Remember my mojo-seeking marathon? It was last weekend. I went, I even have the race number to prove it. However, in a tragic, karmic joke all my bad-ass training was for naught. Who was foiled by the swine flu? That's right. This guy.
Suck!
Happily, like rubber, I bounce. My mojo*, thank God, had already been recovered by the surely rad-tastic act of training for said marathon and remembering how hot I look in dark denim. That, and actual academic progress, lest we forget why I am here. Lord knows I often do.
Still, having recovered from my brush with the pandemic--epidemic? whatever--I can't help but feel just a little bit like a deflated balloon; I'm still pretty and brightly colored, but not quite as snazzy and zesty as I was a few weeks ago. So, I've decided to treat this like a hangover--lots of lifetime television, fluids, and naps on the couch. Soon, I'll just be itching to put on my dancing shoes. Or my dancing pajamas, as the case may be, and get my groove thang on in my room.
So, now I return to my new shameful television addiction (like there's just one?), Drop Dead Diva---which operates from perhaps the worst premise for a show that I. have. ever. heard. Rock on, Lifetime. Rock on.
*I am aware that I need to find a good replacement for this "mojo" nonsense. Suggestions? There must be an infinitely cooler way of phrasing that, right?
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
I have half-a-tally in the win column...
...And I'm going for a full!
I have successfully removed all words that end with "-ize" from my prospectus. Therefore, despite a lingering (and humiliating) tendency to pepper my prose with sentence fragments (d'OH!), I have inexplicably gotten an almost green light to move forward with my project!
Huzzah! I may get my degree before my educational system crumbles into dust and ashes! A toast good sirs, raise your mead and enjoy the suckling pig (or beet juice and spinach...there's another wedding coming), for I have made progress!
Plus, I'm pretty sure I got hit on at the grocery store tonight. Roommate was there, and her vote is "Looked like it from where I was standing. Which was behind him. But sure."
I was standing in front of him, and I thought so, too. I'm not excellent at reading social cues, and it could just be part of his job description but I'm going to put that as another half-tally in the win column. I'd put the tallies together, but a math teacher once told me I could only add apples to apples and oranges to oranges. The produce reference confused me at the time, but I'm pretty sure professional progress and flirtatious cashiers are not both apples.
To celebrate: I'm dancing to "Rock Lobster"!
Because I can.
I have successfully removed all words that end with "-ize" from my prospectus. Therefore, despite a lingering (and humiliating) tendency to pepper my prose with sentence fragments (d'OH!), I have inexplicably gotten an almost green light to move forward with my project!
Huzzah! I may get my degree before my educational system crumbles into dust and ashes! A toast good sirs, raise your mead and enjoy the suckling pig (or beet juice and spinach...there's another wedding coming), for I have made progress!
Plus, I'm pretty sure I got hit on at the grocery store tonight. Roommate was there, and her vote is "Looked like it from where I was standing. Which was behind him. But sure."
I was standing in front of him, and I thought so, too. I'm not excellent at reading social cues, and it could just be part of his job description but I'm going to put that as another half-tally in the win column. I'd put the tallies together, but a math teacher once told me I could only add apples to apples and oranges to oranges. The produce reference confused me at the time, but I'm pretty sure professional progress and flirtatious cashiers are not both apples.
To celebrate: I'm dancing to "Rock Lobster"!
Because I can.
Monday, August 24, 2009
In Which I Rediscover ABC Family and Carpet Cleaning
There's something about terrible ABC Family programming that just makes a late night and a little over-indulgence feel so much better.
