hearing the word "else" pronounced "elts" over and over and over again.
30 April 2007
Barrier of Evil
To anyone who knew me prior to my semester abroad experience in college, I was quite an intense person. I didn't really have a sense of humor and I didn't talk or smile very often. I may have developed, in my first two years in school, somewhat of a reputation in our extremely small dorm (only 70 or so people) as a person not to be messed with.
When I spent the semester in Ireland, a lot changed for me. I opened up to people and learned how to laugh and smile. I learned to like people and began to embrace things that were out of my control.
But few people back in Indiana had a clue that I'd be different upon my return, and for the freshman who entered our dorm that semester, what they heard of me "put the fear" into them, as one of my friends told me. I don't necessarily know what stories were told, what tall tales the guys spun about me, but there was one freshman who was terrified of me.
I tend to be a bit sarcastic, and sometimes, even still, people can't tell if I'm joking or serious, but this guy, J., he could never tell.
Because of his reactions to me, it became a sort of game for me to see how long it took for me to scare him senseless, or at least to make him walk away or turn and run (which did happen). [Leslie, my experience with J. helped me understand why you tortured me in our younger years...it was fun for you. I see that now.]
Last week I was telling a colleague about J. and his fear of me, combined with a recent story about how unapproachable I can make myself, if I'm in an uncomfortable spot.
My colleague responded with a laugh, saying, "I guess I haven't mastered the Barrier of Evil that you've created around yourself, your aura."
Thus, it finally has a name, the image, the manner in which I conducted myself for so many years. My own bubble--the Barrier of Evil.
When I spent the semester in Ireland, a lot changed for me. I opened up to people and learned how to laugh and smile. I learned to like people and began to embrace things that were out of my control.
But few people back in Indiana had a clue that I'd be different upon my return, and for the freshman who entered our dorm that semester, what they heard of me "put the fear" into them, as one of my friends told me. I don't necessarily know what stories were told, what tall tales the guys spun about me, but there was one freshman who was terrified of me.
I tend to be a bit sarcastic, and sometimes, even still, people can't tell if I'm joking or serious, but this guy, J., he could never tell.
Because of his reactions to me, it became a sort of game for me to see how long it took for me to scare him senseless, or at least to make him walk away or turn and run (which did happen). [Leslie, my experience with J. helped me understand why you tortured me in our younger years...it was fun for you. I see that now.]
Last week I was telling a colleague about J. and his fear of me, combined with a recent story about how unapproachable I can make myself, if I'm in an uncomfortable spot.
My colleague responded with a laugh, saying, "I guess I haven't mastered the Barrier of Evil that you've created around yourself, your aura."
Thus, it finally has a name, the image, the manner in which I conducted myself for so many years. My own bubble--the Barrier of Evil.
25 April 2007
Reason #1,026 I should be single for life, or Reason #554 I should have stopped talking to him months ago
"Remember that one time we were friends...What happened?"
"I'm just not good at being friends with girls I've been involved with..."
And just like that, I lost a friend.
It shouldn't be that easy.
"I'm just not good at being friends with girls I've been involved with..."
And just like that, I lost a friend.
It shouldn't be that easy.
21 April 2007
It all started last Sunday
This week produced a sort of stress that I couldn't have predicted in a million years. I knew that I had to take a written test at the license bureau in order to switch over from an AZ license, so I spent the late night hours on Saturday and Monday reading the manual online. I had designated Tuesday as the day for testing and switching licenses, as well as renewing my plates.
Following a rather productive day at work, I drove to the closest BMV branch, noting that the IN.gov web site said it had an average of a 10-minute wait. But the place was packed as Tuesday is the only day they remain open 'til 7pm - everyone who had business to do post-working hours was there. I saw one of the maintenance men who's helped put my office in order this semester. He'd been waiting 45 minutes by the time I got there.
