Everyday Flotsam and Jetsam

I'm Making My Bologna Sandwich.....

2009-06-30T22:30:00.000-07:00

So, once again it has been far too long since my last blog post. This time, however, I do actually have a few good reasons.

Reason #1. We had company visiting from out of town.

Reason #2. I have been spending all my free time at the DMV.

An unfortunate new job? No.

An affinity for endlessly waiting in uncomfortable chairs while the little twerp sitting next to you asks his mother if she will buy him a diet soda every thirty seconds? Forget it.

The result of some woebegone soul pilfering your wallet and all of its contents while eating lunch in San Francisco?? Bingo.

Now, there were a lot of important things in my wallet. All of my credit cards, debit cards, insurance cards, gift cards, etc. While possibly detrimental to both our finances and my identity, the loss of these items didn't bother me as much as the loss of my drivers license. Although I will most definitely mourn the loss of the glamorous photo and listed weight (which has not been a reality since the year 2000), what I mourned the most was the loss of my time...because anyone who lives in California knows that there is no greater waste of time than the DMV.

For several days I contemplated simply foregoing the ability to drive. I mean, honestly, is it worth it?? Is it worth yet another trip to the DMV???

Now, the DMV would be completely and totally unbearable to wait through if not for the colorful cast of characters that seem to waltz their way through the place on every single occasion I visit. Who are you people?!!

Possibly the most intriguing, and by that I mean disturbing, was a woman I had the displeasure of encountering on the latest excursion. Folks, the woman came to the DMV in her bathing suit. A (at minimum) fifty year old woman in a bathing suit and heels strutting around the DMV. Now, I understand that we are having unseasonably warm temperatures right now and that everyone is hot and miserable....but your bathing suit?!?! What ever happened to "No shirt, no shoes, no service"?? Do we need to extend it to "No shirt and no pants and no bra, no service"?!?!?

At any rate, I did my time, I waited in line, and hopefully, if all goes as planned, my new license should be arriving in 7-10 business days.

If, however, my license gets pick pocketed, lost, stolen, incinerated, confiscated, or otherwise ends up out of my possession again, I will not return. I will simply become one of those people with no teeth who pack a bologna sandwich and ride the city bus all day long. I mean, really, what other option is there?!?!

Everyone's Favorite Monday Night Waste of Time

2009-06-18T08:38:00.000-07:00

Folks, I have now let two entire episodes of everyone's favorite Monday night waste of time go by without discussing the brilliance. Shame on me! It is time to share a few of the observations I have made while indulging in this season of The Bachelorette.

First, I cannot believe I am still watching this season. Not to mention the fact that I threw $10 down the toilet entering a Bachelorette pool. Yes, I am in a pool. It seemed like a good idea early in the season when I had yet to figure out that Jillian has no idea what she is really looking for (because if she did, then obviously everything would work out and she would find true and everlasting love) and the men are a bunch of turds. (Note: I have just inadvertently used the words "toilet" and "turd" in the same paragraph, completely unrelated to one another. That, folks, takes some talent.)

Again, I must address the manner in which the "I-have-just-had-my-heart-broken-and-don't know-if-I'll-ever-be-the-same-again-after-knowing-this-gal-for-three-weeks" dudes are being sent off the show. Who can forget the episode where poor ole' Sasha was sent home on a city bus? Not to mention when Jillian gave dear, sweet, Mike a half-hearted high five and sent him down the mountain in a Gondola. What happened to the limo ride of loneliness?? Must we strip away every shred of dignity these guys have left?? YES, apparently we must, as the previews for next Monday's episode appear to show a new reject being tossed (figuratively) from a train and left to fend for himself in the Canadian wilderness. No joke.

If this is the case (please, please, please let this be the case), I do believe that they should turn it into a spin-off show. I can only imagine the ratings for a show in which Tanner P roams the forest lamenting the loss of Jillian's feet; Wes gathers all the woodland creatures around him and repeatedly sings the only line of his song until they mutiny; Michael break-dances his way back to civilization. Come on people, you know you would watch too!

Next up on my Bachelorette agenda is the topic of Ed leaving the show. The show played the entire thing off as a "Why didn't you think this through before coming on the show" situation. Excuse me?!?! I do believe that Ed is the ONLY ONE ACTUALLY THINKING AT ALL!! Personally, I don't blame the guy one bit for not wanting to lose his job! Granted, he was the only decent guy on the show and Jillian's only shot at someone normal, however, because he did seem like a decent guy, I couldn't have been happier that he left. I do believe that a relationship with Jillian is a bullet train to heartache and don't believe that dear, sweet Ed deserves that.

Then there is Kiptyn. I can pretty much sum up my feelings about Kiptyn by highlighting the following verbal exchange:

Jillian: What do you want in your salad?
Kiptyn: Your eyes are so pretty.

Enough said.

Here is my prediction. I am going to go on record right now and state that I don't believe Jillian is going to pick anyone when everything is said and done. It will be the most dramatic finale in Bachelorette history. There will be tears. There will be disbelieve. I will likely indulge in some ice cream. It will be lovely.

Alternatively, she could pick Kiptyn, change her name to Jillyn, give birth to children named Megyn, Logyn, and Nathyn, buy a charming little house in Princetyn, and live happily ever after.

THAT, my friends, would be meaningful.

Keepin' It Weird

2009-06-17T22:07:00.001-07:00

Today, once again, I find myself writing about the grocery store. Any faithful reader of this blog (I'm certain there is one) is aware that I often write about the grocery store. I once wrote about the devil hiding out in the meat section. How could you forget the unholy woman who made me move all my groceries to a different check-out line. Anyone remember the geriatric crowd on the day of the big earthquake?? No?? How about the dude peeing in the parking lot. Ah hah! Thought you would recall that little gem. Yes, I admit that I probably write more about the grocery store than any other one topic.

How do I explain this?? The grocery store is my main source of entertainment and socialization during the week. Sad? Definitely. Pathetic? Sure. Fantastic source of blog material?? AB. SO. LUTELY. I mean, you ARE still here reading this, right?!?! This is my life folks, be kind.

So, I made the mistake of going to the grocery store on Sunday afternoon. This is what happened.

First, they had run out of carts. Yes, I do mean grocery carts. There were none. Well....almost none....

You see, there was a sketchy looking little fellow (who happened to look just like that guy that plays the serial killer in all those movies. Well, actually, he doesn't always play the serial killer. Technically, in one movie he played an insurance guy. He was also the swindler in Big Fish. He should play the serial killer though. That is his best role.) who was hoarding a bunch of carts near the back of the parking lot and CHARGING people to take them. I can't exactly say how much he was charging as I was not about to go near the guy that looks like the movie serial killer/insurance guy/swindler. Duh.

Instead, I set foot inside and decided to take my chances and wait for someone who was done with their cart. As I casually stood by a display of pineapple and tried to look cool, as one normally does when standing casually by a display of pineapple, I noticed a woman wresting to get a large orchid out of her cart.

I approached her at the same time that the store clerk did. He was very upset that she had the orchid IN the grocery cart and told her that he was going to need to escort her back to the floral department. I really have no idea what that was about, nor did I care as a cart was now free for the taking.

Yeah. Right. As I struggled to move the cart, I realize that it was clearly not going anywhere. The store clerk, who was angrily off to the floral department, turned and informed me that I would have to wait for him to get back to "unlock" my cart.

Unlock my cart?!?! What in the world?!

So, a few moments later the store clerk (who, by the way, clearly takes his job faaaar too seriously) comes back, takes out some sort of electronic ray gun (or possibly a scanner), kneels down, and "shoots" each of the wheels. Magically, like a gift from heaven, the cart is unlocked and I can finally BEGIN my grocery shopping.

The rest of the grocery trip was clearly cursed as I came home with two over-ripe nectarines and a moldy watermelon. Let's not even get started on the decades I wasted standing in line. Who knew that you could begin a grocery shopping trip on Sunday afternoon and not finish until Tuesday morning?!

On a completely different note:

Hubs and I were watching the local news tonight and learned that Eddie Bauer has filed for bankruptcy. The reporter had headed to the nearest store to get the customers perspective on what had gone wrong. I believe one older, gray haired, Californian woman summed it up best when she said, "They certainly have a style of clothing that I could use. I mean, tomorrow I’m going on a field trip to the volcano's."

On that note, keepin' it weird here in the big CA.

Happy Birthday Mom S!

2009-06-13T18:27:00.000-07:00

Does anyone want to know how lucky I am?? I am incredibly lucky. I am unbelievably lucky. I am stupendously, unimaginably, ridiculously lucky.

I, my friends, get to go on another fabulous birth-date today! After the recent success of Mom B's birth-date excursion, I could hardly contain myself knowing that another opportunity for hog-wild-birthday-extravagance was just around the corner. So, in short, what I am trying to say is, "Thanks Mom S for letting me take you out to celebrate your uh, um, 35th birthday!" (Let's not do the math on how old that would have made you when you gave birth to my lovely husband. Child bearing at that age is frowned upon in our society.) Hope y'all can come along and join us!

What better way to start our day than a trip to the salon to get all dolled up. First, hair. What shall we do? A new cut? A trendy new style? Maybe a sexy little updo to attract the gents?? Let's check out our options.

The stylist suggests this spunky little chop-chop number. We both agree that it may be a bit much to actually get a cut. Birth-date celebrations are, after all, just one day. You would hate to be left with a spunky little chop-chop number for the rest of the year. How about a different style??

Extensions? Possibly some beachy body wave and highlights?? Yeah, your right. Not really your thing. Besides, judging by the photo on the stylists mirror of the haircut she gave her own kid (poor little Timmy), we are decidedly against the use of scissors or instruments of the hair persuasion.

With poor little Timmy in mind, we both decide on a relaxing hair treatment, complete with lilac scented hair products, a scalp massage, and pedicure. They threw in the pedicure as an extra special birth-date treat. We each select our polishes and let the team go to work. Make us beautiful boys!!!

Wow, that was simply divine! With our heads tingling (our heads are supposed to be tingling, right?!?!) we head off to our next stop on our birth-date excursion; lunch. Lunch was a tough one. So many options. So many wonderful places we could go. In the end though, I decided to choose based on what you would MOST enjoy having for your celebration; a big, juicy, cheesy, burger.
There is always the BIG burger option. I fear this may be a little much for the lunch hour however.

Then there is the cheeseburger with personality. So many varieties.....blue cheese, cowboy burger, southwest....downright scary!! Don't think we will be eating this one!

Cheeseburger in a can? No.

Ahhh, now this looks just about right. Mmmmm, I can almost taste it now!! Add a serving of crispy salty fries and we are in business!!

Mmmmm, what a delicious lunch. The best thing about it is that now it is over and we can move on to dessert!! Yahoo! This really is the best part of any birth-date celebration. We decide to indulge in what I like to call a chocolate binge. Basically, this means we go from one delightful chocolate shoppe to another and eat A LOT of chocolate. Sound like a plan? Great!

We start with some good ole' milk chocolate.

Next, onto some truffles.

After that, we decide to get a little adventurous and go for a big old slice of chocolaty cake. Don't worry, we didn't eat it all. We clearly removed that sliver of a piece to take home for Hubs, Brother, and Brother-in-law to share. Aren't we generous?!

Finally, we make the ultimate stop in a chocolate lovers adventure.

Yes, that's right folks, we go for a leisurely and delicious swim in the Chocolate River at Wonka's Chocolate Factory. What? You didn't know I was friends with Wonka? Yeah, we go waaaay back. Luckily, we make it back outta the river, unlike that poor little chubby boy who got sucks into the pipes! Yikes! The Oompa Loompa's were an extra little birth-date surprise!

Whew, now we are satisfied! Onto our last stop of the day; a show at the Fireside! I do know how much you enjoy the Fireside and I have actually never been. It is perfect. You can show me the ropes.

We sure did take in an interesting show!! Good thing I snuck our video camera in and got some footage. Now you can remember this little gem forever.

Wow Mom S, that sure was an eventful birth-date! I hope you had as much fun as I did! Can't wait to do it again next year!

Happy Birthday!!!

Dare I Say It....

2009-06-11T09:49:00.000-07:00

If you are back home in WI and about to read this post, be warned. I am about to do the unthinkable. Something so outrageous it may make you stop dead in your tracks and exclaim, "Why, that's simply outrageous!" The day has come folks; I am going to complain for one teeny tiny little moment about the California weather.

I know, I know. How dare I! I am committing California-transplant treason. The horror, the horror.

Wisconsin is a land of weather. There is sun, humidity, rain, lightening, thunder, hail, wind, snow, sleet, ice, cold, tornadoes, and even the occasional bout of 'thunder snow'. (Does anyone else recall how dang excited the weathermen were about that one?? It was like Christmas!) Any given day is pretty much a crap-shoot weather wise. You never quite know what you are going to get.

Don't get me wrong, I am the first to complain about winter in Wisconsin. I love the snow, however, not still in April. I hate driving in snow. I hate shoveling snow. I don't enjoy still being cold in May. I could go on and on. HOWEVER, there sure is something to be said for the VARIETY.

Basically, I am in desperate need of a thunderstorm. A rainy day would possibly even suffice. You see, it has been sunny for months. I realize that my complaint is an irritating one (let's face it, I am complaining about the sun), but I can't help it. As a native Wisconsin gal, I yearn for a good ole' thunderstorm. I have a hankering for the threat of tornado. It is exciting. There is a sense of imminent danger. The weathermen get a glimmer in their eye and you just know something big is on the way. Really, it is refreshing, because you actually need the rain and thunder and lightening to appreciate the sun.

Every single morning this week, I have awoken to a cloudy, overcast, could-it-possibly-rain-even-just-a-tad kinda sky and had a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, a storm would roll in. Yet even single day this week, by noon, the sun has broken through the clouds and it has turned into a perfectly delightful day.

