I have not blogged in a week. I have several excuses prepared, so please choose the one you like best:
1. The computer had some sort of problem. Adam (a computer programmer) explained the problem to me thusly: HE - The power supply blah, blahblah, blah blah blah blah, I think the garbage needs taking out and blah blah blah blah, don't I look good in my polo shirt? ME - I see. So does it work now? HE - Yes. ME - Cool. I'm going to take the garbage out.
2. We got a Wii. Our new bundle of joy! (Mom - that is funny, see, because Wii's tend to be sold in "bundles" with a bunch of accessories and games. Aren't I clever?)
3. I had, umm, stuff to do. At least I am pretty sure I did. I didn't play the Wii for hours every night, I swear. Grrr. I thought I had more excuses lined up.
OK, so I am sure you are on the edge of your seat, wondering what new and interesting things I have thought up to say. These are a few of the things that have been on my mind of late:
1. Bikram Yoga is still evil. Tiff and I went a second time, and she nearly threw up during class. Those who know me are aware that such a statement would be fairly normal for me - in fact, a session of physical activity without nausea is more worth mentioning. But this is far more rare in my sister. Hence, Bikram is evil.
2. Brunch at Jesse Wong's Kitchen in Hunt Valley, MD. Oh, the pounds I gained. They had 20 different desserts. Literally. Alas, I was unable to try them all, because they had an equally extensive selection of egg rolls, stir fries, dumplings, and sushi. I gave it my all, and they kept bringing more. Plus unlimited mimosas and champagne. Fine. It is not "brunch" in the Perkins sort of way. Let's just call it heaven and leave it at that.
3. Despite my splurge at Jesse's, I am almost on track with the diet-exercise thing we are all supposed to be doing. The spreadsheet is no more. I have graduated to the next level - I add my calories for each day and log the final number in my daily planner. I attempted skipping this level, and going to "watching what I eat", but found myself at Jesse Wong's. So it's back to tracking. I have not returned to my daily walks at lunch time. Someday...
4. The Wii is so much fun! But as I attempt to download the old Mario 64 that I played in college, and the machine tells me that I need the "classic controller" for this game, I realize: this is going to get expensive. As a kid, I had a Cabbage Patch doll, and each Christmas, I asked for all the Cabbage Patch accessories - the playpen, the stroller, the high chair...actually, this is sounding a bit like my friend's baby registry. You get the picture. I never got any of these things. But now, I am an adult, and if Mama wants a classic controller, Mama's gonna get it. It was $19.49 at Wal-Mart. They did not have Mario Cart. Guess what Mama's gettin' next time?
5. New thought - I almost retyped Wal-Mart and wrote Target. I am such a hypocrite sometimes. I know Wal-Mart is supposedly evil and they don't pay their employees well and they are driving all our manufacturers to China. I am embarrassed to admit that we went to Wal-Mart to buy our Wii accessories. But we did. They have these delicious non-frozen pizzas...
6. OK, this is to redeem myself: I resolved recently to carry cash so that I will have money to give the Girl Scouts. I have refused to buy cookies from at least three girls in the last week because I don't have any money. Or perhaps the Girl Scouts can begin taking credit cards? Ditto for the Salvation Army Santas?
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Is there anybody OUT there?
Good news readers, I am back. More about that in my next post. But what I am wondering is, are there any readers out there? I thought my last entry might merit a comment*, but alas, I suppose I find myself more amusing than I actually am. Just a bit bummed, I suppose.
My cousin Jamie sent me a text that may bring a few of you out of the woodwork. She asked how she could comment without getting a gmail account, and I found a setting for that!! So now everyone can add their witticisms and praise! And, Jamie did make her comment. It's a pretty good one, but on an older post - click here. Thanks Jame!
BTW - thanks ever so much to my regular commenters, Cara, Mel, Danielle, Tiff, and Liz. Now, on to the blogging...because I guess in all fairness, a few of you may be wondering...
