Tag Archives: postaday2011

Dear Everything: Please Slow Down.

23 Sep

This is how confused I am. All of the time.

Everything keeps changing on me.

I must be getting old because that is supposed to be read as a negative thing.

As most of you know by now Facebook has rearranged its interface with a small but highly significant change where instead of viewing the most recent posts, you’re viewing the most recent/most popular/most likely to be wanted by you posts.  I’m trying to get used to it, just like I’ve gotten used to all their updates in the past.  But by golly is it becoming a pain to constantly feel like I have a handle on something and then have it shaken up again.

Then I logged into WordPress and find a “Follow” button was added at the bottom of my blog (and was subsequently removed my yours truly).  

A few days later, they changed the admin bar.  Again – no big deal and easily consumed, but ruffles the old, crotchety feathers nonetheless.

Then I check out the big Facebook announcement by the Zuckerberg himself yesterday at F8.   It appears all of our updates have really just been leading up to this one, enormous update wherein our Facebook profiles will read more like a scrapbook timeline than a snapshot of who we are at the moment.  You can check out the details here.

I breathed heavily, held on to the piece of furniture closest to me, and thought that to avoid these constant tremors I should probably just make the complete plunge into Google+ and leave Facebook in the dust, as I have once before.  But then it occurred to me that Google+ is just a little baby.  And it too, shall grow.

Not to mention I would have to pour all the dust out of my cerebrum in order to make room to learn a new social media platform.

Is there any way to just have people relax for a little while?  I’d like to get comfortable just a tad before the rug is pulled out from underneath me.  I can’t even complain that I like things the way they used to be because there have been so many versions of ‘what used to be’ that there’s no way to know what I’m referring to.

Nonetheless, I fear my brain is running out of go-juice.  I’ve been so proud of myself for finally branching out on my blog into CSS editing and for opening a Twitter account and for dipping my toes in Google+.  But this whole time I’ve just had a false sense of security and pride.  These things will always change, and I will never be on top of them.  And while that used to be fun and exciting, now it just costs me time and frustration.

A sign of aging, indeed.

Harumph. ♣

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The Plight of the Ginger Sperm

22 Sep

 

Soak it up. Jackie art is rare.

 

First, I’d like to thank you all for commenting and voting on yesterday’s post.  I really appreciate the feedback.  If you haven’t read it yet, give it a shot: I’d love to hear your take.

Now for today’s post: Ginger Sperm.

Some of you may have heard by now (after all, it’s pressing news) that red-headed sperm donors are now being turned away from the world’s largest sperm bank, Ole Schou.  Apparently the demand simply isn’t high enough so the bank isn’t taking offers for ginger juice. There are some obvious jokes to be made here: Eric Cartman is winning, something about red fiery sperm being to much to handle, and (as jakennicksmomma aptly noted after I tweeted the story), the mention a certain article made regarding sperm selling like “hot cakes” is ripe for comedy and disgust.

But I’d like to focus on a heavier matter weighing on me: How could you not like redheads?! 

My entire life I’ve wanted to be a hardcore redhead.  The flaming hair, the pale skin, the freckles spreading over the body like an adorable infection.  I dyed my hair red for a very long time, convinced that it automatically made me more attractive.  Because it did. Redheaded women are absolutely fantastic.  Exhibit A: Christina Hendricks.

I’m sorry I didn’t insert an actual picture of her.  I was afraid her ridiculous rack would shoot out of the page and smack you in the face.

Exhibit B: Jessica Rabbit (same concern).

Now don’t get me wrong: some redheaded genetics can get funky.  Sometimes you end up with a gnarly-toothed, patchy-faced little hellion, but isn’t that a risk we take with every procreation? 

I need to do something to address this issue – a call to action of some sort.  We can’t possibly have redheaded men running around thinking their sperm is only good in Ireland.  Their sperm is good everywhere.  Because everywhere it goes, it brings the hope of another sultry vixen or fair Irish maiden or a wood nymph.

I suppose I shouldn’t just focus on the reds of the female persuasion, but it really does build a better case than redheaded men.  It’s rare that I find myself attracted to a redheaded man.  Prince Harry was cute for a while, but he’s really more of a blonde these days.  And then what – the Weasleys?  I’m not sure I’d be building much of a following for my cause.

