Lola's Anniversary!

For shits and giggles Lola decided to look back to her first Blog post. And what did she find? That she has been writing this blog for just over a year! She is somewhat nauseated and dizzied by the fact that a year has so quickly flown by. Much has happened in said year; some good, some bad, some incredibly hilarious happenings. There was the opening post lamenting over her lack of physical activity, and subsequent issues of clothing designers being depicted as Succubi from Hell. Many an adventure, such as offing the wasps with over the counter Napalm, wearing Noodles in the water so as not to float away whilst inebriated, and many a laughable incident while driving to or from NJ. There have also been somewhat serious posts (altho relatively few; Lola does NOT want her readers to think that she is sappy in the least), posts meant for the purpose of solely bitching about the world and and the ridiculous shit that happens. At any rate, Lola would like to thank her 3 semi-faithful readers for enjoying the ride with her. Remember, there will always be an entertaining story that follows the phrase "So there I am....."

Political Woes

As a general rule, I am not a particularly political person. However, with the upcoming election I find myself strangely drawn to the world of politics, the individual contestants (because, lets be serious, this is just a nationwide gameshow), and the "rules" of the game. In my own humble opinion, nothing can be worse than the last 8 wretched years of Dubya's "strategery," but I think that the Hooker in Boots (Sarah Palin) might rate a close second. I am reminded of my earlier post "Cheney/Voldemort '08" which should just be changed to "McCain/Volemort" for more accuracy. For the first time ever, I actually watched a debate (Palin/Biden), with the intent of witnessing what I had hoped would be a royal trainwreck. It wasn't quite as bad as I had hoped, but it was close. She deftly managed to not adequately answer a single question, all the while toting her and McCain's talents as "mavericks." Which, of course, they are not. If she made one more nebulous reference to plans for Iraq, or how to solve the energy crisis, I was going to shoot myself in the head. Now, I think every candidate should be able to choose their own running mate, but I think that McCain's decision has was the final death knell for the Republican party in this election. If he was looking for the Hilary vote, he was sorely mistaken. Just because she has a set of ovaries does not mean that she is remotely qualified to represent the opinions of any modern woman in America today. Quite the opposite; she is, most certainly, the Bridge to Nowhere.

3 A.M. And All is Well... And Boring

It seems that each night that I return to my part time job, the Computer Gods have set another strike against me. First, it was Myspace... although I didn't really give a shit about that because I don't have a Myspace account. Then it was Facebook, which royally irritated me. After all, who is goign to slay dragons and feed my zombies in the middle of the night, if not me?! But the coup d'etat came this evening. As a general rule, I will keep a web page open with my email, so that I can periodically view it, purely to see if any of my friends are awake in the wee hours of the morning to keep me entertained. However, while I can now log into the website, I can no longer click "get email" for that apparently goes against some newly laid down security law that I am beholden to obey. It would appear that these ridiculous people actually expect me to do legitimate work. Unbeknownst to my superiors, there is very little veritable work to be done at 3 A.M. So now what the hell am I going to do? Maybe I shall knit myself a noose.

Silly Trees

So I came dangerously close to winning myself a Darwin award today. There are trees in my yard that have decided to take over with their obnoxiously enormous limbs and leaves, thus blocking out sunlight and devastating my garden. I went to such great pains to start most of the plants by seed, and all that remains are a few piddly onions, and about 7 dwarfish tomatoes that refuse to turn red. But I digress... My father and I decided it was time to wage war on the trees. We first attacked the giant maple in the yard, that is dying a slow and painful death anyway. First, I got out the extension ladder.... only to discover that I was not able to "safely" place it in a spot where I could get to the limbs marked for death. After a few attempts, I realized it was hopeless. But oh no! I was not to be deterred. Like MacGyver, I came up with a new plan, involving some wire cord, a trowel, and brute force. I used the trowel as a weight, and swung said cord like a lasso to capture the moribund limbs, and then dad and I used brute force to yank the bastards from the tree. The most gratifying part is, it actually worked! There was one unfortunate moment, however, when the head of the trowel parted company with the handle mid swing... and went shooting off into the bushes like some sort of maniacal gardening missile, nearly decapitating my cat who was an innocent bystander at the time. However.... I still have some LIVE limbs in the yard that need surgical intervention... I think its time to call my brother in to do the grunt work.