...Is there anybody IN there?
My cousin Jamie sent me a text that may bring a few of you out of the woodwork. She asked how she could comment without getting a gmail account, and I found a setting for that!! So now everyone can add their witticisms and praise! And, Jamie did make her comment. It's a pretty good one, but on an older post - click here. Thanks Jame!
BTW - thanks ever so much to my regular commenters, Cara, Mel, Danielle, Tiff, and Liz. Now, on to the blogging...because I guess in all fairness, a few of you may be wondering...
...Is there anybody IN there?
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Confession of a Complacent Citizen
It's gone.
For the past two months, I have arrived to work and parked in my normal space below the parking lot. There are the same familiar cars each day, but one caught my attention. It was a silver BMW with Texas license plates. For those who are geographically challenged, I should point out that a daily commute from Texas to Maryland (about 1500 miles) seems unlikely. Yet each day, it was parked in the same place, and it was always there before me. (In itself, this is no great feat. I have a love of sleep, and a recent propensity to hit the snooze button.) But, it was also always there after me, even when I worked until 6:30pm. A few weeks ago, we went out for Happy Hour at the bar next door, and I returned to my car at about 9pm. (umm...4 hours later...) It was then I realized that this car was just always there.
Quite possibly, there was a reasonable, boring explanation. Like there is some sort of Army recruiting office that has fleet vehicles parked in the same general area. They all have government license plates, but perhaps this was newly acquired, and they hadn't registered it yet. This was plausible, perhaps even likely.
But...what if this was a get-away car in a crime? What if there is a dead body in the trunk? What if is it stolen? What if someone had figured out an elaborate scheme to avoid long-term parking fees at the airport? What if the battery was dead, or the engine had failed? What if the car itself was a spy, transmitting information via satellite to top secret government agencies? No, that is not very likely. A spy car would probably have to park on the top deck.
After two weeks of this, I finally decided to tell our office manager. She sent an email to the building managers to see if the car was registered to any of the other companies in our complex. Another week went by. The car was still there, and beginning to collect some dust on the trunk. One day, I considered writing "wash me" on it, but decided it would be better to keep my fingerprints to myself. I found myself sniffing the air, trying to catch the scent of decomposing body parts.
Isn't this sick? Why didn't I just call the police and get this settled? I don't know. I considered it, then decided that my suspicions were a tad far-fetched. (Or worse, that the spy car theory is true, and it is given instructions to shoot on site...) Plus, if someone has figured a way to beat parking fees, more power to 'em - as a senior in college, I did not register my car with management in time to secure a space, and I spent the whole semester obsessed with free parking. I feel this person's pain (even though they do have money for a Beemer...) Honestly, I think one reason was shame. The operator would surely ask how long the car had been there, and I would say...well, I definitely noticed it on October 14th, but its probably been there for two months. And what other information do I have? Nada! Whack-job theories concocted by a crime show obsessive who loves Stephen King novels! Oh the turmoil! To call, or not to call!
And today?
It's gone. Probably got beamed back to its home planet.
For the past two months, I have arrived to work and parked in my normal space below the parking lot. There are the same familiar cars each day, but one caught my attention. It was a silver BMW with Texas license plates. For those who are geographically challenged, I should point out that a daily commute from Texas to Maryland (about 1500 miles) seems unlikely. Yet each day, it was parked in the same place, and it was always there before me. (In itself, this is no great feat. I have a love of sleep, and a recent propensity to hit the snooze button.) But, it was also always there after me, even when I worked until 6:30pm. A few weeks ago, we went out for Happy Hour at the bar next door, and I returned to my car at about 9pm. (umm...4 hours later...) It was then I realized that this car was just always there.
Quite possibly, there was a reasonable, boring explanation. Like there is some sort of Army recruiting office that has fleet vehicles parked in the same general area. They all have government license plates, but perhaps this was newly acquired, and they hadn't registered it yet. This was plausible, perhaps even likely.
