Riding the Bike with One Pedal.
As promised, here’s the photo of all the peppers I procured last Saturday.
(Grown by JWo, of course.) (I’m going to label the individual pepper varieties on Flickr.)
And here’s the scarf I started over the weekend – Gigi, with Tilli Thomas Disco Lights.
We’re putting together a mix CD at work, and every employee needed to submit three songs for consideration; it’s something we’ll play during an upcoming event.
Three songs. It’s a lot of pressure. Kind of like those mythical genie wishes – you sure as shit don’t want to waste one, even though Justin Timberlake is kinda cute and he makes all those catchy tunes with Timbaland, because the next thing you know, your street cred is in the sewers.
Here are the three I picked:
Weezer – “Heart Songs”. What makes this one FABulous is that it references a jillion other songs IN it.
Cake – “No Phone”. One of my oldies-but-goodies, was my ring tone for a long time. I hate the phone. I love Cake.
Snow Patrol – “Set Fire to the Third Bar”. I am 99% positive this won’t make it onto the compilation. It was a tough decision, this #3, because I really, really, really wanted to use a Pete Yorn song, except all my favorites sort of convey the notion I’m going to put a plastic bag over my head & take a bath. Doesn’t really say “Party”. Unless you’re Jerzy Kosinski, of course.
Anyway. All this reminded me I hadn’t finished my playlist, over on -wait for it- playlist.com. You can make a 100-song playlist, using social networking. God I love the internets. Unfortunately, some of my songs aren’t the actual songs they purport to be, so I paste this player in here with a cautionary warning – some of the quality levels suck, and I need to wade back through it all and scrub it and buff it and maybe change the order a little bit. But I did, way-back-when, also start writing WHY I chose each song – I moved through my memories and what songs really resonated for different times in my life, and so, even if the tunes don’t naturally flow from one to the next, they all carry a thread for me. I’ll start sharing those descriptions below, to be continued….
* Hey Nineteen — Steely Dan – first song I ever heard on pop radio. I wasn’t supposed to listen to THOSE stations. I snuck into my parents’ bedroom and knelt by my dad’s clock radio, carefully noting the NPR station’s dial position so I could return it. I soaked up all the words and sounds, and then, out of fear, re-set the radio and crept back to my room. My rebellious years of subterfuge and disobedience had begun.
* The Pretender — Jackson Browne – I remember my father bringing home “Running on Empty”, on vinyl, after a trip to Madison, WI. He bought every album Jackson Browne made, and we memorized the lyrics. This was one of the songs that blew my dad away, and I remember his face, listening to it.
* You Can’t Always Get What You Want — The Rolling Stones – I also grew up with the Stones, and pored over their album covers, because they were so cool. My father also reminded me of the message in this song repeatedly, something I can’t claim to have fully accepted yet in life.
* Love Is Alright Tonight — Rick Springfield – What can I say? My first heartthrob. Once I was finally allowed to listen to Devil Radio (not out of any religious concerns, Dad just found most pop music to be “junk”), I became enamored with Rick Springfield. Loved the movie “Hard to Hold.” That soundtrack was one of the first cassette tapes I bought.
* Romeo And Juliet — Dire Straits — Another staple in our household, Dad loved Dire Straits, and I loved the lyrics to their songs. I thought this was such a romantic song when I was a tween.
* Little Red Corvette — Prince — First time I heard this, I remember being in my room, alone, waiting for my parents to come home from a wine tasting. As I listened to the words, I realized, “This is DIRTY!” and I loved it.
* Caught Up In You — .38 Special — Reminds me of High School. At the advent of music videos, we made our own to this song. I still remember my outfit for the video.
* Photograph — Def Leppard — High School again. We did a lip-sync performance to “Pyromania” and I went nuts on my wooden painted guitar. I still remember the shock on the teacher judges’ faces.
* Idiot Wind — Bob Dylan — Probably one of my father’s favorite artists, and a large chunk of mental real estate in my brain is devoted to Dylan.
* China Girl — David Bowie — I didn’t even know what David Bowie looked like or who he was, but I loved this song.
* WANNA GO BACK — Eddie Money — Another HS crush.
* Turn Me Loose — Loverboy — Oh god, pass the red leather pants. And keep on workin’ for the weekend.