Perhaps I’m looking at this the wrong way.  If redheaded sperm lead to redheaded vixens, then I suppose it’s okay that folks aren’t willing to invest in sultry hotness continuing to breed in the human race.  Because with less vixens comes less overall stress about my not stacking up to the Christina Hendricks’ of the world.  There will be fewer of her.

Seriously, are her boobs even possible?

So here’s to the slow phasing out of those of the redheaded persuasion.  You were good while you lasted, gingers.  And let it be known that I was one of your few lone supporters during your stay with the human race.   In fact, one of the reasons I’m with Dave is because he has a bright, brazen red in his beard and I have a lot of hopes tied up in that for him to provide me with beautiful redheaded hellions.

Eureka! Yes – I alone shall carry the ginger torch!  I’ll pop out redheaded boys by the dozen.  And when you realize that no fiery red sperm is to be found but in Ireland, I will be your only domestic provider of redheaded glory.

That’s right – my boys will carry within them the hope for the ginger race.

I knew I had a high calling on this earth. ♣

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Is Responding to Comments a Waste of Time?

21 Sep

Yesterday I had a staggering piece of information introduced to me via Nina Badzin’s post “Blogging Tips: What I Know Now” (referenced on The Daily Post).  

In her post, Nina states some of the assumptions she had when she first started writing and then writes about how these views have changed in light of her blogging experience.  Here’s the tidbit that had me in a tizzy:

“WHAT I THOUGHT ABOUT RESPONDING TO COMMENTS: Readers will return to my blog to see my response.

What I know now: Most do not. “

I’m distraught by this.  Not because I’m upset at the idea that people don’t care what I reply to them, but because I’m upset that I take time to respond to do it if I shouldn’t.  I mean, I reply to every single one.  Sometimes I even check my spam to make sure that no one got blocked that wanted to take a moment out of their day to say hello.  I’m not very good on the turnaround time, but I get to all of them eventually.    Even on Freshly Pressed posts, my friends, I have stayed up all night long just to answer every single little tidbit that everyone dropped by to share.  Really, I do.  Check out the “Top Posts” tab at the top of this page for verification.  It’s important to me to let folks know that I really appreciate the time that they take to read and to drop a line.  

So the idea that this has all been for naught is rather distressing.  I could have been doing so many other things.  Like sleeping.  Or getting in shape.  Or reading a book that would enlighten me to a wisdom beyond my years.  Instead, I spent it toiling away at my computer, thinking up relevant, perky, sometimes clever, but always grateful little responses to each and every smiling face that clicked my link.  On top of writing a post every day.

Totally depressing.

So hey – I’m curious.  Before I go throwing comment responding out the window (it seems wrong to just read, appreciate silently, and not address it), I’d like to get the real scoop.  Do ya’ll ever check back to see if people respond to your comments?  I’m taking a poll.  And the results of that poll shall determine whether the several posts worth of comments I have in my queue are addressed or are simply read and silently appreciated behind the light of my laptop screen. 

It’s anonymous, so don’t worry.  I won’t be sending a crew to your house to take back the hours of time you’ve wasted me if you happen to be a “no-check-backer”.  We’ll still be friends.  I’ll still love you because I have no way of knowing who you are.  

Just give it to me straight: am I wasting my time? ♣

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The Day I Conquered the Rubik’s Cube

20 Sep

For today’s display of splendor, I set about solving a Rubik’s cube for the first time.

I’m tired of being mocked by them.  I see them in movies, on tv shows, and in social circles being solved rapidly by seemingly huge nerdy nerds and I envy their dexterity and wit.  I wonder how it is that one acquires such a skill as I stare longingly at the dusty, creeky, plastic cube sitting on my bedroom shelf.  I rotate and rotate but it is of no use: my mind is feeble.

I will no longer be mocked.  Happy Lollipop Tuesday, folks.

