I recently posted an opinion post (that now has everyone I know scared to speak to me for fear of critique--let me help out, I am critiquing you, but only judging if I don't love you), but today Rachel over at LalaLists is having a linky party that's opinion-themed. (Autocorrect really wanted to change that to kinky party, which would have changed this post altogether, and I'm not sure Rachel wants me telling the world about her having those kind of parties!) So, because you can't get enough, here are five random opinions.
Crocs are stupid. You will never, ever find crocs on my feet unless in the case of my untimely death, someone puts them on me in my casket to get back at me for something I did like correcting their grammar and chiding them for bad fashion choices. In which case, I will come back as an actual crocodile and bite that person's feet off. Laugh last? All mine.
You should respect the president whether you agree with him or not. I once had a teacher I hated and she hated me back. I wore lip gloss to her class and she made me wash it off. From that day forward, I chose to believe she hated me because I was prettier than her. Even though I hated her, I respected her. She was my teacher, and it was only right of me to not undermine her authority, defy her, or defame her. And the same goes with the leader of our country. The things I have heard people say lately make me cringe. At the end of the day, he deserves respect. His job is much harder than yours even on its worst day. And a little more love and respect in any situation can't hurt. So give it up.
When people say amaze balls, totes, or woot, I want to poke them in the eye. It makes me scream. It's like fingernails on a chalk board to me. These are made-up words that should have never been made up. Totes is the least offensive, but you sound like a modern day, albeit stupider version of Bill, Ted, Wayne or Garth. As if 'totally' doesn't make you sound stupid enough, you're not even smart enough to finish the word. And who decided woot is a celebratory word? It is typically the word that comes out of my mouth when I slip on water and catch myself before anyone important sees. Or the word that pops out on the occasion that I realize there was a little more substance to a fart than originally thought. Not a word used to tell someone I'm excited about something. So shut the woot up. The worst one is amaze balls. I have yet to see a pair of these that count as amazing, much less that are so awe-inspiring that I want to turn it into a positive adjective. Why did we add balls to an otherwise good word?? Wise up, people of the world, and stop making yourself look stupider using these dumb words.
Bare minerals is maybe the best thing I've ever put on my face (besides a kiss from my sweet SO, that is). I'll admit, I was resistant to it at first. I kept thinking my face looks far too shitty to get all the coverage I need out of a powder. I need coverage the consistency of paint and primer duo. But my good friend, Shelley began singing the praises of BareMinerals and my face did it's once a year freak-out around the same time. Covered in zits, red splotches, and dry patches, I decided I needed a miracle. And Bare Minerals was it. From the moment I began using my THREE kits I purchased, I have been a believer. The coverage is amazing, it makes me look bright and not old, and feels like I have nothing on my face. I'm in love, and it feels so good.
Of all the things that piss me off, LOL might be the biggest one. Let me let you in on a little secret: haha (an actual laugh/onamonapia) is a mere one letter longer! And rarely does something make me, in fact, laugh out loud. At which point, I'm so appreciative of the chuckle that I say 'I laughed out loud.' I have deleted phone numbers of potential suitors for the use of LOL. And my close friends know how I hate it, although I will forgive an occasional slip if I love you. (or in Joel's case, I will respond, 'That was funny, but don't use LOL.' I can't explain the fury it ignites in me, but it's there. And it's easy to alleviate. With a simple 'haha.'
There you have it. Five opinions that your day wouldn't be complete without. Dear World, you are welcome.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Casi and Joel: A Year in Photos
It's a big day in the Clark/Osborne home, so I thought I'd take a break from my as-of-late rants and celebrate...mine and Joel's one year anniversary! Now, there is some debate over the actual date that should be celebrated, as our first date was Sept. 8 of last year, but on Sept. 9 of last year (our second date), Joel said, "Oh! Wouldn't 9-9-11 be a great anniversary?" And so it was. The rest is history.
I have compiled my favorite pics from the last twelve months for you here.
