Random Pictures From My Desktop At Work

While doing my rounds of fact checking, I come across some pretty interesting pictures, which I end up dragging to my desktop and putting into a folder at a later date. Unfortunately, because I'm not that organized, I can't fully credit where these come from, so I'll just say via the Internetz.

Things I Want To Be Awesome At

I've started a mental list in my head of things I want to be awesome at, as the title of the this post suggests. My husband and I have started talking about kids and, for some reason, the thought no longer scares me. I guess I am starting to feel like an adult...most of the time. But, for some reason, I have this '50s housewife stereotype stuck in my head of things I want to be able to do before having kids. And, I know this image is kind of outdated, but I still can't escape it. So, instead of trying to rebel against it, I've decided to embrace it, and try my hardest to at least get the basics down I feel I would need to accomplish the stereotype.

I want to be able to sew a dress without a pattern

This, of course, would probably require I go out and buy a basic pattern and some fabric first, right? Yeah...I guess so. But I have this image that one day, I'll be at work and my husband will call and tell me we're having company over for hors d'oeuvres and brandy and I'll tell him I have nothing to wear. So, I picture myself stopping at JoAnn fabric on the way home and, as my mini-quiches and tartlets are cooking, I'll whip up a snazzy, casual little dress. This scenario may never play out in my life. ...but there's always the small hope it would. And, somehow, I picture Mr. and Mrs. Tate coming over later, exclaiming how lovely my house is and that my husband sure came through on that advertising deal. If only I could learn to wiggle my nose, I'd be all set for this scenario.

I want to be able to pull off red lipstick

I feel like red lipstick ages, but not in a good way. It's like, if you can pull of red lip stick, you're old enough to wear it. If you're not old enough to wear it, no matter how perfect it may be applied, you still look like you've gone and played in your mother's makeup bag again. I get away with the occasional red gloss for some pop. And, luckily, it usually wears off after a few hours. But I tried the red lipstick look once for my friend's wedding. And I felt like I was so close to pulling it off. But I still didn't feel right about it. Maybe because it's not an every day look for me...but one day, I will be able to pull of red lipstick.

I want to be able to set the perfect table

I was at a friend's wedding shower a few weeks ago and I noticed the catering staff's way of pulling a tablecloth askew on half of the table and laying out the food just so, as if it were being photographed for a spread in some upscale magazine I would never buy, but secretly skim at a book store. Personally, I don't think the tiny twinges of OCD would tolerate half my dining room table covered with a table cloth that looked like it could fall off at any moment. I would most likely adjust it until it lay perfectly balanced. But I did decide I would start looking at table cloths in general, just so I don't end up having to explain the white heat marks I made (somewhat) better this weekend.

I want to be able to grow and maintain flowers

I'm getting there! I actually planted Forget-Me-Nots a few months ago in my window boxed on my front porch that have actually sprouted. I figure in a few weeks, they will look somewhat decent, although I didn't know Forget-Me-Nots grew so exceptionally tall...they kind of look out of place.

I want to be able to know where everything is in my house

I have an upstairs room I store my random things: scraps of fabric from a pair of pajama pants I tried to make and was halfway through until I realized I forgot to flip the pattern and I sewed two left legs; my yoga mat and DVDs I was crazy about in January, but have since given up on because I realized I was not relaxed when I was yelling at the instructors every time they said

"hold it just a few more seconds..."; books I intend to put on a shelf but won't until I get the rest of them out of my sister-in-law's attic; CDs...somewhere. Needless to say, I need to do an inventory of what I have upstairs and in the basement. Everything on the first floor is pretty much accounted for.

I want to be able to maintain a daily 10 minute clean

I have the instructions, but actually getting around to doing it at the end of the day seems to be the least appealing thing in the world. Hell, I've had two of my pillows in the dryer for two days now that I'm procrastinating bringing upstairs and putting back in their case. And my dishwasher, well, I keep hoping one day my husband will want to put the dishes away without me asking...but I think that's a pipe dream I need to get out of my head.

