Coming Attractions

originally uploaded by Hollywouldifshecould.

So I realize I'm basically a total hack. I went to Humboldt like 2 months ago and promised wonderful pictures and fabulous stories of my vacation, and what did you get....Nothing! What a jerk. Well this weekend I'm hoping to get really nerdy and I've set aside some "blogging time" so I will definitely do some Humboldt highlights as well as an update or two...maybe some pics...so I give you this, my friends...a pic in Humboldt of our smiling faces, because SERIOUSLY it was such a great time. I'm also, coincidentally testing my very novice flickr skills in the meantime, so we'll see how that works...

until then.

Brevity

One-Word Answers Only

1. Where is your cell phone? Desk
2. Relationship? utopia
3. Your hair? ponytail
4. Work? Training
5. Your sister? Non-existent
6. Your favorite thing? challenge
7. Your dream last night? work :(
8. Your favorite drink? coffee
9. Your dream car? Shiny
10. The room you're in? Office
11. Your shoes? tall
12. Your fears? overcome
13. What do you want to be in 10 years? relaxed
14. Who did you hang out with this weekend? Family
15. What are you not good at? silence
16. Muffin? Scone
17. Wish list item? patience
18. Where you grew up? Fremont
19. The last thing you did? blogged
20. What are you wearing? black
21. What are you not wearing? socks
22. Your pet? none
23. Your computer? cute
24. Your life? rich
25. Your mood? sleepy
26. Missing? irresponsibility
27. What are you thinking about? errands
28. Your car? Honda
29. Your kitchen? small
30. Your summer? anticipating
31. Your favorite color? black
32. Last time you laughed? yesterday
33. Last time you cried? wedding
34. School? studious
35. Love? wonderful

We'll Be Falling in Love, to the Rhythm of a Steel Drum Band

Holly: Oh, so I meant to tell you, Katie and Esty's wedding this weekend is cocktail attire.

Garrett: Cocktail attire? So I get to show up in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt and juggle bottles of vodka while you follow me around with a boombox playing 'Kokomo'? SWEET!

I Was So Close to Hell, I Could See Sparks!

Yeeeeeeeeehaw!!! I'm so glad to be back!

I spent the better portion of last week out of town for work, and by out of town, I mean out of touch. Literally. I spent 4 days discovering what the greater Northern Nevada area had to offer and I have come to the conclusion that it includes alot of desert, rocks, radio stations that play the karaoke version of songs, and plenty of franchised dining establishments . And did you know in Nevada semi-trucks can pull more than one trailer? Sweet Jesus there is nothing scarier than being passed on the 395 when you are going 70 mph by a semi that is pulling like 3 giant trailers!!!! They have like 72-wheelers up there...sheesh!

Anyway, along with discovering ALL. THE. SIGHTS. that Reno, Carson City, Garndernville, Minden, Fallon, Fernley, Yerington, and Sparks had to offer, I discovered a fellow Woodcock. He was a nice gentlement who coincidentally worked down at Sips, the coffee shop inside the Silver Legacy. Actually the first morning I was there I couldn't really sleep so I stumbled groggily down to the espresso bar in my sweats and ponytail at like 5am, and halfway through the transaction the gentleman who was helping me looked up very seriously and said "Whoa! That's amazing!" and then he just kept staring at me. Actually, you know what, now that I am replaying it in my mind I think had I been more awake I might have been creeped out a little, but since I was still on auto-pilot I just said "huh?" and continued to look very perplexed. He responded in a somewhat hypnotic voice saying, "Your name is my name. My name is your name." And it took me a minute to get it, lucky for me he just kept repeating it....kind of like the way that Grover does on Sesame Street when he is explaining "Near" and "Far" but not quite so cartoon Louis Armstrong-ish, ya know? By the way I just stopped typing and did an impromptu google search in hopes of finding a You Tube clip of that skit for the sake of nostalgia, and not only did I not find it (I think I have finally stumbled upon the only thing thing that CAN'T be found on You Tube - boo!), but I also think I stumbled upon a very sick cross section of adult Grover fan-sites that are so seriously disturbing I almost deleted the entire reference.

Regardless, I'm getting off topic, the point of this story is that I met another Woodcock, and it was kind of cool -- and kind of weird all at the same time. Actually it wasn't that weird until he asked me if I was Mormon, to which I responded "Oh no, I dodged that bullet" and then immediately realized why it is that people shouldn't make jokes before they've had caffeine. But lucky for me he didn't hold it against me really, and for the next 3 days he treated me like we were family, which was kinda cool when you are on a lonely business trip. I mean it's isn't everyday that I meet another person who must have also been tortured with woodpecker jokes in his youth until his peers got old enough to start thinking pornographic jokes were even funnier, right?

You could always just say you feel sick...

I am constantly trying to talk to Garrett about the idea that language itself is a barrier when it comes to the way that all people communicate. Isn't that such a fascinating idea? I mean, what you say to me, may not be what you actually mean, and how I interpret it can be affected by the words you choose? HUH! That is such a fascinating idea to me! But I guess I sort of wore out my welcome philosophising about it, because now when I go off on a little tangents to Garrett, he gives me a cute smile and nod and says, "yeah, yeah, babe, I know. Its the 'barrier of language'." (In his defense, I practice my own smile and nod when he talks to me about the Fed).

Most of the time I'm pretty sure he thinks that my fascination with Structuralist philosophies and linguistics are totally over the top, and in all honesty I will be the first to admit that the amount of Saussure and Derrida that I have happily devoured while laying on my bed is not your mama's Danielle Steel -- but I can't help it -- I am fascinated by the ideas of how we derive meaning from language.

Now before you go thinking that I am a pompous idiot, and assume I am trying to spit you some amateur philosophy, let me assure you first that I don't spit (ew! gross!) and second that is totally not the point of this post. I mean, I read books with Hot Pink Covers all the time, and happily admit to doing so, so that should eliminate any smugness right there. Actually, the point of this post is that when you spend alot of time thinking about words, aside from really obliterating the possibility of having a normal social life, you can also have ALOT of fun! YAY! FUN! Repeat after me -- words are fun! Ok nevermind, I guess I'm just going to do my part to cliffs notes a little funny and common word slaughter (Ok, somebody call the dork police...it's getting dire in here).