Casi and Joel: A Year in Pictures
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| Sept 2011 at the farm |
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| Oct 2011 Halloween |
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| Nov 2011 Buffalo Road Show in IN |
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| Nov 2011 Thanksgiving (Christmas Card Pic) |
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| Dec 2011 Fiorella Christmas Party |
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| Dec 2011 Pryor/Clark/Spalding etc Family Potluck |
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| Dec2011/Jan 2012 New Year's Eve |
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| Feb 2012 Costa Rica--My 29th Bday |
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| Feb 2012 Costa Rica |
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| March 2012 Family Time |
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| April 2012 Melting Pot with the Barrs |
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| April 2012 at the Farm (Blurry but my favorite picture!!) |
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| May 2012 Cinco de Mayo! |
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| June 2012 Joel's Temporary Tattoo |
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| July 2012 Baker/Roberts Wedding |
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| July 2012 Newton Lake Trip |
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| July 2012 Fourth of July Celebration |
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| July 2012 Fourth of July Celebratory Kiss |
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| August 2012 Dancing at the Yellow Rose |
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| August 2012 Brunch in Nashville with Scott and Rachel |
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| Excited for many, many more years together! |
Friday, September 7, 2012
Things That Make Me Go UGH!
Confession: I have been one grumpy asshole lately. Little things have been setting me off and making me want to drop kick everything and everyone around me. I'm sure this has nothing to do with the week of the month that is upon me or my Holy-Shit-Have-I-Even-Taken-A-Break-To-Pee-Today Schedule, but I am--as of this moment--officially on vacation for the next 6 days. (Not 7, because I'm dumb and booked a 12 hour day next Friday--YAY!) So it's time to buck the hell up. But first, here is a list of five things that always--not just this week--piss me off. (More than five things routinely piss me off, but, hell, there are only 24 hours in a day. I can't be sitting here typing for all of them.) ENJOY!
--Mispronouncing the H in words. It makes me cringe. When people say Herb instead of --erb. And then when the same people say --uman instead of Human. (Mom, I'm only slightly talking about you. Other people do it too.) I think it should be labeled as some sort of disorder. In fact, mispronouncing things in general pisses me off. We have a county in Kentucky called McCREARY. People around me say McQUERY. I silently scream in my head every time.
--Poor grammar. This is a biggie for me. I will correct your ass in a second. Even if I barely know you. Subject/verb agreement is a basic concept, and I firmly believe if you haven't grasped it, you should be pushed back to kindergarten and forced to repeat every grade Billy Madison-style. I also will cringe when people misuse -ly. If you don't know if you are misusing it, look it up! I once purchased $80 worth of Grammar Girl's booksto prove I know everything about grammar just to learn more. And if you wonder if you're getting your grammar right, you should too. It honestly is one of my biggest pet peeves.
--Inappropriate responses to email or text. I don't mean like you say:
"Hey can I visit Thursday?"
And they say "F*** you, Mother F***er!" or "Only if you're naked."
I mean like you say, "I can visit either Thursday or Friday. Which is better?"
And they say, "Sounds great!"
Ummm, no. Answer the damn question.
I always want to reply "Read that one more time and try again."
It also drives me crazy when you send an email with more than one question, and someone responds with an answer to only the first or last question.
Like "Hey, I am coming Thursday. Do you want me to bring that cardigan for? Also, I'm getting McDonald's, what would you like me to get you? And would you like fries with that?"
And they reply "Fries sound great! See you soon!"
So, just as punishment, I am going to get McDonald's for me and eat my damn fries in front of you until you learn how to read an entire email or text.
I'm busy too. We all are. But you can take half a second and read an email, so that your response is appropriate.
--Inappropriate usage of quotes. Dear God, this makes me want to unfriend people on facebook daily. You only put quotes around actual quotes and when you're being ironic. Like if I said for the next week I'm going to "work hard." Because I'm on vacation, the work I'm referring to is putting the wine glass to my mouth. But when people post on facebook and say last night's concert was really "great" and you're an "amazing" singer, it makes me wonder if the concert was shit and the singer sounded like a dead moose. Because if it actually was great, don't use those f*cking quotes.
