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.