persephone33

So today was a fantastic day. I mean, I did a little shopping, got a pedicure, saw my husband unexpectedly just before lunch and got a kiss... just really and truly all-around awesome.

You know when I say these things, when I'm too positive, there is always a very large BUT. (Much like my own. Har dee har har.)

I was zipping along I-40 after a Doctor's appointment, needing to get a quick lunch before I picked Aaron up at theatre camp, when my eyes lit upon a sushi place that I'm fond of, but don't go to very often because the husband and the kiddos aren't fans.

I am, though. I LOVE sushi. Big time.

So, like so many other things that happen in my life, on a whim, I stop at the sushi place and go in to sit at the bar. I brought in the 5th Diana Gabaldon book (which I'm still powering through) and ordered my sushi and settled in for a lovely, if solitary lunch.

I asked the server about the special on the board at the front. All I heard was shrimp, lobster and avocado and then a bunch of other stuff that I didn't understand. I held up my hand, ever the continental sushi-orderer, and said, "You had me at shrimp, lobster and avocado. Bring me one of those and a spicy crunchy salmon roll."

I had a great time, alternately reading my book and watching the sushi chef do his thing. The salmon was wonderful, as ever, and the special (The GOLDEN DRAGON) was really, stupendously good. Possibly one of the best rolls I'd ever had. Beautiful, too. Art on a plate. I got full, though and left two of the rolls, feeling satisfied and happy. Until the server brought me the bill.

The "special" on the board? The one that I didn't let him finish explaining about because I thought the language/accent barrier was too much to power through? It was $38.00. Thirty-eight American dollars, y'all. For LUNCH. And that doesn't count the iced tea and the other $7 salmon roll. All of which I stopped for on a whim.

[Here is where you can imagine my husband shouting, "YOU SPENT HOW MUCH?? ON LUNCH?! CARRIE LEIGH!!]

Sorry, baby. Won't happen again.

Probably. It was really, really good, though. ;)

But after I signed the bill, you'll be pleased to know that I sure did fire down those last two rolls.

I felt as if I had to. I owed it to the sushi gods.

And my pocketbook.

Hey, reader! Watch me pull a rabbit outta my hat.

Fifty billion points if you can name that cartoon. Only two if you look at the icon.

Aaaaand, scene. This is one of those 'something for everyone' posts. Don't like whatever drivel seeps out in the paragraph you're reading? Skip to the next. That one might be better. You can hope, anyway.

Here goes.

★ I, and consequently anyone older than me, am/are no longer allowed to use the following phrase: "I'm gonna get my _________ on," where the blank is arbitrarily a noun, verb or adjective, depending on the speaker. Example: "I'm gonna go get my dance on," to explain to those surrounding the speaker that she might like to dance. January 14th, 1973. Check the date and obey the rules. Thanks.

★ Gay men make better shop attendants than straight men or even women. (Find me a straight man in retail or musical theatre. The ratio is skewed.) When I proclaimed this to my husband, he asked, "Even in the men's section?" To which I replied, "Especially in the men's section! How's a straight man going to help another straight man, fashion-wise? They'd all come out looking like... you. Honey." He conceded the point, I think.

★ Carrie Fisher's Wishful Drinking. Saw the show on Broadway. Laughed hysterically. Read the book in an afternoon. Laughed again. Funny, funny stuff. Admittedly, I'm an easy room, but it'll also make you glad for your own, relatively normal life.

★ Sometimes I get disappointed with people to the point that I never want to leave the house. (Where my house is Mt. Crumpit and I just stand at the door and glare down at the Whos of the world.) And then a few days go by and I take a deep breath, sigh heavily and give the world a metaphorical raspberry because, honestly, people are punks and they always will be. My bounceback time is faster, and for that I'm grateful.

★ I made these last night for home group, among other things. I LOVE THEM. In a completely dangerous-to-my-butt way.

★ Ever listen to The Splendid Table on NPR? (Listen now, because I think big brother's cutting it, soon, the jerkface.) My SIL turned me on to the program, and the Supper Tart. It's puff pastry and whatever toppings you like and a drizzle of olive oil. My favorites are chicken, tomatoes, onion and basil, but you can do whatever. Try it. You won't be sorry.