Starry Night

As a general rule, Lola is not an overly romantic, sappy sort of woman. But every now and then, something happens that just takes her breath away. The last night of Lola's vacation on the lake was an exceptionally clear evening. And Lola was with an exceptional man, who had only rarely seen the stars with such little light pollution. So Lola and the man went for a walk to the dock. There, they lay down on the dock and gazed at the stars; something normally way too romantic for Lola, but this was nice. Anyhoo... the time came to go back to the campsite for a traditional marshmallow burning session, so Lola and the man prepared to leave. And right there, under the band of the Milky Way, the man kissed Lola! So simple, so sweet, and yet it took her breath away. By far, the most romantic kiss Lola has ever experienced.

Kinky Sex

For Labor Day Weekend, I decided to go to NH on Lake Winnipesaukee with friends. After a ridiculous stretch at work, I was in dire need of some lazy time, and thought my friend Rich was, too. So I dragged him up to the lake to basically spend 3 days doing nothing; turns out it was one of the better decisions I have made in quite a while. While at the lake, my best friend was rather curious about this guy I had brought along with me, and appropriately began a line of questioning. She, of course, asks innocuous questions, like "Where are you from? " and "What do you do?" Her father, on the other hand, must have thought she was taking the long way round, and chose a more direct approach. "So Rich, are you into kinky sex?" he says... Almost everyone at the table choked on their sandwiches... except for Rich, who replied without missing a beat with, "Yeah. Isn't everyone?" After we all recovered from the massive bout of hysterical laughter, I received a look of approval from my best friend. Which is good... it is quite awkward to date someone who is disliked by your closest friends.

Leaving On a Jet Plane

Our trip home turned out to be completely catastrophic. We safely made it to the bus and then the airport. An hour into the flight, they announced that the navigation system needed to cross the Atlantic was not working, and they would have to turn back to Paris. We waited on the tarmac for 2 hrs while they fixed the plane. Personally, I would have preferred another aircraft sans technical difficulties, but it was not to be. We arrived in NY 4 hrs late and missed our connecting flight. After waiting what seemed a day to get our luggage, we booked seats on the next flight to Boston, which was leaving at 8 pm. I called my brother, as he and his wife were going to pick us up at the shuttle in Framingham. Turns out, they were already there. I informed them about the flight situation, and they decided they would go see a movie while waiting. No problem.... alas, I was wrong. The flight ended up being late... and by late I mean, we eventually boarded at 9:45, then sat on the tarmac until midnight, when the plane finally left for Boston. By the time I arrived in Boston, I had missed the last shuttle out of the airport. My brother was too tired to drive in to the airport, as he had to work the next morning, and my father and I ended up taking a cab home from Boston! A truly crappy trip home, but the vacation in France was so wonderful, I don't really care.

Paris III

Our last day in Paris, we decided to climb the Eiffel Tower (via the elevator, of course). Unfortunately, after standing in line for an hour, we discovered that the top floor was temporarily closed due to overcrowding. So, we went to the second floor, and still got some great photos, despite the fact that it was a fairly hazy day. Then, we went to the Pere Lachaise cemetery, where many famous people are buried. We saw Chopin and Poulenc's graves, and went on a desperate hike to find Jim Morrison's. The first time I went to Paris, Helene and I had spent hours in this cemetery looking for that grave, and never found it. This time, I was on a mission. We found out, and honestly it was a bit anticlimactic. But that's ok, I have seen it, and all is well. Basically, we took a Dead Musician's tour in the cemetery. Edith Piaf, Maria Callas and Oscar Wilde are also buried there, but we didn't have the energy to go looking for them (this cemetery is enormous). Then we went back to the hotel to begin the arduous task of repacking, for we were leaving at the arse-crack of dawn the next day.

Paris II

The day after Annie left, Dad and I spent a day at the Chateau of Versailles. It was built by Louis XIV, and is just plain over the top. The castle itself is enormous, but the gardens surrounding almost dwarf the size of the building. We took a tour through the castle, saw the Hall of Mirrors, and many of the individual rooms. The first floor rooms are mostly like a museum; each room has a different color of brocade on the walls, and there are many paintings on the wall. The upstairs is more exciting. One of the larger salons apparently has a ceiling that is actually painted canvas; the largest painted canvas in Europe. We then bought a ticket for the gardens, where we were able to see the Grands Eaux Musicales. Basically, they turn on all the fountains in the garden, and blast French Baroque music throughout. It is quite awe inspiring. We ate lunch, and just spent a couple of hours wandering in the Garden. Here, the gardens are pristinely manicured and shaped; gardens in this style are called "a la francaise."

