While our family was sitting around the house this evening, the TV ended up on "House Hunters." Heav-ENS, as Patrick would say. It's been a while since I watched this show.
If you haven't seen the show, it involves an individual or couple looking to buy a new house. They and their realtor look at three properties in their target price-range and location and, at the end, they announce their choice.
It's very strange how invested I get in their selection. I've been known to yell at the screen when the end comes and they make the WRONG CHOICE. (Honestly. What idiot would choose that house? Did you see the kitchen? And it had, like, no yard.) This investment is all the more mysterious when the artificial nature of the show is taken into account. Obviously, they do not follow these people around while they are actually house-hunting. They recreate a few choice scenes in the three most photogenic properties. It would be better if they were all the way with their fabrications and hired actors to play the part of the house-hunters and realtors. As it is, we get the most dreadful performances and jokes imaginable.
A sample....
Realtor: Sooo, heeeere [expansive gesture] we have a luvly deetached home. 1,500 square feet. 3 bedrooms, 1 1/2 baths. Only $300,000! And guhREAT schools for when you decide to start a family, eh? [winks] Let's look at the backyard firrrst. Isn't this nice?
Woman: Ooooh, that's nice.
Man:[impassive] I like grass. And trees.
Realtor: Now, how about that master bedroom! Isn't this nice?
Woman: Ooooh, that's nice.
Man: [impassive] There's a closet. And a window.
Realtor: And check out that view! [sweeps curtain aside to show view of industrial park] Ok, lets move on to the kitchen....
Realtor: Thiiiiis is what you call a "galley kitchen." Isn't this nice?
Woman: Ooooh, that's nice.
Man: [impassive] I like the refrigerator.
Realtor: Think you can cook up some good stuff in here? Maybe get a bun in the oven? [cackes raucously, uncomfortable laughter from the buyers]
Also, the realtors invariably wear the most unflattering pantsuits. That offends me.
Monday, April 05, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
What's the moral of this story?
I posted once before about the characters I encounter in the elevator at work.
Add this guy to that mix.
I prepared to go downstairs this evening and, when the elevator doors opened, I found that it was already occupied. A young man--probably my age or a little younger-- was standing in the far corner, leaning one shoulder against the elevator wall. He was wearing sunglasses (!!!), very droopy, frayed jeans, and a very loose white tank top that showed off his myriad tattoos. As I walked in, I noticed that he was listening to his iPod and that it was turned way up. He was also singing along under his breath.
It took me a few seconds to hear exactly what he was listening to, and a few seconds more for it to fully register.
This wasn't quite what I was expecting.
Add this guy to that mix.
I prepared to go downstairs this evening and, when the elevator doors opened, I found that it was already occupied. A young man--probably my age or a little younger-- was standing in the far corner, leaning one shoulder against the elevator wall. He was wearing sunglasses (!!!), very droopy, frayed jeans, and a very loose white tank top that showed off his myriad tattoos. As I walked in, I noticed that he was listening to his iPod and that it was turned way up. He was also singing along under his breath.
It took me a few seconds to hear exactly what he was listening to, and a few seconds more for it to fully register.
This wasn't quite what I was expecting.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Time for a change
I got tired of feeling cold every time I looked at my own blog. Ice and winter berries just weren't working any longer. I realize that it will still be some time before we get to deal/play with dandelion tufts, but hey. The picture makes me happy and warm.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
What were we talking about again?
Student: What's a creditor? Is it a kind of animal?
Assistant: No, that's a predator.
Me: A creditor is a person to whom a debt is owed.
Student: Whom? Whom. [like an owl] Whoooom, whoooom, whoooom.
Student Two: Is a creditor the same thing as a debitor?
Assistant: Debitor? Oh wait. Debtor.
Me: No, a debtor is the person to whom....
Student: [owl voice] Whoooom! Whoooom!
Me: Moving on....
Student: Hey, why does the lesson not match the coloring page? It's, like, not the same story. Look! On this picture, they're eating grapes and blueberries and, like, bread. In this picture, they're eating, like fish filets and bacon. Obviously not the same story.
Assistant: What is it with you children and food? Don't you eat breakfast before Sunday School?
Student: Bethany, who created the first avocado?
Me: God did.
Student: Cool. Who created the second avocado? Was that God too? Did the avocado fall into sin with Adam and Eve?
Student Two: Why do you like avocados so much? I like strawberries.