★ Stay tuned: After sewing for other people all spring, I'm going to make myself some dresses. This pattern (Knee length): Only I got black fabric and a green print to practice on and a red and black Chinese cherry blossom silk for the fancy one. Pattern covers are always truly hideous fabrics. Why?

★ And a friend who works at a furniture store in town brought me bunches of fabric swatches, out of which I'm going to make a fresh batch of bags and purses. Want one?  Offer expired!

I'm not in full panic mode, yet, but I can feel it lurking just around the corner.

After speaking to my mother-in-law on the phone this morning, the realization hit me: Thanksgiving is in 6 days.

Holy crap.

We're having Thanksgiving here again this year. And only 15 people as opposed to 25 last year. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE having people over. I love cooking. I love hospitality. But it's Thanksgiving. Forget the concept of actually giving thanks for two minutes and hang with me, here. IT'S A HOLIDAY ALL ABOUT THE FOOD.

And you know what? I love that. Bring it on. I'm currently defrosting a turkey in the outside fridge. Aside from that and a 15 minute conversation with the MIL this morning, I've done NOTHING to prepare.

So this is me: preparing.
( listy stuffs and food-like pontification )

I don't think I'll panic. I think it's going to be just fine.

We're back from the whirlwind trip to Denver/the mountains.

Home sweet home.

Their kids were sick before we got there, BIL got sick Saturday night, and I was up 'til 5:30 last night with poor Ethan. I've never seen him so sick, and I had nothing for him. The middle of the night in a strange town? It was a stupid, helpless feeling. And there was nothing I could do but hold his little head and pat him. He's marginally better today. He drank some Sprite, had some bread and part of an apple. Poor kid.

But. We're home. And summer has officially started. I'm not even waiting on the summer solstice. It's dragging it's feet, anyway. It's warm, the kiddos are out of school, the pool is beckoning, and I'm determined to make the most of it all.

Got some new recipes from the SIL. (We drank some great wine, too.) Will post about them because they are supper yummy. And summery. But not today. Because I don't plan to move too much more, today.

Ah, and one more thing, The Contest For May ends tonight (or before I get up in the morning - I don't anticipate that being super early, either). All you lovelies that wanted prompts, tonight is the night! Go here to post or request a prompt, if you're that girl (or boy? I have 2 on the f-list) who enjoys the pressure of a impending deadline. :D

Ready to write. And sleep. And cook. And sew. And lay (in the shade) by the pool.

Bring it on, summertime. I'm ready.

---

I'm over halfway through Phase One of this homeopathic (which is the same word as psychopathic in my head - every time) diet and I'm doing very well. I miss real food. By real food, I mean queso and snickers bars. And I have to say, if I ingest another single piece of lettuce anytime soon I might turn green and ruffly, but it's been worth it. I feel good, have lost a significant amount of poundage, the dress I wore last night was too big, and my husband even noticed a change.

And he never notices anything.

It's great for sneaking in new shoes under the radar.

Not that I do that. *cough*shiftyeyes*

But as great as all this is, I found myself sitting up in bed a few nights ago, long after hubs had gone to sleep, distracting myself with pictures on the internet. I've fallen victim to pornography.

Food Pornography.

( Food, glorious food... )

Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea, deliver me from my voyeuristic carbohydrate sins.

If I were Catholic, I'd be reciting stuff 'til next Tuesday.

As it is, I'll just go have an apple.

So we're going to a superbowl party tonight.

I'm all about being social. But I had to Google who was playing.

In my defense, I'll bet most of you can't name four plays by Henrik Ibsen off the top of your head. (Ghosts, Hedda Gabler, A Doll's House and...  okay three.  Three plays by Henrik Ibsen)

Anyway, football makes not even the least bit of difference to me, except that I wanted to make cute little snacks to take with us. :D I also had to Google what a football looked like so I could make these:

Seriously.  Are they cute, or what?