Paris I

Annie decided to drive in to Paris with us, and stayed at the Hotel Chopin for a night. The first day, we visited Notre Dame, Ste. Chappelle, actually climbed the Arc de Triomphe and the Louvre. We at dinner at a wonderful restaurant that is in the basement of the train station at Les Invalides. Afterwards, we took a driving tour of Paris by Night, and saw how the Eiffel tower is lighted at night. Starting at 11, the turn on lights every hour on the hour for about 15 minutes. First, it flashes with silver lights, then goes to a solid, sapphire blue. It's absolutely gorgeous! The second day, despite extremely tired legs, we visited Napoleon's tomb, and also went to the Rodin museum. Napoleon's tomb is fantastic! The building is ornately decorated inside with marble and gold. The tomb itself is probably a 30 ft. marble construction. At the Rodin museum, we saw The Thinker, among other famous sculptures. Near the end of the day, Dad and I made a trek up the hill of Montmartre to see the Sacre Coeur Basilica. It sits on the top of the hill, and is a brilliant white. Unfortunately, you are not allowed to take pictures inside, but all the decoration is mosaic artwork. In the dome above the altar, there is a huge mosaic of Christ with his arms out. Again, lots of gold. That night, Annie left and returned to her parent's house, and Dad and I needed to take a nap to recover.

France VII- Chez Coutures

Staying at Annie's parent's, Claudine and Andre Couture, was fantastic. They fed us well every night, and there was much talking. Somehow, we got into a conversation about WWII, and they were telling us stories of when they were kids in the war, and how the Americans had come and French families were hiding some of the paratroopers in their attics and barns. One of the desks in their house had been confiscated and used by actual Nazi soldiers; then, surprisingly, returned to them after the war. It was extremely interesting to hear stories from people who had actually lived through it. After all, there has never been a war on American soil in my lifetime; even this war is somewhat removed from my everyday life. While there, we also visited a small castle at Chamerolles, where they now make perfume. Unfortunately, we got there just at closing time but they let us walk around the grounds anyway. We also visited Yevre, a medieval fort that is mostly in ruins now (got some great pics there). After this brief respite, we began our trek to Paris.

France VI- Castles of the Loire Valley

The day after the beach, Dad and I brought Helene and Maxim to the airport so they could return to England. Then he and I spent the evening in La Rochelle, and met up with Annie and Jean later. The next day, we began our trip through the Loire Valley to go to Annie's parent's house. Unfortunately, I didn't realize Jean would be working, and I didn't actually get a chance to say goodbye to him before we left. The trip was a bit long, but we got a chance to see a lot of the French countryside. The vast majority of the country is farmland, and you can drive for hours through wheat, hay and sunflower fields. The first castle we stopped at was Chenonceau, which is the only castle that is actually built over the Loire river. We got into a conversation about wine, and Annie explained that Jean is constantly arguing with his brother, for Jean thinks Bordeaux wine is superior to Loire valley. The second castle was Cheverny. The tour through the inside of this castle was far more interesting. We were able to view the king and queen's chambers, and an entire room dedicated to hunting and arms. Took a pic of the suit of armor for my brother. While there, I also bought 2 daggers (which I later discovered were actually sharpened), one for me and one for my brother. Not entirely sure this was a good idea, but whatever. We finally did a drive-by to see the Castle of Chambord, then went directly on to Annie's parent's house in Bouzonville aux Bois.

France V- The Beach

The following day, a group of about 20 of us went to a beach on Ile de Re. I drove Vikienti, Lisa and their mother, along with my father. Helene unintentionally gave me horrible directions, and we got nicely lost on the island. I was annoyed because I know Vikienti's sister gets carsick, and I am certain my complete lack of knowledge of the island was not helping her state. Eventually, we found a beach and decided To Hell with the rest of them... Luckily, when we got out of the car, Maxim was there. I think, next to Vikienti, I was the whitest person there, and the only one that did not get a serious sunburn. We jumped around in the waves which threatened to bowl us over, and I lost one of my pairs of sunglasses in the ocean. C'est la vie. There were also large, cement bunkers that Helene explained had been built during WWII, by the Germans in attempts to &*^% up the Americans.... but of course we came from the North and thwarted their plan! After roasting ourselves in the sun for a few hours, and having a picnic, a few of us drove to St. Martin and went to a bar for a drink. The group was dwindling at this point, and finally we just headed back to Mauze. Apparently, my worry over Lisa was unnecessary; Helene told me she sang my name the entire way home because I am the only driver that doesn't make her sick :)

France IV- The Garden Party

The Garden Party at Helene's house the day after the wedding was fantastic. True to form, there was an enormous amount of food. It was really nice to see some of Helene's friends who I had met the first time I had come to France. Unfortunately, Helene and Maxim had to stay at the fort, cleaning up, and missed most of their own afterparty. Maxim's uncle Micha is quite the character. He has a stereotypical "Mad Russian" sort of look, is wildly hilarious and "original." At the party, he was wearing some sort of African-styled T-shirt, and had an arabic looking wrap that he put on his head and Maxim called him Bin Laden. He speaks French, and he and I got along marvelously. Very interested in music, he is. I spent most of the afternoon sitting by the pool talking to Vikienti. I tell you, life in Europe is extremely difficult.

