The government shut down last week for four days, and Friday it was a late start day – I (wisely) opted to stay home that day, as well. The snow two-fer succeeded in shutting down the city, making a mess of the roads, and shutting down supplies – grocery stores ran out of everything from milk and bread to condoms (no joke), and even my local pub had to stop serving food one afternoon.
Luckily, having been out of town for the three weeks prior and coming home to bare cupboards, I had stocked up – I had treats from Trader Joe’s, plenty of coffee and milk, and a cabinet full of red wine. Not to mention a five pound bag of potatoes, a bag of onions, and another full of oranges – proof that I should not be allowed in a grocery store without a list. In case you were wondering, it is possible to eat potatoes two ways in the same meal.
But what turned out to be the best thing on hand was something I’d gotten a month or more ago, and had been sitting in my fridge all along. Because after a tramp outside in the snow, or mid-afternoon when webmail has kicked you off again or yet another call gets dropped due to blizzard winds outside, nothing warms up a cuppa like a healthy dose of Irish crème.
So when the milk runs out, my coffee won’t have to go without.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
I tried...
The week before Christmas, while I was planning menus and making grocery lists I got ambitious. That combined with the extra time at home in the evening meant that I cooked dinner a couple of nights in a row - invented a pesto sauce from random ingredients, used lots of vegetables, the works. There were leftovers for lunches the next day at work, and the fridge was stocked with tupperware.
So then came a night when I felt that I had time to cook, but insufficient fresh ingredients. But I was on a roll of balanced meals, and even though I didn't feel like cooking, I was feeling guilty for my recent cheese and red wine streak. So I opened the freezer, and pulled out one of the meals I keep on hand for quick packed-lunch virtue. After five minutes I pulled the plastic bowl out of the microwave and my forehead wrinkled as I looked at pasta that was both over and under cooked at the same time, and I took a bite of bland sauce that made my mouth sad. I stood there at the kitchen counter for a minute, pondering the worth of virtue, and the five bucks this microwave disaster had cost me. Then, with a decisiveness that I would not regret, I picked up the bowl and found the trash can, pulled out the stand-by provisions (cheese, salami, and alcohol) and created the dinner that yes, I may have four nights out of five, but hey, add an apple (a usual accompaniment) and tell me that this isn't a balanced meal:
Judge me if you will, but if this is wrong, I'm still living right.
So then came a night when I felt that I had time to cook, but insufficient fresh ingredients. But I was on a roll of balanced meals, and even though I didn't feel like cooking, I was feeling guilty for my recent cheese and red wine streak. So I opened the freezer, and pulled out one of the meals I keep on hand for quick packed-lunch virtue. After five minutes I pulled the plastic bowl out of the microwave and my forehead wrinkled as I looked at pasta that was both over and under cooked at the same time, and I took a bite of bland sauce that made my mouth sad. I stood there at the kitchen counter for a minute, pondering the worth of virtue, and the five bucks this microwave disaster had cost me. Then, with a decisiveness that I would not regret, I picked up the bowl and found the trash can, pulled out the stand-by provisions (cheese, salami, and alcohol) and created the dinner that yes, I may have four nights out of five, but hey, add an apple (a usual accompaniment) and tell me that this isn't a balanced meal:
Judge me if you will, but if this is wrong, I'm still living right.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
...and when she caves, she caves absolutely.
I'm the kind of girl who hates things absolutely, until I love them unconditionally. Like the color pink, or cell phones, or cars.
The first cave was cell phones. When I went to grad school, moving to the big city, my mom made me get a cell phone. I was pretty sure I would never use it. One year later, I was living without a landline and my thumbs were texting maniacs. Now I've got an iPhone that is almost never more than ten feet from me and bells a whistles tell me about emails, text messages, and Tweets. I go whole days at home without turning on a computer, because I can just check it all on my handy phone.
A couple of years later I fell in love with a pink Puma t-shirt. Suddenly it was a good thing I was a broke grad student, because I would have bought a lot of pink to regret later - I'm no longer anti-pink, but it's not my favorite color.