I want to learn the lyrics to at least 10 songs

I have a mental list of songs I want to be able to sing to my children. Offhand, I can only name three of them, but I know them when I hear them on my iPod. What I'd like to be able to do is learn the lyrics so I can sing them without having to substitute the words "something, something, love you something, something," which I tend to do when I completely blank on lyrics. I think karaoke spoiled me from having to learn lyrics. Either that, or I've been disappointed when I find the lyrics I've been singing for years is completely wrong. Case in point: After watching all five seasons of "Saved By The Bell" last week on DVD, I finally learned the words weren't "and the lawn gets out of waterin'", but were, in fact, "and the alarm lets out a warning." Not that I would put my children to bed singing the theme to "SBTB", but you never know.

I want to be able to change a diaper

Yeah, that's right, I've never actually done it on a live child before. Oh, sure, I had a flour baby and could easily put a diaper on a sack of flour, with one hand even. But an actual squirming, crying, wet and soiled child? No, never done it. I think I was afraid I'd secretly like it and start listening to my biological clock. Well, now that I've actually started noticing my biological clock, I seem to think it's with me when I have the irrational nightmare of pulling an Andrew Clark from "The Breakfast Club" and taping the child's buns together instead of the diaper. I'll get to it, I swear...

I want to be able to put together a delicious dinner in 30 minutes or less

Amendment to this statement: And not have to listen to anyone say "Yummo" or "E-V-O-O". God, I hate Rachael Ray. Hate. I would watch her on mute if I could. But, then again, I would want to be able to make these meals from scratch, too. Some of her stuff is pre-made she uses. Yeah, I'm kind of a perfectionist when it comes to cooking. I've baked and decorated my share of cakes, and I always feel so guilty when people tell me how good they are. I should be sending these compliments to Duncan Hines, actually. Oh, sure, the decorating is all me...but the cake is a mix+eggs+oil and my Kitchen Aide mixer, let's be honest. But I can decorate it like a champ!

One day, I may accomplish these goals. The red lipstick, well, that's the one that'll take some time...

The Commute

Welcome to Friday. The day all is supposed to go well. And, for the most part, people are just relieved the weekend is so close. The work day sort of dribbles by, but as soon as the last minute is over, the pupils dilate, the pulse quickens, the senses tingle. It's either the heroin kicking in or the weekend beginning (for some, it may be both).

But, if you live in Connecticut like me, you know that the minute your car is out of the parking garage and onto public streets, the feeling dissipates. Gone are the ideas that were flooding you moments earlier with plans to start the weekend. Instead, brake lights are slapped in front of your eyes, as if to say, "Oh, silly you. You know this happens every Friday, yet you still anticipate me, whether you know it or not."

If you know back roads, you're at least moving along...but nine times out of 10 you're stuck behind someone who could care less about your need to feel the wind whipping through your hair, driving 45 in a 25 mph cop-less road. The car in front of you doesn't even has its brake lights on, yet you're still pumping your brake because sheer momentum seems to pull your car faster than the one in front of you. When they turn off you have a whole 23 seconds of freedom! You go for the gas pedal, you know these roads well enough, there are no brakes involved! And then, damn. Another one. These are YOUR back roads! How dare someone try to claim them for themselves and their slow vehicles.

The luck is no better on the highway. In fact, as you're inching along, plans for the weekend begin to be replaced by listing things you'd rather be doing than sitting in traffic. None of which are even remotely close to giving you the same misery going 11 exits in an hour and a half does. (This is Connecticut we're talking about; I realize that in some states where 11 exits in an hour and a half is a miracle and should be praised--I'm looking at you, upstate New York!) Somehow, you would trade your right hand to be on the floor of your bathroom using whitening toothpaste on grout instead of stuck in traffic.

An hour into your commute home, you go through the same weekly questions in your head: Should I move closer to my job? Should I find a job closer to me? If I went back to work at Carvel, could I somehow still pay my mortgage? (OK, the last one may just be me...)

You make a pact to look into your options when you get home, if you get home. This is, of course, in vain because once you get home, you're so happy to be there, the thought of looking for another job just seems ridiculous. You enjoy your job (or at least tolerate it). The commute only gets to you one day out of the week. How hard is that? You survived it before you'll survive it again.

Then you see the clock. It's two and a half hours later than you actually left. Your Friday night had such hope, such promise. But, now it seems wasted. Your energy level is shot. You don't even have the energy to think about trying heroine, just to see if you can bring back that fresh 5 o'clock feeling instead of the sloth-like 7 o'clock slump.

