When you give someone a dutch oven, you are also giving them unsupervised access to your balls.
When you give someone a dutch oven, you are also giving them unsupervised access to your balls.
Sometimes when I’m at work, my mind will wander. I’ll start off thinking about some movie I want to see (Black Swan) and who I’d like to see it with (my friend Bethany – we have a date!). And then I’ll think about Natalie Portman, who stars in Black Swan, and who has apparently written a movie that is about to be produced. And I’ll think, that’s really annoying that she’s beautiful and talented, and suddenly she wants to write a movie and poof! there’s a production company there at her door. (I don’t know if that’s actually true. Maybe it was hard for her to get the movie made. No offense, Natalie Portman.) And then I’ll think about how talent doesn’t really matter when it comes to getting your movie made, it’s all a matter of luck really. And I think about the idea that luck, and not hard work or talent or intelligence, is really the deciding factor in who succeeds and who fails. And when I was younger, that was a hard truth, heartbreaking. But now I kind of just blink and wave my hand and accept it. And I’ve had some luck myself recently, so who am I to find fault with the system that allows me to succeed? Not that I’ve succeeded yet, but it seems possible right now. And maybe that’s just because I’m still relatively young and the world seems big and kind. And maybe someday, many failures and near-successes will have broken me down into an embittered asshole, like some of the writers whose blogs I read (not all of them are assholes, though). And then I think, will I be able to stay like this for any length of time? Will I maintain some perspective, some ability to not wallow in every tiny setback that may befall me?
And then I look up and realize that I’ve been playing minesweeper this whole time.
Minesweeper is meditation for the cubicle dwellers. It’s powerful stuff.
So…how’ve you been?
I’ve been good. Busy. Writing stuff, doing stuff, watching stuff. Playing stuff. You know. The usual.
So listen. I know we’ve sort of…grown apart lately. Maybe we needed some space. I’m totally cool with that, and I hope you are too. But I wanted to let you know that I’ll always be here for you, just like I know you’ll always be here for me.
So, I guess, let’s catch up.
First, I’ve been going to the gym. Well, okay, that’s an exaggeration. I got a gym membership and went for a couple of weeks, but lately…not so much. And I really need to go because if I’m going to someday convince Edgar Wright to become my mistress, I’ll have to be really hot.
Also, Adam and I got a Wii. And new Super Mario Bros. And we finished it. So that’s done.
You know what I was thinking about the other day? I was thinking about my dream house. And all those crazy things you always want for your dream house when you’re a kid? Yeah, I still want those. I want a room where the ceiling and all the walls are padded and the floor is a trampoline. I want a giant tree house as a guest cottage. I want the apartment that Tom Hanks had in Big (not the one with the murders happening outside). And you know what else? I want a room just like Jeannie’s bottle in I Dream of Jeannie. Round, with a couch lining the wall and pillows everywhere. And no door. You have to enter from the ceiling or a trap door in the floor. I would spend all day in there. My trampoline floor room would be tragically unused. (Okay, not really. I’d divide my time equally.)
Hmm, what else?
Oh! We finally got our fridge! It’s amazing. There’s room for everything. And it’s mostly empty right now. So, it’s good that we upgraded.
So that’s what’s going on with me. What have you been up to lately? How’s life? Did you go to the doctor for that thing?
In closing, I’d just like to say that there is nothing better on earth than Mexican hot chocolate (not a euphemism).
Talk to you soon (I hope).
Okay, I guess I should have mentioned at the beginning of this whole blogging exercise that I am notoriously unreliable, especially when it comes to keeping appointments.
So anyway, here’s a long-awaited random post for you.
I, along with my husband, have joined a gym. I’m sure to turn into a douchebag at any second. If you see my in the grocery store with Axe Body Spray in my cart, please just shoot me.
We’re getting a fridge! For real this time! It’s been purchased and everything, just have to wait til the 16th for it to be delivered. So thanks to Liz and Aaron, my sister-in-law and brother-in-law respectively. (Is he my brother-in-law if he’s married to my sister-in-law? That just seems incesty.)
Just imagine: A world where you can buy more food than you can eat in one night. Where leftovers don’t just go in the garbage. Where milk comes in whole gallons. Where butter gets its own compartment. And where ice cream sits patiently, just waiting for your every craving.
That world sounds a lot like a certain bouncy-house heaven you may have heard of.
So, the election is over. No more crazy attack ads on tv. I’m back to fast-forwarding through all the commercial breaks.
This is the inevitable post-election crash. Let’s try to endure.
Um, Doug Loves Movies had Edgar Wright on. Listen now to find out why you should use the word “owl” instead of “ass”.
Oh, and I totally forgot to take pictures when I was making my halloween costume. So, no tutorial this year. But sometime soon you may get a really early tutorial for next year’s halloween costume.
I just re-read Catch-22. It’s my second-favorite book of all time. I want it to be an HBO mini-series produced by Tom Hanks.
What? It’s about World War Two. It could happen.
Anyway, the reason I’m telling you this is because my husband has promised to read it now. And he’s kind of dragging his feet. So your encouragement, inspiration, and peer-pressure might get him a little more motivated.
That’s all I got today, folks. But why don’t you tell me how agonizing the wait for this post was in the comments? That will be fun for everyone!
UPDATE: Okay, guys, NO SPOILERS for Catch-22! Not even the tiniest allusion. Got it?
I’m back after a couple weeks off. Did you miss me?
I went to the state fair last friday. It was awesome. But I should have brought an extra $300 so I could ride all the rides. I only got to ride one.
