...

So, I've been attempting to process the mountain of baked goods and phallic paraphenalia that was the bachelorette trip last weekend.

While it resulted in good times for all and some serious dancing (uh.. .my quads are sore?) there are a few moments that stand out in my memory and should be relived so as to make sure that I learn all possible lessons from them.  Ok, maybe just one.  

Strip Tease Aerobics.

Every party needs it's stereotypical "stripper" event, and I for one, considered some sort of aerobic activity a good counterbalance to the cookies, and a creative way to check this bachelorette box.  After a morning of gluttony, and a surprisingly beautiful walk on the sunny beach, all the girls (maybe a bakers dozen of us..) changed into yoga pants and sports bras so as to be suitably dressed for our cardio session.

As it turns out, any level of "athletic support" was totally unnecessary, since what walked through the door at the bride-to-be's beautiful beach home was less "sports club fitness trainer" and more "Hartford-Hooker."  Three of them in fact. three really, really tired looking... strippers?

They were dressed to impress.. short-shorts, yellowed lucite heels (what makes lucite yellow?) and of course, seriously tragic wet look curls.  I gave a cohort a panicked look, and we immediately dashed for the fridge, desperate to swipe the last bottle of prosecco and hopefully alleviate the stress of what was most certainly NOT going to be a glorified step aerobics class...

It started with Stripper #1 (the attractive one) explaining to us that her business "Goddess-N-Motion" was meant to inspire confidence and "swagger."

Really.

At this point all it was inspiring me to do was drink more, and make a mental note to ask The Boy about strippers.

We were then introduced to Stripper #2 (the squishy one), who was to be our "instructor" for the afternoon.  Stripper #2 was incapable of speaking up (I know we're loud, but still), incapable of keeping her shorts zipped (weird, are those trick shorts?) and also totally revolting.  She kept claiming that stripping had "Totally transfoooooormed" her body which was accompanied by really ridiculous self touch/rub moves.

Really.

At this point I was wondering a) what could it possibly have transformed from. and b) was this the sort of transformation that I was personally looking for...

Then we "danced" or rather, we crawled.  We were told to move slower and constantly touch our bodies, ideally our boobs, but also our thighs (uh, k). The crawling was ok, but I really wished that I had made less of an effort to pack a sportsbra and more of an effort to pack knee pads. they would have been helpful for the hard tile floor, and "approach" that we were instructed to take when approaching our "lover" or.... teddy bear?

The Strippers had convienently brought I gigantic, stuffed, state-fair-sized teddy bear.  He was our "client."

Really.

Client. Where exactly had Teddy been? who had he been with and when (pray tell) was the last time we thought that Teddy's plush exterior got the gift of a good cleansing? My assumption was, NEVER, so I chose to ignore teddy, and his stubby extremities in favor of a good long time friend who had the unfortunate experience of me climbing all over her, crawling, turning and attemping a seductive "leg routine" from the floor which I can only imagine looked less like an enticing dance, and more like a beetle struggling to right itself in the middle of a sidewalk.

From there it was downhill.  Poor Stripper #2 kept trying to anoint us with her "skills" but no one cared. at all.  This was when I started to feel guilty.  12(ish) girls, giggling and mocking their livelihood can't feel good.. I felt a twinge of over-privileged guilt sneak up on me, which is when I noticed Stripper #3 (the sad one).  Stripper #3 looked like she needed some love.  or at least some sleep, and possibly some rehab.


While I really wanted to chat the girls up when we were done learning the "exotic art of striptease," It seemed a little rude to question them like specimens at a World's Fair, but I really didn't know what else to talk about.. options included:

"nice... heels..."

"is that L.A. Look in your hair?"

"where did you find Teddy"

or

"What's that scar from?"

None of them seemed like good options and I felt sorta like a bitch for constantly making sure none of them wandered off in the house, but hey, I judge. Its what I do.

Anyway, I'm fairly certain that the "aerobics" did nothing to lift, tone, or transform my backside.  Hence, I'm fairly certain that I brought some of those baked good home with me (on my ass).  But what's a weekend among friends if not fattening.

Why hello

lovely.

My girl scout cookies have ARRIVED! Thin Mint abundance for all.

