in theory ...

almost two years ago, i developed a theory that everyone in the world who has ever seen the godfather likes the godfather; everyone who has ever heard a song by prince likes prince.

i call this my prince and the revolutionary theory. that these two things exist in a world filled with opinions, and everyone has the same opinion: prince rules. so does the godfather. [obviously, i was proven wrong in the comments of my post. but for some reason, even though someone said "i actually don't like the godfather," i cannot get it through my head that this theory is not still 100 percent true.]

another universal truth i hold is that 1984 was a great year for music: the cars, the go gos, van halen, rem, spandau ballet, inxs, run dmc, culture club ... i could go on.

apparently i was wrong. not everyone believes 1984 was a great year for music.

hacksaw: the 80s were terrible for music.
me: wrong. 1984 was like the greatest year in music history.
hacksaw: 1984?! what happened in 84?
me: uh. [sarcastic "uh" i might add] let's see: madonna's "like a virgin," prince's "purple rain," springsteen's "born in the USA" ... [then with less confidence] and who could forget wham?
hacksaw: pssshh ... all the good music is from the 70s.
me: [still going] the smiths, the cure, depeche mode ...

finally someone jumped in with: the suburbs?

this left hacksaw shaking his head. opinion. unchanged.
theory: losing momentum.

fun shackle II ...

,
it's here! my favorite duluth holiday week. let the fun* begin.

*or, as much fun as is possible given that this year chuck works during the primary fun hours.

hmm ... tastes like doritos ...

stuff i did last week:

HOW IT ALL STARTED IN THE KITCHEN


fried chickpeas: this one gets a five-star wowza, and only partly because the mixture tastes like cool ranch doritos.

for some reason i can't find the recipe online -- i got it from a vegetarian times cookbook -- but it's simple: olive oil, dump chickpeas in sauce pan with fresh ginger and green chilis, until chickpeas brown. then add one diced tomato and then add like every single spice involved with making indian food: cumin, cayenne pepper, turmeric, curry powder and mix it with reserve chickpea juice. dump it in pan, mix it up.

but the best part was when i spontaneously whipped up a cucumber sauce to go with it, just in case it was too hot for mr. real-live-living-breathing-functioning-tastebuds. when that worked out, i knew i had hit cooking chi.

say it with me: kitchenstincts.



vegan lasagna: so this photo doesn't look like much, but it tasted pretty good. just substituting out the cheese filler with crumbles of firm tofu, garlic, basil, parsley. i used a pan that was too small, so my lasagna was really tall and messy. i also added soy sausage to the recipe. it has a lot of spinach in it, which was also nice. i added a lot of salt and pepper to make it a little more badass.

we are rich in leftovers.

READING
Neverwhere: A Novel by neil gaiman: I took my first trip in recent history into the Sci/Fi section of the bookstore. After seeing the movie “Coraline,” I decided Sci-Fi or not, I was going to read a Neil Gaiman book. It took me about two sittings with Neverwhere before I finally shook the feeling that someone had slipped me a Harry Potter. But from then on, smooth Sci-Fi sailing.

Neverwhere stars Richard Mayhew, a guy with a job and a troll doll collection he keeps on his desk at work, and a bossy fiance who drags him around malls and museums. They are on their way to an important dinner function when Richard stops to help a bloody mess-of-a-girl who is on the sidewalk. His fiance insists they don’t have time to help her, gives him an ultimatum, and flounces off to dinner without Richard.

full review here.

LISTENING TO
To Lose My Life (Filthy Dukes Remix): this band makes music that sounds like all my favorite bands making out with each other.

It's Blitz!: this is good sunny day, sun roof open, obnoxious sunglasses, driving to the cities music. but it is not better than that moment near hinckley where i can trade it out in favor of the current.

TV STUFF
america's next top model: i finally realized where i know natalie from: she played the role of caitlin on the real world brookly. mystery solved, right before she was kicked off the show.

fyi: i like pho and allison, and i think the blonde with the wonky eyes is okay. but mostly i like pho and allison.