You wait for your third wind to hit. 7:30. Nothing. 8 p.m. Nothing. The phone is starting to ring with offers for the night, but nothing really gets you up and going. You'd rather sulk about your commute just ruining everything.

Three hours since work and what have you accomplished? Getting yourself home. In one piece. Without causing a lawsuit because you threw your water bottle at an old woman going one mile below the speed limit. (I know, I know, she totally deserved it. Especially when she stopped right before the light ahead turned yellow when she could have easily run it, with you on her tail.) Without even being that guy who decides he can't wait any more and drives five miles on the shoulder, almost careening into a Jersey barrier when the shoulder unexpectedly ends.

Well, when you put it that way, you've accomplished a lot! You deserve a reward for your hard work and effort! You didn't have to let people merge onto the highway from the on ramps. You could have been the four out of five asshats on 95 who don't let anyone get in front of them, thinking they're saving themselves seconds off their rides home. Yeah! You have good karma coming to you! It's time to celebrate! It's time to get up and change out of your work clothes, which you realize was one of the things holding you back...slave clothes, more like it.

OK! You're ready! You're in the car! You pull out of your driveway and get onto the highway to visit some friends and...oh shit...Of course. No longer is the highway full of commuter traffic, it's now full of former-commuters like yourself who went through the same after-work slump you did and are now ready to go downtown and enjoy themselves.

And, once again, that old lady is in front of you. However, now she is, clearly, high as a kite on medical marijuana (not legal in Connecticut, by the way, but it's not like anyone would suspect her for possession). And you know this because she throws your water bottle back at you, only she has used some Popsicle sticks and a glue gun to turn it into a bong. Sassy bitch.

The Weird Week

There's something about the week leading up to my birthday that has always been, well, interesting. I don't know what it is, but it's never just been a normal week. And I never remember or think about it until I'm smack-dab in the middle of it. By the way, my birthday's Saturday and it's the one year I haven't been noticing every day how much closer I am to turning another year older.

26 isn't anything too exciting, though. I mean, what's the big deal about 26? Not that I need any more birthdays that are a big deal. Turning 18 was big, although I don't know why, other than the fact I bought a lottery ticket that night and wasn't carded, unfortunately. 20 was such a cock-tease of a year. 21 was awesome and I got drunk on Mango Margaritas and shots of Southern Comfort (my gateway hard liquor, I call it). When I turned 25, it hit me I was getting married exactly three months later...and I wondered what I needed to finish up.

I don't remember much about the weeks leading up to these ages, but I know I've always noticed things were a bit off. Maybe it's the transition into springtime. I mean, the reason Miss Rhode Island won in "Miss Congeniality" has got to be because she was asked to pick the perfect date...and she chose my birthday: "April 25th. It's not too hot, it's not too cold, you just need a light jacket!" Oh, Cheryl Frasier.

Who knows. Maybe it's all in my head. It probably is. Although, that wouldn't explain the office fire I helped put out yesterday.

We had sort of a field trip to help clean up the beach by where we worked, so we were out in the rain doing so. When we got back, my coworker and I had our clothes drying next to a space heater. Well, he decided to drape his sweater over the top of it, and then left a few minutes later to go to the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an orange glow coming out of the back of the heater. I grabbed the sweater off of it, then saw a flame inside. Well, I said something to the effect of "Oh crap, it's on fire." And started running to get the fire extinguisher. When I ran back, all the guys in the office were just starring at it, like "Oooh, fire!" Meanwhile, I'm practically dragging this extinguisher with two hands, when my boss finally says, "Oh, here, give me that." And he put out the fire.

But, what was funny was everyone was giving me the credit, including my boss. I think mostly because I didn't just stare at it in wonder. They didn't even know we had a fire extinguisher and was impressed I was able to find it so quickly. (Incidentally, it was by the door we all use.)

Following that rush, we got out of work early so the fumes could be properly handled. So, everyone decided to go for a drink. When I got there, they set up a game of pool, and asked if I wanted to play. Well, other than knocking in the 8-Ball on my third shot, I blew their minds. Granted, I've been around a pool table my whole life. My grandfather taught me to play. And I'm even better when I don't have to call what ball I want to go in. For some reason, I learned how to play left-handed, but that never seemed to hinder me. But the fact that I got to "impress" my coworkers twice yesterday, and at things that don't have anything to do with my actual job, made me realize I'm in the middle of my Annual Weird Week.