But...what if this was a get-away car in a crime? What if there is a dead body in the trunk? What if is it stolen? What if someone had figured out an elaborate scheme to avoid long-term parking fees at the airport? What if the battery was dead, or the engine had failed? What if the car itself was a spy, transmitting information via satellite to top secret government agencies? No, that is not very likely. A spy car would probably have to park on the top deck.
After two weeks of this, I finally decided to tell our office manager. She sent an email to the building managers to see if the car was registered to any of the other companies in our complex. Another week went by. The car was still there, and beginning to collect some dust on the trunk. One day, I considered writing "wash me" on it, but decided it would be better to keep my fingerprints to myself. I found myself sniffing the air, trying to catch the scent of decomposing body parts.
Isn't this sick? Why didn't I just call the police and get this settled? I don't know. I considered it, then decided that my suspicions were a tad far-fetched. (Or worse, that the spy car theory is true, and it is given instructions to shoot on site...) Plus, if someone has figured a way to beat parking fees, more power to 'em - as a senior in college, I did not register my car with management in time to secure a space, and I spent the whole semester obsessed with free parking. I feel this person's pain (even though they do have money for a Beemer...) Honestly, I think one reason was shame. The operator would surely ask how long the car had been there, and I would say...well, I definitely noticed it on October 14th, but its probably been there for two months. And what other information do I have? Nada! Whack-job theories concocted by a crime show obsessive who loves Stephen King novels! Oh the turmoil! To call, or not to call!
And today?
It's gone. Probably got beamed back to its home planet.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Rock the Vote
I want a fat,
a black,
born handicapped,
old single mother lesbian with a high IQ
for President in the White House.
(courtesy of Pork Tornado)
What ever your beliefs, get out there and vote!
a black,
born handicapped,
old single mother lesbian with a high IQ
for President in the White House.
(courtesy of Pork Tornado)
What ever your beliefs, get out there and vote!
Sunday, November 2, 2008
My Little Helper
I have been pretty lazy lately, sort of in a funk. Slowly, I am emerging back to my normal self. This is why I had not, until today, gone through the semi-annual exercise of switching the clothes in my drawers to the winter wardrobe.
Luckily, as I began to fill a box with my short sleeved work shirts, I had a helper:
Nothing like a little cat hair to keep out the moths until next summer. After gently removing my purring beast from the box, I turned to put it into the closet, to find:
Again, I gently removed my purring beast from my drawer, and replaced my sleeveless tanks with fuzzy sweaters. Nearly each day, the cat runs into the closet when the door is opened. The closet is not insulated, so we keep the door closed to try and salvage what little heat/air conditioning we can. As a result, the Puss is often locked in the closet for several hours before we hear the whine from within, and we must keep a careful watch on her as we pack our bags for a trip. Thankfully, she has not been locked in the closet for a weekend. You would think this would be traumatic for a cat. But no:
I did not need to gently remove the cat before shutting the door. As we go through this daily, she stood there looking bewildered as I attempted to call her out, but she zipped through my legs when I made the move to physically remove her. Will she remember this in the morning? I doubt it.
Luckily, as I began to fill a box with my short sleeved work shirts, I had a helper:
Nothing like a little cat hair to keep out the moths until next summer. After gently removing my purring beast from the box, I turned to put it into the closet, to find:
Again, I gently removed my purring beast from my drawer, and replaced my sleeveless tanks with fuzzy sweaters. Nearly each day, the cat runs into the closet when the door is opened. The closet is not insulated, so we keep the door closed to try and salvage what little heat/air conditioning we can. As a result, the Puss is often locked in the closet for several hours before we hear the whine from within, and we must keep a careful watch on her as we pack our bags for a trip. Thankfully, she has not been locked in the closet for a weekend. You would think this would be traumatic for a cat. But no:
I did not need to gently remove the cat before shutting the door. As we go through this daily, she stood there looking bewildered as I attempted to call her out, but she zipped through my legs when I made the move to physically remove her. Will she remember this in the morning? I doubt it.