90210: i don't know why i'm still watching this show. for awhile, it was because i wanted to see the diablo cody cameo, and i wasn't sure when it would air. but that was last week, and i stuck around this week because donna martin is back.

i wish this show could just watch itself and let me have my 42 minutes of peace.

real housewives of ny city: i'm not saying a word about the countess's halloween costume.

cake ...

today i went down south to mel's first communion. a white-dress affair featuring 30 8-year-olds dizzy with red wine fever. i spent most of the mass assigning various "how we met" stories to the couples within my line of vision:

frat party.
same law firm. ... wait, no, siblings.
match.com.
blind date.
happy hour at champs.

since my last trip to a catholic church, they've added a verse to the "our father" and completely eliminated kneeling from the repertoire. i like to think the latter followed a letter-writing campaign that really united the congregation's geriatrics with high school basketball players who had recently had, or were in the process of having, ACL surgery.



also, in a closed captioning version of one of the prayers, catholic wasn't capitalized but church was. i flipped it over in my mind, wondering why and only later realizing it probably wasn't on purpose and therefore didn't have a larger meaning.

i had to practically walk backward from communion because i wanted to see what mel would do when faced with the challis of wine. [tips to a barely perceptible degree, quickly hands it back to the woman.] brother pista asked if she was going back up for seconds. she decided she could probably eat five of the communion breads.

then back to the pista's for shish kabobs and cake that really raised the bar on what i will expect from desserts in the future. [thank god grandma pista let me lick her plate, too. i made sure to get frosting in my fingernails to gnaw at on the drive home.]



let this be a lesson: ma pista+iphone=cleavage shots.


here we are, mel's godparents. sister-in-law pista's brother and me. i think we get mel if the pista brother and sister-in-law decide they don't want her anymore. at least that is what i gleaned from the rules.

then i drove home and cracked a bottle of wine and listened to depeche mode's "music for the masses." i was into this tape at the same time as i was into 21 jump street. "never let me down again" will always remind me of johnny depp.

unfiltered ...

today i got my oil changed. apparently my air filters had advanced to a freak show level of disrepair. [this photo, by the way, means nothing to me. i get that it looks like a vegan snack tray and it's not supposed to.]

"oh my god," the tech said when he looked at them.
i love a good "oh my god." i like to know that i'm being filed away in some sort of jiffy lube collective memory of greatest hits.

apparently, replacing these means my air conditioner will work again.
huh. cars.

and with that, we never talk about clothes again ...

poor fannie mcfanster, sitting at work, receiving my manic deluge from the fitting room at benetton. promptly churning out email responses that sound like lyrics to the school song.

it's so much better than actually shoppng with someone. santa, thank you for technology.

i now take you where no one has gone before: into the dressing room. with me.

[i tried on every single dress at benetton. no kidding. all i wanted was something nice, simple and summery. i found myself in disco, wedding and lounge singer territory. here are the out-takes].

i fall into the trap of this style of dress for most occasions. and then i always get to this no-sweat-pants-allowed thing, look around, and think "well. here i am again. wearing this."


and so i tried it again in a purple knit version built for a woman with baywatch boobs.


this one confused me. i like it. it's very cute, and it meets my needs as being something that looks unlike anything i've ever worn before. it does not, however, meet my needs of later being paired with cowboy boots so i can roll all urban outfitter. i could give those sleeves a swift yank and be za-za-za-ing all over town.



then i tried this shirt, which doesn't photograph well, but may be the greatest shirt i've ever seen. i could wear it with a skirt. still looking like myself, casual, but not wearing something i'd turn around and sleep in later.



so i went with the shirt. then, as i was leaving the store, i got a response to the "mrs. roper's fancy night at the regal beagle" dress. fannie insisted that if i wore that thing in front of ma pista, she would never say a word about anything in my wardrobe ever again -- an offer i couldn't refuse. i mean, it freakin' looks like an easter basket and ponies.