First of all, let's talk about "Make it or Break it," which--to be honest, is a muchly watered down version of the genius that was "Stick it," the movie that (along with season 1 of Grey's Anatomy on repeat) got me through my first year of graduate school. The main character of "Make it or Break it," also had the starring role in a Lifetime Movie called "Confessions of a Go-Go Girl," which was a very picturesque synonym for "stripper." Also, Roz from Fraiser is a gym mom, and Candace Cameron is a lovely treat as the step-mom to be of the crazy borderline personality blonde chick who I don't know but looks like a short version of Whitney Port (damn you MTV for making me know who Whitney Port is to begin with). The title character of the eponymously named WB series "Nikki" (I think, and I think she maybe ended up on Vegas at some point?) is another gym mom. All of this is to say, despite the really terrible, terrible-ness of the series, I really enjoy seeing all of these crazy people back again. But really, when the Go-go girl has to do kissing with her male lead and manages to pass for 15, I get a little uncomfortable, because that just can't be healthy. Okay, EW, I just had to look it up and she was ALSO the drunk roomie on "The Party Never Stops," with Sarah Paxton and the curly-haired woman who was in Rose Red and eventually on Becker (oh, Ted Danson, how far you fell)--which I've also seen several times. The point is, Go-go girl is my age. Which is better than I originally thought, but only because I can't remember that I'm a grown-up, but STILL. Didn't we learn from James Van Der Beek that we just can't cast across that much of an age gap. DIDN'T WE??
Apparently not.
To cope with both my obsession with this show and my deeply uncomfortable feelings about it, I've been cleaning (AWESOME--I'm watching right now, and the bitchy is totally coming out to play!!). And when I say cleaning, I mean appliance moving, bleach sniffing, cleaning massive square footage with a Bissel Little Green. Sometimes, I get a little crazy, especially if I've been on a work run. I finished my syllabus and cranked out another draft of my prospectus (fingers crossed), and apparently had motivation to burn. Naturally, taking EVERYTHING out of the kitchen cabinets, cleaning it, and then putting them back in is an EXCELLENT use of my time. Because once everything is clean, I can sit very, very still and look about my domain and then feel full of self-satisfaction.
And cook: insalata caprese heirloom tomato stacks topped with fresh basil vinaigrette.
'Nuff said, no?
First of all, let's talk about "Make it or Break it," which--to be honest, is a muchly watered down version of the genius that was "Stick it," the movie that (along with season 1 of Grey's Anatomy on repeat) got me through my first year of graduate school. The main character of "Make it or Break it," also had the starring role in a Lifetime Movie called "Confessions of a Go-Go Girl," which was a very picturesque synonym for "stripper." Also, Roz from Fraiser is a gym mom, and Candace Cameron is a lovely treat as the step-mom to be of the crazy borderline personality blonde chick who I don't know but looks like a short version of Whitney Port (damn you MTV for making me know who Whitney Port is to begin with). The title character of the eponymously named WB series "Nikki" (I think, and I think she maybe ended up on Vegas at some point?) is another gym mom. All of this is to say, despite the really terrible, terrible-ness of the series, I really enjoy seeing all of these crazy people back again. But really, when the Go-go girl has to do kissing with her male lead and manages to pass for 15, I get a little uncomfortable, because that just can't be healthy. Okay, EW, I just had to look it up and she was ALSO the drunk roomie on "The Party Never Stops," with Sarah Paxton and the curly-haired woman who was in Rose Red and eventually on Becker (oh, Ted Danson, how far you fell)--which I've also seen several times. The point is, Go-go girl is my age. Which is better than I originally thought, but only because I can't remember that I'm a grown-up, but STILL. Didn't we learn from James Van Der Beek that we just can't cast across that much of an age gap. DIDN'T WE??
Apparently not.
To cope with both my obsession with this show and my deeply uncomfortable feelings about it, I've been cleaning (AWESOME--I'm watching right now, and the bitchy is totally coming out to play!!). And when I say cleaning, I mean appliance moving, bleach sniffing, cleaning massive square footage with a Bissel Little Green. Sometimes, I get a little crazy, especially if I've been on a work run. I finished my syllabus and cranked out another draft of my prospectus (fingers crossed), and apparently had motivation to burn. Naturally, taking EVERYTHING out of the kitchen cabinets, cleaning it, and then putting them back in is an EXCELLENT use of my time. Because once everything is clean, I can sit very, very still and look about my domain and then feel full of self-satisfaction.
And cook: insalata caprese heirloom tomato stacks topped with fresh basil vinaigrette.
'Nuff said, no?
Monday, August 17, 2009
PSA--MASCARA
I've given up on maintaining any sort of blog-topic consistency here, and for that I am deeply unapologetic. Thusly, I give you: MASCARA, the grad student edition.