--Adding an s to words that don't need it. If you know me, you've probably heard me rant about this before. And I have often wondered if this is exclusively an Owensboro thing or if it is found 'round the world. But for a fact, people around here put an s on almost everything. Stores, restaurant names, bands, you name it, they're adding an s. We have a band in town called The Usual. (Like 'what will you have?' 'I'll have The Usual.') The people of Owensboro call them: The Usuals. They aren't the Wiggles, people! We have a restaurant called Shogun. No s. People say Shoguns. And then they'll say "Oh, it shows ownership." Bullshit!! Shogun is not a person!! And Kentucky has a basketball team called...THE KENTUCKY BISONS. C'mon, people, bison is plural!! That's like saying ChineseS. And my all-time, biggest ugh-inducer is when people say Krogers. When they tell me they went to Krogers to get it, I like to say "how many?" and when they look at me dumbfounded, I say "How many Krogers did you have to go to?"
There ya go, friends. Five of the biggest things that piss me off. So watch your words, or you might just get drop-kicked!
--Mispronouncing the H in words. It makes me cringe. When people say Herb instead of --erb. And then when the same people say --uman instead of Human. (Mom, I'm only slightly talking about you. Other people do it too.) I think it should be labeled as some sort of disorder. In fact, mispronouncing things in general pisses me off. We have a county in Kentucky called McCREARY. People around me say McQUERY. I silently scream in my head every time.
--Poor grammar. This is a biggie for me. I will correct your ass in a second. Even if I barely know you. Subject/verb agreement is a basic concept, and I firmly believe if you haven't grasped it, you should be pushed back to kindergarten and forced to repeat every grade Billy Madison-style. I also will cringe when people misuse -ly. If you don't know if you are misusing it, look it up! I once purchased $80 worth of Grammar Girl's books
--Inappropriate responses to email or text. I don't mean like you say:
"Hey can I visit Thursday?"
And they say "F*** you, Mother F***er!" or "Only if you're naked."
I mean like you say, "I can visit either Thursday or Friday. Which is better?"
And they say, "Sounds great!"
Ummm, no. Answer the damn question.
I always want to reply "Read that one more time and try again."
It also drives me crazy when you send an email with more than one question, and someone responds with an answer to only the first or last question.
Like "Hey, I am coming Thursday. Do you want me to bring that cardigan for? Also, I'm getting McDonald's, what would you like me to get you? And would you like fries with that?"
And they reply "Fries sound great! See you soon!"
So, just as punishment, I am going to get McDonald's for me and eat my damn fries in front of you until you learn how to read an entire email or text.
I'm busy too. We all are. But you can take half a second and read an email, so that your response is appropriate.
--Inappropriate usage of quotes. Dear God, this makes me want to unfriend people on facebook daily. You only put quotes around actual quotes and when you're being ironic. Like if I said for the next week I'm going to "work hard." Because I'm on vacation, the work I'm referring to is putting the wine glass to my mouth. But when people post on facebook and say last night's concert was really "great" and you're an "amazing" singer, it makes me wonder if the concert was shit and the singer sounded like a dead moose. Because if it actually was great, don't use those f*cking quotes.
--Adding an s to words that don't need it. If you know me, you've probably heard me rant about this before. And I have often wondered if this is exclusively an Owensboro thing or if it is found 'round the world. But for a fact, people around here put an s on almost everything. Stores, restaurant names, bands, you name it, they're adding an s. We have a band in town called The Usual. (Like 'what will you have?' 'I'll have The Usual.') The people of Owensboro call them: The Usuals. They aren't the Wiggles, people! We have a restaurant called Shogun. No s. People say Shoguns. And then they'll say "Oh, it shows ownership." Bullshit!! Shogun is not a person!! And Kentucky has a basketball team called...THE KENTUCKY BISONS. C'mon, people, bison is plural!! That's like saying ChineseS. And my all-time, biggest ugh-inducer is when people say Krogers. When they tell me they went to Krogers to get it, I like to say "how many?" and when they look at me dumbfounded, I say "How many Krogers did you have to go to?"
