I had $.95 in the crevices of my purse and a strong desire not to eat my oatmeal this morning.
Luckily I couldn’t scrounge up that last five cent piece and no vending machines in the history of ever take pennies (why?! This seems like a horrible business decision, everyone’s been in that ‘why aren’t these five pennies acceptable substitutes for a nickel’ situation.)
This is why I don’t carry petty cash.
I would spend it all on vending machine moments of weakness.
This week in "things I learned from facebook stalking"
A girl I used to work with is expecting. She has been dealt a crap hand from life and as far as I know she has trouble supporting herself. And not in the “I can’t afford an iphone and need to cut my daily starbucks addiction way,” but in a “I can’t eat until payday” way. I’m sorry, maybe this is eugenic of me, but I really believe if you can’t take care of yourself you shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce and attempt to take care of tiny human.
Takeaways- Zach didn’t mind the bourbon glaze, I really didn’t care for it. Will not make again.
Cheese stuffed meatballs-We both agreed that they were good but we prefer smitten kitchen’s recipe. I think I could get on board with the cheese stuffed ones if we browned them before baking and swapped the panko breadcrumbs to regular ones. Will try again, with changes.
I have learned that it is very important to understand when your husband is hungry.
Most important marriage/spend vast majority of your time with a man-lesson ever. Seriously. Just putting a few granola bars in the glove compartment of the car can save you from some end-all…
We definitely experience this as a role reversal in my house. My husband is a mutant who “forgets” to eat a lot of the time. I operate more like a toddler. If we’re going anywhere for any length of time and a meal is NOT part of our adventure, you best believe there’s a selection of snacks in my purse.
The Crisco cookie won by a landslide, garnering the endorsement of approximately 15 more college students than the New York Times cookie.
Take that, NYT.
To tell you the truth, I’m not surprised.
Right of the oven I think the NYT cookie is slightly better. Zach, taste tester of all oven fresh cookies, also agrees. They also look more appealing than the Crisco cookie, tending to keep their shape better during baking and resulting in a lighter colored cookie dough. However, I think this might be the result of the overnight refrigeration. I have it noted to try the same approach with the Crisco cookie the next time I make them, but for this project I’m baking all cookies as the recipe reads. Zach also mentioned that while he liked the NYT cookie slightly more, the difference was not enough to warrant the extra steps in preparation.
Though the NYT might be slightly better out of the oven, once the cookies have cooled the Crisco cookie wins hands down. The Crisco cookie stays softer longer and is just as good on day one as it is on day 7. The NYT cookie got hard and crumbly on me, almost immediately, even when kept in the same conditions as the Crisco cookie. I actually threw out the remainder of the batch I had left-they were that sub-par.
I have a drawer in my desk that’s strictly for my creature comforts.
Tea, vitamins, bandaids, hand sanitizer, lemonade mix, oops purchases from the vending machine, oatmeal, a novel, lint roller, static guard, wrinkle releaser…it makes me happy. It’s like my secret treasure chest.
Related, I also have plans to smuggle in Steve The Blanket. This place is frigid.
Though I have a drawer full of loveliness, my cube walls are pretty bare.
I’m in need of more desktop swag. So far I’ve only put up a copy of Billy Collin’s “Litany” and the following quotation, “Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.”
Reblogging this in honor of my mom—an Autism specialist who helped countless kids and their families get the support and resources they needed. She was a huge proponent of getting the truth out there about the non-existent link between vaccines and Autism.
I rarely reblog, mainly because it confuses my non-family tumblr readers for whom this blog was created. BUT! Can’t not reblog this. It sums up how I feel about vaccines. People who don’t vaccinate are putting my child at risk due to a hoax from several years ago. How is this continuing???
The fair serves as the major fundraising event for a lot of local charities and churches. Now since flooding has cancelled the fair a few of the vendors are setting up along the highways, providing a way for a lot of local people to make up their revenue and providing a little bit of community spirit as the area embarks on the long road to recovery.
