Bachelorette life

The hubs was gone for a few days this week for a quick business trip. Here's how I spent one evening sola:

• read my blogs, generally wasted time online
• watered plants, discovered dead robin on patio
• clipped fingernails and toenails
• after smelling feet, decided to research stinky Birks problem online
• following advice online, covered soles of stinky Birks with baking soda, sealed in Ziploc bags and put in freezer
• ate chopped up fruit with a splat of yogurt and several bites of cold tuna helper for dinner
• folded load of laundry
• decided husband's socks and undershirts were too grotty
• bought husband new undershirts and socks from TJ Maxx, also returned too small gym shorts

The next morning, I got the stinky Birks out of the freezer, brushed off the baking soda, and lo! they stinketh no more. I stayed super late at work, came home, slurped down a bowl of cereal for supper while looking over the 'Life' section of the newspaper and collapsed on the couch.  Not that I'm much better when the hubs is at home, but I feel like my bachelorette life would not be pretty.

One Less Bullet Point of Excellence

Today, I had two cavities filled.  In two weeks, I will have another filled.  THAT'S THREE CAVITIES.  THREE.

I experienced all seven stages of grief when my dentist told me that I had to get these "three little spots taken care of."  This is a man who really should have found himself a career in PR or marketing because he has such a way of spinning words that I was pretty excited to get started with the "straightforward, conservative procedure" this morning.

I made it to 24 before I got any cavities.  Does that count for anything? NO.  You only win at life if you NEVER get a cavity.  Lucky for me, I still have "never broken a bone" and "have traveled outside of the US" and "can successfully boil an egg" on my short list of Things That Make You Win At Life.  However, I cannot successfully make layered jello, so maybe that cancels out the egg thing.

The last stage of grief is acceptance and hope.  I'm there. Kinda.  But boy, I will be doing everything humanly possible to prevent three from becoming four.  I'm done with straightforward, conservative procedures.  Maybe I'll name my first child 'Flossie', lest she forget the importance of winning at life and not having any cavities.

With Liberty and Justice For All

Meet 'The Uniters'.

I bought these sandals in a February funk when I didn't think I would ever see my bare feet again because the winter was nevernevernevernevereverververgoingtoendand
Imprettysurethatweareallgoingtodieofcardiacarrestfromcopiousamountsof
redmeatandbutterandcreamandcheeseandpastabakedintosupercomfortfood
thatisvitaltomakeitthroughANORTHDAKOTAWINTER!
Anyway.

Every time I wear them, I get compliments. Every time.  Women love these things.  I call them The Uniters for that reason.  I wore these on Tuesday to work and a woman that I didn't even know said to me in the elevator, "You have adorable shoes on you."

Fashion unites people.

Thus, I hereby pledge allegiance to the sisterhood of shoppers and shoe lovers, and to the sartorial bliss for which we stand, one well-shod group under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

Like white on rice

Last week, when I was fighting an infection, I craved rice.  Lots and lots of rice.  I think it's safe to say I went on a rice bender because I never realized how dear and familiar white rice is to me.  I made a 1 cup batch in my little rice cooker and ate it for supper, breakfast and lunch, consecutively over the next day.  Then I made another batch.  And another.  And felt better.

Rice is a clear marker of the great cultural divide that is my heritage.  We ate white rice with 99.8% of our meals when I was growing up.  I didn't know that brown rice existed until I started college, was only vaguely aware of Rice-a-Roni and had no idea that you could cook rice on the stove.  I thought you put rice in the rice cooker and supper came out 20 minutes later.  I thought everyone bought 50 lb sacks of jasmine basmati on a regular basis.  This is all thanks to my Filipino mother, whose people import more rice than anyone else in the world.  The rice identity confusion comes from my Scandanavian-Midwestern father, whose people do not eat rice for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Instead, they eat it with milk, cinnamon sugar and raisins.  As a desert.  Alternatively, parboiled out of a box with a seasoning packet and if they could, they would put it in a Jello salad.  In fact, I'm sure they have.
That's just weird. I do not hanker after Scandanavian rice. Give me some plain white rice, maybe a little tomato salad and now we're talking about some serious comfort food.

Just Because Cake

Because it's Thursday.
Because snow is in the forecast for tomorrow.
Because today I sat in a meeting where we were reminded to make sure our emails are all the same font and color.
Because it's Mother's Day on Sunday and I might try this again for my mother-in-law.
Because I had the evening to myself.
Because I had cauliflower for supper.
Because I have a Spring cold.

So, you see, I just had to.

Be Ye Not So Stupid

We had a major oil spill in the pantry last night; the worst kitchen catastrophe in recent history.  I was making a tasty little Spring soup and pulled out my fish sauce, which caught the tip of my glass olive oil bottle, which fell.  And smashed.  And splashed heavily on my favorite boots.

The internet suggested using salt to soak up the oil, making a neat little paste that could then be swept up.  I sprinkled our half full box of kosher salt all over the olive oil sea to little avail.  I had a nearly empty box of baking soda that I dumped on top of the salt.  I could see the salt and soda absorbing some of the oil, so I went ahead with the full box of baking soda and emptied that on the floor.  Now the floor was covered in a clumpy white paste that hid long shards of glass.  Ugly, ugly, ugly, but manageable.

All told, this spill cost 1 bottle olive oil, 1/2 box kosher salt, 1 box + some baking soda, 1 amazing pair of boots (and a little piece of my heart; bye boots).

Yeah, so, good luck in the Gulf, BP.  I can sympathize.

!!UPDATE!! My amazing boots absorbed the oil and are once again fit for wear.  :D Welcome back boots and missing bit of my heart!