Extreme Yoga
Over the summer, my sister went to a BikramYoga session while on vacation, and she loved it. It just so happens that a Bikram studio is near my house, so I bought her five classes for her birthday. I also bought five sessions for myself, so that we could take the classes together. I have been faithfully attending a yoga-based class at the gym for years, and I occasionally pop in my "Power Yoga with Rodney Ye" DVD and practice at home. I have found that yoga, above all other things, has improved my strength, balance, and stress levels, and I highly recommend it to everyone for improving overall health and peace of mind.
...But, I would not recommend starting out with Bikram Yoga. Sure, the body feels great after the class - the same way I imagine torture victims of the Middle Ages might feel upon being returned to their cells.
It is very unlike me, but I was totally unprepared for the experience. I did no research on the topic, figuring if I could handle Rodney Ye, I could handle anything. Tiff told me the room would be hot, so I at least knew that much. It is actually at least 105 degrees according to the website.
We are told by the teacher that our goal for our first time would be to stay in the room for the whole class. This was when I began the have second thoughts. She then asked if I had water and a towel for over my mat. Towel? I thought, why the towel? When I suggested that I could get by without it, she silently handed me a rental. Likewise with the water.
After stowing our belongings in the locker room, we enter the "hot room". As the name suggests, it is hot. "At least 105 degrees" really does not do it justice, because most people liken it to a very very hot summer day. I would liken it more to purposely walking into a room sized oven. It is stifling. A few of the other pupils are sprawled out on their mats, meditating. We quietly unroll our own mats and situate ourselves near the back, talking in whispers as other people filter in, each one letting in a refreshing tease of cool air when they open the door.
We begin the class with breathing exercises, and Tiff and I are told to watch the other students before attempting it ourselves. Everyone then begins to inhale with their hands clasped below their chins as they extend their elbows upward. They make this weird near-snoring noise as they breathe in, then let the air out slowly with an audible "haaaaa" sound and rotate their heads until they are looking at the ceiling, and their elbows until they are touching in front of the face. The process is then repeated, and after a few times, I begin to mimic this rather odd behavior. It is very hard to inhale for 15 seconds straight, and I am unable to produce the weird snoring sound. Also, the movement of the head seriously stretches the neck. I am actually a bit sore today (though the neck is the least of my problems.)
After that, we do the "half-moon" pose in which we lift our arms above our heads and then lean the upper half of the body to one side as much as possible. This stretches the long muscle that runs from the pelvis to the shoulder-blade. We are approximately 10 minutes into the class at this point, and I realize that I am exhausted even though all I have done is stand there, breathing and stretching. After a back bend and a hamstring stretch, it is "party time" and we are permitted to drink some water in small sips.
I am truly wondering if I can manage to stay in the room. Our next pose is the eagle, which I have done before in the gym class. It stretches the upper back and shoulders, and normally feels wonderful. However, it involves wrapping the arms and twisting the legs around. To keep the legs in place, one must hook the one foot around the opposite leg's calf. This is extremely difficult to do when one is drenched in sweat. At this point, I am slimier than a greased pig.
That brings me to the towel. The man in front of us has a very nice towel that exactly fits his mat. However, he begins to sweat to the point that it is dripping off the bottoms of his shorts, as if he had hung them out to dry before the spin cycle had begun. At the end of class, he is standing in a literal pool of sweat that had soaked through his towel, through his mat, and left a dark spot on the carpet. Ah, that is why the room smells faintly of B.O. Turns out they sell the towels out front - 50 bucks. I think I will bring a beach towel next time.