After waiting 30-40 minutes myself, I realized I needed to walk up and say I needed to take the written test. I did so, and finished the test rather quickly, despite the racket produced by everyone in the waiting area (which was not at all separated from the "testing area" aside from a different type of desk--testing ones had desk arms). A small 2-year-old boy and his dad being the noisiest. While they were grading my test, Heather started filling out the computer form to expedite the process. She'd been there all day dealing with major computer problems and cranky patrons, but she was pleasant, even friendly.
She looked at all of my forms of identification and address verification, and another woman took my social security card to a back room to "run" something, though no one said what it was they were running. Heather also got me the correct new license plate with proper registration, and all was going very well until the woman who'd taken my soc. card called from the back room:
"Heather, wait a second. Just wait a minute."
Heather asked if she'd need to push this into deferment, but the woman called, "just wait a second," before appearing from the back room with a piece of printed computer paper.
"What's the deal?" Heather asked.
The woman didn't speak, but held out the paper so only Heather could see, emphatically underlining a particular line on it with her finger and glancing at me with a strange expression.
"Oh, okay." Heather began gathering my pieces of identification, including my AZ license, which she'd tossed behind her into a trash receptacle as we'd begun the process.
"This is what you'll need to do..." and she pushed the pile towards me. "You'll need to go to the social security office and get a verification of your social security number."
When I asked why, she sucked air in through her teeth quickly and said, "oooh, um, I can't tell you that. All I can say is that it's for your protection and the protection of others that we take this precaution. In the age of identity theft, you can't be too careful."
At that point, my insides flipped, and with my mind racing, I could barely follow what was going on. She renewed my plates, though, and gave me the total amount I owed.
"How will you be paying?"
"Check," I said numbly, still processing the soc. card incident as I drew out my pen and checkbook.
A moment passed as I flipped through to the right check, and she stammered, "I can't take a check from you...You have an out-of-state driver's license."
I stared in complete shock. I had proof of my residence in hand, but that, apparently, wasn't enough. "Credit," I whispered.
I left in a daze. Had my identity been called into question twice in one week? Why did I need to go to the social security office? How did I even find one? Had someone stolen my identity - my soc. number or something? Were my bank accounts being drained right then as I stood blankly staring on the downtown sidewalk?
I was late, at that point, to my Tuesday evening class in Muncie, but I was determined to make it there and have a good night anyway. But when I started my car, I was greeted with a red light indicating I had no gas. I blew up.
I was shaking -- mixed fear and anger was coursing through my veins. I couldn't make it to class and do anything if I stopped for gas. I also realized that I didn't have time to visit a Social Security office in the next two days. Elaine was coming. I was in charge of meeting on Thursday with several faculty members. I had software training on Wednesday. I wouldn't be able to sort it all out until at least Friday. AND I HAD NO GAS IN MY CAR.
For two days I stewed over a stolen identity. Would people at the SSO believe I was me? Would they scrutinize my ID as the bouncer had done on Sunday? Would they accept my soc. card, as the license branch had not done Tuesday?
I was shaking when I arrived at the SSO on Friday afternoon, having taken a half-day at work. I was the only person in the place, but still had to take a numbered ticket and wait. A woman called my number. I stumbled over my words, telling her that the license branch had sent me over though I wasn't sure why.
"Verification of your social security number?"
"Sure," I said and shrugged.
She looked me up in the computer and printed something out verifying I was who I said I was. At least somebody believed me this week!
"They send just about everyone with an out-of-state license over here these days with that new computer system," she said, telling me more with those few words than the hundred from Heather's mouth on Tuesday.
I stopped by a different license branch, shortly thereafter, still very nervous that I'd be turned away yet again. I had all my documentation plus the SSO verification, but my hands were shaking.
The girl helping me asked why I had had to get the Soc. verification.
"I don't know," I said truthfully, "It was top secret. They wouldn't tell me."
She laughed and proceeded to explain that the "info check" they ran on my card was standard procedure for out-of-staters, like myself, and that they should have at least mentioned that to me.