Today's post is just a PSA--a gentle reminder to so many pretty women (and men) that the judicious use of mascara can do magical and sexy things to your eyes. For those of you who are amenable to the use of cosmetics (and I think a few more people ought to consider it, but that's because I think it's fun, and it makes it much easier to channel the inspirational presence of Pat Benetar while constructing my teaching persona). The problem is, however, that good mascara is hard to find. Most people I know tend to pick one and stick with it, even if it a) stops working like the magic it once was, or b) never worked that well to begin with--a very common and tragic problem. And let's be honest, I have a hard time remembering that I'm a grad student and "cosmetics" aren't covered by my "cost of living" (but damn well should be)--so I understand that wasting 12 bucks on a bust tube at the drugstore is enough to make you want to stab Drew Barrymore with the wand next time she pops up on the TV looking way better at 30 (or whatever) than she did at 20 (but don't get me wrong, I really like her--the stabiness is because the mascara she's pushing right now SUCKS).
I'm a sucker for a marketing ploy, so I've failed at mascara selection several times and have decided it's time to share the knowledge. Because I can. I stumbled upon an EPIC fail with MaxFactor (oh sweet baby bejezus, I wasn't sure my eyelashes would grow back), a few of the last extension combo tubes (flake-tastic, my eyes, my eyes oh god my eyes), and Wet'n'Wild I'm ashamed to admit I tried, and suffered the face melting consequences of, so we'll leave that there. If you want to conduct your own experiments down that precarious grocery store aisle, keep me posted--but we're moving on to relative successes now.
Now, if you're willing to cough up for the good stuff (read: if you have a "salary" instead of a "stipend"), I will tell you that 1) Estee Lauder mascaras are pretty much all delightful, but the DoubleZero gives me great joy that is 2) almost as much joy and magic as Dior mascara. But I'm a grad student, and about 3 marathons and a boob job away from being able to contend for "Trophy Wife" status, so I have to put that on hold for a while. Which leads me to that bewildering array of mascaras snuggled near the oral hygiene products in your local grocery store. In order from "eh" to "hell yeah!":
1) The gold standard pink tube-green cap worked (it's late, I'm not looking it up), and didn't endanger my pretty orbs of joy and light, but it didn't wow me either. The waterproof is too hard to remove and the regular is too hard to keep on (especially in CA). I gave this brand several years of my time, and remained deeply ambivalent--which is so NOT my style. Do with that what you will.
2) Full'n'Soft, which was briefly repped by Sarah Michelle Gellar right before Buffy jumped the shark (for realsy, when they killed Tara, among other things) was long my lash-luster of choice, and if you're looking for a mascara with a good waterproof option, I'd recommend that one. Regular or waterproof, it IS soft, and it's well worth it if you are prone to falling asleep without washing your face, or crashing face first on a pile of books or papers, as you won't be blinded by the mascara glue that sometimes seals your eyes shut after a series of bad choices. The downside? The "Jet" isn't jetty enough; however, the browns and "black-brown" are delicious and that more subtle lash color seems to be coming back.
3) Physician's Formula Mineral Wear Mascara: If I had gone to Vegas on the day that I made this impulse purchase, I would have a house. In Cabo. It does not matter how tired you are, YOU CANNOT SCREW THIS UP (unless you stab yourself in your eye, in which case you should sober up before you try again). The brush is like magic and sunshine and soft baby animals. The actual mascara layers without clumping, or flaking, DOES NOT BUDGE during the day, washes off without the crazy eye makeup remover that always feels greasy and makes me think it might do permanent damage. Also, YOU CAN WASH THE BRUSH. So if it does get mucked up, you can start over (or do a whole bridal party, whatever). Plus, the black is SUPER black, it holds curl (if you use a curler) and makes my lashes WAY longer than the lash extending primer/color tubes. I highly recommend that we all invest in a little tinted moisturizer, a dab of gloss (a post for another day), and a few tubes of this mascara--and then we can all take ANTM (short girl version starting September 9th--if I can handle the camp-tastic-ness of Tyra) by storm.
And thusly, I have shared with you all the wisdom of my addiction. Go forth and good luck--I will see you all at casting!