YAY!

O.L.D.

So, when I was a kid my mother insisted on dressing my sister and me up on a fairly regular basis: holidays, first day of school, family dinners, plane rides (don't know why, but to this day I usually look nice on airplanes. exceptions include: I'm too fat to fit back into my jeans or too hungover to figure out how to put my jeans on)

Anyway, that isn't really here nor there except that during these dress-ups I often remember my mother getting dressed first and tucking anything she could find into her tights or underwear (okay, it was mostly shirts being tucked) and then it was our turn. Me first, then my darling little sister. I can safely say we both HATED it and tried to wiggle our shirts out of our undies or tights or horrifically both. It was frightfully uncomfortable and almost always resulted in clothing in some crevasse where no clothing belongs.

FAST FORWARD to now. like today. this morning. I effing tucked my shirt into my tights. It only made sense. SOMETHING had to hold it in the skirt, which has an elastic waistband and the shirt is a little short. I am here to report that this method is TOTALLY working as my shirt has managed to stay tucked in to not only my skirt, but my tights and miraculously there is no wedgie involved. The only slight fail is that I should probably be rocking spanx instead of tights. Worse things have happened, I suppose.

I am OLD. that is all this can mean.

Food Groups?

Today I have consumed:

• 16oz Soy Latte (bravely avoided the ham and cheese croissant... go me)
• Fiber One Granola bar
• string cheese
• rice cake (with tahini and seaweed)
• American cheese (on the rice cake)
• Pizza flavored Pringles "Styx"  (surprisingly delicious)

I'm fairly certain I don't know what food gorups half of these foods even go in.

I need a meal.....

Croissants: my other true love..

In spite of the fact that most people classify me as a "strong woman," is seems that I have, what can only be consisdering "numerous," weaknesses.  Burgers, cheese, a nice italian shoe... you name it.  But one stalwart item on that list is the delicious, comforting flakiness of a croissant. 

Some weekends I even set an alarm so that I make it to my local coffee house before they sell out of their limited number of exceptional ham and cheese croissants (which just happen to be my favorite variety..).

Croissants are lovely.  They pull apart like string cheese (check! another weakness), are savory, buttery, filling (if you eat at least 3), and the perfect way to hold a sandwich together.  Which is precisely why I have to limit my exposure to them.  I have learned that the number of croissants I consume increases exponentially with the number of times that I see croissants available for consumption. 

Easy enough.  If I avoid seeing them, I avoid eating them.  Out of sight, out of mind.

Which is why it is WHOLLY inappropriate that the latest incarnation of the perpetually doomed "cafe" at my gym has started stocking them fresh, on a daily basis in their ridiculous little display case.  As though waking up an hour early to exercise didn't require ENOUGH will power and self control, now I have to fight my pastry addiction on top of it?

It's crap if you ask me. Total, total crap.

Well, Good Morning...

Nausea! There you are. How I've missed you so.

I wish you came with me to Palm Springs when I decided to eat an entire bag of Jelly Beans followed by Cadbury Chocolate Eggs (we are NOT talking single serving sizes either).

Or if only you had been around when I decided to drink my weight on Monday...maybe I wouldn't have felt so bad on Tuesday had you been around and helped with some sort of purge.

But instead, I ate HUGE sandwich called a "hot Richard" on Tuesday in feeble attempt to feel better from absurd consumption on Monday. I could have used you then too.

The only drawback is the actual anxiety that inspires my otherwise delightful relationship with you, nausea...luckily there is wine and melatonin for that.

Let's stick together for awhile.

Yours Truly (and conjoined at the hip for now...)

M&N

It's 5:15...

and I've yet to pull it together as Gingham suggested we would be able to do. I'm not sure if I'm disappointed in myself for not being able to do so or if I'm slightly annoyed by her optimism. Now, I'm not much of a hater and I typically welcome optimism, so it's probably just me. So today I think I hate myself. Or my-yesterday-self for all out reckless consumption.

p.s. the champagne in that photo on the airplane was D-I-S-G-U-S-T-I-N-G. And it's a miracle I remember that because the rest of the flight, is well, completely questionable.

Uh, what?