Finally, after a few more poses, we do my favorite pose, Savasana. This is sometimes referred to as '"corpse pose" in my gym class, and practiced by lying on the mat, hands by your side, feet flopping out as they feel comfortable, and breathing deeply. Ahhh...now if only the teacher would open that door! My heartbeat is so dramatic that I feel like my entire body is moving with it, and my ears drums are in danger of bursting with the sound of it thumping.
We are directed to begin the next pose, and I reluctantly oblige. We sit on our knees, then push the legs out until our "costume" touches the floor. (This is the endearing phrase the teacher uses to refer to the general crotch/buttocks region.) Then, we are told to reach behind us and support ourselves on the hands, then the elbows, and finally, to lie on our backs. I feel pain in the knees and ankles at step one, and remain supported on my hands, waiting for release from this torturous pose. We do a few less challenging poses and I collapse once again into savasana. This time, the teacher actually does open the door, and wonderful, inviting, cool air slides over my body. She closes it again, and I realize that I may actually hate this woman.
I fair somewhat well when I am told to sit with one leg out and lean forward until my head touches my knee. Perhaps that is because it is purported to be our final pose. However, when told to sit with both legs outstretched, we are directed to touch our foreheads to our toes. I stare at my toes, drenched in sweat and glistening about a foot away from my head, and decide that this is not a literal direction when the girl in the front actually succeeds in this task. Perhaps she has short legs.
At last, the class is over, and I painfully roll up my mat. I feel a bit nauseous, a bit tired, and well aware that I have just strained muscles whose existence was previously unknown to me. I enter the hallway, and the air is so relieving, that I feel like I could cry.
Are you coming back? Several people ask. Of course I am. I already paid for five classes.
...But, I would not recommend starting out with Bikram Yoga. Sure, the body feels great after the class - the same way I imagine torture victims of the Middle Ages might feel upon being returned to their cells.
It is very unlike me, but I was totally unprepared for the experience. I did no research on the topic, figuring if I could handle Rodney Ye, I could handle anything. Tiff told me the room would be hot, so I at least knew that much. It is actually at least 105 degrees according to the website.
We are told by the teacher that our goal for our first time would be to stay in the room for the whole class. This was when I began the have second thoughts. She then asked if I had water and a towel for over my mat. Towel? I thought, why the towel? When I suggested that I could get by without it, she silently handed me a rental. Likewise with the water.
After stowing our belongings in the locker room, we enter the "hot room". As the name suggests, it is hot. "At least 105 degrees" really does not do it justice, because most people liken it to a very very hot summer day. I would liken it more to purposely walking into a room sized oven. It is stifling. A few of the other pupils are sprawled out on their mats, meditating. We quietly unroll our own mats and situate ourselves near the back, talking in whispers as other people filter in, each one letting in a refreshing tease of cool air when they open the door.
We begin the class with breathing exercises, and Tiff and I are told to watch the other students before attempting it ourselves. Everyone then begins to inhale with their hands clasped below their chins as they extend their elbows upward. They make this weird near-snoring noise as they breathe in, then let the air out slowly with an audible "haaaaa" sound and rotate their heads until they are looking at the ceiling, and their elbows until they are touching in front of the face. The process is then repeated, and after a few times, I begin to mimic this rather odd behavior. It is very hard to inhale for 15 seconds straight, and I am unable to produce the weird snoring sound. Also, the movement of the head seriously stretches the neck. I am actually a bit sore today (though the neck is the least of my problems.)
After that, we do the "half-moon" pose in which we lift our arms above our heads and then lean the upper half of the body to one side as much as possible. This stretches the long muscle that runs from the pelvis to the shoulder-blade. We are approximately 10 minutes into the class at this point, and I realize that I am exhausted even though all I have done is stand there, breathing and stretching. After a back bend and a hamstring stretch, it is "party time" and we are permitted to drink some water in small sips.
I am truly wondering if I can manage to stay in the room. Our next pose is the eagle, which I have done before in the gym class. It stretches the upper back and shoulders, and normally feels wonderful. However, it involves wrapping the arms and twisting the legs around. To keep the legs in place, one must hook the one foot around the opposite leg's calf. This is extremely difficult to do when one is drenched in sweat. At this point, I am slimier than a greased pig.
