Monthly Archives: October 2009


So, I don’t talk about it here because there are a gazillion food bloggers far more talented than I, but I really love cooking.  A lot.  I find it relaxing and fun, and I enjoy having yummy dinners and lunches and good food. 

The other reason I don’t blog it much is because I am not a recipe person.  Sure, if I am baking, I will be bent over a book and leveling off my flour and all that jazz, but a dinner recipe would involve something like, “Uhhh, cook some chicken in a pan with olive oil and water so it’s not dry, and add a lot of garlic.  No, more garlic!  NO, REALLY…MORE GARLIC!” and then throwing in a bunch of random ingredients that mesh until you have something delicious.

Andrew gets nervous as he watches me dance around the kitchen, all mad-scientist like, throwing in more vinegar or salt or what have you.  He likes numbers and science and teaspoons and servings.  And y’all, I don’t have that for my cooking.

This brings us to today.  Andrew was texting me nervously from the grocery store, as he is planning to make my Honey Mustard chicken for tonight’s dinner.  For me, this process involves thawing chicken, mixing up some honey and mustard ’til it “looks good”, letting it marinate and cooking it.  Andrew was seeking some more specifics, which lead us to this little text exchange (obvs, his name is removed because I don’t want you getting all up in his biz!):


This is apparently his version of freestyling. 

Oh, and for those of you who are on Team Andrew, rest assured that he knows/permitted me to blog this.  I couldn’t resist having such verbal prowess grace my page.

Texts like this make my day.  And if you don’t think that’s funny, well…I don’t know if we should be friends.




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Better days, weird obsessions and PLEASE HELP ME

Thanks for the comments, emails, texts, calls and such on my rather melancholy post yesterday.  We all have those bummer days, you know?  Now, it’s on to bigger and better things.  And even in the midst of the crap, there are my hilarious friends and co-workers, glasses of wine with my mom, hugs from my dad, and new fingerless gloves from the biggest sweetheart-knitter extraordinaire to make my days all the more bearable.  Combine that with some great emails, and a fun weekend on the horizon, and life looks pretty sweet.

Can we talk about this awesomeness right here?:


Michael Scott AND my favorite video of all time {NSFW, just in case YOU’VE NEVER SEEN THE BEST SNL DIGITAL SHORT OF ALL TIME!}?  This has promise to make my Thursday freaking amazing.

In other news:

1.  I really, really want to go see “This Is It.”  I can never pretend to be the world’s biggest MJ fan, but I love his music.  Plus, a movie that features upbeat songs AND no plot that I could probably drink along to sounds like just what the doctor ordered.  Any takers, yo?

2.  Y’all really shocked me with the pen solidarity.  Don’t steal a writer’s pen.  Just don’t.  I’m glad I wasn’t written off as a total freaking PSYCHO.

3.  Can we talk about one slightly weird TV obsession I have?  Law and Order: SVU.  Okay, so like most things in my life, I have rules for it: I have to be able to finish the episode, because hi, that rapist could totally come bludgeon me.  And I need to know that Benson and Stabler have handled business and that’s I’m going to BE FINE.  But, dudes, can they just hook up already?  I watched last night’s episode, and I just found myself PRAYING that he’d come to his senses and handle that business.

4.  I have a weird obsession with wanting to play DJ Hero.  I suck at Guitar Hero.  But, I think being a DJ would be awesome.  Plus, the commercial includes Justice, one of my favorite bands of all time.  Now all I need is a Wii or a Playstation, and of course, DJ Hero.  Umm…anyone?

5.  This weekend, I am taking some students on a big field trip.  Like, a 4 hour away field trip.  4 hours there + 4 hours back = 8 HOURS ON A SCHOOL BUS WITH STUDENTS.  Are there any new bands, podcasts, etc. you’d recommend that I download so I can keep my sanity?  Seriously, y’all…8 hours on a bus with 12-14 years old.  You’d best be leaving me some suggestions in the comments.


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I am beginning to think that I’ve done something wrong.  Like, not an oopsie, “forgot to pick up milk at the grocery store!” but some serious cosmic error that has resulted in life taking a huge crap on me.

I wish I was kidding.

Last night, I met up with my good friends, Gina and Katy for coffee.  The three of us, along with two other girls, get together to meet and spend time together once or twice a month.  Sometimes, we have dinner and wine, sometimes we have appetizers, sometimes coffee.

And sometimes?  We have hit and runs.