For instance:

Did you know that the word nauseous is an adjective?
[adjective: a word describing a person, place, or thing (commonly know as a noun)].
Yes, that's right, NAUSEOUS is a descriptive word that means "causing nausea".

On the other hand, did you know that the word nauseated is a verb? [verb: a word expressing action or occurence] And when used without an object (don't worry about that part, I won't even elaborate), it means "to become affected with nausea".

So what does all this grammatic inundation mean to you, you say?
Well, its simple really. Anytime you say "I feel so nauseous right now" you are inadvertantly letting your conversational partner know that you are currently causing nausea. That's right, you are saying that YOU are making other people sick. Instead, my word obsession and I are going to suggest saying "I feel so nauseated right now," because this more clearly communicates the fact that you have become affected by a sick feeling.

Now, does anyone care about this besides myself and of course my dear friend Sarah (hi Sarah!) who has chatted with me about this fact on numerous occasions? Probably not. But I'm putting it out there for what it's worth, and to also give you the same smug chuckle that I get when I hear someone misusing it.

That's right, the next time your annoying co-worker (you know, the one who is always feigning illness and begging for sympathy or just being lazy) tells you they are "really nauseous" you can look at them empathetically and say "WOW, YOU REALLY ARE!"

Restaurant Rules

Whenever I go out to eat I try to follow a few simple rules, whether it is some fancy schmancy restaurant, or whether it's just the Olive Garden. Wait, who am I kidding, I don't eat at Olive Garden. Ok, Ok, whether it's fancy, or whether it's Hot Rods on a rowdy Friday night:

1. Order something you wouldn't make at home.

Now I don't religiously follow this, obviously, because I do cook a lot at home, but for the most part I think that if you have to go through the inconvenience of finding parking, waiting to be seated/waiting in line, and waiting to pay, I think the end result should be something fun, or new, or full of expensive ingredients I don't have in my pantry. I mean otherwise, really what's the point? Why go through all the hassle to pay someone else to chop your lettuce for you? Unless of course that lettuce is covered with Gorgonzola Vinaigrette from Jack's Urban Eats, which -- MY GOD -- can somebody get me that recipe? Mmm, it's delish!

2. Don't bite the hand that feeds you.

After working in a coffee shop for years, it never ceased to amaze me how rude people could be to those handling their food. Didn't they realize that the only thing standing in the way of their delicious handcrafted beverage, and a passable-but-seriously-tampered-with concoction that just looked liked a delicious handcrafted beverage, was the way they treated the person behind the counter? I'm not saying everyone should have kissed my feet, but it sort of went without saying that if you were a jerk, instead of typing your name above your drink when I took your order, I typed BGD (Bitch Gets Decaf). Here's your $4 afternoon pick me up, dick! (said with a smile, of course). Now certainly, everyone is not as spiteful as I was after working in retail for almost 9 years, but just in case, I'm quite nice to my food server, even if my order does come out wrong.

3. Oh yeah, and be a good tipper. Enough Said.

4. If I hate it -- I give it one more chance -- then if I still hate it, I just don't go back.

But seriously, there is nothing worse than someone going off on a blanket tirade about how terrible some restaurant is when they have only been there one time. Maybe it was an off night? Chefs are human. Maybe you didn't order their best dish? Maybe their concept just isn't for you? But might I suggest trying it one more time, and seeing how it goes? If you continue to dislike it, fine. Go ahead and scratch that off your list of places to make a Friday night reservation. But for god's sake, whatever you do, don't keep going back there and reiterating to the wait staff how terrible everything they serve is everytime you go there, and how you hope it doesn't happen again this time. Ugh! I'm doing the full body eye roll right this minute. Maybe this is also residual baggage from working at Peet's for way too long, but as far as I'm concerned - if you don't like a restaurant -- DON'T GO THERE. I know, novel concept, eh?

So none of this is rocket science, I suppose, or really revolutionary in any way, but I got to thinking about it while reading this article by Ann Patchett that gives 7 Reasons the Food is Better at Home. I'm all for eating out, but I thought it was cute...and so true! Although unfortunately at my house, there is a man that jumps out of the pantry and offers me dessert when I'm already full. That must be why I still eat it, right?

Do you have any rules when you dine out?

Hot Shots

I almost don't even know where to begin.

Last night began in a most innocuous fashion. Garrett and I were getting together with Jeremy and Hilary to have some drinks and play some pool because, heck -- it was almost Friday -- which in my opinion demands a weekly celebration, and besides we always have so much damn fun with them! Do you have those kind of friends? You know, the ones who you could call on a Friday night if you wanted to have an evening of intelligent conversation over a glass of Cabernet, but who you could also call the following night and invite over to have a pitcher of PBR and spend the whole night telling fart jokes and listening to New Edition all the while waxing philosophical about American Idol? God, I love those kinds of friends! They're just so great! And Jeremy and Hilary seriously live up to that kinda hype, so consequently we force them to hang out with us as much as humanly possible.

(By the way, if you guys are reading this, sorry I just outed you guys for liking fart jokes. Or PBR. Whichever is more offensive.)

Anyway, a week or two earlier they had discovered this dive by their house that advertised pool and "entertainment", and since Garrett and I had just recently brushed up on our billiards at the Lost Coast Brewery last weekend, we thought it would be fun to exercise our mediocre pool skills, and of course our very above average shit talking skills. So we get to this place, and despite the fact that it is in a strip mall, and all patrons are required to screw in their own lightbulbs over the table if they want an illuminated game, it looked like it was going to be a pretty fun time. I mean they sold Hot Pockets and Costco Chicken Bakes at the snack bar, for god's sake, nothing says "classy" like meaty, cheesy, bready pouches of saturated fat -- frozen in single servings for your convenience.

So being that it was relatively early, it seemed we had our pick of the pool tables. Unfortunately though, we were informed that the table that we had chosen was unavailable because shortly it would be used as the karaoke stage. That's right, KARAOKE. STAGE. Ohmagod, this night was about to get even better. So Hilary and I blew a fiver at the juke box playing some clutch "oldies" like November Rain (how much do I miss Guns'n'Roses?) and some LL Cool J from his days of better judgment (LL, seriously? A duet with J.Lo? What were you thinking?) and we all just generally enjoyed each others company and the frosty beer mugs for a good hour. And then, dear reader, the craziness began.