Thus the ordeal ended. My identity was not stolen. I am who I say I am, in case any of you had started to doubt me.
With all of this behind me, I am now officially an IN resident with a license and plates to prove it.
Following a rather productive day at work, I drove to the closest BMV branch, noting that the IN.gov web site said it had an average of a 10-minute wait. But the place was packed as Tuesday is the only day they remain open 'til 7pm - everyone who had business to do post-working hours was there. I saw one of the maintenance men who's helped put my office in order this semester. He'd been waiting 45 minutes by the time I got there.
After waiting 30-40 minutes myself, I realized I needed to walk up and say I needed to take the written test. I did so, and finished the test rather quickly, despite the racket produced by everyone in the waiting area (which was not at all separated from the "testing area" aside from a different type of desk--testing ones had desk arms). A small 2-year-old boy and his dad being the noisiest. While they were grading my test, Heather started filling out the computer form to expedite the process. She'd been there all day dealing with major computer problems and cranky patrons, but she was pleasant, even friendly.
She looked at all of my forms of identification and address verification, and another woman took my social security card to a back room to "run" something, though no one said what it was they were running. Heather also got me the correct new license plate with proper registration, and all was going very well until the woman who'd taken my soc. card called from the back room:
"Heather, wait a second. Just wait a minute."
Heather asked if she'd need to push this into deferment, but the woman called, "just wait a second," before appearing from the back room with a piece of printed computer paper.
"What's the deal?" Heather asked.
The woman didn't speak, but held out the paper so only Heather could see, emphatically underlining a particular line on it with her finger and glancing at me with a strange expression.
"Oh, okay." Heather began gathering my pieces of identification, including my AZ license, which she'd tossed behind her into a trash receptacle as we'd begun the process.
"This is what you'll need to do..." and she pushed the pile towards me. "You'll need to go to the social security office and get a verification of your social security number."
When I asked why, she sucked air in through her teeth quickly and said, "oooh, um, I can't tell you that. All I can say is that it's for your protection and the protection of others that we take this precaution. In the age of identity theft, you can't be too careful."
At that point, my insides flipped, and with my mind racing, I could barely follow what was going on. She renewed my plates, though, and gave me the total amount I owed.
"How will you be paying?"
"Check," I said numbly, still processing the soc. card incident as I drew out my pen and checkbook.
A moment passed as I flipped through to the right check, and she stammered, "I can't take a check from you...You have an out-of-state driver's license."
I stared in complete shock. I had proof of my residence in hand, but that, apparently, wasn't enough. "Credit," I whispered.
I left in a daze. Had my identity been called into question twice in one week? Why did I need to go to the social security office? How did I even find one? Had someone stolen my identity - my soc. number or something? Were my bank accounts being drained right then as I stood blankly staring on the downtown sidewalk?
I was late, at that point, to my Tuesday evening class in Muncie, but I was determined to make it there and have a good night anyway. But when I started my car, I was greeted with a red light indicating I had no gas. I blew up.
I was shaking -- mixed fear and anger was coursing through my veins. I couldn't make it to class and do anything if I stopped for gas. I also realized that I didn't have time to visit a Social Security office in the next two days. Elaine was coming. I was in charge of meeting on Thursday with several faculty members. I had software training on Wednesday. I wouldn't be able to sort it all out until at least Friday. AND I HAD NO GAS IN MY CAR.
For two days I stewed over a stolen identity. Would people at the SSO believe I was me? Would they scrutinize my ID as the bouncer had done on Sunday? Would they accept my soc. card, as the license branch had not done Tuesday?
I was shaking when I arrived at the SSO on Friday afternoon, having taken a half-day at work. I was the only person in the place, but still had to take a numbered ticket and wait. A woman called my number. I stumbled over my words, telling her that the license branch had sent me over though I wasn't sure why.
"Verification of your social security number?"
"Sure," I said and shrugged.