so i spun around and got the dress, too. [i'd wear the shirt anyway]. but now i'm taking the dress back because really. when am i going to za-za-anything?

on wednesday night i subjected chuck to a version of this disaster. i kept it quick and low maintenance, mostly gliding through dress areas, touching things, frowning and quickly moving on. until i found this:



... which i'd wear if i was a whore.

and this:



which i'd buy if i was gay. then i'd make my girlfriend carry it around for me.

back on fifth place northwest ...

one of my very first friends posted these on facebook last night. christa pista, age sixish. hobbies include swinging super high on swing sets, listening to the doobie brothers, supertramp and marty robbins. favorite foods include corn fritters and 2 percent chocolate milk. talents include coloring, fast running, and reading aloud.

you may be inclined to tease her for a) picking her nose; b) the freckles.


[in this one i'm the mean green swimming machine]


[this is the first day of kindergarten. i'm a little stunned that i would purposely hold hands with someone. i really didn't like doing that until i was about ... um ... 31?]

closet case ...

this weekend i am going to mel's first communion, which, if memory serves correctly, is held in a church. now i can call it "the grand wine and cracker party of '09" as much as i want to in my head, but the fact remains: it is in a church.

here is what i'm struggling with, american eagle almighty, what to adults wear to church?

FACT: my mom will be there. i have never talked to my mom for more than four minutes without her telling everyone in the room that she is going to sign me up for "what not to wear."

she has a valid point. i don't really live in the real world, fashion-wise. i live in duluth. even the gap couldn't survive here. it closed like a month ago.

i spend approximately:
12 hours a day in pajama pants, wife beater, hoodie.
3 hours a day in running pants, a sports bra, t'shirt, hoodie.
9 hours a day in jeans and a solid colored shirt that most likely includes a hood and/or stocking cap.

i mix it up. i may go out in public in jeans and a wife beater. with a hoodie.

i do not look good dressed up. i look like i'm in the early stages of exploring a transgender lifestyle. i'm better with casual. i live in the right place. as far as i can tell, no one cares what anyone looks like here, which makes it hard to imagine a time or place where anyone cared if anyone else cared what they looked like.

so i want to look nice. nice and clean, actually. i don't want a boob to flop out [my dad's retirement party ... and, well, junior prom] and i don't want my mom to scream at me because i'm wearing jeans [they were editor pants from express. at my grandpa's funeral.] i just want to look like a natural and carefree 33 year old who didn't have to ask the internet what to wear to a first communion.

here are the facts:
skin tone: pasty.
colors that [i think] work for me: greens? oranges? black?
problem areas: i do not look good in a capped sleeve or anything shorter than that. i don't really look so hot in V necks, or scoop necks, although scoop necks are worse.
a skirt, if above my knee, has to hit at just the right spot or i look like i am perched atop stumps.

i like these, although A) is probably too short and B) is probably too short and see-through.




now who wants to be my big sister for the day? HELP! [these two ideas are just the direction i lean aesthetically. not too girlie. not too whatever-that-word-is-i'm-looking-for].

something i'd never do ...

i'd never walk up to a woman on a treadmill wearing ear buds that barely mask the lily allen swearing and insulting people over 30 from the speakers, a woman wearing her meanest of faces -- the running face -- and say:

"what race are you training for?"

and then, when she frowned like "are you really gonna make me take my headphones off for this?" i wouldn't have stood there waiting for a response.

and then, when she said "the half" i wouldn't have asked her to repeat herself so that i could say "you're going pretty fast" so that she had to explain that hal higdon called for a 5k race that she couldn't do this weekend because she was laid up with something called "running apathy" and "sloshy-jimmy-john's-breadsticks gut" and that the shame flashes from friday night were popping like the fourth of july so she had to stay home and out of direct sunlight, and that, no, she isn't really going that fast.

and then i totally wouldn't have popped my head around to her side of the treadmill to study the dashboard and see how fast she was going.

boundaries, buddy. what's next, a stool sample?

love mallets and bald spots ...

stuff i did this past week:

MAKING FOODS

black bean chili with dark ale: i made this, it was fine. anyway, this is hardly a recipe worth passing on. it's just chili, and a just fine one at that. although it was much better the second day. and the dark beer made the apartment smell awesome.

how i improved upon last week's grilled tomato and moz with oregano sandwich: sprinkled garlic powder on the bread. genius.