Student: Yeah, how about strawberries? Did they fall into sin too?
Me: Hey look! It's time for music!
Student: Whoooom. Whoooom.
Assistant: No, that's a predator.
Me: A creditor is a person to whom a debt is owed.
Student: Whom? Whom. [like an owl] Whoooom, whoooom, whoooom.
Student Two: Is a creditor the same thing as a debitor?
Assistant: Debitor? Oh wait. Debtor.
Me: No, a debtor is the person to whom....
Student: [owl voice] Whoooom! Whoooom!
Me: Moving on....
Student: Hey, why does the lesson not match the coloring page? It's, like, not the same story. Look! On this picture, they're eating grapes and blueberries and, like, bread. In this picture, they're eating, like fish filets and bacon. Obviously not the same story.
Assistant: What is it with you children and food? Don't you eat breakfast before Sunday School?
Student: Bethany, who created the first avocado?
Me: God did.
Student: Cool. Who created the second avocado? Was that God too? Did the avocado fall into sin with Adam and Eve?
Student Two: Why do you like avocados so much? I like strawberries.
Student: Yeah, how about strawberries? Did they fall into sin too?
Me: Hey look! It's time for music!
Student: Whoooom. Whoooom.
Monday, March 01, 2010
Seasonal Denial
I have long held the conviction-unsupported by the calendar and cold facts of Indiana winters- that the beginning of March really means the beginning of Spring. In Bethany-land, Summer runs from May to September, September through November constitute Fall, and Winter begins with December and ends with February. March means Spring. Spring means sunshine and rain, gradual warming, and growing things. Grey and mud-brown relieved at last by green and palest pink. Bunnies and birdies. (And bugs, but nevermind them.)
Thus, I woke this morning with high expectations. I purposely left my decidedly Winter Red gloves at home and bore the chill of a frozen steering wheel all the way to work, secure in the knowledge that, whatever my senses chose to tell me, THIS IS SPRING. I considered leaving off my cardigan while working, as if to defy the chill coming off my office window with its overcast view. My lunch break was spent in indecision regarding what sort of Easter hat I want this year (Pillbox? Wide brim? How retro do we go?) and whether I want those Miss Sixty sandals in pink or blue. (Pink.)
At long last, sometime after noon, the sun worked its way through the clouds and, as I enjoyed the warm light, I knew. The air is still cold and there snow drifts haven't yet melted, but Spring-complete with sunshine and rain showers and Easter and baseball and sandal shopping- is coming.
Thus, I woke this morning with high expectations. I purposely left my decidedly Winter Red gloves at home and bore the chill of a frozen steering wheel all the way to work, secure in the knowledge that, whatever my senses chose to tell me, THIS IS SPRING. I considered leaving off my cardigan while working, as if to defy the chill coming off my office window with its overcast view. My lunch break was spent in indecision regarding what sort of Easter hat I want this year (Pillbox? Wide brim? How retro do we go?) and whether I want those Miss Sixty sandals in pink or blue. (Pink.)
At long last, sometime after noon, the sun worked its way through the clouds and, as I enjoyed the warm light, I knew. The air is still cold and there snow drifts haven't yet melted, but Spring-complete with sunshine and rain showers and Easter and baseball and sandal shopping- is coming.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Teaching fail.
Last Sunday I had the pleasure of a one-on-one session with a student. Me and her. No one else showed up, so the lesson went something like this:
Me: ...and what were Moses and Elijah talking about?
Student: Shopping?
Me: Seriously now. Let's look back at the Bible story....
Student: Ok, so they were talking about what Jesus was going to do.
Me: And what was Jesus going to do?
Student: Do I need to answer these questions? You already know the answers. How 'bout I ask you things and you answer. Huh? And then we color.
After 20 minutes of that, I surrendered and let her color.
Me: ...and what were Moses and Elijah talking about?
Student: Shopping?
Me: Seriously now. Let's look back at the Bible story....
Student: Ok, so they were talking about what Jesus was going to do.
Me: And what was Jesus going to do?
Student: Do I need to answer these questions? You already know the answers. How 'bout I ask you things and you answer. Huh? And then we color.
After 20 minutes of that, I surrendered and let her color.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Lunch break
Two words: turtle brownies.