She looked me up in the computer and printed something out verifying I was who I said I was. At least somebody believed me this week!
"They send just about everyone with an out-of-state license over here these days with that new computer system," she said, telling me more with those few words than the hundred from Heather's mouth on Tuesday.
I stopped by a different license branch, shortly thereafter, still very nervous that I'd be turned away yet again. I had all my documentation plus the SSO verification, but my hands were shaking.
The girl helping me asked why I had had to get the Soc. verification.
"I don't know," I said truthfully, "It was top secret. They wouldn't tell me."
She laughed and proceeded to explain that the "info check" they ran on my card was standard procedure for out-of-staters, like myself, and that they should have at least mentioned that to me.
Thus the ordeal ended. My identity was not stolen. I am who I say I am, in case any of you had started to doubt me.
With all of this behind me, I am now officially an IN resident with a license and plates to prove it.
17 April 2007
Morning revelation
Every time I drink a cup of coffee, within 15 minutes my eyes are painfully dry and gritty.
I knew coffee was a diuretic, but come on.
I knew coffee was a diuretic, but come on.
16 April 2007
Denison and Rosie in concert
It's not very often that an opportunity arises for a fairly inexpensive trip to the "big city" to see some of your favorite musicians. A few weeks ago, Cat invited me to a cheap show of Denison Whitmer and Rosie Thomas in Chicago at the Beat Kitchen, a cool bar/music venue, that was taking place last night. Instantly, I said yes. I didn't care if I had anything planned - seeing these two along with Cat and her friend and Mike (who I quickly invited) was sure to be the highlight of my spring semester. Cat's friend was driving, so all I had to do was show up.
We arrived in Chi-town a bit early, met up with Stephen for some Chipotle, and proceeded to the venue a bit early. The show was rated AA or All Ages, and therefore the bar's bouncer was tagging wrists for the "of age" crowd and marking others, who would have to stay in the back/music room.
As we entered, I whipped out my Arizona driver's license. It's a long story, not worth the space here, but it always causes whomever is inspecting it to pause, and it always brings about a comment. Most of the time, because it expires in the year 2047, rather than a normal 5 or 10 year span, like normal state licenses.
The bouncer was out to get people last night. He was looking for trouble, in the form of underage people. The thought never once crossed my mind, being that I'm 24, that I would fall victim to his overzealous duty to his job. He took my ID, squinted at it three times, flapped it against his hand a couple of times, turned it over and rubbed the scan-strip. This process took a full three minutes. Then he blurted, rather rudely, "You got any other ID?"
I stared at him. Any other ID? This was my driver's license. This IS my identification card. Perhaps he was thrown by the expiry date of 2047. I couldn't even answer him. I just stared.
"I'm skeptical because the holograph here is supposed to be clear. Not supposed to have a color. But I can see it." He then drags out the official Book of State Licenses from a corner nearby and flips to Arizona and proceeds to READ THE ENTIRE 1-page section about what AZ id's are to look like.
"Maybe it's bleached by the sun," he said, "But I'm not going to let this work for you."
I continued to stare, speechless. My mind, however, was racing. He was about to tag me as an underage person. He's accusing me of lying, of sneaking, of having a fake ID. I was appalled. I have no interest in a fake ID, mainly because I'm TWENTY-FOUR, but it's never appealed to me. I'm not one of those people...
"Fine," I finally managed.
He took out a black permanent marker and commanded, "Right and Left hands." Upon which he drew the largest black permanent X's I've ever seen - one per hand. "Back room only, no re-entry."
I walked away, dazed. Did this really just happen? Am I being suspected of possessing and trying to use a fake ID to get into a bar? Cat and Ben balked when I showed them. Mike followed up behind me - with his dog-chewed and mangled ID and his over-21 wrist bracelet. The guy had given him strict instructions, "Your friend may very well be over 21, but don't buy her any drinks here."