That brings me to the towel. The man in front of us has a very nice towel that exactly fits his mat. However, he begins to sweat to the point that it is dripping off the bottoms of his shorts, as if he had hung them out to dry before the spin cycle had begun. At the end of class, he is standing in a literal pool of sweat that had soaked through his towel, through his mat, and left a dark spot on the carpet. Ah, that is why the room smells faintly of B.O. Turns out they sell the towels out front - 50 bucks. I think I will bring a beach towel next time.
Finally, after a few more poses, we do my favorite pose, Savasana. This is sometimes referred to as '"corpse pose" in my gym class, and practiced by lying on the mat, hands by your side, feet flopping out as they feel comfortable, and breathing deeply. Ahhh...now if only the teacher would open that door! My heartbeat is so dramatic that I feel like my entire body is moving with it, and my ears drums are in danger of bursting with the sound of it thumping.
We are directed to begin the next pose, and I reluctantly oblige. We sit on our knees, then push the legs out until our "costume" touches the floor. (This is the endearing phrase the teacher uses to refer to the general crotch/buttocks region.) Then, we are told to reach behind us and support ourselves on the hands, then the elbows, and finally, to lie on our backs. I feel pain in the knees and ankles at step one, and remain supported on my hands, waiting for release from this torturous pose. We do a few less challenging poses and I collapse once again into savasana. This time, the teacher actually does open the door, and wonderful, inviting, cool air slides over my body. She closes it again, and I realize that I may actually hate this woman.
I fair somewhat well when I am told to sit with one leg out and lean forward until my head touches my knee. Perhaps that is because it is purported to be our final pose. However, when told to sit with both legs outstretched, we are directed to touch our foreheads to our toes. I stare at my toes, drenched in sweat and glistening about a foot away from my head, and decide that this is not a literal direction when the girl in the front actually succeeds in this task. Perhaps she has short legs.
At last, the class is over, and I painfully roll up my mat. I feel a bit nauseous, a bit tired, and well aware that I have just strained muscles whose existence was previously unknown to me. I enter the hallway, and the air is so relieving, that I feel like I could cry.
Are you coming back? Several people ask. Of course I am. I already paid for five classes.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Phishin' and Dishin'
First, the Phisin':
This post is admittedly late, but I am still so sad. I went a-fishin for Phish tickets, and the Phish weren't biting. In fact, they sold out in literally a fraction of a second, while scalpers were posting them for $799 a ticket BEFORE they went on sale. Jerks. If I were confident that all the tickets went to fans who would be thrilled to see the show, I'd be content enough. But I know that wasn't the case, and I am bitter.
In the Phish world, I am a "second generation" fan. Though I was busy with 4th grade when they first started playing, I got turned on to the band in high school when I heard a "more commercial" album called Rift. Since then, I've seen the band exactly 18 times, generally on a Wednesday in July, and so I have heard 25% of all Phish songs live. I have most often heard "Chalkdust Torture", followed closely by "Golgi Apparatus" and "When the Circus Comes". I have chiefly seen the band in my home state of Pennsylvania, of course, but I was surprised to learn that this was only 44% of the time. I then realized that 28% of the shows I went to were in New Jersey - Camden, NJ to be specific, which is just across the river from Philadelphia. In my book, these were Philly shows, though I had to cross state lines. (Do not fear, I am not nerdy enough to figure all this out myself - it is from a fun site that will calculate your personal Phishtistics.)
I was vaguely annoyed at my first Phish show, back in 1996 in State College. A girl on my floor ordered the tickets when I mentioned that I might be interested, but I thought they were too expensive (which they were. Please click here for my standard Ticketmaster rant.) Well, Heather, you certainly did turn out to be a terrible roommate who refused to put another person's spoon in the dishwasher and who charged your friends for toilet paper, but I must thank you for forcing those tickets down my throat. And if you have any for the upcoming show?? Send them my way?? Please?? I promise I will vacuum the carpet...