So somewhere in that timespan, a young lady (and by the way I'm using that term loosely) arrived wearing quite the striking ensemble which consisted of a denim ultra-mini-skirt and a turquoise ruffley tube top. Now, as we all know it's getting hot out, and I realize that when this happens, inevitably the "night-out-on-the-town" outfits get smaller and smaller. That being said, I feel fairly safe asserting that if your gross body weight exceeds 400 lbs, a mini-skirt and tube combo is not the most flattering of options. I think you would agree with me, no? Now I'm not one to hate on the voluptuous figures, being that my own definitely doesn't qualify me for any Miss Fitness USA contests, but come on...use some common sense! Needless to say she was attracting quite a bit of attention, and I think she was kind of liking it. This only increased when she decided to kickoff the night of karaoke by doing her rendition of Adina Howard's vulgar 90s hit "Freak Like Me", to which the bartender promptly responded to by letting us know that it would take a lot more than "a roughneck brother" to satisfy her. Fret not though, because she immediately followed up this assertion of freakiness by escorting a gentleman friend (whose status as a "roughneck brother" had yet to be determined, for the record) into the single stall bathrooms right next to our pool table. And to think we were initially bummed that our first choice table was being turned into karaoke headquarters. Huh.

So while our lady and gentleman friends were busy in the loo doing -- well, whatever it is people do inside public bathrooms at pool halls that sell Hot Pockets -- the karaoke continued. We were treated to a cheeky rendition of the Commodores uber-smash "Night Shift", and something else fairly unmemorable before Hilary finally decided to get up and basically show everyone who was boss by singing "What a Feeling!". By this time, lady and gentleman had left the bathroom (and fairly quickly I might add, for what its worth) and were chasing each other around swearing. I wasn't really sure how to interpret that, except to maybe assume that their idea of a pre-party had involved prescription drugs mixed with some milder form of PCP, but at that point I was kind of bored with them and had moved onto being fascinated by the MIDGET. SINGING. JANIS. JOPLIN.

You think I'm joking.

I almost wish I was.

But alas, there she sang in all her 4 feet of glory, and it was at that point that I had a major realization. Up until that exact moment, it had never occured to me that a good karaoke singer must not only have the hard to find combination of drunken fearlessness, great pipes, and a lively stage presence -- but that on top of all that, a major factor that apparently lends itself to awe-inspiring performances (or not for that matter) is LITERACY! I mean really, who knew? It was a lightbulb moment for me, kinda like when I was 18 and went away to college and I realized that when you live alone and you leave dishes in the sink, no one does them for you. Profound, I tell you. So later on in the evening the midget again practiced her phonics skills to the beat of Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart", and while I would say that it was by far her best performance of the night, I wasn't quite comfortable betting that she could read the streets signs outside, or find her way home without a chaperone.

Aside from all the horrid singing, or rather the "kinda pitchy" vocals that would have made Randy Jackson shake his head and say "I don't know, dawg" we were treated to a few gems of the country persuation when a delightful young whippersnapper belted out Reba McIntyre's "The Night the Lights Went out in Georgia", but then she had to ruin it when she got up with all her drunk friends and sang AfroMan's "Because I Got High", which, although a revolutionary anthem for some segment of the population, I'm sure, is just kinda boring to watch drunk co-eds sing.

Meanwhile back at the bathroom, our lady and gentleman had reconvened. I think they were maybe going back there to hold hands and tell Bible stories or something, but they were rudely interupted by another woman opening the bathroom door that [shocker] they had forgotten to lock. I think they were right in the middle of talking about the serpent and the tree of knowledge, but I can't be sure. Unfortunately for our gentleman friend, his pants were sadly around his ankles, and something about the gust of fresh air had knocked some sense into our lady friend, and she was out the door. Slowly and lamely, the gentleman pulled up his pants and grabbed his belongings that he had temporarily been storing on the FLOOR OF THE PUBLIC BATHROOM -- and then quickly he rushed off to find his Princess Charming, who had run outside to answer a very pressing cell phone call and sip on a Smirnoff Raspberry Ice (give the girl a break, she was probably thirsty after all that "storytelling"). Oh, and did I mention that as he walked by, the gentleman accidentally dropped his boxer shorts right at Garrett's feet as he was taking a shot? I'd like to think he was leaving as a good luck charm, or as some cheer of male-billiard-solidarity, but alas I think I might have just been seeing the situation through rose colored glasses.

Basically the night was all around awesome. It was the kind of night you couldn't script, because no one would believe it actually happened. Especially at the end, when Jeremy ceremoniously sank the 8-ball at the exact moment that Slash's guitar riff ended "Welcome to the Jungle". Just too much fun! And I decided after last night, if every Thursday has the potential to be full of this much mid-week madness, I might just start acquiring a taste for Hot Pockets.

You Are What You Drink

I know, I know -- I'm an ass! :) You thought it was funny for a second though, right???

Hodgepodge

Don't you just love when that category comes up on Jeopardy? It just makes me feel excited like I have a chance. You know, don't you tally up the possibilities at the beginning of the show when Alex Trebek reads off all the category names? "British Literature"(check!) "Chemistry" (mmm...maybe) "Historical Figures" (I'm out) "U.S. Presidents" (shit!) "Crossword Clues 'L' " (check!) and the final category "Hodgepodge" (wooo hooo...millions of possibilities). No? You don't do that? Hmmm, embarrassed once again, am I. Whatever, well I just love it! And I love the word Hodgepodge. It's a good word. Say it -- Hodgepodge. It just sounds like fun, doesn't it? I like it almost as much as I like "Potent Potables" but that's probably an entirely seperate blog.

Anyway a few random updates:

First, I decided to save you from my whiny conclusions that I came up with while thinking about Kurt Vonnegut. I realize this makes me look like a lazy douche, telling you that I came up with some "deep thoughts", promising them for later, and then sweeping it under the rug only to talk briefly about grammar tees, but seriously, it just got me feeling kinda down -- so I veto'd the whole post. It looked alot like a very wordy version of "Hi self, don't be so hard on yourself. You are nice, self. You work hard, self. Enjoy your life. You have many things to be grateful for." And then it got list-y. It had a lot more melody from the world's smallest violin though, and I really do hate it when I get caught up in those feeling sorry for myself moments. It's boring.

