For Those of You Who Care....

The draft went really well for me, I am quite pleased with my team. I got second overall pick, and as the 1st pick was Payton Manning, I of course took LaDainian Tomlinson for my first RB position. Then it was nail-biting time until the 23rd pick - a lot of the league members were doing auot-picks so I couldn't really rely on too much stupidity to deliver me a decent QB, but I got Trent Green, and I'm pretty thrilled with that. I also have Curtis Martin, though I am torn because I HATE the Jets, Steve Smith and Drew Bennett at WR, Alge Crumpler at TE, Mike Vanderjagt at K, and Buffalo defense which I think will be a lot better than anyone realizes this year, they've made practically no change to the line-up at all so there won't be much learning curve. My flex player is David Patten, and I have Daniel Graham for back-up TE, so I can root for fantasy/Pats at the same time, which is great.

I barely even understand what I am typing right now, I am so tired. I'm at school, where I will be all freakin' weekend, for new and returning student check-in. They made us get here at 7:30 this morning, but I didn't see a single student until 8:30. Right now it's 9:50, and I've seen 2 students, and emailed Tori a bit. There was no need for us to get here so early! Wah! (I am oficially whining).

I have that so-tired-my-stomach-hurts thing going on. And I've eaten nothing but candy - guess I should try to eat that banana before it gets really busy.

My poor little blog will probably be neglected as hell over the next week, as I am forced to work a RIDICULOUS number of hours.

I should have brought some knitting. I made my first hat! It's a little short in the crown for me, but I really liked making it and I might make a couple more to send to my friend Dan, who works for the American Cancer Society so he can put them in the free hat bin. I'll have to tweak the pattern to fit my giant cranium.

Fucking Draft

Christ. My fantasy football draft starts in 31 minutes, and I feel like I'm gonna puke. I actually understand football, I love football, the Pats are my thing, but I cannot fucking deal with all this information and pressure. Plus, I've got that whole girl thing going on, where everyone kinda assumes or hopes you don't know what the fuck is going on.

It would be a lot easier if I pulled a Tammy and ranked my players by sexiness. I actually think that there is something to that - the hotter someone thinks they are, the more egotistical they are, and ego can take you pretty far on the field.

Fuck, what the hell am I talking about. Jesus.

I will give you an update in a couple hours. Hopefully, I don't end up picking someone who gets injured in the first game, like in 2000 when I picked Testeverde and his fucking Achilles tendon blew, plus I was stuck with "Rocket" Ishmael.

It can't be THAT bad. Sigh.

JESUS GOD!!!!

I am so friggin' busy I can't stand it, which is why I am currently goofing off. I am totally overwhelmed. Every single message I have listened to today was left by a person on the verge of either a.) a nervous breakdown, b.) a murderous rampage, or c.) both.

Also, everyone wants me to have a blessed day. Which is a lot of pressure. I'm not sure how to have a blessed day, and, now that I think of it, titling my post as I did probably isn't the best way to start.

Uh-uh. I just checked. I have 33 messages. It's a sign!!!!!

You Can't Take It All With You!

My blog hero, Dan Miller (www.planetdan.net) today contemplates what he would try to save if his house were burning down.

I hate stuff like this, because it makes me feel like I should collect all my most precious possessions and put them in a box by the nearest exit, and that's just a crazy way to live.

Also, I'm pretty sure the cats would protest.

Speaking of cats, I actually have a cat exit plan, which is to grab my car keys and as many cats as I can manage (we have 3 official cats and 1 unofficial cat) and throw them in the car so they can't run away. I told Allen about this one night as we were lying in bed - I think if he hadn't been so tired he would have told me I was a giant nut bag; as it was, I just got a "What? Ok" kind of response.

I still think it's a good plan, though.

If you woke up with your house on fire, would you run right outside, or would you try to save anything? What would you save?

HEY JEW GUYS!!!!