And next, the Dishin':
Good news, my adoring fans! I will now have more time for blogging! Lets Dish is an awesome idea that I wish I had first. Clients pick 4, 8, or 12 meals from a list of about 20 total, and schedule a time to "Dish". At the appointed time, you go to several stations where all the ingredients for the meals are set up, and you assemble the meals (which each serve 6 people, or you can split them into two 3 serving bags.) In about 2 hours, you have enough meals for the month, ready to freeze, and someone else does the dishes. You can also take a break to eat fresh baked scones and coffee while you are assembling . The cost is pretty reasonable too, when you figure that you would have had to buy all the stuff at the grocery store (and no one would do the dishes for you.) I love cooking, and even planning meals at home, but now and again I get stressed out, and I just don't feel like it. It is nice to have meals in the freezer to thaw and simply pop in the oven. I have been feeling rather blah for about 3 weeks now, and I was getting tired of cereal for dinner. Of course, at the moment, I am so full of scones, I don't need a meal...
This post is admittedly late, but I am still so sad. I went a-fishin for Phish tickets, and the Phish weren't biting. In fact, they sold out in literally a fraction of a second, while scalpers were posting them for $799 a ticket BEFORE they went on sale. Jerks. If I were confident that all the tickets went to fans who would be thrilled to see the show, I'd be content enough. But I know that wasn't the case, and I am bitter.
In the Phish world, I am a "second generation" fan. Though I was busy with 4th grade when they first started playing, I got turned on to the band in high school when I heard a "more commercial" album called Rift. Since then, I've seen the band exactly 18 times, generally on a Wednesday in July, and so I have heard 25% of all Phish songs live. I have most often heard "Chalkdust Torture", followed closely by "Golgi Apparatus" and "When the Circus Comes". I have chiefly seen the band in my home state of Pennsylvania, of course, but I was surprised to learn that this was only 44% of the time. I then realized that 28% of the shows I went to were in New Jersey - Camden, NJ to be specific, which is just across the river from Philadelphia. In my book, these were Philly shows, though I had to cross state lines. (Do not fear, I am not nerdy enough to figure all this out myself - it is from a fun site that will calculate your personal Phishtistics.)
I was vaguely annoyed at my first Phish show, back in 1996 in State College. A girl on my floor ordered the tickets when I mentioned that I might be interested, but I thought they were too expensive (which they were. Please click here for my standard Ticketmaster rant.) Well, Heather, you certainly did turn out to be a terrible roommate who refused to put another person's spoon in the dishwasher and who charged your friends for toilet paper, but I must thank you for forcing those tickets down my throat. And if you have any for the upcoming show?? Send them my way?? Please?? I promise I will vacuum the carpet...
And next, the Dishin':
Good news, my adoring fans! I will now have more time for blogging! Lets Dish is an awesome idea that I wish I had first. Clients pick 4, 8, or 12 meals from a list of about 20 total, and schedule a time to "Dish". At the appointed time, you go to several stations where all the ingredients for the meals are set up, and you assemble the meals (which each serve 6 people, or you can split them into two 3 serving bags.) In about 2 hours, you have enough meals for the month, ready to freeze, and someone else does the dishes. You can also take a break to eat fresh baked scones and coffee while you are assembling . The cost is pretty reasonable too, when you figure that you would have had to buy all the stuff at the grocery store (and no one would do the dishes for you.) I love cooking, and even planning meals at home, but now and again I get stressed out, and I just don't feel like it. It is nice to have meals in the freezer to thaw and simply pop in the oven. I have been feeling rather blah for about 3 weeks now, and I was getting tired of cereal for dinner. Of course, at the moment, I am so full of scones, I don't need a meal...
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