France III- The Wedding

Helene's wedding was fantastic! I sang, and was also a witness. Basically, I signed a register. The service was very eclectic, as the programs were translated into French, German, English and Russian, and different portions of the service were spoken in different languages. After the church, we swung by Helene's parents house to get things, then we all drove on to the Fort. The fort is a giant stone wall, roughly star-shaped, with a moat around the outside, and a tent had been set up in the center. Before we went inside, there were hors d'ouvres and champagne outside (I actually ate oysters for the first time!) The dinner was fabulous and took nearly 4 hrs to eat! And yes, I actually danced. Helene's friend, Simon, is Scottish, and came in full kilt gear. During the reception, he made a valiant effort to teach us to do traditional Scottish dances. It didnt' work out too well, but we had fun. Maxim and his sister played the Bach/Gounod Ave Maria, and Maxim and I played the Meditation de Thais. Vikienti, Maxim's brother, and I ended up befriending one another and stayed up talking until 6 am...but that's a whole other story. I have a great pic of the sunrise at the Fort! The day after the wedding, there was a garden party at Helene's house, where we said goodbye to many people taking their long treks back to their respective countries.

France II

After arriving in La Rochelle, we went to Mauze sur le Mignon, the town where Helene grew up. That night, there was a big dinner. When the French eat dinner, it is a multi-hour event. We had aperitifs in the garden, and didn't start dinner until 10 pm (here, the sun doesn't set until that time). The friends who came to dinner were friends/patrons of Maxim. I actually got a chance to use my "Kinderdeutsch"! My German is rather limited, but I was able to speak. One of the Germans spoke Spanish, so we communicated mostly in Spanish. Unfortunately, the next day both the champagne and jet lag made a rather unfortunate combination, and I was sick for most of the day. It made the meeting with the priest a bit strange; we were going over the "drill" for the wedding ceremony, and I could feel my face turning green. After a long nap, I was fully recovered. Dad and I had taken a walk around Mauze, saw the road by the river and the church. Later that night, we went to Ile de Re, where the reception would be held, and helped decorate and set up for the reception. Helene's wedding color was purple. The chairs were all draped in white, with purple or lavender ribbons. We also set up votive candles in the entryway to the fort that were glass jars filled with sand and a candle, with a purple ribbon around the jar. The wedding ceremony would be held at a church in Coulon, and the reception was held at the fort of Ile de Re.

France I

We arrived in Cambridge, England on 7/15. After Helene picked us up, we went to a bar, where her husband Maxim met us (technically, they are already married; this wedding was for the family and friends). We saw the "row" houses in England. Literally, it is a long row single-building with several doors for individual condo-type homes. The next day, Helene, Dad and I went around Cambridge. There are more than 60 colleges in Cambridge! Most of them are associated in some way with Cambridge College, but not all. We went to King's Chapel (where parts of the Harry Potter movies were filmed, and this is also the tallest free-standing gothic edifice without flying buttresses), and also saw Clare College. For those of you who were at Westminster and had the "joy" of meeting Tim Brown, the Brit who talked about drunken moles, this is the college where he regularly teaches. For the record, I found driving on the "wrong" side of the road very disconcerting, and it makes me worried for my trip to Ireland in March, for Kellie has informed me that we will be driving. I shall crash, I fear. We arrived back at the house with just enough time to grab our baggage and head to the train station to go to the airport to get to France. The flight was uneventful, and Helene's father, Jean, met us at the airport.

C'est la Vie!

So Lola just completed her fifth consecutive night of working her graveyard-shift part-time job. Now, she is officially on vacation! And angels rejoiced... In less than 48 hours, she will be on a plane to Europe. The occasion? Lola is going to France! Whilst there, she will sing at a friend's wedding, visit Bordeaux, and go to Paris. Life is tough, isn't it? At any rate, Lola will (most likely) be unable to regale her 3 readers with new blog entries until after she gets home (for, as a general rule, she is too cheap to pay for internet access at a cafe). So fare thee well for the next two weeks, until Lola Writes Again.