I think I read this article printed in the NY Post yesterday (via www.waiterrant.net) with my mouth hanging open the entire time. I literally can't believe that a server would EVER identify a table as the "Jew Couple" or that an establishment like an upscale restaurant would think it good business to defend such a practice!

And why are there so many articulate people who can't see the difference between "being too PC" and hurtful stereotypes?

Anyway. Read Waiter Rant. It's hilarious, and will fill you with self-righteous anger, which is my favorite kind.

Will That Be on the Rocks?

Allen dragged me kicking and screaming to a wedding of a friend this weekend. Getting dressed up and wearing high heels in 100+ degree heat is not my idea of a good time. What I wanted to be doing was sitting on my ass, preferrably at the beach, contemplating which book/magazine I wanted to read first and what sort of seafood to have for dinner. Instead, I was dragged to a church, where I surprising a.) didn't hate the service and b.) didn't burst into flame.

It was a bit stressful getting there, as first we frantically searched for (and didn't find) my necklace. When we finally left the house, we were terrifically late. Partway down the road, Allen realized that we forgot the CAMERA, so we had to turn around and get that, and then we were officially FRIGHTENINGLY late, as Allen had been asked to give the first reading and it would have been embarrasing if he wasn't there.

We actually made it with five minutes to spare, but I spent the first half of the service trying to a.) not throw up and b.) cease sweating. I was successful in the former, but not so much the latter.

The reception was a full two hours after the ceremony, so we went to a near-by chain restaurant and had some drinks and snacks beforehand. As I mentioned last week, I was nervous about the reception because some old roommates of mine were supposed to be there, but they no-showed, so the rest of the evening went pretty smoothly.

I proceeded straight to the bar, where I spent a goodly portion of the evening, emptying out the contents of my wallet. The first time I sidled up to order my standard whisky sour starter, there was a very serious young man of about 11 - 13 years of age just ahead of me. He pulled out his wallet, and said to the bartender, "A shot of grenadine, please." The bartender was of course horrified and, while pouring him the shot, said, "You know that's pure sugar, don't you?" to which the kid replied, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

I am proud to say that I actually managed to NOT snort into my drink at this point.

That was pretty much the most bizarre portion of the evening, except the part when the groom asked for audience participation and had everyone sing a camp song about a moose who, apparently, fell asleep in the water and then decomposed. That was pretty weird.

Also, I really had fun dancing with my friends Dawn and Ian. Dawn is pregnant and just starting to show - Ian and I kept trying to get her to order our drinks but she wouldn't do it. Ian and I were throughly digusted with the music the "DJ" chose, it was like he put in "Cheesy Wedding Songs Vol. 1" and went home. But once we each had a shot and some of the Inglenook table wine, we got our "Super Freak" on. I certainly paid for all that leaping around the next day, as I could barely walk around on my left foot.



I think I could actually use a shot of grenadine right about now.

Has Any One Heard of This Thing?

Have you guys seen this thing before? My brother Eric brought one back from the island of Nantucket, and he says it's really huge out there.

It's a mildly diverting dice game. You try to close out numbers 1-10 by rolling dice - it's pretty mindless, but if you add shots and dollar bills, I think we might have a pretty good time on our hands.

I bring it up, because I was thinking that after the general summer horribleness is over here at J&W, I would like to start a game night. Poker, dice games, whatever. But I think that there should be money involved. Because that would make it more fun. And beer. And perhaps some peanuts.

Too Much Time on My Hands

Check out the nerdiest e-bay sale EVA:

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=4757135313

Oh, man. I'm not sure what's funnier, the item, or the fact that it's currently being won by tesla_phan.

Which means that tesla_fan was taken, sadly.

Ok, now I'm depressed.

I'm Sure No One Has Noticed

...but I have added a few blogs to the 'Nifty Blogs' section of MN. (I told you I was pissy today.)

Visit the Land Of Briz, home of cocktail of the week and bouncing ninja kitties.

If ninja kitties are your thing, check Drinker/Thinker. We both love cocktail monkeys.