Oh, sure. Other stuff has happened a little out of the ordinary, but that was the adrenaline rush of yesterday I couldn't wait to write about.

"Honey, I'm Home!"

I've been on this kick lately of cleaning. Yeah, I've never been an OCD cleaner, but I learned early the easiest way to clean was to pick up after yourself, not letting anything pile up.

Now that we have a home of our own, I forget that there are other things that need to be done that can't be done in the space of 10 minutes after a mess is made. Stuff like Swiffering the floors, mopping, doing a big clean of the bathroom, laundry, loading and unloading the dishwasher, stuff like that.

I'm now on a mission to become this fabulous 1950s wife. Notice, not a "housewife" as I'm very content having a career. But I want to prove I can do both.

I've been trying to find Web sites that might offer ideas to set this goal in motion. Something along the lines of Donna Reed meets Mary Tyler Moore.

This weekend, my husband invited a friend over for coffee. After going shopping a few days before, I was very pleased I was able to "whip up" a tray of tasty treats while she was hear. Cut strawberries, carrot sticks, celery sticks, crackers, Brie (for goodness sakes, Brie!), grapes and hummus. Oh, it was beautiful. I almost wanted to take a picture. OK, OK, I wanted to wrap it in plastic wrap and put it in the freezer to save for when his mother came over to show off.

That same night, I made a cake. Duncan Hines actually made it, but I mixed it and baked it. That counts. I even took it out of the mold and frosted it! That's an accomplishment, considering whenever we have frosting in the house, my husband gets to it with a spoon before I can bake the cake. I hid it this time so he couldn't.

This morning, he invited his sister and brother-in-law and his parents over for Sunday coffee. Once again, I cut some strawberries and filled a bowl with two yogurts mixed for a dip. Before they came over, I said to him, "Oh, I should serve something..." He gave me a look, and said, "Your WASP side is showing." I've learned to tune that out when I know he doesn't mean the passive-aggressive fighting and backhanded compliments I usually get called out for.

I recently re-read "The Undomestic Goddess" by Sophie Kinsella. Maybe that's what got me in the mood. As I was reading, I wished I had some sort of guidance for setting a schedule that was as effective as a housewife's, but with the ability to work.

And I spent that last half-an-hour searching online for some sort of starting point. But, alas, all I could find was schedules for housewives who wake up at 6 a.m. and don't stop until dinner is done and the dishes are cleaned and put away. But, even if I didn't have an almost unhealthy obsession with Google Reader (the modern day equivalent to soap operas, I guess) or a cat who's become quite the little master of our, er, her domain and is too adorable not to have at least an hour of kitty playtime and affection or terrible reality TV to watch, I still don't think I could pull it off. Well, I'll correct that; I want to be able to pull it all off, making it look absolutely effortless at the same time.

This will be my new project. If only there were something to help me get started...

Plus, I'm out of books to read and I'm itching for another Amazon shopping spree (by "shopping spree", I mean spend $25 so I can get the free shipping).

How I Get Ready Every Morning

...or, at least how I will get ready from now on.

Pop vs. Soda vs. Other

When I went to Minnesota, I found a new species of people. They used the word "pop", which I thought was a term that died off somewere in the radical '70s. But, no, these Minnesotans were shocked I used the word "soda". So, I thought for a second, then asked them to change the name of their state to Minnepop, just because.

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In Case You Weren't One of the Many I Sent This To

I'll admit, I did the 25 things. And it took me an hour...on a Friday night...in bed...at 9 p.m. (I went out soon after, but if I haven't said it enough, I'm a complete home body.)

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Please Don't Use Craig's List for Personals

This is why.