Nine and a half years, though. Almost a decade I lived without a car, and I loved it. I got to read and people watch on my way to work, pay attention to the scenery, think, and live in a world without car payments, gas stations, or fuel emissions. It was wonderful. I walked to grocery markets, I took buses and taxis - I even ran to catch public transportation. I Facebooked and Tweeted about the things I saw on my daily rides. But then, things began to go wrong - my 45 min commute (each way) began to slow. There was a Metro crash that had people in Boston calling me to ensure my safety, and as a result WMATA slowed down trains, and the wait between trains went from 3 minutes to over ten - during rush hour! After realizing that my commute was consistently an hour and fifteen minutes (again, each way), and sometimes longer, I started thinking. Then WMATA announced a revamp of the monthly benefits system that takes my pre-tax dollars and turns them into Metro fare. Suddenly, instead of monthly rollover, I was going to lose any money left on my card at the end of the month. A daily rider with an unpredictable travel schedule, I stood to lose 30$/week if I had to go out of town for work unexpectedly. My thinking took a more serious turn. And then, I got a ride home from work. Lady and I were going out to dinner in my neighborhood, so she swung me by my place so I could drop some stuff off and change. We pulled away from my office at 5:05pm, and pulled into the drive of my building at 5:25pm - after going around the block and passing a whole bunch of parking spaces.
That was pretty much it, I drafted monthly budgets, researched mileage per gallon and estimated monthly gas costs, looked into parking and started timing my daily public transit time. All this research was for the future, I figured, because I knew the car I was leaning towards, and it wasn't just sitting on the lot waiting for me. The Toyota Prius III, with sunroof package - SOLAR sunroof package - had to be reserved, and waited for, 2-3 months out. But that baby has a sunroof - a SOLAR sunroof, where solar panels power a ventilation system that keeps the car at the same temperature as the outside world. No more coming out to a car interior heated to a sweltering 130 degrees, because a fan that didn't drain battery life would ensure that the car was as only as gross as the outside world.
So thinking 2-3 months in advance, I put out feelers to local dealers, and by most I was laughed at, told that the solar sunroof package came with the Prius IV, and why wouldn't I want leather seats with butt warmers? I stood firm, however, unconcerned about the amount of time it might take - I wasn't in a hurry. Then, however, I got a call from the one dealer who listened to me and said he could make it happen. The model I wanted, complete with solar sun roof package, and the color I wanted, was coming in - how fortuitous. So I caved. Completely. I reserved parking spots at home and at work, and my commute is now twenty minutes. I have time for both coffee and the blow dryer in the morning, and I'm in comfy pants on the couch no later than six, and often by five-thirty. No one gives me dirty looks for touching them on the seat next to me. I've cooked dinner twice in the past work week, and was able to see my parents on the weekend without spending two hours getting there. I cannot tell a lie, I'm in love with a piece of machinery. I could drink coffee with impunity on my morning commute - if my commute weren't short enough that I don't feel the itch for my next caffeine hit. My iPhone loves my car, because the car stereo speakers so gladly sync up with the little gadget, and the bluetooth makes its connection so I can answer a phone call by shifting a finger on the steering wheel. A friendly navigation systems dings when I should make a turn - though she doesn't understand what I'm doing on the Rock Creek Parkway.
I've caved, and all I need now is a name for the new girl. In college my car was named Phil - short for Mephistopheles, because he was devilish, both in fun and ability to fail me unexpectedly. This car, however, is a female, and I've been thinking about names - crossed off Sylvia and Lydia, pondering Andromeda and Iphigenia, I could call her Genie for short - and have had Julia suggested to me. She's sleek and smart, and her 50mpg makes her eco-friendly and frugal, as well. Other suggestions?
PS - there are still things I hate absolutely. I never see myself caving on the issue of hearts. Blech.
The first cave was cell phones. When I went to grad school, moving to the big city, my mom made me get a cell phone. I was pretty sure I would never use it. One year later, I was living without a landline and my thumbs were texting maniacs. Now I've got an iPhone that is almost never more than ten feet from me and bells a whistles tell me about emails, text messages, and Tweets. I go whole days at home without turning on a computer, because I can just check it all on my handy phone.
A couple of years later I fell in love with a pink Puma t-shirt. Suddenly it was a good thing I was a broke grad student, because I would have bought a lot of pink to regret later - I'm no longer anti-pink, but it's not my favorite color.
Nine and a half years, though. Almost a decade I lived without a car, and I loved it. I got to read and people watch on my way to work, pay attention to the scenery, think, and live in a world without car payments, gas stations, or fuel emissions. It was wonderful. I walked to grocery markets, I took buses and taxis - I even ran to catch public transportation. I Facebooked and Tweeted about the things I saw on my daily rides. But then, things began to go wrong - my 45 min commute (each way) began to slow. There was a Metro crash that had people in Boston calling me to ensure my safety, and as a result WMATA slowed down trains, and the wait between trains went from 3 minutes to over ten - during rush hour! After realizing that my commute was consistently an hour and fifteen minutes (again, each way), and sometimes longer, I started thinking. Then WMATA announced a revamp of the monthly benefits system that takes my pre-tax dollars and turns them into Metro fare. Suddenly, instead of monthly rollover, I was going to lose any money left on my card at the end of the month. A daily rider with an unpredictable travel schedule, I stood to lose 30$/week if I had to go out of town for work unexpectedly. My thinking took a more serious turn. And then, I got a ride home from work. Lady and I were going out to dinner in my neighborhood, so she swung me by my place so I could drop some stuff off and change. We pulled away from my office at 5:05pm, and pulled into the drive of my building at 5:25pm - after going around the block and passing a whole bunch of parking spaces.