For the more code-minded, please see check out SideShow, Web Designer Extraordinaire. I understand approximately 2% of his blog, but that 2% is pretty funny.

Turn it UP!

Can I come watch TV at your house? Please? I promise, I won't talk. I won't ask for the remote. I just want to watch the TV with some normal people.

I don't think it's necessary to comment on every sentence spoken in a sitcom. I don't think the "information" that Fox News spouts is generally important enough to be commented on. The fifteenth time I see a funny commerical - guess what? Not Funny Anymore. At least, not funny enough to comment on.

My mom talks through every f'ing TV show that comes on. Nothing is not worthy of some comment, which leads to a story, which means that I miss what ever show I was trying to watch. And even if you smile, nod, make a "hmm? Really?" sort of comment, and then pointedly stare at the TV, she keeps going. She is completely unphased.

I don't even really care about the TV. I don't really like to watch it all the time, I feel like a slug when I get stuck in front of it for hours, especially if Allen has the remote. Then I feel like I'm watching him watch TV, because I can't watch more than one show at a time, and he can't watch less than 3. I think I just watch it as a barrier - like, maybe if I watch TV I will look sufficiently busy and people will leave me alone. It doesn't work, but I think I can get away with not being terribly attentive if I have the TV as an excuse. Reading a book certainly doesn't work, and besides, I have a million knitting projects I want to get to before Christmas rolls around.

This morning, Mom took exception with the comments of a stylist on the Today show. He said women of a "certain age" should get shorter cuts and have 'side-swept' bangs to keep their hair out of their faces. Mom thought that this was ridiculous, because she tries to hide her face with her hair. I was so aggravated - I mean, it's one thing to have that feeling yourself, I told her, because you have self-esteem issues, but not everyone does. Some people LIKE it when other people can see their face. Then I went to work. I'm sure she's pissed at me now, but whatever. I understand that she has issues, but she's the one who acts like no one else understands what she's going through - so why is she so shocked when some people are actually ok? I don't get it.

On the plus side, even though I would rather have my eye lashes ripped out one by one, I have another wedding to go to this weekend. We're not seated at the same table as our friends from out of town, oh no - we're with my old roommates from RI that I haven't talked to in months. This should be REALLY comfortable. I am looking forward to being a pissy, drunk bitch the entire time. No, not really. I will behave, for Allen's sake.

God, I am whiney and spoiled today.

The Hotnesses

I know that I live in New England, and thus this is not the hottest part of the country. I know that people in Chicago have actually been in life-threatening heat, and I shouldn't bitch. But I am tired of the feeling of sweat trickling down my scalp and the back of my neck when I'm doing nothing more than SITTING there, for Christ's sake.

Last night, I made a few pies to throw in the freezer, and I had to keep blotting my face to make sure I didn't sweat into the damn things. I stuck my head in the freezer for a minute, and that seemed to help. I made 2 4-berry pies and one 3-berry because I ran out of freakin' strawberries. I think tonight I'll just make a plain old blueberry with the last of the blueberries. We sure got a lot of mileage out of those 12 pints. I think I only have a little more than 2 left.

I plan to use a cup of them to make blueberry syrup to go over the cheesecake ice cream I made the other day. We've been so busy, we haven't had a chance to eat it yet, but I tried it and it is pretty freakin' fabulous.

So Very Unmotivated

Actually, that's not true. I am very motivated to do any number of things, none of which involve work that I actually get paid for. I need to figure out how to get paid for all this other crap that I like to do.

Like knitting, for example. I finished my first, actual, honest-to-goodness knitted garment (pictures someday). I made my future-niece Noa a little red sweater, and even I had to admit it came out really, really well. It was so cute, once I sewed it together properly, and I am much less intimidated by the entire process. Of course, I was up until 3 in the goddamn morning, because the first sleeve I sewed on came almost all the way down the front of the garment, and wasn't really on the back at all - in other words, for some reason I thought it would be fun to make a wing instead of a sleeve. Thank God for the fact that a.) everyone else was sleeping so the didn't have to deal with me and b.) I have built up some impressivly filthy phrases to spew at moments like these, or I might have had an aneurysm.