There is actual shit to do on my work agenda. For the first time all week. Otherwise I totally would have gone along with my husband’s pleas to call each other off sick and spend the rainy day in pajamas. We’ve already agreed we’ll be doing this in the future.
Broccoli cheddar soup and a salad await me at a coworker’s going away lunch at Panera.
I’m leaving two hours early thanks to my awesome eat-at-my-desk-and-bank-those-hours ritual. I’m speeding home to whip up a chicken pot pie and French apple pie to share with our new parents friends. First day of fall demands pie. Off all kinds.
The snuggling of said new baby while mom and dad eat. I will try my hardest not to kidnap her/gobble her up.
We again have no set plans for this weekend. I am so completely fine with that. My dvr is full and my wine fridge is stocked.
Dear Madame Empress of the Universe... If you could marry any fictional character, who would you pick and why?
I’m not really one to imagine relationships with a fictional character. That said, the first one who popped into my head was Gilbert Blythe. Upon further introspection, Greg of Dharma and Greg would also be lovely. Perhaps with a dash of Harry from When Harry Met Sally.
I also wouldn’t mind being Mrs. Dean Cain circa Lois and Clark (especially if I could look like 90’s Terri Hatcher) and I think Josh Hartnett would suffice as my dreamy pool boy. I have voluntarily watched Pearl Harbor and 40 Days and 40 Nights just to look at that man.
I’ve decided the best decision is no decision. I figure, I won’t change my name until we either 1) Move, or B) Have a child. Either way I’ll have a few months to make up my mind and go through all the shitty paperwork.
"Imagine it’s your wife’s birthday. If it were your birthday you’d love it if she would do anything you wanted – so you think she’d like that too. You say, ‘For your birthday today, we will do anything you want. We can go anywhere and do anything. And I’ll even do anything for you. So what do you want to do?’
The problem, this is the opposite of most women’s ideal birthday gift.
Most women would be far more excited if you were to say, ‘You’ve got an hour to pack your bags. Don’t ask where we’re going, but we’ll be gone the entire weekend. Everything is taken care of. You simply need to pack your bags and leave the rest to me. I’m going to give you the best birthday present you’ve ever had.’”
Today was a good day. It was a waking up in love and cuddling my husband day. It was a heat free curls day. It was a comfy navy pants, bright blue polka dot button down and yellow cardigan day. It was a favorite pink kitten heels day. It was an antique aquamarine ring day. It was a chilly enough for long sleeves but not quite jacket weather day. It was picking up my car from the shop and paying the bill with grace day. It was a lunch with my coworkers day. It was an email that finally moved The Project That Would Not End forward another step to completion day. It was an alert from Amazon.com that is actually relevant to my life day. It was a visiting a brand new baby and returning her big dog brother clad in a pink bandana day. It was grocery shopping by myself (my favorite!) because I left work a little early day. It was a left over surprise and green salad day.
The clean house gene-some people have houses that always look immaculate, no matter when you stop by, no matter if you just pop in with them en route to somewhere else, and no matter if they say, “oh, it’s such a mess right now.” No. It’s not. You and I must have different definitions for “mess.”
The design/décor gene- I do not have “an eye” for this crap. Any home design I do requires a lot of internet research, an absurd amount of deliberation, and still ends up teetering on the edge of either too matchy or too crazy. Some of my older friends tell me that I’ll get the hang of it and that they’re not that great at it either. I call bullshit. Lady, your house looks like Better Homes and Gardens Lite. You know, same great design half the pompous assholery. Mine is much more “Stuff we like that sorta works in this room and stuff we can’t get rid of yet that doesn’t really go together.”
The good handwriting gene-No pretty loopy letters here. I write like a ten year old boy.
The gift wrap gene-I am not Martha. No matter how much I try. I’m just happy if the tape doesn’t come unstuck and I keep from crumpling the stuck on bow.
While we’re on the subject of domestic goddess failings, I’d like to point out that I have somehow mysteriously stained the sheets and the bath towels causing bleach-y type fadings. Since I can’t remember the last time I physically touched the bleach bottle, I am at a loss.