That was pretty much it, I drafted monthly budgets, researched mileage per gallon and estimated monthly gas costs, looked into parking and started timing my daily public transit time. All this research was for the future, I figured, because I knew the car I was leaning towards, and it wasn't just sitting on the lot waiting for me. The Toyota Prius III, with sunroof package - SOLAR sunroof package - had to be reserved, and waited for, 2-3 months out. But that baby has a sunroof - a SOLAR sunroof, where solar panels power a ventilation system that keeps the car at the same temperature as the outside world. No more coming out to a car interior heated to a sweltering 130 degrees, because a fan that didn't drain battery life would ensure that the car was as only as gross as the outside world.
So thinking 2-3 months in advance, I put out feelers to local dealers, and by most I was laughed at, told that the solar sunroof package came with the Prius IV, and why wouldn't I want leather seats with butt warmers? I stood firm, however, unconcerned about the amount of time it might take - I wasn't in a hurry. Then, however, I got a call from the one dealer who listened to me and said he could make it happen. The model I wanted, complete with solar sun roof package, and the color I wanted, was coming in - how fortuitous. So I caved. Completely. I reserved parking spots at home and at work, and my commute is now twenty minutes. I have time for both coffee and the blow dryer in the morning, and I'm in comfy pants on the couch no later than six, and often by five-thirty. No one gives me dirty looks for touching them on the seat next to me. I've cooked dinner twice in the past work week, and was able to see my parents on the weekend without spending two hours getting there. I cannot tell a lie, I'm in love with a piece of machinery. I could drink coffee with impunity on my morning commute - if my commute weren't short enough that I don't feel the itch for my next caffeine hit. My iPhone loves my car, because the car stereo speakers so gladly sync up with the little gadget, and the bluetooth makes its connection so I can answer a phone call by shifting a finger on the steering wheel. A friendly navigation systems dings when I should make a turn - though she doesn't understand what I'm doing on the Rock Creek Parkway.
I've caved, and all I need now is a name for the new girl. In college my car was named Phil - short for Mephistopheles, because he was devilish, both in fun and ability to fail me unexpectedly. This car, however, is a female, and I've been thinking about names - crossed off Sylvia and Lydia, pondering Andromeda and Iphigenia, I could call her Genie for short - and have had Julia suggested to me. She's sleek and smart, and her 50mpg makes her eco-friendly and frugal, as well. Other suggestions?
PS - there are still things I hate absolutely. I never see myself caving on the issue of hearts. Blech.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Costume FAIL
I'm not a big fan of Halloween - or any holiday when all the people in the world suddenly decide to descend on my favorite places and act like college freshmen again, thus, I aim to enjoy my birthday enough to be hungover to New Year's Eve each year.
Anyway, if one must go out for Halloween, I think costumes should involve creativity - buying ready-made costumes just seems like cheating. Coming up with something out of my at-home supplies is a challenge. This year I had plans to avoid the holiday altogether, but my aunt sent me an invite to her party, and so I stood in front of my closet and pondered the possibilities. My wardrobe has shrunk over the past two years to focus on work clothes and weekend warrior gear (adventure pants and t-shirts), so there wasn't a whole lot to choose from. The result?
Weekday Walk of Shame.
I created a hairdo my friend Jane would describe as "naughty hair" to top off my raccoon eyes, missing earring, and mis-buttoned shirt. If I'd had a pair of heels I could break one of, my look would have been complete. Off I went, arriving to find my aunt's triangular deck transformed into a pirate ship, complete with cellophane waves and a skeleton bearing a burning tikki torch. I walked in to find my two aunts doling out candy to neighborhood children with skull shaped goblets of wine in their hands. I walked in and gave them each a hug, only to hear, "where is your costume?" and "you're missing an earring!" I explained it was part of the look, but when I said 'walk of shame' there was no recognition in their eyes, and I realized that I had picked the wrong audience for my costume. I also gave them a hard time for the implication that that was how I left the house, but really, I think I'm the loser in this equation...