It's too bad that I only seem to be able to make time to do the things I really like when I should be sleeping. I am pretty exhausted after last week's output - 2 nights in a row, after I got home from Allen's mum's house, visiting with screamy babies, I did ridiculous kitchen stuff. Saturday morning, I spent 2 hours running to four different stores to get things for dinner, because I wanted to make things special. Katherine, Allen's mom, retired (I'm SO jealous) and we were having a family get together. I made turkey burgers (full of roasted garlic, fresh sage from the garden, and provolone cheese) and a caprese salad from heirloom tomatoes. They looked SO beautiful, and though everyone was a little surprised at all the colors (purple, green, yellow, orange) they were AMAZING.

I also made the world's easiest, yet best, pie for dessert. It's a recipe from my favorite diner back home, Moody's. If you don't know Moody's, well, I feel sorry for you.

I will share the recipe, though, and hope I don't get sued. It's from What's Cooking at Moody's Diner, and I strongly suggest that you get it if you like to bake at all, because they make the best pies I have ever eaten. I used Pillsbury dough for the piecrust right out of the box, because it's so fast, it's good, and I've been making fucking jam and goddamn ice cream all week and I'm tired, goddamn it. Christ. Anyway:

Moody's Four-Berry Pie

1 cup strawberries
1 cup blackberries
1 cup blueberries
1 cup raspberries
1 cup sugar
2 tbsp tapioca
dash of salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
2 tbsp butter

Put berries in unbaked 9-inch pie shell. Mix sugar, tapioca, salt and cinnamon, and pour over berries. Dot with butter. Cover with top crust. Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour.

Actually, the recipe says bake at 325, but if you buy the frozen pie at Moody's to bring home, they say 350 degrees, so that's what I did and it came out great. You may want to put some foil around the crust so it doesn't get too dark. Also, it's best to let this pie cool completely before you serve it up, but I've never been able to let it sit for that long before someone gets into it.

I'm going to try to make a few more of these and freeze them so we can have them in the winter and dream of summer.......

You Big Time Magic Fun!

Say goodbye to lame-ass, thoughtful, proper greeting cards, and prepare to piss off, annoy, and confuse your nearest and dearest (or people you thoroughly can't stand) with merchandise from http://cardjackers.com.

I am almost giddy trying to decide who to send the "I'm sorry.....you're so totally gay" card to.

And every vegetarian/vegan friend that I haven't already managed to alienate is SO getting a giant meat card.

"Jam To-morrow and Jam Yesterday, But Never Jam Today!"

Allen and I are weird little crafty-homebody types. As such, this summer we have been concentrating on making jam from the berries we have been buying from local farms.

First, we made strawberry jam. This is a relatively simple jam to make - rinse, slice, and crush berries, put in pot, add pectin and sugar, put in jars, boil jars (so you don't kill your friends with scary bacteria) let cool. Boom, done. It was so simple, we were going to do more, but by the time we got around to it (read: it was too freakin' hot so we had to take a couple weeks off from standing around boiling water) it was raspberry season.

Raspberries, I thought, would be even easier than strawberries. No slicing involved! Just pick over, rinse, crush, cook, pour into jars, presto - raspberry jam. Unfortunately, I didn't realize how much work the "picking over" part was. Raspberries apparently cannot WAIT to become moldy. Their life's mission is not to spread their seeds, so much as become furry, mushy, nasty moldy little things. So, that process took forever and we only made one batch. I turned the rest of the raspberries into ice cream, which came out so well that I forgive their persistent moldiness.

This past weekend, Allen and I toddled up to Maine to visit my Dad and attend Tori's bridal shower (which I have only called a baby shower 72 times, sorry Tori) and more about that shindig later, but on the way home we picked up 12 pints of blueberries. Why? Because I am a MORON.