There ya go, friends. Five of the biggest things that piss me off. So watch your words, or you might just get drop-kicked!
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Best Blog Project Ever!
Joel just had the best idea he's ever had. No!--before you ask--he didn't propose.
He told me that, for my blog, and for the betterment of my future, I should make a list of 100 things you can't get away with in your 30's, and do one of those things each day of the last 100 days of my 20's.
Gang, this countdown starts in exactly 66 days (do the math, that means a mere 166 days until I'm 30), so I have to get cracking on this project.
I love this idea, so I have taken to the internet to get sample lists of the last 100 things to do in my 20's. Once I compile the list, I will share it with you here, and then complete one thing on the list every day until I reach 30.
Then I'm working on a sweet list of all the things my 20's have taught me. And maybe I'll learn some lessons whilst doing the last 100 things I can get away with as a 20-something!
He told me that, for my blog, and for the betterment of my future, I should make a list of 100 things you can't get away with in your 30's, and do one of those things each day of the last 100 days of my 20's.
Gang, this countdown starts in exactly 66 days (do the math, that means a mere 166 days until I'm 30), so I have to get cracking on this project.
I love this idea, so I have taken to the internet to get sample lists of the last 100 things to do in my 20's. Once I compile the list, I will share it with you here, and then complete one thing on the list every day until I reach 30.
Then I'm working on a sweet list of all the things my 20's have taught me. And maybe I'll learn some lessons whilst doing the last 100 things I can get away with as a 20-something!
Opinions are Like Assholes: I'm Surrounded by Them
So, it's a Presidential Election Year. (For the record, I hate when people say it's an election year. Note: every year is an election year, just not a presidential election year.)
But because we are a mere 63 days from the day we'll all (18 and older, only, please) vote for our choice for the next President of the US of A, people's opinions have kicked into high gear. As a rule, I rarely discuss politics or religion with people I'm not super, super familiar with (like we can talk about it and even if we disagree and think each other are idiots, you'll still love me and I still love you). I think it's silly when people get into heated debates over touchy topics as if there's some possible way that one party is going to say, "You know what?? You're right. I've been wrong all along. I'll change my opinions and beliefs on the double!" Mostly it's going to end in uncomfortable silence, a punch in the face, or a riot on the streets of Chicago. (Don't even get me started on politics and facebook. SUCH a huge pet peeve of mine!) I always think it best that we leave these opinions to the voting booth, the almighty use of our dollars, and who we pray to, meditate to, or pretend doesn't exist.
Unfortunately not everyone else is of this mindset, and lately, those people have gravitated toward me. Over the past month or so, I have found myself in far too many uncomfortable conversations where people are chronicling their political beliefs to me, in the stupid assumption that I agree, and better yet, even care. I do keep a close eye on politics and do have strong beliefs myself (those of which, you'll never learn from my blog, because I don't do that shit). Many of these uncomfortable situations have passed without note, where I politely nod my head while I'm making my mental grocery list, and the belief-sprewer goes on and on, until I can gracefully change the subject or act like I am having a f*cking heart attack, so they'd shut up and leave me alone.
But one incident in particular absolutely infuriated me, and I still haven't quite been able to shake it. I was at a school working with students when a substitute teacher asked me how the political change or lack of change might affect students' money for college. I immediately saw that this was simply an opportunity for her to pretend to listen to what I had to say and then tell me what she thought (because I care so much I can't sleep at night). To avoid this inevitable ridiculousness, I said, "Who knows?" shrugged, and tried to walk away. However, she caught me in her web of bullsh*t beliefs and had me standing there nodding and trying not to have a panic attack, while she began to tell me of the media-induced lies that she subscribes to. Besides trying to inch myself away toe by toe without her noticing, it wasn't too harmful, until she vomited up the most insane line I've ever heard uttered in public: "And what really makes me mad is when blacks and whites get married."