( I also made turtles. How-to under the cut! )

Well... To put it succinctly, I think it sucks.

I don't think there's a need to go into more detail than that.

I went to one of our favorite restaurants for New Years Eve, Johnny Carino's, and ordered something new.

I never, ever, ever order out of my comfort zone. Ever, ever, ever. I have one or two things I eat at every restaurant we go to, and I ALWAYS order that. Boring? Maybe. But I'm not disappointed that way. I also never eat all of what I order, either; in this case, I ate about half the dish, so I took it home had it again for dinner last night. I eat leftovers all the time and I never have issues. I mean, restaurants give you obscene- thereisnowhatIcanfinisheverythinghere- amounts of food. It's wasteful not to take it with you, right? Being a longtime member in good standing with the Clean Plate Club (Where a lot of my food issues stem from, I think), I always feel like I need to take it with me.

I don't really have that compulsion, anymore.

Being awakened out of a dead sleep with a wicked case of food poisoning will do that to you. On the up side, I got to know the floor in my bathroom a little better (a really lovely, earthy stone, very forgiving), got reacquainted with what 3:00 in the morning looks like, (I don't recommend it), I slept 'til nearly noon. So I'm easing into 2010. Slowly. Cautiously.

Long story short, Shrimp Scampi will be added to the list of Things I Will Never, Ever, Ever, Ever Eat Again, along with Soft Batch Chocolate Chip Cookies, Cheetos, Won Ton Soup, and the Subway Cold Cut Combo. One has to be firm about these things. Besides, while I was associating with the bathroom floor, we had a little chat about it. He thinks it's a good idea, too.

And quite frankly, I respect his judgment.

I like to pretend that I'm still young and hip and cutting edge. But let's face it. It's a sham. I've been putting an a false face to all of you for some time now. I'm living a lie, and it's time for me to come clean.

My name is Carrie, and I can't figure out how to work my damn cell phone.

About two months ago, I got a Blackberry Pearl. (I loatheloatheloathe the thing. With a deep and abiding malevolent passion.) I find myself looking at it and screaming, "AAAAAAHHHHH!" a lot. Nolan got himself an iphone (for business he says), but I got stuck with this damnable POS Blackberry. Today I tried to call Nolan, using the speed dial shortcut thingy, and ended up calling my cousin Beth instead. I mean, it was fantastic to talk to her, but, RAWR! Freaking phone. I feel like my dad, who is paralyzed by all things electronic.

I've watched the tutorial TWICE, and tried to read about what it is that I'm doing wrong. I can't stand when it guesses what word I'm about to type, I figured out how to stop that once, but can't seem to make it stop again. I've browsed the web, looked at my email, but I can't get the facebook app to work.

Don't even get me started on texting. It says I've received three, BUT I CAN'T GET TO THEM. I've yet to successfully SEND one. Bad words. Bad, freaking, punk-ass words.

It doesn't ring loud enough for me to hear, even on its loudest setting, it's so sensitive that I can't put it in my purse without having to lock the stinking keyboard (I will not even go into what a production THAT was) and the worst part? IT CALLS PEOPLE ALL BY ITSELF. I don't know; call me crazy, but I'd like to be the sentient being in the relationship!

*sigh*

1. Mexican Wedding Cookies are the best EVAR.
2. Nano word count is on target.
3. Ethan proclaims me acceptable for running lines for his play, saying that I'm better even than Blakely (10 year-old neighbor girl). He said, "But you probably have more stage experience." *cough* Just a bit, yeah, kid, thanks.

American Museum of Natural History - pictures as dinosaurs. :D
Shake Shack
Mac Counter
Wrote three words
Carrie Fisher in Wishful Drinking
Havana Cuban Food
*ded*

My husband goes through food obsessions. Some of the things he's asked for incessantly in the past are: strawberry shortcake, apple crisp, beef stew, chocolate chip cookies, and grilled sandwiches, to name a few. Some girls' husbands bug them about sex. Mine bugs me about food. (And sex. I'm not gonna lie.;))


( But this is one time I'm glad he bugged me. )