Sunday, March 26, 2006

I'm so not a grown-up.

I just called my mom because I was so proud that I cooked dinner for myself. Like cooked-cooked. Not heated up a microwave dinner cooked.

Okay, the green beans almondine just needed heating up, but my George Foreman Grill went to town on my sirloin steak. And those pre-cut apples with caramel sauce - delish.

It's still cooking.


Yeah. I'm totally not a grown-up.

Friday, March 24, 2006


Monday, March 20, 2006

A Fat Free Cinnamon-Charged Candy. Get Fired Up!

Hot Tamales make my face sweat.

Just my face.

And yet, I can't stop eating them.

Wait. I just found a good deterrent: Go here and watch the loading page.

Mmm...I bet an image that looks like someone's insides will make people want to eat Hot Tamales!

Thursday, March 09, 2006

American Idol

[I'm on a reality TV kick this week. Sorry.]

My thoughts on tonight's results show, should anyone care:

No Gedeon in the Top 12? But KEVIN is? A crime.

You should be able to vote against people, not just for people.

I think it's cruel and unusual punishment to make people sing right after their hopes and dreams have been dashed.

Is it bad that I'm only glad Ace made the top 12 because he's so hot?

Is it strange that I have a little crush on Elliot Yamin?

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Daniel V. is my winner.

If you don't watch Project Runway, feel free to move on.

I've never been a Santino fan. But I would have accepted his winning. He's got passion. He's got talent. He's got confidence. And he's become suddenly human in the last two episodes.

I'm not a Chloe fan. She flies by the seat of her pants in a way that seems like not caring, not like she's struck by inspiration at the oddest moments.

But Daniel Vosovic... I love Daniel V. Love. Really, what's not to love about Daniel? That floppy hair, those soulful eyes, that smooth voice... but I digress.

I didn't love his collection, except for the 13th look and that one sexy top. But I almost cried actual tears when he didn't win. Daniel V. You'll never be out in my book.

Make that call to Michael Kors.

Sunday, March 05, 2006

thoughts on the oscars so far:

jon stewart: funny
ben stiller in green unitard: not funny
gm commercial: terrific
diet coke "encore" commercial: awesome (in a totally girly kind of way)
playing music throughout the acceptance speeches: bad idea
owen wilson's voice: grating
jennifer aniston: stunning

here's what's awesome about being a grown-up:

you can eat ice cream and candy for dinner. and there's not one person who can tell you you can't.

overheard at the cingular store, sunday, 2:34pm, CST

Princess-y Teenage Girl checks out the RAZR. Picks it up. Holds it to her nose.

PRINCESS-Y TEENAGE GIRL: It smells like church.

Puts it back. Gets the Nokia.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

"Help, I need somebody... not just anybody..."

A few weeks ago, one of my best friends became violently ill with food poisoning. I went to her apartment, got her medicine, held her hair, went for more medicine - whatever she needed.

And I learned a valuable lesson from her: It's good to ask for help.

She wasn't shy about asking for what she needed. She was too sick to worry about it. She'd ask me to hold her hand. To rub her back. To bring her more Pedialyte. And I was glad to be able to do it for her.

This past Tuesday, I had surgery (I'm fine). One of the things I was dreading the most was waking up from the surgery and being helpless. You can't walk on your own. You can't dress yourself. You can't do much at all until the anesthesia wears off.

And even then, I haven't been able to do much.

My parents came to stay with me for a few days and it was hard for me to even ask them to do things. But I had no choice.

Accepting help is not something I'm good at. I like to be in control; I hate feeling helpless. And there are times in the past when I have broken down and asked people for help and gotten the opposite - which teaches you not to ask.

The trick, I think, comes in asking the right people for help.

Or at least being able to accept help when it's offered. Because, really, when we care about someone, we want to help them. It makes us feel as good as the person we're helping.

When my parents left on Thursday, my girlfriends (including the friend above) showed up with food and love. I still tried to do things on my own - cut cake; make ice packs; look for the cat who had wandered outside. They wouldn't let me. I had to sit back and let them take care of me.

And it was nice.

Friday, March 03, 2006

A Fatally Magnetic Attraction

It follows me. I can't help it.

A couple of weeks ago, I went out of town. I left work too late, but going 85 all the way to the airport ensured my timely-enough arrival. Made it through security without a glitch. Had some time to kill, so I went the opposite of my gate (B5) to Starbucks at B15. Priorities.

Stopped off at the newsstand for some magazines and water. Bathroom break. It was a few minutes to boarding, so I headed for my gate. I get as far as B6 and see only a sign and an arrow: B1-B5. Sh*t.

I start booking. I am focused. I am carefully balancing my coffee. I go on endless moving sidewalk after endless moving sidewalk. Seriously, miles of moving sidewalks. I reach the end. Another sign: Terminals A & C.

I missed my turn. Back on the endless sidewalks, running, coffee spilling all over me in the process. Make it to the gate to find the plane has been delayed.

Weekend, however, is awesome.

Back to airport - plane delayed indefinitely. Get back hours later than planned. Pull out my cell phone to make a call - the screen is totally blank. I guess at last dialed calls and correct buttons to make the call I'm trying to make.

I go to the baggage claim. My bag is the last one out.

Go to parking garage and have forgotten where I parked.

I finally find my car. I heave my over-packed suitcase (seriously, I had enough clothes to stay two weeks) into the trunk. I'm exhausted. My plan of picking up Pei Wei and watching Grey's Anatomy has already been killed. Now all I want is to go home, unpack, and go to bed.

My car won't start. I try several times. It's not starting.

I call Volkswagen Service. My service ran out January 31st. I call AAA. They can come in a little over 2 hours. I tell the person that it's 29 degrees. I have no heat. I'm in a deserted parking lot at the airport.

This matters not at all to her.

I take out my cell phone again to give in and call my brother-in-law. Phone totally dead. I plug it in to the car and luckily it allows me to dial (screen still gone, however). He comes, jumpstarts my car, and I go home.

I wake up to find my phone has taken its last breath.

At lunch, I spend way too much $ on a new phone that I buy only because it's ridiculously sexy. No one can hear me on it.

I return it. I get a decidedly less-sexy phone. I leave Cingular. The charger keeps popping out of the phone. I go back to Cingular. I get a new charger; leave; it continues to pop out. I go back to Cingular.

I get another phone. We reprogram it. Chrissie (my Cingular salesperson and I are on a first-name basis now) says, "If I knew you better, I'd say you have bad luck."

"Chrissie," I say, "you don't need to know me better to know this."

I go to my sister's so we can finally take our planned trip to IKEA. My car won't move. Maybe 2 mph with the accelerator completely depressed.

Speaking of depressed.

AAA tows my car to the dealer.

Monday, I find out that my car simply needs a new battery & it's under warranty. This is good news. I pick it up and hit the tollway to go meet my family for dinner. I have Daniel Powter's "Bad Day" cranked up in my car (I think it might be a super-cheesy song, but I really like it), so I don't notice the flashing lights in my rear view mirror for some time.

I pull off the tollway. I wait for the ticket I certainly deserve, as I was doing my regular 85.

I think perhaps I shouldn't listen to songs entitled "Bad Day." I'm just asking my old friend to show up.

Mr. Highway Patrol Man comes to my window. "I'm stopping you tonight because I clocked you going over 55."

Yes, a lot over 55. I almost want to laugh, because, seriously.

He goes back to his car. He comes back. He gives me a warning.

Welcome, Good Luck. Welcome. It's lovely to see you. I hope you'll stay a while.