If you’re new to these parts (welcome, vagabond!), check out the link at the top of this page labeled “What’s Lollipop Tuesday?”.  If you know the day, you’re familiar with the oncoming suck fest, and you’re as excited as I am, here we go:

For the record, I followed Dan Brown’s super fantastic tutorial on the Rubik’s Cube.  He has an incredibly famous tutorial at 21 million hits on YouTube, but I much prefer his updated, most recent version here. He has just enough enthusiasm to make you play the video over again when you massively fail.  And there were times I was in dire need. 

10:15pm – Began.  Hopeful. Assisted by a pack of caramels.  I can do anything that a YouTube tutorial can walk me through.

10:33pm – Out of caramels.  Also, completely frustrated by all this “R Prime, L2” talk.  I am so incredibly frustrated in just over 15 minutes.  I literally yell out loud in my apartment “HOW?! HOW DO I GET IT TO THE DOWNSIDE?! YOU AREN’T TELLING ME ANYTHING.”

10:45pm – I have created my first color cross on one of the faces.  I actually understand what the heck he’s talking about.  I get it! I really get it!

10:48pm – He’s moved on to the corner pieces.  He’s lost me.  He’s entirely lost me.    It’s been 3 minutes and I already have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.  It’s okay.  I take note of my state at  10:33pm and hope that I have a Eureka moment like I did at 10:45pm.

11:04pm – I’m doing what he tells me to do, but it’s not working.  I swear, I’ve done what he’s told me to do exactly as he’s told me to do it and it isn’t working.  Whaaaaaaaaaat?

11:13pm – I watched it about 10 times.  Just a tiny little 15 second segment 10 times.  Turns out I was turning D prime the wrong way all along.  Stupid stupid stupid.

11:25pm – I have an entirely green side. BALLAAAAH.

11:28pm – He just revealed that if I’ve done it correctly so far, I should have an entire layer that is correct, not just a green side.  I’m devastated.

11:29pm – Youtube Commenters had the same problem.  Apparently he missed a step.  Sonuva….

11:37pm – Everyone notes that I have to start over from here.  So… that’s awesome.  Starting over. And crying.

11:44pm – Hey I have a green cross again.  And in less than half the time as the first time around! Woot!

11:52pm – Okay.  Top layer solved.  Double woot.

12:12am – Hey.  I have two layers solved.  I ONLY HAVE ONE MORE LAYER!!!

12:14am – He says the last layer is the most complicated to solve.  This was to be expected, I suppose.  I’m nervous.  

12:17am – I’m having trouble distinguishing yellow from white.  Warning: Rubik’s Cubes may cause colorblindness.

12:22am – Just got to skip a step.  I completed the cross in the third layer and everything was perfect.  He says that doesn’t happen unless you’re “incredibly lucky”.  Score. 

12:42am – Wow. No updates during that time because I just kind of blacked out.  I was in a Rubik’s Cube frenzy.  I was also incredibly frightened that I would make a wrong move and undo all this work. 2 hours and 27 minutes worth of work, to be specific.  But in front of me, I currently have A SOOOOOLVED RUBIK’S CUBE!

Poor neglected filth cube. Chin up: all your sides finally match after years of fumbling.

I didn’t take it apart, and I didn’t reassign the stickers.  Which means I’ve come a long way since I was ten.

Here’s to small, satisfying accomplishments.  And hey – maybe I’ll work on getting my ~2.5 hours down to something more reasonable and human-trick worthy.  Because I’ve always wanted to be one of those people that are all like “Yeah man, I can solve a Rubik’s Cube in 2 minutes.  Watch this.”

It is there, after the “watch this” that I will insert a startling display of awesomeness, wherein I solve the Rubik’s cube before their very unbelieving eyes.

Watch out world: I’m acquiring human tricks at an alarming rate.  Prepare to be amazed. ♣♣♣♣♣

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The Scarecrow Conspiracy

19 Sep

I’m in a silent war with my neighbors.

Last weekend I spread autumn cheer all over my house and let a little of it leak out into the hallway in the form of a small, smiling scarecrow. I placed it just outside my door, facing the stairway that leads to the entrance of the building so that everyone who comes up the stairs will be sure to notice the cheery autumn greeting. 