BOOKISH
The Song Is You: A Novel by arthur phillips: And there I was, minding my own business on a Sunday afternoon, when suddenly I could not put down The Song Is You by Arthur Phillips. It was like I got hit over the head with a love mallet. It had to be, because for the first third of the book I was trudging through Phillips’ metaphor mud, wondering why a character couldn’t just wave his hands. He had to be “waving at the air as if bees were approaching his ragged beard with colonial intent.” Etc., etc., etc.

(As a metaphor abuser myself, I’m especially keen to this infraction in others. Just like I notice other women who have the same bald spot that I’m growing.)

full review here.
Wetlands by charlotte roche: Congratulations, Charlotte Roche. Wetlands is officially the least impressive book from the most-hyped category that I have read in recent history. I’m embarrassed that I got sucked in by the chatter: the fans fainting at readings, the “most controversial . . .” plaudits, and the promises of shocking prose. I actually lifted my hungover body off the couch to immediately drive to a bookstore.

Now, the only good thing I have to say is, at least it only took three hours to read.

The novel is set in a hospital where Helen is about to have surgery on her butthole after a shaving incident.


full review here.

PRODUCT ENDORSEMENT

country choice organic sandwich cremes: ginger lemon: oh my freaking god. somewhere an oreo is spinning in its grave. this is the most amazing tasting cookie. it has an inordinate amount of zing to it. unfortunately, they are super expensive unless they are on sale -- which they are right now at the co-op. on sale, they are about the same as normal, far inferior cookies.
product endorsement

wonky ...

my brain was a mushy mess all day, and i wasn't the only one. we went to cub foods to get stuff for chuck's lunch. he looked at the gray sky and said something like "that sky is exactly the same color as my brain today."

and as we walked to the car afterward, chuck started to remind me that we still had to pick up food for his lunches.

but the worst of it was when we parked in front of the house. i had my purse slung across my body, the strap went under my hood. i was also wearing a seat belt and talking to the rock star amy abts on the phone. i tried to climb out of the front seat, but i was trapped in this crazy mess of harnesses. i could not figure out how to eject myself. i panicked.

chuck had to get back into the car, lean across the seat and untangle me. all while i screamed into the poor rock star amy abts' ear.

when the wheels come off ...

what the heck is this pretty thing supposed to be a photo of?

throughout the course of my first two drinks, i kept wondering when the wheels were going to come off. will the wheels come off? i wondered. or will this just be some sort of half-assed attempt at fun?

the wheels came off.


jcrew takes her first bus ride in duluth. i hope she puts this photo in her scrap book.

we started the night politely at the blue crab in duluth's understated west end. the fractals were playing some rockabilly music and an acquaintance leaned over and said: "i feel like i'm at a wedding dance." he proceeded to tell me how two 50-somethings had danced him into a sandwich when he was leaving the men's room. the fractals definitely inspire movement: i found myself contorting my elbow into a basic robot-dance maneuver, which i performed until it became uncomfortable for onlookers.

when the blue crab closed, we paraded down the block to curly's. we had picked up an extra friend by then, a man who seems to have forgotten that time at the pio when i spent an hour insulting him. he wanted to go to the bedrock bar -- he was looking for female companionship, but not the kind they sell at curly's -- but we talked him into stopping for one drink. he took one step inside the door, spun around and walked out.