My First Angry Letter

I never wanted to write an angry letter to a corporation...until today. So, just so I can wake up tomorrow and make sure I actually did it, here's the evidence:

To whom it may concern: I recently heard a radio commercial for your upcoming show "United States of Tara". At first, I thought the idea was in bad taste, but I knew it would capture an audience and make money for you. I'm sure you've already gotten e-mails from those with DID and/or their family members. I don't have any first-hand knowledge of DID to form an opinion based on that. However, when I heard the line "Why can't she be manic depressive like other moms?" come out of what I can only assume to be the main character's stereotypical teenage daughter, I nearly slammed on the brakes on the highway. I understand it's something an uninformed, immature teenager would say. I also believe in the freedom of creative expression. But, I am also a daughter of a manic depressive, and I believe that the hurtfulness of that ignorant statement should be known. It's not easy growing up with a parent with any mental disorder. Making light of it may seem like a good idea, and maybe you were under the impression that if Steven Spielberg put his name on it, it's OK. I've been living for 25 years with a mother who, when I was younger would get so manic, she didn't even know who I was because of the disorder, and as someone who will never have the freedom to fully live my own life because of the obligation to always put my mother first, and as someone who had to grow up mighty fast so I could effectively take care of myself because I didn't have a full-time mother, ever. And, according to her family, I will always be a failure because I just can't give up my life and take care of her the way she needs to be taken care of. Needless to say, I didn't find the line funny, ironic, cute or even written with anyone else in mind except those who stand to profit from this show. As much as I would like to find the humor in the show's premise, I can't after hearing that line. At this time, I will let you know I do not have Showtime. If I do ever think about getting it, that one line will unfortunately stick in my mind as the No. 1 reason not to. Thank you for your time and consideration to this matter. I don't expect a response; in fact I would be somewhat surprised to receive a response written by an actual person, as I know how big your corporation is and how busy you must be. If anything is to come from this e-mail, I hope it's a little more sensitivity to the topic your dealing with (and, as a guilty pleasure for myself, a slap delivered to the teenage daughter with the audacity to say such a stupid comment). Thank you again.

I Am Completely Perpetuating the Stereotype!

Full List of Stuff White People Like. No, no, I didn't pick them...but I'm not denying that I enjoy almost all of them.

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Woo Woo!

In case you haven't seen it yet, this is a classic viral video. Bub Rub and Lil Sis are the quotable stars of this masterpiece.

Dude, Whoa...

I never got into that whole "tripping" scenario. I'm more of a drinker, to be honest. However, I did enjoy going to this site that did make you see things all wonky for a few seconds after following the instructions on the screen. Have fun!

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Jose Cuervo Christmas Cookies

I meant to post this a few weeks ago...but I was too busy following the recipe:

1 cup of water 1 tsp baking soda 1 cup of sugar 1 tsp salt 1 cup of brown sugar 1 cup lemon juice 4 large eggs 1 cup nuts 2 cups of dried fruit 1 bottle Jose Cuervo Tequila

Sample the Cuervo to check quality. Take a large bowl, check the Cuervo again, to be sure it is of the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink.

Turn on the electric mixer…Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl.

Add one teaspoon of sugar…Beat again. At this point it’s best to make sure the Cuervo is still OK, try another cup …just in case.

Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit, pick the frigging fruit off floor…

Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it loose with a drewscriver. Sample the Cuervo to check for tonsisticity.

Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Who giveshz a sheet. Check the Jose Cuervo. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash the oven.

Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don’t forget to beat off the turner.

Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish the Cose Juervo and make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.

CHERRY MISTMAS!!

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Boycott Hugging

I've decided to give up hugging in 2009. Resolution No. 11. The only person I want to hug unconditionally is my husband. And maybe family, however my dad's side doesn't hug and I like it that way. Lately, every time my husband and I go to the bar, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach because I know I'll be in for a lot of hugging. Maybe it's the theater crowd who usually go, and their inclinations to hug because "none of us got enough love in our childhoods". But I, on the other hand, "could never be a [hugging] person!" This will be a crusade, maybe even a T-shirt I'll make, that will go on all year long.

Reasons:

1. Just because fat people give good hugs doesn't mean we like doing it.

Hugging a fat person is like eating comfort food: we're warm, we're soft, we're squishy, we're full of carbs and cheese. But that doesn't mean we like doing it.

2. A smile and maybe a wave will suffice.

I saw you come in, don't worry. I'm aware of your presence. I will greet you accordingly.

3. A hug is just a cheap thrill for people in need of being touched.

Get a significant other. Or a puppy.

4. A line usually forms. No one likes lines.

What are you, the DMV? I have to wait in line to hug you? Forgive me for not rushing to do so right away.

5. Some people take it a little too far.

A hug, I can tolerate. What next? We'll become European and kiss on both cheeks? Hell, why don't we put together little beds and have sex as a way of greeting!