Fortune Cookies

I have often thought of fortune cookies as odd little nuggets of wisdom, randomly inserted into tasteless cookies. In fact, I don't like the actual cookie, I just like reading what's inside (I do believe that makes me a geek). There's the adage that you should insert "In bed" at the end of every fortune. Which makes some of mine quite entertaining:

You are welcome in any gathering.
The answers are right in front of you.
And, my personal favorite:
You have secret talents you should share.

Anyhow, long ago I used to save all the really good ones and tape them to my computer screen. I have since ditched the screen, but still have most of the fortunes. I am thinking it is either time to write a short story, or a book comprised entirely of fortunes from cookies. I used to think that the writers of these fortunes were nutters with too much spare time on their hands. Now I am just hoping they are right.

Carpe Dentum I

In March, I had the unfortunate experience of learning from my dentist that I had a cavity. Never, since my baby teeth were unceremoniously yanked from my skull, have I had a cavity. So of course, I took this news as some sort of personal affront to my moral (and dental) sensibilities. Alas, it was fact, and I went for a filling. Now, the tooth did not bother me at all.... until after said filling was completed. For a while, every time I attempted mastication on the right side of my mouth, a shooting pain went through my jaw. Some kind of amalgam between nails scraping a chalkboard, and gnawing on ice. But I digress. So the dentist informs me that the "nerve is irritated." No shit. However, it was NOT irritated before his work on it, but I decided it best not to remind him of this fact. He told me to wait it out, and I did. My primary incentive was the fact that if it did not get better, he would have to re-do the filling; a fate worse than death as far as I am concerned. However, after 3 months I had to throw in the towel and go back.

Carpe Dentum II (Comfortably Numb)

After the novocaine had had some time to take effect, Dr. Kevorkian began drilling for oil. I am not sure if it was pitiful shriek that gurgled up from my throat, or my eyeballs popping clear out of my cranium and imbedding themselves in the ceiling, but he managed to surmise that there was not quite enough anesthetic in my mouth. So out comes the comically huge needle, into the back of my mouth for another dose of sensory depriving juice. Verily I tell you, I was numb from just above my right ear, diagonally across my face and just under my eyeball to the dead centerline of my jaw. And I remained that way for hours to come. I am quite sure I was drooling, so I decided it best not to make any public appearances for the rest of the day. This fantastic morning was almost a week ago, and it has since become clear to me that in my 3 months of becoming a Lefty Masticator, I had developed an unconscious fear of chewing on the right side of my mouth. Now I am not even sure if the whole filling repetition song and dance worked!!! I hope for Kevorkian's sake it did.

Home Improvement?

I have, once again, been thwarted by the deck. I am sure when my parents built this monstrosity several years ago, neither one of them actually considered the act of staining and sealing it. As the contraption is getting on in years, it is necessary to put some type of stain on it. Normally, I like the color of bare wood... but in this case, it would be "bare, yucky, dirty" wood, and that is not quite as visually appealing. It has been an ongoing project to stain this deck. Today, I was hoping to finish the first coat. now, One set of stairs and the actual surface area of the deck already have Coat 1; its just the little railing spindles and the wheelchair ramp that need a going-over. I finished a can of stain, and went on to the next one, only to discover my father had purchased a slightly different variety; same brand, same color. But it takes forever to dry... and seems to have some sort of semi-gloss quality that annoys me. The ramp is difficult to complete, as I must go down one side, let it dry, then go down the other side in order to paint along the boards, and not across them. I was not able to paint the opposite side, as the first side had not yet dried, and tried to claim my feet if I walked over it, so I finally gave up... beaten and irritated. But, the piece de resistance??? About 15 minutes after I went inside, it started to rain.

Heart to Heart

So tonight I went on a date. And I went with a man I genuinely adore. At any rate... he had to leave early, as he had a meeting early in the morning. After dinner, when dropping me off, it was abundantly clear to me that he did not wish to come in. So what did I do? I harassed my father for an hour or so, just so that I could vent. Said man (the date, not my father) is fun to be with, and genuinely intelligent. I truly enjoy spending time with him. Unfortunately, I am still wondering whether he enjoys spending time with me. At any rate, after I got home, my father was duly surprised that I was home so early (as was I) and I told him I needed to vent. So my father and I spent a nice evening, whilst he listened to my somewhat lengthy diatribe about the ills of men. Normally, a woman would spend this time venting to her mother, but unfortunately, I do not have that luxury. I apologized to my father, but he seemed to welcome the conversation (regardless of how ridiculous). I can honestly say that I am happy to have the parents I have.

Mangia!