I thought, for some reason, that this would be the easiest jam of all! What a fool! Do you know what you have to do to little, teeny, tiny blueberries before you can crush them up? Remove the STEMS!!!!

If you haven't seen wild Maine blueberries before - well, I feel sorry for you because those giant sour things you get in the grocery store SUCK - they are about the size of a pea. Mom and I sat and picked stems off berries for hours. I know it was hours, because we had taped the knew Fox Reality-show sensation, "So, You Think You Can Dance?" and watched all three hours of it (with a break for dinner) while we fondled blueberries.

We didn't even get to the jam part, we'll do that tonight. You fuckers better appreciate this bullshit come ChrismaHanuKwanzaMass, I tells ya.

The only good thing about this, is that we didn't by TWENTY-FOUR pints. Whew. Seriously, though, I'm going to make some blueberry ice cream, and then maybe some blueberrie cheesecake icecream, so that should be good. And then, muffins. And then, the WORLD!

Anyway, I am excited to get my "I told you so" comment from Tori, who said that she would never make anything that you can buy more than 30 varieties of in the store. I still think it's fun to do some of these things on your own, though, and I like the idea of eating local fruits and vegetables year round. And there is nothing better than opening a jar of homemade strawberry jam in February, when you haven't seen the sun in weeks, and just thinking of summer. Nothing beats that, except maybe blueberry jam.

Next project: pickles!

Does Quasi-Roomie Ring a Bell?

At first, the idea of wallpaper friends filled me with a deep and profound sadness. And then I laughed a lot. Mostly at the poorly translated English descriptions of their likes and dislikes.
http://www.single-tapete.de/maine.html (via http://imp_perfect.blogspot.com/)

The more I think about the funnier it is. I think it would be fun if they made them like giant Colorform playsets. Your living-room could be the back drop for a wild and crazy 2-dimensional party.

Personally, I can't seem to get rid of all the extra people in my house, so I can't imagine wanting to add some fake ones. Then, I also can't imagine being so depressed that I would want "Adrian" to tell me about his record collection, either.

Unsatisfactory Sandwich

My brother works at this rather well-known little sandwich shop, Geoff's, located on Thayer and Benefit Streets. He's just been made evening manager of the Thayer street shop, which is cool, except that he's 9 years younger than me and I have yet to attain a leadership role in any position I have ever held. But that's cool! I'm not bitter. He's also 20 and doesn't get carded, but whatever. I'm just about at the point where I want to kiss people who don't card me.

Bu that is not the point of this post. The point is that I spent 15 minutes finding a parking space in the remote vicinity of Thayer Street (read: uphill a half mile in 90 friggin' degree heat) to get a sandwich for myself and my mom.

Unfortunately, Ivan was involved in making a sandwich for 98 identical RISD students when I came in, so some other employee made my sandwich. It sounded like it would be good - tuna on rye, lettuce, tomato, melted swiss, spinach, mushrooms, and a little bacon thrown in just so I wouldn't be feeling healthy or anything. Sadly, by the time I got home, threw mom's sandwich at her, ran out the door, and got to work, the top layer of bread was completely soaked through w/what I can only assume was spinach dampness. GROSS, in other words. And, seeing as my lunch break was technically over (by more than 10 minutes) nearly impossible to eat surreptitiously, as a sandwich relies on both pieces of bread to hold it together, and one had to be thrown away.

I can only assume that the employees of Geoff's have never been forced to eat this sandwich. For some reason, it is listed as a customer favorite. Perhaps these customers are skinny chicks who look for reasons not to eat their lunch, I don't know. Perhaps my sandwich guy put the toppings on in the wrong order, or I should have had a bulky roll. In any case, I am worried about Ivan's future sandwich-making career if this sort of thing is not nipped right in the bud. I will have to call him tonight, I suppose, and suggest some re-training or menu re-writing.

Or maybe next time, I'll just get the pb&j.