7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 6)

--1--

I drink 64 ounces of water a day, every day, and I have for the past...oh, 4 years or so? And I know it's exactly 64 ounces because 1) I fill up one of my small collection of handy, cancer-ridden, hippy-looking 32-ounce Nalgene bottles two times a day and 2) I own a calculator. Of course, I can't just drink plain water - what am I, a caveman? - it's always water mixed with some sort of flavored powder full of cancer-ridden artificial sweeteners, but it helps me stay hydrated, and if there's one thing they (whoever they are) tell you about staying healthy it's to drink lots of water. They probably also say something about staying away from BPA and excessive amounts of aspertain, but good Lord, I can't follow all these rules at once! It's either keep my body juicy and moist with chemically-enhanced water that will probably turn my own cells against me one day in the form of a well-hydrated tumor, or drink plain water. Psh, what a no-brainer. Plain water is gross.

Anyway, I swear I'm going somewhere with this (only it's just a single sentence, and you're gonna be so underwhelmed when I get there). It's a routine, my water. There's morning water and afternoon water, and Lord help me on days when I finish morning water before 2:00pm. That's FAR too early for afternoon water, and how will that ever last me until bed time? I mean, Heaven forbid I exceed that magical number of 64. But whatever, I'm SO stuck in my routine, that I take my water with me wherever I go - even to restaurants where they will WILLINGLY give me water. For FREE even! Only in America. And I do occasionaly get some odd looks from waiters about having my own water, and every single time, I always think to myself, "I hope they think it's polyjuice potion."

--2--

A customer at work yesterday told her 3- and 2-year-old sons, "You are terrible children! I hate taking pictures with you!" And while it was TOTALLY TRUE - her children were horrible, and I equally hated taking their pictures - I was wise enough to keep that little tidbit of information tucked away inside my head for me and me alone to snuggle with. Plus, I didn't threaten the children with not receiving gum, money, and toys only to give them all to them anyway despite their awful, hell-spawn behavior. Now, I know I don't have any kids, but I DO own that cloth diaper, and I'm pretty sure that gives me enough child-rearing authority to say no wonder your kids are demons, ma'am. Have a nice day.

--3--

I'm making this for my mom's birthday this weekend:


And if it turns out good (well? I still don't know when to use which one, thank you public schooling), there will be a blog post allll about it next week.

And if it doesn't turn out well (good? I still don't know when to- oh wait, already did that), there will be an even funnier blog post allll about it next week, because that's what I do. I turn lemons into hysterical lemonade. Or mildy-humorous lemonade, anyway. Okay, fine, lemonade that typically causes people to glaze over by the 3rd paragraph. Whatever. I try.

--4--

Someone please, please, PLEASE find me the clip from last night's 30 Rock where...

>>>SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER!<<<


...Teddy Ruxpin is Kathy Geiss's lawyer.


>>>END SPOILER<<< style="text-align: center;">

--5--

Speaking of Things That Crack Me Up, read this post, specifically the answer to "Who is more stubborn?" Maybe no one will think it as funny as I do, but I lose it ever time I read that answer, probably because it is something I would totally do. I am a taurus after all.

Wow, an emotional eater and a stubborn bull. Is there anything about me that's not stereotypical? Aw, I feel so labeled and predictable now. :(

--6--

This is why I shouldn't be allowed to have peanut butter:


Do those look like knife tracks in there to you? That's because they're not. No, a knife has never seen the inside of a peanut butter jar in this house, because I'm too busy eating it straight out of the jar with my finger. Oh, I am a classy girl. And I'm just gonna warn you now, if you have peanut butter in your house, and you are not there to witness me, I will put my filthy finger in your PB jar too and NOT EVER SECOND GUESS THAT ACTION. It's a compulsion, I can't help it. I <3>

--7--

I hate ads, don't you? They're annoying and ugly and obvious attempt at a greedy profit. Ugh, they're the worst. Having said that, I have them. Just a friendly reminder that they're there. You know what to do.