Let's see.  I woke up this morning, POSSIBLY still drunk and definitely smelling like a terrible combination of the champange, wine, vodka, airplane "short ribs" and peanut butter that I consumed en masse yesterday.

I'm sure that'll we'll pull it together here shortly, but for the moment McCloud and I are out of commission.  In case you were wondering why we are out of order, see below.

First. the Drink that Destroyed us (Champagne and V8 Splash, health food!)

Which led to me taking a picture of a girl at the Palm Springs airport leaving the restroom who is NOT in fact McCloud, though at the time I thought it was. Though I'm not sure that even makes it ok.

THEN, we dedided to drop the V8 Splash and go straight for the Champ and snack mix.

Which Meant that I ate ALLL of the "short ribs" that Alaska airlines so kindly served us.

 

Ew. 

Hopefully I'll be back to sorta normal soon.  we have some good (though not super entertaining) stories form the weekend. I think.  Can't be certain.

Sunshine Summertime!

Tomorrow McCloud and I depart for Palm Springs and the promise of sunshine and goosey's by the pool. 

Except its a crappy promise because the current weather forecast is calling for showers and 68. 

BITCHES. 

Not only is that totally unacceptable its downright depressing, especially given the fact that I almost saw an abdominal muscle yesterday and its going to be even harder to see it if I'm lounging in sweats and a hoodie by the pool.  At least the Olympics are on so we can entertain ourselves with room service and obscure displays of winter athleticism while the clouds roll by.. 

Not exactly what I had in mind but oh well.  I'm still packing my bikini, but I'm tossing in some Seattle-clothing as well just in case I have to scamper through puddles to get to a last minutes mani, or massage or whatever.

The cruel irony is that its supposed to be blazing sunshine here all weekend.

BITCHES!

Happy V-day, or Three-day, or whatever...

I am one of those girls who doesn't buy into the cynical disapproval of Valentine's Day.  Yeah, yeah, I get it.  You're so cool that no "hallmark holiday" is going to cause you to spend money, or emote, or plan a fun date.  RAD, gee I'm so jealous of the girl who gets to date you.

I mean really, I'll get off this rant shortly (mostly because it seems like no one is ever interested in my defense of Valentine's Day), but SHUT UP.  Nobody cares. You aren't saying anything interesting, and your lack of participation is neither impressive, admirable, nor shockingly independent.  Go home.

Here is why I like Valentine's Day. 

1) There is seasonal candy associated with it.  Good candy too. Don't take that away from me.

2) It's an excuse to have a nice date.  No it shouldn't be the most interesting, or even the most romantic night of the year. But we all need a little reason to make reservations and spend more time thinking about dinner with someone we love than looking up the number for our favorite sushi takeout place.

3) Who cares if its made up.  Mother's Day is made up and you still honor her with a card, and sometimes even brunch... Let's see, what else is arbitrary... St. Patrick's Day (yup, you get shitfaced for that holiday), Mardi Gras, Flag Day, Black Friday... all willingly celebrated without any compelling personal factor or religious belief as far as I can tell.

SO STOP WHINING.  It's just another excuse for a good meal and fun evening.  You are not being persecuted, you are not being tortured any more than green beer and bagels on St Patty's day is an unwelcome (although delicious) tradition for some reason.. so buy a cheap flower, put on a nice shirt and have a nice glass of wine.  you're FINE.

(ok, I'm done)

So let's get back to this year's Valentine's Day.  Past years have brought weird events.  More than a couple of years have seen ex boyfriends show up unannounced to varying levels of reception.  Recently though I've limited myself to just the one boy I was dating at the time, and a usually a decent dinner.  My last boyfriend was a Valentine's Hater and it was all I could do to get him to pay his usual attention to me on V-day.  I mean really.  Not celebrating is one thing, but actively avoiding me? that's just sort of mean.

Now, The Boy is not that sort.  He doesn't really go over the top or anything, but so far he's made a good show of planning dinner, putting on a nice shirt and at least remembering to wear his "dress" converse for the occasion.  Last year I even got an orchid with candy stuffed all around it.  (double win).  This year however presented a new challenge. - The Ex.