So for Mother's Day, my mother specifically requested a meal of lasagna. I asked my father if she was aware I had never made lasagna before. His response was that he didn't think she cared. I understood the concept, but was not entirely sure about the ingredients, so I looked it up. My best friend and I proceeded to have an evening of serious cooking, and the lasagna turned out to be absolutely fabulous. There was very little left over, which was fantastic for stroking my Chef's Ego. We made the pasta and sauce from scratch. And I must say, there is something highly entertaining about playing with pasta dough. Its strangely resilient, and you could probably build a rope bridge with it. And, of course, there is always the entertaining bit of machinery that goes along with this: The Handy Pasta Crank. Which is basically just two rollers, through which the blob of pasta dough is passed repeatedly, cranking with one hand, feeding with the other, and catching with a third (yes, this is a manufacturer flaw... it appears to have been designed for the Three Armed Man). I am glad Laura was there with catcher's glove at the ready... otherwise, we would all be scooping our lasagna from my less-than-pristine kitchen floor.

Boredom

I am completely and utterly bored. Which, I am certain, is how the past time of blogging came about in the first place. Millions of people online, sick of playing solitaire or looking at porn, decide to publicly write their musings on life, liberty, and the pursuit of jack shit. So here I am, following my many comrades in munging up the internet with my drivel. My excitement for today? I had my piano tuned. I didn't realize how horribly out of whack it was, but there you go. It was like the Dali painting, The Persistence of Memory where all the clocks are melting off of trees and counters and such. Yes, when I heard how bad the piano was, I cringed. But, its all better now. Unfortunately, that only ate about 1 1/2 hrs of my day, and I am, alas, bored again. It is rainy out, I don't want to read, and no one seems to be around. I feel like a cranky 6 yr old.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

So there I am... I came home from work yesterday morning, with the ambitious intention of scraping the peeling paint from the trim of my house. I got out scrapers, and went to find the extension ladder that is kept under the back deck. Upon dragging said ladder out, I discovered it was lacking one of the little "feet" that holds it in place when leaned up against a wall. This, naturally is a problem. I am not so keen on the idea of climbing a ladder that can slip out from under me at any moment, sending me careening into the bushes (or worse yet, the driveway). This should have been an omen, but no... I perservered. I got out the smaller stepladder, hoping to at least be able to scrape what little paint I could reach. I decided to begin with the front of the house (as that was the only place I could reach with the shorter ladder). I began by scraping around the windows, and to my utter horror, I discover that at least one of the windowsills has been reduced to virtual sawdust, most likely held in place by the paint I was trying to erradicate. Hmmm.... I climb the ladder, hoping to scrape the trim, where it was genuinely peeling, and found another corner of impending doom (rot). Motherpusbucket... so much for actually making improvements on my home. I shall wait until it dissolves around my ears.

Oh, Its IN There

After waking up from a somewhat shortened post-work nap, I was famished and meandered into the kitchen for some type of sustenance. I decided on spaghetti, as it is fairly quick with minimal preparation. I poured some Ragu into the saucepan while the pasta boiled. Now, I know the Prego commercial say "Its In There" but that is completely fallacious; it is thin, watery and tasteless. Ragu is far better in my opinion, but I still firmly believe in sprucing up one's tomato sauce. So, out of my plethora of spice jars, I pulled out a large Italian seasoning. Said jar has two openings on the lid; one with holes to carefully mete out spices, and an open side into which one may insert some type of spoon. In my sleep-deprived stupor, I opened the wrong side and gave a generous shake. I was immediately horrified to see roughly 1/2 c of seasoning resting on top of about 1 1/2 cups of sauce!!! I scooped out as much seasoning as I could that had not yet been tainted with red, and stared helplessly at my simmering lunch. The rescue? I decided to add more sauce! You know, dilute the spice. At any rate, the sauce ended up being quite good; a bit more fibrous than I would normally have made, but whatever.

La Primavera

This morning I have decided to be completely selfish and skip church in order to be one with Nature. That sounds far more earthy-crunchy than I had intended, but so be it. Today looks like it will be genuinely gorgeous, and this is such a fantastic time of year. New England is beginning the process of recovering from a brutal, bleak winter. We are past the point of Biblical downpours everyday, and the trees are starting to bud. People are having brush fires in their yard that remind me of my childhood, running around barefoot and playing "guns" with the neighborhood kids (back when it was ok to have a cap-gun). The last few days that have been nice, I have either been in the house teaching, or in bed due to my part-time night job. But this morning is mine. I am quite seriously thinking about parking my pale, Scottish arse on the back deck with a good book and a bottle of SPF 50.