At this very moment, my face flushed, my fists clenched, and I felt a strong urge to put two fingers on her forehead, push it back as hard as I could, and say, "Hey b*tch, it's f*cking 2012. Maybe you should step your dumbass beliefs into this century." Instead, I interrupted her mid-sentence, mumbled something about being there to do work that I should get back to, and walked away, avoiding her at all costs for the rest of the time I was there.
Newsflash: This is my nephew. Notice anything progressive and awesome about this guy?
He happens to be biracial. His mother is black. His father is white. And all three of them are amazing.
So, during this political season, no matter your opinion, please keep in mind that other people may not agree with you. You don't know them and what their life situation is. As you ramble on about the right to have abortions, they may be struggling to conceive a wanted child of their own. As you complain about people who take advantage of government funding, they may have just reluctantly applied for unemployment benefits. And they may have the most awesome, beautiful, perfect little angel of a nephew who was created by two people that you just said should never have been able to marry. And when in doubt: keep your opinions to yourself.
But because we are a mere 63 days from the day we'll all (18 and older, only, please) vote for our choice for the next President of the US of A, people's opinions have kicked into high gear. As a rule, I rarely discuss politics or religion with people I'm not super, super familiar with (like we can talk about it and even if we disagree and think each other are idiots, you'll still love me and I still love you). I think it's silly when people get into heated debates over touchy topics as if there's some possible way that one party is going to say, "You know what?? You're right. I've been wrong all along. I'll change my opinions and beliefs on the double!" Mostly it's going to end in uncomfortable silence, a punch in the face, or a riot on the streets of Chicago. (Don't even get me started on politics and facebook. SUCH a huge pet peeve of mine!) I always think it best that we leave these opinions to the voting booth, the almighty use of our dollars, and who we pray to, meditate to, or pretend doesn't exist.
Unfortunately not everyone else is of this mindset, and lately, those people have gravitated toward me. Over the past month or so, I have found myself in far too many uncomfortable conversations where people are chronicling their political beliefs to me, in the stupid assumption that I agree, and better yet, even care. I do keep a close eye on politics and do have strong beliefs myself (those of which, you'll never learn from my blog, because I don't do that shit). Many of these uncomfortable situations have passed without note, where I politely nod my head while I'm making my mental grocery list, and the belief-sprewer goes on and on, until I can gracefully change the subject or act like I am having a f*cking heart attack, so they'd shut up and leave me alone.
But one incident in particular absolutely infuriated me, and I still haven't quite been able to shake it. I was at a school working with students when a substitute teacher asked me how the political change or lack of change might affect students' money for college. I immediately saw that this was simply an opportunity for her to pretend to listen to what I had to say and then tell me what she thought (because I care so much I can't sleep at night). To avoid this inevitable ridiculousness, I said, "Who knows?" shrugged, and tried to walk away. However, she caught me in her web of bullsh*t beliefs and had me standing there nodding and trying not to have a panic attack, while she began to tell me of the media-induced lies that she subscribes to. Besides trying to inch myself away toe by toe without her noticing, it wasn't too harmful, until she vomited up the most insane line I've ever heard uttered in public: "And what really makes me mad is when blacks and whites get married."
At this very moment, my face flushed, my fists clenched, and I felt a strong urge to put two fingers on her forehead, push it back as hard as I could, and say, "Hey b*tch, it's f*cking 2012. Maybe you should step your dumbass beliefs into this century." Instead, I interrupted her mid-sentence, mumbled something about being there to do work that I should get back to, and walked away, avoiding her at all costs for the rest of the time I was there.
Newsflash: This is my nephew. Notice anything progressive and awesome about this guy?
So, during this political season, no matter your opinion, please keep in mind that other people may not agree with you. You don't know them and what their life situation is. As you ramble on about the right to have abortions, they may be struggling to conceive a wanted child of their own. As you complain about people who take advantage of government funding, they may have just reluctantly applied for unemployment benefits. And they may have the most awesome, beautiful, perfect little angel of a nephew who was created by two people that you just said should never have been able to marry. And when in doubt: keep your opinions to yourself.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
I Thought I Should Tell You...
