Just one more, and then that's it, okay? I promise!

Got back into Seattle last night after a short and pleasingly uneventful plane ride. Sad how a one hour delay followed by 90 minutes of shrieking babies and flustered first-time fathers talking way too loudly behind you about "binkies" and "potty" now qualify as a pleasingly uneventful plane ride. But I digress.

Came home to find Bela alive and well with only a bit of cat vomit on one of the couches. Not bad considering I can usually count on at least 3 - 5 various mini-piles of cat vomit scattered about the apartment whenever the Schmoobs and I leave for vacation. Our friend Mike must have done a good job taking care of our overly co-dependent little furball while we were gone.

However, after doing the obligatory boogie-man inspection throughout the apartment (Bathtub? Check. Closets? Check. Office? Check. Don't tell me I'm the only one that does this when I walk into an empty apartment...), I did find one very unwelcome guest...in our toilet. For my poor mother's sake, let's just say there were ...remnants... in there that were most definitely not there when we left and that were now ...hardened... and ...clinging to the sides.... and very difficult to ...scrub off... despite one very traumatizing attempt to get rid of it using the only bottle of cleaner (Windex, of all goddamned things!) I had left in the entire place.

Needless to say, I spent the remainder of the evening and well into this morning praying to the heavens that I could hold any urges that would compell me to want to set foot near that porcelain nightmare before Scott got home tonight and I could make him clean it again. Because even though I think I did a fair job (I'm not really sure since my brain blacked out the entire time I was having to clean it) at getting rid of any evidence of the disgustingness that was there before, it still feels so uncleeeeeaaaan, I don't think I'd be able to be mentally at peace with it again until he comes home and does a second go-through.

Note to self: buy an industrial-sized jug of bleach before Schmoobs comes home. And maybe some adult diapers.

I did iiiiiiiit!!!

Spent the final evening of my glorious California holiday vacation by having a veritable girls' night with my sister, mummy and two neices getting assorted hairs cut -- and my head is now like ten pounds lighter! Not sure exactly how much they cut, but it seriously seems like it was a foot. My hair went from being almost down to my butt crack and is now just barely past my shoulders. No regrets at all, I have to say. I am eager to see what it looks like tomorrow now that I've showered away the heavy product and blowdry business they did after the haircut (which I haaate) and should have my normal hair goop free tresses in the morning. Huzzah!

Anyway, the time with family and friends has been a blast. Wonderful memories, lots of good food, great company, hilarious pictures, an extra suitcase filled with nothing but Christmas Loot, and one especially disturbing round of The Annual White Elephant Gift Exchange at our family's Christmas party involving not only my older brother walking away with a banana hammock made out of candy, but also my mother and aunt giggling and needling each other on the couch while making massaging-balls (yes, that kind) motions with their hands. And that, my friends, is my cue to leave.

No, but really. The winding down of visits home is always a strange mix of melancholy and gladness. It's hard to leave my family because I live too far away to see them on a regular basis and am never sure exactly when I'll see them again (except this year, when we're taking a family vacation to Maui in March! Woo!), but also very excited to go back to the semblance of normalcy and routine that my Schmoobles and I have created for ourselves. But seriously, I'm thankful to not have to witness my own mother pantomime the massaging of a set of imaginary nuts for at least a few months.

And on that note: Here's to a New Year filled with gladness, joy, excitement and much much less hair on my noggin!!

Merry Christmas to all!! (except for Sandra Lee...see previous post)

Just came back from Midnight Mass with my little bro and mom. Dad stayed home and, apparently, baked some banana nut bread. Mmm...I'm not complaining! Nothing like the scent of fresh baked banana bread at 2 in the morning to give one the energy to OPEN UP YOUR CHRISTMAS LOOT!!!

Yeah yeah yeah, presents are not the true spirit of the holidays, yada yada. But I already went to church...so I'm entitled. So there.

The Loot List so far:

This fabulous purse, except in a lovely lavender color that goes magically well with my new dark teal blouse:


A gift card from this beloved place:


And this!



Spider pig, spider pig. Does whatever a Spider Pig does. Can he swing from a web? No, he can't. He's a pig. Look out!

Hehehe. Anyway, off to continue watching the DVD and look forward to seeing more siblings, extraneous family and old friends and eating gluttonous amounts of delicious food in the next couple of days...

Merry Christmas!

A post that has nothing to do with you-know-what.

And by "you-know-what" I, of course, mean poop. You're welcome. It was getting to the point that I was going to have to rename my blog "Shootin' the Poop" or something (Hahaha! Get it?! Shooting the poop!!... God, I'm awesome.)

Anyway, I am sitting in my parents' house watching the Food Network. My initial thought? Sandra Lee is a worthless pile of poo crap sh*t feces. Okay?! I said it!! I know I said I wouldn't, but there really are no other words. First she was "making" these silly little holiday cakes. And by that I mean taking 3 store bought, already made Angel's Food cakes and then piling on some store bought, already made frosting mixed with food coloring and decorating them with a ridiculous assortment of decorations and toppings. First she did a baby blue frosting topped with fake plastic craft-store pearls. Yeah, like that's a good idea. Nothing says "Happy Hanukah" like choking on a f*ing plastic string of pearls that was mixed into your holiday cake. Next she did green icing topped with coconut shavings and red hot candies with little fake ceramic leaves arranged to look like mistletoe. Admittedly, the cake was pretty, but again: Ooh, look at the cute icing mistlet----* starts choking * The best one, however, was the token Kwanzaa cake. Brown-ish icing topped with pumpkin seeds and..."acorns." Except they're not acorns, you dumb twit, they were corn nuts. Angel food cake with white icing mixed with hot cocoa mix, topped with pumpkin seeds and corn nuts?!! And as if this monstrosity wasn't hideous enough, you stabbed it with 6 giant red, green and black pillar candles??!!

I thought I had enough of this woman, and then they aired another episode where she made some kind of Asian noodle soup made with chicken stock, instant ramen noodles, pre-cooked shrimp, frozen peas and frozen carrots. Frozen carrots? For a cooking show? Really, Food Network. Have some self respect. And Sandra Lee: Get a goddamned knife out and slice a f*ing carrot, for crying out loud. You can touch up your manicure after the taping. Jesus, I could have hosted my own cooking show in college, if she's any indication. So could my younger brother, for that matter. It's only a matter of time before her "main course" is a nuked hot dog and some frozen corn. Mmm...semi-homemade! Semi-f*ing travesty.

I'll be back in the holiday spirit tomorrow. Maybe I'll watch some Paula Deen. The two sticks of butter per recipe should soothe my embittered soul quite nicely.

I can't believe an entire post related completely to loose bowels has not garnered one comment yet.

Our shuttle arrives in ten minutes to take Schmoobs and I to the airport. I can't believe I never thought about taking the shuttle instead of parking at Sea-Tac before. Hmmm...paying $30 dollars to have a van service pick you up at your door vs. paying one trillion dollars to park at the airport for one week. Tough choice.

Anyway, I will be busy being assaulted by two very adorable neices in the next several days, so posting may be scarce. Unless I decide to lock myself in the guest room to recover from their endless sacks of energy and blog during that time. We'll see. In the meantime, hope you're all having a Happy Holidays!

This post is rated P for Poo.

Oh Lord, where to even begin?

So, you all will be delighed to hear that my Schmoobs is well on his way back to good health. And I will take full credit for his recovery, what with my awesome girlfriend-ness, with the Gatorade fetching and ginger tea brewing and lugaw cooking... However, now I am not so sure how to feel about having good ol' Scott back seeing as he now has the energy to relay to me -- in full graphic detail -- about the unfortunate bodily functions that transpired during the last 48 hours. And I'm not talking about the vomiting. As in, a few times, he was vomiting so violently that stuff started coming out...in another place.

*** STOP READING HERE NOW. I MEAN IT. ALRIGHT...DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU ***

At least the first couple of times it happened, it was not really, um, solid stuffs. Like, erm, how did he put it..."brown water." But then, last night. Oooh, last night. I came home from work and found him still completely passed out in bed, as he had been the entire day. So I went into the kitchen to brew some fresh ginger tea and make that lugaw. In the midst of it I -- because did I mention that I am an Awesome girlfriend? -- walked down the hall towards the bedroom to check on him. Except that I was startled by Scott suddenly rushing out of the bedroom and into the hallway with a strange expression on his face -- startled? sleepy? confused? panicked? Yes, panicked is what I know it was now, in hindsight. Because as I have learned, he had just crapped his pants. For real. Thank God I can honestly say that I have never in my entire life been so sick that I have craaapped my paaants. And the disgusting boys-are-dirty-girls-would-never-even-think-about-doing-this topper of it all? He did not throw his dirty boxers away.

I'll let you think about that for a minute.

It sat in his dirty laundry (which almost never intermingles with my dirty laundry...praise Jesus) all night until he put it in the laundry machine tonight. I mean, really??!! I mean, I'd ask him but I'm too scared to know that answer, but I would at least hope that he had the good sense to *shudder* scrape some of the poo *bleargh* off before he tossed the crap-ridden underwear into our closet *hurrrl*. It's only by the grace of God that I still love this guy. Because, for realz, if there was even a hint of a question as to what my true feelings were for this foul creature, I think it has been answered this very day. And when I asked him why he did not do immediately throw them away -- I believe the exact words were "OH MY GOD WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU RUN RIGHT TO THE GARBAGE CAN AND THROW IT AWAYYYYY???!!!" -- his response was, "Well, you were cooking in the kitchen and I didn't want to walk in there and toss in a pair of poopy underwear." Oy. Oy oy oy. I guess it makes sense...kind of.

Anyway, for better or worse, Scott is back to his former self, playing NCAA 2007 Football on his XBox 360 and smiling at me and saying, "Poopie Doopies" over and over. *sigh*

Also: Scott and I are flying home for Christmas tomorrow night. Huzzah! Huzzah! I am way excited. Also in deep denial about the list of about 10 things that I still need to take care of before we catch our airport shuttle tomorrow and have yet to even begin. But still excited. Wheeee!!