Technological Whooligals

About a month and a half ago, I proudly stepped into the 21st century and purchased my first iPod Nano. It is so tiny I live in fear that I will either lose it or break it (I am prone to freakish accidents that often wreak havoc in my wake). To date, I have successfully managed to load about 150 songs onto said thingamajiggie. Of course, when I first loaded iTunes onto my non-Mac apparatus, it instantly sucked in all of the music and videos currently residing peacefully in my hard drive. This is all well and good, except for the fact that none of these items were in a compressed format (which sort of defeats the purpose of the iPod in the first place). I figured it would be easier to just delete it all out of iTunes, and put in only those things I really wanted (I mean, after all, do I really need the Brandenburg Concertos on my iPod?), and compress them as I imported them. In theory this was a fine idea, but in actuality it turned out to be an enormous clusterfuck. Now, in what I can only assume is some sort of passive-aggressive retaliation, iTunes refuses to allow me to import any music from the hard drive. This is exceptionally annoying, since every Beatles album in existence is on my computer, and I ended up loading them manually. Once, I had considered myself somewhat technologically proficient. I have since changed my views and wonder how I could have been quite so deluded in the first place.

The Chef Obsession Continues

And it is done. I have officially signed up to be a Pampered Chef Consultant! And, as it turns out, the kit had all sorts of things I do not currently own. There are several pros to this new venture, and very few cons. First, I am able to make some extra money. This is especially important, as in the summer I don't have nearly as many students, and I can only pick up but so many extra hours at my part time job. Second, it enables me to work within my own schedule, and get out and see people. But the most important reason is that it has renewed my love of cooking. For me, Kitchen Time is Therapy Time. If I am angry or upset, I cook as though preparing to feed an army. There is, perhaps, nothing finer than to beat the hell out of homemade pasta dough when one is feeling particularly homicidal (it fights back, you see). I have been known to talk people into things (sometimes good, sometimes less than good), so at least I am peddling something safe and fun to play with (well, the knives aren't really safe, but...).

Chefs Anonymous

So now, after having written a veritably depressing entry, I feel compelled to write something funny or uplifting. So here goes. I am grateful that I am currently gainfully employed, for this weekend my best friend is going to be hosting a Pampered Chef party. Normally, this would not be a cause for particular celebration, but for me it is as though Christmas has come early! My kitchen is a collection of gadgets and paraphernalia that Wolfgang Puck himself would envy. I have stoneware in several shapes and sizes; a little chopper thingamawhoozi that can chop veggies and nuts, and even has a little tray to hold them in. Not to mention the fancy platter thing that is reversible: one side is set up for a veggie platter, and the other for devilled egge. What makes this tray so nifty is the fact the central piece that lays along the bottom can go in the freezer, so that you may keep your eggs cold! Now ask me how frequently I make devilled eggs.... I think my next mission will be to acquire the entire stoneware set that Pampered Chef produces. I am almost tempted to become a consultant because for a nominal fee I can have just about everything they sell... then it occurred to me that I have already purchased most of those things. I am sure some sort of intervention or support group is in order. I do believe next I will move on to the knives!!!! They cut bone, you know.....

The Shizz Nazz

It would appear that my last entry was an ill omen. The adorable, often haphazard cat Ziggy met his untimely demise yesterday morning at the bumper of a speeding car. It is quite upsetting to be driving home from work, ready to go to sleep, only to find your cat in the road. Needless to say, I was (am) devastated. I find it interesting that we can become so completely attatched to, and dependent on our pets. The pain over losing an animal is (at least to me), often far more intense than losing a person. Granted, the ache is not as longlasting. After much crying (and two glasses of Scotch), I managed to get myself to go to sleep. Now I am at work, in the middle of the night, and not quite as hysterical as I was this morning. But it gives me a little pang to know that I will no longer be sharing my water with Zig, or that no feline will be waking me up in the middle of the night to come in through the bedroom window. The vet even asked me if I wanted to have him cremated and keep the ashes. It almost seems maudlin... the part of Ziggy that made him interesting has gone to some other where, and I see no reason to hang onto the shell that housed it. I think he has a much better place in my heart and memories than in an urn or in my backyard.