Second, Garrett and I went on this crazy, amazing hike up in the Oroville area to Feather Falls. Sweet baby Jesus, that place was beautiful! Now, I'm not really a hiker, but I really wish I was. I so desperately want to be one of those people who goes out and enjoys nature and talks nonchalantly about how easy it is climb rocks, and eat worms, drink water from a rubber bladder (ick!), but alas I'm just really not. It's not that I don't like nature (I love it actually, although my sinuses may tell you a different story) I think it's that my choice of nature-to-love just usually tends to be that of beautiful beaches where I can relax (and perhaps consume a frosty beverage), snow covered mountains that I can see from the window of a quaint cabin while sitting fireside (of course while consuming minty-hot grasshoppers), or kicking back camping in the gorgeous redwoods of Northern California (roasting marshmallows and again consuming a frosty beverage). Basically I tend to enjoy the lazier aspects of the commune with nature. I like to observe nature, not necessarily run right out and get all covered in it!
Now that being said, I am also somewhat of a challenge seeker. My stubbornness definitely lends itself to seeking out things that I don't think I will be able to do in really any arena. I do this solely because I enjoy proving that little voice in my head wrong, and because even at the ripe age of 28 I'm still a fan of sticking my tongue out smugly. Even if only metaphorically. Hence, the Feather Falls adventure.

So Garrett has been wanting to get outside more, and we have both been looking for fun ways to get a little bit more exercise, so when I ran across this article in the Sac Bee, I thought this would be a perfect way to get outside, get a little exercise, and also it would be a great challenge since I'm not really "outdoorsy". I am coincidentally also not the world's most experienced hiker, so traversing about 9 miles of dirt on any given afternoon is just a little out of my comfort zone. BUT -- at the top of this cozy little hike appeared to be some pretty beautiful waterfalls -- or so the Sac Bee promised, so we went! And despite the fact that the Bee had a penchant for leaving out integral parts of the directions, we found it, and hiked up to the top, and WOW...it was totally worth it! So pretty! The waterfalls, of course, definitely not me when I got to the top. Whoa! Unless of course your version of pretty involves sweaty matted hair, and no makeup -- and you know what, I've seen some of those Vogue pictorals, so maybe on this day Andre Leon Talley would have thought I was pretty, but that's not the point. The point is, the view at the top was spectacular! And it was even spectacular going up and back. I took lots of pretty pictures, and I've been wanting to share, but my version of iPhoto has been behaving a little more dramatically than usual as of late, and I just haven't had the time to feed it some cookies, and rub its belly, and find out what the problem is. But let me tell you...when I do...Touche Vogue!

Thirdly, I'm going on a baby-vacay this weekend and I can't FREAKIN' wait! The fact that I have been juggling multiple projects at work, along with applying for a new position, along with trying to do my regular work, along with trying to, I don't know, HAVE A LIFE -- has caused me to feel a bit overextended. So I am delighted that Monday is Garrett's birthday, and we are taking a long weekend and heading up to the north coast. It is a trip with multiple agendas, but first and foremost we are just getting the heck outta dodge and celebrating! The second agenda is a bit of a sightseeing, nostalgic, somewhat emotional family history tour that I'm really excited to be sharing with Garrett. Alot of my dad's side of the family hails from (and still resides) up in Humboldt County, and last year, the whole gang took a trip up there for a little reunion or sorts. We stayed in Eureka, and enjoyed the town and saw the houses our family members lived in. We dined down by Woodley Island and enjoyed incredible seafood on Humboldt Bay. We hung out in Arcata, saw the Humboldt State campus, and just kind of played tourist a bit. We then revisited the adorable town of Samoa, where my Grandmother grew up, and learned a bit about its history, and her life while living there. Samoa is an incredibly tiny town that was basically established by the Hammond Lumber Company, and just about everyone living there at the time had something to do with it. Such a different time! We got to check out the Mansion (yes, there is only one), the Women's Club, the adorable tiny houses where she lived and where my dad's family lived for a brief time before migrating down to the bay area where most of us kids grew up, and of course, knowing my family, we hit up the Samoa Cookhouse. In the end we headed out to the dunes, to really complete the trip, and that experience was by far the best part. We had gathered as a family to finally lay my grandmother and my father to rest. We scattered their ashes together in a place that was really meaningful to both of them, and now even more meaningful to all of us. It was a really emotional experience, and ever since I have really wanted to take Garrett there and share that part of my life and history with him.

Oh, don't seem so depressed! The family and I also did a lot of other super fun things in the neighboring area of Trinidad (where Garrett and I are actually going to be staying), Patrick's Point, and hit up some breweries and of course another old stomping ground that I also plan to show Garrett. My whole family used to take an annual camping trip up to Richardson's Grove State Park where we would have some crazy good times that I know Garrett is probably tired of hearing about, so I am finally going to get to show him the gigantic redwoods of my childhood, the Old Eel River, and of course dispel the myth of "Elmer!" I truly can't wait, it is going to be such a great trip! And I promise, I will bring home enough milk and cookies to talk some sense into my iPhoto so I can share the good times.

Yay!

Word Nerd

I want this shirt sooooooooooo bad it hurts.

Breakfast of Champions

Kurt Vonnegut died on Wednesday, and I have to say I'm always sad when I hear about someone famous dying. Not that famous people are any different than any of us regular people, but there is something incredibly humanizing about death. It's the great equalizer, right?? Even the rich, fabulous, and influential can't beat it. Being that I was an English major, I know you probably think I'm going to wax about my love for his novels and essays and how he shaped my literary life, but if we're being totally honest here -- and I like to think we are -- I haven't read too much Vonnegut in my lifetime, so writing my imagined literary memories would be a wee bit poseur, so I will spare you. In my defense though, damnit, he gets compared to Mark Twain alot and I have read waaaaaaaaaaaaay too much Twain, so there! I'm not a failure.

But anyway, it appears that my Vonnegut memories [and this will be a total shocker] are much more pop culture related. Do you remember that wacky Baz Luhrmann song Everybody's Free (to wear sunscreen)? Well according to Wikipedia, long before that song became a part of that craptacular collection of music that we all call "the late 90's", it was widely rumored that the lyrics of this song were actuall a commencement speech that Kurt Vonnegut gave at MIT. As it turns out, however, this claim was somewhat erroneous. It was actually written by a woman named Mary Schmich who wrote for the Chicago Tribune, and it wasn't an MIT speech after all but rather her June 1997 column that contained the humorous yet insightful advice. You can read it here but thanks to our good friend Mr. Luhrmann, this will all probably seem familiar.