What a crock of poo.

Happy Birthday Mom B!

2009-06-02T19:26:00.000-07:00

So, today is mom B's birthday and I am taking her on her first ever virtual birth-date! Really mom, no need to be frightened, this is a fabulous idea and you are going to have a ball. Anyone else wanna come along?! The more the merrier!

First, the best way to start off any virtual birth-date is with a wee bit of shopping. We're heading to Macy's. Let's go out on a limb here and pick out some fancy outfits for our night out on the town. It maybe a bit extravagant, but you only turn, um, 45 ::cough, cough:: once.

How about this flashy little number??

Yeah, your right, great color but a little too shiny for your taste. Moving along....

Here we have a simple, classic, and elegant black dress. Lovely, but possibly a little boring.

Remember, you only turn 45 once. We should celebrate.

Alas, a perfect combination of cut, color, and comfort! A more modest neckline, a little bit of a

sleeve, and a light flowy skirt perfect for dancing should the opportunity arise.

Now, although it is not my birthday, I also get a dress. Oh come on, like you didn't see that coming?!

This is what I have chosen. An adorable little halter dress.

*Note: Virtual birth-dates are unlike real ones in that we are both tall, willowy, size two's who have never met an article of clothing that was not completely flattering. Virtual birth-dates are the best, huh!

Alright, now that's we're all dolled up, let's get ourselves some food! Something deliciously indulgent that we would never actually order. Surf and turf it is!!

Boy was that good. Mmmmm. I can almost taste it all over again just thinking about it.

There is nothing that better tops off a tasty virtual meal than an equally as tasty virtual cosmo!! We make our way to an ultra hip and trendy martini bar. This is an obvious choice for trendy and hip ladies like ourselves. We fit in splendidly.

After a cosmo, we head over to the local comedy club. We are in luck. The comedian is hilarious. Her last bit of shtick was undoubtedly the funniest. What's that? You want to relive the moment?? No problem, just click here.

Wasn't that hilarious?! Nothing quite like adorable little southern ladies, is there? Good times, good times.

It is getting late, but no birthday would be complete without a piece of birthday cake!!

Do you like it? I made it myself. Just something I whipped up this afternoon. No biggie.

Well, we have sufficiently shopped, eaten, drank, and laughed ourselves into a state of birthday splendor. Time to hit the sack and start planning next years shindig!

Because, really, aren't we all just looking for a mythical unicorn??

2009-06-01T19:54:00.001-07:00

Yes, folks, that's right. It's Monday night and time for another thrilling and ever-so-insightful episode of The Bachelorette.

Tonight's episode finds Jillian left with 16 eligible bachelors. I use the term 'eligible' quite loosely. Let's face it folks, there are about three dudes in that whole group who aren't total whack jobs. Jillian, girl, if I were you I would head for the hills.

First date of the show goes to "big, strong, bulky, hunky Ed". Their date progressed as most dates do; a helicopter ride, being lowered down the side of a skyscraper, and then dinner on a roof somewhere. Question: Do they ever eat inside?? I swear they are eating on a roof in every single episode. Over dinner Jillian and Ed shared tantalizing conversation such as, "I like your eyes." "Really? I like your eyes." They clearly have a deep and meaningful connection. Swoon Jillian, swoon. The highlight of the date, however, was when Jillian declared, "I love that I popped your helicopter cherry." Classy, extremely classy.

Date two featured most of the bachelors and Jillian on a fake movie set, with fake scripts, making a fake movie. Don't fear though, the emotions are very real. Brad pretty much stamped his ticket outta the bunkhouse with an awkward siblingesque kiss and comment about how he is ultra bad a$$. Sorry dude. Then Jillian proceeds to share a kiss with just about every other guy there but assures us that it was just 'acting'. Again, the emotions are very real. Tanner P. on the other hand, is far more interested in kissing Jillian feet than her mouth. "Her feet look so good I wanna put them in my mouth." The next few moments were filled with millions of uncomfortable Americans watching Tanner P. rub Jillian's feet all over his head. Are you kidding me?! If some guy tried to rub my feet all over his head I would likely kick him square in the jaw. Creepy.

Now, let's talk for a brief moment about poor, poor Sasha. Boy did this guy have a rough night. Sasha was the recipient of solo date #2; a photo shoot, driving a Ferrari, and dinner on the roof. Duh. I knew Sasha was in trouble when he explained that some guys are sheep, some are wolves, and he is simply searching for a mythical unicorn. Yup. A mythical unicorn. Oh dear, poor, misguided Sasha, what on earth are you talking about?!?! Apparently, Jillian had no idea either and explained that, "I wish I could be that unicorn." No, Jillian, no you do not. Clearly, Sasha did not get the rose. The only thing more humiliating then going on a one-on-one date and not getting a rose? Being sent home on a public bus! Yes, that's right folks, poor Sasha was the lone passenger on a city bus to Lonely Street. What's next? Are they going to make the next guy leave on a bike? A skateboard? A pogo stick? Actually, that is a fantastic idea! I am totally hoping for a pogo stick.

After Sasha's departure, Jillian then assured the audience that she is serious about finding love. "I'm not just here to date and see if I wanna have a fling for a couple of years." Enough said.

Then, out of nowhere,Wes begins to sing!! What?! Wait?! Wes can sing?? Dude, sing another song! Write something else. We are tired of hearing that same old dumb song. Not to mention that the only line of lyrics you have ("When they say, they say that love, it don't come easy") isn't even grammatically correct! So there. If there is one thing that gets a gal goin', it is grammaticality. Duh.

The episode winds up with Dave being a jerk and Juan looking like a little freak. As per usual.

Speaking of a little freak...Tanner P. continues cementing his reputation as the creepiest creep to ever creep with comments like, "I'm here to suck on some toes and meet Jillian" and "I totally wanna make a connection with her feet." I don't know that there is anything I can say here that could possibly outdo what he has already done. So we will just leave it alone.

Stay tuned next Monday for another exciting episode of The Bachelorette where it appears that Jillian is going to try and convince us all that she is not the kind of gal to "kiss around". Oh Jillian, you silly, silly, silly girl. Why on earth would any of us think that you kiss around?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

22 Things About the Last 22 Days

2009-05-29T19:35:00.000-07:00

So, as promised, I now give you 22 possibly useless pieces of information about the last 22 days of our lives. I promise nothing.

#1. There is a grocery store in the area called "Lucky". I don't typically do our grocery shopping there as I have always gotten the sense that it is a little sketchy (aka a group of homeless men once heckled me for donuts). It is, however, the closest grocery and in a pinch I have been known to drop in. Then, on a beautiful sunny California afternoon, I discovered a man peeing in the parking lot. He wasn't exactly peeing on the shopping carts, but a little too close for my comfort. I decided my days of shopping at Lucky were officially over.

#2. In other parking lot news (yes, there is more), a few weeks ago a man in our parking lot sang opera as he cleaned out his car. That was weird.

#3. Back to groceries...in an attempt to amend the grocery situation, I decided to try a new store. As any gal knows, it takes a little time to get the 'lay of the land' when switching grocery stores. It can throw your whole world askew when the pickled beets aren't where you expected them to be. Lord knows I was thrown into a tizzy, which is probably the reason that I accidentally and unknowingly ended up in the 15 item or less lane. After watching me unload my ENTIRE cart of groceries, the cashier looked at me and said, "Excuse me, this is 15 items or less." Embarrassed, I apologized and explained that I hadn't shopped at the store before. The cashier didn't care. She actually made me put ALL my groceries back in my cart and had the two women behind me in line back-up, so that I could navigate to the correct line. Clearly, the cashier was resentful about having a hideously ugly haircut and wearing far too much eyeliner and decided to take her aggression out on a wholesome looking Midwestern gal. Clearly.

#4. Speaking of wholesome Midwestern gals...my mom came for a visit...

#5. and insinuated that Sarah Winchester was a pole dancer while on a tour of her home. Yes, that's right. Sarah Winchester was a crazy lady who built onto/remodeled her home 24 hours a day until her death as a means of keeping the spirits away. The result is a crazy, large, illogical house in San Jose that is open for tours. While touring the home, the tour guide says, "Does anyone know what this large pole tells us about Mrs. Winchester?" while pointing to a vertical beam in the middle of the room. My mother blurts out, "That she liked to dance...". The lady standing next to her got a good giggle. I died a little.

#6. Netbooks are the bomb-diggity.

#7. Update on the evil attack duck. Apparently, he is a muscovy. A waitress told us. A woman who raises (breeds?) muscovy ducks was in the restaurant and ID'ed the nasty little quacker. I, however, firmly believe he is a mutant.

#8. I really don't like ducks at all. I don't enjoy anything about them actually. I discovered that they frolic in our swimming pool during the moonlight hours. This makes me uncomfortable.

#9. In the state of California, you are required to re-take the written test when obtaining your new drivers license. I knew this was bad news from the get go. "No, Hubs! Not the written test! Surely I will fail," I whined. Fail I did. It wasn't really a blow to the self-esteem as I went into the test expecting to fail. I have always had a skill for setting the bar high. Like a true academic though, I read the corrected answers on my test, read all the questions on Hub's test (which he of course got correct) and then retook the test about ten minutes later. Memorizing the correct answers really came in handy that second time around and I passed by the skin of my teeth. Again, I set the bar high.

#10. Ashley Furniture is the devil. That is all I can say about that until they deliver our tables. At that point in time there will be a longer, angrier blog post. Until then, however, I will just mention that in my opinion they are the biggest, dirtiest, stinkiest, ugliest, set of unprofessionals that I have ever heard of. Again though, I will hold back until we get our tables.

#11. Brace yourselves folks, I have another parking lot story. What is the deal?! You would think that I just hang out in parking lots all day long. You would think I am some sort of parking lot connoisseur. A parking lot maven if you will. Anyway. Hubs and I were awoken from a deep and restful sleep the other night to the sound of clanking, banging, grinding, breaking metal. we assumed that someone was up to no good in the parking lot and crept to the window to spy. How silly of us! Of course that man isn't breaking into a car in the middle of the night! Obviously he is just disassembling his motorcycle. Duh. I mean, really, who doesn't disassemble their motorcycle by the light of the moon at 1:30 in the morning?!?!?

#12. Sometimes Bix eats a down pillow.

#13. Hubs and I are behind on our reality tv show finale's. We have yet to watch the finale' of House and are TWO episodes behind on LOST. Gracious, I feel so much better now that I have informed the world of our reality tv finale status.

#14. Is anyone out there watching The Bachelorette?? I knew I was in for a gloriously ridiculous season of the Bachelorette based on the opening sequence of the pilot episode in which we got to catch-up with Jillian and see all the things she has been up to since her stint on The Bachelor. I, for one, felt considerably more connected to Jillian after watching the montage....I mean, really, who hasn't washed their bright purple mustang convertible while wearing yellow stilettos, taken a contemplative walk in the mist, danced in a shoe store (or in the road....or on the beach....or in their underwear....), or tossed their red beret in the air while strolling through the park?? The beret is what hooked me. The break dance competition is what sold it to me. Oh, it shall be a fun season of blog posts about The Bachelorette! : )

#15. Tri-tip is a delicious cut of meat the you can buy in California. Hubs and I are fans.

#16. I threw up in an Indian food restaurant.

Note: Getting to 22 is going to be quite a stretch if the previous two numbers are any indication of the creative material left.

#17. Last Sunday we watched a parade featuring an out-of-step marching band (possibly never actually IN-step), young ladies dressed up as queens, a float with angels on it, and several unidentifiable flags.

#18. I discovered I enjoy asian pears and green plums.

#19. I was having an bad day on Friday and a man in a coffee shop put a little pink umbrella in my drink to cheer me up. People really are good.

#20. The Rosicrucian's, on the other hand, are just downright odd. We accidentally went to their museum. I am not planning on joining their secret society.

#21. I had an unfortunate encounter with an extra spicy jalapeno pepper which resulted in one side of my face turning bright red and my fingers throbbing for two days.

#22. I ate a really good hot ham and cheese sandwich.

That's it. That's our last 22 days in a nutshell.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I plan on going out to the parking lot for a relaxing afternoon of reading.

I'm Back....

2009-05-29T19:14:00.000-07:00

How about a multiple choice quiz!?

Question: Where on earth have I been for the last 22 days?!?!

(A) Hanging it with my old pal Vince in Chinatown. He just couldn't get enough of our charming mid-western savvy and asked Hubs and I to meet up for a little dim sum. Life is tough when you roll wit' celebrities.

(B) Standing in front of the meat counter at our local grocery picketing the sale and/or purchase of whole raw chickens. After my traumatic and horrifying experience, which has taken approximately 22 days to recover from, I feel it my civic duty to warn others of the psychological danger they may be putting themselves in. ::"Heck no, we won't go, whole raw chickens are our foe!"::

(C) Spending some quality time swigging "mock-tails" with the ever tasteful super modelquins at Old Navy.

(D) Working on a gloriously exciting writing project which you may or may not hear about in the near or not so near future.

So???? Which do you think it is?!?!?!

I will be back tomorrow with a rundown of 22 unbelievably remarkable, life changing, and thrilling events which have occurred during my blog absence.

Be warned: The 22 said events that will be posted on this blog tomorrow may quite possibly NOT be unbelievably remarkable, life changing, or thrilling. If you are lucky, one or two will be remotely interesting. The remaining 20 or so will be mundane at best. I take no responsibility for the entertainment quality of said blog post. Readers will be returning at their own risk.

Update: Whole Raw Chickens Are Way Overrated

2009-05-07T23:07:00.000-07:00

So what. There's our big dumb chicken.

*Note: Yes, that chicken is sitting on a cooling rack, which has been delicately placed inside my lasagna pan. Don't judge; a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.*

It was pretty much just a plain ol' chicken. Hubs says it was moist and lemony. I say it was too much disgusting work.