UPDATE: In case you were wondering, I knew about the Crappy Pants Incident last night, but I specifically didn't put it in my blog for the sake of my dear Schmoobliedoos. However, he was reading my previous post earlier this evening and asked, "Why didn't you write about how I crapped my pants?" And then I said, "You seriously want me to put that in there?" And he was all, "..... Yes." So I did.

My Schmoobliedoos is sick :(

I was awakened (awoken?) at 4 o'clock this morning by a moaning and groaning Scott telling me that he didn't feel very good. I, being the heartless and insensitive girlfriend, figured he was being an overly dramatic baby and waited for him to fall asleep and be quiet. However, the sudden leap out of bed and dash to the nearest garbage can followed 1.5 seconds later by the sounds of his innards (at least that's what it sounded like) being violently vomited out of his skull was enough to convince me that he really did not feel very good. Poor thing. And it pretty much continued that way for the next several hours.

After making a morning trip to Rite-Aid for some Gatorade and Saltines, I squeezed in one hour of sleep (in which I dreamt that Scott's vomit was in the bathtub and I was distressed because I had to take a shower before work) and went off to work. On my way home, I stopped at the grocery store to buy some ingredients for lugaw, which is the Filipino equivalent of the Chinese congee -- a rice porridge dish that has garlic, ginger, chicken, etc. -- and is definitely the feel-better, comfort food in Asian cultures. My parents used to make it all the time when we were growing up, and I'm hoping it helps Scott.

I, meanwhile, feel fine. On the chance that he's got a stomach flu rather than food poisoning (which is likely, since the vomiting has stopped, but he is still very weak and has been asleep all day), I am taking ridiculous amounts of Ester-C and drinking home-brewed tea from ginger pieces the size of my head. I absolutely cannot get sick three days before flying home for Christmas!! Especially since I have written out approximately zero out of an estimated 20 Christmas cards, and have finished only 22% percent of my Christmas shopping. Plus, I have to find a way to squeeze in 2 more full days of work, pack my suitcase, teach 2 clarinet lessons and cook/bake some goodies to bring in for our office Christmas party before 5pm on Wednesday. Yeesh. I absolutely luuuurve the Holidays, as you well know, but if someone can find a way to enjoy this time of year without the added stress and anxiety, then I'd love it that much more.

My nuts are burning!

My statement to Scott a few minutes ago in the midst of a day filled with some successful (breakfast omelet, Orange Nut Cookies), some not-so-successful (burned Spiced Nuts) adventures in the kitchen. To be sure, Scott had a clever response to this statement which I will not post here for the sake of my poor parents, but rest assured that it did involve the word "nuts" and "burning" in a different context. *sigh* Anyway, I spent nearly $90 on ingredients (!!! I know, right? How the hell did that happen??) at the grocery store last night, I'm about six hours in, and all I have to show for it is one batch of cookies and one not-burned batch of spiced nuts. Harumph. Baking is hard.

Also: we saw "I Am Legend" last night. Zombies are f*ing scary. The movie was waaay better than "The Golden Compass" (yes, we are still bitter about that one).

Oyster O.D.

Back from Happy Hour in the city. Stomach distended. Filled with one overpriced martini, one dozen oysters, one order of calamari, one cup of oyster stew, one salmon slider, one large Americano and one slice of key lime pie. Am dangerously close to turning into one useless lump of mixed seafood flesh with a key lime-shaped head. And two olives instead of eyes. Sipping an Americano. Will post more tomorrow when thoughts are not clouded by seafood-flavored retardation.

Good night.

Yarrrgh...old people pills.

I am, as of one hour ago, officially taking glucosamine and chondroitin supplements*. Because, not only do I have bad wrists from my years as a gymnast, I also developed bad knees after high school when I decided to try a brief stint at exercising again (didn't last long), then woke up with a bad left shoulder 19 months ago (Remember when I blogged about it when I was still working for the goddamned KSO? Yeah, it's still there.), and a week ago started waking up in the middle of the night with a burning pain in my right elbow. Yeesh. This whole approaching 30 thing is doing quite a number on me. At least I got a trip to Target out of this whole need to buy old people pills.

In other news: tomorrow, the Schmoobs and I are joining his newest non-gay boyfriend and the non-gay boyfriend's wife for Happy Hour at Elliott's Oyster House in the city. I am -- how do you say? -- stoked. It's the place we went to when we visited Seattle for the first time while looking at apartments and ended up spending way too much money on oysters and booze. And then checked out a showing of "The DaKinki Code" at The Lusty Lady. But that's another story... Anyway, on Fridays, oysters at Elliott's are 50 cents each, and then the price goes up incrimentally by 20 cents every half hour until 6 o'clock. It's f*ing brilliant. And they have oyster trivia, too. If you get one of their two oyster-related trivia questions correct, you get a free half dozen oysters. Also, we may or may not have gotten a free half dozen oysters on more than one occasion courtesy of Scott's smartphone + the intarwebs. Does that make us bad people? Or just smart... Maybe just greedy for free oysters. Isn't sinning for the sake of a free-oyster-payoff forgivable? Hmm? Anyone??

Also, I should say this: the Seattle Symphony is performing Beethoven's freaking Ninth Symphony at the end of the month. I'm totally going. It's going to be the greatest thing ever and, while I am going to try my very darndest to not soil myself in my seat during the final movement, I'm not going to make any promises. The end.


* By the way, these things are freaking expensive, man! Who knew?!

Poop.

It's 11am on Sunday morning, there is a light flurry of snow falling outside, I've just woken up, put a fresh pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen (which I will make sure to not mix any rank cream in, thank you very much), and have completed my morning BM. Aaaah, 'tis a good morning. I was praying to the BM angels last night that it would happen since, as I had mentioned before, we will be venturing out for another Salty's brunch buffet adventure in a couple of hours and this morning - erm - "cleansing" ensures an ever-more-satisfying visit to the Greatest Buffet In The Entire Universe. Life is pretty sweet.

Also, we went and saw "The Golden Compass" last night. Verdict? (cue trombones) Wah wah waaaah. Wow. Yeah, neither of us had ever read the book. I had no idea this movie, let alone the book, even existed two weeks ago. But still. I mean, this movie had so much promise. Hottie 007, Saruman and Gandalf, and hello?! Giant freaking polar bears! Ugh. But no dice. The flow of the screenplay was all over the place. It was like if they had tried to make a movie of the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy in 90 minutes. It's going to skip all over the place and leave a bunch of stuff out (I'm assuming that's what happened with this movie, since every scene change seemed like a giant leap out of nowhere...). Also, Lyra was like 12 years old and already had bad coffee-stained teeth. Geez. Anyway, the polar bear fight near the end of the movie was pretty cool. I can say that much.

Ok, off to shower and then mentally prepare for the feasting! Huzzah!

***UPDATE***

Back from 2 hours at the buffet. We each had at least 3 plates. Actually, I'm almost certain I had 4 and Scott had 5...but after a while the ridiculous number of calories just kind of seeps into your brain and your memory becomes handicapped. What a glorious way to spend an afternoon.

OOOooooOOooOoog.

I think I put some bad milk in my coffee this morning. It was actually heavy cream (that's right baby). When I opened up the spout I noticed some thickness forming around the opening and just figured some of the cream had whipped itself somehow into actual whipped cream (what?). And then when I mixed it into my coffee I noticed that some of it wasn't mixing completely and was just floating to the top. And then I proceeded to drink my coffee. While eating some nachos. I'm not really sure which of those two were the poorer choices. Actually, I think the two together formed a Super Stupid Combo. Because now my stomach is feeling in a way it has not felt in a while. Stupid spoiled milk ruining my coffee...oh, to be punished by the one you love most!

In other news: Scott and I are going to the Salty's brunch buffet tomorrow with a couple of friends. Hurray! When my stomach is in a state where I even think about food without wanting to run to the bathroom I'll rejoice for real. Bah.

HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!

There was an eff-ing car alarm that started shortly after midnight last night and was still going off when I left for work. I had this grand master plan to lay down on the couch and fall into a blissful slumber whilst watching a TiVo'ed episode of "Anthony Bourdain, No Reservations: India" so I could dream of curries and naan dipped in that creamed spinach delightfulness...but the damned car alarm wouldn't stop so I had to resort to going to bed instead. Hmph.

To make myself feel better (i.e. slightly less homicidal) this morning, I am guzzling a double Americano from this cute little cafe across the street from my work, which has the best espresso ever (shhh...don't tell Star*ucks). Their espresso machine was out of service for many many weeks and has only been back recently. And it could not have gotten fixed any sooner seeing as I was surely becoming known at that cafe as That Weird Girl Who Works Across The Street And Falls Into A Weeping Heap of Sorrow Every Time She Comes In And Sees Empty Counter Space Where The Espresso Machine Is Supposed To Be.

Anyway, I've got a rehearsal and a concert later today so I think I will use the rest of my "work" day to do some actual work. Spater!

Damn you, Blogger!!! *shakes fist angrily in air*

1. It's been a while since I've tried to save a post on here only to find out a couple of hours later that Blogger apparently didn't keep a copy of it. High holy hell. It would have been a good post, too...maybe (probably not). Anyhoo, on with today's post...

2. Good: Using company time to download a woodwind quintet on iTunes.

3. Bad: When your work computer is so pathetic that it takes over an hour to download a woodwind quintet on iTunes. Sheesh.

4. Today has got to be the gloomiest day Seattle has seen since the cold season began. Dark skies and torrential downpours. I love it. As I was driving to work today, it was so dark out that it looked like it was already the end of the day. Like, 6 pm. Like, time to turn around and go home. ...No? Won't work? *sigh* It was worth a shot.