6. Maybe I don't like you that much.

OK, this is on the cruel side, I know. But, let's face it, in everybody's circle of friends, there are the people that are inevitable that you can't really get rid of completely. And, in order to keep the sanctity of the group, all must hug or else the drama will start.

7. "Didn't I just see you yesterday?"

Honestly, I can understand hugging if you haven't seen the person in a while. But, every time? I see most of these people on a semi-regular basis. Must the hugging insanity continue?

8. Spot the fake hug.

What's the point of giving hugs at all when there are so many so-called huggers who phone it in? There are the huggers who stick their asses out for all to see, as if they needed another excuse to do so. There are the one handed huggers who could care less (they should be the first to jump on my bandwagon). There are the bros with the handshake/backslap hug. Just admit it: you're not hugging people either!

9. Dress appropriately.

Don't come to me in the middle of January, wearing some Forever 21 skanky shirt and think you deserve a hug. I could show off the goods too, you know--although, Forever 21 hasn't made a shirt that accents my "sparkling personality" yet. But layers should be appreciated and implemented.

10. Ask yourself: "Do I really need a hug?"

Your dog died. Hug. You got into a car accident. Hug. You're just in a bit of a funk. Hug. Sometimes, you just need a hug. And that's FINE. When that happens, give me a call and I'll be the first in line to smother you with my carbs-and-cheesey goodness. There are reasons for hugs, but the overuse of hugs is just getting a little too redundant for me, thank you.

I am looking into the prospect of making this a national campaign, don't worry. boycotthugging.org is not a taken domain, just in case anyone would like to take this to the web, hint, hint. For now, however, I'll just wait for the facebook groups to start...

The Annual 10

...Yes, yes, I'm back after a very busy month. I kept myself away from my blog because I have been busy all month making (almost) all of my Christmas presents in December. And every time I wanted to blog, it would be about something I made, and I didn't want to give anything away.

But, now that that's over, I'll do my holiday bragging in the next few posts.

This post will contain my annual 10 Resolutions of 2009.

Every year, I don't just make one resolution; I make 10. Usually, I can get myself to accomplish at least one, no matter how small. But in looking at 2008, I realized that unless I write them down somewhere, I forget what they are and I can't track my progress. At least in 2006, I wrote them down and was able to follow just one: I was going to get into the habit of using my shoe rack (I told you they were small), and I did it! And, in 2007, I wanted to read more. And, had I not had all those bridal magazines, I probably wouldn't have done as well as I did! So, here's to the shoe rack and bridal magazine resolutions of 2009!

1. Lose 20 lbs.

I say that every year. No, really, I do. And every year, I look at the scale December 31st and smile anyway. Because I know in the fluctuations of my weight, if all the numbers were totalled up, I probably lost more than 20 lbs. ...However, in totalling these numbers, I probably gained more than 20 lbs., as well. One of these years, I'm going to have to add "...and keep it off!" to the end of that resolution. Maybe I'll do that next year.

2. Write More

Hell, I started this blog for a reason. I like my thoughts, I think other people should hear them (or, read them, in this case). Oh, and I'm not allowed to count Twitter as writing.

3. Keep Better Track of My Finances

As I was writing that resolution, I remembered the organizer I spend $20 on last year to become more organized. And, in my January 1st panic of "Holy sh*t, I'm getting married this year!!!", I was able to get tons of information I needed for my planner. After July, however, the planner was only used on occasion (mainly to check when my next paycheck was coming in). I may not get another huge planner, but at least I'll try to stay organized.

4. Write My Wedding Thank You Cards

Yes, yes, I know it's been five months. But, if anyone says anything, I will gladly send them a photocopy of my carefully preserved Emily Post column that states couples have a year to send out thank you cards. I thought, for a while, because I wrote all the shower thank you cards, my husband could write the ones for the wedding. Ah, the lessons of marriage.