Really, who does this and WHY????

We are both in agreement that this whole chicken thing is nonsense. Why would you want to go to all this work when you could take a single chicken breast, stuff it with goat cheese and prosciutto, and cover it with a white wine pan sauce? I argue the preparation is a WHOLE LOT easier. Let's not even get started on the disgusting factor.

Anyway, that's a lot of talk about chicken. Far too much for one day. Maybe tomorrow we can talk about something much more exciting. Like pork tenderloin. I hear it attracts an interesting crowd.

The Devil Made Me Do It: A Chicken Story

2009-05-07T18:25:00.001-07:00

Oh, you know not the horrors I've seen. That's right folks, horrors. There is no better word to describe the bloody carnage that I have been witness to this day. Unless of course you consider slimy, raw, fatty, livery, naked, and hopelessly fleshy worthwhile descriptors.

It all started yesterday afternoon at the grocery store. Apparently, I didn't get the weekly ad informing the general public that the Devil himself would be working the meat counter at the local Safeway grocery store. What? You didn't see him? Well that is because he was in hiding; sneakily watching all the poultry buyers from a safe distance. I do believe I caught a glimpse of him cowering behind a pork tenderloin.

You see, the Devil is tricky and brought several poultry demons with him. Before I knew what had happened, one of those unholy little demons did a number on me. Yes, that's right, I was suddenly suffering from the "why, I should buy a whole raw chicken" demon curse. It is a nasty one folks. Be warned.

Now, anyone who knows me, or simply reads my blog regularly (I'm sure there is someone), knows that I have a completely rational and healthy fear of whole raw chickens. In case you missed it, you can read the whole story here.

The next thing I knew, I was standing in my kitchen, palms sweating, stomach churning, starring at the "wholest", "rawest" chicken that had ever set foot within my home. I started to have flashbacks of those dancing chicken commercials. I could just see that nasty little bird getting up on its legs and doing the electric slide across my kitchen counter. From there, I envisioned the chicken doing Kung Fu, using it's little wings to knock me clear across the kitchen. I may have gotten carried away.

"Alright, you can do this," I told myself as I neared the creature. Mind you, at this point I haven't yet taken it out of the bag. It's a good thing I didn't know what would occur next or I would never have gone any further.

I reached into the bag and started pulling out the chicken. So far so good. As the back end (front end?) of the chicken emerged, with it, so did a rancid little something or another. Could someone please tell me what the heck this thing is and what it was doing mingling with my chicken??? At this point, I am fairly convinced it is a gym sock. Possibly one of those sweat bands that you wear around your wrist when doing hours of strenuous exercise. Something I would obviously know oodles about.

"Alright, gross little unidentifiable cloth thing. Whatever. I can do this. Next, I must simply reach into the bird and pull out the little bag of giblets." No problem.

Oh. My. Word.

Bag?!?! Hello?! Bag, where have you gone?!?! What's that? You say you ditched these nasty chicken innards and have taken off for Vegas? Oh, of course. I don't blame you one bit as these chicken innards are possibly the most horrifying that I have seen in all my life. What is even more horrifying is that I must now do something with them.

This is the point at which I dry heaved for fifteen minutes in my kitchen as one organ after another emerged from the hollow pit in our dinner. Are you kidding me?!?! People actually do this?? Why? This chicken cost me $7.49. I can buy a rotisserie chicken, already de-gutted and cooked, for less than $7.00. Is that not the easier option?! I am clearly a fool. A dry heaving, gut-pulling, chicken flesh rubbing fool. There is just no reason for this.

Hubs, I hope you are reading this. I hope you enjoy this evenings chicken. I hope you savor every last bite, for it is the last whole, raw, disgusting chicken that your wife is ever going to prepare. Ever.

I, on the other hand, will likely be feasting on a peanut butter sandwich as the good Lord himself would have to work a mighty miracle to get me to put one piece of that bird in my mouth.

Updates to follow.

Update on the cupcake competition:

2009-05-03T23:24:00.001-07:00

I will now share with you a recipe I created for coffee cake.

Yes, that's right folks, once again I have started a cooking endeavor with a specific outcome in mind and have strayed ever so slightly (let's not return to the ugly carrot soup experiment that ended in bacon and vanilla extract...together...in one recipe). I made several attempts at cheese themed cupcakes. Unfortunately, none of them lived up to my 'cupcake' expectations and my waistline was begging me to go no further. My hips and thighs also had a thing or two to contribute. I did discover though, that the very same ingredients in slightly different amounts and form, created a great coffee cake! I apologize to my waistline, hips, and thighs.

The bad news is that coffee cake is not a cupcake and the competition was a bust. The good news is that coffee cake is delicious anyway and I will share my recipe with all of you! I am sure you are on the edge of your seats in anticipation (or is that fear?) based on my previous recipe creations.

So now, without further ado, I give you my recipe for....

This Is Not A Cheese Cupcake Coffee Cake (catchy, don't you think??)

Cake:
Slightly less than 3 cups of flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon cinnamon
dash of nutmeg
pinch of salt
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 whole egg plus 1 egg yolk
6oz plain yogurt (size of a small carton)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Filling:
1 bag of frozen fruit (thawed) or approximately the same amount of fresh fruit (I used a mix of mixed berries and it was delicious-anything would work I am sure)
2 tablespoons sugar
1 8oz package of cream cheese at room temp
2 tablespoons cherry balsamic vinegar (I am guessing regular ol' balsamic would work too....maybe add a little sugar and make into a syrup?? Let me know.)

Topping:
1/3 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup white sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
dash of salt
1/2 cup melted butter
1 3/4 cups flour

Preheat oven to 385 degrees.

Mix flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. In another bowl, stir together the sugar, vegetable oil, eggs, yogurt, and vanilla. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet. Mix together, until just combined. Spread evenly in a 9 x 13 pan.

Mix fruit with 1 tablespoon of sugar. Layer fruit over cake batter. Fruit will not completely cover the batter.

In another bowl, combine cream cheese, sugar, and balsamic vinegar. Beat until well mixed. Drop small bits of cream cheese mixture evenly over the fruit. Use all of the cream cheese mixture.

In another bowl, mix together brown sugar, white sugar, cinnamon, salt, and melted butter for the topping. Slowly mix in the flour. The mixture should be very crumbly. Sprinkle the topping over the fruit/cream cheese mixture. It may seem like you have too much, but you will definitely want to use it all.

Pop the pan into the oven for approximately 45 minutes. You may need to cover with foil at some point so the topping doesn't get too brown. You can use a toothpick to test when it is finished, although the fruit may make it look more "wet" than it is.

Voila! You have a This Is Not A Cheese Cupcake Coffee Cake! Now eat it....your waistline, hips, and thighs will thank me : )

This is complete nonsense

2009-05-01T22:43:00.000-07:00

Prepare yourself folks. I have a lot of random nonsense on my mind tonight. All day long I have been trying to pick one topic and write a post about it. All day long I have failed. I don't really have enough to say about any one thing to create a legitimate post about it. Instead, I have decided to give you a smattering of thoughts. A smorgasbord if you will. I apologize in advance for this eclectic outpouring of tom foolery which I have somehow convinced myself would be interesting to write about. While it indeed may be interesting to write about, the real question should have been whether it would be interesting to read about. That, my friends, is yet to be determined.

First of all, swine flu. I would like to meet the person(s) responsible for coining the name "swine flu" and slap them upside the heinie. On second thought, I would rather not touch the heinie in question. Anyone who thinks "swine flu" is a good descriptor has a questionable heinie. I will instead find his/her/their mama and have her give 'em a slap upside the heinie.

When I think about the flu, I conjure up all sorts of unpleasant images. Sweat. Mucus. Vomit. Other bodily fluids which shall remain nameless. It is not a pleasant image. Now, I ask, what could be worse than imagining a poor helpless person suffering from this unfortunate outpouring of bodily fluids?? I'll tell you what. The outpouring of said bodily fluids from a pig. Truly, has their ever been a more disgusting name for an illness?! I mean really, swine flu?!?! I guess what I am trying to say is that if I do manage to come down with swine flu, I will probably die from it as I refuse to walk into a hospital and pronounce that I have the symptoms of "swine flu". I may be over reacting.

Next up, Portuguese water dog.

Anyone who isn't living under a rock knows that President Obama and Michelle recently adopted a Portuguese water dog puppy. As the news came out about the adorable little guy, there were pictures posted all over the Internet of the dog breed. While, the little puppy is adorable, the pictures of the full-grown dogs somewhat disturbed me. Possibly because every single time I saw the above picture, all I could think of was this.....

Now, just try and tell me this resemblance isn't uncanny. Yikes.

Aren't you glad your still reading this post?? I tell ya, this is quality writing.

Does anyone else ever get stuck on a particular word, phrase, or saying and find themselves using it ALL THE TIME?! For example, I once had a roommate who used the word "whatev's" in just about every other sentence. Now, technically this is only part of a word, but you get the idea. Well, lately, I find myself looking for ways to slip the term "opium den" into daily conversation. It is harder than one may suspect although I feel I am succeeding. For example....
"Golly gee, that store was crazy! It was a regular ol' opium den in there!"
"What do you think this is, some kind of opium den?"
"Why, this room looks like it was hit by an opium den!"

See, perfectly normal.

(It wasn't until about a week into using the term that I actually learned what an 'opium den' is. Now I just think it is hilarious.)

Is anyone else watching the television show Fringe?? I fear not, and that, my friends, is a darn shame. I deeply believe that Fringe has been the best new television show this season. It is sort of like X-Files meets CSI meets House meets LOST. How about that for a comparison that makes absolutely no sense at all?! Mostly, Hubs and I enjoy the character of Walter Bishop, a mad scientist type who was recently let out of a mental institution to assist with a secret government branch investigating strange phenomenon. He is totally random and completely hilarious. I think you should be watching this show. That is my opinion. Take it or leave it.

See, aren't you glad you read this post full of wonderful tips and tidbits? I am certain it was a quality use of your time.

Now, go do something meaningful.

Sometimes I hang out with Vince Vaughn

2009-04-29T09:23:00.001-07:00

Yes, folks, that's right. The big celebrity reveal is Vince Vaughn. This wasn't just a sighting either. No, no, my friends, this was a full on meet and greet. A full on exchanging of societal niceties. I would even go so far as to say that I have chatted with Vince Vaughn....or rather, "Vince" as we now like to call him.

I really should start at the beginning as that is what one does when telling the story of 'that time I hung out with Vince'....

Saturday's leg of the race found us wandering quite aimlessly in Chinatown searching for the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory. The label "Factory" was really quite misleading here as it implies a large production facility. While the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory may in fact produce a large quantity of fortune cookies, they are actually a teeny tiny shop located in the middle of a crowded side alley. Really, I am just trying to make myself feel better about the fact that we wandered aimlessly for as long as we did. That 10th place finish still stings a little.

We soon met up with another team, found the 'factory', and decided to complete the remaining parts of the race together, as one team. You see, by this point in the day, we had lost all hope of finishing in a reasonably respectable position and realized that it was simply about finishing. Also, the other team was just too much fun to abandon. We fondly named ourselves The Midwest-England Alliance and continued on our way.

As we made our way through the rest of Chinatown, my new partner in crime, Jen, suddenly grabbed my arm and began pulling me into the street.

"Look, look, it's...it's...." Jen exclaimed. My eyes searched the street. Who?! Who could be wonderfully delicious enough to pull a gal you just met into a street full of traffic?! I'll tell you who. Vince.

Realizing that we were standing a mere crowded street away from Vince, we quickly darted across. I should mention at this point that the Husbands were decidedly less enthusiastic about meeting Vince. They also crossed the street, but with far less vigor than Jen and I did. Jen and I were rock stars.

We marched straight up to Vince and asked if we could get a picture together. He very politely explained that if he took one picture, then a crowd would form, and everyone would want a picture. We agreed that was a reasonable argument (as if we had any choice in the matter) and began to walk away. Suddenly though, to our great amazement, Vince began talking to us. I believe it was really his attempt to start a friendship. He could tell just by looking at us how cool and friend-worthy we were.

Like the voice of an angel wafting straight from Heaven, Vince said, "So, you're from Wisconsin?" You see, Hubs and I decided to bolster our team spirit by dressing in matching UW-Madison outfits both days of the race. I am almost positive this is what sold our complete coolness to Vince. I mean, truly, what is cooler than two twenty-somethings, dressed in matching Wisconsin outfits, in the middle of Chinatown? Not much my friends, not much.

Seeing that Vince was particularly interested in our "home states" and wanting to capitalize on the moment, Jen exclaimed, "I'm from Missouri!" This was the exact moment that I knew Jen and I would be buddies. How can you not love a gal who blurts out a random personal fact about herself in the sheer hope of continuing our Vince conversation. Bless her midwestern heart.

Next, because we hadn't quite demonstrated the depths of our coolness to Vince, I explained to him why he was so lucky to meet us. Yes, that's right. I simply said, "You see, we are doing this thing called the Amazing Date for our church and we are actually in a really big hurry, but we stopped just to talk to you." Yes Vince, you really are that lucky. Really, we couldn't have been any cooler.

He replied with a tentative and somewhat confused, "Thanks...."

We ended our conversation with Vince and walked away in complete shock. Well, technically the guys walked away in mild amusement. Jen and I pretty much floated away in a state of utter joy and exuberance. The rest of the day consisted of Jen and I talking about meeting Vince, Jen and I telling everyone we met the story of how we met Vince, and Jen and I remembering that time we met Vince. We were over the moon.

The husbands were decidedly less 'over the moon'. They may have rolled their eyes a few times at our relentless Vince-a-thon. I may have even heard the words, "If I hear this story one more time...." uttered by two husbands who shall remain nameless. I can only reason that they were overcome with jealousy of the incredible 6 foot 5 inches of manliness they encountered in Chinatown that afternoon.