The conflict

 

A few days later I left my apartment to find my little scarecrow turned around entirely, facing the corner as if he was being punished.   I thought it slightly amusing, turned him back around, and placed him up against the wall facing the hallway instead of the stairs.  I suspected that someone got creeped out by it staring at them (perhaps someone battling a fear of dolls or perhaps a crow battling a fear of scarecrows) and figured that changing the hallway coordinates of my autumn cheer would be helpful.

The next day I came out to find him exactly where I left him – but turned around.

It’s difficult to find the motivation.  Perhaps it’s really scaring the bejeezus out of someone.  Perhaps it’s just an impish little child playing with my mind.  Maybe it’s the girls in Apartment 19 upset because the girly scarecrow decoration solidified their hunch that hunky, charming Dave has a girlfriend.  

Mission complete.

Or maybe the entire building is conspiring against me.  Maybe they hate that I jumped the gun on fall decorations and they’re all working together to exhaust me of the scarecrow.  

I should go to the craft store, buy a bunch of autumn dolls, and stick them outside every single door in our apartment building.  The ones that are gone in a week are suspects.  I’ll start an investigative search and find the perpetrator.  And when I have him in my grasp, I will ask him whether it’s a fear of dolls or a fear of early decorating that has them at such odds with me.  

If it’s the latter, the punishment should be certain death.

No one who doesn’t appreciate autumn should be allows to live.  It’s the most glorious season of the year. ♣

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Movies: The Ultimate Survival Guides

18 Sep

I watched 127 Hours last night.

For those of you who are unaware, 127 Hours is a movie based on a true story and stars James Franco.  It focuses on the 127 Hours that a real guy spent stuck with his hand lodged between a rock and, well, a bigger rock, in the middle of nowhere.  **SPOILER ALERT** At the end he cuts off the portion of his arm that has him caught and with basically no food and water, drags himself to help and survives to live a long and lovely life.

I’m assuming that wasn’t a spoiler for most of you because it came out a long time ago.  But I don’t live in movie release time.  I live in Redbox and Netflix release time.  Sometimes it takes me a while to catch up to everything but boy do I save a bundle.  In fact, last night was the first time in a long while that I’d stopped by a movie theater.  I didn’t go in; I just stood outside with Dave pondering whether or not to drop 10 bucks to see The Lion King on the big screen.

Apparently the only time I consider spending money at the theater is when I’m offered to see something that I’ve seen several times and came out over 15 years ago.

Anyway none of this is my point. My point is that the dude cut his arm off.  And though by that time in the movie I was totally rooting for him to be free from his canyon of sorrows, I don’t think I could ever do it myself.   I couldn’t even watch James Franco pretend to do it – I had to turn away about half way through the hacking and ask Dave to tell me when it was over.

This concerns me.  I think about this sort of thing a lot.  Would I be able to cut a piece of my own body off if not doing it meant certain death? The answer every time is no.  Honestly, no.  I don’t think I can hack my own flesh up so much that I actually detach a limb.

What if I find myself in this kind of situation sometime?  I don’t do a lot of canyon traversing, but there could be a similar scenario.  And then what has a movie like 127 Hours taught me? Nothing at all.  I’ll die a stupid fool who will wish she spent every moment from the time she saw James Franco to the time she died learning how to psyche herself up enough to tear into her own flesh.

I think I watch too many movies because I spend most of my idle time thinking through these sorts of scenarios.  When I’m at work, I walk through what I’d do if someone had a gun in the building and was going on a terror spree.    At the store or bank, I walk through several robbery and heist movies.  

If I’ve seen it in a movie, on TV, or read about it in a book or the news, I’ve thought through what I’d do in my life if faced with similar circumstances.  A car flashes its high beams at me, I don’t flash them back, and then they drive after me and try to kill me? Check.  I stop my car at an intersection and a crazy killer opens the passenger door and holds me hostage to drive them somewhere?  Got it covered.  I’m walking down the street at night and the person I casually cross on the sidewalk turns around and mugs me?  

Well, I’ve thought that one out but it usually ends in me giving them my money.  So I try not to carry anything.  But then I’m afraid they’ll hurt me because they’re angry I’m poor so I usually just cross the street before people get to me.