I almost had a panic attack this weekend. For reals. It was the strangest thing, but it's true. Near panic attack.
Here's the scene. Joel and I decided to be ultra lazy on Saturday and do absolutely nothing but lie in bed and watch Netflix. However, after a long day of lounging and sleeping, we decided to go have dinner. We were in Nashville, so it was not a problem that we'd decided to eat at 9:30, and we could walk to a multitude of restaurants. So we got dressed and began our journey of deciding where to eat.
I'm terrible at making decisions. I've told you this before. And, because Joel and I are both pretty agreeable, despite the tons of restaurants near our condo, we consistently go to the same three. But we wanted something different, so we go about our usual "It doesn't matter to me, what do you want?" "I don't know, what do you want?" banter. After walking in and out of two other restaurants to judge the crowd, band, and atmosphere (and $12 cover charge to walk in to one of them), Joel made the executive decision to eat at Virago. This is a REALLY nice sushi restaurant in Nashville, and I was happy to get to try something new.
The minute we walked up to the restaurant and got carded to even walk in, I started to feel a little off. There were three super-model tall girls teetering on six inch heels in front of us, and it took us ten minutes to walk slowly behind them as they scooted up to the hostess stand and pondered where they'd like to sit. Another hostess immediately helped us to our table. Unfortunately, we couldn't sit down because there was a man leaning into our booth pouring over some game on the television that was situated directly to the right of our table. After asking him several times to move, he finally got out of our way, and we sat down. At this point, my heart rate was rising, and I was starting to get a bit shaky.
I noticed almost as soon as we sat down that the music at the bar--which was again, directly to the right of our table, not separated by anything but other guests--was extremely loud. As we settled into our seats, it seemed to get even louder. Our server approached our table and handed us menus. She asked us if we would like still (I don't even know if that's spelled correctly, because I've never heard it asked like that!) water with our dinner. Having no f***ing clue what she was talking about, I look to Joel for a little help. He raises his eyebrows at me, being a gentleman, expecting the lady to answer first. As my face grew incredibly red, I meekly asked, "what's that mean?" The server sighed and said, "bottled water." Oh, sh*t, I wanted to say, you should have said that the first time. I nodded my head and said please, relieved. She then asked Joel, who trumped me by ordering a sparkling water, then looked back to me and said, "have you decided?" Decided, I thought. I haven't even looked at the menu! "About your water..." she continued. "Yes," I sighed, thinking I had already answered this question. "Bottled. Please." I answered.
After this ridiculousness, I begin to look at the menu, which I can barely see because it's so dark and try to read the words. The music boomed in my ears even louder. I glanced up and looked around at the seemingly thousands of people in this restaurant. Suddenly, it got really hot all around me. The words on my menu seemed to blur, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. My heart was pounding, and I was shaking.
Catching my eye, Joel looked at me and said, "Um....are you okay?!?!" "No," I mustered. "I think I'm going to have a panic attack. I don't understand. This has never happened before." "Was it the bottled water question," he laughed. I tried to eek out a laugh, but couldn't think of anything other than not passing out in the middle of this very fancy restaurant. He handed me a magazine we'd been carrying and told me to read it, as a distraction to how I was feeling, while he got the hostess. He came back moments later, telling me he'd negotiated a new table for us in a room away from the crowd and thumping music.
Moments later, feeling much better, I was trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Nothing, seriously, nothing has ever happened to me like this before. I can pretty much handle myself in any situation. But I can't explain Saturday night. As we left the restaurant hours later, with full bellies and some good memories, I remarked to Joel, "I think I know what it is." He glanced down at me inquisitively. "If they could have turned down the damn music and turned some lights on, I would have been fine," I said. "In short, I'm getting f***ing old."
Here's the scene. Joel and I decided to be ultra lazy on Saturday and do absolutely nothing but lie in bed and watch Netflix. However, after a long day of lounging and sleeping, we decided to go have dinner. We were in Nashville, so it was not a problem that we'd decided to eat at 9:30, and we could walk to a multitude of restaurants. So we got dressed and began our journey of deciding where to eat.