So the lesson learned? Subtlety has no place on Halloween, and every cliche has an audience. Trick or ... well, there was no treat there.
Anyway, if one must go out for Halloween, I think costumes should involve creativity - buying ready-made costumes just seems like cheating. Coming up with something out of my at-home supplies is a challenge. This year I had plans to avoid the holiday altogether, but my aunt sent me an invite to her party, and so I stood in front of my closet and pondered the possibilities. My wardrobe has shrunk over the past two years to focus on work clothes and weekend warrior gear (adventure pants and t-shirts), so there wasn't a whole lot to choose from. The result?
Weekday Walk of Shame.
I created a hairdo my friend Jane would describe as "naughty hair" to top off my raccoon eyes, missing earring, and mis-buttoned shirt. If I'd had a pair of heels I could break one of, my look would have been complete. Off I went, arriving to find my aunt's triangular deck transformed into a pirate ship, complete with cellophane waves and a skeleton bearing a burning tikki torch. I walked in to find my two aunts doling out candy to neighborhood children with skull shaped goblets of wine in their hands. I walked in and gave them each a hug, only to hear, "where is your costume?" and "you're missing an earring!" I explained it was part of the look, but when I said 'walk of shame' there was no recognition in their eyes, and I realized that I had picked the wrong audience for my costume. I also gave them a hard time for the implication that that was how I left the house, but really, I think I'm the loser in this equation...
So the lesson learned? Subtlety has no place on Halloween, and every cliche has an audience. Trick or ... well, there was no treat there.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
wine rings in my study book.
So I am at least committed enough to the possibility of going back to grad school that I have a GRE study book. That's right. I have to take the damn GRE again. I can't think of the right idiom for a non-relgious person to use to fully express how glad I am that it's just the general test, but I haven't taken a standardized test in over nine years. I bought a study book. And have drawn up a study schedule. And have even almost fully complied with it. I have a points reward system.
Ironically, my job entails a lob of technical writing and not much in the computation department, so my diagnostic test shows a better verbal score than math. I pretty much wanted to scream. I want to do my best on the math section, so that's where I'm stressing, pushing for speed to make sure I get it all in, and making stupid mistakes.
My new officemate reminded me the other day that stupid is a judgement word. She's right. It's still exactly what I meant.
-- Posted via iPhone.
Ironically, my job entails a lob of technical writing and not much in the computation department, so my diagnostic test shows a better verbal score than math. I pretty much wanted to scream. I want to do my best on the math section, so that's where I'm stressing, pushing for speed to make sure I get it all in, and making stupid mistakes.
My new officemate reminded me the other day that stupid is a judgement word. She's right. It's still exactly what I meant.
-- Posted via iPhone.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Old is relative.
I met up with a friend from grad school tonight after work. He has been married as long as I've known him - met his wife in college, got married right after, and spent grad school going home early from the bar while the third in our drinking trio and I went on to second bar to continue our debauchery.
No longer true, the divorce is under way, and my friend finds himself back on the market. So tonight we were in a decided meat market - the average age of females was perhaps 25, and most men had at least a decade on them. It was the typical scene - giggly girls nodding at men who weren't saying anything interesting but their clothes and tone spoke of money and security to the lucky girl who could catch them. The girls were young and pretty, so while I turned a jaded eye to my drink and thought of being home wih my novel, my friend's eyes lit up like a dieter brought to the buffet line. I guess it's all relative.
-- Posted via iPhone.
No longer true, the divorce is under way, and my friend finds himself back on the market. So tonight we were in a decided meat market - the average age of females was perhaps 25, and most men had at least a decade on them. It was the typical scene - giggly girls nodding at men who weren't saying anything interesting but their clothes and tone spoke of money and security to the lucky girl who could catch them. The girls were young and pretty, so while I turned a jaded eye to my drink and thought of being home wih my novel, my friend's eyes lit up like a dieter brought to the buffet line. I guess it's all relative.
-- Posted via iPhone.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Return to routine...
I'm back on the bus on a lovely summer day in DC, headed back to work after a week so relaxing I feel as if I'm sort of pouring myself back into the everyday mold. I'm working on a post about vacation, complete with pictures of both salt water and sunburn. But in the meantime I'm finding comfort in familiarity - the sound of coffee while I'm washing dishes, a cat on my lap as I allow myself a few minutes of reading, even the bus ride with its characters.
Also, I planned vacation so I'd come back to a two-day work week. Brilliant.
-- Posted via iPhone.
Also, I planned vacation so I'd come back to a two-day work week. Brilliant.
-- Posted via iPhone.
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