Tag: Ridiculous

Winter Blues

“You know when you take a puppy to the vet, and it get poked and prodded for hours, and when you get it home it’s drained, exhausted, and loopy for days?  That’s you right now.”
– J.

Winter has been rough for me this year.  My theory is that the lack of sunlight (which by itself doesn’t really bug me, seeing as I like rainy, cloudy, and cold weather just fine) combining with birth control hormones for the first time during the dark half of the year has congealed into a perfect cocktail of winter doldrums. 

All I want to do is hibernate.  Even if, in spite of the ridiculous things that wake me up occasionally, I get a full night’s rest, I wake up exhausted every day and completely lacking the will to do anything.  For a week now I’ve hauled myself out of bed mere minutes before we have to dash out the door to work/school.  There’s been a pile of clean clothes sitting on my floor for days because I just can’t muster the strength to sort and store them (sorry, Mum!).  We got these great electric toothbrushes for Christmas from J.’s parents which took some getting used to (i.e. splattering the mirror) which I haven’t dealt with in a week.  And nature might abhor a vacuum, but not as much as me!

This isn’t just run of the mill laziness and I’ve never been this affected by a season before.  I’m in a right dirty winter funk!

I’ll Never Bake Again!

“Angst!  Angst!”
– C.

Yesterday after heading home an hour early from work (sick + tired + nausea + cramps + no lunch break + 2-3 hour long meeting = blech) I recovered enough to, or rather the drugs kicked in and I was able to, cook.  I put in one of my new movies and got to work marinating steak (to be used tonight) and then whipping up a spinach quiche…

…sort of.

See, I got all the cream cheese, egg, and spinach into the crust (which I bought at the store, not trusting myself – rightly it turns out – to make pastry) and popped it in the oven.  But then two minutes later, glancing through the recipe to see how long it should cook, I realized I’d forgotten the parmesan cheese!   Quick as you’d like, I dragged it out and mixed in the parmesan and tossed it back into the furnace. 

Then I realized that if I had forgotten the parmesan, I might have forgotten the cheddar as well…and I had.  Back to the oven, quick quick!  The crust was turning a lovely golden color by this time, and I couldn’t have been more ticked at it for looking yummy when I’d apparently left out half the ingredients. 

"Did you remember the onions, my dear?" "GAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" "Now, now, there's no need to fret."

And THEN, after I put it back in the oven, I banged my head (metaphorically) against the counter when I saw the green onions sitting in smug little rows on the other cutting board, taunting me with their not-in-the-quiche-ness. 

Finally I got everything mixed in (at various stages of baking) but THEN I forgot about it after I collapsed on the sofa in defeat.  All in all, the crust has come out a fearsome black…but the inside still tastes pretty good.

(S)Crew(ed) Up


Unbelievable!  J. Crew was having a sale on shirts (which I needed a couple more of for winter to give my few work sweaters a break) and the skirt I was lusting after was also miraculously on sale as well.  PLUS I had a $50 gift certificate that I got from my health insurance company for completing a bunch of health challenges they do throughout the year so I could afford them.  Obviously I had to take advantage, n’est pas? 

An artist's rendering of a suspicious individual seen in the area about the same time as me. What a cooincidences, huh?

Not as easy as it first appeared!  This sale closed at midnight over the weekend and I (ridiculous creature that I am) of course forgot the gift certificate in my work desk.  Which meant a late night weekend gallop to the office, fetchingly attired in an old shirt, flannel pajama pants, mad hair, thick socks, and heeled shoes because they were the closest thing to hand as I rushed out the door.  Accompianied by J.’s fond head shakes and sighs of, “You’re a nuggins.”  His “adorable” nickname for me when I’m doing something particularly silly (I’m not so fond of it).

But apart from the slight craziness I exhibited, all was well!  I ordered my things happily and went to bed at peace.

This morning I woke up to a shiny online coupon in my inbox advertising 20% off one’s total order.  Which means had I waited 24 hours (and was psychic), I could have gotten my order for over half off.


Costume Dramas

 “Make it classy.”
“I thought we were supposed to be sexy.”
“It is possible to be both.”
-Sushi for Beginners, Marian Keyes

Trick 'r TreatHalloween was easily my favorite holiday growing up.  I have fond memories of strategically mapping out my plan of attack in neighborhoods in the search for candy, staggering home under the weight of a bulging pillowcase, and spending days or even weeks on my costumes.  For a chunk of my childhood we lived in Germany so we had Fasching instead of Halloween (German version of Carnivale), but since the concept  of costume + candy + pranking remained the same, there wasn’t too much of a difference to me.

See back in my day, darlings, we made our costumes.  Sure some kids were starting to run around in polyester store-bought Power Rangers outfits, but I always regarded them as sad, unimaginative creatures more to be pitied than envied.   Even the year I went as a ghost, I took the time to shred my own sheets and drape them hauntingly about my white and black smudged face.  My mother would take me to fabric stores to wrinkle my six year old forehead over the merits of historically correct Indian vs. Polar Bear, rifle with me through the chest that held my hats, boots, and scarves that I used for dress up, and applaude my ideas enthusiastically.

That's right.  This guy.  Hung out with dead people.
That's right. This guy. Bit of a creeper. Hung out with dead people.

The crowning achievement of my dorkiness trick-or-treating career was the year I announced impressively that I wanted to go as…wait for it…Anubis. 