Friggin' Cats

My cat Ziggy is a wondrous little bundle of trouble. In personality, he closely resembles Bucky from the Get Fuzzy comic strip (although less violent). He cuddles up on my bed every night and keeps my toes warm, and purrs when no one is watching (I think he feels it is not macho to purr in the presence of others). He also has "cute" little quirks, like twanging the screen of my bedroom window at 4 AM when he is ready to come back inside. Or feeling compelled to drink out of my water glass, even if he has a fresh bowl of his own water. Anyhow, the poor thing is prone to urinary blockages, and I spent a fortune on him last month to keep him alive. I can only imagine how uncomfortable it is to not be able to pee. Anyhow, the same symptoms have arisen tonight, and now he is camped out at the vet's. Again. He has frequent flier miles there; he is only 6, and has had at least 9 rabies shots I can remember off the top of my head for getting into fights with unknown animals. I am hoping they will erect a plaque to my cat, as chief benefactor in the construction of the new wing at the vet's office. He can be a pain in the arse sometimes, but he's an adorable little fuzzball, and I think I would like to keep him around for a bit.

Words

Words are tricky little buggers. They can accommodate you to express fantastic ideas and feelings. But using them without care can cause harm, more often than not unintentionally. Tonight someone made an offhanded comment about a hardship she has had to endure. I have never had the misfortune to go through this particular travesty, and cannot even begin to comprehend what she has experienced. I know that her comment was not made in malice, and most likely she had no idea what she was saying (at least, I would sort of like to think so). At any rate, I took great offense to this offhanded remark, and decided to remove myself from the social situation entirely. For some reason, those words seemed to sum up several things for me, and I am certain she did not intend for me to take them as I did, but so be it: In a few words, she managed to (inadvertently) make me feel as though any suffering I have survived in my life cannot possibly compare to hers, and any loss I feel (or have felt) is inadequate. She has someone to take every step of that path with her; meanwhile, those of us who are hoofing it alone are left to feel that we have not measured up in some way; and by "we" I mean "me." Do we ever truly take into account the affect of the words we say to others? Words are tricky little buggers....

Football is Life

This evening, the Patriots suffered a devastating loss to the Giants in the Super Bowl. In the grand scheme of life, this is a ridiculously trivial matter. However, for me, it is cause to wear a mantel of mourning. As a die-hard football fan (Patriots, of course), I watch the game for several reasons. First, its just plain fun. Second, I like having something in my life that has absolutely nothing to do with music; it is my outlet, if you will. Third, its nice to give myself over to something where I must completely relinquish my need for control. After all, I am not Bill Bellichick, and I cannot direct or foresee the outcome of any game. But after tonight, I can honestly say that I have not felt this ill in ages. Its quite depressing to get your hopes pinned on a completely undefeated season, only to be let down in the last 35 seconds or so. But alas, it is done. Now, I feel I should be more devoted to the Red Sox in my 6 months of pining for the commencement of the next football season. After all, today just ends this season. Tomorrow opens the door for the next.

People are Strange

One of my favorite Doors songs; but entirely beside the point. In keeping with my New Year's theme, I am going to write about something new. Or rather, someone new. As I said, I have met some new and interesting people in the past year. Some that were truly interesting, and some who are interesting purely because they are disturbing or bizarre. In the past few months, I have met someone who falls into the former category. I find him interesting for several reasons. First, as a cynical and sarcastic person, I am usually on my guard when meeting new people. However, from my first meeting with him, I was (for once) completely at ease. I thoroughly enjoy the fact that I have met another human being around whom I do not feel I need to act or portray a certain persona. Second, he does not make my Psycho Radar run amok. As a general rule, people with deeply seeded issues or neuroses seem to flock to me. Not necessarily in a romantic sense, but at work, through students, etc. The nutters come to me as if I were their appointed Messiah of Lunacy. Third, the man can not only intelligently discuss the White Album, but understands the places of the Beatles, Pink Floyd, Sabbath and Led Zepplin in the evolution of rock. I have no idea where this will lead, but its nice to know that there are people out there who can renew my faith in humanity, remind me that I don't always have to be an assuming bitch, and bring to life a part of me I felt had been dormant for far too long.

Happy New Year!

Well, it is quite obvious that I have been rather remiss in writing in my blog as of late. However, this is one of my several New Year's resolutions: To frequently update the Saga of Lola. I figure that if I make more than one resolution, I am bound to keep at least one of them. Another year has come and gone... its almost impossible to fathom! So much has happened in the last 365 days! I have finished my master's, uprooted myself back to MA, been through some tough times with friends, rekindled old friendships, and met some new and wonderful people. It is amazing to see how one's perception of time changes as we get older. When I was younger, a year seemed an eternity. Waiting for the arrival of Christmas was a never-ending period of anticipation. Now I await Christmas with the trepidation of trying to make sure I have bought everything, baked all I need to, and still had time to try and enjoy the season as a whole. I used to remember every ringing in of the New Year; now I am lucky if I can remember the next morning! However, all things considered, it has been a wonderful year. I can only hope that the new one proves as exciting and unexpected.