- Blair's Head Band
- Carrisa Marie
- Comfortably Domestic
- Daily Angst
- Decadent Philistines Save the World
- Dinner: A Love Story
- Elefantitas Alegres
- Faux Fuchsia
- Feet Move Forward
- Inside NanaBread's Head
- Kvetchin' Kitchen
- La Petite Pancake
- sarah rosemary
- The Skinny Chronicles
- Twelve in Twelve
- Two Happy Cooks
- Wanna Be a Country Cleaver
- What I Love
Category Archives: Rants
Winter has a lot of gross parts. Wind, Snow, EFFING FREEZING COLD TEMPERATURES, Ice, Shivering, you know…the usual. But the part I really hate the most surprisingly isn’t the uncontrollable shivering (which I am an expert at). It’s the dryness. There’s just something about having all of the moisure sucked out of my body that is just so.not.cool.
I’m a super-hydrator by nature, so trying to drink enough water to counter-act The Winter is awful. Yesterday I realized exactly how perilous the battle with hydration is when I was chugging half of a 32 oz bottle of “Pure” (how ironic) Cranberry Beverage (it was15% juice) intended for mixed drinks while trapped in traffic on the drive home from the Mikvah.
And then there’s the lip-chapping and the nail cracking and all of the sudden winter isn’t just a pretty snow scene, it’s a horror show.
Good evening friends,
My apologies for last night’s brief post. The rest of the fashion show? Totally disappointing. Not enough different sets, too much time spent on no-name girls trying to get one ferosh strut down the runway. The high point? The guac + sauvignon blanc we were sippin.
Side note: If you don’t know how to walk a runway, now is the time to do some soul-searching because that means ALL of the time you spent in front of the television watching America’s Next Top Model or Project Runway was a waste. Yes, it’s my job to dish the tough love.
In other news, I spent much of my day vaguely resembling a brunette Mufasa. The static my hair carried today is absolutely incredible. It wispsed around, floated into my eyes, tickled my neck and fell into strange pieces on my shoulders. Bad.news.bears.
My evening? Dedicated to laughing my pants off with Mads, Marth and Katie* (yes, girl, you get an asterisk because I always say your full name, but you know I don’t want you gettin’ googled and someone finding you ’round these parts) over men, the sassy nickel allergy rash I am still sporting (Yes Mads, the neosporin DID end up stinging, no I don’t think it was working), and the fantastic eats we dined upon. I had never had an Arnold’s Thin sandwich experience and let me tell you, it left me with FAR more space for tasty sandwich insides. This is a good development.
On an aside, if I may take a moment to share a fabulous find with you, if you haven’t tried Trader Joe’s Cranberry Chevre log yet (I am SO hoping it wasn’t a Pilgrimager item), do so. It’s lower cal than, say, a sharp cheddar I’m so fond of (its a goat cheese) and judging from the snacks I’ve had pre-dinner this week (I swear – normal snack size!), it is SUPER DUPER filling. Yet totally delish. Check it.
p.s. I’m testing out this whole “signing it” thing. So be prepared to see lots of different (pathetic) attempts to see if one of them sticks. Or have the whole thing just disappear again. Feel free to rant or rave.
Usually, I’m not given to the persuasion that Mondays are to be feared. On occasion they’re more than mediocre, but really, Tuesdays are far more dull because you’ve already shared all of your stories for the weekend and work is picking up.
This Monday? Hell.
I destroyed my iPod headphones because in some freak moment, they got caught on corner of the bathroom counter while I was getting ready. I forgot my iPod at Marcus’ place. I had an upset stomach. I almost sliced my finger off whilst groping beneath my desk at work. I took a corner too tightly while walking (WHO DOES THAT?!) and bashed my hand into a door frame. Blood ensued. Oh, and did I mention that I have a craving for green bean casserole that is unreal? Like really, green bean casserole isn’t even good, but there’s something about the saltiness and the texture that just strikes a chord with me.