Love ya. *wink*

Will need to change header from "tens" to "dozens!"

I don't know what happened yesterday - I didn't update, I didn't go pimp plug myself a million different places, I didn't do ANYTHING to bring attention to this here blog, yet somehow this happened:

(The attention was obviously short-lived, unfortunately)

I'm not telling you my page view numbers specifically, mostly because I don't want to brag about how awesomely high my readership is embarrass myself with my five hits a day (four of which are probably me)(and oh wait, I just admitted it anyway, lookythere), but I'll tell you that I had a(n approximately)* 281.25% increase in hits from the average day. That's right - a TRIPLE DIGIT INCREASE. And no idea why. My blog hasn't had such a spike in views since that one time I posted on a somewhat popular political-ish blog a quick and innocent comment about my virginity. And how I still had it.

By the way, nice to meet you, New Reader(s). Sometimes I share fun tidbits about myself.

*It's like I went all E.E. Cummings there for a second.

---

Quick story about how my karma was all out of whack at work today: I somehow managed to hang up on THREE people (IN A ROW!), I took 15 pictures (out of the 30 picture limit we're supposed to stay under) before I realized I didn't have one of the lights/flash umbrella things on (you can tell by my use technical terms how well trained I am) and all of the pictures were ruined, and I told someone that her 13-month- old daughter was beautiful. Except her daughter had a penis.

He later peed on me in his naked shoot.

---

Skittles got her suchers taken out today, which was far worse on me than it was on her, what with having to hold her shaking-with-terror body down and look into those sad, puppy-dog eyes (literally, actually). I don't know if it actually hurt her or anything, but last time she was at the Vet, they took out some of her body parts and tucked other body parts back in then stuck her in a tiny cage all by her pathetic self, which I can only imagine was such a pleasant experience. But whatever, the REAL important part of the story here is that FINALLY, SKITTLES HAD A BATH. Praise the Lord, my dog is clean.

Taken post-bath, and isn't she so adorably pitiful? It's probably hard to tell with the picture being so blurry, but Imatellya it's harder than you think to take a picture with a right-handed camera in your left (and non-dominant!) hand while holding a small, shivering dog in your other.

(By the way, I feel like I've posted a lot of pictures of myself on here lately, so please let me say that it's not me being vain that I had to include me in the picture with my dog. I tried taking a picture of her after her bath, but this is how it turned out:


See her? DO YOU? That's because she's NOT THERE. Nope, when she's soaking wet and desperate to dry off, she's a regular speeding bullet, nothing but a blur as she runs from one room to another as though if only she could run fast enough, the water would eventually fall behind from, I dunno, exhaustion or poor diet or something. So by the time I press the button, she's already out of the frame. And that's why I hold her.)


Then there's this picture in which Skittles is the cutest sad thing I've ever seen (and her ears are HUGE! She looks like a chihuahua), but guuuuh who is that not-at-all-hot mess holding her? Blegh. I'm never gonna tilt my head into the 4th quadrant ever, EVER again. Too many chins, man. Too many chins. Looking down is so overrated anyway.

And because, you know, FEMALE INSECURITIES AND ALL, I'm not gonna end with that horrible picture of me. I just can't do it.

I'm gonna end with THIS horrible picture. Ha!

Making do with the things you win

I don't know about any of you, but when a blog I read has a giveaway, I enter. Doesn't matter what it is, if all I have to do to enter is leave a comment at the end of the post, I go for it. A double broiler, cowboy boots, a trip to Santa Fe - yep, there's been some heart-breakers to see won by others, but what can you do? Well, you can enter them all and not discriminate the prizes - law of averages says you have to win something at SOME point, right?

And that's the story of how I won a cloth diaper and cover.

Which I now use all the time. On my many, many babies. That I totally have.