I'm terrible at making decisions. I've told you this before. And, because Joel and I are both pretty agreeable, despite the tons of restaurants near our condo, we consistently go to the same three. But we wanted something different, so we go about our usual "It doesn't matter to me, what do you want?" "I don't know, what do you want?" banter. After walking in and out of two other restaurants to judge the crowd, band, and atmosphere (and $12 cover charge to walk in to one of them), Joel made the executive decision to eat at Virago. This is a REALLY nice sushi restaurant in Nashville, and I was happy to get to try something new.
The minute we walked up to the restaurant and got carded to even walk in, I started to feel a little off. There were three super-model tall girls teetering on six inch heels in front of us, and it took us ten minutes to walk slowly behind them as they scooted up to the hostess stand and pondered where they'd like to sit. Another hostess immediately helped us to our table. Unfortunately, we couldn't sit down because there was a man leaning into our booth pouring over some game on the television that was situated directly to the right of our table. After asking him several times to move, he finally got out of our way, and we sat down. At this point, my heart rate was rising, and I was starting to get a bit shaky.
I noticed almost as soon as we sat down that the music at the bar--which was again, directly to the right of our table, not separated by anything but other guests--was extremely loud. As we settled into our seats, it seemed to get even louder. Our server approached our table and handed us menus. She asked us if we would like still (I don't even know if that's spelled correctly, because I've never heard it asked like that!) water with our dinner. Having no f***ing clue what she was talking about, I look to Joel for a little help. He raises his eyebrows at me, being a gentleman, expecting the lady to answer first. As my face grew incredibly red, I meekly asked, "what's that mean?" The server sighed and said, "bottled water." Oh, sh*t, I wanted to say, you should have said that the first time. I nodded my head and said please, relieved. She then asked Joel, who trumped me by ordering a sparkling water, then looked back to me and said, "have you decided?" Decided, I thought. I haven't even looked at the menu! "About your water..." she continued. "Yes," I sighed, thinking I had already answered this question. "Bottled. Please." I answered.
After this ridiculousness, I begin to look at the menu, which I can barely see because it's so dark and try to read the words. The music boomed in my ears even louder. I glanced up and looked around at the seemingly thousands of people in this restaurant. Suddenly, it got really hot all around me. The words on my menu seemed to blur, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. My heart was pounding, and I was shaking.
Catching my eye, Joel looked at me and said, "Um....are you okay?!?!" "No," I mustered. "I think I'm going to have a panic attack. I don't understand. This has never happened before." "Was it the bottled water question," he laughed. I tried to eek out a laugh, but couldn't think of anything other than not passing out in the middle of this very fancy restaurant. He handed me a magazine we'd been carrying and told me to read it, as a distraction to how I was feeling, while he got the hostess. He came back moments later, telling me he'd negotiated a new table for us in a room away from the crowd and thumping music.
Moments later, feeling much better, I was trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Nothing, seriously, nothing has ever happened to me like this before. I can pretty much handle myself in any situation. But I can't explain Saturday night. As we left the restaurant hours later, with full bellies and some good memories, I remarked to Joel, "I think I know what it is." He glanced down at me inquisitively. "If they could have turned down the damn music and turned some lights on, I would have been fine," I said. "In short, I'm getting f***ing old."
Monday, August 27, 2012
Battleground: Kitchen
Friends, Family, People Who Don't Actually Know Me But Read My Blog--
I have just returned from battle. And, of course, by battle, I mean the kitchen. I'm sure I've mentioned here once or twice that I don't cook. Not only do I not really know how to cook, but I really don't enjoy it. I don't like reading recipes, I don't like reading about people who cook, and I don't like the look on Joel's face when I try to cook, collapse into a fit of tears when I realize the eggs are sticking to damn pan again, those were our last three eggs, and now what the hell are we going to eat for breakfast because I've been told I'm only allowed to spend $200 on groceries once a week!!