5. Oh, hell's bells. I'm trying to buy a plane ticket home for Christmas, and the f*ing Orbitz page has been trying to load for 2 minutes!!! I'm resisisting the urge to spew out a massively long string of curse words whilst grabbing this useless hunk of metal, tearing the sockets out of the walls, and heaving it out the window. Somebody just try and stop me. This is the third piece of crap this company his dug up from the depths of the dungeon to replace all my previous pieces of crap and I am gradually building a graveyard of computers behind my deskchair. I think it's time for another...

6. Hmmm...coldy rainy day means soup for lunch, right? I'm thinking about swimming across the street to get some Tom Kha Gai. Oh, sweet Moses, that sounds good.

7. So with Scott gone this past weekend and me being too scared to drive anywhere during the Great Snowstorm of December the First 2007, I think I literally sat on my couch and stared alternately at my computer and television screens for roughly 14 straight hours on Saturday. As a result, my eyes are inredibly fatigued and can't look at bright lights (like, say, a computer monitor or television...oh, the sweet irony!) without being accompanied by a throbbing headache. Also, I've had a muscle spasm underneath my right eye since yesterday. It is maddening. So maddening, in fact, that I think I need to go home for the rest of the day and rest my weary eyeballs. ...Still no? Damn.

8. FLOOD WARNING!! WE HAVE TO EVACUATE!! Wow, dreams really do come true! Hurray!!!

***ADDENDUM***

9. Okay, continuing this list from home. It seems this winter storm is not one to make light of. Crazy floods are happening all over! A little too close for comfort, actually. Good thing we live on the second story! If not, I might have had to go get a pair of water wings for Bela :)

10. Good: Getting a phone call from a mother wanting clarinet lessons for her child.

11. Bad: Five minutes into the phone conversation, realizing that she was calling from Knoxville. Le sigh.

Hurray!

I walked outside to take out the garbage and it just started snowing!!!

Good morning...or something.

Starting off your morning with two hours of driving through Seattle traffic is not fun. Namely, taking an hour through Seattle morning commute traffic to drop the Schmoobles off at the airport for the first Drum Corps Nerd Camp of the season and then another hour through more Seattle morning commute traffic to get to work -- all before the freaking sun even comes up. And we all know that Ys does NOT function well before sun up. Hell, I don't function well by mid-day either, but whatever. What should help, though, is this beautiful hot steaming Triple Grande Soy Caramel Macchiato from Star*ucks.

Okay, you three shots of espresso: do your work!


***UPDATE***

Or not. ZZZzzzzzzzz. * head falls on desk *

Brilliant idea that Ys should but most likely will never follow up on #1

You know what I would love? A grand monster website that has program notes for every single possible piece of music out there. I told Scott this and he said that nobody would bother because there are already books out there. But you know what? Sometimes I don't want to read a whole book. I want 1 - 3 concise paragraphs containing good introductory information that will help me become slightly more knowledgable regarding a piece of music. And then, you know, it can have a list of sources after the program notes for those who want to do further research. Anyway, I think a website like that would be brilliant. Because I've been Googling a certain woodwind quintet and I can't find a damn piece of information about it except for the fact that the Bergen Quintet has recorded it. And that CD probably has some notes in its liner about the piece. But I can't read it because I downloaded the music off of iTunes. Blargh.

In other news, I think I'm getting some kind of bunion in my right foot. Ew. Wait, I don't think bunion is right. There's no gross lump of hardened skin or anything. It's just always sore on that bone underneath my big toe. I'm pretty sure it's because of this pair of brown boots that I bought not too long ago which, while really cute and exactly matching one of my brown purses, seems to be a size or so too big for my tender feetsies. Oh well.

In other other news, I'm planning on taking an unheard-of ten days off from work over Christmas. Huzzah! Huzzah!! Huzzaaaah!!! I cannot wait. Seriously. Can. Not.

Happy Birthday to mein Vater!!

Yes, you must all celebrate the birth of the great man whose seed (ew) spawned the beautimous, most glorious creature of all time!!!

In celebration, my sister had the brilliant idea of giving my dad this for his birthday gift:


The one in the bottom left corner is obviously my personal favorite. Sirloin steaks, pork chops, grilled chicken breasts (boobies!), and gourmet franks (weiners!)...the vegetarian's nightmare. Or, as it is so appropriately named: The Perfect Gift. As I called my dad this evening to wish him a happy birthday, he remarked that, while he loved the gift, he did not really know what to do with all the food. And in true Ys fashion, I remarked, "Don't worry, if you save most of it in the next month, I can take care of it over Christmas." *sigh* I'm such a giver.

Question.

What's the point of going to the bulk foods section of the grocery store and making an ultra-healthy trail mix of fruits and nuts (haha...nuts), when all you're going to do is pick out and eat only the toffee peanuts anyway?

Note to self: Just buy a giant bag of toffee peanuts.

*****

UPDATE: I'm sitting here on the couch watching yesterday's "Heroes" on TiVo whilst laptopping and I keep smelling raw onions or really vile B.O. It's driving me craaazy. I've confirmed that it's not coming from my armpit area, nor elsewhere on my body. It's not coming from Bela who is sitting next to me. And Scott's way on the other end of the other couch, so it's not him. Plus, he only smells when he is emitting his (ahem) natural gaseous emissions -- and those always smell like putrid eggs. Where can it be coming from??? Agh.

AAAaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!

I need to take this moment to tell you that Scott and I are watching the Season 3 finale of "Lost" online and Charlie is f*ing captured in The Looking Glass and Jin just f*ing missed his dynamite target and I am peeing in my f*ing pants.

*deep breath*

Okay, back to the show...

ps. Oh yeah, hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving.

pps. Do I really have to go back to work tomorrow morning?!

ppps. Damnit, Jin! Why did you have to miss your target??!! Gaaaaah!!!!

Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble...

Okay, it is now 2:30 in the morning and the majority of the delicious-making has been done. Only a few mishaps during the process:

1. I could only find one kind of Asian egg roll wrapper in the "Ethnic Foods" aisle at the grocery, and it's not the traditional type of lumpia wrapper that I am used to from when I was growing up. I had to get the Vietnamese rice paper thing. It should work okay. I test-fried one lumpia tonight and I don't think the heat was high enough, nor did I let it fry long enough since the outer wrapper was this weird hybrid of crispy/chewy/greasy. Errors duly noted. Will do much better when we head over to our friends' house and I cook them there. Regardless, the lumpia filling that I made turned out PERFECT. Also, my mummy's recipe made a ridiculous amount of food. Woo hoo! Pre-emptive leftovers!

2. I could not find cornstarch in the grocery store. At all. We went through the entire store twice, and I paced up and down the damn baking foods aisle at least ten times. No dice. I finally gave up and decided to try again tomorrow morning, when my brain isn't dead from spending an eternity in the produce section trying to figure out what the hell a parsnip was and where I could find 3 cups worth of them. Anyway, we were standing in line at the checkout counter and Scott heroically offered to make a mad dash and try to find the cornstarch. As I started putting our groceries on the conveyer belt, he came running triumphantly to our line and, since he could not get to me easily through the people in line behind me, he victoriously raised above his head so I could see a gigantic jug of ... corn syrup. Ah well. All I could do was look up and slowly shake my head from side to side with a frowny face. It's the thought that counts, right?

3. By my third hour of improvised chopping, grating, grinding, etc. since we own neither a blender nor a food processor, I made the (definitely) wise decision to pull the Cream of Parsnip Soup with Potato Crisps and Bacon from my roster. The recipe, according to Mistah Emeril, calls for an hour and a half of prep time, and another hour of cooking time. Zoinks! Hells no. But, seeing as how I devoted a rather large portion of my life hunting down those damned parsnips earlier this evening -- which may or may not have involved me sidling up to one unsuspecting fellow shopper and asking if she knew what a parsnip looked like and then remarking, "Where the hell's the produce guy when you need him, right?" -- I will attempt to make this soup at some point this weekend. I'm sure it will be delicious even though I have no idea what parsnips taste like ... but it involves fried thinly sliced potates and crispy bacon, so it will be glorious.

Anyhoo, in the all too likely event that I will be entirely too stuffed and bloated later today to roll myself over to a computer, I will say this now: Happy Turkey Day everbody!!

One day 'til the gorging.

It's nearly 8pm and I have yet to go to the grocery store to even buy the ingredients with which I must make variety of delicious Turkey Day delicacies by the early afternoon tomorrow. Is that bad? Now that we have finished the second season of "Lost" and the third season DVDs aren't out until the middle of next week (DAMNIT!!!), at least I won't have that distraction tonight. Not that those episodes aren't available online or anything...

Anyway, right now my recipe list for tomorrow is lumpia, cream of parsnip soup with potato crisps and bacon, green bean casserole and peanut butter banana cream pie. Clearly, I spent too much time at work today searching the Intarwebs for some yummy recipes. Hey, at least I aim high. If our kitchen is not a giant ball of fire by noon tomorrow, I will have considered this a success!

In any case, hurray for the 4-day weekend!! Even though I'm going to have to go in for a short bit on Friday to take care of one specific book order for one very specific high-maintenance customer. Yurgh. Oh well. Ok, off to have some pre-Turkey Day dinner (sushi...mmm!) and then onwards to the grocery store to load up on some lumpia ingredients. Huzzah!

Quick thoughts.

1. NoBloPoMo, SchnoBloPoSchmo. I blog when I want, damnit. And right now this means only strictly during scary moments of "Lost."

2. At last count I've already gotten sick 3 times since the season has changed. And now all of a sudden I'm sneezing and coughing again. What in the hell?! Does my immune system go into hibernation during the cold months now? Unacceptable. I'm going to account this to the fact that I've been neglectful (lazy) in taking my asthma meds for a couple days. Hopefully now that I'm huffing twice daily from the weird purple disk and popping my crazy-expensive little pink pills, I better feel better and soon. I will not be sick for Thanksgiving this year again!

