I am 43 today. Wish I had something profound to say, but I don't.
My family and I celebrated all the May birthdays yesterday in a combo birthday/Memorial Day bash.
I made some killer baked mac and cheese. I'd stolen Ella's recipe, but became internet curious and found several places singing the praises of this recipe. It's Martha Stewart, yet I have to say that it's idiot proof, which is what I need in a recipe. I want a lot of room for flakiness and fuck-ups without poisoning my family.
It's a fantastic dish, as long as you like mac and cheese, and I plan on making it for holidays. It's hard to find a staple in a family of good cooks, so I'm clinging to this one (even though I ganked the idea from Ella. Believe me, I feel kind of guilty about usurping this dish).
I had just been telling Tattoo Queen that a bummer about celebrating all the birthdays together is that I will never again have a say in the birthday cake. Which is a teeny-tiny complaint, because really, I don't care about celebrating my birthday. But on rare occasions, I miss deciding cake flavor.
That thought wasn't in my mind ( I had expunged it in a weekend chat with TQ) as I sat on my sister's deck, enjoying my beer and family. Then Ella came down the steps with a cake.
Do you ever have those moments when you can actually feel the wheels of your mind turning as sight gets processed into actual thought?
That's what happened. I thought the cake looked weird, then noticed it had a bottle on top, then noticed the bottom looked like a book, and then- OMFG! MY FAMILY GOT ME A TRUE BLOOD CAKE!
The bottle was a bottle of True Blood (made of cake and covered in ganache), the bottom was the hardcover of DEAD UNTIL DARK with the title written on the binding and the cover on top. It was a thing of truth and beauty, and I was stunned, absolutely stunned, with happiness.
You know how pretty desserts never taste nearly as good as they look? Au contraire. The cake was chocolate mousse and delicious. I took a ton of it home and plan on eating it for lunch every day this week.
Of course I didn't have my camera, but Ella took some, which I'll post because ain't no one ever had a cake as purty as that one.*
*Well, maybe at least one person. Ella's sister-in-law's sister had the first TRUE BLOOD cake. My family got the idea and bakery's number from her.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Your heart is true
Tattoo Queen has been one hell of a giver this week. She angsted over whether my birthday present would get across the country in time and fretted over whether I'd like the contents of the box, but it arrived on Wednesday to my fiercest and fiery joy.
Inside the box:
1. Seasons One and Two of DOCTOR WHO. Watching them on TV beats watching them on the computer, and can I just say two words? Special Features.
2. An avalanche of Kona coffee. Kona is my favorite for a ton of reasons. The most recent reason is that there was a little coffee shop a couple miles down the road from our hotel in Florida. Sitting on a chaise on the lanai while sipping Kona iced coffee and looking out at the Gulf made for a beautiful morning. The first and foremost reason was that I first tasted Kona when I worked at a coffee shop, and even though those were some hard times, I remember them fondly. My best friend (who turned out to be adder-poisonous) and I managed the shop and ended up rooming together. I felt like we owned the town sometimes when we would go out and see customers who would do double takes because they didn't recognize us without the baseball caps and with our hair down.
I was wrong in saying the most recent reason is the coffee shop in Florida. The most recent reason is that TQ thought enough to send me a ton of my favorite coffee.
3. Rollos. I had mentioned I loved buying a big old bag of Rollos after collection day on my paper route, and TQ kindly obliged. I popped those suckers in the freezer immediately.
4. Two CDs of Lykke Li. You know the song playing when Katherine's trapped in the apartment, and she decides to get drunk and dance? That's "Get Some." Insane video. Awesome song.
A fantastic mail day for me.
Inside the box:
1. Seasons One and Two of DOCTOR WHO. Watching them on TV beats watching them on the computer, and can I just say two words? Special Features.
2. An avalanche of Kona coffee. Kona is my favorite for a ton of reasons. The most recent reason is that there was a little coffee shop a couple miles down the road from our hotel in Florida. Sitting on a chaise on the lanai while sipping Kona iced coffee and looking out at the Gulf made for a beautiful morning. The first and foremost reason was that I first tasted Kona when I worked at a coffee shop, and even though those were some hard times, I remember them fondly. My best friend (who turned out to be adder-poisonous) and I managed the shop and ended up rooming together. I felt like we owned the town sometimes when we would go out and see customers who would do double takes because they didn't recognize us without the baseball caps and with our hair down.
I was wrong in saying the most recent reason is the coffee shop in Florida. The most recent reason is that TQ thought enough to send me a ton of my favorite coffee.
3. Rollos. I had mentioned I loved buying a big old bag of Rollos after collection day on my paper route, and TQ kindly obliged. I popped those suckers in the freezer immediately.