So Vince, if you ever want to, you know, hang-out again, just give me a ring. You know, we could head back to Chinatown for old times sake. We could tell you more thrilling stories about Wisconsin and Missouri. It would be a great time, really. Aren't you tempted?! Let's keep in touch.

*Note: I have cleverly tagged each mention of "Vince's" name to a different Vince Vaughn website. This is my pathetic way of hoping that he is somehow notified of this blog entry and will stop by for another chat. Possibly even a comment?! Come on Vince, you know you wanna....

The Amazing Date 2009: City Edition

2009-04-28T10:19:00.000-07:00

Again, it has been a week since my last post and I am feeling particularly lame about it. However, the reason it has once again been a week is not because I am a lazy lump, but rather, we have actually been busy! I know, I know...crazy but true. Also, I actually am a lazy lump at times.

This past weekend Hubs and I participated in The Amazing Date 2009: City Edition; a most fantastic couples weekend put on by our church. Basically, it is exactly what it sounds....couples running around San Francisco in an "Amazing Race" style scavenger hunt complete with "detours", "roadblocks" and "pit stops".

Upon signing up for this event, Hubs and I had visions of racing through the city, sprinting up hills, and running with boundless energy; visions of acute mental prowess enabling us to outwit, outsmart, and outplay the other teams; visions of finishing in first place; visions of using this as our springboard to get onto the actual Amazing Race tv show.

As it turns out, our physical ability was more lifeless than boundless, our mental ability was pretty much out-of-order, and our stunning finish was ....well....far short of first place. On the positive side, however, we did finish in the top ten....and by that, of course, I mean that we came in tenth place. And by that I mean that we technically tied for tenth place because we formed an alliance with another team. So, what I really mean to say is that we will not be sending in our application for the real Amazing Race anytime soon.

We did, however, have an absolutely awesome time and thought I would share with you all a few of the highlights, lowlights, and tidbits from our adventure!

Highlight #1:
One of the "Roadblocks" involved gutting a squid and preparing it as you would to make calamari. This doesn't sound like a highlight, but in actuality it was for two reasons. First, we now know how to make calamari. It is really much easier than one would suspect. Second, I didn't technically have to touch the squid.

Lowlight #1:
Hubs smelled like squid the rest of the day....and the night....and some of the next day. I was perfectly fine with it as I knew why he smelled like squid. I cannot say the same for the unfortunate folks sitting next to us on the cable car, wondering what the deal was with the stinky squid guy to their right.

Highlight #2:
In two short days the race took us to Fisherman's Wharf, Pier 39, the Hard Rock Cafe, the Ferry Building, Ripley's Believe It or Not, the Musee Mecanique, cable cars, Lombard Street, Washington Square Park, North Beach, Saints Peter and Paul Cathedral, Chinatown, Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory, Union Square, and the Westin St. Francis Hotel. Whew! It was an awesome way to see the city!

Highlight #3:
There are approximately 250 steps from the top to the bottom of Lombard Street.

Tidbit #1:
I know this because one of our "Roadblocks" required one team member to count the steps on their way down, run back up them, and tell the race volunteer the number.

Lowlight #2:
Hubs can't count. After running approximately 1,000 steps, Hubs still couldn't count. But he could darn well throw his map on the ground in a fit of rage upon learning that he couldn't count : )

Lowlight #3:
I realized how ridiculously out of shape I am while traversing 500 steps at Lombard Street.

Tidbit #2:
I later read online that many people include running up the steps on Lombard Street as a part of their daily workout routine. I would just like to say that those people are crazy. CRAZY.

Highlight #4:
We totally met a CELEBRITY! I am not yet going to reveal who, when, and where because it is so wonderfully awesome that it really deserves its own blog post. But know, that it was an honest to goodness CELEBRITY. I will go so far as to say a movie star. So....stay tuned...

Highlight #5:
During Friday nights leg of the race, Hubs managed to completely rip-out the crotch of his pants. We are talking front to back, at least eight inches long. It was seriously hilarious.

Tidbit #3:
He managed to do this not while we were racing around, jumping over ledges, or maneuvering our way through the obstacle course; no, my husband is far more talented then that. He managed to rip his pants wide open while WATCHING me eat jelly beans. Yes folks, all he did was sit down.

Lowlight #4:
Hubs somehow only managed to pack himself one pair of pants. This did not bode well for the second leg of the race on day two.

Tidbit #4:
Don't worry, things didn't get too scandalous as his pants had a liner. He did, however, look a little funny.

Highlight #6:
We nearly got arrested at the Westin St. Francis Hotel. We literally had hotel security threatening to arrest us through the elevator intercom. This is a highlight as we managed to avoid all 'detours' to the cop shop. That would have been an entirely different sort of adventure!

Lowlight #5:
I am ridiculously sore for finishing in 10th place. This is a wake up call to how ridiculously out of shape I am.

Tidbit #5:
I am currently watching Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred exercise DVD. Notice how I said watching, not doing. I'm easing into things.

It was truly a fantastic time filled with good friends and good fun. We are already setting our hopes high for next year....come on 9th place!!

Because I don't have much to say

2009-04-21T08:35:00.000-07:00

Has it seriously been a week since my last post?! How do I let this happen?? At least 50 times a week I say to myself, "Ah, that is going to be a blog entry." Then, just as quickly as those little gems of inspiration enter my mind, they seem to disappear. Now, as I realize it has been a week since last posting, I feel I MUST write something, however, have nothing to say. The shame, the shame.

So, because I have little to say, I will respond in the same manner in which I behave when I have little to do; that means we are watching some YouTube videos. Duh. Isn't YouTube the greatest waste of time in the entire world?! Lucky for me though, I don't have to spend hours and hours combing through videos to find the exceptionally great ones. My brother has a tendency to send me YouTube videos at 30 second intervals. He, apparently, spends hours and hours combing through to find the great ones. I benefit. So, without further ado, I bring you a collection of exceptionally great YouTube videos that will surely make you laugh!

I Like: Pens and Sausage

2009-04-14T00:59:00.000-07:00

I figured it was about time for another addition of "I Like". The Smencils post was a huge hit (and by huge, I mean I am certain that one person read it) and I figured it was cruel to continue making everyone wait on the edge of their seat to hear about what I like next. So, here we are; pens and sausage.

Boy do I love a good pen. A good pen can literally change the entire experience of writing. A good pen makes your writing look nicer, which makes you more satisfied with the finished product, eliminates having to start over because your penmanship isn't "pretty enough", increases your confidence, increases your desire to write, thereby decreasing your desire to eat chocolate, ultimately contributing to significant weight loss. I have never technically experienced the last two benefits, however, believe deep within my soul that one day, I too, may attribute weight loss to a good pen. It keeps me going.

Over the years, I have really refined my taste in pens. Now that I have reached the ripe old age of twenty-six and have many years of writing under my belt, I figured out exactly which qualities I look for in my pens. First, they must be sleek. Streamline. Svelte. I don't do chunky pens. They creep me out. Second, it must technically be a marker. More specifically, it must be an ultra-fine tip marker. Third, the ink must be a lovely tropical/pastel/jewel-tone color. Yes, yes, yes, I realize that black/blue are more "classic" pen colors, but who the heck wants to be classic. Besides, colors allow me to color code and heaven knows there is nothing I enjoy more in life than color coding. Last, but certainly not least, the ink shall not bleed through onto underlying papers. This is key.

I am certain you are all asking yourselves, "Oh, but where can we find such a deliciously luxurious pen?" Here; the LePen, 0.3MM porous point pen, made by Marvy Uchida. Folks, this pen will change your life. I swear. It is simply divine. It has all the qualities of a good pen and definite weight-loss potential. Personally, I recommend colors #8, 9, 10, 11, 33, 73, 78, 99, and 106.

Unfortunately for me, all of my LePens have recently exhibited symptoms warning of an imminent demise. I had to take action. So, this past Saturday, my hubs and I literally drove throughout Silicon Valley, stopping at every single office supply/scrapbooking/craft store in our path. In an unbelievable turn of events, there were no LePens to be found. It was heartbreaking. Gut wrenching, really. I have some on order and will somehow manage until they arrive...somehow....

In other news, I love this sausage; Aidells Roasted Garlic & Gruyere Cheese sausage. It is delicious! I tried it for the first time on Easter Sunday. The church we attend hosted a delightful pancake breakfast following the Easter service and this sausage was featured. When it comes to sausage, I have extremely strong beliefs about its consumption. I have hinted at my strong sausage beliefs in previous posts, and still have not worked up the courage to write my full-out sausage post, but trust me, I don't promote sausage casually. In fact, I rarely even feel it appropriate to talk about sausage, so this is HUGE. Eat some of this sausage people.

Peace out.

I may never go shopping again

2009-04-11T22:25:00.000-07:00

No, really, I totally mean it. I am not sure my faint heart can handle the boiling rage invoked by one more innocent shopping excursion. Let us start at the beginning.

While out running errands, hubs and I decided to make a "quick" stop at a local department store. I was in search of a spring purse (which I found, and is lovely) and he was looking for some new shirts (which he found, and are lovely also). When it comes to shopping, we are both fairly efficient. I found my purse within ten minutes and hubs found four shirts in approximately fifteen minutes. So, after 25 minutes of shopping, we were feeling quite productive. It didn't last long.

As we approached the line, we realized that it stretched all the way across the front of the store, around the corner, and half-way to the back. We were completely undeterred as we have successfully endured much longer lines, with a relatively short wait. We anticipated this instance to be no different.

We got in line and quickly realized that it was moving at a snails pace. No, I take that back, as snails generally make more forward progress than this line did. Frustrating, but understandable as the store appeared to be understaffed for the crowds. If only this kind of light-hearted understanding had lasted.

In front of us in line was a gentleman and his daughter. He was carrying two shoe boxes, she was waiting patiently. Life was good. Soon, the daughter walked off and came back a few minutes later with another woman. We'll call her the wife. The wife had a LARGE cart, FULL of items. She and the daughter joined the husband in line. The wife then began to sort through the items in her cart, deciding which she truly desired to purchase, and tossing the rest haphazardly onto racks lining the aisle. I was unimpressed.

Soon, another woman, we'll call her the sister, approached with another LARGE cart. The wife began to show the sister all of her "bargain finds" and the sister soon left the line with her cart, retrieved several more items, and returned to the line joining the wife, husband, and daughter. Now both women were digging through their carts, tossing items aside, as if they owned the place and frequently sending the daughter back out into the store on retrieval missions. She would come back with an armload of items and the wife and sister would continue down their trail of gluttony. I was becoming enraged as the women were clearly not following any sort of shopping etiquette. No wonder we were moving slowly!

Next, the husband decided that he, too, needed to do more shopping, so he followed suit, coming back with several more pairs of shoes. His wife did not seem happy. Her unhappiness, however, was nothing compared to mine.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, a third woman, we'll call her the friend, arrived in the store. The wife and sister immediately began telling her exactly where to go and what to get (which, by the way, was a HIDEOUS aqua dress covered in glittery flowers) so she could make it back to their place in line before they arrived at the cashier. At this point, I do believe that my head started to spin, my eyes turned red, smoke came out of my ears, and I breathed fire.

The one saving grace of the situation, that gave me just the slightest amount of hope, was that the entire gang would go through the same check-out, causing them to wait, and leaving the other aisle open for those who had been waiting for eons. WRONG.

When the group was next in line, the mother and sister decided to go through the check-out, while the husband stayed in line and waited for the next cashier, giving the friend more time to return to "their place in line". At this point, I began to pray to the Lord, for I am apparently a gal of little patience.

After standing in line for at least 45 minutes, hubs and I finally checked out, exited the store, and ranted all the way to the office supply store. Oh goodness, why did we think the office supply store would be a better experience?!

Already frustrated with shopping, we quickly entered, obtained the needed items and proceeded to the check-out, where we met Mr. Magic Fingers. Mr. Magic Fingers is a cashier who believes that his register operates only when he performs his special brand of digit wizardry, as he proceeded to enter the same four digit code, over and over and over and over and over and over again. And over again. And again. And for another five minutes. Without any success. MR. MAGIC FINGERS, TRY SOMETHING ELSE! YOUR FOUR DIGIT CODE DOESN'T SEEM TO BE WORKING!!! Honestly, folks. Honestly.

I do believe I aged during that shopping experience. I am certain it raised my blood pressure. I grew gray hairs. No doubt it taxed my feeble heart. Likely raised my cholesterol. I will probably need a hip replacement. Don't even get me started on the heartburn.

Yup, shopping is risky. I don't advice it.

Bix, destroyer of most things...

2009-04-10T23:36:00.001-07:00

Hey, did you all hear the fantastic news?! No?! Our dog is going to be in a remake of the movie Field of Dreams. For real. It is called Home of Nightmares. They are doing a spin-off of the whole, "If you build it, they will come" thing and featuring the tag line, "If you bring it into our home, Bix will destroy it." It is sure to be a smash at the box office. I know it sure is around our house.

Exhibit #1: Hedgehog
Hedgehog was the first stuffed animal that we ever bought for Bix. Hedgehog had a good run, but unfortunately, he has lost his sight.

Bix chewed his eyes off. As if this weren't a traumatic enough turn of events for Hedgehog, Bix has also been working diligently at creating a "hole" in Hedgehog's back end.

Something about a detox diet involving a pot of coffee and a turkey baster. You would have to ask my hubby and brother-in-law about that. Although Hedgehog is in rough shape, he is hangin' tough.

Exhibit #2: Monkey

If only poor old Monkey were fairing as well as Hedgehog. Unfortunately, Monkey is Bix's favorite stuffed animal. Good for Bix, bad for Monkey. The first thing to go were Monkey's ears. Bix chewed those suckers straight off. I am secretly hoping that Bix chews the mouth off of something in the future and I can market the three pathetic little animals as a ghetto "hear no, speak no, see no evil" trio. Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Times are tough.