So all of this death, confusion, and advisement got me thinking about Schmich's advice. Or rather, about what my own advice would be, had I been in Schmich's position. What have I learned over the years, and what do I wish I could have told a younger version of myself. What do I know now that I wish I knew then? It has been wonderful food for thought.

More to come...

Yoga PSA

So last weekend I started up doing hot yoga again, and I forgot how fabulous it is! I know it sounds sort of counterintuitive to put yourself in a room that is over 100 degrees and exercise, but SERIOUSLY once you are done it all makes so much sense. I took Garrett with me as well, and it was not only his first time doing Bikram, but his first time doing any yoga. He really enjoyed it, and said he hadn't felt that worked since double days in high school, which I thought was definitely a testament to its cardiovascular nature. It's a ton of fun and I recommend it highly. Even though you are so sweaty that it's disgusting, I can't think of a better way to enjoy a few nights a week. I went back on Tuesday and even though I didn't show up quite as hydrated as I should have been (which by the way is CLUTCH if you are going to spend 90 minutes perspiring) it still felt great when I finished.

It's a nice reminder that exercise really does kick ass --- if you can just drag yours there in the first place! :)

GOOd things come to those who wait...

So it's been awhile...you are so patient...welcome back!

After that last entry, I kind of got into that rut where I felt like if I was going to post I'd have to really "say something" but instead I solved this problem by just reminding myself that I created a category called "minutiae". I had forgotten about it, and man, that just took the pressure right off. Whew! that was close.

So here goes my really riveting story...

I took the garbage out the other day --- wait for it, I promise it gets better --- and when I opened the dumpster lid, I was greeted by an incredibly large an oddly shaped box. My curiosity was indeed piqued, but since I don't normally count dumpster diving as one of my hobbies, well at least not sober, I sure wasn't about to go near it. I basically do every possible thing to NOT interact with the trash already inside the dumpster; however, in this instance I was actually tempted because I really, really wanted to know what could have possibly been in there. After all it was such a large box, capapble of holding any number of large contraptions, and it was clearly addressed to one of my neighbors. What, oh what, could have been housed in this mysterious cardboard?

So I did what I learned once on this really informative episode of CSI: Miami. You know, the one where David Caruso wasn't overacting, and wasn't saying some stupid phrase that rhymed while simultaneously squinting at the camera, and they actually caught and took down all the scary looking members of the Mala Noche gang and by using that tactic where they...oh wait, that NEVER HAPPENS (note to CSI: Miami, hook us up with some new plot lines) but anyway, I digress...So, I did what any normal, nosy neighbor would do and I looked at the return address label. This giant, contraption holding box had come from none other than GoodGoth.com. Hmmmmmmmmmm...visions of black leather contraptions and embellished coffins were dancing in my head and thus I promptly shut the dumpster, giggled to myself, and walked back to my apartment staring suspiciously at all my neighbor's bedroom windows shaking my head. But then, unfortunately, I promptly forgot about it.

Until Today.

So I was having the most efficient morning ever, when I overheard someone discussing cardboard boxes outside my cubicle, and I was suddenly transported back to that dumpster (I can smell it now, ah!) and my friends over at GoodGoth. So against my better judgment, but of course with a full 360 degree inspection outside my cubicle just to make sure if I all of a sudden pulled up something NSFW I wouldn't get totally busted...I typed the website into my browser. Up came a somehwat disappointing website selling odd goth paraphernilia, and nothing that screamed "I come in an oddly shaped box". The website itself appeared tame in content, however, it was kinda of dark and scary in a very purposeful way, and looks like a good site to bookmark for all those times when the Marilyn Manson website is down, or perhaps your mom won't drop you off at the mall even though Hot Topic is having a sale, if you know what I'm saying.

Well being the ::ahem:: "professional" that I am, I shut that down quick so that no one would walk by and think that I was counting the minutes until I could drive myself over to that wicked Hot Topic sale -- but I failed to realize that this silly, silly URL would be burned into my silly, silly web browser's memory, and so now everytime I try and go to GOOGLE (which by the way I use ALL. DAY. LONG. EVERYDAY.) by typing in "www.g-o-o" and hitting enter (since that used to bring up the site everytime) I end up back at effing goodgoth -- and I'm sure I've gotten a few raised eyebrows today. And I don't know how to make it stop!

I hate being computer retarded.

Love is All Around

One of my favorite stories I remember hearing while growing up is how my parents began dating. They were both Freshmen in high school and my mom was a letter girl and my dad played football. I know this story starts out so All American you want to be sick now but fret not, the mob tactics and bribery come later.

At the high school they both attended in Fremont, it was only the seniors who got lockers on the patio. This was the place to be apparently, and both my parents had older sisters who were seniors. My dad was lucky enough to have a sister who was willing to share her locker with him, and it was conveniently located right next to my mom's older sister Yvonne. At this point, according to my father side of the story, he was already a smitten kitten. He had spied my mom painting some football poster in the hallways one day and basically instantly fell in love with her and her "long, luxurious hair". Yes those were his words, and no he was not raised by parents who wrote romance novels or scripts for shampoo commercials. In his infinite quest to get my mom to go out with him, my dad offered to buy his sister Martha a new skirt if she would put in a good word for him with Yvonne. Apparently the fact that my dad told Yvonne daily, "You know your locker doesn't lock" hadn't gotten him very far. Go Figure.

When I ask my mom about it, she's not even sure Martha ever did put in a good word with Yvonne, or if she did, whether Yvonne ever passed on that good word. What she distinctly remembers is all his junior high friends (aw...junior high...they were such babies!) used to come up to her with newspaper clippings about him and his football prowess. Apparently everyone was trying to mack on my mom on my dad's behalf. He was working all angles. Now, whether my dad had orchestrated this or not is still debatable, but for my mom who views humility (and vaccuum lines on carpet) right up there next to Godliness, this was not doing the trick. But something about the whole sitaution did strike my mom. I mean, it must have, right? They dated for the next 8 years -- through high school, when my dad went to college in New Mexico, when he transferred to college in Hawaii. Through everything. When he was drafted to the Detroit Lions in 1976 and another big move was on the horizon, they finally decided to get hitched. To this day, even though my dad passed away in 1999, he is still the love of my mom's life.