I parked my silver 4Runner outside of Starbucks as one does when they are enjoying coffee inside.  I sat down with my peppermint hot chocolate, and was happily conversing with my girlfriends, when I saw someone trying to fit into the spot next to my car.  I didn’t think much of it because if you are anything like me, you’ve pulled a 239 point turn trying to park before, or pulled in or out a few times (that’s what she said!) while trying to parallel park.  SURELY, most people are decent human beings, and if they hit my car, they’d come in, right?

Wrong.  So, so, so wrong.

Two girls came FLYING into Starbucks and asked who had a 4Runner.  Um, that’s me!  One suggested calling 911 because the car was pulling out of the parking lot and it was possible we could get a plate.  My friend Katy, who is a badass, jumped in her car and tried to find them.  No dice.  Another witness approached and told us that he “pretended to write the plate number down.”

Did he know any of the plate numbers?  Nope.  HE WAS JUST PRETENDING.  Helpful.

Anyways, thank goodness that my car was barely damaged: a small dent on my bumper and some scraping of my headlight.  It’s not even worth my $500 deductible—it is mostly a very minor eyesore, a pain in the ass and generally just fits in with the apparent theme of 2009 which is Everybody Hates Amy.  Everyone who had seen or heard it said that it seemed awful, and the other car must have been damaged pretty badly.  That is my only hope: that their car is completely screwed.  These people have now replaced Pen Thief as NUMERO UNO on my Axis of Evil.

But in all honesty, I just wish life would cut me an effing break.  Serious family illness?  DOUBLE CHECK!  Difficult work situations?  CHECK!  Car window being broken/hit and run?  CHECK!  Friendship problems?  CHECK?  THINGS THAT SUCK SO MUCH I DON’T EVEN BLOG THEM? CHECK, CHECK, CHECK!

The past few months have included so much ugliness that everyday, I find myself just wishing, hoping, thinking, praying…maybe today will be okay.  Please don’t read this all serious and melancholy—I am aware that life is harder for others and that I should be grateful and there’s always a good side to everything going on.  I AM FINE.  I guess it’s just difficult to keep on the sunny side when every time you try and soak it up, things cloud up, if only for a few minutes.

Hopefully, today will be better.


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Booty booty booty rockin’ everywhere…

It’s absolutely freezing today for us Californians.  There is a high wind advisory in effect ’til 11 pm tonight, and this morning, when I stood outside to do yard duty, I thought I might die in the windy weather.  I checked my iPhone, and it said that with windchill, the temperature felt like 49 degrees, which, in my humble opinion, is FAR TOO COLD for me to be out supervising adolescents playing basketball.

The majority of my body was freezing, thanks to me wearing a long-sleeved wrap dress and tights, which are usually warm enough for my classroom. 

But do you know what WAS warm?  My feets.  Because last night, I purchased these from Old Navy, which remind me of these little UGGs I just wrote about wanting.  Except, these only cost me $34.50, and not $140.  They fit my calves, they are comfy and warm and amazing.  I may have to get them in other colors.  Will I be mocked for wearing leg sweaters everyday?  Probably.  Do I care?  Not so much.

You know, I used to mock people for wearing UGGs everywhere.  But, now I know: if Old Navy knock offs are this warm and cozy, how much MORE awesome would real ones be?  I can’t even imagine the glory. 

Still, please do us all a favor and avoid the short-shorts or mini-skirt and UGGs combo.

*Shout out to Tabitha, who commented about the Old Navy version, and to Princess Nebraska, who brought them to my attention once again via G-chat.  Also, to Lauren at Old Navy who HID THEM FOR ME so they weren’t accidentally put away from their hold, as they are selling out like whoa.


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I know that I’ve sort of become known for my little “first world” problems rants about my life, but can I just tell you about the most recent situation to really chap my hide?


I am particular about my writing utensils.  And by particular, I mean absolutely anal retentive.  I hate ballpoint pens.  I like pens that flow and write with ease.  When I was in college, I was so obsessive about pens that I bought a new pen every time I took a final.  A pen, a blue book and grape gum.  I don’t like worrying if my pen is going to work well, or run out of ink, or do that terrible dry scratching across paper that annoys the hell out of me.  I like flow, baby.

Recently, I bought a sweet little six-pack of Uniball pens.  The colors were perfect: hot pink, burgundy, turquoise, purple, sea foam green.  I loved them immediately.  I could grade papers and write and it was so lovely and easy.  It was a simple time.  A happy time.  I had bright color options, a steady ink flow, and JOY.

My became obsessed with color-coding my planner.  I have so many things going on this year, between teaching, a teacher support program I am required to be involved in, a program I coordinate, my own fun life, and a billion other things, or so it seems.  See?