3. Speaking of Thanksgiving, the Schmoobs and I are going over to a friend's house to have Turkey Day with him and his wife. There was about a 10 second discussion about which couple should host the meal. But then when I made the points that a) Scott and I live in the apartment of a college sophomore and don't even have a dining room table, and b) our carpet bears the unfortunate evidence of the vomit stains of both Scott's step-brother and Bela, it seemed a more logical choice to have it at the friend's house. I won't mention that fact that these are the same friends who are lending us their "Lost" DVDs and that Scott and I should just about be ready to trade Season 2 in and get Season 3 around Thanksgiving. Perfect timing, eh?

4. "Lost" tangent: Henry Gale is f*ing creepy. I hate those evil little sideways smiles right before the commercial breaks. Everyone in this f*ing show is f*ing creepy!! Hurley and that other mental patient chick?! Come on!!

5. Also about Turkey Day: aside from a number of side dishes and desserts that I somehow plan on shopping for and making at some point between when I get off of work on Wednesday and dinnertime the next day, I'm also going to attempt to make lumpia -- just the way my mommy makes it. She gave me the recipe today. I'm excited. Mainly because -- at the risk of ruining the sentiment with a blatant double negative -- lumpia is never not a hit at any gathering involving food. Ever. I mean, if there's a person out there who only knows one Filipino dish, that dish is definitely lumpia. Hands down. Guaranteed. Or maybe balut, thanks to "Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern" and "The Amazing Race." But that's a whole other story altogether.

6. "Lost" tangent #2: Okay, if Kate insists on giving Sawyer some sexy foreplay a haircut, she should have at least given him a real haircut. Yeah yeah yeah, he's got the whole shaggy-haired rebel bad-boy thing going. Whatever. Remember how hottt Peter Petrelli was in the second season opener with his newly shorn hair? Yowza. Sawyer: get on it.

7. "Lost" tangent #3: Locke most definitely looks better bald than he does in his flashbacks. That hideous combover? Yikes. Good riddance.

8. This morning I had an interesting change of pace and got bitched at over the phone by a bitter old violin teacher instead of a bitter old piano teacher. It's nice to change things up every now and then I guess. I knew it was a bad sign when the first thing she said to me on the phone was, "You people are getting very lazy over there. First of all, you didn't say that your area code is 425..." Are you f*ing kidding me? That's what you're going to start with, old lady? Because a) I don't know what piece of information you got our phone number from, but the only pieces of information that our company has bothered to place our info on are the phone book, our website and business cards. And those all have our area code, so I'm perplexed; b) I know you've shopped in our store many many times before. I've seen you with mine own two eyes, I have. So I refuse to believe that you don't know exactly what city you are in when you walk into our store. And I want to assume that this means that you should know what area code matches with this city. And not just city, mind you, but aaaaall the surrounding cities in this area. Yeesh; c) Really? You're pissed because we didn't tell you what our area code was?! Oy, I give up.

9. I can't watch "Lost" without Wikipedia-ing it episode by episode. Scott thinks I'm cheating, but I can't stand it!! I'd pee myself from anxiety if I didn't.

10. "Lost" tangent #4: Okay, it's one o'clock in the morning and Michael just shot Ana Lucia and Libby and himself. Blargh! There's no way we can stop watching now, damnit!! So much for sleep tonight. Good thing I've got a long weekend to catch up on sleep...

11. The easy listening radio station has switched to all Christmas music, the red holiday cups are in full bloom, Christmas blend is brewing, and I'm happy as a clam!! A pepperming mocha clam!! 'Tis the season, my friends. Hurray!

12. Unfortunately, 'tis also the season for bitterly cold air outside, overly heated air inside and dry, red and itchy skin. I need to switch moisturizers again. My face is in serious need of some good ol' fashioned Neutrogena intensive moisturizer lovin'. We all know my favorite place to go to for home beauty essentials...hurray again!

13. You know what's a beautiful piece? "Solvejg's Song" by Edward Grieg. It's from Peer Gynt. I heard it a few nights ago at this voice recital that I played for. Note to self: next time you attend a voice studio recital, sit in the back, bring your laptop, and blog away. Nothing says "blogging material" like 90 minutes of sheer tone-deaf awesomeness. I know that's totally a snarky/elitist thing to say. I have no excuse. On the flip side: I picked up a $100 check for about 3o minutes of playing total. I told the teacher that I wanted $80, but I guess he was feeling generous. Either that, or he felt that I earned the extra $20 fr sitting thru the whole recital. Whatever, I'll take it and run...to the nearest Star*ucks. Yoink!

***UPDATE***

14. Okay, it's now past 2 in the morning. I've taken my pre-bedtime shower and have proceeded to slather my extremities and entire face with some long-forgotten Ponds moisturizer I dug up from under the sink. That stuff is like lard compared to the other moisturizer I'd been using. It should hydrate my skin quite nicely. Either that or I'll turn into one giant pimple. I swear I've got the world's most sensitive skin. It's a very delicate little dance I have to deal with when I choose face cleansers, moisturizer, makeup, etc. One wrong move and that's it. Or that's zit. Hahahaha...I'm so clever.

"Lost" is taking over my life.

And although I would like to be able to use that as a viable excuse as to why I haven't blogged in 4 days, the truth is I can't use that because Scott has been out of town since Thursday and I am too creeped out by the show to watch it by myself. So I haven't been "Lost"-ing at all. Until now, of course, since Scott got back this morning. And after two loads of laundry, a brief apartment cleanup, and the also requisite 2pm breakfast (Corned Beef Eggs Benedict -- oh, those greasy diners will think of the craziest things! -- and Stuffed Hash Browns) accompanied by the requisite Star*ucks Soy White Chocolate Mocha, we have done nothing but watch more episodes of the second season of "Lost." Pretty exciting, eh?

Anyway, I promise to blog more in the next few days. And you all know that a promise like that coming from me is worth just about as much as one of Bela's dust covered turds in his kitty box. Oh well. It's the thought that counts, right? Anyhooo, back to "Lost."

ps. Geez, when are Kate and Sawyer gonna do it already?!

Lucky II?

So it seems as though I am somewhat nearing the end of the tunnel, and will have completely paid off my baby boy Lucky sometime next year. Huzzah! Upon realizing this, I did what any nonsensical, financially-inept twenty-something would do and started frantically window (online) shopping for and obsessively researching my next car. I, of course, have no reason to even start thinking about purchasing a new car yet, but ain't no harm in fantasizing about it, know what I'm sayin'? Any thoughts? I'd want to aim for a 2005 model at the earliest. I'm on a Volvo kick lately. Probably because my sister drives one, and it's the cutest thing ever. Also, because I am fairly confident that a 2005 Volvo S40 is unlikely to start growing mold during every rainy season.

I also am a big fan of Mazdas. Don't really know why. I like their styling. But I've never really been familiar with that brand of automobiles, nor have I really been close to anyone who drove one (I think?). No, scratch that. I've known several people who drove Mazda Miatas, but those things look like they'd explode if you just looked at them too hard. No thanks. Long story short: I loathe 2-door cars. 2-door cars are the devil. Perhaps its my version of a short-complex?

I also love love love the Prius. And considering that I come from a Toyota family, it would make sense for me to look at owning a Prius. Especially since I live in the Land of Tree-hugging Hippies, so pretty much every other car I see out on the road is a Prius. But this has somehow had a negative effect and I'm kind of turned off by them now. I gotta be an individual, man! ...even at the sake of destroying the environment. Forgive me, Al Gore!

Anyway, that's it. I'm interested in hearing some of your thoughts, suggestions, fart jokes, etc.

...

Dear NaBloPoMo,

You can't tell me what to do! You're not the boss of me! Go suck it!

Love,
Ys

***

And on the 12th day, Ys rested. And it was good.

***

In other news, I have learned something about myself and it is this: If I were to ever murder anyone (batty old piano teachers anyone?) and were sentenced to sleep with the fishes, my final meal would be Tom Kha Gai soup, Miang Kum spinach appeteezer, Pad Khi Mao and Massamun Curry. Oh, and a Diet Coke. And then an Almond Joy Sundae from this place. And then a Star*ucks soy caramel macchiatto. The end. I came to this conclusion after eating Thai food yesterday for lunch, Thai food leftovers yesterday evening for dinner, and then Thai food at a different Thai place for dinner tonight. Scott and I have an exciting evening planned, mainly consisting of popping the second season of "Lost" into the DVD player (Omg, this show is ridiculously good. However, Locke: awesome or creepy? Both?), so I will most likely be enjoying some Thai leftovers for second dinner in a couple of hours. If I keep this up, I might just turn into one giant drunken noodle...and then I'd be forced to eat myself. Ooh, what a vicious cycle that could turn out to be...

***

Anyhoo, apologies for the lack of quality posts lately, mates. Not that this blog is really known for its "quality" posts, per se. More like the complete opposite, really. Poop, farts, Star*ucks, etc etc etc. Anyway, apparently my blog-persona doesn't like to be told what to do. Like, you know, write a mandatory post everyday and stuff. Also: I've done nothing but work and watch "Lost" every night...oh, and eat Thai food. And work has been keeping me busy enough these last several days (weeks? months?) that I can't even post about how bored I am at work. What a shame.

In other other news --

*** BOOP BOOP BOOP. YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOGGING HAS BEEN INTERRUPTED FOR THIS DISGUSTINGNESS ***

Scott: Ys.

Ys: Hm?

Scott: We need a new bathroom.

Ys: What did you do....

Scott: You can't go inside the bathroom again. Ever.

Ys: What did you do?!

Scott: All that Thai food we just ate? Is now in the toilet. It's making its way down the toilet...

Ys: (silence)

Scott: I saw peanuts.

Ys: (silence)

Scott: It was the size of Bela.

Ys: (silence)

Scott: Except not as solid.