"So what the heck was it?" I asked her this afternoon, "What made you finally go out with dad?" And do you know what her answer was? What it was that made my mom love him to begin with, and love him to this day:

"He was relentless."

Relentless.

That's it. I'm sure in the end it helped that it wasn't like creepy-stalker- weirdo relentless, and that he actually called her and was actually nice to her -- but on a day like today, when candied "I Love You's", predictable floral arrangements, and dinner reservations abound - I am reminded of how much better real love is. Love that cannot be expressed by Hallmark. As far as I'm concerned very few relationships hold a candle to the kind of love my parents had. It's funny, because looking back, none of those material love-markers were really around when I was growing up. My dad was never the big romancer guy. I mean he was big, and a guy, but that's really where the similarities end. He rarely brought home flowers, my mother was never dripping in jewels representing birthdays past, and if there was chocolate around it was more likely that my mom had baked something delicious than my dad stopping to pick up some sweets for his sweet. But as a child even, I never had any doubt that my parents loved each other. Because none of those things are what love is about.

I think that when it came to my mom, there was nothing that my dad wouldn't do for her, and I know for a fact that the feeling was mutual on my mom's end. That's just the kind of people they were. To me, to everyone, but especially to each other. When it comes to really loving someone, I think both parties in any relationship would agree there is really only one thing you ever want your significant other to do for you. And its not bring you flowers, or buy you diamonds. It's not buy a stuffed animal, or pay for an expensive dinner. Those things are nice, but they sure don't make you feel comforted. It's about being relentless. It's about knowing that the list of things you would do for that person begins and ends with 'anything'.

13 Questions any junior high gal would ask...

I've had a long day at work and I've been saving this little 13 question douchebag myspace style game to play with your iPOD until exactly the right headspace. The instructions say to hit the shuffle and answer the next 13 questions...so I did. Some were HYSTERICAL:


1. What do you think of me, little iPod?
Paranoid Android, Radiohead

yeah, well who asked you???

2. Will I have a happy life?
To Live and Die in LA, 2Pac

Hmm...I did live in LA. Does that mean I will die there, or perhaps in a Vegas shoot out?

3. What do my friends really think of me?
It's Not Up to You, Bjork

How the heck do you know its not up to me?

4. What does my significant other think of me?
Nothing Wrong, Jimmy Eat World

HA! I'm happy to see that one, and its ironic knowing how Garrett feels about Jimmy Eat World...

5. Do people secretly lust after me?
Gone, Jack Johnson

ahem, clearly my iPod doesn't know that I've STILL got IT. Maybe it just didn't get the memo.

6. How can I make myself happy?
Miner's Prayer, Dwight Yoakam

I have Dwight Yoakam on my iPod?

7. What should I do with my life?
Just, Radiohead

Just? Just what, Radiohead?

8. Why must life be so full of pain?
Merry Muthafuckin' Christmas, Easy-E

...uh, and a happy new year?

9. How can I maximize my pleasure during sex?
Sulk, Radiohead

I'm not kidding. I don't think this will work, actually.

10. Can you give me some advice?
Touch the Sky, Kaney West

Thanks, bro.

11. What do you think happiness is?
You Be Illin', Run DMC

Me and ill of any sort does not equal happiness.

12. Do you have any advice to give over the next few hours/days?
Let Me Kiss You, Morrissey

"There's a place in the sun for anyone who has a will..." Aw, I like that song

13. Will I die happy?
It's a Hit, Rilo Kiley

Yes or No, iPod. Yes. Or. No.

I'm really glad there was no #14, since the fourteenth song was Bombs Over Baghdad, by Outkast. Hmm...anyway, I don't feel any more enlightened, although now my penchant for nerdy surveys/tests is on display so everyone can see. Awesome.

If you ask me...that's a bargain!

At $2,119,600.00 it looks like selling my soul really will be the quickest and most efficient way to pay off my student loans and buy a home in California.

How much are you worth?

If I ran PETA...

I'm really not sure what purpose Paris Hilton serves on this planet besides being a constant emaciated reminder of what entitlement would look like if personified. I'm sure she's a very nice girl and all, but she doesn't do very much and is filthy rich and frankly that bugs me. If I were more zen and stuff I probably wouldn't care, but I'm just not, and besides if I were more zen and stuff I probably wouldn't have much to write about, and what fun would that be? Anyway, confessions aside, when Paris had flour thrown on her by PETA for attending a fashion show where fur was being used, I have to admit I found it somewhat humorous.

Today at work I started thinking a little deeper about it though (I mean I deserved a break from all the deep thinking I've been doing about Anna Nicole right?) and I came to the conclusion that this flour throwing stunt really wasn't that efficient. Actually, I'm ready to say that PETA's haterade tactics are generally not that efficient -- and boy I should know because I am a connosieur of the haterade. You see, I'm an underwriter for an insurance company by trade and I spend the bulk of my day looking at specific qualities of companies who desire insurance in an effort to determine their potential risk factors. It's not really rocket science, I mean its pretty well documented that certain traits tend to yield certain results. For example people with bad credit scores have more of a tendency not to pay things than people with good credit scores, and people who leave expensive things in places where there are no security measures in place tend to get robbed more often than people who keep their bling under lock and key, ya dig? All of this takes extensive training I assure you, but I won't bore you with the details. Basically on a regular basis I decide whether providing property/liability insurance for a certain business is going to be a good investment for my employer. And for the most part it's actually a pretty rad job, but the one uncontrollable side effect is that its turned me into kind of a hater.

See it's a total NERD-ALERT occupational hazard now, that when I'm on the premises of a business I am unconsciously determining exposures to loss in my head. I walk down to my local Safeway, and the cracks in the parking lot make "SLIP AND FALL HAZARD" appear in my head in neon lights. I pass quaint lofts above neighborhood bistros and I think "ALERT ALERT - life safety issues for all tenants. What happens when that kitchen catches on fire??? YOU DIE!" You get the picture - I just have a hard time turning that off. So what does all this have to do with PETA, you wonder? Ah, what a tangential train of thought this brain weaves...allow me to explain.