Today's post is just a PSA--a gentle reminder to so many pretty women (and men) that the judicious use of mascara can do magical and sexy things to your eyes. For those of you who are amenable to the use of cosmetics (and I think a few more people ought to consider it, but that's because I think it's fun, and it makes it much easier to channel the inspirational presence of Pat Benetar while constructing my teaching persona). The problem is, however, that good mascara is hard to find. Most people I know tend to pick one and stick with it, even if it a) stops working like the magic it once was, or b) never worked that well to begin with--a very common and tragic problem. And let's be honest, I have a hard time remembering that I'm a grad student and "cosmetics" aren't covered by my "cost of living" (but damn well should be)--so I understand that wasting 12 bucks on a bust tube at the drugstore is enough to make you want to stab Drew Barrymore with the wand next time she pops up on the TV looking way better at 30 (or whatever) than she did at 20 (but don't get me wrong, I really like her--the stabiness is because the mascara she's pushing right now SUCKS).
I'm a sucker for a marketing ploy, so I've failed at mascara selection several times and have decided it's time to share the knowledge. Because I can. I stumbled upon an EPIC fail with MaxFactor (oh sweet baby bejezus, I wasn't sure my eyelashes would grow back), a few of the last extension combo tubes (flake-tastic, my eyes, my eyes oh god my eyes), and Wet'n'Wild I'm ashamed to admit I tried, and suffered the face melting consequences of, so we'll leave that there. If you want to conduct your own experiments down that precarious grocery store aisle, keep me posted--but we're moving on to relative successes now.
Now, if you're willing to cough up for the good stuff (read: if you have a "salary" instead of a "stipend"), I will tell you that 1) Estee Lauder mascaras are pretty much all delightful, but the DoubleZero gives me great joy that is 2) almost as much joy and magic as Dior mascara. But I'm a grad student, and about 3 marathons and a boob job away from being able to contend for "Trophy Wife" status, so I have to put that on hold for a while. Which leads me to that bewildering array of mascaras snuggled near the oral hygiene products in your local grocery store. In order from "eh" to "hell yeah!":
1) The gold standard pink tube-green cap worked (it's late, I'm not looking it up), and didn't endanger my pretty orbs of joy and light, but it didn't wow me either. The waterproof is too hard to remove and the regular is too hard to keep on (especially in CA). I gave this brand several years of my time, and remained deeply ambivalent--which is so NOT my style. Do with that what you will.
2) Full'n'Soft, which was briefly repped by Sarah Michelle Gellar right before Buffy jumped the shark (for realsy, when they killed Tara, among other things) was long my lash-luster of choice, and if you're looking for a mascara with a good waterproof option, I'd recommend that one. Regular or waterproof, it IS soft, and it's well worth it if you are prone to falling asleep without washing your face, or crashing face first on a pile of books or papers, as you won't be blinded by the mascara glue that sometimes seals your eyes shut after a series of bad choices. The downside? The "Jet" isn't jetty enough; however, the browns and "black-brown" are delicious and that more subtle lash color seems to be coming back.
3) Physician's Formula Mineral Wear Mascara: If I had gone to Vegas on the day that I made this impulse purchase, I would have a house. In Cabo. It does not matter how tired you are, YOU CANNOT SCREW THIS UP (unless you stab yourself in your eye, in which case you should sober up before you try again). The brush is like magic and sunshine and soft baby animals. The actual mascara layers without clumping, or flaking, DOES NOT BUDGE during the day, washes off without the crazy eye makeup remover that always feels greasy and makes me think it might do permanent damage. Also, YOU CAN WASH THE BRUSH. So if it does get mucked up, you can start over (or do a whole bridal party, whatever). Plus, the black is SUPER black, it holds curl (if you use a curler) and makes my lashes WAY longer than the lash extending primer/color tubes. I highly recommend that we all invest in a little tinted moisturizer, a dab of gloss (a post for another day), and a few tubes of this mascara--and then we can all take ANTM (short girl version starting September 9th--if I can handle the camp-tastic-ness of Tyra) by storm.
And thusly, I have shared with you all the wisdom of my addiction. Go forth and good luck--I will see you all at casting!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
"The Education Conundrum," Or "Graphing Graduate School: The Masochist Edition"
And I'm not talking about the one that goes "I can't get a job if I don't go to college, but if I go to college there's no guarantee that I'll get a job," which is otherwise stated: "you can buy a degree, but you can't buy an education."