5. Cook More

This is my project-resolution. I really don't mind cooking. In fact, when I cook, I find I don't overeat because by the time it's ready, I'll have looked at it for so long, I'm bored with it and not hungry. I just haven't been cooking very much because of time (excuse), convenience of delivery (a little closer to the truth), I'm afraid (ding! ding! ding!). Yeah, I'm afraid of cooking. I get  very anxious when I have a time constraint put on cooking. Basically, we cook/order food when we're hungry. We don't think ahead to start preparing something before the fact. So, I have this fear if I screw up dinner and there's nothing to eat, I've failed. Also, I have mini food fears. I worry I haven't cooked chicken all the way through and my husband will get salmonella and die. I worry I won't know if the milk has gone bad and my husband will get a stomachache and die. I worry the heat from the oven will get too hot, pieces of glass from the casserole dish will break off into the food, and my husband will eat it and it'll rip up his stomach and he'll die. ...Basically, I worry about killing my husband with food. But, this year, I'm determined to get in the kitchen and at least get dinner ready a few nights a week...and overcooked the chicken, buy new milk every day, and watch those tricky casserole dishes the whole time they're in the oven. (A friend suggested I have a few drinks before I cook. That might work, too.)

6. Take A Class

I hate to admit it to my "Mom-I-don't-feel-so-well-I-think-I-should-stay-home" self, but I miss school. I wondered for a while if it was the social aspect of it, and I realized it really wasn't (more on that later). I wondered if it was the changing schedule I enjoyed, but then remembered the nights I would get out of class and work six more hours, wishing I had a nice 9-to-5. I was shocked when I found myself looking for park & rec classes one day while I was at work. I realized, that's what I wanted; I needed a new skill to practice (other than not killing my husband with my cooking).

Because I hinted very heavily to my husband that I wanted a sewing machine for Christmas (and he got the hint!!!), I realized within the first few days of trying to use it that I only remember a few basics from home ec in middle school. I remembered how to thread the machine (well, more like I remembered how to read the instructions that comes with something before attempting anything with it), and I was able to get a few stitches down. My first project was two napkins I sewed together. I ran out to show my husband, saying, "Look what I made, honey! I made 2-ply!" He didn't find it as funny as I did, and said, "I better not have paid for a sewing machine so you can make us fancier paper napkins."

The next day, I went to the fabric store, got a pattern for pajama pants (easy, right?) and some flannel and got to work. However, once I cut the pattern and began piecing together what I had, I realized I had made a dire mistake: I hasn't flipped the pattern over and I had two left legs and no leftover fabric. That night, I looked up a sewing class I could take for a few weeks, and I plan to sign up as soon as registration opens.

7. Weed Out People I Don't Need In My Life

There are just too many people I feel guilt over not talking to, and I'm too busy worrying about the ones that I do talk to who just aggravate me. Personally, I was never one for giving up friendships, and I had to do a lot of editing and categorizing when I was making the guest list for my wedding. But, it's gotten to the point in a lot of relationships I have with people that I've realized I actually do not like spending time with them. Granted, my husband and I have become homebodies in the past few months, but I wouldn't mind occasionally going out, if I knew there would be a good conversation to go out to. So, to do a spin off of Bridget Jones, I will not [put up with relationships with] any of the following: alcoholics, snobaholics, everything-phobics, people with baggage or hangups, Me-Me-Me-Me-sogynists, dramalomaniacs, raging maniacs, shallow-ists, complete fuckwits or freeloaders, converts. (Read the book, you'll get the reference; the movie doesn't do it justice.)

8. Drink More Water

I think this is the third year in a row I've said this. I just don't like the taste of it! It's boring! Don't tell me to put a lemon in it, either. I went through a very long phase in college where that was all I drank, partly for financial reasons and partly because of some myth I heard about it speeding up metabolism. But I got sick of it really quickly. Once people were used to hearing me order it that way, and ordering it for me before I got to the table, I realized I was over it. But, for me to really drink more water, I just have to drink one cup a day. Seriously, that's how little water I drink now! It's surprising I've rarely been dehydrated.

9. Moisturize

As much as I hate to admit it, I've gotten to the age when I need to moisturize more. And, as the saying I heard five years ago echoes in my head, "once you realize you should be moisturizing, you're already five years too late".

10. Reconnect With The Single Me

In a few days, I'll find out if my husband is being sent overseas for a year again. When I heard about the 90 percent chance, I was a mess. A whole year. And he would be leaving shortly after our anniversary, not to mention the two months prior he would be spending in training in Texas. I kept waiting for the little voice inside of me to say, "I can't go on without him," but somewhere I think a part of me is squashing that. There's still a part of me I thought I wouldn't have to use again, but I'm glad it stuck around. It was the part that says, "If you can't live without someone else, you're not really living you're own life." I loved being single. And not in a sense of single-without-strings or anything like that, I enjoyed my own company, I could spend a week alone in my old apartment completely on my own schedule. It may sound selfish, but I look at some of my single friends who are constantly trying to make themselves into other people, just to get attention. I never thought doing that would land any sort of security and real love, so I was content to do what I wanted to do.