It’s quite a predicament.  And don’t even get me started on how much the Saw movies messed me up.  When I saw the first one I had to sit in the theater afterward to recuperate.  Absolute mindexploder.

I read a book called Hatchet in elementary school and made sure to remember that if I’m ever stranded in a remote area and need help and a helicopter or airplane flies overhead, I can take anything metal I have on me and try to reflect the sunlight up to them so they come check it out.  I also read a book called Julie of the Wolves and now know how to stay warm on a cool wintry night on the tundra so I don’t freeze to death.  I even made to sure commit to memory the logic that Sarah uses in the movie Labyrinth to tell which door is lying about the correct path and which door isn’t so that I know how to get through the maze to the goblin king, David Bowie, and save a member of my family he has kidnapped.

You know, just in case.

You can't fool me, goblin king.

Let’s hope these writers did some research because I’m really clinging to these methods.

So right now the scenario I’m playing over and over in my head is whether I could hack off a body part to save my life.  I don’t know how to psyche up for that.  There’s gotta be something I can do to prepare myself.   Maybe I can hunt down the real life guy whose story was featured in this movie and try to get some tips.

After all, I’d sure hate to be in a similar pickle and think of this blog post and how I’d be able to gnaw off my foot if I would have just committed to figuring it out the day I wrote it. ♣

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Office Birthdays: A Big Bowl of Awkward Sauce

17 Sep

Office birthdays are so awkward.

I can’t handle them.  Offices are awkward, office people are awkward, and birthdays are awkward.  Together, it’s just way too much awkward sauce for me to bear.

The worst thing about office birthdays is that there’s typically a ‘process’ in place for how a birthday is handled.  It might be noted in an Excel spreadsheet somewhere or someone in the office might be in charge of always coordinating it.   Usually it’s the same exact protocol for everyone so by the time it gets to you, you know exactly what to expect and try to work up some genuine facial expressions.

They have smiles on their faces, but inside they're dying. DYING.

One of my favorites at a place I used to work was that the entire office would just “surprise” someone at their cubicle with a cake, a chorus, and one loan kazoo player. 

I quit before my birthday so that I didn’t have to face it dead on.

I’m usually the person who gets put in charge of coordinating birthday “fun”, so when my birthday rolls around no one does anything.  It doesn’t occur to them that someone has to actually make the birthday happen.  They just all stare at each other like confused baby deer and wonder where the cake and card has come from every other time there’s been a birthday in the company.

And then it occurs to them.  

Awkward.

Then there’s the whole gift-giving thing.  Again – gift-giving is a rough process to bear without the terrible assistance of a cubicle farm and a small sea of overeager smiles for a setting.   It’s so public and there are so many politics. There are so many things to consider when giving gifts in the office:  If I get Kevin a thing for his desk, like a doodad or something is that too typical?  Does it imply his entire life revolves around the office or that I don’t know him well enough? Should I just get food?  Will other people get food?  Can I give a gift card or is that too “hey this is how much you’re worth to me?”  What if he expects me to give him a really high amount because he thinks I make more than him.  I’m almost positive I don’t make more than him.  Should I get a gift that’s more than I can really afford just so that he doesn’t think I’m being cheap because he thinks I make more than him?!

You see?  Insanity.

I can’t navigate all that business every time it’s someone’s anniversary of birth.  I feel pushed into getting someone something who I have made a point to not get to know on too personal of a level.  It’s no offense to them or anything; I just don’t want to complicate my work life by having to wonder whether we’re still friends after I tell them they seriously need to take a computers class because I’m tired of trying to explain to them the entire user guide to the Microsoft Office Suite one day at a time.

For the record, that was a long time ago and I sincerely doubt the person is still alive.  If she is, hello Carrie.  I’m sorry.  But you really need to start rating yourself more honestly in interviews on the Microsoft Suite package. 

Luckily at my current job, I feel like I’ve got a good handle on the people I work with and can make semi-appropriate gift choices when necessary. 

Unfortunately, this coming week we’re celebrating my boss’s birthday and I’m absolutely drowning in awkward sauce.  

Maybe I’ll take a leave of absence. ♣

 

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Take the Plunge: A Reader Lollipop Challenge

16 Sep

It is done.