There's this OTHER education conundrum--it's really weird and only affects those pursuing a graduate degree; it's called "The More You Learn The Less You Know: Failblogging the English Language". Someone, better at these things than I am, should graph it. Here are the parameters (in "I don't do science" language) or whatever:
1) Your greatest degree of confidence in and satisfaction with your work is achieved 6-10 months prior to your graduation, which is what inspires you to say "I want to do this forever!" Start the graph high.
2) Your skill level is high enough 8-10 months prior to graduation that at least one person says "yes! that's a great idea I WILL write you a letter of recommendation" (spike the graph) and you're so excited about that you don't listen to the part where they say, "but as exciting as this is, you should just be aware that it isn't sunshine and puppies all of the time." No, your subconscious files that away for roughly 4-6 months (depending on schedules) after graduation. (Tank the graph through the part where you are taking tests and paying fees for the privilege of applying to a school that might not take you, even if you did get high enough scores that they actually read your application.)
3)1-3 months before graduation you get accepted somewhere. Peak the graph! You're smarter than everyone else! You don't have to find a job! You're going to be a professor/lawyer/doctor/rule the world! Rad-tastic!
4) 1-2 months following graduation, hold steady. Your friends are working "real" jobs but you are taking a trip/getting a tan/still on summer vacation! Suckers...
5) Minor dip: ouch, rent is expensive, I don't get paid until when?
6) Minor dip: I have to pay fees BEFORE I get paid?
7) And books? I wish I had a real job... (Mark that, it won't be the last.)
8) And we're climbing! grad school is awesome! New people?! Smart people?!! This is great! Let's wear black and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes (okay, that didn't last long but it felt SUPER cool for a minute) and contemplate Hegel and Kierkegaard and the pretentious fuzz in our bellybuttons.
9) Seminar papers turned in (ouch, a little dip, but more drinking immediately following).
10) Seminar papers turned back.
A pause is in order for the crushing of your dreams. Scroll up. Remember when the graph was up? We were feeling validated and smart and talented? Take a picture, because now you're writing . . . in grad school. A mysterious voice is echo-fading in the background ("...not all puppies and sunshine...sunshine...sunshine..."). And you say to yourself in your accomplished, worldly grad student voice...
Ooooh... dear.
(Insert the following: Christmas, otherwise known as "you haven't graduated yet?"; Weddings (on repeat), "You're not married / don't have a house / still have a roommate . . . no wonder you attacked the buffet like a deranged alley cat"; Running into Old Friends (hey, I'm not old enough for that to happen yet0, "you're doing...what, now?")
11) Let's hold steady here for a gradual, but persistent decline during which you discover that the more you learn the less you know (but you have more words with which to express the fact that you don't know), and the more you write about what you've learned that helped you discover what you didn't know that you didn't know, the worse your writing gets, because it's all cluttered up with these words that you are supposed to use to show the people who are reading your words that you don't know all the things that you should know but you do know the words you would use if you did know. Did you follow that? That's your prospectus. No wait--take out all the words that end with "-ize"...THAT'S your prospectus.
12) Congratulations, you may now write your dissertation.
I don't know which way to send the line on that one, but I'll let you know when I get there.
On the upside, I would color my graph purple. Purple looks good with the tan I'm still getting on my summer vacations. Suckers...
There's this OTHER education conundrum--it's really weird and only affects those pursuing a graduate degree; it's called "The More You Learn The Less You Know: Failblogging the English Language". Someone, better at these things than I am, should graph it. Here are the parameters (in "I don't do science" language) or whatever:
1) Your greatest degree of confidence in and satisfaction with your work is achieved 6-10 months prior to your graduation, which is what inspires you to say "I want to do this forever!" Start the graph high.
2) Your skill level is high enough 8-10 months prior to graduation that at least one person says "yes! that's a great idea I WILL write you a letter of recommendation" (spike the graph) and you're so excited about that you don't listen to the part where they say, "but as exciting as this is, you should just be aware that it isn't sunshine and puppies all of the time." No, your subconscious files that away for roughly 4-6 months (depending on schedules) after graduation. (Tank the graph through the part where you are taking tests and paying fees for the privilege of applying to a school that might not take you, even if you did get high enough scores that they actually read your application.)
3)1-3 months before graduation you get accepted somewhere. Peak the graph! You're smarter than everyone else! You don't have to find a job! You're going to be a professor/lawyer/doctor/rule the world! Rad-tastic!