Those lucky ladies who were at bunco last night made a mistake of gargantuan proportions, for which I thank them most sincerely. They left 1/2 a pan of gooey, caramelly, chocolaty brownieness behind. I understand: there were chocolate chip cookie dough brownies, deep dark chocolate cake, and jars of M&Ms. And then the non-chocolate goodies: cream puffs, apricot scones, corn salad, and the famous buffalo chicken dip. (Did I miss anything?) And heck, there were only 11 of us.
All of that to say thank you, Bunco Ladies, for not eating all of the brownies, because today is Monday and I packed leftovers for lunch.
Those lucky ladies who were at bunco last night made a mistake of gargantuan proportions, for which I thank them most sincerely. They left 1/2 a pan of gooey, caramelly, chocolaty brownieness behind. I understand: there were chocolate chip cookie dough brownies, deep dark chocolate cake, and jars of M&Ms. And then the non-chocolate goodies: cream puffs, apricot scones, corn salad, and the famous buffalo chicken dip. (Did I miss anything?) And heck, there were only 11 of us.
All of that to say thank you, Bunco Ladies, for not eating all of the brownies, because today is Monday and I packed leftovers for lunch.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Odds and Ends
I got my hair cut short again today, and it's a good thing I did. My 'do was creeping into "I don't care what my hair looks like as long as it stays out of my face" territory. Practical, but sad. It probably didn't help that work was super busy in the last few weeks and I haven't had the time or energy to think about primping. (Actually, the only thing I seem to have had the energy or desire to do after work is sit around on the sofa in my pajamas, watching Jane Austen adaptations and knitting while my cat sleeps in my lap. You see the problem. This haircut came none too soon. The hairdresser said that it was a very young style, so maybe it can prevent me from turning into a pitiful cat lady.)
Speaking of watching Jane Austen adaptations.... I heartily approve of the new BBC version of "Emma." Patrick and I watched the first two episodes on PBS and, by the time we were halfway through, I got on to amazon.com and ordered the DVD set. We watched the whole thing (all 4 hours) yesterday evening and I went off to bed grinning like an idiot.
Sorta kinda related, KUDOS to my little brother, who is slogging his way through "Wuthering Heights." He's going to finish it on his first try. It took me four or five attempts-- and four or five aerial trips across the room for Heathcliff and Cathy--before I forced myself to finish it. The agony. (Agony. I suppose that it an appropriate response to that book.)
Anyway, bravo Patrick for having a stronger tolerance for self-indulgent idiocy than I do. Your next challenge is to make it through anything by Henry James and to fill me in on how you did it. In return, I'll let you borrow--and write in--my copies of Machiavelli and the Federalist Papers. Deal?
Speaking of watching Jane Austen adaptations.... I heartily approve of the new BBC version of "Emma." Patrick and I watched the first two episodes on PBS and, by the time we were halfway through, I got on to amazon.com and ordered the DVD set. We watched the whole thing (all 4 hours) yesterday evening and I went off to bed grinning like an idiot.
Sorta kinda related, KUDOS to my little brother, who is slogging his way through "Wuthering Heights." He's going to finish it on his first try. It took me four or five attempts-- and four or five aerial trips across the room for Heathcliff and Cathy--before I forced myself to finish it. The agony. (Agony. I suppose that it an appropriate response to that book.)
Anyway, bravo Patrick for having a stronger tolerance for self-indulgent idiocy than I do. Your next challenge is to make it through anything by Henry James and to fill me in on how you did it. In return, I'll let you borrow--and write in--my copies of Machiavelli and the Federalist Papers. Deal?
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
I'l take a . . .
I remember, just after the middle of the first semester of my senior year, having a bit of a rough day at school. Several papers were due the following week, I had a major exam to prepare for, and piles of history books and papers waiting to be read and annotated in preparation for my senior seminar project. Before I could settle down for some quality studying time, I needed to make a stop at Starbucks.
Or mornings like the one I had today, when there's nothing exactly wrong but I just lack the oomph to face an entire day at the office. That downtown Starbucks begins to looks mighty inviting.
It's very curious. It's not the caffeine: I only do decaf. It's not the comfort of holding a hot drink, because it works with cold drinks too. Drive through or cafe. Tall, grande, or venti. Coffee or tea. There's just something about getting a drink at Starbucks that makes me feel cozy and relaxed. Add in a pastry and the day gets even brighter. Travel cup in hand, I feel equipped to face tests or papers or 8 1/2 hours in the office with a cranky boss.
Maybe I'm just a victim of highly successful marketing. Well, I'll take it. And a tall decaf cinnamon dolce latte.