Ys: (silence)

Scott: Like it was in a blender.

Ys: (silence)

Scott: (silence)

Ys: Can I put that in my blog?

Hooray hooray hooray!

No words. Just sheer joy.

Behold: the Guardian of the Holiday Star*ucks.

I guess the Bela doesn't fall far from the tree either...

Two minutes after I took this picture, Bela decided to jump on top of the television where we had two little candles burning. He now has a few kitty-toes that will be forever covered in pine-scented wax.

Leave me alone, it's Saturday.

I've spent roughly 75% of the day lying on the couch passed out. Mainly because I had no caffeine whatsoever and could not bring my body to stay away for more than 30 minutes at a time. So you will please forgive me for not posting anything else today. I'm only up right now because I had to go to the little girl's room. Maaaybe I'll write more later if I become more conscious at any point within the next 4 hours (unlikely). But if not, I'll smell ya later.

Droooowsing.

Okay, so remember about a year and a half ago when I was working for the KSO and stealthily made my covert escape "vacation" to the "west coast" for a week, when, in reality, I flew to Seattle to meet up with Scott so we could look at apartments and check out UW? I never wrote much about the trip, really. Even though I think I said I would. Whoops. Imagine that. Well, in a nutshell there was lots of oyster-eating and gin and tonic-drinking and being-forced-to-pretend-to-be-a-rich-yuppie-couple-while-accidentally-taking-a-tour-of-new-million-dollar-seaside-condos*. Also, because Scott had just accepted the doctoral assistant position at the School of Music, there were concerts by the University of Washington and Seattle Symphony ensembles to attend. There was one particular concert which showcased new music (hurl) for various chamber music ensembles. And in this particular concert was an especially particular composition by a young-ish female composer. It involved a smattering of instruments and a soprano.

The lyrics (libretto? text?) for this piece were interesting in the sense that every other word seemed to be "drowsing." But not just that, it was sung like a sophomore-year vocal performance major doing her incredibly irritating vocal warm-ups in the practice room next to you and she's so loud and obnoxious that you just want to take your clarinet swab and shove it down her throat. Like: "DROOoooooowsing." Over and over. "DROOoooooowsing." "DROOoooooowsing." "DROOOOOoooooowsing."

Also, did I mention that the soprano soloist was also the composer? Her voice was...nicht sehr gut. The whole thing was just really bizarre. I don't remember much else about it except that the concert was at the end of a veeery long day filled with Scott having to do the obligatory incoming-doctoral-assistant duties and shmoozing with big important wind band conductors and composers while I provided the essential arm-candy. In short, I was one crabby betch. And there I found myself sturggling to stay awake because of the 3-hour time difference while sitting there f*ing listening to this crappy soprano go "DROOOOOOOoooooowsing" for like twenty minutes (seriously).

Anyway, the moral of the story is that it is now 1:00 in the morning and I was supposed to be asleep 2 hours ago. So I have taken a melatonin pill to see if that would help me go to sleep at all and my first thought as my eyelids started to get a little bit heavy was: DROOOOOooooowsing.

So I wrote this post.

And in doing so, I have fulfilled my daily posting obligation for today. Huzzah!



*Ooh, that was a funny story. Too bad I never wrote about it! Haw haw!

Blahg.

Yet another day in which I come home at 9:30 (one hour earlier than last night -- huzzah!) and eat my first meal of the day. I cannot wait until exactly 24 hours from now. For realz. Because then it will officially be the weekend and Scott and I can commence doing what we have been doing almost every night this week, keeping us up at all hours of the night, and causing me to stumble into work every morning all bleary-eyed and unrested...

...watching the first season of "Lost" on DVD!!

Holy crap, why had neither of us ever watched this show before?! It's entirely too creepy for both Scott and I, but, hot damn, this show hooks you in with no mercy! Ugh.

Anyway, I'm thoroughly exhausted. I just got some bad news that I will have to expound on, probably tomorrow. "30 Rock" and "The Office" are waiting for me on TiVo. And I just inhaled a Big Mac and fries after not having eaten anything all day. That means I have to go now.

I just got home and I have 1 1/2 hours left until the posting deadline!

It is a universal truth that, in every order of curly fries, there will inevitably be The One Perfect Curly-Cue Fry. The one which, amidst all the mish-mash of curvy shapes and tangled pieces, will be the most pristine tightly-spun corkscrew. Now, there are two kinds of people in this world: 1) Those who will see The One Perfect Curly-Cue Fry and gobble it up without a second thought, and 2) Those who will always save The One Perfect Curly-Cue Fry for the very end until all the other inferior curly fries are gone and you can behold The One Perfect Curly-Cue Fry in all its glory and savor its consumption as it so deserves.

I have always been the latter. For as long as I can remember. When I see The One Perfect Curly-Cue Fry, a little part inside of me leaps for joy and then hurries to cram all the imperfect curly fries down my throat so that I can eat The One Perfect Curly-Cue Fry. Because it always has to be saved for the end. It Must Be Saved For The End.

Anyone else feel this way about curly fries?

Long story short: It's 10:30 at night, I've just gotten home and taken off my shoes, and am currently eating my first meal of the day courtesy of Arby's. Perhaps I've grown insane from hunger. That is my official excuse for writing this post. And now that I've obligatory post for the day and, in the process, exposed yet another slightly disturbing side of my psyche (psychosis?), I can finish working on finishing up the rest of these inferior fries so I can get to...well, you know what.

It Must Be Saved For The End.

*sigh* Only because I'm contractually bound to post every day...

Just got out of Wind Ensemble. I don't think it's a good sign when you find yourself mentally blacking out roughly 5 times during one 2-hour rehearsal session because your conscious fell into some black fantasy in which you suddenly leap up from your seat and start violently strangling various individuals within the group Homer-Bart-style whilst yelling, "Stop rushing!!! Why can't you play these 16th notes evenly??!! You suck!!! I hate youuuuu!!! Aaauuugh!!!" Vey.

I swear I'm not tooting my own horn (pun intended) here, and not that I don't enjoy playing in an ensemble - especially when it allows me to escape the hell-hole that is my day job - but I've definitely reached the point where I have no more patience for players who cannot play a SIMPLE LINE OF SIXTEENTH NOTES EVENLY WITHOUT RUSHING THEM GODDAMNIT AND YOU'RE A FREAKING DOCTORAL STUDENT IN PERFORMANCE I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW MUCH YOU SUCK!!! Oops. I went a little crazy there again at the end. My bad. No wait. I mean they're bad. As in, THEY'RE FREAKING HORRIBLE I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT YOU'RE GETTING A DOCTORAL DEGREE IN MUSIC PERFORMANCE AND YOU DON'T EVEN REALIZE HOW MUCH YOU SUCK AND YOU SHOULD JUST TAKE THAT HORN OUT OF YOUR MOUTH AND JUST BEAT YOURSELF OVER THE HEAD WITH IT REPEATEDLY!!!! GAAAAH!!!!"

*deep breaths*

Hey, this daily posting thing is pretty therapeutic.

***

In less frustrating news: I got called to play a gig next week. Schubert's "Shepherd on the Rock*" for clarinet, soprano and piano. Pretty sweet. One rehearsal, then it's showtime. My kind of gig. Plus, $80 to play a ten minute piece? Thank you sir, may I have another? Nice.


* Or Der Hirt auf dem Felsen if you want to sound smart. Or pretentious. Whatevs.

When the cat's away, the Ysabel will come out to play.

So Bossman is away on vacation all week. This is one of those instances where I really wish I had a handlebar moustache, because then I could twirl it all mischievously and then wring my hands together while going "Muahahahaha!!" And then I'd make a big flourish with my big purple velvet cape and scurry off into the shadows to do some dastardly deeds. Like blogging on company time. Or sending slightly insulting memos to other departments. Or listening to Justin Timberlake's "SexyBack" on the sales floor...the explicit version (ooooooh)! Or calling customers "bitches" or "ho-bags."

So I guess what I'm saying is that things will be exactly the same. Except with a slightly lower possibility of me getting fired this week. Hooray!

Also, I have noticed that this posting daily thing has done nothing to encourage you people to comment on my posts. Boo. I will give you this gentle reminder until I "release the hounds," as they say.

Update.

Someday when I am Princess of the Universe and can rule one and all (finally), I will make 3-day weekends mandatory. Blargh.

Favorites of this very moment.

1. Television show: America's Most Smartest Model. Lord help me, I love this show. Whatever self-esteem I may lose not looking like a supermodel, I gain back ten-fold for knowing that "Darfur" is not the name of a men's cologne. Also, that the author of "Tom Sawyer" is not...Tom Sawyer. Score!

2. Music: Sam Cooke. Who knew I had such a love for old school R&B? "A Change is Gonna Come." No words. Just go download it on iTunes.

3. Movie: The Transformers. Scott bought this on DVD a few days ago. Okay, maybe not the height of cinematic screenplay genius, but, hot damn, those robots are f*ing awesome!

4. Food: Cheetos. At 10 in the morning. For breakfast.

5. Drink: Diet Coke. At 10 in the morning. For breakfast. Will be surpassed in roughly 45 minutes when I go to give (un)Lucky an oil change and stop by Star*ucks for a soy Pumpkin Spice latte.

Really?

Everyday? Even on weekends? Sheesh.

Nothing exciting to report. Except that today I got my Monthly Confirmation That I Am Thankfully Without Child. My back hurts and I am without Midol.

Also, that I had a soy Pumpkin Spice Latte from Star*ucks on our way to breakfast plus another 2 cups of coffee during breakfast...and I still feel the need for a mid-afternoon Saturday nap. I think a trip to Target might wake me up a little bit. Except that would involve a stop at the gas station. And I think the depths of my laziness on weekends might be just enough that putting gas in (un)Lucky could actually dissuade me from going to Target. Wow. I've sunk to a new low.

