Secret Recipe

While I'd never claim to be a fabulous cook, since I rarely have enough food on hand to create anything worth eating, I believe I have some friends who know the art of cooking and love it.

Part of knowing how to cook is knowing what wines go with certain foods, as Emily and Franz will hopefully find out on their upcoming trip to Napa Valley.

Part of knowing the versatility of wines requires knowledge of wines, experimenting with spritzers, combos, etc.

For those of you who know the beauty of Blackberry Wine, try it with Fresca. It comes highly recommended.

Bad Ass

Just before leaving for Ireland in August of 2003, my brother and a friend of ours handed over some great music including, but not limited to: Stroke 9, Third Eye Blind's first album, and every CD of Our Lady Peace. I'd been listening to these bands, with the exception of Stroke 9, but never really knew the depth of their appeal until the end of that summer.

In Ireland, Stroke 9 became an immediate favorite of mine, and of Elaine's, as we shared a room. We listented to "Latest Disaster" and "Kick Some Ass" often, I guess I was trying to remind myself that adding one more failed relationship to the growing list in my life wasn't really a big deal. And despite the anger I felt about it, I was confident that if push came to shove, I could kick some ass if I needed to.

My favorite song from the Rip It Off album, however, was "Vacuum Bag". Likening myself to something that retains all the filth from the surrounding environment made sense, as we've discovered this year--my eyes and ears are indeed vacuums. Granted, anyone reading this will realize I had some issues--I have some, since nothing can be resolved so quickly, even though living in Ireland provided the greatest life renewal I'll probably ever experience.

Here are a few of the lyrics from this fabulous song:

I was sitting by myself
And my thoughts started pouring out
Remember that time on our trip
You asked me where we were going
I said Barcelona
You said that's not what I meant
Maybe I'll never get it

I'm like a vacuum bag
That holds all that old dirt
Remember that time we said we'd be together forever?

'Cause it matters to me
Can you hear me?
Everyday I ask the same thing

Will you ever know what happened to me?
It happens everyday
And you wonder what went on
It's there and then it's gone
Maybe I'm sentimental
And I start to reminisce
And every time I do
I still want to tell you this

Don't hate me, don't regret me, don't ever forget me
Wherever you go, whatever you do, don't say I never loved you

Not Ashamed

Because I am secure in myself, I'm posting my thoughts on tonight's American Idol results. This is somewhat for my sister, who liked the show, but is now hiking for six months, and will miss the rest of the season.

Mandisa left tonight.

She didn't perform well yesterday, but let's face it, the week was tough. The theme was Country music, with special guest, the newly botoxed and face-lifted (as well as body-shifted) Kenny Rogers. The only thing left about him that remotely resembled Kenny Rogers were his wee beedy eyes. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but the man looks his age (I just IMDB'd him and he's 68). His hair is sparkling white, like brand new, unadultered snow - obviously colored so. His eyebrows are so tight and so high off of his eyes that he looks perpetually surprised. He's so thin, too, well, thinner than I remember him, which reminds me of Grandpa Cummings, making my image of him even older, as Grandpa is pushing 85.

Kenny's performance tonight showed his age, too. He couldn't really carry a tune, and the act of singing looked painful for him; at times he held the mic in both hands, as if it was taking all of his strength to sing, like he could collapse at any moment.

Luckily, I was distracted by an excellent episode of Lost, so I didn't have to grind my teeth through the entire performance.

My thoughts on losing Mandisa are these: it's getting down to the point, now with only 8 remaining contestants, where it's hard to lose anyone. Everyone has their merits, as we've seen, and the burden remains on each individual to show up on Tuesday nights with a great song and a stunning performance. Otherwise, any of them is in jeopardy.

Personally, I think it should have been Bucky. He's not great. He was better than some at the beginning of the season, and now he's sitting low on the totem pole. However, with a Country theme this week, no good American in their right mind would send Bucky home. I predict next week as his last.

Paris better step it up, too. She's in my top 3, and yet, she was in the bottom three this week (which was just--her performance blew). Chris and Katherine remain outstanding, the other's working to catch up with their level of performance.

This is way too long. Sorry.

I haven't feared checking my blog today - which is a nice thing.

How is it the people, even ones you don't know, can have that sort of effect on you?

Stupid, is what it is.

I suppose it's because I'm passive aggressive, rather than confrontational.

For just over a year now I have thoroughly enjoyed having a blog. I can express myself to the world without fearing embarrassment that I often feel in face-to-face conversations. Sometimes I'm honest, sometimes I withhold information, but it's my call. This is my space, and if you read this, you are entering my world - allowing me to step into your world, if you want.

I regret, therefore, to have to say that I'm changing something about my blog that may affect some of my rather small readership. The change comes due to a disturbing occurrence during the past week.

For those of you who are my friends and who would like to comment, but are not registered with blogger, you will no longer be able to post. I am sorry to have to do this, but my blog has become someone else's platform; a stranger, no less. And that's not why I created it.

While my blog is open for the reading, no one is forcing anyone to read it. If you don't like it, or it offends you (which I hope to never do, but no one's perfect), just don't read it.

Having a blog is cathartic, it helps me process life as I go. That is why I created it.

Word of the Day

chicanery: the use of trickery to deceive


from dictionary.com

It's Me, not you

Sometimes I wonder why it takes me a minimum of 3 years to get over someone.

After dating the same guy off and on for two years in high school, it took me 4 years to lay that nightmare to rest. Fighting with myself, my thoughts, wanting to know how he is and what's going on - I just couldn't let it go.

And again, here I am. It's been 3 years since the official breakdown of my last relationship, much less time since the last time we spoke, however, but still, I find myself wanting to call him up and see how he is.

But he's not part of my life anymore. And trying to maintain any semblance of friendship with him is pointless...not that he's not worth it, but we've proven over and over again that we can't just be friends. It's a losing battle. So I gave up and I've been trying to let go.

And I realized this weekend, when I was home, that it'll take years, like it did the first time around, for me to move on.

Why can't I be normal and meet someone else or just forget already.

I frustrate myself beyond explanation.