(There's no escape! I surrender.)
Or mornings like the one I had today, when there's nothing exactly wrong but I just lack the oomph to face an entire day at the office. That downtown Starbucks begins to looks mighty inviting.
It's very curious. It's not the caffeine: I only do decaf. It's not the comfort of holding a hot drink, because it works with cold drinks too. Drive through or cafe. Tall, grande, or venti. Coffee or tea. There's just something about getting a drink at Starbucks that makes me feel cozy and relaxed. Add in a pastry and the day gets even brighter. Travel cup in hand, I feel equipped to face tests or papers or 8 1/2 hours in the office with a cranky boss.
Maybe I'm just a victim of highly successful marketing. Well, I'll take it. And a tall decaf cinnamon dolce latte.
(There's no escape! I surrender.)
Monday, February 01, 2010
Some thoughts over lunch break
1) Baked chicken with a dijon and breadcrumb crust, fresh from the oven, bears very little resemblance to the same dish fresh from the microwave. The latter is more reminiscent of an old leather shoe. (Note for my brother: we'll call this dish "Chicken Khrushchev". And we'll even spell it correctly.)
2) If I ever again complain about not having enough to do at work, please--anyone--feel free to smack me. On second thought, don't worry about it. At some point in the next few days I'll be lost beneath the mountain of paper accumulating on my desk and no one will have to hear me complain about anything ever again.
2) If I ever again complain about not having enough to do at work, please--anyone--feel free to smack me. On second thought, don't worry about it. At some point in the next few days I'll be lost beneath the mountain of paper accumulating on my desk and no one will have to hear me complain about anything ever again.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Start time: 11:00. End time: 5:30.
I attended my first deposition yesterday.
No, not that kind of deposition.
No, not that kind either.
It would be fun to describe it and give everyone a little taste of what the day was like, but I am too darn tired.
Actually, that pretty much describes it. 6 1/2 hours of detailed questioning and no food. (The rumor is true. Lawyers really do live on coffee. One more reason I'm just not cut out for law.) I was only there to take notes, charm the co-defense counsel and the client, and ensure that my boss knew when the deponent contradicted the records. Oh yeah, and to make sure the lawyers had enough coffee. It was interesting, though, and it was good practice. Apparently we'll be having an eight-day marathon of depositions for one of our cases in May. Gah.
No, not that kind of deposition.
No, not that kind either.
It would be fun to describe it and give everyone a little taste of what the day was like, but I am too darn tired.
Actually, that pretty much describes it. 6 1/2 hours of detailed questioning and no food. (The rumor is true. Lawyers really do live on coffee. One more reason I'm just not cut out for law.) I was only there to take notes, charm the co-defense counsel and the client, and ensure that my boss knew when the deponent contradicted the records. Oh yeah, and to make sure the lawyers had enough coffee. It was interesting, though, and it was good practice. Apparently we'll be having an eight-day marathon of depositions for one of our cases in May. Gah.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
More Sunday School Quotes
Today was a bit of a rough one, Sunday School-wise. The teacher was frazzled. The students were frazzling, each in their own special way. No one seemed to understand the lesson, but that might have been because no one could stop talking long enough to listen.
Assistant: God knows all about you. He counts every hair on your head.
Student: What if you have head lice?
Student: So, God knows, like, everything, right?
Assistant: That's right.
Student: (thinks for a moment) So, does Jesus like "What Not to Wear?"
Student: (looking at lesson leaflet) What's in this picture? Those look like chicken tenders! Are those chicken tenders?
Me: I don't think they are. So, can anyone tell me....
Student: Does God like chicken tenders? I love them.
I just know that if I was 60 years old and scary, this would not happen.
Assistant: God knows all about you. He counts every hair on your head.
Student: What if you have head lice?
Student: So, God knows, like, everything, right?
Assistant: That's right.
Student: (thinks for a moment) So, does Jesus like "What Not to Wear?"
Student: (looking at lesson leaflet) What's in this picture? Those look like chicken tenders! Are those chicken tenders?
Me: I don't think they are. So, can anyone tell me....
Student: Does God like chicken tenders? I love them.
I just know that if I was 60 years old and scary, this would not happen.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
"Whatever you do, don't look in the kitchen sink."
Our church held a potluck this afternoon to celebrate Dr. Evanson's visit.