All night, despite the near pitch-darkness that swallowed the back room to which I was confined, I was embarrassed of the Double-X, as I began to call it. I was afraid of being judged an under-21-er. I tried to hide them with my long shirt sleeves, but at times forgot, only to glance down and be confronted with "X X" bleeding into my pores.
After standing for three hours watching the performers, being pushed and prodded on every side by people eager to get to the front near the stage, and moving several times farther back so I could breathe (it was an extremely claustrophobic night), all I wanted was a glass of water and a seat. My back was in excruciating pain, as I've found out in the recent past that one of my legs is shorter than the other and standing for excessive periods of time is not optimal. But drinks and seats were available in the front room, where I was forbidden to go. And the headlining musician still had another hour to play.
I was lucky to have my good friend Mike with me, though, I must say. He stuck with me the whole time; pretending, in essence, that he, too, had the Double-X. He was thirsty, too. His back hurt, too. But he stood there with me, moving with me when I started panicking as the crowd closed in on me a couple of times. As he's a head taller than most people, he also helped me find Cat and Ben so we could stand near them for a few songs.
The concert on the whole--especially seeing Denison and Rosie in such a relaxed and friendly environment--was amazing. It was such a small venue that you felt close to them wherever you stood. You could hear, see, and get the feel of their funny personalities. I discovered that Rosie is a comedian on the side, and she and her friends (Denison and Sufjan) interact in the same ways that all of us do. They think when they're all together, that they're hilarious. They laugh - even when performing - endearing them in the hearts of their audience. They're just like us, only, they're talented.
The night was long, but the traveling, the Double-X, the sheriff we met at 2am on the drive home, and everything was well worth it. I find it quite funny that I am doing crazier things now, as a working professional, than when I was in college. I was so uptight, then, it isn't even funny. Thank God I've lightened up. As I sank into bed at 4:30 this morning, my ears ringing and my hair smelling of smoke, I was delighted to have taken advantage of this somewhat spontaneous, musical adventure.
I shall never forget the night of the Double-X. The night I was essentially accused of breaking the law, of cheating, and lying, and being that underage delinquent...at the age of 24.
We arrived in Chi-town a bit early, met up with Stephen for some Chipotle, and proceeded to the venue a bit early. The show was rated AA or All Ages, and therefore the bar's bouncer was tagging wrists for the "of age" crowd and marking others, who would have to stay in the back/music room.
As we entered, I whipped out my Arizona driver's license. It's a long story, not worth the space here, but it always causes whomever is inspecting it to pause, and it always brings about a comment. Most of the time, because it expires in the year 2047, rather than a normal 5 or 10 year span, like normal state licenses.
The bouncer was out to get people last night. He was looking for trouble, in the form of underage people. The thought never once crossed my mind, being that I'm 24, that I would fall victim to his overzealous duty to his job. He took my ID, squinted at it three times, flapped it against his hand a couple of times, turned it over and rubbed the scan-strip. This process took a full three minutes. Then he blurted, rather rudely, "You got any other ID?"
I stared at him. Any other ID? This was my driver's license. This IS my identification card. Perhaps he was thrown by the expiry date of 2047. I couldn't even answer him. I just stared.
"I'm skeptical because the holograph here is supposed to be clear. Not supposed to have a color. But I can see it." He then drags out the official Book of State Licenses from a corner nearby and flips to Arizona and proceeds to READ THE ENTIRE 1-page section about what AZ id's are to look like.
"Maybe it's bleached by the sun," he said, "But I'm not going to let this work for you."
I continued to stare, speechless. My mind, however, was racing. He was about to tag me as an underage person. He's accusing me of lying, of sneaking, of having a fake ID. I was appalled. I have no interest in a fake ID, mainly because I'm TWENTY-FOUR, but it's never appealed to me. I'm not one of those people...
"Fine," I finally managed.
He took out a black permanent marker and commanded, "Right and Left hands." Upon which he drew the largest black permanent X's I've ever seen - one per hand. "Back room only, no re-entry."