Next, came Monkey's hand and tail. Done.

The final attack has been to Monkey's abdomen.

Bix created a puncture wound from which he has slowly and methodically been pulling Monkey's innards. See how methodical he looks?! That dog has a plan for those innards.

Folks, in all honesty, Monkey is just hanging on by the skin of his teeth....and I don't give 'em long....his skin or his teeth that is. I fear Monkey's days are numbered and soon he is going to take that long slow walk to the trash can. Let us all observe a moment of silence for Monkey.

Exhibit #3: Ball

Bix was also given a small tennis ball to play with. We figured this was by far and large the most 'normal' toy one could give their dog and far less susceptible to Bix's destructive ways.

We were wrong.

Terribly wrong. This "tennis ball" now reminds me of those creepy hairless cats. ::shudder::

Exhibit #4: Everything else

Don't fear though, his own toys aren't the only thing that Bix can destroy. No, no, his talents stretch much further. He has the uncanny ability to eat anything in the house... paper, cardboard, the carpet, his tail, my husbands underwear. This dog knows no limits. Clean a room, I dare you. I guarantee that our dog will mess it up in under six seconds. Yup. He is a record breaker for sure.

We warned him. We told him that if he didn't shape up he would be put through the ultimate torture... a bath. We sat him down and had a very stern discussion.

"Bix, your actions of the recent past have been less than desirable. You are old enough to start learning the hard lesson that there are consequences for your actions. If you choose to be naughty, you will have to pay the price, and that price is a bath. If you choose to be a respectable young man of society, we will spare you the bath. The choice is yours. Go out and make good decisions."

He made poor decisions.

Knowing what was coming next, Bix thought he would help the process along and climbed straight into the laundry hamper. Silly dog. We aren't putting you in the washing machine.

We are putting you in the bath. A nice long bath complete with puppy shampoo and a full out blow-dry afterwards. You will learn to love it. Trust us.

Now there, a clean start for a clean dog.

Go out and make good decisions.

Cupcake Adventure!!!

2009-04-08T00:19:00.000-07:00

I cannot sleep. I have visions of cupcakes dancing through my head. Normally, I have visions of ice cream dancing through my head, which likely makes its way to my mouth, where it naturally belongs. Naturally. Alas, tonight, I dream of cupcakes. Particularly, of a cupcake challenge.

Yes, that's right friends, I have taken up another kitchen challenge. I am still nursing the wounds from my carrot soup disaster but have decided that it is time to get back on the horse. This time, however, I promise to steer clear of any culinary escapades involving bacon and vanilla extract. I blame that whole incident on a severe case of foodie fever. Like I said, I am nursing my wounds and am likely to make a complete recovery.

I have joined the Iron Cupcake: San Francisco Challenge. I have never actually joined a cooking group/competition before, but figured as long as I have the time on my hands I may as well!! Furthermore, my dear hubby would much prefer me experimenting with cupcakes than with carrot soup.

So, the challenge is to create an original cupcake recipe using this months secret ingredient. The secret ingredient was announced on April 1st (I am already behind!!) and the showing/judging will be on April 27th. I know you are all waiting in eager anticipation to hear the ingredient that I will be using in my upcoming kitchen wizardry. Drum roll please......CHEESE!! What better ingredient for a Wisconsin gal to work with than cheese! You can bet your bottom dollar that I won't be using cream cheese either. Cream cheese is for amateurs (or possibly for those who have some good sense about what to put in a cupcake)! Either way.

Now, I must go figure out a delicious way to put a cheese curd in a cupcake....curdcakes anyone?!

The Art of Conversation

2009-04-06T23:40:00.001-07:00

Being a newly-wed couple, one thing that my hubs and I pride ourselves on is our excellent communication. We really do communicate fantastically well. We don't let issues bottle up, we are both patient listeners when the other is upset, we have stimulating and fulfilling daily conversations, etc. etc. I would go so far as to say that we are an excellent example of "healthy communication". That is....if you catch us between 7am and 11pm. After 11pm, all bets are off and we cannot carry on a coherent conversation to save our lives!

The first contributing factor is that my husband's ears plug up, promptly at 11pm, every single evening. This is a relatively new phenomenon as it has only been happening since we moved to California. He isn't worried about it. They unplug during the day and apparently he doesn't mind not being able to hear anything I say to him after 11pm.

The second contributing factor is that I am completely disoriented when I am sleepy. I always have been and always will be. I am a sleep talker. Quite conversational really.

When you put the two of us together, it is magic....

3am the dog begins barking LOUDLY and VICIOUSLY in the living room, right outside of our bedroom door.

The hubs sits straight up in bed, says nothing.

Finally, confused, I also sit up.

Hubs: "I think something is going on out there."

Me: "It is the dog."

Hubs: "He is probably barking."

Hubs lays back down and falls asleep.

I yell, "Sleep!" and my head, too, hits the pillow.

Sweet Dreams!!

Oh there's no place like home for the holidays....

2009-04-02T10:46:00.000-07:00

*Note: I have been really slack about posting entries this week. I apologize and blame it on Monday's earthquake. After all, it was a doozy. End note.*

Today is not Christmas. It isn't Thanksgiving either. Also, it's not yet New Year's Eve. Today is not a holiday at all in fact, but yet, that is what I am writing about. In particular, I am writing about the "flare" my brother adds to each and every holiday.

I love my brother. I really do. The guy is smart, funny, and buys everything in bulk. I kid you not. The guy has more pasta and pie filling than humanly necessary. He owns at least 75 highlighters. He once encouraged me to buy sleeping bags in bulk. No kidding. At least 100. That, however, is a story for another day. Today, I shall talk about his holiday flare.

Let's start with Thanksgiving 2006. This was the year that family was visiting from out of town and my brother thought the perfect way of celebrating would be to bring a large quantity of dry ice home from college. I mean, really, what says "Thanksgiving" better than filling the kitchen with fog?! Come on people, celebrate.

In case the dry ice didn't produce enough Thanksgiving flare, my brother also brought along a fun little family game. The silver claw-like contraption to the right is what I speak of. In this game, each of four players grabs one of the claws. At the top, there is a small button. The device plays some music or flashes some lights or something and when the music stops, everyone pushes the button on their claw. The last person to push their button gets a small electrical shock. Yes, that's right, a small electrical shock. Don't worry, it is only enough to cause a fright, not do any lasting damage. We hope.

Then, there was Christmas 2007. This is the year that the brother decided to bring his Airsoft Gun home. We naturally did what any other family would do; draped a mattress pad over the door, stacked up some cardboard boxes, and put out a target.

I have to say, I was a pretty good shot. There is the possibility that I never once hit the target, but really, who's counting? Good times.

Then there was Christmas 2008, where the brother really did outdo himself. First, there was the gift wrap. Oh, the gift wrap.

This was the gift that the brother presented to the husband. Yes, that would be UW-Madison's Chancellor Wiley (wearing a lovely holiday outfit) gracing the front of that gift bag. Notice how his open jacket clearly shows that Chancellor Wiley has no abdomen!! Yikes!

Then there were my gifts. The long U-shaped item was several paper towel rolls, taped together, bent, and wrapped with a combination of wrapping paper and ribbon. Little gifts were then stuffed inside. Not to be outdone by Chancellor Wiley, Jessica Simpson made an appearance.

The brother really did save the best for last though. After all the other gifts had been opened, he brought out his final gifts; one for myself, one for our mother, and one for the husband. Much in the spirit of the holiday season, we all got matching Nuclear, Biological, Chemical Suits. They are standard issue from the Army of Finland. I do believe these were also purchased in bulk. Our mom couldn't wait to try hers on!

He really does try to limit the antic's to Thanksgiving and Christmas though. I swear. All of the other holiday's pass in complete normalcy.

(New Year's Eve 2008/2009)

Apparently there was an earthquake

2009-03-30T12:33:00.001-07:00

*Note: I originally had a different post planned for today, however, after the panic and chaos I experienced as a result to this mornings events, the post you were going to read today, you will now read tomorrow, and now you will read about panic and chaos. End note.*

My Monday morning started out much like any other; the puppy misbehaved, the puppy peed where he shouldn't have, I punished the puppy, I searched the Internet for ways to better train the puppy, I got several new ideas with no real hope of success, I walked the puppy, the puppy peed on strangers, I searched the Internet for ways to get the puppy to stop peeing on strangers, etc. etc. The search revealed several splendid ideas, such as paying someone else to train the puppy, and I decided to head to the pet store to inquire as to whether this was a financially reasonable option. It isn't.

All was not lost, however, as I also needed several other puppy items at the pet store. I gathered my items and headed to the check-out. Right in the middle of my splendid conversation with the cashier ("Oh really...you like puppies?? Well...I just so happen to have...) the store manager came barreling out of his office. In one fluid movement, the office door swung open. The manager, a balding middle aged man of portly stature (think George Costanza) catapulted out of the office door, hands waving in the air, and began yelling, "Earthquake!"

Confused, as nothing was moving, shaking, or even wobbling, I turned to the cashier and asked, "Here?". She said, "Probably". Still rather confused, I thought that maybe my question wasn't clear. I asked again, "We are having an earthquake right now?" Again, she responded "Probably". Feeling as though I had just stepped into the twilight zone, I gathered my purchases and headed to the car.

Once inside, I turned on the radio and began listening as calls came in and people described "the jolt". Let me reiterate once more that I felt absolutely NOTHING. I am not denying the fact that somewhere, there was probably an earthquake, however, there definitely WAS NOT one in the pet store.

Putting the "big one" behind me, I headed across the street to the grocery store. Anyone who has ever grocery shopped between 10am-12pm on a weekday, knows that this is typically social hour for the 50-60 year old crowd. Well, let me tell you, all the ladies had their underwear in a bundle today! Everywhere I went people were talking about the earthquake. I, having not felt a thing, couldn't help but chuckle under my breath at the post-quake chaos I was surrounded by.

I finished my grocery shopping and once again found myself in the check-out line. As my last few groceries were being checked, I noticed a cashier several aisles ahead of me raise her hands up, as if at gun-point, and slowly back away from her register exclaiming, "My register is down!" At this precise moment, another cashier, several aisles behind me yells out, "So is mine! Are we having another earthquake?"

Are we having another earthquake??? Folks, is the ground moving under your feet? Are the lights swinging from the ceiling??? Is my little bag of broccoli dancing around on the check-out?? No, no, no, and no. No, I don't believe we are having an earthquake.

I turned to the cashier, smiled, and said "Well, looks like I am getting out of here just in time! Hopefully your register doesn't crash as well." She told me I had better hurry home. Like any sound minded person living in the epicenter, that is just what I did, hurried home. I had survived the great quake of March 2009 and I wasn't about to take any chances.

God has given me a kink to bear...

2009-03-27T15:26:00.000-07:00

I have had a kink in the right side of my neck/back since sometime in April 2008. Coincidentally, this is around the time my then roommate and I discovered the origin of a very particular stench that had begun to permeate our then abode. The craziness (and move) that followed is likely where my kink hails from and a story for another day, as today I would like to talk about my kink.

I have tried everything to get rid of this kink. I have used a heating pad, a cold pack, over-the-counter anti-inflammatory and pain killers, taken long hot showers, bought a new pillow, slept with no pillow, thrown my pillow out the window due to frustration over my kink, asked my hubby for countless neck/back massages, sought a professional massage, prayed, asked my hubby countless times to pull my head off (no, really, this isn't a joke...it feels amazing when he tries to pull my head off), done numerous neck stretches and 'exercises', wrapped a bathrobe sash around my head and pulled to relieve the tension, and naturally, have stood outside in my grass skirt and coconut bra performing a tribal neck kink dance. The dance didn't work.

I am thinking of purchasing one of these bad boys.....thoughts??

I have resigned myself to the fact that for whatever reason, God has given me a kink to bear. I am convinced of it beyond reason.

However, I like to look at the positive side of things. So, although I can't turn my head to the sides, look up, look down, or participate in any life activity that requires any kind of head movement at all, I can still laugh (as long as I hold my head steady with both of my hands and partake in more of a chuckle than a flat-out laugh). Enjoy!

I am at war...

2009-03-24T22:10:00.000-07:00

I am at war with carrots.

It all started with a pot of carrot soup that was entirely wrong. I love carrots and believed that this love would extend to what seemed like a delicious Creamy Carrot Soup recipe. How wrong I was!

When it comes to carrots, I am a firm believer in the following preparation. First, they should be cooked on the stove top in a small amount of water until fork tender. While still hot (and after the excess water has been drained) they should be slathered in a generous spoonful of butter, a delightful little squirt of honey, and a sprinkling of salt. These, my friends, are wonderfully glorious carrots. Ahhh. Be still my heart.

The problem with the carrot soup was that it did not include the following ingredients: butter, honey, and salt. Alright, it did include salt but not enough to make it taste good. Instead, the recipe called for quite a bit of garlic and lemon. GARLIC IS ALL WRONG WITH CARROTS. I was outraged. In addition, the texture was all wrong. Although it was pureed, it had the consistency of baby food (think apple sauce). Nothing about it embodied "Creamy". I was mislead and heartbroken.

That evening, I lay in bed lamenting this tragedy and vowed to my husband (who claimed to actually like the soup....oh, disgrace!) that I would right this wrong. I would fix the carrot soup. I would go into battle, whisk in one hand, immersion blender in the other, and come out victorious on the other side of my dutch oven. The score: Carrots-1, Breanna-0.

The next day, I prepared for a second battle. I got out the remainder of the carrots. I peeled. I chopped. I diced. Those carrots were in serious trouble. The only problem was that I also burned. The entire pan of carrots. I burned those suckers BLACK. With my eyes watering from the stench, my lungs burning from the smoke, I knew where I stood....Carrots-2, Breanna-0.