"i can't do this," he said, and continued down the block.

curly's can be a little rough. i hold it near and dear because i had the best karaoke performance of my life there in about 2002. the song: borderline. the crowd: receptive. one man even slurringly tried to convince me he was an agent from las vegas who would make me into a star! [so that didn't happen]

we hung out there until i damn-near went fisticuffs with jcrew because she told me that she and bubbles would make better babysitters for my former landlord's little monkey than i would. this triggered a roid rage -- not sure why. i'm guessing that mich golden lite makes me think i'm mary friggin' poppins or something.

when i woke up, it all seemed very funny. but let's never speak of it again.


i totally forgot that chuck wrote "milk maid" on my knuckles.

freakish fetus-face knee ...

i have decided to use a training guide this year for the half-marathon. actually, i decide this every year. but usually somewhere between the printer and fruition, it ends up origami'd into a game of MASH. by the time i figure out i'm going to marry john e., have 17 kids, and live in a mansion in byron, minn. ... mission aborted.

nothing sucks the fun out of running like a training schedule. hell, nothing sucks the fun out of anything like an anything schedule.

FACT: this is one reason why my mom thinks i'm adopted. she plots, plans and purchases ticket. sharpens a special pencil to check things off her to-do list. if i didn't share the same crinkly knees that look like a fetus-face, i probably wouldn't make the tremendous haul that i do at christmas. hmmm ... cuisinart.




but i've done the whole "i'm not training for this thing" thing, and while it was fine, there is little satisfaction from laying next to the medical tent, parched, spent and sore, begging anyone for a sip of their band-aid.

FACT: i like doing things i hate. what am i, if not a tiny petri dish of scientific experimentation?

finding a training guide was easy. i just went with the same one i have ignored every other year. hal higdon's half-marathon training guide. i have no idea who hal higdon is -- if he is an actual runner, or just a guy with club foot and big dreams. and i went with the intermediate level because, let's face it, "novice" is just another name for "pussy," and i ran high school cross country. [15 years ago].

FACT: a good running mix is crucial for me, and right now i've listened to my various mixes so often that they have begun to sound like glorified ring tones. the other day i put my ipod on shuffle, which is good way to discover new songs to add to a bigger, better, faster running mix in the future. songs like:

"story of the grandson of jesus," by cloud cult
"i want you back" by jackson 5
"the fear" by lily allen
"everyone you know" by now, now, every children

also:
there is no good song to run to by she & him;
"bleeding love" by leona lewis feels like running in a romantic comedy montage; "that's not my name" by the ting tings is a good song to run to, and then immediately sever your own throat with your own shin bone;
running to "ok computer" is better in theory than practice.

and the really interesting thing i learned:

there is something really great about the hold steady's cover of "against the wind." it is a crazed and impassioned song by a man who sounds like five minutes earlier he was laying on the couch. then he propped himself up just enough to drink some campbell's chicken and stars. but he still had something really important to sing, and by god he's was going to do it.

it. is. fantastic.

old club-foot's plan is a 12-week plan and i, of course, miscounted. with 11 weeks to prepare, i started doing the workouts i should have been doing the week before. the week i was yawning big, taking it easy, and thinking, "so pretty soon i'll get serious about this stuff. but right now? i wonder what a self-induced bed sore would look like."

i was going to throw a big giant blah blah blahler contest, and let people predict how long i could stick to a training schedule. but that fell apart as soon as i had to use more than two hands to count something as unpredictable as weeks. you have to admit, every year i get closer to being the sort of person who could potentially stick to a 12-week training guide. i mean, i've had the same boyfriend for 2.5 years and i ate a mushroom a few months ago.

FACT: nearly every day that i am at the YMCA, i catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror before, during, or after my workout and wonder where my fashion inspiration is born. and why i don't think far enough ahead to realize that [in order]:

a) i'm wearing a lite blue shirt with green letters, with black pants with red stripes;
b) unless i want to put my clothes-clothes back on, which i don't, i have to go home wearing a long coat and short shorts;
c) how is it possible that there is enough liquid in my body to make this much sweat? d) holy crap! this is exactly what i looked like in 1994!






there was also an "oops i forgot to bring a shirt to wear over my sports bra" day that went horribly awry. i left the gym looking like the dizzy star of a porn called "forrest bumps."