However, my busy season at work is officially upon us, and when I'm really busy at work, I like to make a meal that will last us several days. When I get home around 8 or 9 from a long day of work, the last thing I want to do is open the refrigerator 600 times hoping that a meal will mysteriously appear or make Joel cook for the 5th time this week or order pizza again. I do have a few easy dinners in my repertoire, and they all consist of throwing a bunch of sh*t into a casserole dish, putting it in the oven for an hour, and hoping to God that I remembered all of the ingredients, didn't burn in, and that it tastes somewhat decent. Joel is a good man and has never complained about anything I've attempted to cook so I'm guessing I'm not a complete train wreck when I do try.
I say that, but the outcome is usually better than the journey. The journey is train wreck after train wreck. Tonight, I made Portabella Lasagna. (I think I got this recipe from Jamie, so I gotta give credit where credit is due!) We try not to eat carbs in our house (I SAID TRY), so I use portabella mushroom instead of noodles. It's quite delicious. But, of course, I didn't get all the right ingredients. I mean I did, just not enough. So I threw some cream cheese in there with the ricotta. That's about the same family, right? Also, I'm not smart enough to just buy the damn pre-made spaghetti sauce, so in an attempt to make my own, I made the most gigantic mess ever, splattered red sauce all over my new shirt, burned my fingers (sticking your fingers into the sauce is not an effective way to test heat), and my mouth (also, tasting the sauce mid-heat isn't a great idea).
Alas, I finally slopped it all together and threw it in the oven before ruining it too much. Then I got the idea to use the leftover stuff to make mini lasagnas in muffin tins. So I start to prepare those and realize that the leftover sauce was gone because a--I ate most of it, and b--CD walked into the room and ate the rest (I may or may not have given him the pan thinking it'd be easier to clean after he licked it). At that point, I had no choice but to eat the remaining cheese mixture too. (It had egg in it, but it was an organic, free range, grass fed egg, so surely I can't get too sick.) So here's hoping the lasagna doesn't get burned or dropped before Joel gets home, and I even did the dishes and cleaned my mess. I am becoming a f*cking domestic goddess before my own eyes!
I have just returned from battle. And, of course, by battle, I mean the kitchen. I'm sure I've mentioned here once or twice that I don't cook. Not only do I not really know how to cook, but I really don't enjoy it. I don't like reading recipes, I don't like reading about people who cook, and I don't like the look on Joel's face when I try to cook, collapse into a fit of tears when I realize the eggs are sticking to damn pan again, those were our last three eggs, and now what the hell are we going to eat for breakfast because I've been told I'm only allowed to spend $200 on groceries once a week!!
 |
| What the kitchen looks like after I cook |
However, my busy season at work is officially upon us, and when I'm really busy at work, I like to make a meal that will last us several days. When I get home around 8 or 9 from a long day of work, the last thing I want to do is open the refrigerator 600 times hoping that a meal will mysteriously appear or make Joel cook for the 5th time this week or order pizza again. I do have a few easy dinners in my repertoire, and they all consist of throwing a bunch of sh*t into a casserole dish, putting it in the oven for an hour, and hoping to God that I remembered all of the ingredients, didn't burn in, and that it tastes somewhat decent. Joel is a good man and has never complained about anything I've attempted to cook so I'm guessing I'm not a complete train wreck when I do try.
 |
| What my lasagna should look like (fingers crossed) |
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| Except her cleavage is better. |
Alas, I finally slopped it all together and threw it in the oven before ruining it too much. Then I got the idea to use the leftover stuff to make mini lasagnas in muffin tins. So I start to prepare those and realize that the leftover sauce was gone because a--I ate most of it, and b--CD walked into the room and ate the rest (I may or may not have given him the pan thinking it'd be easier to clean after he licked it). At that point, I had no choice but to eat the remaining cheese mixture too. (It had egg in it, but it was an organic, free range, grass fed egg, so surely I can't get too sick.) So here's hoping the lasagna doesn't get burned or dropped before Joel gets home, and I even did the dishes and cleaned my mess. I am becoming a f*cking domestic goddess before my own eyes!
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