I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I love potlucks. Especially potlucks where people bring freshly baked bread, homemade noodles, artery-clogging rice casserole, and mustard greens. Mustard greens. Life is good.
The best thing about potlucks is that the food is brought in and our church family can enjoy lunch together without actually needing to use the church kitchen. Anyone who has seen our church kitchen will understand why this is a good thing. I don't even want to describe it because, well, it's scary down there.
There are, however, degrees of scary.
Loose plaster and cobwebbed pipes are one thing. Bats are another.
One of our friendly little church bats decided to pay the kitchen a visit and he ended up hanging out in the kitchen sink. He wasn't there for long. After entirely too many people had crammed into the kitchen to get a glimpse of the bat, my father came and "dealt with it."
There were some feigned tears and squealing on the part of the little girls who felt so sorry for the poor helpless little thing. "It's so cuuuuuuuuuuuute! Awwww Look at it! It's breeeeeeathing! Can it fly?!"
There were some relieved sighs on the part of the women. "I don't even want to think about it. Those things get in your hair. That's not something anyone wants to deal with. I'll be standing over here, out of the way. Let me know when it's safe to move."
Then there were the weirdos like my brothers and me. "Awesome! No, let me get a closer look. Gross. But cool! Eine Fledermaus-- right Sis? Look at the claws. I wonder if it was hibernating in here? Andrew, get back. It's rabid. You can see it in its eyes.*"
I suppose it's too late now to tell my dad that he "dealt with" an endangered animal.
*Sorry. Absurd family joke, involving a raccoon. Also scary.
I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I love potlucks. Especially potlucks where people bring freshly baked bread, homemade noodles, artery-clogging rice casserole, and mustard greens. Mustard greens. Life is good.
The best thing about potlucks is that the food is brought in and our church family can enjoy lunch together without actually needing to use the church kitchen. Anyone who has seen our church kitchen will understand why this is a good thing. I don't even want to describe it because, well, it's scary down there.
There are, however, degrees of scary.
Loose plaster and cobwebbed pipes are one thing. Bats are another.
One of our friendly little church bats decided to pay the kitchen a visit and he ended up hanging out in the kitchen sink. He wasn't there for long. After entirely too many people had crammed into the kitchen to get a glimpse of the bat, my father came and "dealt with it."
There were some feigned tears and squealing on the part of the little girls who felt so sorry for the poor helpless little thing. "It's so cuuuuuuuuuuuute! Awwww Look at it! It's breeeeeeathing! Can it fly?!"
There were some relieved sighs on the part of the women. "I don't even want to think about it. Those things get in your hair. That's not something anyone wants to deal with. I'll be standing over here, out of the way. Let me know when it's safe to move."
Then there were the weirdos like my brothers and me. "Awesome! No, let me get a closer look. Gross. But cool! Eine Fledermaus-- right Sis? Look at the claws. I wonder if it was hibernating in here? Andrew, get back. It's rabid. You can see it in its eyes.*"
I suppose it's too late now to tell my dad that he "dealt with" an endangered animal.
*Sorry. Absurd family joke, involving a raccoon. Also scary.
Thursday, January 07, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
If I was still a kid—or even a college student—the past week would have looked a lot different.
Being sick generally makes a helpless baby out of me. The minute my face first got that dry feeling on Saturday (for me, always the first sign of an impending sinus problem or nasty cold), I would have retreated to the family room. I would have spent all day curled up in my corner of the couch, swathed in my blue fleece blanket, drinking tea and watching movies. I would probably have my laptop within reach, along with whatever books I was feeling too stupid to read. I probably would have slept 10-11 hours every night.
Instead, since I'm no longer a little kid or a college student, I’ve been leaving the house in the bitter cold every morning at 7:45 and spending my days at a desk, staring at a computer screen (which drives my already watery eyes completely bonkers). I’ve accomplished very little, apart from filling my wastebasket with tissues and emptying the water cooler. But since I'm not really all that sick I have no good excuse to stay home, and I’m too miserly with my personal days to give them up for anything so trifling as a cold.
Being sick generally makes a helpless baby out of me. The minute my face first got that dry feeling on Saturday (for me, always the first sign of an impending sinus problem or nasty cold), I would have retreated to the family room. I would have spent all day curled up in my corner of the couch, swathed in my blue fleece blanket, drinking tea and watching movies. I would probably have my laptop within reach, along with whatever books I was feeling too stupid to read. I probably would have slept 10-11 hours every night.