Also, I think fried Dr. Pepper is a myth. We couldn’t find it anywhere. I had a state fair corn dog, and it was really disappointing. But then I had Tornado Taters, which were wonderful. The food is really the best part of a fair. And the rides. And the crooked midway game operators. And the giant stuffed Scooby Doo’s you can win.
I love the fair.
You know what else I love? Political attack ads. Funniest things on tv.
Here’s my current favorite:
I also love local morning soft news shows. The ones that are like Good Morning America, only with local talent (or “talent”).
When I lived in Waco, there was a great morning news show. It was very apparent that the two anchor people had just begun sleeping together. The girl would start blushing every time the guy spoke to her. And then he would sort of nudge her affectionately.
I only wish I’d still lived in Waco when they broke up. I bet that was television gold.
I have a costume party to attend this weekend! I’m not going to tell you what I’m going as, so as to surprise you with pictures.
Stay tuned early next week for a tutorial on how I made my costume.
I had a conversation with my mom earlier today that was almost entirely about baked goods. I’m currently craving every kind of cookie. Recommendations, anyone?
A few years ago, I went through a month-long period where I constantly had suspicious-seeming bruises that I’d actually inflicted on myself through gross stupidity.
It’s story time.
I can’t remember in what order these events transpired, so I’ll just tell them from least stupid to most stupid.
I worked as a bartender at a high-volume restaurant in Arlington. In this restaurant, I made margarita mix by the 10 (or so) gallon bucket. Then, I’d have to carry the very heavy bucket into the walk-in cooler and dump it into an even bigger bucket. A system of tubes transported the margarita mix back out into the bar’s margarita machine. Then, the drain on the margarita machine led to another system of tubes which dripped onto the floor of the walk-in cooler. It’s the circle of life.
Ideally, when you have recycled margarita mix dripping out of a tube, you want that tube to lead to a drain of some kind. However, when they built this restaurant, they apparently forgot to put in a drain. So the margarita mix would just drip onto the floor of the cooler, congealing into a very slippery goo.
So, one day, I made a batch of margaritas and carried the very heavy bucket into the cooler. When I stepped onto the congealed goo, my foot shot out from under me. I did the cartoony slipping-in-place thing for a second or so, then fell backward onto my ass, dumping ten gallons of margarita mix onto my face in the process.
I came away from this incident smelling like tequila and with a nice big bruise on my extreme-upper hip.
Slightly more stupid:
When my husband and I moved into our first apartment, our bedroom had two giant windows. As someone who regularly worked until 2:00 in the morning, the sun was my enemy. So I made us some curtains.
We were poor and couldn’t afford a curtain rod. However, we had a staple gun.
I set out one day to staple our curtains to the wall above the windows. We didn’t have a step-ladder or anything, so I used a chair. But the only chair we had that didn’t weigh a ton was the desk chair. A swivel chair. On wheels.
So I bravely climbed onto the chair and started stapling. When I got to the mid-point of the window, it was kind of a stretch to actually reach what I was doing, but I proceeded anyway. The staple gun I was using had a bit of a kick to it. So I stretched all the way out, barely hanging on to the staple gun, one hand holding the curtain, leaning really far over, so that most of my body weight is hovering over nothing. And I pulled the trigger.
The kick from the staple gun caused the chair to start spinning around, making it difficult for me to regain my balance, which led to me falling.
Because the chair had wheels, it shot in the opposite direction of my body, and I ended up somehow falling under the bed, scraping my back on the metal bed frame in the process.
The best part was when Adam, who had been taking a shower and heard a huge thump, came out, soaking wet, in a towel, calling my name. And since I was under the bed, he couldn’t see my whole body, just my legs, which weren’t moving. He though I was dead.
It was hilarious.
This one is really, just…
You know what? I’ll let you judge for yourself.
I was getting into Adam’s sister’s car, and I hit myself in the face with the car door.
No build up. That’s it. I remember doing it, seeing the car door coming at me and thinking, “Hmm. That’s about to hit me in the face.”
And still, I didn’t stop it, or move my head or anything. Just hit myself in the face with the car door.
This gave me a lovely black eye. But that’s not where the story ends.
My husband and I were moving. Our moving day happened to coincide with a friend’s daughter’s birthday party, which I had to at least make an appearance at.
Because of all that we had to do that day, and because I generally got off work at about 2:00 am, I hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before. I was exhausted, dressed in shitty clothes because we were moving. And I had a black eye.
So Adam and I show up to this birthday party. I’m sure I looked miserable. I’d warned all my friends about my black eye, and that I hadn’t gotten any sleep, and that I was moving that day. But one of my friends forgot to tell her mom.
As soon as she saw me – standing next to Adam – she came up and started a conversation as she pulled me into the kitchen in an iron death-grip.
The conversation went like this:
“Oh Lindsay, last time you were here, you left something in the kitchen, let’s go get itohmygodwhathappenedtoyoureye?! Did he do that to you?”
I explained about my stupidity and she seemed to buy it. (It’s really a pretty easy sell if you know me.)
I told Adam afterward. He thought it was funny. (Thank god, you don’t want to see him when he’s angry.)
It’s a good thing I didn’t have to go to the doctor during this Month of Suspicious Bruises. Adam would still be in jail.
This was not the only time I was mistaken for a domestic violence victim. I can’t really tell the other story, but it begins with me hitting some guy’s car and him being really angry at me, and ends with the same guy pulling me aside and telling me I deserved to be with someone who respects me and treats me right.
Apparently people just want to take care of me.