This was not over. For days, I thought about that carrot soup recipe. I dreamed in carrots. I was determined to fix the recipe. I added ingredients, omitted ingredients, and re-worked amounts. Finally, after much research and training, I created what I thought would be the PERFECT carrot soup recipe....

**Note: At this point in time, the recipe actually no longer contained carrots. Nor did it contain garlic or lemon. In fact, only one ingredient remained the same which was a cup of broth, and this is only partially true because the original recipe used chicken broth. I used vegetable broth. Nevertheless.....details, details....it was still carrot soup to me**

BLECH! This soup was nasty. It was a total, utter, and complete failure. This is the absolute last time I attempt to use vanilla extract and bacon together in a recipe. Now, I know you are all tempted, but please, try to resist the urge. It really isn't as good as it sounds. Ashamed, the score stands at Carrots-3, Breanna-0.

I have taken a very dangerous turn down a lonely and rugged culinary road. I fear I have wondered too far off the beaten path and may never find my way back. It is lonely out here...the carrots and I.

But listen here carrots....you listen good and hard. You may have won the battle (or three) but you have not yet won the war. I am going to bring it like it has never been brought before. I hope you are ready.

I'm bringing my musket. Yup. That's right. My musket.

I will also show up wearing my pantaloons. I can see the fear in your eyes carrots. Just give up now.

And the feather in my hat. I will use that feather while we battle.

Now, I must go feed my horse. You know, my battle horse. Duh.

I am having a book problem...

2009-03-23T21:23:00.000-07:00

I am having a book problem.

Isn't it wonderful to be totally wrapped up in a great book?! I love that feeling; curling up on the couch (or rather, "futon", because your couch has been back ordered for a lifetime...or a month and a half), sipping from a mug of tea, and getting lost in someone else's life. Every once in awhile, you find a book that is so enticing that you can get lost in it for hours on end, even forgetting that it isn't real. You know what I'm talking about...I mean, who hasn't ranted to their husband for hours about the perils and problems of traveling around Eastern Europe to hunt an ancient vampire?! Yeah, I knew everyone would be able to relate.

There are many books that have had this wonderful effect on me. Lately, however, I have hit a dry spell. I have started one dead end book after another. To compound the issue, I suffer from severe "book abandonment guilt". This is a nagging condition which compels me to keep reading a book, no matter how uninterested I am in it. What typically happens, though, is that I am so bored that I just pretty much stop reading it. A side effect of my "book abandonment guilt" is that I feel I cannot start a different book, until the previously started one is finished. I'm sure you see the problem here. My husband is supporting me through this issue and encouraging me to seek help in the form of chocolate cream cheese cupcakes. I love my husband.

Over the summer, I read the Twilight book series. I didn't have high expectations as I knew it was a "young adult" series. Based on the glowing recommendation of the lonely middle age woman at the bookstore who told me that she gave up sleeping with the release of each new book, I decided I better read them. I picked up the first book, gave the poor woman a Tylenol PM, and told her to go get some rest. Surprisingly, the series was incredibly entertaining. It wasn't exactly Heart of Darkness or War and Peace, but it was mighty engaging.

Based on my positive experience with the Twilight series, I started another book by the same author, The Host. No such luck. Maybe it was too close to ending the Twilight series and I was still mourning the literary end of my Edward and Bella. Maybe I subconsciously wanted to read something stylistically different. Maybe I wasn't in the mood for body snatchers. Who knows, but for whatever reason, it simply did not draw me in. I bring you The Host: Abandoned Book #1.

Next, I attempted (for the third time....not a good sign) Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I should like this book. I am convinced of it. It has all the right ingredients. Apparently, my will to like this book is simply not as great as my ability to like this book, because for the third time, I got a few chapters in and could not proceed. I bring you Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell: Abandoned Book #2. *Note: I still firmly believe that I do/should like this book. When the time is right, I will once again brave its pages.*

Then came a couple of library books that were not even significant enough to mention by name. I read maybe a few pages, possibly only the back cover, and then ran for the hills. The shame. The guilt. I bring to you several sad little library books: #3, #4, #5.

The Shack. I just knew this one would revive my reading. Instead, it outright killed it. Dead. Too many paper cut wounds to the head they say. We will never know for sure. What I do know, is that this book was utterly ridiculous. Where are all you people who loved it?! What, do tell, did you love?! I am confused. Perhaps I missed something....like the plot. Not only did I find the book to be ridiculous and a bit pretentious, but also offensive. The Shack became the dreaded #6.

That's right friends, six books. My name is Breanna and I abandon books. I am totally out of control. Your support during this difficult time would be appreciated.

Now, excuse me while I go slather 1/3 of a cup of Dove lotion on my face. My eye's are chapped and I have a fever. That could explain a great deal about this evenings post.

Welcome Ultimate Blog Partiers!

2009-03-23T21:21:00.000-07:00

Welcome to all who are stopping over from The Ultimate Blog Party 2009! To sum myself up, I am a newly-wed, twenty-something mom to a three month old American Eskimo puppy who has recently been uprooted from her comfortable Midwestern upbringing and transplanted in the hustle and bustle of Northern California. This blog is where I document the crazy. Yes, that's right, the crazy. I will now reveal 5 juicy little tidbits about myself that will surely entice you into staying and looking around a bit.

1. I think of myself as a 'foodie in training'. I absolutely love to cook, bake, eat, try new foods, and try new restaurants. Because of my love for all things edible, I have also developed some strong, how shall we say, 'food beliefs'. For example, I believe that Jell-O jigglers are the eighth deadly sin, although I don't mind Jell-O powder mixed into other things. Croissants should be horizontally sliced, toasted, and buttered. This is not to be compromised. I also have some particular feelings about sausage. I plan to write an upcoming blog entry about it. How is that for enticing?!

2. I can't seem to keep a coffee pot alive for more than 1 year. Is there some secret life expectancy for coffee pots that I have not been informed of?

3. I watch far too much mindless/reality tv. I am totally fine with it. I am not trying to quit.

4. Some words that make my skin crawl are "piddle", "davenport", and "chunky". I hate those words.

5. I am a terribly blessed gal with many wonderful friends and family!

So, grad a cup a' coffee, take a look around, and come back to visit!

I Like: Smencils

2009-03-19T12:35:00.001-07:00

I love finding new things that I like!! Whether it is a product, website, article, idea, behavior, wine or type of chocolate (and yes, wine and chocolate do deserve their own categories), I just love finding things that make me happy. What would make me even happier, is sharing these likable little tidbits with others. So, I bring to you, the first edition of "I Like": Smencils.

I first learned about Smencils over this past Holiday season....

I'm sorry, but I have to interject with a completely random tangent here. I just burned an entire pan of carrots. I don't mean overcooked either. I mean, burned. Burned black. I didn't even know you could burn carrots black?! Now I am disgruntled. I clearly read that bag of carrots and nowhere on that bag did it say, "Do not cook while blogging". Shoot. Now what am I going to have for lunch?!

Yes, that's right, I was going to eat a pan of carrots for lunch. Don't judge. Whew, I need to open a window in here....

Anyway, back to Smencils. My sister-in-law, niece, and nephew introduced my husband and me to Smencils over Thanksgiving. No, don't worry, they were not all mentioning Smencils as we went around the table and all mentioned the thing we were most thankful for that year. Partly because we didn't go around the table and mention the thing we were most thankful for that year. Mostly though because they are sensible people and let's be real; Smencils are great, but not that great. On a side note (yes, another one), I have actually never done that go around the table thing. I motion to start a new tradition.

Again, I digress. Smencils. Somehow the topic of Smencils being all the rage at my niece's school got brought up. Smencils?! What the heck are Smencils?! Well, my friends, Smencils are the most fabulous pencils ever. Why you ask?! Because they are scented! They are divine. We received our very own Smencils in the mail a few weeks ago from my sister-in-law (thanks!!). I know this sounds cheesy (my husband looked at me like a crazy person when I told him this a few weeks ago), but every single time I look at the Smencils I think, "Smencils. The happy pencil." I know...I need help. But hey, I think it is a great slogan. Hear that Smencil company, I have a great slogan for you!

There is one slight, teeny, tiny problem with the Smencils though. I believe this to be more of a personal problem than a product problem, however. The Smencils smell good. Really good. Just like candy. So much like candy, in fact, that every single time I smell those darn things I get hungry. I swear, I ate two piece of fruit leather the other day just thinking about my Smencils. So, while Smencils may be great for my spirit, they are definitely not so good for my rear end. Like I said, personal problem.

Now, go get some Smencils....the happy pencil. : )

Note: Towards the end of this post, I went to check on the pasta that I decided to make in place of my 'once orange now black' carrots. I never turned the burner back on. Folks, it will be a miracle if I am able to feed myself lunch today.

Life at a snails pace...

2009-03-18T11:47:00.000-07:00

Do you hear that? No? Well come closer. Now lean in a little. Still no?? Turn off the tv and really listen. There you go! That incredibly weak, faint, barely audible pulse is my life. Folks, it has come to a stand still.

For that past several years, particularly the past few months, my life has moved at a pretty rapid pace. Busy was my middle name. I was a little crazy. Getting engaged, married, graduating, and moving across the country all in five months will do that to a person. Honestly, it was too crazy and not a pace I was willing to continue. I yearned for the day when life would be slower.

Well, welcome to it. My life has died.

No, really, it isn't that bad. The SLOWNESS of things is driving me crazy though. Everything about my life lately has been slow. If I hear the words "backordered", "wait", or "patience" one more time, I just may vomit.

First, the move. The move has been painfully slow. I am the kinda gal who likes to get things done. My previous move was a dream come true. Within 48 hours of moving in, I was literally finished moving. Every box was unpacked. Every drawer, closet, file folder, and shelf was organized. Everything not needed was moved into storage. Pictures were hung. Decorations were out. I believe I even had my candles lit.

This move has been the opposite. We have officially been here in California for 47 days and we are not yet "finished moving". There are still boxes yet to be unpacked, piles waiting to be moved into storage, and decorations with no home. The only room that I can say is "finished" is the dining room. This, however, is a vast exaggeration as we have more of a dining area than a dining room and all that "finished" really entails is having a table cloth and centerpiece on the table and one picture hung. The move has been slow.

Part of the dilemma is the furniture situation. The furniture situation has been slow. A few days after arriving in California, we purchased some living room furniture. At that time, they told us we would have to wait awhile for delivery, until March 11th. Being well over a month away, we were discouraged, however decided that this particular furniture was worth the wait. Then on March 10th, we got the phone call saying the furniture was backordered until April 3rd and we would have to wait. Ugh. This makes finishing unpacking difficult as you can't decorate a room with no furniture.

Then there is the wedding thank you note/computer situation. Shortly after arriving in California the monitor of our desktop computer died. This was an inconvenience of particular frustration as the gift list and addresses needed to finish the wedding thank you's were saved on that computer. This put finishing the thank you's at a stand still and again, we would have to wait.

We quickly found an amazing deal and ordered a new monitor. You guessed it, it was backordered. Then, because of a freak mistake in pricing, the order was cancelled. At this point I stomped my feet, crossed my arms, and pouted. You can do these sorts of things when you are 26 and life is not going your way. Fear not, we eventually did find another monitor to order and it arrived yesterday. So, to all those who attended our wedding and have not yet received their thank you note...my sincerest apologies. They will ALL be finished by the weekend.

Then there is the issue of finding a job. This has probably been the hardest of all for me. Somehow, I thought that finding a job out here in California would be a piece of cake. I was so wrong. Simply finding positions to apply to has been difficult. I have received lots of excellent advice from other professionals, however, it all includes the words, "wait" and "patience".

I could go on and on as there are several other things we are waiting for, however, will force myself to stop as I am sure nobody else is enjoying my rant. This post is more for me. A means of putting my frustration down on paper and venting. In the end, I know that none of these complaints are really that important and that I have a lot to be grateful for. I have a wonderful husband, a great place to live, and many wonderful family and friends (even if they all live across the country). This is more a personal problem dealing with my lack of patience than anything else. Maybe God is trying to teach me a lesson. If so, he is doing a very effective job!

Looking at it from a positive perspective, we sure do have a lot to look forward to!!

Update, updates, updates

2009-03-11T12:44:00.000-07:00

California is Still Noisy...and porn...

Yes, California is still noisy. Together, my hubby and I have deduced that the little hooligans above are two pint size girls with very BIG personalities. To make clear just how noisy it is, I will share with you a quote from my husband:

"Ah, seems that dad has brought a sledge hammer home from work today."

This, my friends, is lovely.

In other neighborhood news, there is a man who lives in the apartment across the parking lot. The majority of our windows face his apartment. He never closes his blinds. He has two LARGE televisions which he uses to watch three things; CNN, golf (possibly), and porn (there has been a little porn/golf uncertainty lately). He usually has both tv's (which are in different rooms) on at the same time so we get to experience more than one "genre" at once. This, too, is lovely.

No I don't eat a lot of cheese...and I'm sorry you haven't take your lunch break yet...

What is the deal with customer service employees?!?! It was bad enough that I got stuck with Mr. So You Must Eat A Lot of Cheese, but then, while making returns at a department store with my husband, we got stuck with Mrs. This Better Be Quick Because I Haven't Had My Lunch Break Yet. Yes, that's right. Upon telling her that I just had one return, she gave us a dirty look and said, "Well that's not going to be quick." She then proceeded to complain about the other customer making returns (with the other sales associate), while the customer was standing there!! The final touch, was when yet a third customer approached the counter to ask a question, and rather than responding, the sales associate simply "gave her the hand". I was waiting for a fourth customer for the ridiculousness to plummet even further; possibly a "giving of the elbow (because you do not deserve the extension)", a "duh", maybe even a "whatever". Unfortunately, all I got was $8.48 in store credit at JCPenny. What the heck am I gonna do with $8.48?