4. Two CDs of Lykke Li. You know the song playing when Katherine's trapped in the apartment, and she decides to get drunk and dance? That's "Get Some." Insane video. Awesome song.
A fantastic mail day for me.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
The finale of TVD season 2 (SPOILER)
I don't mind being wrong when the payoff was so fine.
Damon didn't need Tyler's blood; he needed Klaus'. I have to say I didn't see that coming, and usually I'm good at the foresight with the TV.
The scene with him and Elena on the bed was nicely done, and I want them to get together, but I hope the writers don't grant my wish. I'd be sad if Elena cheated on Stefan.
However, with Stefan taking the train to Ripper-town, who knows what'll happen next season.
I've enjoyed TVD much more than I ever thought I would. It's funny to remember my sister telling me about it last fall and saying I'd probably hate it and me agreeing with her, only to find out that it's a great show.
I do have to discuss Stefan's decision to sell his soul for Damon's life. The idea of morality in a paranormal world has been kicking around my head for a while. I really think that once the supernatural enters the picture, normal ethics are shot right out the window like that poor baby with the bath water.
He killed that girl for his brother, yet I don't think anyone is going to start thinking that Stefan's a bad guy- not when the pure-D evil is right beside him while slinky evil Catherine lurks somewhere. Right now, Stefan's only little evil, still wearing his white hat, although the white may look a little dingy in certain types of light.
That's the reason Elena could tell Damon that she liked him just the way he is. Put any mundane in a paranormal situation, let alone when the freaky becomes everyday, and something has to break. Her morality snapped like a wishbone way before the bed scene, and chances are, not many people were shrieking at the TV telling Elena to jet from the bed and wash Damon's sweat out of her hair because he is a psychotic serial killer who is not redeemed for the love he has.
It was a tender scene, and I cried along with her when Damon said all the right words to make us forget that even though he has the sweetest hipbones in the US of A, he is still an evil pixie maniac.
Then again, one of Elena's besties is a killer, so our girl is proof that when the environment begins to change and abnormal becomes the norm, morality takes on the consistency and quirks of Silly Putty.
Damon didn't need Tyler's blood; he needed Klaus'. I have to say I didn't see that coming, and usually I'm good at the foresight with the TV.
The scene with him and Elena on the bed was nicely done, and I want them to get together, but I hope the writers don't grant my wish. I'd be sad if Elena cheated on Stefan.
However, with Stefan taking the train to Ripper-town, who knows what'll happen next season.
I've enjoyed TVD much more than I ever thought I would. It's funny to remember my sister telling me about it last fall and saying I'd probably hate it and me agreeing with her, only to find out that it's a great show.
I do have to discuss Stefan's decision to sell his soul for Damon's life. The idea of morality in a paranormal world has been kicking around my head for a while. I really think that once the supernatural enters the picture, normal ethics are shot right out the window like that poor baby with the bath water.
He killed that girl for his brother, yet I don't think anyone is going to start thinking that Stefan's a bad guy- not when the pure-D evil is right beside him while slinky evil Catherine lurks somewhere. Right now, Stefan's only little evil, still wearing his white hat, although the white may look a little dingy in certain types of light.
That's the reason Elena could tell Damon that she liked him just the way he is. Put any mundane in a paranormal situation, let alone when the freaky becomes everyday, and something has to break. Her morality snapped like a wishbone way before the bed scene, and chances are, not many people were shrieking at the TV telling Elena to jet from the bed and wash Damon's sweat out of her hair because he is a psychotic serial killer who is not redeemed for the love he has.
It was a tender scene, and I cried along with her when Damon said all the right words to make us forget that even though he has the sweetest hipbones in the US of A, he is still an evil pixie maniac.
Then again, one of Elena's besties is a killer, so our girl is proof that when the environment begins to change and abnormal becomes the norm, morality takes on the consistency and quirks of Silly Putty.
Another new CD of epic
I want to put together another CD of happy tunes.
Somehow, I have to get from the Dropkicks' "Fields of Athenry" to Rihanna's "S&M," and I'm quite flummoxed on how to go about doing that.
I also wanted to throw "Janie's Crying" somewhere in the mix.
And "Jukebox Hero."
I do believe the combination of tunes will be so mighty as to bring on the end of days.
You know, since nothing and no one was raptured today. Someone needs to fill the void.
Somehow, I have to get from the Dropkicks' "Fields of Athenry" to Rihanna's "S&M," and I'm quite flummoxed on how to go about doing that.
I also wanted to throw "Janie's Crying" somewhere in the mix.
And "Jukebox Hero."