At 11:40pm last night, I submitted my hopeful entry to Real Simple magazine’s 4th Annual Life Lessons Contest – just 10 minutes shy of the official deadline.

I had a heart attack at 11:00pm, when it occurred to me that I didn’t confirm which time zone the 11:50 cut off was.   I had another when I didn’t get an email confirmation of receipt within 30 seconds of my sending it.  It took 60 seconds instead.

I’m actually kind of surprised.  I mean, I know I said I’d do it.  But seriously?!  I just entered a writing contest because I have a blog where I pressure myself publicly to step outside my comfort zone.  Hey, that’s pretty cool.

So allow me to encourage you all to do something this weekend that you’ve always considered but never done.  Maybe it’s to go in a shop you’ve always wanted to check out or to try eating at a place you don’t know if you’ll like.  There could be a class to take, a part of town to check out, a person you’ve wanted to strike up conversation with… whatever your Lollipop is, give it a try.  And if you don’t have anything on the backburner, check out my “What’s Lollipop Tuesday?” page for loads of suggestions from readers like yourself.

I’m serious.  

The best part of having a blog is my readers.  I’m so interested to see what it is that you’ve never quite gotten around to or what it is that you just wish you had a little more guts for.  Make it happen for yourself this weekend.

Listen – I entered a writing contest.  And pickle went swing dancing.  Swing dancing! They throw you around and make you wear skirts and things!

So do something new.  Just a little something.  Post about it in the comment section as a statement of intent.  

If I can pole dance, reenact the Battle of Bull Run, and enter the World Pinball Championships, you can try something new too.  Believe me.  Just give it a shot and see what happens.  If it ends up a mess, you can come share it with me and we’ll both have a laugh. That’s half the fun.

Go ahead – write a comment and take the plunge. I’m so looking forward to it. ♣

This is you thinking of a challenge for yourself. Take your time. This post is here all day.

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The Universe Has Subscribed to My Blog

15 Sep

I'm suspicious of the universe. ...This is not me. This is a guy in a park making a face that I appreciate. Takeaway: I am not a middle-aged man.

I think the universe has subscribed to my blog.

I’m not really sure which username it’s under, but it’s becoming exceedingly obvious that I am being stalked.  And I’m totally down with it.

You see, it appears that when I pull something from my brain, ball it up into a post of rage, and throw it out into the world, it is answered.  Answered!   I know you don’t believe me.  And that’s totally coolio because I have proof thanks to this handy dandy postaday blog.

Behold the proof:

Exhibit A: I once wrote a post about how I was upset that my favorite ice cream place in the entire city had been replaced by a cryptic sign that said “Coming Soon! Chica Loca Taco!”.  I mourned the loss of a fantastic and popular shop and demeaned the stupidly named store that was replacing it, as if Chica Loca Tacos had something to do with it.  It’s a classic illogical blame switch, courtesy of my brain (you’re welcome).  Shortly thereafter, my favorite ice cream store responded with a comment on my blog that they were moving across town.  And as if that were not enough, my first visit to the shop of deliciousness revealed plans for an authentic pizzeria by the same company name right beside the ice cream stand.

Coincidence? I think not.  This was clearly an example of specified marketing based on social media.

Specifically, my social media. 

Exhibit B: I don’t like work.  Like most people, I’d rather be home in my pajamas, sleeping way too long, making and/or eating excellent food, and watching things that I find to be entertaining. I’d rather be with family and friends and animals.  I’d rather be walking around the middle of the woods pondering the meaning of life.  I’d rather be doing oh-I-don’t-know anything other than working.  It’s the plight of the human condition, apparently.  At any rate the universe heard me.  And on a day when I really wanted to be doing anything other than finishing out the second half of my day, it was announced that our building had to kick over to emergency generators and that I would not be able to work.  I was sent home.  Essentially through the power of wishful thinking, I got an Adult Snow Day.  It was beautiful.