That’s right.  Egyptian god of the dead.  I think I was seven or eight at the time.  As an adult I can now only begin to fathom what thoughts might have scrambled through my impressed/perplexed/weirded out parents’ minds as they heard this plan, but they rallied with admirable self control.  My dad helped me fashion a jackal head out of a baseball cap for the base, wound about with wire to form the long snout, face, ears, and Egyptian headpiece, and then mummified (pun!) in paper mache.  This whole contraption was then painted with black, gold, and glaring white eyes.  A baby towel wrapped around my waist, a white tee-shirt, and a cardboard collar painted gold with blobs of color for the gems completed the look.

No one I begged candy off of had a clue who I was.  It was also sweltering hot so by the time I made it home, black streaks of sweat and paint had slithered down my face, but I had the most absolutely amazing costume ever!

My childhood memories have been trashy-ed past recognition.  (Editor's Note: these are TAME).
My childhood memories have been trashy-ed past recognition. (Editor's Note: these are TAME).

And nowadays what am I left with?  The only Halloween costumes available to me (since I can’t sew) are cheap, mass produced trashy stuff usually involving thigh-highs and not much else.  Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a touch of tart as much as the next girl, but I also firmly adhere to the “time and place” mentality.  I also believe absolutely that sexy and slutty are not the same things at all.  For example, one year one of my flatmates went as a Victoria Secret Angel: bras, panties, wings.  Fin.  Kiri and I were saloon girls, complete with fishnets and garters, but we took the time to make sure that the OK stayed corralled! 

Trick-or-treating seems to be on the decline, too many weirdos out there I suppose, but I’m still debating how to get in on the holiday this year.  Perhaps a party with fabulous friends?  Or be boring and just watch Hitchcock movies?  I’ve never been to a haunted castle/cornmaze/whatever which seem to be all the rage in these parts, so I’m going to try to trick (or treat) J. into taking me to one.  Small Dog has no comment on the possibility of thigh highs.



A bit Wylie E. Cayote, but I nevertheless feel as if you, the reader, should be impressed at my creativity!
A bit Wylie E. Coyote, but I nevertheless feel as if you, the reader, should be impressed at my creativity! C. Small Dog, Genius.

Adventures in Finesse

-Homer Simpson

So, not only did J.’s pen leak onto a pair of really nice suit pants, but my khaki trousers have turned up with a strange black slash of mystery gunk on one leg.  And while J.’s is an isolated incident, mine is something considerably more annoying.

Ever since I started working in this office, these black or gray streaks have been turning up on my trousers.  Always on the left side, always noticed at some point in the morning, and always from an unknown source.  I’ve checked everything!  My desk and chair aren’t to blame, it’s not my car, it’s not from food, it’s not anything in my flat…I’m completely at a loss.  And so, another trip to the dry cleaner’s is in order, and still no explanation to give them. 

On an unrelated note, J. and I liked Cirque du Soleil in Vegas so much that when we heard they were coming to our area, we jumped on buying tickets.  And then completely forgot about the date we chose.  The performance was wednesday…we remembered yesterday morning.  Sigh.

Small Dog struggles..
Small Dog struggles..

Scientific Progress

“I love fools’ experiments.  I am always making them.”
-Charles Darwin

Ve haf made several discoveries ve vould like to share!
Ve haf made several discoveries ve vould like to share!

To absolutely no one’s surprise I am sure, I am a walking hazard.  Seriously, if it were ten million years ago and the destiny of the future human race depended on me surviving the evolutionary gauntlet, you would not be reading this now.  Natural forces are not my friends.  Some of my most recent forays into the realm of accidental scientific inquiry have been absolutely ludicrous!

On a whim I purchased some little tomato plants and herbs to plant along the tiny garden the tenants of our building share.  I’m no suburban housewife, but fresh veggies and cilantro means fresh salsa and that’s an idea I can totally get behind.  However as I toted my prizes out to the garden, I took a look around and belatedly realized that I did not, in fact, own so much as a trowel.  Not willing to risk my manicure I hunted around frantically for even a stick but I hunted in vain.  Finally, as I stared at the sad, wilting little troopers in their too-small plastic pots, I was seized with inspiration!  I dashed up to my flat and grabbed a spoon from the sink and raced back down to send dirt flying.  I had just finished and was surveying my biological kingdom with pride when a whole troop of the upstairs neighbors, none of whom I’ve yet met, wandered by.  There I stood: mad post-workout hair, fists on hips, stance of victory, with (as I later discovered) streaks of dirt on my face…and spoon clenched tightly in my fingers.  All three of them gave me the fish-eye and hurried upstairs without saying hello.

Not content with dirtying my only clean spoon in the garden, I wreaked more havoc in the kitchen by making myself dinner last night.  Apparently the microwave gets freakishly hot because I pulled a glass plate that I’d used to heat some chicken from it (the plate didn’t seem too hot to me) and started to run it under water…a spiderweb pattern shot through the whole thing and less than a second later it had fallen to pieces in my hands.  I tossed the bits away and went to bed moody.

See here if you haven’t already.

My enemy!  You wouldn’t think it possible to trip on an elliptical machine where your feet are firmly planted, would you?  Somehow I managed, twice.  I scattered the entire contents of my makeup case while getting ready yesterday morning, I dropped food down the front of my shirt while J. watched laughing on monday, and nearly did a cartwheel going down my stairs this morning (crisis averted by clutching the railing to save my sorry hide).

However!  I not only now have PBS (how else am I supposed to keep up with my British television and BBC period dramas?), but our basic cable package also came with the History Channel!  My nerdy soul rejoices!  Even if I don’t live long enough to contaminate the gene pool with my faulty, clumsy, ridiculous DNA I will still die entertained.