so i melded week one and week two, and then i melded week two and week three when i punked out on week two's long run because the ymca was closed for easter. i flatly refuse to run outside with a stubborn will last seen when i flatly refused to take swimming lessons and flatly refused to drop a deuce in the dorm bathrooms.

what the hell. let's have the contest anyway. winner gets a framed photo of my freakish fetus knee: how long do you think i can loosely adhere to a 12 week training schedule before i decide to screw it all and work on my art?

adobo sauce demons ...

last night chuck watched me chop up a chipotle pepper in adobo sauce with a very skeptical eye. it was like he was a puppy i was trying to push down a wet slide.

he was having flashbacks to the time i made chili a year or so ago. while his tongue exploded into a fireworks display, and later his stomach gurgled like a volcano, i coolly ate the chunky mess. my tongue is dead from years of taste bud genocide one camel lite at a time. but just because a tongue doesn't register spicy doesn't mean the rest of my body is immune.

i woke chuck with my screaming. i was laying on the floor writhing in pain, contorting my body into variations of the fetal position and pleading for an exorcism.

last night was a new recipe, a new day, and i cut the call for chipotle peppers in half.

chuck: last time you made something with these peppers, i thought i was going to have to take you to the emergency room. you put too many peppers in because you have a dead tongue.
me: unfortunately my colon doesn't smoke.
chuck: it did that night.

less taxing ...

my taxes are done and sent. this means i have become two-days more responsible than ever before in my life. also:

federal return + state return = < the price to have an old woman type my numbers into turbo tax for me.

still, totally worth it. keep the change, betty. i didn't have to do a lick of math.

[i've recently been handpicked by the IRS to make monthly donations to their spring ball, based on some error i allegedly made in aught-six. i will never touch numbers again. i will also never lose any paper work that could prove my innocence. i'm not trying to be mysterious. the story just isn't interesting. it is, however, expensive.]

word i invented: kitchenstincts ...

i had that dream where i was so tired that i couldn't keep my head upright and couldn't stand up and meanwhile, i was late for a coldplay concert. i think this is because my windshield is cracked, i need to get my oil changed and i still haven't done my taxes.

at the grocery store on sunday, an old woman said to me:

"wait until you get old and shrink and everyone makes fun of you. especially the old geezers, they are the worst."

i wondered if she was an oracle.

in other news:

MAKING FOODS
grilled moz and tomato sandwiches: i had no idea! [sprinkle with oregano]. i used a generic cheese bread that was on sale to add a little zip. this may join fake chicken burgers and tator tots in the desperate dinner category.


spinach, feta and tomato quiche: this adventure included learning about phillo sheets. i could only find mini versions flavored with pesto or sundried tomatoes at my local supermercado. i decided that pastry sheets would do the trick, and proceeded as though they were phillo sheets, stacking six of them just like the recipe called for.

it seemed excessive, but who am i to balk in the face of moderation?

this resulted in what we'll call the "great wall of pastry." i need to learn to trust my kitchenstincts. [by far the best word i've seemingly invented.]

i also almost drowned the thing in milk when i decided to just empty the rest of the carton into it. that would be my second mistake.

that said, this was really really tasty, although it took about an hour an and a half where it was only supposed to take 40ish minutes.

TV
"the hills": two episodes. 48 minutes of commercials. 6 minutes of spencer's new hobby: the sexual harrassment stylings of a man three times his age. this show has taken a suspicious "i dream of jeannie" twist.

"the real housewives of new york": this joke starts out with "... a countess walks into the boys and girls club ..." and ends with the countess telling a 10 year old that she has plenty of time to lose weight so she can become a model. then she does some racial profiling and cheers up the girls by telling them about a magic place called "the suez canal" and how she became a countess, even though she came from the humble beginnings of sharing a loft apartment in paris with 12 other anemic models. ah, charity work. it's good for the soul.