So on my way back to work from lunch today I passed the Planned Parenthood building off of Biz 80, and thought smugly to myself as I usually do, "ha ha! we would NEVER insure that!" Who wants to insure the building of any location that people like to bomb? Not I said the fly- er...rather, said the company I work for. And for some reason this made me think of the aforementioned surprise attack PETA made on Paris, and how even though this got so much publicity, did it really deter Paris from wearing fur? Um, no more than it detered her from being a vapid, orange waste of space, methinks.

So then I thought, why doesn't PETA ever head on down to their local Black Angus or Ruth's Chris and flour up all of their patrons in their pretty suburban-nite-out outfits? I mean doesn't that make more sense? Haven't you seen those Ruby-Tuesday commercials? They use 3 kinds of steak in their burgers!!!! It's called efficiency, people! If your fighting for the humane treatment of animals, why don't you start with carnivores? I mean sure Paris probably shows up here and there in a fur coat, but I mean all you have to do to remedy that is call up Anna Wintour and tell her the next big trend is Hefty bag dresses...and then the whole world will see Paris in the couture that she was really born to wear. I mean I may never insure another steakhouse again, but c'mon, Paris Hilton in a trash bag? Wouldn't that just make the world an infinitely better place? C'mon PETA, get rid of the flour and get on the bus!

Where I've Been, What I've Been Up To

As there has been somewhat of a hiatus in my posting, I feel it only fair to update you, my fair readers (all 3 of you), with all of the wacky and wonderful things that have been going on in my life over the past few weeks. I have been very very busy doing the following:

1. Breathing - it's exhausting really, and I've been required lately to do it all day, everyday!

2. Still hating Crocs - Now I do love me some Mario Batali (and the fact that he wears a fluorescent orange pair every week on Iron Chef America doesn't make me hate him, but instead gives me hope that he too realizes that they really are just a big joke and is just being ironic, which would officially make him the coolest guy ever) but I just cannot for the life of me understand the appeal of this horrific, horrific footwear. Why do normal members of the shoebuying population buy these? Don't you remember Tevas???? It is a slippery slope people! They're just hideous, and lately plotting how to fight that evil has been consuming me.

3. Spilling coffee on myself - This morning I got up totally late. Not for any rational reason either, solely because Garrett has a comfy new bed and he is most definitely cuter and warmer than my cubicle (empirical data to follow). I decided to just keep hitting snooze, knowing full well that I had to go home and iron - a task that I dread always, but especially in the morning. When I got home I tore through my closet trying to find something acceptable to wear to work, hating everything I own, feeling like I have no clothes, and pondering where in the hell in Genesis it says that if you eat fruit from the tree of knowledge you will get cellulite, assuming of course Taco Bell is that fruit. You see, I am very busy Now after all that thinking (pre-caffeine by the way) I finally picked out an outfit, ironed it, and got on the road to Peet's to grab my daily cup o' joe. I just realized I hate that expression. Note to self: delete 'cup o' joe' from vocabulary. Anyway, in and out in a second, I was back on the road and on my way to work at about 7:45. Miraculous, I know -- I'm just good like that. But after all that crazy efficiency, I take my first sip of much needed coffee, and the lid immediately comes off and it proceeds to POUR all down my white shirt, as well as dripping all over the pants I just ironed. Totally unsalvagable. So yeah, I had to go back home and start that whole process over again. It totally rocked.

4. Feeling Fat - see above.

5. Being annoyed at Banana Republic - Since when did Banana Republic start thinking they were Coach? I did a little online shopping this morning, and being the rule follower I am, I looked only for shoes and/or accessories. Now repeat after me - "No shopping for pants when I feel fat." Great, glad we got that cleared up. So I was looking at the purse page, and of course there were some cute selections, but every single one was like $248 OR MORE! Um...I don't see little 'C' logos decorating the outside, I don't see the D&Bs, or the LVs. The green and red Gucci stripe was noticeably absent...so what's with the inflated prices? I'm sure it's probably lovely leather treated by the hands of small children from other countries and all, just as we have grown accustomed with those pricier brands, but I'm pretty sure the label inside still says Banana Republic, which is still affiliated with Gap, which is still affiliated with Old Navy, which means YOU CAN'T CHARGE $300 FOR PURSES!!!!! You just can't. I'm sorry, those are the rules.

6. Watching Bad Movies - So against my better judgment I rented the dvd The Guardian with Kevin Costner and Ashton Kutcher this past week. It goes something like this. Young cocky dude tries to join Coast Guard because he swims real well and owns a pair of gold rimmed aviator sunglasses. Old cocky teacher dude who just experienced tragedy in the field, only to come home and have his wife leave him, gives young cocky dude crap because he sees a little bit of his inner child in young cocky dude and it touches him inside his shell of armed services seriousness. Deep inside. Deep inside that place men don't like to talk about. There is lots of yelling. There is tender man-emotion. There are swimming drills, beer drinking, bar fights, arguable homosexual undertones. Then young Cocky dude meets a girl. More tender man-emotion. Yada Yada. Ashton's secret comes out. There's some tattoos. And the Bering Sea. It's very all very crafty. And then comes the ending-- which by the way I'm not going to talk about it in case the riveting teaser above has convinced you to make tonight a Blockbuster night-- but I will tell you that I could see it from a mile away, but when it happened, I still bawled like a baby. Just like that. Manipulated by Hollywood. I hate when that happens.

So you see dear reader(s), I have been very overwhelmed with this schedule of demanding tasks and gala events, and thus have given very little time to writing over the past month. I've just checked my calendar, however, and although in the coming weeks my schedule is full of blinking, sleeping, working, watching bad reality television, and probably still breathing, I'm thinking I will be able to get some writing in. So we'll see what happens.

Punctuation Nerds, UNITE!

Ever since I rejected the cliched Dilbert calendar and purchased my Eats, Shoots & Leaves desk calendar for my cubicle, I have been treated to daily dose of commentary on punctuation. Yep, I pretty much love it! Here is today's entry in riddle form, which I was just tickled by:

Every Lady in this Land
Hath 20 Nails on each Hand;
Five & Twenty on Hands and Feet;
And this is true, without deceit.

(Every lady in this land has twenty nails. On each hand, five; and twenty on hands and feet.)

xo,
Your nerdliness

No More Cheezy Poofs!