I walked away, dazed. Did this really just happen? Am I being suspected of possessing and trying to use a fake ID to get into a bar? Cat and Ben balked when I showed them. Mike followed up behind me - with his dog-chewed and mangled ID and his over-21 wrist bracelet. The guy had given him strict instructions, "Your friend may very well be over 21, but don't buy her any drinks here."
All night, despite the near pitch-darkness that swallowed the back room to which I was confined, I was embarrassed of the Double-X, as I began to call it. I was afraid of being judged an under-21-er. I tried to hide them with my long shirt sleeves, but at times forgot, only to glance down and be confronted with "X X" bleeding into my pores.
After standing for three hours watching the performers, being pushed and prodded on every side by people eager to get to the front near the stage, and moving several times farther back so I could breathe (it was an extremely claustrophobic night), all I wanted was a glass of water and a seat. My back was in excruciating pain, as I've found out in the recent past that one of my legs is shorter than the other and standing for excessive periods of time is not optimal. But drinks and seats were available in the front room, where I was forbidden to go. And the headlining musician still had another hour to play.
I was lucky to have my good friend Mike with me, though, I must say. He stuck with me the whole time; pretending, in essence, that he, too, had the Double-X. He was thirsty, too. His back hurt, too. But he stood there with me, moving with me when I started panicking as the crowd closed in on me a couple of times. As he's a head taller than most people, he also helped me find Cat and Ben so we could stand near them for a few songs.
The concert on the whole--especially seeing Denison and Rosie in such a relaxed and friendly environment--was amazing. It was such a small venue that you felt close to them wherever you stood. You could hear, see, and get the feel of their funny personalities. I discovered that Rosie is a comedian on the side, and she and her friends (Denison and Sufjan) interact in the same ways that all of us do. They think when they're all together, that they're hilarious. They laugh - even when performing - endearing them in the hearts of their audience. They're just like us, only, they're talented.
The night was long, but the traveling, the Double-X, the sheriff we met at 2am on the drive home, and everything was well worth it. I find it quite funny that I am doing crazier things now, as a working professional, than when I was in college. I was so uptight, then, it isn't even funny. Thank God I've lightened up. As I sank into bed at 4:30 this morning, my ears ringing and my hair smelling of smoke, I was delighted to have taken advantage of this somewhat spontaneous, musical adventure.
I shall never forget the night of the Double-X. The night I was essentially accused of breaking the law, of cheating, and lying, and being that underage delinquent...at the age of 24.
Friendly misspoken disasters
We were tired. It was a long day, and a very lazy day, too (for some of us). For those reasons, the following exchanges took place. Not sure whether to be offended or to take it as a joke, I post them for you to determine. Should I: Take Offense or Laugh It Off.
Scene #1.
While briskly walking along Belmont Ave in Chicago:
"Agh, did you smell that? That wreaks."
"No. What was it?"
"Well, you must have been breathing out when I was breathing in."
Scene #2.
The conversation was revolving around Couple Songs in middle and high school, when you and your boyfriend had "Your Song" to which you would always dance at school dances and friends' parties.
I denied ever having a Couple Song (which is certainly not true, I've always been very sentimental and romantic in that way).
"Maybe David and I did have one in 7th grade," I reluctantly admitted, "although I don't know what it would have been."
"It was probably 'Baby Got Back'."
Now what, I ask you, is my friend saying about 1) my breath and 2) me in general? Dang! I know who to hang around when in need of a personal complex, that's for sure.
Scene #1.
While briskly walking along Belmont Ave in Chicago:
"Agh, did you smell that? That wreaks."
"No. What was it?"
"Well, you must have been breathing out when I was breathing in."
Scene #2.
The conversation was revolving around Couple Songs in middle and high school, when you and your boyfriend had "Your Song" to which you would always dance at school dances and friends' parties.