In a word: Mania.
The bright side of the coin is that it’s casual week at work. Its a shortened week. On Thursday night, Marcus, J’son, Jacki, Billy and I will make our third annual pilgrimage to Albertville to indulge in some casual post-Thanksgiving destination-consumerism. And despite the fact that I have been holding to the line for the last week and a half that I WILL NOT purchase anything, I’m kind of hoping that I find a nice Ralph Lauren cable-knit sweater there. We’ll see?
The bracelet was faux-bronze, but my rash is scarlet. I, like Hester Prynne am a marked woman. She was a hussy fooling around with the priest, I in a moment of vanity and wanting to embrace the Lia Sophia “party spirit” of having everyone wear a piece of jewelry during the party slipped a faux-cuff on my right wrist. As the situation deteriorated, I became the chosen one to model all of the pieces you could get at a discount if you were to become a hostess. Three minutes of a “silver” bean bracelet on my left wrist, another mark of shame.
It’s been almost a week now, and this is the type of post that would lend itself perfectly to pictures, but ain’t no one want to see pictures of the rash that dots the insides of both wrists. While my left wrist seems to be healing itself, the bumps on my right only continue to get redder and angrier, reminding me of exactly HOW BIG that faux-bronze bracelet actually was.
I don’t miss wearing nickel and costume jewelry. But I would like my dignity back.
I’m sorry if you love Owl City, but fact: Billy and I do not. To the point that when we hear it on the radio, we send each other mocking text messages with choice lyrics and leave one another voicemails with horrible renditions of it.
But our hatred of crappy emo music doesn’t end with Fireflies. Amongst the other songs we despise are Wake Me Up When September Ends and Fall for You. We’ve actually got a pretty rockin’ drum solo to Fall for You that carried us through most of last winter.
I swear to god, if there is ever a sock hop beneath my bed, I will be pissed.
If you have ever ridden in a car with me before while there have been bicyclists on the road, you would know exactly how much I despise them . I snidely call them all “Lance” and wonder (especially in situations where there is a legal sidewalk option) what on earth possesses people who refuse helmets to ride within a foot of my car or, more ambitiously, a 1/4 of the way into the lane. ESPECIALLY when there’s a reasonably-sized bike lane.
This brings us to today. I was meant to have dinner/happy hour with Shauncey at DownTime which was totally relaxing and charming. However, on my way into Dinkytown, I came upon the bike-riding nemesis of a lifetime. This tie-dyed, messenger bag toting, bicycling individual was biking 1/4 of the way into the lane. Offense one. Coming over the hill from 4th St and 15th, they decided that biking without hands would be a good idea. Offense two. Mind you, it is 5:10 pm so it is rush hour in Dinkytown. Finally, to add insult to injury (and believe you me, I am 100% certain he will have a permanent negative karma balance), he slid one leg over his bike and proceeded to bike with no hands riding his bike side-saddle, riding 1/4 of the way into the lane at half the speed of traffic.
You have got to be shitting me.
At work, we have a little library in the cafeteria. And by “library,” I mean a bookshelf full of books that people have brought in to share. Its a fantastic idea which I really do appreciate because it gives me a reason to read books that I likely wouldn’t otherwise pick up and furthermore, it gives me a steady and endless supply of them. I’ve been reading through an assortment of the books on the shelf since I’ve started, I think I’m on book number…eight? Nine? Really, the number of books I’ve read since May is neither here nor there.
Nevertheless, I usually try to balance sad/depressing books with books that are more uplifting and/or humorous. This time I hit a bit of a rough patch though. I started out the month with the book, House of Sand and Fog by Dubus. Now get ready for a mind-twister. The plot is that this sort-of rehabed alcoholic whose husband ran away from her gets accidentally evicted from her house. On the flip side, this Iranian family who became U.S. citizens to escape the revolution (because the father was on the wrong side) purchases her house, somehow she gets mixed up with this cop who is equally as f-ed up as she is, she tries to commit suicide in the family’s driveway, cop-guy comes to rescue her and in the process ends up holding the family hostage in exchange for the house, the young Iranian son gets killed by an off-duty cop whilst being held hostage by that psychopath, and then the father strangles his wife in grief and commits suicide next to her so that they can all be in a better place together. Confusing explanation? Upset that I ruined the ending? I know. BUT HOW HORRID DOES THAT SOUND???