Unlike past ex appearances, this one was invited, and in fact, the V-Day overlap wasn't planned. Its just that Valentine's Day happened to overlap with President's Day (yet another arbitrary day, but this one you don't have to work on.. unless you want to protest that by putting in a 12 hour day..).  So the Ex was here for a fun long weekend which left the question of how to handle plans for V-Day.  He was only here for 3 days, so blowing off one of those days completely seemed weird, but it also seemed contrary to my Pro-V-Day attitude to sacrifice my moral high ground and skip date night all together. 

So I compromised.  The Boy and I had our Happy Hour date (he knows me so well).  Then we joined the Ex (and McCloud) for post-dinner drinks and hang time.  Not the most traditional way to spend the evening, and in fact almost everyone I know offered up some form of "Are you INSANE."  But it worked, and it wasn't weird (at least, it wasn't weird for me). 

The possible weirdness between The Boy and the Ex, caused me to lower my standards and back off my usual V-Day zeal, so I wasn't as festive as I like to be, but it eneded up being a night for the scrapbook.  After about 3 (more) glasses of wine, McCloud departed (it was a sunday afterall..) and left me and the boys to continue with the rampage. 

I'm not sure when the dynamic shifted, but at some point I lifted my head out of my wine glass and realized that they were ganging up on me and that me (and my quirks and oddities) had been the subject of ridicule for the last 45 minutes.  I don't know what I was expecting, but I think it was something closer to unfailing adoration from both of them, and not that I would become some common enemy that bonded them together...

So the boys continued their common attack and "forced" me to leave my cute comfortable trendy Asian Bistro for a crappy dive bar. in a strip mall. with gross carpeted floors.  vomit.

We spent the next couple of hours drinking beers and "swapping stories" of who had dealt with the most obnoxious part of me UM HELLO, I'm RIGHT HERE. I CAN HEAR YOU.  Before we abandonded the bar for a late night Rock Band session. 

So yes.  I drank all night with my current boyfriend, ex boyfriend and then attempted to hammer out some butchered version of Beatles songs while they continued to bond over the trials and tribulations of dating a girl like me.  At least I had already gotten my martinis and oysters ...

I guess I can call V-Day (or three-day) 2010 a rousing success.  If nothing else it was wildly entertaining and rendered me mostly useless for all of Monday.

Thanks Cupid. 

What's for Breakfast?

I awoke at not my house on Sunday morning, which was just as well as the fridge was STOCKED full of delicious food. So, I decided to make an amazing breakfast (why not really just drive home the fact that I am the shit...) So, I went for a variation of a Benedict: English muffin bottom, basil, creamy brie beneath a yellow tomato with Swiss cheese on top that was broiled to a melty perfection and topped with a poached egg and avocado slices on top. YUM. (things I should have taken a photo of...noted).

But the fridge also had this little lonely bunch of asparagus, which I have come to LOVE grilled with some olive oil and salt and pepper on top. So I indulged and served it with breakfast. Seemed to be a pretty big hit despite the total LACK of seasonality (hey, he bought it, not me)

BUT, the veggie breakfast material really just reminded me of this one sleepover I had with a TOTAL hippie (who in fact was nicknamed and so commonly referred to as "hippie" that I literally blanked on his real name more than once...ooops). Anyway, he made me eggs, rice and broccoli for breakfast. This was nearly as entertaining to me as making out on his floor the night before while listening to Discovery and Passion Pit (things damaged in rolly make out: Fendi sunglasses, damn, but worth it, I guess?). But backup: Steamed broccoli?! I'm a healthy eater, but really? It has now become apparent to me that there is a fine veggie line associated with breakfast, but if you douse it in olive oil the odds of a good response are significantly higher.

In other, much more self loathsome news, I am apparently NOT the shit as the stocked fridge suitor has kicked me to the curb. Onwards and Upwards...

New Low (again).

So, I'm on day two of teaching my three day seminar, which really translates as three days of snacks, doughnuts and bagel sandwiches.  I usually manage to come prepared and eat a filling breakfast so as to avoid doughnuts and trail mix for as long as possible, but unfortunately, my little "work station" (for when students are working away and I get to sit down) is right next to the "doughnut bench."

Today, my strength faltered and crumbled into a heap.  After devouring a bag of peanut m&ms I tried to ignore the one lonely maple bar for as long as possible, but it just didn't happen. 