*****

Oh yeah, and in case you were on the edge of your seats wondering if I was fired from my job re: my previous post. I was not. He just wanted to ask me about a couple of boxes of music books that he noticed in one of our other warehouse locations. I don't really think Bossman is perceptive enough to realize that my email was making a dig at his expense. In fact, later on that day I sent an email to our accounting person because she was having Bossman-issues as well; problems which involved aforementioned invoice-payment-freakouts by Bossman -- freakouts which, as is this case, can involve Bossman refusing to cut any checks to our publishers until I talk to the account reps and see if I can get them to let us return some product. So I emailed to our accountant:

{Major publisher} does not accept returns. Period. I made this clear to Bossman WEEKS ago.


And then she forwarded this to Bossman. For criminy's sake. I think this is turning into some sick game that I play with myself. How many times will she subtle-y insult Bossman via email before she gets fired? Oooh, only time will tell!!

Insert virtual foot into virtual mouth.

You know what I hate? When Bossman calls and leaves a somewhat stern message on your voicemail that states simply this:

As soon as you get to your desk, call me on my cell phone.

Especially when the only reason Bossman ever needs to talk to me is whenever he comes across an invoice that freaks him out and he tells you that there's no way he is going to be able to pay that bill (Um, you do you know your company owns eleven stores, right? And that I am supposed to order enough sheet music to stock all eleven stores, plus our warehouse? Ok, just checking...).

But most especially when you got an email from one of those other aforementioned stores inquiring about a piece of information on the company's website that is so severely outdated, that it was a subject brought up at one of the very first meetings you attended over A YEAR AGO and still hasn't been attended to. So you emailed the store back and send a somewhat catty, tongue-in-cheek reply to the effect of:

This is why Bossman REALLY needs to finally hire somebody to fix that damn website. As far as I can tell, it hasn't been updated since 2003!

And then this store does the most idiotic thing they can possibly do and, instead of mentioning it to Bossman, proceeds to FORWARD MY EMAIL TO HIM!!!! Auuuuugh!!!

Oy.

Oy, why today of all days?

Apparently, today is the beginning of National Blog Posting Month. Or NaBloPoMo if you're nasty. This basically means that blogging is slowly taking over the entire universe (as evidenced by the kitty to your left). Also, that I am officially obligated to post every single goddamn day this month. Sheesh. Unfortunately, this also happens to be the day following the night when I ate must have eaten some bad fugu or something because my intestines have been waging an epic battle against some evil bacterial underlord all morning. And yet, I roll myself out of bed and onto the couch to post this blog as I writhe in pain. Because that's how bored pathetic dedicated I am. Yeah, that's it!

Happy NaBloPoMo! 'Til tomorrow, my pets...

And this one goes out to all my Knoxville peeps...

...because -- speaking of disgustingly gluttonous eating -- nobody over on this side of the continent can truly appreciate the true horrific-ness of this:


Associated Press - Updated 15 hours ago

CHATTANOOGA, Tenn. - A competitive eater who has already triumphed at a famous hot dog eating contest swallowed 103 small hamburgers in 8 minutes Sunday to take home $10,000.

Joey Chestnut, 23, of San Jose, Calif., surpassed the previous record of 97 Krystal burgers -- 2 1/2 inches square -- held by Japan's Takeru Kobayashi, set at last year's Krystal Square Off.



103 Krystal burgers. In 8 minutes. That, my friends, is the definition of gross. Or maybe I mean fantastic. My brain can't even wrap itself around this. Also gross? What Joe Chestnut's turds must have looked like during the bowel movement he inevitably had to suffer through immediately following the collection of his giant $10,000 check.

I would also like to state that this in no way whatsoever means that I have joined the Chestnut camp. Kobayashi is The One True Eating Champion of the Universe, forever and ever, amen. But, damn. 103 Krystals?! My sphincter cringes at the thought.

How to tell if you are the World's Most Evil Viola Teacher Ever.

1. Greatest Print Assistant Ever calls you a Bitch.

2. Ysabel calls you a Heinous Bitch.

3. Store Manager #2 calls you a Bitch Sandwich.

*****

In other news: I am in full-on PMS mode, which, I have found, seems to vary widely in my case from month to month. While I have not been blessed with the Backache of Doom, nor the Instantaneous Crying Jags at Pictures of Baby Animals, I have managed to spend the last 48 hours eating every feasibly-edible thing that has crossed my path, leaving nothing but a barren path of destruction. Day old pizza? Check. Red Robin guacamole & bacon burger with fries? Check. Peanut Butter double stuf Oreos? Check. Large order of Tom Kha Gai soup? Hell yes. Check. Half-eaten chocolate cookie from Star*ucks that I forgot I had put in my purse? Happy surprise! Check. Week old strawberry milkshake that I just remembered I put in the freezer? So gross. Check.

*sigh* Someday, this metabolism of mine will go kaput and my world will become very bleak. Also, my ass will become very large. But until then... off to Panda Express!!!*


* Totally not even kidding. Oy vey.

Ugh.

Why does Sonic insist on airing commercials during every commercial break here tempting us of their milk shakes, tater tots, chili dogs, burgers and countless other delectable food items near and dear to my artery-clogged heart -- when the nearest Sonic is over 150 miles away?!?! Aaargh!!!

Question.

Who in the world goes to meet her boyfriend and some friends at a University District bar on a Friday night, has a cocktail and a Philly cheesesteak and fries, trades fart stories*, heads home around midnight, and along the way stops in at a 24-hour Walgreens to buy some X-14 foaming bathroom cleaner, then arrives home and cleans her bathroom from top to bottom at 1 o'clock in the morning? ...and then blogs about it?!

Oh, right. I DO.



* Mostly centered around Scott.

Das Boot.

After work, Wind Ensemble, and my little new mini-me clarinet student yesterday evening, I decided to drop by a nearby apparel store to see if they had any good deals on tall boots. I have recently decided that I cannot live another day without a fantastic pair of tall boots to add to my wardrobe and now I find myself obsessing about it non-stop. I mean with the autumn season in full swing, how could I not walk around looking fabulous in a wrap dress and stockings with knee-high boots? Seriously. It would be like my Autumnal gift to humanity. Anyway, I thought I had scored when I was at one particular footwear establishment the other day and found a brown pair in my size...at half off! So I excitedly tried it on in their little shoe-stool mirror and thought it felt/looked great. So off I went. And then when I brought it home and looked at myself in the full-length mirror, I realized that it looked full-on retarded because, with my less than supermodel-length legs, the boots actually went past my knees. Ugh. Unacceptable.

So you can imagine my excitement when I was browsing through the shoe department last night and found a pair of black, leather, Franco Sarto boots that not only fit like a glove and covered my entire calf, but stopped right below my knees...but also was on sale for the ridiculous price of $19.99!!! I couldn't believe my luck! Franco Sarto?! These are good shoes! And with that last name, how could I go wrong?? So after I had already gotten my heart set on having these beautiful boots in my closet and begun fantasizing about all the lovely ensembles I could pair them with, I glanced at the price tag again...and saw that it actually said $69.99. Boooooo. Utter devastation.

Also? I had just finished putting all of my extraneous money into a brand-spanking new ING Direct savings account that I had just opened. Money which I am not allowed to touch for the next 2 weeks (That sound you hear is the sound of my father shouting for joy). Yargh. Yeah yeah yeah, it's better of this way, not wasting your money on stuff you don't need, blah blah blah. Did I mention that these boots were fabulous? And that they fit me perfectly?! And that we wants it, precioussssss...? Waaah. Being responsible blows.

A New Project.

So there's this shopping center near our place that has recently added several new establishments to its roster and Scott and I decided to check out some of the new additions this afternoon. Plus, we were low on toothpaste and perilously low on toilet paper, so it only made sense to spend some time there, considering there is also a Target at that location. Yes, that's it. It only made sense. Anyway, we had narrowed our restaurant choices down to three locations:

• Red Robin: Awesome burgers. Messy so I always have to shower afterwards, but tasty nontheless. Don't get the weird pork fajitas, though. They're disgusting.


• The Ram: Standard college pub fare. There's one near the UW that's very popular with the college crowd. The food's decent.


• Stanford's: Never heard of it. Mysteriously non-descript-looking building. Intriguing.

We decided to try this Stanford's place because neither Scott and I had ever heard of it before, and we were feeling bored/adventurous. Long story short: bad idea. I'll explain more later. But as we made our way to Target in Scott's truck after that less-than-satisfactory meal, we both decided that it was a travesty that we are not professional critics on everthing, because we are highly critical of everything and everyone that crosses our paths. Also, we are awesome and everyone should listen to everything we say. In any case, this led me to the realization that I should post more critiques and reviews on my blog. That way, when you are ever unsure of what to think of a particular place, food, tv show, person, etc. you can always say to yourself, "I wonder what Ysabel thinks?" and then you can consult this blog and conform to my opinions as need be. At least you will if you want to be awesome like me. It would be like reviews on Yelp, but not, because I'm too lazy to start a Yelp account, despite the fact that when I'm not blogging, or checking my email for the 98th time that day, or checking Facebook or Myspace, or looking up job listings on Craigslist, I look up everything I can possibly think of on Yelp. It's fun.

Anyway, so you'll be seeing some reviews by Yours Truly on this blog periodically. Unless I completely forget that I even started this whole project, which is not out of the realm of possibility. But just in case, I've constructed my very own personal rating guide. Look there on the sidebar. There it is! Here is a breakdown of the food ratings guide:

FOOD & DRINK

1 Star = Ruby Tuesday

There is a Ruby Tuesday in Knoxville on Kingston Pike. It was not far from Scott's apartment, so we ate there on more than one occasion because it was so damn convenient, and always seemed like a good idea. The thing is, everytime we went, the food sucked. Hard. Bad burgers, bad soup, bad sandwiches, etc etc etc. Why did we keep going back? Because we're stupid and stubborn, and maybe a little bit hopeful. But everytime we went, it sucked worse and worse until, finally, we hit our limit and decided that Ruby Tuesday was the worst thing in the planet ever and I've never been back since. Ten years from now, I will look fondly back on my years in Knoxville...but then my memory will drift towards the precious meals I wasted at Ruby Tuesday and my heart will grow cold and my insides will become filled with bile and venom.