I do believe the combination of tunes will be so mighty as to bring on the end of days.
You know, since nothing and no one was raptured today. Someone needs to fill the void.
Upon watching the last episodes of Vampire Diaries
I was three episodes behind on VAMPIRE DIARIES and now have only the season finale to watch.
SPOILERIFFIC HALF-DONKEY REVIEW
I'm writing this now, not having seen the finale, but I want to say that my steady chant through the Damon scenes (aside from the one at the graveyard, I was too busy crying just a bit) is BLOOD OF THE DOG THAT BIT YA!
If I'm right, I'm going to crown myself queen of something. If I'm wrong, there'll be no shame in admitting the writers of TVD are smarter than I am.
And might I add:
JENNA'S DEAD! JENNA'S DEAD!
My word, I'm all sorts of happy that suck-job actress and character are with us no more. She made a piss-poor aunt (and I am predisposed to love aunts of every flavor), a shitty girlfriend, and she even gave us time to see that she would've made a lousy vampire. I conflate the character with the actress because I think the actress gave the writers nothing to work with and thus created a huge cycle of suck.
Now Alaric can get himself a new sweetie, and any semblance of parental figure for Jeremy and Elena won't be needed.
I love the scenes with Matt and Caroline. When he told her that he couldn't deal with her vampishness, I was struck by the thought that the subplot in itself would make a decent YA.
When I heard a major member of the cast would die this season, I never thought it would be Jenna. I thought the writers would keep her around to torture the fans.
I read on the little description at the CW that the finale's setting will have something to do with GONE WITH THE WIND (anything to spare us from another Founder's Day). GWTW is my guilty, shameful pleasure. I ship Rhett and Scarlett...and Melanie.
SPOILERIFFIC HALF-DONKEY REVIEW
I'm writing this now, not having seen the finale, but I want to say that my steady chant through the Damon scenes (aside from the one at the graveyard, I was too busy crying just a bit) is BLOOD OF THE DOG THAT BIT YA!
If I'm right, I'm going to crown myself queen of something. If I'm wrong, there'll be no shame in admitting the writers of TVD are smarter than I am.
And might I add:
JENNA'S DEAD! JENNA'S DEAD!
My word, I'm all sorts of happy that suck-job actress and character are with us no more. She made a piss-poor aunt (and I am predisposed to love aunts of every flavor), a shitty girlfriend, and she even gave us time to see that she would've made a lousy vampire. I conflate the character with the actress because I think the actress gave the writers nothing to work with and thus created a huge cycle of suck.
Now Alaric can get himself a new sweetie, and any semblance of parental figure for Jeremy and Elena won't be needed.
I love the scenes with Matt and Caroline. When he told her that he couldn't deal with her vampishness, I was struck by the thought that the subplot in itself would make a decent YA.
When I heard a major member of the cast would die this season, I never thought it would be Jenna. I thought the writers would keep her around to torture the fans.
I read on the little description at the CW that the finale's setting will have something to do with GONE WITH THE WIND (anything to spare us from another Founder's Day). GWTW is my guilty, shameful pleasure. I ship Rhett and Scarlett...and Melanie.
An icky fact-
Netflix has CALIGULA listed as a "steamy romance." I kid you not. Apparently, someone at the 'flix thinks the whole fist-pumping, lesbians peeing where they shouldn't, incesty shitfest would make a good date movie, especially if you wanted a little something, something.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Can I tell you?
I'm so happy my computer is healthy, and I can spend the night ignoring the essays screaming to be corrected in favor of rewatching DOCTOR WHO on Netflix streaming.
I want to stop taking the parts of my life that bring me happiness for granted. That includes my blog, my writing, and my health.
Another minor eff-up to my week was that I couldn't find my driver's license. I couldn't remember when I had it last and retraced my steps to the few places I had been during the week, asking tellers and cashiers if someone turned in a license and feeling like a scruffy nerf-herder the whole time.
I hate when I do shit like that. Losing my license put me right back in my twenties when you could open up the dictionary to the definition of irresponsible and you'd see my picture next to the entry.
A shameful fact: I spent two years with an expired license, praying that I wouldn't get pulled over, but not really giving a shit because I was an idiot.
I never want to be that person again. I don't now if circumstances forced me to change, if I made an unconscious choice to change, or if I outgrow my assholery, but I'm not that person anymore.
Until I reached into my back pocket and realized I was one precious piece of plastic short.
I scoured my room and the living room and the trash. Then I prayed to Saint Anthony something fierce and resigned myself to going to the DMV for a replacement.
Saint Anthony came through (as he does), and I found my license on the table in the spare room. I don't know how it got there, maybe my sister found it on the floor and put it there for safe-keeping, but my knees went weak in relief.