So what do I choose to read after that? A Thousand Splendid Suns. This one is written by Khaled Hosseini, who also wrote The Kite Runner. I finished this one today and it was the tragic tale of this girl who is born a bastard child in pre-Taliban Afghanistan and her horrible, horrible life colored by terrible poverty, war and a useless, far older than her, abusive husband. Awesome. This one was a far more powerful read, but still so terribly painful. You could call it a powerful fictional tale about finding love and strength in a world that continues to beat you down, or you could call it an awful tome on the depravity of man and the pure evil that some men unleash upon women. As I do find that it was a high-quality piece of literature because of the feelings it managed to evoke in me, I’ll say that I straddle the line between the two.
I really hope that at a bare minimum, and yes, I am setting the bar low, that the next book is free of depravity and horror.
See, there was this one girl in my bowling class who sported a shirt sort of similar to the one pictured in that blog post that kind of sketched-me-out this spring. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then, a sorority sister wore one out on Martha’s boat when we went out on Lake Minnetonka. Still, no dice.
Then it hit me. WE ARE NOT LUMBERJACKS. I think that plaid has a place if you’re at private school and you’re forced to wear it, if it’s your family’s ancestral tartan from Scotland or if you’re doing heavy labor. But otherwise, it really isn’t a style that flatters or proclaims one to be on top of the fashion-world.
Actually, I’ll be so bold as to say that as there is only an extremely limited number of people who would have ever figured out how to wear plaid in a trendy-way that isn’t cliche-d-Catholic School Girl, it really just makes it easier to figure out who is totally fashion-impaired. What’s coming next – the Crossing Guard sash?
If you’re really wondering what to wear or what to accessorize with, there’s always one answer that is all-right, all-the-time. Pearls.
There are cities and towns where drivers are known for being exceptionally vicious. New York City would be one such example. Los Angeles would likely be another.
Spending time in Edina, I have become most fascinated with the driving skills that the fair denizens of that city posess. In the past two months, I have seen so many variations and interpretations of what and where a right-turn lane is, that I have drive in a constant state of preparation for imminent impact at any time, anywhere.
The people of Edina, empowered by large bank accounts and and similarly large SUVs (think: Urban Jungle theme) have a similar sort of “Suvival of the Fittest” vibe going on. When you hit the road, you can’t enjoy the music on the radio much less look at the gigantic shops on France Ave, you have to put your (excuse my french) bitch-face on and be ready to roll over anyone who dares to cross your path. Grocery store parking lots? Check. Mall parking lots? Check. France Avenue when driving in the right lane? Double check. Trying to get on 494? YOU HAD BETTER WATCH YOURSELF. The ONLY places this seems to abate are when one is parking underneath the Galleria by Gabbert’s OR, when one is trying to get onto Highway 100. This is likely attributable to the fact that these people do not actually live in Edina.
I never really “got” Jon & Kate + 8. Frankly, I was really confused as to why on earth anyone would be so narcissistic as to expose their family like that (don’t get me started on the Duggars) and while the family was “cute,” they didn’t really do anything particularly interesting. They took pictures of poops in the potty and other weirdo stuff like that.
SO, totally not surprising that Jon is a cheater and that Kate probably is too. Families are not meant to be businesses or cash cows. If you think about high-society and the socio-economic upper class families are, if anything, more exclusive and that is what gives them their power.
Reality television shows are by no means “real,” but seriously, couldn’t a “happily married couple” at least be happily married? I feel like that’s pretty much the most basic detail of the show.