You have to admit, it is a fancy cloth diaper. It ain't your grandma's nappy, that's for sure. Seems cloth diapers went the way of the television and went from black and white (or okay, maybe just white) to color. COLOR! All this technology, it makes my head spin. I even got to pick out the colors I wanted for my prize, and one day my future child will have the cutest pooping repository in the world.

(At least for three hours or so. Then I'm screwed. I only have the one, see.)

Which begs the question, what do I do with it until then? It's too big for me, and anyway, I'm potty trained and have been for a long time. Must be going on a few years by now. I thought about putting it in my hope chest, but then I realized that I don't have a hope chest and now I have no idea where my dowry has gotten to! Probably the 1950s. But whatever, what's a girl to do with a pretty cloth diaper with no deliciously plump baby's bottom to stick in it?

Well...

...it makes a great helmet. Or it makes a helmet anyway. I don't know how "great" it would be at saving your head against being hit by anything harder than a sponge, but...uh, it's soft! Hard helmets always give me a headache, so ha! No more!

It makes a great bib. Now I don't know how much danger one is in of Chex Cereal staining their clothes, but it was the only foodstuffs in my room (those 10 steps to the kitchen are really too much to ask of me) other than cough drops, and it gets the point across. Note that this is also how I eat everything in real life - head first, no utensils, and with a deeply disturbing crazed look in my eyes. Don't ever touch my food. Ever.

(It's gonna take a special man to love me some day. Very special.)


Worried about the Swine Flu? So was I. You can see the panic it in my eyes (which is always there, but at this moment it was specific to the Swine Flu). But no more! Why use those scratchy, flimsy paper-thin hospital masks that barely hold back the sneeze of a single atom to protect your precious immune system when you can guard it with a multi-layered fortress of cozy, poop-resistant cloth? And don't feel self-conscious about how you might look. In the end, you'll be laughing all the way to the hospital, to where you'll be driving all your non-diaper-protected friends.

(At least, that's the kind of friend I am. I'd laugh. I'd laugh a lot.)

And finally, go bold and make a fashion statement with the diaper babushka! Keeps the hair out of your face, keeps your ear warm in winter, gives you a great conversation piece (or makes you a great conversation piece)...all kinds of good stuff. Be ahead of the trend for once!

By the way, this was supposed to be my "fierce" look, but, um, no. No, it's not. Not at all. I look more like a dying cancer patient. Guess who's never gonna be a model - THIS GIRL. Oh, woe is me.

Moral of the story? Never let the prize dissuade you from trying. There is always a use to be found for it.

7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 5)

--1--

I started typing this blog last night (you know, on FRIDAY, like I am supposed to do), but my very first topic ended up being far too long for a "quick take," which is why I decided to just finish writing it, save it for a future post, and try this post again tomorrow this morning.

--2--

You have NO IDEA how excited I am to be able to give my dog a bath Monday. Oh, I've been counting down the days since she came home from the vet's. She smells like death. Actually she smells like an anthropomorphic Death whose vagina recently fell out. And her hair is all sticky from where I've dropped ice cream on her. Twice. Okay, three times. Don't judge me. She looks like one of the dogs from those awful, awful, awful Sarah McClaucghkauchlaghcklin (that's how you spell it, right?) commercials. Skittles walks into a room, and suddenly "Arms of the Angels" starts playing in my head. It's incredibly pathetic.

--3--

I don't usually tell many people this, mostly because I don't want Dateline tracking me down to interview me and give me all sorts of fame and glory - blegh, who wants THAT - but I'm kind of psychic (emphasis on the "kind of.") It's a very specific and narrow field of psychic vision that I have, which is that I am often blessed with the foresight of what episode of a television show is going to come on. Oooo, eerie, yes, but don't freak out. I swear, I'm harmless. Now, it's not something I can do on command. You can't just ask me to predict an episode and expect me to do it (so a fat lot of good it'll do me at parties, psh). No, what happens is that out of the absolute blue, a random episode of some random TV show just pops into my head. There's no prompting involved, nothing around me ever reminds me of said TV show which then leads me to think of a particular episode. It's just like someone places the thought into my brain without even asking me (the NERVE), and within 24 hours, that episode will be on TV. I know, what a gift, right?! Totally going places with this one. I was merely a young lass of 4 when this first happened to me - I, er...um, "saw" a certain episode of "Sharon, Lois & Bram's Elephant Show" and wouldn' t you know, a few hours later there it was. Ta da! And it's been happening sporadically ever since. Doesn't even matter if the TV show is canceled, if it pops into my head, it'll be on. Guaranteed.