I'm not the same person.
I want to stop taking the parts of my life that bring me happiness for granted. That includes my blog, my writing, and my health.
Another minor eff-up to my week was that I couldn't find my driver's license. I couldn't remember when I had it last and retraced my steps to the few places I had been during the week, asking tellers and cashiers if someone turned in a license and feeling like a scruffy nerf-herder the whole time.
I hate when I do shit like that. Losing my license put me right back in my twenties when you could open up the dictionary to the definition of irresponsible and you'd see my picture next to the entry.
A shameful fact: I spent two years with an expired license, praying that I wouldn't get pulled over, but not really giving a shit because I was an idiot.
I never want to be that person again. I don't now if circumstances forced me to change, if I made an unconscious choice to change, or if I outgrow my assholery, but I'm not that person anymore.
Until I reached into my back pocket and realized I was one precious piece of plastic short.
I scoured my room and the living room and the trash. Then I prayed to Saint Anthony something fierce and resigned myself to going to the DMV for a replacement.
Saint Anthony came through (as he does), and I found my license on the table in the spare room. I don't know how it got there, maybe my sister found it on the floor and put it there for safe-keeping, but my knees went weak in relief.
I'm not the same person.
Why don't I go to more concerts?
Way back in March (March 18 to be exact), my sisters Emma and Ella, my two brothers, the good sister-in-law, the good brother-in-law (but really, they're all good), and I went to see the Dropkick Murphys at the House of Blues in Boston.
We bought the tickets last fall at my urging, and the band happened to play nearby the weekend before the concert. I was feeling like an idiot for being impulsive and buying the tickets for the HOB.
Here's what happened: My brother drove us to Boston, and we parked in our super sekrit awesome Boston parking garage, right in the heart o' the city. Some pints at Kitty O'Sheas (the Black Rose was packed that Friday), and we were off to the concert.
At the House of Blues, I despaired because the people lining the railing on the second floor meant that I'd spend the concert staring at the back of strangers instead of the band. I was already feeling angsty because of my knee-jerk decision to buy the tickets when we could've seen the band at home.
Emma is a consummate concert goer, I kid you not. She disappeared for five minutes, and when she came back, she beckoned us to follow her. Turns out she went up to the bouncer who was guarding the gate to the sweet seats that faced the stage and asked him if we could sit there. He said YES!
Perfect view to the band. They came out and launched into the concert as if the fate of the world was in the balance. They had the cutest Irish dancers come out and jig to their tunes. If you've never heard the Dropkicks, picture an Irish song five times fast and turned up to 11. The dancers' little legs were a blur, and I honestly expected at least one of them to burst into flames.
Halfway into the show, my brother received a text from my brother-in-law that there was going to be a special guest star.
A couple songs later, the lead singer brought out his mother and told the audience that he wrote "Peg O' My Heart" for her, but he needed help singing it, so he asked a friend from New Jersey to help.
AND BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN WALKED ONTO THE STAGE! HOLY SHIT!
They sang "Peg O'My Heart," then they sang "Shipping up to Boston," and Bruce started to walk offstage until he doubled back, and they launched into "Badlands." HOLY SHIT!
Bruce played that song harder and faster than he ever had to do- he was practically sweating blood.
One of the best concerts I've ever been to, and that's including the one that gave me a true groupie experience.
What did I learn from this adventure?
1. I should have more faith in my decisions.
2. I should go to more concerts.
3. Men in kilts and tattoos are hotter than hell.
4. Nothing beats seeing a band in their hometown.
If you're in the mood for doing some ass-kicking jigs: Shipping up to Boston.
We bought the tickets last fall at my urging, and the band happened to play nearby the weekend before the concert. I was feeling like an idiot for being impulsive and buying the tickets for the HOB.
Here's what happened: My brother drove us to Boston, and we parked in our super sekrit awesome Boston parking garage, right in the heart o' the city. Some pints at Kitty O'Sheas (the Black Rose was packed that Friday), and we were off to the concert.
At the House of Blues, I despaired because the people lining the railing on the second floor meant that I'd spend the concert staring at the back of strangers instead of the band. I was already feeling angsty because of my knee-jerk decision to buy the tickets when we could've seen the band at home.
Emma is a consummate concert goer, I kid you not. She disappeared for five minutes, and when she came back, she beckoned us to follow her. Turns out she went up to the bouncer who was guarding the gate to the sweet seats that faced the stage and asked him if we could sit there. He said YES!