After about 40 minutes I caved, but maintained the illusion that I wouldn't eat a whole maple bar.  Which meant I needed a knife.  which of course I didn't have, but there were some spoons so I grabbed that and shaved off a sliver of maple bar...

Flash forward 10 minutes and I found myself SPOONING the remaining maple bar into my mouth and caught completely off guard by someone asking me a question.   Total doughnut fail.

spoon down, Gingham... Spoon down.

Bacon. a love affair.

Well, the last few weeks have been shockingly good for my figure and the impending Palm Springs trip.  The trainer has gone so far as to even say "your ass is getting smaller." and "you don't look as puffy as you used to."

Ah, men have such a way with words...

Anyway, I was totally on track and moving and feeling really good about myself and what I was choosing to shove in the intake hole.  Note the use of the word was.  The streak is gone. and rightfully so, since yesterday was the Superbowl, and I was starving when I hit the store to shop for snacks.

First mistake: Blue Cheese Dressing with Bacon.

This wouldn't really be a mistake, except that I spent most of the first half of the game grabbing anything within reach and dunking it into a bowl of that delicious stuff.
I say "most" of the first half, because just before The Who embarrassed themselves in front of millions, I moved along to something else terrible for me....

Second Mistake: Bacon Wrapped Club Crackers.
I'm not really too sure how I managed to go so long without knowing about these, but now I realize that I didn't go long enough without knowing about them... One of our hosts good friends lovingly made us a tray of delicious club crackers wrapped in the thickest bacon(/pork steaks) I have ever seen.  Then he popped them in the oven to bake and when they came out? BAM, crispy deliciousness.  I ate about 3 before I felt like passing out so I stopped briefly.  However, somewhere in the second half (BORING), I got up to refill some snack plates and managed to see the fresh (second batch) of bacon crackers cooling on the stove.  So I went over and took a peak.

"hmm" I thought. "where did all of the grease go?" (since such thick bacon must have melted off a SIGNIFICANT amount of fat). I wouldn't even question this if I wasn't cooking bacon often enough to have a fairly refined sense of how much grease different types and cuts of bacon produce so that I can be on standby with the appropriate "pour off" device. 

then it hit me.

the grease didn't evaporate. it just went IN the crackers.  (vomit).

The files are iiiiiiiiiiiin the computer......

Gym Time.  

Had I known...

I would have campaigned to contribute. Tales of Love and Lust in Seattle?! Can they read minds?! Hello, that has been the past six months of my life. Damn missed opportunities in publishing.

(in other news the article lacked intrigue and juicy material...which left me feeling a little void and as though my experiences in Seattle would have found shelter in the little love nest known as Seattle Metropolitan)

Don't fret, I'll keep dreaming.

Expensive Hobbies.

So, I'm generally comfortable with my level of (absurd) indugences, but its become more and more apparent that I have gotten used to some seriously expensive hobbies.  Recently the question as to whether or not I should reenter the world of horse ownership caused me to take a look at my finances. 

Currently most of my $$ goes to:

Wine
Oysters (to have with the wine, obvi)
The Trainer
The Therapist
The Shopping

These are expensive outlets.  Why couldn't I just really love knitting and collecting used DVDs? My 401k would certainly appreciate it, PLUS I'd be able to produce my own knitwear! But alas I seem to spend most of my time (and money) on things that are literally commanded by the clock.  Either they charge by the hour (trainer, therapist), or I'm urged by time restraints to consume appropriately (thank you Happy Hour and limited online sales).  Basically this leaves less disposible income readily available to take care of this pretty thing: (I know, I know, its not a bottle of booze, or a hamburger or anything sauteed in ANYTHING, but still... she's pretty)

So, true to form, I continue to add serious cash drains without really removing anything from the list.  In theory if I manage to spend any time at all with the big Hay Burner, then I should be spending less on The Trainer, and should definitely be spending less time (and money) at Happy Hour.  So really this should all contribute to the big bad goal of "get in shape, have fun doing it."  and the real kicker is that might reduce the other questionable decisions that I tend to make. 

See how good I am at convincing myself of potentially horrendous life choices? Ta-Da!