Of course, I hope that 10 percent chance does happen. There's a difference between can't live without someone and not wanting to with one's whole heart. But, in preparation for worst case scenario, I want to know I'll be able to deal with not seeing the love of my life every morning when I wake up and every night before I go to bed. If there was a resolution I have the most faith in keeping, it would be this one.

Happy new year, readers!

(And, for those of you who have given up on resolutions, or have already broken yours, here's an article on why resolutions don't work...clearly, these people haven't made 10 of them each year!)

Is It Just Me?

Or is MySpace becoming a thing of the past? I've seen two bulletins from friends this week, saying they were going to delete their MySpace pages because they never use it. Granted, that Facebook feed was annoying at first, but seeing all those changes it kind of nice (especially for stalking purposes...which I've given up, I swear).

I won't join those giving up MySpace just yet (because you never know when Facebook will be down or something). But I'm just wondering if we're going to see MySpace as a fad in a few years, something our children will write history papers on, or something we'll look back on in our old age.

Forgotten Link!

I haven't looked at this Web site in quite some time, mostly because it hasn't been updated in years. But when I found it in college, I loved it, but then I read everything.

However, one of my favorite SYW (So You Wanna) articles was on how to speak with an Irish accent. I was speaking with an Irish accent for three days uncontrollably after reading the SYW.

Free? I Love Free!

After my husband and I paid our mortgage for the month and I paid for my car to be fixed (hmph!), we realized that for the next two weeks, we are broke. Oh, so broke. So anything we can get for free, we will.

Thank goodness for Gun N' Roses (stupid band, doesn't know how to use an apostrophe correctly). Dr Pepper (another punctuationally-inept company) promised everyone in the United States a free can of the carbonated deliciousness, but only if you register today.

Register for a free can of Dr Pepper.

Of course, everyone wants a free Dr Pepper, hense the site is extremely slow to load today. I'm still waiting for the coupon page to load.

So, WHY is Dr Pepper giving away a free can? (And why are so many people excited about this when they can go to Wal-Mart and get a can of Dr. Thunder for 35 cents?)

Well, I don't really care about the reason, but it has something to do with the release of Guns N' Roses CD that's been 10 years in the making. And some corporate guy at Dr Pepper said something to the effect of "Well, if it's done in 2008, I'll be shocked. I'll give away a can of Dr Pepper to everyone in the United States." And Guns N' Roses must like it when they can stick it to the man...or something like that. I don't know how anti-establishment GNR are.

But, let's examine this apostophe catastrophe in Guns N' Roses name for a bit. Now, when you use an apostrophe in shortening a word, the apostrophe stands in place of letters missing. If Guns N' Roses wanted to really be short for Guns And Roses, the apostrophes would be on EITHER SIDE of the "N".

e.g. Guns 'N' Roses. (which, if we were looking at capitalization, would stand for Guns aNd Roses, I guess)

If the apostrophe we before the "N", the band name would mean Guns iN Roses. Hhhmmm. Glad they didn't go for that, I guess.

However, GNR used just one apostrophe after the "N", but clearly they're trying to make the bands name sound like they're saying "and" with the N'. But, if we bent the grammar rules a bit, the apostrophe could stand for anything. However, there are very few two-letter words that begin with N. I can only think of "No".

So, with that theory, GNR would stand for Guns No Roses. HOWEVER, if that were the case, Guns N' Roses forgot one more peice of important punctuality: a comma! Technically, it should be Guns, No Roses.

So, there you go!

Sorry, it really sucks knowing these rules sometimes. It's like, why did these rules have to stick in my brain, but no one else's? And I understand creative freedom to name a band whatever one wants...but, come on! It's wrong!

And now I'll get off my soapbox and leave ranting about the desecration of the English language for some other post.

...free Dr Pepper! Still waiting for the page to load...

Of Course This Takes Place in Vermont...

Real. Life. Quidditch.

(Need I say more?)

LINK