My life seemed fun.  Boring meeting?  THAT GOES IN BRIGHT BLUE.  Friend’s birthday?  PURPLE.  I loved being able to look at my calendar and see exactly what I had going on during a day, just by color alone.  An OCD person’s dream come true.

I made the mistake of taking my pens to work.  I kept them in a tiny, polka dotted pouch.  And darn it, I loved the pouch almost as much as I love the pens.  It was bright, cute, fun…easy.  And I was happy.

But I went to grade papers last week, and realized my little pouch was nowhere to be found.  I called Andrew in a frenzy asking him if he’d seen my PRECIOUS POUCH OF PENS.

No, he had not.

I of course assumed that he was experiencing Male Pattern Blindness and that surely, they were somewhere to be found around the apartment.  I tore my desk at work apart, looked in my car, searched high and low.  ALL FOR STUPID PENS.

When I arrived home, I found that Andrew was indeed correct: they were gone.

Seriously?  I was upset, y’all.  Like, ridiculously frustrated.  I know it’s a weird fetish, but I seriously can’t work unless I have the right pens. I began watching my students, wondering if they’d stolen my pens.  I suspected the janitor, my co-workers, everyone who’d been in my classroom.  Who would do such a thing: deprive a girl of her pens, her lovely, sweet Uniballs?  WHO?  This, my friends, is injustice.

But, after 24 hours, and a lot of searching, I had to march myself down to Office Depot, purchase Pens Part Deux and a new (UGLIER!) case.

It was a sad day, and parting with $10 for new pens was tough.  But, my planner is organized, my papers are graded and all is right with the world.

Let this serve as a warning: IF YOU TOOK MY PENS, I WILL FIND YOU.


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So yesterday, we were supposed to have dinner with my family, as we often do on Sundays.  Unfortunately, my dad is not feeling well.  He finished round 1 of chemo, and was having some difficult side effects.  My mom left me a voicemail to let me know that dinner would probably be canceled, and I’ll admit it: I cried.  I realize that many people see there family less often than I do, but I love my parents, and I love going home every weekend.  I was sad, and also frustrated that my poor dad has to endure such terrible symptoms, and that my mom has to play nurse.  It sucks.  Anyways, Andrew attempted to make me feel better via G-chat:

me: so, my dad is really, really sick
  we probably won’t go over tonight
  i have cryings
  i really miss my family

Andrew: aw.
  I’m sorry

 me: me too
  i just miss my mom and dad
 and i hate this, my poor dad.

Andrew: you want me to shave my goatee and pretend to be your dad? 

me: um, you’re creepy

Andrew:  that’s weird, nix that

me: super weird

Andrew: I didn’t say that 

me: could be the weirdest thing you’ve ever said
  blogging that 

Andrew:  lol. I just want to make you feel better.

Um, I don’t know that it made me feel better or just more scared that this is the person I share my life with.


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20SB Blog Swap day!

This is my second time participating in the 20SB Blog Swap! This time brings a bit of an “overseas flavor” as I was paired with the lovely Elly Rarg of New Zealand!  I’ve always wanted to visit there, and now, I have an even better reason.  Her writing is lovely.  I hope you enjoy her post here today, and don’t forget to check me out over there, either!  I’m posting today about childhood and missing things and all sorts of nostalgia.

Without further adieu, the words of Elly:

I was whinging, I was. About the state of things. About being hurt and scared and wary, and about being reckless and impulsive and about freaking out and running away. About being broken, about displaying false bravado and saying “fuck it”. About going after things I wanted, about things that weren’t mine, and about things that I “should” be going after. And my friend (who is really The Boys friend) did what he always does, and provided hope for a someone who didn’t have any.

“Bubbly, music, sex, stars, blankets, bonfire”, he said. “That will help.”

It would. And it almost irks me that he can pull out an ideal scenario (if not ridiculously unfeasible) from nowhere, and know that’s what I’d want. It irks me that this friend who I’m not meant to be friends with understands. Who see’s brokeness in someone and just accepts that its there, and as long as it doesn’t become his brokeness he’s okay to listen. To talk. To understand. And the best thing? He doesn’t try to fix it. He and I both know that that’s something I have to do.

But I’m glad that if nothing else, I can be brutally honest with him. And he gets it. It’s a both a pity and a blessing that he lives a 4 hour drive away.

“Like that would happen”, I said. “It’s not fair”, I said.

And just to prove that really, I should get over myself and stop being so melodramatic, he says:

“I need a chick with a lollipop head. So I can lick her face.”

Sometimes, it’s the ridiculous that puts you in your place. That says politely, but firmly, it’s time to stop whinging now. Friends don’t come better than this, really.

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