READ A BOOK
The End Of Alice by a.m. homes: I'll say one thing for A.M. Homes: She is one brave writer. "The End of Alice" stars an imprisoned pedophile who has become pen pals with a 19-year-old woman who is dabbling in a similar avocation with a boy who is at that in-between age where he wants to see a naked girl, but also keeps a collection of his own scabs for snacking on, aged to create different tastes.

This is not a comfortable read. It's violent and graphic and gruesome. It couldn't have been a comfortable book to write. The inappropriate relationships are more thorough, more detailed, than a duet penned by Anais Nin and Henry Miller.

see full review here at some point.

what easter was ...

at grandma and grandpa smittley's house there was a huge easter basket for our family to share. four chocolate rabbits, not enough black jelly beans; too many purple and whites. also: oblong chocolate covered wafers.

one year brother pista, grandma smittley and i played a version of hide-n-seek, burying those wafers in various crannies of their house while the other players hunted for the candy.

for at least a year afterward, grandma smittley would find these stale chocolate candies in strange locations: hidden in a cake pan that hung above the stove, in jars, under this and behind that.

fancy tables filled with pizza ...

oh sweet succulent hangover of hangovers. last night i cast aside my usual friday night fare of vanilla sugar cookies and tivo to make the increasingly rare public appearance.

first stop: rt quinlan's to meet up with whiskey marie. i'm still waiting for the day that she comes to town wearing a raisin costume or at least a kitty litter tutu. my quinlan's friends are her high school friends, so we got to talk about duran duran and various makeout spots at the norshore theater. then jcrew teetered in the front door looking like bachelorette no. 3, ready to finally meet the famous blogger.

jcrew's enthusiasm reached mariah carey octaves.

aside: it's very strange to hang out with whiskey marie and not call her whiskey marie. by the time i'd marinated my brain in a certain amount of coors light, i just stuck to calling her "whiskey."

from there we went to the pio, where dozens of my friends had gathered to celebrate our friend blitz.

i believe this is where the wheels came off. when i try to reimagine the night all i get is my own mouth flapping like the valve of a whoopie cushion. there isn't enough space on the internet for my list of inappropriate topics and behavioral choices.

[insert public apology here]
[include thank-you note to blitz for the ride home]
[wonder to self if i waited until i got inside to go to the bathroom, or if i followed the lead of the neighborhood's collegiate element.]



today i wish for a more cave-like living room, with dark velvet drapes. i also wish for one of those tables fancy ladies use for eating breakfast in bed, and i wish it was covered with pizza. i wish that chuck had the ability to go out on friday nights so we could sit here in the dark with our fancy table covered with pizza and watch season 2 of buffy the vampire slayer.

right now i'm settling for a rachel zoe project marathon, as prescribed by dr. kj.

seniorita sweats-a-lot-in-her-sleep ...

chuck; but, wait. don't you want me to pull up the other sheet so it looks nicer?
me: no, i liked how the light looks on this sheet.
chuck: oh. sorry. i forgot you are an artist.
me: [laughs at that. worst picture-taker ever.]
chuck: so sensitive.

at some point it just became easier to buy new sheets. we waited an appropriate amount of time: the old ones just disintegrated upon touch. you're welcome, earth.

dinner conversation ...

me: all of our lights are burnt out.
chuck: maybe it's because you leave them on all night.
me: maybe that's because you make me watch shows about ghosts and fires and then you go to work.
chuck: [blinks]

my life in non-alcoholic beverages: a memoir ...

1975-1982: 1% milk. sometimes with nestle's chocolate powder.
1983-1986: capri sun/drink boxes [i'm not sure i could bust into a capri sun even now, at this advanced age. tricky buggers.]
1987-1989: dr. pepper [paired with slim jims]
1990-1994: lemon flavored gatorade [paired with lunchables]
1995: clearly canadian
1996: fruitopia/tang
1997-1998: coke
1999-2001: snapple
2001-2004: coke
2005-2009: water [scientific reasons: love that transparent urine.]

and, more specifically:
today: sobe life water [pomegranate cherry]
6 months ago: naked juice [red machine]
1 year ago: vitamin water [red]

kiss my grits ...