Instead, since I'm no longer a little kid or a college student, I’ve been leaving the house in the bitter cold every morning at 7:45 and spending my days at a desk, staring at a computer screen (which drives my already watery eyes completely bonkers). I’ve accomplished very little, apart from filling my wastebasket with tissues and emptying the water cooler. But since I'm not really all that sick I have no good excuse to stay home, and I’m too miserly with my personal days to give them up for anything so trifling as a cold.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Holiday menu planning?
While doing some research today, I happened across WebMD's "Naughty List of Holiday Foods." I had to investigate further, because, for one, the name annoyed me: it was either going to be about stigmatizing fat or...uh...nevermind.
They provided a list of 15 or so fat and sodium laden delicacies with ideas about how to make them healthy. One or two of the ideas sounded edible. For instance, it probably wouldn't kill me to eat white meat turkey and not pick the skin off the bird while my grandpa isn't looking. The vast majority of their suggestions, however, were either just plain silly or just plain revolting.
Can't stop yourself from eating piles and piles of creamy, buttery mashed potatoes? Leave out the dairy and mash the potatoes with low-sodium fat-free (taste free) chicken broth. Not only will there be fewer calories in the potatoes, you'll suddenly lose the desire to die eating them.
Love pecan pie but hate yourself for eating so much sugar for dessert? Eat a handful of mixed nuts. You won't notice the difference. Honest. Equally interchangeable: caramel corn and popcorn (doubtless, butter and salt-free), Christmas cookies and whole-wheat crackers.
And drinks don't escape the purge. White wine and cranberry juice spritzers stand in for festive cocktails. Nevermind the fact that if you liked white wine spritzers you'd be drinking them anyway. Or--my personal favorite--serve their super secret recipe low-fat egg nog: skim milk, artificial sweetener, and egg substitutes. Mmmmm.
Please, just let good food be good food. If you're on a diet, eat REAL healthy food. If you feel the need to indulge in Christmas treats, it is possible to do so with moderation. Is there any point in eating traditionally rich foods with the good stuff --fat, salt, and sugar--removed? Foods that are genuinely healthy are delicious. Splenda and egg substitutes? Not so much.
They provided a list of 15 or so fat and sodium laden delicacies with ideas about how to make them healthy. One or two of the ideas sounded edible. For instance, it probably wouldn't kill me to eat white meat turkey and not pick the skin off the bird while my grandpa isn't looking. The vast majority of their suggestions, however, were either just plain silly or just plain revolting.
Can't stop yourself from eating piles and piles of creamy, buttery mashed potatoes? Leave out the dairy and mash the potatoes with low-sodium fat-free (taste free) chicken broth. Not only will there be fewer calories in the potatoes, you'll suddenly lose the desire to die eating them.
Love pecan pie but hate yourself for eating so much sugar for dessert? Eat a handful of mixed nuts. You won't notice the difference. Honest. Equally interchangeable: caramel corn and popcorn (doubtless, butter and salt-free), Christmas cookies and whole-wheat crackers.
And drinks don't escape the purge. White wine and cranberry juice spritzers stand in for festive cocktails. Nevermind the fact that if you liked white wine spritzers you'd be drinking them anyway. Or--my personal favorite--serve their super secret recipe low-fat egg nog: skim milk, artificial sweetener, and egg substitutes. Mmmmm.
Please, just let good food be good food. If you're on a diet, eat REAL healthy food. If you feel the need to indulge in Christmas treats, it is possible to do so with moderation. Is there any point in eating traditionally rich foods with the good stuff --fat, salt, and sugar--removed? Foods that are genuinely healthy are delicious. Splenda and egg substitutes? Not so much.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Avoidance? Nah.
Bethany hates making phone calls.
Bethany hates singing in front of people.
Is it any wonder that it took nearly two weeks for me to get around to calling the Civic Theater to set up a time to audition for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat?
But I did it. It's DONE.
Bethany hates singing in front of people.
Is it any wonder that it took nearly two weeks for me to get around to calling the Civic Theater to set up a time to audition for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat?
But I did it. It's DONE.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Vanity post:
As my mother--and nearly every other girl born with straight hair--could tell you, I wish desperately that I had been born with curly hair. Or wavy hair. Or hair that does something besides hang in lank strands around my face. I've long held a grudge against Patrick and Andrew for having naturally thick, wavy hair that actually forms ringlets when it gets too long. Those two have the amazing hair, Jonathan has the absurdly long and thick eyelashes, and I have a chip on my shoulder.