4) 1-2 months following graduation, hold steady. Your friends are working "real" jobs but you are taking a trip/getting a tan/still on summer vacation! Suckers...
5) Minor dip: ouch, rent is expensive, I don't get paid until when?
6) Minor dip: I have to pay fees BEFORE I get paid?
7) And books? I wish I had a real job... (Mark that, it won't be the last.)
8) And we're climbing! grad school is awesome! New people?! Smart people?!! This is great! Let's wear black and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes (okay, that didn't last long but it felt SUPER cool for a minute) and contemplate Hegel and Kierkegaard and the pretentious fuzz in our bellybuttons.
9) Seminar papers turned in (ouch, a little dip, but more drinking immediately following).
10) Seminar papers turned back.
A pause is in order for the crushing of your dreams. Scroll up. Remember when the graph was up? We were feeling validated and smart and talented? Take a picture, because now you're writing . . . in grad school. A mysterious voice is echo-fading in the background ("...not all puppies and sunshine...sunshine...sunshine..."). And you say to yourself in your accomplished, worldly grad student voice...
Ooooh... dear.
(Insert the following: Christmas, otherwise known as "you haven't graduated yet?"; Weddings (on repeat), "You're not married / don't have a house / still have a roommate . . . no wonder you attacked the buffet like a deranged alley cat"; Running into Old Friends (hey, I'm not old enough for that to happen yet0, "you're doing...what, now?")
11) Let's hold steady here for a gradual, but persistent decline during which you discover that the more you learn the less you know (but you have more words with which to express the fact that you don't know), and the more you write about what you've learned that helped you discover what you didn't know that you didn't know, the worse your writing gets, because it's all cluttered up with these words that you are supposed to use to show the people who are reading your words that you don't know all the things that you should know but you do know the words you would use if you did know. Did you follow that? That's your prospectus. No wait--take out all the words that end with "-ize"...THAT'S your prospectus.
12) Congratulations, you may now write your dissertation.
I don't know which way to send the line on that one, but I'll let you know when I get there.
On the upside, I would color my graph purple. Purple looks good with the tan I'm still getting on my summer vacations. Suckers...
Sunday, August 9, 2009
...Mmmm...
I really should admit to two things:
1) I'm a foodie
2) I'm a control freak
Together, these two facts result in "I'd Rather Do It Myself" syndrome. It's a problem.
Actually, no, it's not a problem at all. I LOVE it.
While I was away in my northerly state of loveliness and joy, Roomie brilliantly established something of a standing date for True Blood with a group that is sometimes bigger, sometimes smaller, but quite frequently delightful. I love it. You get all the going out points, without going out (which I frequently think is a pain in the ass unless you are one of the handful of people who really know what good beer is). Plus, I'm a sucker for vampires (hold up, people, I hail as an original Buffy fan--by which I mean yes I've seen the movie, but more importantly Joss Whedon is a genius, etc). And, yes I revel in the Twilight series, porn for awkward and unloved preteens though it is. Turns out it works for stressed out and unloved grad students, too. And, thusly, True Blood (read the books, they are like Pop Rocks and CRACK--fantastic). However, this standing date (which involves food) also makes apparent to the general public a fact that only previous roommates and significant others have been privy to: I can't keep it simple, and I can't cook for one. Can't. Can not. Nothing doing, doesn't work. Don't ask. It's like telling me to show up to a dinner with "just myself".* The last time that happened I appeared with soup and garnish and a few pounds of fresh produce (just in case) that I left in the car. Okay, so I wheedled permission to bring the soup, but surely you get the idea.
The job, this evening, for roommate and I, was salad. I didn't really let Roomie help (please see #2 above), though bless her heart she saved my post-run slothiness from a trip to the grocery store that might've broken my spirit. I don't know how I ran out of EVOO, but it was THE WORST THING EVER.** But see, I had these vegetables, and they were all beautiful and they smelled like MAGIC. So I marinated some. And then I sauteed some. And then I added feta to some. Then I experimented with flax meal (nutty, healthy delicious alternative to straight flour for breading purposes) and curry powder (!) and zucchini. And then I sliced brilliant, intensely red fresh-from-the-garden heirloom tomatoes. And then I had a bowl of delicious and a platter of amazing. And I'm not saying this to pat myself on the back for my cooking skills--I'm quite fine at it, don't get me wrong, but I'm not going anywhere near Julie/Julia and pretty is optional (and usually reserved for just me, followed by wine, a bubble bath, and wearing a brand new sexy bra just because I can)--this is to say FRESH VEGETABLES ARE AMAZING.***
Almost as amazing as vampires.