here's what crappened last week:

MAKING THE FOODS

but, oh my, this picture of enchiladas is gross.

vegetarian enchiladas: someone said the word "enchilada" to me this week, and it undid 20 years of thinking i didn't like enchiladas. the word stuck in my brain and i was like "hmm ... must make enchiladas." these were deese. the pinto beans were a weird choice, and i ran out of the fake meat before i could actually make four servings. and there is a weird slightly sweet taste that has to come from the honey. but all in all, easy peasy and fast and a nice way to shuttle monterey jack cheese into my gaping face hole.



cheese grits with chunky tomato sauce: why am i eating grits? good question. i was looking for a recipe with hominy in it and stumbled on this mess. it's grits mixed with cheese and covered with diced tomatoes and onions. very simple. grits simply providing, once again, a canvas for tomatoes and onions. but this tasted like comfort food. i will definitely make this again.

TV TIME
"real housewives of new york city" this is easily my favorite show on tv right now. unless i'm watching next top model.

"rescue me" anyone wanna wager a guess on how many episodes of this show i've seen in the past three days? 45 minutes a pop? 10. yes, i had dreams where sean garrity was hanging out in the background.

FEELING BOOKISH?
The Pilo Family Circus by will elliott: If I learned anything from "The Pilo Family Circus" by Will Elliott, it is that you cannot trust the Internet to tell you if a book is good. According to my research, this will be the first negative review of a book that won all sorts of weird Australian awards for fiction, and earned a blurb, through no fault of the author -- I understand -- likening this novel to the works of David Lynch and Chuck Palahniuk.

I'm here to tell blurbologists that just because a writer smears feces on a wall doesn't make him anything like Chuck Palahniuk.

review will be here later this week.

MOVIE
"teen-age crime wave" 1955: this movie was part of a "juvenile delinquents" marathon on one of the movie channels. i think i laughed at every. single. line. high school good-girl gets mixed up with the wrong crowd. when she's picked up at the police station, she blames her bad behavior on how her mother picked a fight with her the previous day. oh, snap. she gets sent to a juvenile facility with the ring leader, who's boyfriend tries to bust them out. eventually they take hostages on an old farmhouse outside of town. it is saucy.

the lady in red ...

in the mid-1980s, she was a regular at 10 o'clock mass at st. piux x. she was tall and lanky, and when she walked, she looked like a stick figure from a flip book. leaning awkwardly forward like she as cutting through wind.

she had a mess of short brown hair with large loopy curls shaped like Cs, homage to a time when women set their hair in rollers, then slept semi upright to keep the plastic teeth from chewing at their scalp.

her eyebrows had been replaced by two shaky lines, drawn with brown eyeliner independently of each other: one line whimsical, the other angry, both sketched a little too high to look natural.

she always wore bright red lipstick, both on her lips, and in circular balloons on her cheeks. her face was powdered elizabethian white.

the woman's church dress was a red silky wrap dress, with a conservative V at the neck, and cinched above her hips. it was a disco dress. something a woman would wear her first night on "fantasy island."

she was there every week, breezing in late, striding to the front of the church to the third row of pews, off-center of the alter.

one time, after church, we were at barlow's picking up food for brunch. probably corned beef hash, if pa pista had his way. fried egg sandwiches if ma pista was making the menu. brother pista and i were in the back seat of the car waiting.

i'd never seen the woman outside of church, but there she was: cutting through the parking lot toward the mechanical doors of the grocery store. a few strides away, she cleared her throat, buckled at her waist, and sent a luggie sailing.

brother pista and i erupted into giggles.

* i'm reading a book about clowns.

the world ...

FRIEND 1: hey
ME: hey, what's up?
FRIEND 1: changin my tail light
ME: oh... nicely played.
FRIEND 1: what's up with you?
ME: going to burrito union for a beer and to hang with [redacted]
FRIEND 1: oh ... i saw that on facebook. isn't she doing her laundry next door?