Amazing.

--4--

I don't have a number 4.

--5--

I leave for Disney in 66 days, and my goodness, the anticipation is going to be the end of me. Also, the end of my clean underwear.

During my first College Program (from now on - DCP), well, let's just say it didn't start out so great. I was initially put in the Magic Kingdom toll booth, and it was even more horrible than it sounds. First of all the toll booths are TWO MILES away from the actual park it self (a mile from the Ticket and Transportation Center and then a mile-ride on the monorail from there to the park). So I was working at Disney without actually being anywhere near Disney. Then, there was only one other CP (College Program-er) who really did not like me at all, and all the other people we worked with were old, retired men (not a single one of them was under the age of 60). Of course, I just stood by myself in a booth all day, and even our breaks were taken alone (and in a booth-sized room actually, which included the bathroom so the whole thing smelled like old man PISS), so it's not like I talked to any of them that much anyway. And then there was the exhaust fumes - my throat was on fire by the end of every shift. I fought tooth and nail to be transferred ANYWHERE, I genuinely didn't care where. I said I'd be a custodial worker just so long as I could be in the park. Eventually I did get transferred - to Splash Mountain no less, and I couldn't believe I was given such a fantastic position considering the fact that I said I'd take ANYTHING. Plus, out of 6000 CPs, over 100 requested to be transferred, and I was only one of THREE to be granted her request, so you better believe I praise God for my fortune every time I think about it, because the transfer literally made my DCP. It was the best thing that ever happened to me, because the remainder of my DCP was the most wonderful time of my life, and that would not have happened had I been stuck in the toll booth all those months.

So, you can imagine that I'm a bit nervous going back since we don't find our specific assignments until we get down there. I know I'm in Attractions, but that's it. At first, I was terrified that I might, again, be given a role that I don't like, and given the number of people who pulled strings for me to be transfered last time, it's not something I would attempt to do a second time. I wouldn't want to seem ungrateful for the opportunity, either. But then I thought about it some more and realized that there really are very few attractions I think I might not enjoy, but no matter what, I'd at least be in the parks. I'd be at Disney World. That was all I wanted when I wanted a transfer last time, and really, even if I were working, oh say, the Tea Cups, my "office" would be Fantasyland and think of how awesome my view of the fireworks would be every night. Granted, I really don't want to work anywhere in Fantasyland, I'd much rather be on Tower of Terror or Test Track or back on Splash Mountain, or even something smaller like The Living Seas with Nemo or Star Tours would be fine; but you know what? No matter what I get, it won't be the toll booth. That's the important thing. And even if I DO hate my job down there, I hate my job NOW, but at least then I'll be hating my job at Disney World where I can spend all my free time.

Doesn't stop me from praying about it every night (along with world peace and orphans and blah blah blah), but, well, I think I'll be okay. And I'm incredibly excited.

--6--

Anyone have any idea what happens to mail that you forget to put the apartment # on? It's been a week and a half and I've not gotten it Return-to-Sender'd, so I assume it either arrived or it's lost in the snail-mail-o-sphere somewhere.

--7--

Struggling to think of a 7th thing here, so I'm just going to link to my still-in-progress West Coast trip photo trip report over at Theme Park Review. I've only got the first 6 1/2 days so far (day 7 is half posted), but I'm trying to update it once a week till it's finished. So if you're a fan of roller coasters, theme parks, and my horrible writing, then you might find it entertaining.