Bix

Simply for your viewing pleasure and because he is growing up so fast...and because he is literally the cutest dog in the world.

My door knob bustin' skills are no match for my hubby's door knob fixin' skills...

Yup, that's right...he fixed the door knob! The only downside is that I spent an hour gagging as my husbands toolbox was open. That, however, is a small price to pay. I understand that Esmerelda at the front desk would have charged us an arm and a leg for that crappy little doorknob. Thanks for the head's up, Amanda!! Of course, I did break some pieces in half and there is a part "leftover", but my hubby assures me that it isn't an important part.

I continue to stand upon my soapbox...

Old Navy is really pushing the envelop with their whole "Supermodelquin" ad campaign. Have you seen the latest commercial?? Yeah, the one where all the modelquins are standing around chatting and someone pulls the mom modelquin's dress off. Then, one of the men (not her husband) exclaims, "Sweet!". Her husband tells the guy to stop starring at his wife, and the guy explains that he can't. Then mom modelquin (who is now covered in black censor bars) says, "What, like you've never seen plastic before."

Again, Old Navy, I would like to commend you for setting such a wonderful example of adult behavior. I am so pleased that little girls all around this great nation are learning that it is perfectly alright to comfortably stand naked in a crowd. Likewise, I find comfort knowing that our little boys are learning to outright stare at their friend's (naked) wives.

::heaven's to Betsy, I hope you hear the sarcasm::

Here is my final plea. Old Navy, you have cute clothes. You are affordable. I like your flip-flops. For Pete's sake, clean up your act! I mean it. Don't test me. I am not afraid to send you to bed without dinner. You think this is funny? Oh yeah? Well, guess what? You are grounded. Yup, that's right. No fun weekend plans for you. Nope. Maybe you can think about your recent behavior all weekend while you are cleaning the basement. Uh-huh, that's right.

So there.

I have a toolbox...

2009-03-10T10:54:00.001-07:00

...and so does my husband.

Here is his toolbox (No, sweetie, of course I am not letting the pup mess with your toolbox....).

It is traditional. It is "manly". His toolbox contains tools...you know, a screwdriver, a wrench, a hammer, a level. Tools.

In addition, his toolbox is stinky. There have been times when I have literally been across the apartment and found myself yelling out, "Oh dear, have you opened that wretched little toolbox again?" The stench is actually really hard to describe. Imagine if you took a toolbox, filled it with really really stinky (possibly molding) gym socks, submerged it in pee, left it out in the sun to dry, and then lit it on fire...inside of a sewer. Generally, that is what is smells like. I don't fancy it.

Here is my toolbox. Yup. It is made out of sturdy cardboard. It is yellow, with tiny blue flowers and roosters on it. It has a cute little bamboo handle. A blue bow made out of ribbon. It is perfectly lovely.

My toolbox contains things that, in my mind, are apparently tools. Let's take a look.

Batteries, a nail clippers, and a lighter. Not just any lighter, but a lighter with a moose on it. I love moose. Once, while sleeping in a chicken coop with my cousins, we were almost attacked by a moose. True story. The lighter is particularly curious as I do not smoke. Ever. Nor have I ever. But, I imagine that sometimes when repairing things with your tools, you get frustrated and just need to start a fire. Possibly just burn the repair. That is what I do with my tools and my lighter. Fix things.

Two locks. I don't know the combination for either. These, however, are useful for smashing things when you are working on repairs. Maybe you are having difficulty, say, cutting a hole. My solution: use your combination lock to smash a hole. These locks are from middle school. They were used on my gym locker. Any item from middle school brings out the urge to smash.

An old cell phone that doesn't work. Basically you can pretend to call for help when you are pretending to fix things.

A variety of nails and batteries.

Matchboxes from the Holiday Inn and New York, New York, which is apparently a casino/hotel in Las Vegas. This is also curious as I have never been to Las Vegas. Hm....

Matchboxes from Country Kitchen. I have been here. I regret it which is probably why I took the matches. The food made me want to burn things. No, seriously, these matchboxes are a back-up for the lighter.

Mounting squares and some sort of tape. I don't have a hammer, so all those nails I have aren't doing me any good. I can just tape things up. On second thought....I do have a combination lock or two. I could most definitely use those to pound nails. Yes, this is a good idea.

Stick pins, for pinning. Possibly could also be used to pick locks. I have skills in this area.

A button. I think this is a decorative embellishment more than anything as I don't have any needle and thread. I see this as more of a trademark piece. Something I can tape to my repairs to let others know that it is handy work of my doing. Sorta like a signature.

I am clearly a handy-woman responsible for many home improvement projects. Clearly.

Oh You Just Knew This Was Coming....

2009-03-05T11:46:00.001-08:00

Two blog posts in one day! What could be the reason?!

The reason, my friends, is that for the first time in the month that we have been here, this very morning California began to feel like home. Why this morning, you ask? Because this morning I managed to find myself in an absolutely ridiculous, unbelievable, embarassing, and oh-so-typical-of-my-life situation. A situation that could only happen to me. And truly, California was just not going to feel like home until I fanagled a predicament.

So, we have a patio. It is a lovely patio. There are three lovely entrances to this lovely patio. There is a door in the office, a door in the bedroom, and a sliding door in the living room that all lead out to this lovely patio.

The office and bedroom doors, if not unlocked, will lock automatically should the door shut. I think we can all see where this is going. Yes folks, I locked myself out on the patio.

I had literally just gotten out of bed, walked into the office, and was checking my email. Bix was pawing around at the door and I thought, "Oh, it is nice out. I will let him go out there." The issue was that Bix didn't want to come back in. I, being the good puppy mother that I am, patiently went out on the patio to get him. The office door slammed shut behind me and there I was. Locked out on the patio.

I will now share with you the following thoughts, realizations, and epiphanies that I had in the following order during my time on the patio.

1.Shoot.

2. I'm locked out.

3. I am wearing my pajamas.

4. I have bed-head.

5. I have no bra on.

6. Hm....I don't have my cell phone.

7. How the heck am I going to get back in????

8. Sean doesn't come home for several, SEVERAL hours.

9. I guess I could wait for Sean to come home.

10. No, that won't work, I have to pee.

11. Maybe I could flag someone down and yell to them. Something like, "Excuse me kind Sir, but I seem to have locked myself out on the patio. Would you be so kind as to call my husband for me?"

12. Yeah, that is a good idea. I will do that.

13. Hm, nobody seems to be out and about on this oh-so-lovely morning.

14. Oh shoot.

15. I dead bolted the front door after getting up.

16. Sean won't even be able to get in the apartment to unlock and door and let me back in.

17. Can I climb down somehow???

18. Nope.

19. What if I jump? Any possibility of that working??

20. Nope.

21. Oh great, the dog is freaking out.

22. Man, I really have to pee.

23. Darn it! I wish I had a bra on! If I did, I could pull the underwire out and use it to pick one of the locks (What? You didn't know about my crazy MacGyver-like lock picking skills??).

Note: The complete irony of the situation is that from where I stood on the patio, I could actually see two of my bras laying around. I did not put these bras around later for comedic effect. You can ask my hubby. They have been there for days. I am just that slovenly.

24. Is there any other scrap metal out here that I could use to pick a lock?

25. Nope.

26. Crap. They are going to have to call the fire department and raise a ladder up to get me down. That is so uncool. I will surely never make friends after that one.

27. Wait....friends! My (almost) friend Amanda lives somewhere in this apartment community (I say "almost" because Amanda and I haven't actually met in person. You see, I emailed a couple ladies who supposedly live around here and asked them to be my friend. It's a very cool thing to do, really. Much cooler than having to be rescued by a firetruck. Amanda responded to my email and we have been internet-friending ever since).

28. Maybe, I could yell out to Amanda. Something like, "Amanda, are you out there?? It is your internet buddy Breanna. I know I have already made such a cool impression, but I have managed to lock myself out on the patio..."

29. My friend Erika is going to love this story.

30. Once upon a time, two days before my wedding, my mom locked herself inside a car wash. Now I know how she felt. She, however, had her cell phone. And her bra. I could do a lot with those two items.

31. Whatever happens, better happen quick because I really have to pee.

32. If worst comes to worst, I could squat down in the corner and nobody would be able to see me pee. Maybe, just maybe, I could blame the puddle on my puppy?

33. Thank God I don't have to drop a deuce, because there is absolutely no way on earth I could blame that on my tiny little five pound puppy.

34. Could I break a window?

35. No, that would be expensive. And I would probably bleed.

36. There is only one thing to do. Gather up all the super-human strength that I have and bust up the door knob. If I pull and push that thing in every unholy direction it was never ment to go, possibly throw in a couple of karate chops, maybe even a drop kick, I just might be able to break my way back in.

Yes, folks, that is just what I did. I busted the crap outta that door knob. Currently, it is a mangled piece of metal. The dead bolt has twisted vertically and sunken into the door, the handle is frozen in place, and the door is being held shut by a stack of boxes.

I, my friends, am a rock star.

As I Stand Upon My Soapbox...

2009-03-05T09:22:00.001-08:00

I could not sleep last night. I was awake for hours thinking about the event that inspired this particular blog entry. I kept waiting for Mr. Sandman to come, but alas, he was MIA. Rumor has it he took The Tooth Fairy and Tinkerbell to New Zealand because he was in love with both and needed to make a decision. He chose The Tooth Fairy. Later, he changed his mind, dumped The Tooth Fairy, and defaulted to Tinkerbell. Apparently they are moving to Seattle. Who woulda thought?

My hours of sleeplessness prompted me to dig an old friend out of the closet. This is a friend that doesn't make an appearance too often, but when he does....be weary. I have finally managed to push, pull, and drag the old soapbox out. After dusting it off and making myself a nice cup of tea, I am ready to climb on and rant.

This particular rant is stemmed from the events of last Saturday. My hubby and I were out shopping at a local mall and decided to make a stop in Old Navy as my husbands khaki pants are too small. So small in fact, that they have taken up permanent residence above his belly button. We are both in agreement that this just will not do. Khaki pants should never reside above the belly button, regardless of what any of his electrical engineer co-workers say. :) I digress.

Upon entering Old Navy, we were approached by a bubbly brunette with a pony-tail at heights I haven't witnessed since the ninth grade. Sweetheart, for the love of all things holy, bring that pony-tail back to earth. Again, I digress.

The bubbly brunette lured us in with a big bowl of M&M's and Skittles and told us that they could be ours by simply taking a short survey to determine which "Supermodelquin" we were. This is where my first (and least important) rant comes in. Supermodelquins??? Come on. Puh-lease. This is the most ridiculous ad campaign I have seen since those sick little naked chickens (possibly turkeys) dancing on stage (read my previous post people). Supermodelquins are characters, living in Old Navy Land, who have personalities and lives and husbands and boyfriends and babies and apparently cocktails....we will be getting to that later. They even have their own magazine, Old Navy Weekly. Here is what Supermodelquin, Kelly, had to say in her Q&A from the first issue:

"So how does a self-described Midwestern girl next door become a fabulous Supermodelquin?

Hmm. My big smile? And of course support from my friends. Not to mention the support of my steel rod.

Any desire to start a family?

Of course. But right now, the only steady relationship I have going is with my favorite pair of socks. Ha!"

It turns out that I am "Michelle", a thirty-something soccer mom. Sean is Wesley. According to the bubbly brunette, this is "like so ironic" because Michelle and Wesley are married and so are Sean and I. ::I pause to roll my eyes and vomit just a little::

Now, onto the actual rant. After discovering my long lost Supermodelquin sister, we were offered the candy with which we were lured in in the first place. Clever scheme, I must admit. Who is going to pass up candy at 10am??

After the candy, we were offered a complimentary cocktail. Yes, cocktail. The bubbly brunette filled a small plastic cup with ice, filled it 2/3 full with club soda, and then asked which mixer we would like, cranberry, sour apple, pomegranate twist, or mango. Now, these cocktails were technically 'mocktails' as there was no actual alcohol involved. This, my friends, is TOTALLY BESIDE THE POINT.

(Here comes the rant). Last I checked, Old Navy was marketing themselves as a FAMILY STORE. They sell clothing to babies, children, and teens. They have a new ad campaign featuring very cartoonish looking characters...including child characters. Is nobody else disturbed by the fact that this self-proclaimed family store is serving up mocktails?? Now don't get me wrong, I am in no way opposed to drinking alcohol...WHEN YOU ARE OF AGE. I am no dummy either. I am well aware that many teens drink alcohol before they legally should. Whatever. My problem, however, is that Old Navy is glorifying this practice by serving mocktails as part of their new ad campaign, involving children!!!!

Further more, they are luring people in with M&M's and Skittles, two of the most popular CHILDREN'S candies. If they had wanted to gear this particular promotional event towards adults, they should have picked a more adult-like snack. Possibly some canapes, bacon wrapped water chestnuts, or mushroom tarts. Alright, yes, this is Old Navy we are talking about and canapes are not a reality. A freaking Worther's Original would have been less kid-friendly though.

Maybe I am being overly sensitive, but I really feel that this is sending the wrong message. I mean, what's next?? Are they going to have customers snort a line of crushed PEZ with a sippy cup straw?? Does anyone have my back on this??

Had this same event taken place in an adult store, geared ONLY towards adults, I would have no problem with it. I might think it is stupid, but would not be offended. Shame on you Old Navy, shame.

Unfortunately, we are living in a society where this type of activity is so common place that it doesn't even strike a chord with most people. That makes me sad.

Old Navy, you are dead to me.

Chicken Pot Pie

2009-03-04T08:23:00.000-08:00

I have undergone a lifelong battle with chicken pot pie. As a child, I was scarred by chicken pot pie because of these nasty little devils….