And speaking of vampires (because I am), don't you wish that they would bring Celebrity Death Match back just for a special vampire tournament? I do.
*Which is only ideal if it is "just yourself" rather than "please also find a date". Because that's mean. In that case, I'll bring booze--especially if it's a non-drinking event.
**And I thought I was nutty about my EVOO, until I met a guy the other night who loves it even more than I do. He goes through bottles. Like one a week, maybe more. His hair is AMAZING. And I know I'm abusing the capital letters tonight, but they really are necessary here: AMAZING, all shiny and lustrous, like a woman gratuitously using prenatal vitamins, but he's not. It's the olive oil.
***So next time I bash California (because it is a bad habit and also inevitable) just remind me -- 10 months out of the year you have fabulous produce. SHUT YOUR FACE. And I will.
1) I'm a foodie
2) I'm a control freak
Together, these two facts result in "I'd Rather Do It Myself" syndrome. It's a problem.
Actually, no, it's not a problem at all. I LOVE it.
While I was away in my northerly state of loveliness and joy, Roomie brilliantly established something of a standing date for True Blood with a group that is sometimes bigger, sometimes smaller, but quite frequently delightful. I love it. You get all the going out points, without going out (which I frequently think is a pain in the ass unless you are one of the handful of people who really know what good beer is). Plus, I'm a sucker for vampires (hold up, people, I hail as an original Buffy fan--by which I mean yes I've seen the movie, but more importantly Joss Whedon is a genius, etc). And, yes I revel in the Twilight series, porn for awkward and unloved preteens though it is. Turns out it works for stressed out and unloved grad students, too. And, thusly, True Blood (read the books, they are like Pop Rocks and CRACK--fantastic). However, this standing date (which involves food) also makes apparent to the general public a fact that only previous roommates and significant others have been privy to: I can't keep it simple, and I can't cook for one. Can't. Can not. Nothing doing, doesn't work. Don't ask. It's like telling me to show up to a dinner with "just myself".* The last time that happened I appeared with soup and garnish and a few pounds of fresh produce (just in case) that I left in the car. Okay, so I wheedled permission to bring the soup, but surely you get the idea.
The job, this evening, for roommate and I, was salad. I didn't really let Roomie help (please see #2 above), though bless her heart she saved my post-run slothiness from a trip to the grocery store that might've broken my spirit. I don't know how I ran out of EVOO, but it was THE WORST THING EVER.** But see, I had these vegetables, and they were all beautiful and they smelled like MAGIC. So I marinated some. And then I sauteed some. And then I added feta to some. Then I experimented with flax meal (nutty, healthy delicious alternative to straight flour for breading purposes) and curry powder (!) and zucchini. And then I sliced brilliant, intensely red fresh-from-the-garden heirloom tomatoes. And then I had a bowl of delicious and a platter of amazing. And I'm not saying this to pat myself on the back for my cooking skills--I'm quite fine at it, don't get me wrong, but I'm not going anywhere near Julie/Julia and pretty is optional (and usually reserved for just me, followed by wine, a bubble bath, and wearing a brand new sexy bra just because I can)--this is to say FRESH VEGETABLES ARE AMAZING.***
Almost as amazing as vampires.
And speaking of vampires (because I am), don't you wish that they would bring Celebrity Death Match back just for a special vampire tournament? I do.
*Which is only ideal if it is "just yourself" rather than "please also find a date". Because that's mean. In that case, I'll bring booze--especially if it's a non-drinking event.
**And I thought I was nutty about my EVOO, until I met a guy the other night who loves it even more than I do. He goes through bottles. Like one a week, maybe more. His hair is AMAZING. And I know I'm abusing the capital letters tonight, but they really are necessary here: AMAZING, all shiny and lustrous, like a woman gratuitously using prenatal vitamins, but he's not. It's the olive oil.
