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.