Perfect view to the band. They came out and launched into the concert as if the fate of the world was in the balance. They had the cutest Irish dancers come out and jig to their tunes. If you've never heard the Dropkicks, picture an Irish song five times fast and turned up to 11. The dancers' little legs were a blur, and I honestly expected at least one of them to burst into flames.
Halfway into the show, my brother received a text from my brother-in-law that there was going to be a special guest star.
A couple songs later, the lead singer brought out his mother and told the audience that he wrote "Peg O' My Heart" for her, but he needed help singing it, so he asked a friend from New Jersey to help.
AND BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN WALKED ONTO THE STAGE! HOLY SHIT!
They sang "Peg O'My Heart," then they sang "Shipping up to Boston," and Bruce started to walk offstage until he doubled back, and they launched into "Badlands." HOLY SHIT!
Bruce played that song harder and faster than he ever had to do- he was practically sweating blood.
One of the best concerts I've ever been to, and that's including the one that gave me a true groupie experience.
What did I learn from this adventure?
1. I should have more faith in my decisions.
2. I should go to more concerts.
3. Men in kilts and tattoos are hotter than hell.
4. Nothing beats seeing a band in their hometown.
If you're in the mood for doing some ass-kicking jigs: Shipping up to Boston.
Hello, My Friend, Hello
When last we left our intrepid heroine...Who am I kidding?
Since my last blog, I've:
1. Gone to Dropkicks at the House of Blues. Can you say epic? I think you can.
2. Spent April vacation in Florida and proved to myself that I can have a good time.
3. Caught a big honking virus on my computer and had to spend more than a week- nine whole days!- unplugged and at loose ends.
I want to talk about the virus.
I don't understand the reason for them, and all I can say is that anarchy is alive and evil in the UK and in the ether. I'm lucky that my sister Ella is a computer pro, and of course, she was the first one- the only one- I called. She said to bring the ailing computer over, and she'd get it cleaned up. Oh, and did I back my files up?
I said yes.
I lied. Because I didn't want her to know what a fucking idiot I was. On my computer at the time were three things, about 100,000 words, that I've started but haven't finished. Two novellas and one thing that might expand into a book.
Did I mention that shit wasn't backed up?
I don't know what's wrong with me. I kept meaning to save my stuff, but never got around to it, which is a piss-poor way of living and writing, and I can't even blame it entirely on Thanatos.
In case you're wondering, I do back up my school files at least twice a year (at Daylight Saving Time), and why that diligence doesn't reach my writing life, I'm not quite sure.
In the more than a week that she had my computer, I had that stomach clenching anxiety that my stories were gone forever. Right on the heels of that came the painful certainty that I deserved to lose my files. If I was too stupid to back them up, I didn't deserve to have them. Those two reactions were knocking boots in my head all week.
I got my healthy computer back last night. My files were fine.
I backed my shit up and made two promises (please, can I keep them? I'll hug them and feed them and call them George): I will always have a copy of what I write, and I'm going to finish these things this year and send them out.
Tell me there's a special circle in hell for the assholes who create and spread computer viruses.
Since my last blog, I've:
1. Gone to Dropkicks at the House of Blues. Can you say epic? I think you can.
2. Spent April vacation in Florida and proved to myself that I can have a good time.
3. Caught a big honking virus on my computer and had to spend more than a week- nine whole days!- unplugged and at loose ends.
I want to talk about the virus.
I don't understand the reason for them, and all I can say is that anarchy is alive and evil in the UK and in the ether. I'm lucky that my sister Ella is a computer pro, and of course, she was the first one- the only one- I called. She said to bring the ailing computer over, and she'd get it cleaned up. Oh, and did I back my files up?
I said yes.
I lied. Because I didn't want her to know what a fucking idiot I was. On my computer at the time were three things, about 100,000 words, that I've started but haven't finished. Two novellas and one thing that might expand into a book.
Did I mention that shit wasn't backed up?
I don't know what's wrong with me. I kept meaning to save my stuff, but never got around to it, which is a piss-poor way of living and writing, and I can't even blame it entirely on Thanatos.
In case you're wondering, I do back up my school files at least twice a year (at Daylight Saving Time), and why that diligence doesn't reach my writing life, I'm not quite sure.
In the more than a week that she had my computer, I had that stomach clenching anxiety that my stories were gone forever. Right on the heels of that came the painful certainty that I deserved to lose my files. If I was too stupid to back them up, I didn't deserve to have them. Those two reactions were knocking boots in my head all week.
I got my healthy computer back last night. My files were fine.
I backed my shit up and made two promises (please, can I keep them? I'll hug them and feed them and call them George): I will always have a copy of what I write, and I'm going to finish these things this year and send them out.
Tell me there's a special circle in hell for the assholes who create and spread computer viruses.
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