...the dreaded frozen chicken pot pie. Ugh.

Years later, upon eating chicken pot pie again, I learned that I actually did like it and attempted to make my own. This did not end favorably. My husband (then boyfriend) graciously choked down an entire piece and then later told me “it wasn’t his favorite”. This coming from a man who regularly smells the milk, wrinkles up his nose, and then proceeds to drink it anyway. A man who has eaten chicken nuggets out of the garbage can. A man who once landed himself in the emergency room after inhaling several, SEVERAL cupcakes. I believe that speaks volumes about my chicken pot pie.

Recently, I started to get the chicken pot pie itch again. And no, this is not a subtle reference to some kind of chicken pot pie allergic reaction story…..although that does remind me of a hilarious DiGiorno pizza incident that really does deserve some future blog time. Note, however, that I am not ruling out a future chicken pot pie allergic reaction story as this is the kind of thing that would likely happen to me. You have been warned.

For now though, I just made a good chicken pot pie. The crust turned out flaky and buttery; the filling, rich and creamy. Not to mention that it was a cinch to make! Thanks to the original recipe (posted by brandiandboys.wordpress.com) and a couple easy modifications, chicken pot pie and I have finally made peace with one another.

Chicken Pot Pie

1 cup chopped onion
1 cup chopped celery
1 cup chopped carrots
2 cups frozen peas
1/4 cup margarine
1/2 cup flour
3 cups low sodium chicken broth
1 cup half-and-half milk
1/2 tsp pepper
Salt to taste
3 to 3 1/2 cups shredded, cooked chicken
Refrigerated, frozen, or boxed pie dough (prepared)

Saute onion, celery, and carrots in margarine for until tender. Add flour, stir well, and cook for about two minutes. Combine broth and half-and-half. Slowly incorporate into the vegetable mixture. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly until thickened and bubbly. This is important. If you do not wait until the mixture has thickened, your chicken pot pie will come out a little runny. Add the peas. Stir in pepper and salt to taste. Add chicken and stir well. Pour mixture into a greased 2 qt. shallow casserole dish. Top with pastry. Cut slits in pastry. Bake at 400 for 40 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from oven and let stand for several minutes to set filling. Enjoy!!

*Note: The filling can be doubled, made into a second chicken pot pie, and put in the freezer. Or, alternatively, the filling can be mixed with cooked pasta for a delicious chicken noodle casserole. Choices, choices!

** A second note, because this is my blog and I can do what I want: You may obtain your 3-3 ½ cups of cooked chicken in whatever manner you chose. I will not judge. I, however, am a self-proclaimed “chicken diva”. I am a master of the boneless, skinless, chicken breast. However, boneless skinless chicken breasts are ridiculously expensive in the state of California. May I ask, “where are you people getting your chickens??” Are you sending across the world for them and having them shipped overnight UPS?? Is there some kind of “California chicken shortage” that I am unaware of?? I am baffled.

There is an easy and obvious solution to this dilemma….buy some thighs, wings, legs, maybe even a whole uncooked chicken. That is where my palms start to sweat. It is time I come out of the proverbial “chicken closet” and admit that I am totally and completely uncomfortable with the ‘other parts’. They make me nervous. This is not a white meat vs. dark meat issue, as I enjoy consuming both. This is simply an irrational fear stemming from those commercials where whole, naked, raw chickens danced on stages. You know the ones I am talking about. The ones that made those darn chickens look…..alive. Maybe they were turkeys…who cares…it was horrifying.

So, my solution to obtaining 3- 3 ½ cups of cooked chicken??

“Sweetheart….there is a rotisserie chicken in the shopping bag. Would you mind…..”

I love my husband

***Note, #3….don’t be a hater: This is not the only meat issue that I have. Stay tuned for an upcoming entry about my deeply rooted beliefs concerning sausage. It will rock your world.

"So....you must eat a lot of cheese..."

2009-02-27T09:42:00.000-08:00

I went to the bank the other day and had the following conversation with two bank tellers:

Bank Teller #1: Could I have your license please.

::I hand over my license::

Bank Teller #1: Ahh, your from Wisconsin, huh? The Potato State.

Me: Oh, no, actually that would be Idaho.

Bank Teller #2: (to Bank Teller #1) You idiot. Wisconsin is the cheese state.

::silent pause::

Bank Teller #1: So.....you must eat a lot of cheese....

::silence::

Bank Teller #1: So does is snow in WI?

Me: Yeah, it actually snows a lot.

Bank Teller #1: So, like, do they get four seasons there?

Me: Yup, four seasons.

Bank Teller #1: That's cool. I've always liked seasons.

::silence::

Alright, now this is me, helping all the young men out there who are trying to make small talk with a lady.

You must never, I repeat NEVER, utter the following words to a woman:

"So....you must eat a lot of cheese..."

This is the equivalent of saying, "Your rear end is large and kinda dimply." That never goes over as well as you think it will.

In addition, "I've always liked _______" should be avoided if the blank contains the following words:
seasons
dixie cups
little glass figurines
bears (did anyone else see that episode of The Bachelor?!)
eggs
raw meat
guns (...honey, run...)
plaid
...

You get the idea.

When Ducks Attack: Part Two

2009-02-24T15:46:00.000-08:00

When we left off, Brianna had just discovered that the grotesque demon duck was not a statue, but rather a vicious and very real blood-thirsty animal waiting for prey. Shawn had yet to notice the imminent threat.

Not believing her eyes, in horror Brianna exclaimed, "Shawn, a duck! A vicious, unholy, attack duck! What shall we do?"

Shawn, not intimidated by the duck, grabbed young Bicks in his arms and walked down the path toward it. As Shawn passed, the duck increased its violent shaking; a warning to stay back or be eaten. It began to move its head. Walk. Swallow funny.

Brianna, terrified of the creature, was not about to approach. Paralyzed with fear, she stood very still near Rodney and the baby.

Just then, Mrs. Rodney approached. Quickly evaluating the volatile situation, and sensing the danger, she grabbed the young boy and scurried back at least five feet to a place of greater safety.

All at once, a vision came to Rodney and his destiny was clear. Rodney sprung into action like a great samurai warrior with his sword….

Darth Vader with his light saber….

Willy Wonka with his Oompa Loompas.

Rodney grabbed the most formidable weapon within reach...

... a twig. With twig in hand he motioned for Shawn to stay back. He was going to take that duck down.

Rodney approached the duck with the twig held high. Standing in attack position, feet planted, knees slightly bent, confident back-and-forth swagger, Rodney began to slice through the air with his twig. He swung high. He swung low. He swung the twig like his life depended on it. The duck, obviously terrified, watched in fear as the twig performed its deadly dance.

With the duck in a trance-like state, Rodney motioned for the women and children to pass, standing guard like a true hero. Knowing he had conquered the duck, in one final display of heroic dominance, Rodney took that twig and tossed it toward the duck. The duck just sat there.

Once calm and after expressing their sincere gratitude, Shawn and Brianna were able to continue on their walk. Upon retiring to bed later that evening, the newly-weds took great comfort in knowing that although the duck is still out there, so is Rodney; a man above men, a protector of life, a duck warrior. And because of that, we can all rest easy.

I am clearly in desperate need of Photoshop.

When Ducks Attack: Part One

2009-02-22T08:35:00.000-08:00

The following account depicts actual events occurring on the morning of February 21st, 2009. To maintain the anonymity of those involved, all names have been changed. The two lead characters returned to the scene of the attack only hours later, RISKING THEIR LIVES, to capture the accompanying images.

With the threat of impending rain, a clear Saturday morning seemed the perfect opportunity for young newly-weds, Shawn and Brianna, to take their puppy, Bicks, out for a walk. Not yet having explored the park across the street, their destination was an obvious choice.

Much to their surprise, the park turned out to be a glorious oasis of tranquil beauty;

a path winding its way around numerous ponds...

sparkling fountains...

flowering trees...

bubbling brooks...

quaint bridges and restful benches.

Shawn and Brianna were excited by the prospect of taking young Bicks for his daily walk in such a beautiful and peaceful area.

As the trio approached one of many scenic rest areas, they noticed an elderly Eastern Asian gentleman, who we’ll call Rodney, with his young grandson. The pair was a precious sight. Rodney held his young grandson in his arms while they watched the ducks in the pond below.
Upon approach, it was clear that Rodney spoke no English, however, was fond of little Bicks. Rodney and grandson “ooohed” and “ahhed” over the puppy as he passed. Shawn slowed down so the pair could admire young Bicks. Bicks barked.

Brianna, not wanting to scare the young boy, turned to continue down the path when she saw “it”; a grotesque horror of black and white splotches, bloody red embellishments, a neck far too thick for a duck, and evil in its eyes. She paused, looking in amusement at the odd statue resting near the sidewalk.

All at once, to her horror and disbelief, the statue started to shake and shimmy. That’s right folks, this was no statue. This was a blood-thirty, evil, attack duck, waiting for prey….

What will happen to Shawn and Brianna?

Will young Bicks make it passed the demon duck?

What role will Rodney play in all of this?

For the answers to these, and other questions, stay tuned for the conclusion of When Ducks Attack, Part Two.

Now I live in California and it is noisy.

2009-02-20T10:48:00.000-08:00

As many of you already know, the husband and I recently uprooted our comfortable, consistent, splendidly routine life in Wisconsin and moved across the country to California.

The entire moving process was one crazy adventure after another and will all be chronicled in future blog posts, however, today I simply want to discuss one small aspect of starting a new life in a foreign land. Neighbors.

We live in a great apartment complex. It is beautifully landscaped, our apartment is large and lovely, there are many wonderful amenities, and we even live across the street from a local brewery...convenient, eh?

There is just one, small, tiny, minuscule, ridiculously annoying, enraging little problem. The walls are thin. Yes, I have lived in thin walled apartments before. I have been privy to the private arguments of young college lovers caught up in scandalous love triangles, I have listened to other peoples televisions shows, etc. etc. While it wasn't ideal, it was never a problem.

Never before, however, did I live near a tiny little hellion like the one who lives above me. Now, I have never actually seen the family or witnessed their daily routine, however, based on what I gather from our apartment, their day goes something like this....

Mom wakes up around 6:30am and vacuums.
Baby wakes up shortly afterward and screams.
Toddler wakes up next and proceeds to jump up and down, in one spot on the floor, for anywhere between 2 and 3 hours.
Mom vacuums.
Mom attempts to give toddler and bath; he screams bloody murder.
Children eat lunch, mom vacuums.
Toddler is allowed to run, like a wild animal, through the apartment, with complete abandonment for several hours.
Baby screams.
Mom vacuums.
Several hundred more toddlers come over and all children are allowed to run, jump, scream, chant-yes, chant, and possibly throw themselves against the walls for 1-2 hours.
Mom slams numerous cupboard doors as she prepares dinner.
Mom vacuums.
Family goes to bed and repeats the next day.

Really, it is wonderful birth control because the only thing worse then living under it, would be living with it. God bless the woman living above us.

**Note: If this blog post mysteriously and inexplicably disappears at a future date, it likely means that I have made nice with the family living above us and would be mortified should they ever discover that I called their precious and loving little bundle of a joy a 'little hellion'.

Meet Bix

2009-02-18T12:57:00.000-08:00

Lord have mercy...is this not the cutest thing you have ever seen?! In your entire life? Ever?!?!

Meet Bix, our 2 month old Miniature American Eskimo puppy. Truth be told, this picture doesn't even do him justice. He is actually cuter. Honest.

We have owned Bix for almost a week now and have learned the following about him:

1. He enjoys peeing and pooping on my living room rug. Now, former living room rug. I am fine with this as it gives a great reason to buy a new rug : )

2. He will eat his poop if left to his own defenses. (Is this normal? Someone please tell me.)

3. Chews on (I am not even going to bother to actually list the items) everything.

4. Was caught pole vaulting over a used paper towel roll. Don't be alarmed, no puppies were injured in the event.

5. Doesn't sleep through the night. Enough said. (**Note: If you are the tenents of the ridiculously thin-walled apartment above us, we apologize.)

6. Door stops and my UW Madison water bottle are his arch enemies. Seriously, this dog will take them down.

7. He is the most adorable, amazing, loving, little ball of puff that anyone could ever want ... and we couldn't be happier to have him! : )

A blog? Why not!

2009-02-18T11:44:00.000-08:00

Hello, Breanna here at Everyday Flotsam and Jetsam. Welcome to my blog!

It seems proper etiquette that my first post explains what makes me tick and why I decided to start this blog, right? In other words, this is the post that I will most detest writing. The post that I will write, re-write, delete, leave to have a cup of tea, avoid, and finally swear off entirely until settling for something that I inevitably feel makes me look quite ‘dorky’. Heck, here goes.

Consistency is my middle name. Well, actually that is not true, but it should be. I thrive on consistency. I am a planner. I love a good routine. I enjoy a solid schedule. I am most comfortable knowing what just happened and what will happen next. Well, let’s hope to high heaven that I know what just happened anyhow.

Now, why is this important to understanding who I am and why I started a blog? Well, because lately, my life has been anything but consistent, planned, routine, and solidly scheduled. In the last six months I got engaged, got married- four and a half months later, graduated with my master’s degree, became a full fledged member of the “real world”, began job searching, packed up my comfortable, consistent, routine life, spent FIVE days driving 2120.97 miles across the country in a rental truck, arrived in a foreign and unfamiliar land I now call ‘home’, and just because things weren’t in enough turmoil, adopted a puppy. All very routine occurrences.

So, I welcome friends and family to follow me as I spiral (hopefully with dignity) into a new and scary world where unpredictability, inconsistency, and spontaneity are the norm, rather than the exception. For a girl who “doesn’t do well with transition” this should be one wild ride. You are welcome to join me.