Time for a food post.

I love this woman. LOVE. HER. I want her house, her ranch, her husband (OH. EMM. GEE. I didn't know they made 'em so handsome), and - holy crap - her love story (minus the excessive sweat and weird skin breakout on her wedding day).

I also want every single one of her recipes, and lucky for me, she wants the whole world to have her recipes too.

That's how I came about the following recipe which has quickly become one of my favorite things to make for lunch. It's cheap, it's simple, it's super tasty and I could eat it every day. Sometimes I do. And best of all, it's a single-serving-friendly recipe, which is great for all the lonely souls like me out there! Hooray!

First, let's start with a potato:
Boil the potato in lightly-salted water 'until its "fork-tender" as the recipe says, but I'm gonna give you a little tip that I learned the hard way - it takes a LONG ASS TIME for a potato to boil to "fork-tender" point. Yeah. Did not know that. The first time I tried this recipe, I took the potato out after 15 minutes or so, tried smashing it with a glass (one of the next steps), and instead of gently collapsing underneath the pressure, it went flying across the room and hit the adjacent wall. Turns out it takes more along the lines of a half hour (at the very least) to get the potato soft enough. Who knew?

Next, while the potato is boiling, pour some olive oil onto a cookie sheet. Don't skimp on this step, lest the potato be forever stuck (and it will). And since this step doesn't take as long as it takes the potato to boil, spend the remaining 29 minutes and 55 seconds checking e-mail, spending time with your loved ones, curing the common cold...whatever you feel like. Make this recipe your own.

8 days later, after the potato has finally softened an adequate amount from all the boiling, place it on the cookie sheet and smash it with a potato masher. Or if you're a backwoods hillbilly like me who does not possess such a totally commonplace and necessary kitchen utensil such as the potato masher, the bottom of a glass seems to work just fine.

And now it looks like this.


Next, use a pastry brush to generously spread some more olive oil on the top.

Next, sprinkle some Kosher Salt on top. Not regular salt. Kosher salt. This is very important because I it is important that food be as ethnically and religiously as diverse as possible. Like our President. Also, because there is a difference in taste. TRUST ME. Do not, oh foolish mortal, use the unclean salt on thine here taters. (Well, that was a mish mosh of grammatical personalities, wasn't it?)


And don't skimp on the salt either. It really makes or breaks the potato.


Now, Ree's recipe calls for just salt and fresh ground pepper as far as I can remember, which I DID use, but whenever I see the words, "season with salt and pepper," my brain takes that as, "season to taste," and I throw whatever the hell else I feel like on it. Here I'm sprinkling some Oregano. By the way, shaking your one hand vigorously apparently causes your entire body to shake as well, as seen by the blurriness of the photo.

(Just checked the original recipe and I see that Ree also uses fresh chives. Not something I typically carry in the house, which is why I make up my own substitute. I'll have to try the chives thing sometime though, and I'll let you know how it goes)


Now, this particular time, I also used some sort of creole seasoning. I know - creole and oregano? REALLY, Natalie? But that's just how I am - I am a LOOSE CANON when it comes to herbs and spices. Take it or leave it. Normally for this recipe, I use some sort of steak seasoning that we have laying around, but the creole seasoning was just a culinary whim I decided to go with, and while it was still tasty, I do prefer it my "usual" way.

Next, bake on the top rack of a super-hot 450-degree oven for 20-25 minutes. Make the edges black and crispy because therein lies the flavor. Observe:

Oh yeah.


Now, Ree leaves it here. And I'm sure they're perfectly delectable just as is. But when have I EVER shied away from the option to use cheese and sour cream? NEVER. Never, ever, EVER.

Which is why my version always looks like this:


And there you have it. Great as a side, or if you eat like a bird (as I do), it's filling enough for a whole meal. Try it. Taste it. Love it.

The end.