Ruby Tuesday: It sucks. Balls. Hard. Don't ever go there. One star for you!

2 Stars = Best Friend Espresso

Oy. I can't believe I've never spoken about this place before. This is a drive-thru espresso hut that I pass every single day during my drive to and from work. For months and months, I noticed that everytime I drove by it, there was a ridiculously long line of cars waiting in its drive-thru. I always said to myself, "Man, they must make really good lattes!" Especially since, I mean, duh, this is Seattle -- the Land of A Thousand Espresso Huts on Every Street Corner. This place had to be special. But I never stopped to check out their drinks because half the time I was driving past it, I was running late to get to work, and the other half of the time, I was so embittered from being forced to interact with bitchy old piano-teaching hags, that I couldn't seem to drive home fast enough.

Anyway. I just happened to casually mention Best Friend Espresso to Greatest Print Assistant Ever one day, and she was all, "...Ummm, you know why there's always a line there, right?" And I was like, "Uh, no." And then she proceeded to explain to me that this espresso stand makes its baristas dress up in really slutty lingerie tops and short short skirts to attract customers! Like, bikinis and bras and whatever. Not only that, but their service window is on some kind of raised platform so that the girls have to bend over to serve the drinks to the customers. Narf! I object! Well, okay, so I know these places have to be creative to stay competitive, but still.

In an unexpected twist, this bit of information made me even more intrigued because I wanted to check out what all the fuss was with these slutty ho-bags. So one weekend, Scott and I found ourselves driving past this very establishment and, on a lark, I told him to stop so we could get some lattes there. I actually had pretty high expectations as we made our way to the window. I mean, what could possess a (dirty old) man to wait in a line ten cars long that he can't find by doing a simple two-second Google search on the intarwebs? Seriously. I believe my words to Scott as we sidled up to the window were, "They better be really slutty."

Verdict? (cue trombones) Wah wah wah.... 1) The girls were not that attractive. 2) Their outfits, while trashy, were uninspired and not that exciting, to be perfectly honest. 3) I am not convinced that they were not underage high school girls. Ew ew ew. 4) Oh yeah, the espresso was aight.

Best Friend Espresso: Gross. It makes me want to take a shower. But it involves espresso-related drinks, so it gets one notch above the worst rating. Two stars.

3 Stars = Mandarin House

Oh, Mandarin House. How I loved to frequent you in Knoxville. Usually with Ben. Remember this? What can I say? It's standard gorge-yourself-rotten Chinese buffet goodness. It's not dirty, but it's greasy. And oooh so tasty. The service staff was always friendly to me because I was an Asian person living in east Tennessee, and that alone was enough to garner me a warm reception from the hostess everytime I walked in. My favorites: the orange chicken, green beans, hot and sour soup, little macaroon-y cookie things, and the deep fried puffy donut holes rolled in sugar. Ggghlllaaalhllahalalahllll...

Mmm...Mandarin House: Never spectacular but never a disappointment either. I miss you, Mandarin House. Three stars.

4 Stars = Burger Hut

Not long after Scott started classes at the UW, he called me on my phone to tell me that he had just eaten The Greatest Hamburger Ever at this dinky little hole-in-the-wall shack on University Ave (or "The Av" as all the hip college kids call it. The granola-eating hippie equivalent of "The Strip" at UT, except with way more incense and hemp).

After hearing him go on and on at length about the amazing-ness of this burger, I proceeded to roll my eyes (He couldn't tell on the other end. Ha!) and assume that he was just exaggerating. After all, how much different could this be to any other burger, right? Oh, how foolish I was. Scott was speaking of thier Burger Hut Special. I briefly mentioned it here. It is simply a delicious fresh-grilled burger with a special sauce and a blanket of scrambled eggs inside. Never had egg in your burger? I pity you. It is fantastic.

Also, this tiny establishment seems to be run by a Cambodian family. That's my guess, anyway, and my Asian-determinator-radar is usually pretty accurate. I guess I could just ask next time. Anyway, a great little hamburger joint run by a small bunch of quiet but friendly Cambodian men? Awesome.

Burger Hut: You offer simplicity and awesome-ness. I've never ordered anything but your Burger Hut Special, but that's okay. I'm sure everything else is equally delicious. Also, I am not convinced that you do not mix in a little bit of crack in your special sauce because you have made Scott and I totally addicted. Damn you. No wait. I mean, Damn! You! ...are awesome! Four Stars!

4.5 Stars = Wasabi

Every couple of days or so, either Scott or I will look at the other one with sad eyes and then when the other person asks what's wrong, the reply comes out: "I miss Wasabi." Imagine Benihana's. But BETTER. And so much cheaper, damnit. The best teppan-yaki Japanese grill place everrr. In the whole universe. And it was so close to Scott's apartment in Knoxville. Hear that, Ruby Tuesday? Wasabi is what you could never even dream to be!!! The teppan-yaki chefs were always nice and the food was incredible. I chose to celebrate my 26th birthday there, in fact. Too bad I didn't post about it. Hmph. Their House Soup is a delicious broth that has every scrumptious thing under the sun in it: seafood, vegetables, chicken, Ultra-Super-Gloriousness. I recommend ordering their Samurai Dinner. Ribeye steak, shrimp and chicken, all masterfully grilled before your very eyes and served with grilled vegetables and fried rice. And that orange-colored sauce that they serve with it? Sweet Lord in Heaven, it's f*ing delicious. And then they top everything off with these sweet grilled carrots that are so goddamn tasty. Scott hated them (silly boy), so that always meant that I got a double serving. Mmm. Oh God, I have to stop or I'll start crying.

Anyway, we have been in search of a replacement-Wasabi since we moved here and it has been a fruitless search to say the least. We tried this one Japanese steakhouse near our apartment that actually was recommended to me by my predecessor at my current job. The prices were comparable, but the quality of food was waaay sub-par. Plus the building looked like it used to be a brothel. And it smelled like it, too. We also went to Benihana's in downtown Seattle when we first moved here. Well, it's Benihana's so the food was decent, but still. Did not compare to Wasabi. Where were my sweet grilled carrots? Where was my beloved orange-colored mystery sauce of goodness? Where is my House Soup, goddamnit?! Ugh. I distinctly remember our bill coming close to $100. Unacceptable. In the Land of Japanese Teppan Yaki, Wasabi REIGNS SUPREME!

Wasabi: I love you. I yearn for you. Scott says you should be tied for 5 stars. But I had to make a choice and since you are, well, now naught but a fond twinkle in my distant memory, you came out just ever so slightly below the top of the rating chart. Sigh. Four point five stars.

5 Stars = Salty's Brunch Buffet

Do I really have to explain this one? If I do, you have not been paying attention, and for that you should be punished. By eating at Ruby Tuesday. Hahaha. No really. I wrote about it here, here, here, here, here, here and here.

Need more proof of my love for the Salty's Weekend Brunch Buffet? I suggested to my family that they come up here for Thanksgiving this year. Because I miss them so. But maybe mostly because I wanted us all to do the Salty's Brunch Buffet in lieu of the traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Too bad they didn't bite. Oh well.

Salty's Brunch Buffet: You know I'm your botch. I would do anything for you. Dirty, nasty things that would involve me taking a trip to the confessional afterward. Just kidding. But seriously. You are a glutton's dream. Since I am a glutton, you are my dream come true. Five stars.

The End.

Anyway, to review Stanford's: The food was way overpriced, Scott's burger was way overdone, my Steak & Cheddar sandwich was not just meh, but also contained Swiss cheese instead of cheddar. Bizarre. Also, their water tasted like it came out of a garden hose. If I had to point out any positives, I can say that the cup of coffee I got was decent, as was the calamari appetizer we shared. Hardly enough to redeem itself, however. At least Scott and I now know never to eat here again. I mean, we could give it another shot but I have a bad feeling we would just be reliving the whole Ruby Tuesday fiasco all over again. And how appropriate would it have been had I gone with my original rating of a Ruby Tuesday? Because that's what I was going to give it. But then I gave it a second look-see and realized that I couldn't give it a Ruby Tuesday just yet. We haven't tried too much of the menu yet (not that I think we're going to ever again, anyway) plus, like I said, the coffee and calamari were not so disgusting.

RATING: Stanford's at Northgate Mall gets a Best Friend Espresso. Two Stars, but only because I am having an uncommon moment of weakess. I must be PMS-ing.

A breakdown of the customer service ratings guide to follow...

Speaking of confessionals...

There's been a can of diet Coke sitting in one of (un?)Lucky's cupholders for one week. I opened it on Monday and had a few sips. And then placed it back in its cupholder, where it sat for the next five days. And then I had a couple more sips a few hours ago as I drove to Jack in the Crack to quench a late night milkshake craving that both Scott and I had.

Is that disgusting? Yes, I know, I know...YES. But to be fair, it's cold and rainy season here already, and the inside of (un?)Lucky is now a perpetual refrigerator...right? I mean, as long as I'm not driving, anyway.

...okay, there's no justifying it. Hey, we all have skeletons in our closet. Anyway, time for bed.

T.G.I.Saturday

I've finally noticed my appetite starting to perk up again the last day or so. I've been eating essentially one meal a day for the last couple of weeks. This was due in part to the fact that I have the bad habit of always choosing an extra 15 minutes of sleep over breakfast and also not eating at work. Too busy fighting off the urge to strangle 70-year old piano teachers with my bare hands. Also, I have been too busy eating my own phlegm while suffering from the Annual Black Plague (see below). But I am going to take this renewed sense of hunger as a good sign that I am getting back into good health. Hooray.