Garrett's parents are in town for about 3 weeks, and I was pretty excited to have a little "me time". For some reason that statement gives me visions of recent Britney Spears photos and smacks a little too much of self-help books (which kind of makes me wanna puke in my mouth a little) but I assure you I was just looking forward to concentrating on the minutiae of my daily life that I often put off because when presented with the 2 options, Garrett is ALWAYS more fun to hang out with.

I found that my first response to having some extra time to myself was to resort to my secret single girl style of grocery shopping. A couple days after his parents arrived I found myself at Trader Joe's with a cart full of single serving frozen foods, boxes of ready made pasta dishes, things I would never buy if I knew Garrett would be coming over (hello, garlic fries!), and of course a bunch of crappy junk food that I planned to use only to assuage my sorrows on the nights I would be forced to watch TV alone with a cold spot beside me on the couch where a certain someone usually sits (read: dunkers, won ton chips, mini peanut butter cups, and veggie chips...ugh!) You shut up! I can hear me getting fatter too and I don't need your judgmental glares exacerbating the situation. I thought it was AWESOME planning.

Yeah, so it turns out not so much. You see, said trip to Trader Joe's set me
back well over $50 and 3 days later with the prospect of having Garrett come over for actual dinner, I was forced into the realization that I had no actual food. Nothing to prepare, nothing to turn into a meal, and nothing to be the least bit healthy and/or nourishing (unless of course your kind of nourishing involves chips named after vegetables, containing no actual vegetables, and for the record, mine does not). I prefer to actually have tasty vegetables and a nice selection of meat and poultry at my fingertips, so it should be no surprise that I was thus, disappointed and in somewhat of a state of panic.

Thinking about what I had in the fridge, and imagining what economical things I could purchase to make a normal meal meant that I would ultimately have to go to Safeway and get MORE groceries! Are you kidding??? I thought I spent more money shopping for food for two, but clearly when I plan to eat for one (or more appropriately when I eat for lonely) but that's clearly not the case. The upside was when I realized that I could probably cook Garrett anything and he would eat it, and that made me feel somewhat relieved. I love that my boy has an appetite, because there is really nothing I relish more than cooking up a feast, though I must admit I wish he wouldn't tell me that everything I make tastes great, because I know this can't possibly be the case. Exhibit A - the dinner I cooked last night. YUCK! Bobby Flay I am not, and unfortunately I can still taste the combo of mint, cilantro, and vinegar that went horribly wrong. OH GOD AND PEAS! There were peas, too. VOMIT! It was just so bad. Although who am I kidding, it's incredibly endearing that most of the time (I hope) he is probably telling the truth with these wily compliments of his, and if he's not, well then I say --nice job going back for seconds, babe. It really lends authenticity to this little vignette you are performing for me where I make wretched food and you pretend to like it so as to not hurt my feelings. You know I love you for that, right? But, I digress. Basically all this thinking about singles versus couples and their food choices made me contemplate how my relationship has definitely affected the evolution of my cooking skills.

You see, I basically spent a good portion of my life knowing only how to boil water. And not in that cute way that Tyler Florence and that spritely blonde chick do it on the Food Network. You know that show called, aptly, "HOW TO BOIL WATER" where in the end it never fails that they come up with like an entire beef roast with the appropriate accoutrement, and then serve up some fruity cream cheese tart for dessert? Yeah, my water boiling days were nothing like that. Anyway, for most of my life cooking was never this ultimate skill that I wanted to perfect. I swear to you I only began to learn out of necessity, and even then I rarely practiced it because we all know how depressing "Cooking for One" is, so living that lifestyle was never too high on my list of priorities. By the way, in my poor mother's defense, this was not for her lack of trying, as growing up she was constantly trying to teach me these skills in sustenance that I would surely need to know, and as usual, my stubborn self just turned my nose up, and I therefore remained culinarily challenged for many many years. It wasn't until 2002 that I finally had a come-to-jesus moment with a box of Pasta-Roni, and I don't really think things have been the same since. I'm not saying I haven't consumed boxed pasta since then(see above story about Trader Joe's), I'm just saying it is no longer a part of my regular kitchen rotation.

I have to admit though, that for many years I think that I felt that cooking was sort of this anti-feminist skill acquision. Girls I knew who liked to cook were the same girls who fantasized about what their wedding dresses were going to look like or what they were going to name their children when they were born. I have never been that girl. Frankly, if I ever do get married, I fantasize about eloping in a pair of sweat pants from the GAP and a hoodie that doesn't make me look fat somewhere where corking fees don't exist and red wine comes out of a fountain right next to the Mikuni dispenser, but that's neither here nor there. The point is, I never took the time to learn to cook, because it has always screamed of feminine oppression. I feared that having this skill-set would mean I was stuck constantly taking care of other people's needs, and then on top of it(eek) HAVING TO DO THE DISHES! The thought of myself barefoot in the kitchen was enough to make me want to eat freeze dried foods out of pods for the rest of my life...without using filtered water!!!!!

Somewhere along the line, however, I realized that cooking a nice meal, was a nice thing to know how to do. I always liked having friends over and it seemed to only get better if I could have them over AND we could eat. I know, SHOCKER! I also realized that cooking appeals to that part of my brain that loves a challenge, and what could be better than achieving your goal -- and then getting to eat it? Not much, I tell you. NOT. MUCH. It's ridiculously satisfying, really, even when you have to touch slimy ligaments and bones. And above and beyond even that - how great is it to be able to make yourself anything you could possibly want, regardless of time and place. Eggs and potatoes at midnight is pretty empowering. Not the least bit oppressive as I once thought. Oh how I mourn those years -- all that pasta and foods from a box. I shudder...

When Garrett and I began mealing together, it just got even better. Cooking for him is something I LOVE doing. Not only because of his appetite, adventurous spirit when it comes to food, or his complimentary phrases (ok so it might be for the phrases), but because for the first time in my life I feel kind of nurturing. I haven't spent my whole life having those traditional girl-thoughts about motherhood, nesting, or being a wife, but that doesn't mean I don't have the desire to care for someone else and provide for them something that is tangible and full of love. Cooking for him (and with him, since I've said time and time again that he is the best sous chef in town) has allowed me to express that little nurturing voice that I do actually have inside me, and for a long time I hadn't really had another person so deserving of my nurturing. Now that I think about it, it's kind of nice, actually.

And besides, most of the time (HALLELUJAH!) he does the dishes.