I denied ever having a Couple Song (which is certainly not true, I've always been very sentimental and romantic in that way).
"Maybe David and I did have one in 7th grade," I reluctantly admitted, "although I don't know what it would have been."
"It was probably 'Baby Got Back'."
Now what, I ask you, is my friend saying about 1) my breath and 2) me in general? Dang! I know who to hang around when in need of a personal complex, that's for sure.
For those who already know the song - My Hump by the Black Eyed Peas
Alanis Morissette has done a parody of this offensive song and it's been posted to YouTube. She is making fun of both the group and the song, as they are completely ridiculous. Alanis is hilarious, I must say.
If you love parody and either love or hate this song, check out the video. For comparison purposes, you might want to try to find the Black Eyed Peas version, too.
If you love parody and either love or hate this song, check out the video. For comparison purposes, you might want to try to find the Black Eyed Peas version, too.
14 April 2007
Cooking Fever
Today was officially designated "Cooking Day". In order to properly celebrate the end of a quite stressful time period of studying for the MCAT by my friend Danny, I volunteered to make him dinner. This idea was initially discussed in February - and before I knew it, it's mid-April, and I was responsible for producing a huge dinner.
When I asked Danny what he wanted to eat, in my mind I'm thinking pasta or chicken and pasta or chicken enchiladas; in other words, things I already know how to prepare. But he wanted meat. I don't really do meat. I rarely cook anything other than ground beef (which then is only for tacos). I knew I was in trouble. Especially when he specified he wanted a Roast.
Who cooks a roast? Mothers. Grandmothers. Aunts. Not me!
But, my mom has a recipe called Best Ever Chuck Roast. And it was upon that meal that we feasted today. Chuck roast, mashed potatoes, green beans and Kahlua cake for dessert.
As an attestation to how well I showed my skills in the kitchen - almost everything I made was devoured, and I can barely move due to fullness at this point. The after-dinner-lethargy definitely set in a few hours post-mealtime.
What I discovered today was that I really enjoy cooking when other people are around to partake and when they truly enjoy themselves. To hear their gratitude, or actually, to see it in their faces while eating and afterwards in their posture while relaxing...it's kind of a high.
None of the recipes used for this meal were of my own design. Therefore, I must thank Mom, Kelly, and the Joy of Cooking cookbook for their aid in my preparations. But ultimately, I was the one who followed the directions and pulled the dishes off. Great feeling.
Even after doing dishes 3 times today in order to keep the kitchen in working order and then to clean up from the last-minute rush to the table, I'm still satisfied and happy with how it all turned out.
And I must admit that eating more than a burrito and some cooked vegetables for dinner is great. Being full is quite satisfying.
When I asked Danny what he wanted to eat, in my mind I'm thinking pasta or chicken and pasta or chicken enchiladas; in other words, things I already know how to prepare. But he wanted meat. I don't really do meat. I rarely cook anything other than ground beef (which then is only for tacos). I knew I was in trouble. Especially when he specified he wanted a Roast.
Who cooks a roast? Mothers. Grandmothers. Aunts. Not me!
But, my mom has a recipe called Best Ever Chuck Roast. And it was upon that meal that we feasted today. Chuck roast, mashed potatoes, green beans and Kahlua cake for dessert.
As an attestation to how well I showed my skills in the kitchen - almost everything I made was devoured, and I can barely move due to fullness at this point. The after-dinner-lethargy definitely set in a few hours post-mealtime.
What I discovered today was that I really enjoy cooking when other people are around to partake and when they truly enjoy themselves. To hear their gratitude, or actually, to see it in their faces while eating and afterwards in their posture while relaxing...it's kind of a high.
None of the recipes used for this meal were of my own design. Therefore, I must thank Mom, Kelly, and the Joy of Cooking cookbook for their aid in my preparations. But ultimately, I was the one who followed the directions and pulled the dishes off. Great feeling.