Agh, there's a lot to post about. Nothing terribly exciting or dramatic (i.e. entertaining). Just the standard run-of-the-mill banality that you've come to know and love from this blog. Like how Scott and I have a new addition to the family (No, not that, doy. That would involve a trip to the nearby confessional and then, subsequently, like twenty zillion Hail Marys.). I'll show you later. And how I have grand plans to take shower #2, then grab a Star*ucks latte and head over to Chez Target later today. OMG. I just creamed myself just thinking about it. I now understand Scott's burning passion for college football Saturdays, because I have come to realize that it is the equivalent of my Star*ucks Target Saturdays. Although this makes me sad that I have no girlfriends/sister/mother/Daddy #1 nearby with which to share in this glorious weekly activity. *sigh* Why can't you all move to Seattle already? Geez.

Anyway, I'm too lazy to go into any detail right now. Must commence stuffing my face with pizza and breadsticks on the couch while watching Alabama beat the poo out of Tennessee. Boooo. Only sipping a Star*ucks Soy Pumpkin Spice Latte while strolling through the aisles of Target can remedy this.

Annual Black Plague: Part 1

Well, the much-dreaded black plague has made its all too triumphant return, mainly in the form of endless amounts of goo taking up residence inside my skull and sliming its way into every possible orifice in my head. The best (worst) part is the un-relenting post nasal drip that forces me to ***WARNING THIS IS DISGUSTING*** swallow my own snot repeatedly every thirty seconds (sorry). Also, I am going through obscene amounts of Kleenex trying to force whatever goo I can out of my tender little nose. The good news is that the goo is still clear and not yellow or green (ew), meaning that I have no sort of sinus infection yet. I think. That's what Wikipedia told me, anyway. It is, however, starting to do that thing where your ears pop everytime you blow your nose. Not good.

What is good, though, is that this Friday is payday (whee!) and I will have a valid excuse to go to Target (wheeee!) and buy some more Kleenex (wheeeeee!!). And perhaps a French Press. Mmm...French Press. And a tea kettle. Definitely need a tea kettle. Oh, and some bathtub cleaner...

Oh, and I have a new student this Thursday. Beginner, eleven years old. Huzzah! Although, I just got an email from the mother this morning informing me that her daughter is already thinking about changing to flute because that's what her friend is playing. Harumph. How could I lose a student already before I even had her?! Bah humbug! I must turn on my a-game at her lesson and convince the little girl that the devil stick rules all. Flute? Pfffft.

And one more thing: you know what I hate? When you blow your nose and you hear all this nasty stuff getting blown out of your sinuses and it sounds all juicy and gross, but when you look at the Kleenex afterwards, it's completely dry! I mean, I want a giant nasty slimy mess up in there so that I can feel a sense of accomplishment, like I am excorsizing the mucousy evil away from my body! Ech.

For my sister.

A few days ago my sister's dog, Rebecca, passed away after eleven years of being the entire family's adopted doggy-woggy. Aside from my cat, Buddy, otherwise known as Greatest Cat In the History of the World Ever Even Though Bela Comes a Close Second, and my brief but well-loved pet rat, Buster (I've never spoken of him. His story is too tragic. Perhaps another time.), Rebecca is the only pet my family has had since moving to the US. As a puppy, she saw Kristina through life as a college student at UC Davis and living with a couple of other college girls while dating her then-boyfriend Greg, to becoming a microbiologist at UC Davis and living with (gasp!) her then-boyfriend Greg, to becoming engaged to her then-fiance Greg, and becoming a newly-wed in Sacramento to her now-husband Greg. Eventually, the years saw Rebecca adjusting to life as the family pooch to a young family that all of a sudden included a little miniature hairless creature called Kat, and, eventually, less than two years ago, another little miniature hairless creature called Vanessa.

Becca was the perfect family dog. She never barked, except when somebody she didn't recognize came up to the front door. But when that did happen, her bark was so ferocious it would scare even the most fervent Jehovah's Witness straight over next-door to the next home of non-believers. Also? She had this giant lump atop her noggin. I don't know what it was -- a bone? A second brain? Who knows? But I loved petting her giant lump and calling her Lumpy Head. Kristina found it to be offensive, but I think Becca loved it. I loved it. It was, how do you say? ...Our thing. And she didn't doggie-fart...that often. At least not too much around me. And when she did, she never displayed any shame. It was always accompanied by the slight raise of her brow and a look that said, "*sigh* Yeah? What?" Every now and then she'd take a vacation and go stay at the grandparents' house in Santa Rosa where, although my dad would initially feign slight disapproval at having a big heavy furball crashing at the pad, Rebecca would nevertheless be guaranteed meal after meal of home-cooked Filipino leftovers and, inevitably, go back home to Kristina and Greg a good five pounds heavier than when she left.

Sometimes I would go visit Kristina and Greg and, after the first two or three days straight of raiding their entire kitchen from top to bottom, I would feel bloated and disgusting and as I sat on their couch with my feet propped up on their coffee table, one hand clutching the remote while watching the Food Network or HGTV, and the other hand slowly rubbing my distended belly, I'd glance over at Rebecca and she'd look back at me and we'd both kind of say to each other, "Methinks it's time for a walk." Then I'd go to the garage to pick up her leash and roughly 1/1oth of a second later, Becca would be at my side, leash firmly in the clutch of her jaws and me practically shoved halfway out the door. And then the following half hour would see me struggling to keep up in my high-heeled boots (fabulous!) while this German Shepherd mix dragged me all over the neighborhood, stopping only to smell...well, every single goddamn flower, weed, blade of grass, giant turd, etc. that she came across on the sidewalk. Upon returning to Kristina and Greg's house, Becca would be panting happily, I'd be a second away from passing out, and we'd both reward ourselves for a job well done: she with a couple of doggie biscuits and me with whatever cookie, pie, cake or tupperware of leftovers I somehow overlooked before the impromptu workout. And then I'd pet her lumpy head.

And while I'm sure that she was a little freaked out by the arrival of the first little miniature hairless creature, she never became malicious towards Kat. Not with the overly-aggressive petting, or the playful ear or tail pulling, or all the other well-meant, albeit horrifying, displays of affection that only a little toddler could offer. As my father (fake) begrudgingly took Rebecca in a few times ("*sigh* I guess she can stay......squeeee!"), I'm sure Rebecca (fake) begrudgingly welcomed it when the second little miniature hairless creature came to stay ("*sigh* Oy, now I have to watch over another one?! Yeesh.").

As I told my sister, eleven years is a great run for a big dog like Rebecca. And she picked a good stretch of time to spend with our family. When she was a puppy, we were all still kids really. Going to school, unsure of what we were going to be, still asking the parents for money. Now my sister has a great job, drives a fabulous red Volvo and has a fantastic family. My brothers are both computer geniuses making the big bucks working for tech companies and the government. And I'm...unsure of what I'm going to be and still asking the parents for money. ...Oh wait. Goddamnit!

Anyway, Becca, you were a great dog and we will all miss you. Say hi to Buddy for me.

I'm sure this scene re-enacted itself up in the ether somewhere.

Becca: Hey Buddy!

Buddy: Oh, it's you.....again.

Not for the faint of heart.

This one goes out to my brother-in-law, Greg, who apparently found my previous post to be way laaame. Oh, you didn't understand that I was conveying the inner complexities of the dichotomies between the male and female psyche as illustrated through the differences in how we spend quality time at Chez Target? Well, for that, you get the following anecdote:

So I've been sick the last couple of days. At first I woke up with a horrible sore throat, accompanied by this constant disgusting film in my mouth that just won't go away, and a quite literal un-willingness of my body to remove itself from the confines of my bed. And then it turned into The Greatest Quantity of Mucous and Bile Ever to Fit Inside One Head.* And theeen - are you paying attention, Greg? 'Cause here's the punchline! -- I got the stomach-ache of stomach-aches (you know, the one that signals a coming of really really bad, unfortunate things to come), went to the bathroom and did my business, and when I looked at the result of the previous 5-10 minutes of That Unpleasantness of Which I Must Not Speak In Literal Terms Because I Am A Dainty Little Lady, I saw that I had somehow produced a white porcelain bowl of SESAME SEEDS. Like, sesame seeds! Who in the hell poops out actual whole sesame seeds??!! And it wasn't like they were seeds, um, imbedded into you-know-what. It was like, there was the usual you-know-what (albeit not quite it's usual firm self, a little bit more free-form, if you will)...and then bam! Emeril came by and threw in a handful of sesame seeds.

I literally stood there for like 30 seconds in complete awe/shock/wonder/disgust staring at my wonderful horrible creation because I could not for the life of me remember having eaten one sesame seed -- not to mention an entire lot of them -- in the last several days. I was like, did my bowels create sesame seeds inside me? What the hell?! ...And then I remembered that I had eaten a burger from Jack-in-the-Crack earlier that day (sesame seeds in the bun), which Scott had purchased for me the night before, but which I had not eaten because my stomach didn't feel up to it. And then I decided it would be a good idea to nuke the burger the next day and eat it because I didn't have the energy to get anything else to eat. And if you think about it, how much more appropriate could that possibly be, because, as it would turn out, it did cause something jacked to come out of my crack. Ha.

Is that better, Greg? Never mock my posts again.

ps. I should also say that Greatest Print Assistant Ever truly lived up to her unofficial title these last couple of days while I was at home wallowing in self-pity as she did more than her fair share of keeping this hell-hole in complete working order. I owe her like 10 bottles of whisky and a bucket of cookies, I think. Speaking of this hell-hole -- time for me to leave it and go guzzle some more Nyquil. And, for my mother, some Xango :)


* Not really. Last year was much worse. Remember this? And this? And this? But the winter season is young, so they say. I'm sure the annual black plague will hit me at some point in the next couple of months. Plus, it felt crappy all the same.