In the last few weeks I've taken to sleeping with my hair in curlers a few times a week. When the rollers come out and the resulting curls are forced into order I have something resembling the hair I've always wanted.
No more. It would appear that my hair can't withstand the weekly onslaught of curlers and has decided that it would rather break and fall out that be forced into ringlets.
See that poor girl? I'm calling her the anthropomorphic representation of my hair. Except that she has improbably nice locks and a well-dressed gentleman to rush to her aid.
In the last few weeks I've taken to sleeping with my hair in curlers a few times a week. When the rollers come out and the resulting curls are forced into order I have something resembling the hair I've always wanted.
No more. It would appear that my hair can't withstand the weekly onslaught of curlers and has decided that it would rather break and fall out that be forced into ringlets.
See that poor girl? I'm calling her the anthropomorphic representation of my hair. Except that she has improbably nice locks and a well-dressed gentleman to rush to her aid.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
My feet hurt.
As much as I enjoy shopping, I find malls singularly unpleasant: the noise of too many different stores playing too many different kinds of music too loudly; the smell of Abercrombie cologne mixing with whatever bizarre fruit-and-floral concoction is being hawked by The Body Shop; the sight of tragic fashion victims and girls with those silly pompadour-poof things over their foreheads. It's a multi-sensory torture process.
Having said that, I had a great time doing some Christmas shopping today with my mother and Jacqui. We went to Keystone (or, to give the full and pretentious name, "The Fashion Mall at Keystone"), which boasts such startlingly expensive novelties as Burberry and MaxAzria, as well as the places real people shop. We spent the most time at Anthropologie, my new favorite place to indulge my whimsical-yet-domestic side. I managed to NOT buy anything for myself--just presents for a few lucky people. Another favorite stop, visited annually, is the Game Preserve. I'm a sucker for games and, consequently, spent way more there than any place else. But I won't say what I bought or for whom I bought it. Somehow we didn't make it to a bookstore. Had we done so, I am certain that my resolve to not buy anything for myself would have broken down; I may be able to resist flower-shaped measuring cups but there is no way to say no to 25,000 square feet of books.
Having said that, I had a great time doing some Christmas shopping today with my mother and Jacqui. We went to Keystone (or, to give the full and pretentious name, "The Fashion Mall at Keystone"), which boasts such startlingly expensive novelties as Burberry and MaxAzria, as well as the places real people shop. We spent the most time at Anthropologie, my new favorite place to indulge my whimsical-yet-domestic side. I managed to NOT buy anything for myself--just presents for a few lucky people. Another favorite stop, visited annually, is the Game Preserve. I'm a sucker for games and, consequently, spent way more there than any place else. But I won't say what I bought or for whom I bought it. Somehow we didn't make it to a bookstore. Had we done so, I am certain that my resolve to not buy anything for myself would have broken down; I may be able to resist flower-shaped measuring cups but there is no way to say no to 25,000 square feet of books.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Sunday School Snippets
Bethany: So, what sort of gifts does God give us?
Girl 1: Shoes!...and forgiveness!
Girl 2: Fishnets.
Bethany: ...because Elizabeth was barren.
Girl 3: What's "barren" mean?
Girl 1: It means she can't have any kids. Her womb was closed. [Note: Has someone been paying attention, or what???]
Girl 4: (pause, frowns) I think I'm barren 'cause I've never had any kids.
Girl 1: Girl, that's 'cause you're only ten years old.
Girl 2: So, does God still send Gabriel to people? Like, can I see him sometime?
Girl 1: I think if you don't stop interrupting Bethany when she's reading the lesson, you'll be seeing Gabriel and all the other angels real soon.
Girl 1: Shoes!...and forgiveness!
Girl 2: Fishnets.
Bethany: ...because Elizabeth was barren.
Girl 3: What's "barren" mean?
Girl 1: It means she can't have any kids. Her womb was closed. [Note: Has someone been paying attention, or what???]
Girl 4: (pause, frowns) I think I'm barren 'cause I've never had any kids.
Girl 1: Girl, that's 'cause you're only ten years old.
Girl 2: So, does God still send Gabriel to people? Like, can I see him sometime?
Girl 1: I think if you don't stop interrupting Bethany when she's reading the lesson, you'll be seeing Gabriel and all the other angels real soon.
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