***So next time I bash California (because it is a bad habit and also inevitable) just remind me -- 10 months out of the year you have fabulous produce. SHUT YOUR FACE. And I will.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Back? And...Better than Ever?
Sure, let's go with that.
Blogging, like so many things, often requires a vacation rejuvenation! By which I mean, I often require vacations from EVERYTHING, my poor, neglected blog included. There are reasons for this. I mean, the first big hit my blog took was moving out of my last apartment, because I had no more stories to tell about my Very Large Upstairs Neighbor, or The Man Who Bought a Peacock (Wha-at?!). Then, I was publishing all sorts of nonsense about my students, various teaching debacles, etc--but began to feel vaguely uncomfortable that I might, perhaps, one day (on the job market) regret that. Which, don't worry, I'm over. But then the truly tragic began--my innate sense of superiority began to slip. It's hard to be wry and judgmental without secretly suspecting that you are better than everyone else.
In other words: I lost my mojo.
My mojo wasn't even stolen and frozen by an evil genius. My mojo just disappeared, poetically dissipated like fog in the sunlight on an early spring morning. Thusly, I've been trying to get in back. The hows, and whys, and wherefores and less important than the fact that I awoke one morning and said
Eureka!
Ok, I didn't really, but I've been so mojoless that I might have. But I did think to myself (en route to conquering a VERY purple bridesmaid dress) what can I do to restore my crumbled pedestal and climb back on? What, by virtue of the doing would make me a superior animal? I mean, sure, I could try to finish my degree in 18 months (ha. hahah...) but there must be something else.
And then it came to me: I shall do what so many other people in this country do when they need to set themselves an arbitrarily challenging goal to prove to themselves and others that "I am a DOER" (not to be confused with the girl I went to high school with who, unfortunately for ANY girl in high school, had that last name (Doer, focus people)...to be very fair, this girl pretty much earned it, too, but I'm just saying...do we really think a rose by any other name would smell as sweet?). ANYWAY-- I'm training for a marathon. I'm signed up for a marathon. I've paid for my marathon. I have 10 weeks and a wedding 'til my marathon. I'm supposed to be running right now. And I will. Now. Because now I've announced to you all "I am a DOER."
Mojo. It's a beautiful thing.
Blogging, like so many things, often requires a vacation rejuvenation! By which I mean, I often require vacations from EVERYTHING, my poor, neglected blog included. There are reasons for this. I mean, the first big hit my blog took was moving out of my last apartment, because I had no more stories to tell about my Very Large Upstairs Neighbor, or The Man Who Bought a Peacock (Wha-at?!). Then, I was publishing all sorts of nonsense about my students, various teaching debacles, etc--but began to feel vaguely uncomfortable that I might, perhaps, one day (on the job market) regret that. Which, don't worry, I'm over. But then the truly tragic began--my innate sense of superiority began to slip. It's hard to be wry and judgmental without secretly suspecting that you are better than everyone else.
In other words: I lost my mojo.
My mojo wasn't even stolen and frozen by an evil genius. My mojo just disappeared, poetically dissipated like fog in the sunlight on an early spring morning. Thusly, I've been trying to get in back. The hows, and whys, and wherefores and less important than the fact that I awoke one morning and said
Eureka!
Ok, I didn't really, but I've been so mojoless that I might have. But I did think to myself (en route to conquering a VERY purple bridesmaid dress) what can I do to restore my crumbled pedestal and climb back on? What, by virtue of the doing would make me a superior animal? I mean, sure, I could try to finish my degree in 18 months (ha. hahah...) but there must be something else.
And then it came to me: I shall do what so many other people in this country do when they need to set themselves an arbitrarily challenging goal to prove to themselves and others that "I am a DOER" (not to be confused with the girl I went to high school with who, unfortunately for ANY girl in high school, had that last name (Doer, focus people)...to be very fair, this girl pretty much earned it, too, but I'm just saying...do we really think a rose by any other name would smell as sweet?). ANYWAY-- I'm training for a marathon. I'm signed up for a marathon. I've paid for my marathon. I have 10 weeks and a wedding 'til my marathon. I'm supposed to be running right now. And I will. Now. Because now I've announced to you all "I am a DOER."
Mojo. It's a beautiful thing.
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