Even after doing dishes 3 times today in order to keep the kitchen in working order and then to clean up from the last-minute rush to the table, I'm still satisfied and happy with how it all turned out.
And I must admit that eating more than a burrito and some cooked vegetables for dinner is great. Being full is quite satisfying.
10 April 2007
09 April 2007
Forgot to mention it
Sophia's eye has been restored.
She can see! And so can I, behind me when I'm driving.
It's very exciting.
She can see! And so can I, behind me when I'm driving.
It's very exciting.
Spring Break, aka Mid-winter Hiatus
I thought that because our Spring Break was so late this year, being that it was the first week of April, staying in Indiana would prove a lovely, Spring-y, relaxing time. My assumptions corroborated with the weather leading up to the first week of April, very warm, very sunny, and perfect for being out of doors.
The day before the break officially started, we had a perfect thunderstorm. That storm, however, brought in the worst cold front I've ever experienced (aside from the blizzard we had in February). The temp dropped 20 degrees in a few hours, and it has stayed frigid every since. My weekend in Bowling Green with Cat was fun, but cold. The few days I had at home before heading over to the Rock were very cold, but I still refused to turn the heat back on. I was hoping for warmth again, and soon! I checked the forecast before I left for my parents' on Wednesday, and they were predicting temperatures in the teens for over the weekend. I flipped my heat back on, very low, just so my pipes wouldn't freeze while I was gone. Ridiculous!
Every day that I spent at my parents' lovely, woodsy lake house, it snowed. The lake was grey and ugly, the wind blew hard and made their normally very friendly house cold and dark. It's snowing now, and I'm back in my apartment, freezing, with the heat set at 55.
I always think, every single year, that the end of March will be warm, and April will follow all deliciously Spring-y, bright and happy. And nearly every stinkin' year April is cold, wet, dark, and an altogether unhappy month. April in Indiana is nothing to get excited about. In fact, it's downright depressing. Even if March does produce a few God-given, gorgeous sunny days, April steals all the joy from that.
Good thing my mood doesn't depend on the weather...oh, wait a minute...
Despite the snowy, cold, and unfriendly weather of the past week, I was able to reconnect with a lot of people that I dearly love. It was a much needed time to recoup from a quick entry into the working world.
Now I'm planning my July - a month off! Trip to NC and more. I cannot wait.
We must have things to look forward to and anticipate; it is the stuff that keeps us going.
The day before the break officially started, we had a perfect thunderstorm. That storm, however, brought in the worst cold front I've ever experienced (aside from the blizzard we had in February). The temp dropped 20 degrees in a few hours, and it has stayed frigid every since. My weekend in Bowling Green with Cat was fun, but cold. The few days I had at home before heading over to the Rock were very cold, but I still refused to turn the heat back on. I was hoping for warmth again, and soon! I checked the forecast before I left for my parents' on Wednesday, and they were predicting temperatures in the teens for over the weekend. I flipped my heat back on, very low, just so my pipes wouldn't freeze while I was gone. Ridiculous!
Every day that I spent at my parents' lovely, woodsy lake house, it snowed. The lake was grey and ugly, the wind blew hard and made their normally very friendly house cold and dark. It's snowing now, and I'm back in my apartment, freezing, with the heat set at 55.
I always think, every single year, that the end of March will be warm, and April will follow all deliciously Spring-y, bright and happy. And nearly every stinkin' year April is cold, wet, dark, and an altogether unhappy month. April in Indiana is nothing to get excited about. In fact, it's downright depressing. Even if March does produce a few God-given, gorgeous sunny days, April steals all the joy from that.
Good thing my mood doesn't depend on the weather...oh, wait a minute...
Despite the snowy, cold, and unfriendly weather of the past week, I was able to reconnect with a lot of people that I dearly love. It was a much needed time to recoup from a quick entry into the working world.
Now I'm planning my July - a month off! Trip to NC and more. I cannot wait.
We must have things to look forward to and anticipate; it is the stuff that keeps us going.
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