And behold Exhibit C, the most recent development in the case of of universe-stalking-Jackie’s-brain: A Dyson vacuum.  That’s right: A Dyson vacuum.  After dedicating an entire post to my frustration with my vacuum, which clogs so easily with dust and cat hair in its fifteen-foot-long hose that it takes an entire hour and a half to effectively suck even half the grit out of my carpet, there rained down a Woot from Heaven in my favor.

For those of you unfamiliar, woot.com is a website that features a ridiculously awesome daily deal.  Sometimes it’s on something you find useful and sometimes it’s on something that’s totally useless but totally cool.  And yesterday one of my readers (after having read my post of anger and disgust) notified me that the woot.com product of the day was a Dyson vacuum, which regularly retailed for about 500 smackos and was featured on the site for an absurdly low price.  Absurdly low.  Almost heart-attack-inducing.   And in less than two weeks, I will have a beautiful Dyson cuddled up in my closet after using it to put a hurting on my carpet and then breathing the fresh, clean, cat-hair-and-dander free air in my apartment.

Maybe I won’t wake up with congestion anymore.  

Perhaps I shouldn’t get my hopes up.

Regardless, I got about 15 responses through Twitter, Facebook, the blog, and my cell phone telling me that I should hands-down get a Dyson as soon as it’s humanly possible.  And yesterday, the universe made it possible.  It’s stalking me.  And you know, I really don’t mind.  The blogosphere is a strange and powerful force.  

I think three exhibits are enough.  I’m not really sure how many I have to submit or who my jury is, but I can’t imagine what other evidence you could possibly need to conclude that my blog is a universe-changer.

That’s right: A Universe-Changer.  Here’s to pizza and ice cream in the same store, free ‘snow days’, and vacuums that don’t suck.   Or rather, do suck.  In fact, I hear this particular kind doesn’t stop sucking.

Thanks, universe: you’re the best stalker ever.♣

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The Pie Plot Thickens

14 Sep

My apartment has been overrun by pie.

For those of you just tuning in, I’m at war with Dave.  A few Tuesdays ago, I made a genuine attempt to craft an apple pie from naught but the loins of the earth and tragically failed.  I ended up with a miserable lump of doughy fruit that promptly got ignored like a red-headed stepchild and thrown in the garbage.

It was a hard day.

I came home the following evening to the warm, enraging smell of an apple pie in the oven.  Dave was one-upping me.  He saw my pie and raised me a better pie.  A tasty one.  Actually, an incredibly delicious one.

It was a brief war, as I had no tolerance for his flippant pie baking and decided that if he wanted to be the head pastry chef, he could go right ahead and be such.  After all, there’s nothing that makes my blood boil quite like rolling out pie dough.  And it’d be nice to ask him to whip up a pie for special occasions, host gifts, and celebrations of all kinds.

Expecting it to be a quickly satiated passion, I left Dave to his own devices – but he was not so swiftly stifled.

First there was an apple peeler.  Then official lard (as opposed to shortening) for the crust.  There’s just an enormous tub of lard sitting in my fridge at all times.  Do you know that today he looked up what the best kind of lard was and concluded it was lard made from kidney fat?!  Absolutely revolting.  And apples by the bundle.  They’re everywhere.  I have nightmares of hallways of Granny Smith apples rolling at me like a tidal wave.  I run and run, but I can’t ever get far enough from their reach.

Dave is making pies so often that he’s moved everything off the kitchen counter and asked if the flour can just stay there over night because “he’s just going to get it out and do the same thing tomorrow”.  

He says cutting apples is meditative.

So I mean, here it is.  This is it.  Dave is clearly my cash cow.   I think it’s time I really buck up and admit this is the moneymaker.  We’ll put a nice zen spin on it since it all centers his chi so fantastically well.  I’ll have a little cartoon of him drawn all goofy and seated in meditation with a little pastry chef hat balancing on his head.  We’ll call them Zen Pies and we’ll make millions.

Or maybe just a few hundred at some Farmers Markets.  

But I imagine my chi will be slightly more centered with an apartment that reeks of pastries and a wallet with a little more wiggle room.

This, boys and girls, is my million dollar thousand dollar idea. ♣

Notice the orchid and fall decorations – both featured in posts of their own. Proof, ladies and gentlemen, that I am a real human being with real posts and a real struggling orchid.

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