* Billie Jean — Michael Jackson — Back when Michael was himself, utterly fascinating, talented and the biggest thing to hit the universe.
* True Colors — Cyndi Lauper — This song would one day define how I would feel about my husband, and she would be one of the best concerts I’d ever see. At the time, I loved the ballad and all of her fun music.
* Private Eyes — Hall & Oates – Which one from this duo could you spend the rest of your life with? I loved them both, with a slight edge to Oates. Must’ve been the clapping.
* The Reflex — Duran Duran – Which one WASN’T I going to marry? I don’t think I had a lot of discernment at this point in my life. While Simon was the obvious choice, there was nothing wrong with swapping eyeliner pencils with Nick, either.
* The Glamorous Life — Sheila E — My theme song for graduation. I so wanted out, out, out. And to live…the glamorous life.
It’s always exciting, trying something new. I tend to cling to my “usuals”, in the day-to-day, so it was fun to venture out into a new direction, and after my cooking class, I needed to get some new spices and ingredients. So a quick search led me to KC India Market, and I decided to pencil them into my errands list for Sunday. I found them (just north of 135th off of Antioch), and went in.
There were two men working in the store, and immediately, one of them asked me if I needed any help. I appreciate that, since it’s obvious I’m not there because of my heritage, but I wanted to putter through first and then start asking for help if I couldn’t find anything. I said something to the effect of “Ohhh, I have a list of things, I’m mostly looking now, I need some spices,” as I picked up a jar of tamarind paste. In a flash, the man was at my side. “The spices are over there,” he said, gesturing to the other side of the narrow store. “Yes, ok, so if I make Pad Thai and use tamarind paste, could I use this?”
We go back and forth for a couple of minutes. He keep saying the word, “concentrate”, and I understand, I will add water, I am just happy to finally have some tamarind that isn’t loaded with seeds. Suddenly, the other employee is on the other side of me. The watch me study the jar, I smile, I turn to the other side, they turn, we all shuffle down the aisle together. I felt like a subject in a test study. Except this was actually rather hilarious, so I wasn’t freaked out or worried. We made some small talk over the many jars of ginger paste (with or without garlic), and then they drifted off again. I found most of what I needed, and returned to the counter.
“Garam Masala? I need it ground, I can only find the bag with whole spices.”
“Yes, yes, sure.”
“And cous cous?”
Quizzical look. I realize I am mixing up all my cuisines. I walk in here talking about a Thai dish, and now I’m going Mediterranean on their asses. He looks up at me from his chair and in a higher tone clips, “Cuss cuss?”
“Coooous Cooous, C-O-U-S?”
The two men start talking to each other, one nodding yes, the other shaking his head vehemently. We all bear a striking resemblance now to those alien muppets on Sesame Street. Yip yip yip yip yip….. Then, the other customer, an Indian woman, interrupts them with, “Poppy seeds.”
This has the effect of a flash bang going off. They look at each other, and the one who couldn’t pronounce it, but believed they might have it is now saying, “Poppy seeds! Yes! Poppy Seeds!” and the other guy is shaking his head and looking at both of them like they’re nuts. She continues to say, “It is the same thing. Poppy Seeds.”
My mind is racing. Far be it from me to correct people in their own backyard, but I keep thinking, “grain….. it’s a grain…. I’ve never heard of it coming from….poppies. Opium cous cous?” The Naysayer and I go off to get the spice and check out this twist on cous cous. He kneels, handing me a bag of poppy seeds. We look at each other. He says, “I thought it to be … bigger.” I agree, and while I feel incredible pressure to just buy this bag of poppy seeds, add water & microwave them, I decide, no, I’m not buying this, and hand it back to him. Good thing, as it seems these are used to thicken curries, from what the internets are telling me. He procured the Garam Masala, already ground, and I check out, completing my visit.
I’m going to make the curried yogurt chicken, with mango mint chutney, tomorrow. No poppy seeds. Nope nope nope nope nope nope……. But I know it will be good, and fun, trying something new… yip yip yip yip yip
I did some garden harvesting yesterday; we’re on the backside of the bounty, with much smaller loads of produce. I did get a small bucket of tomatoes, though picking them has become what I like to call, “Tomato Surprise”. Because we’re now in the stage where some tomatoes are rotten (but still on the vine), and some have been gnawed upon (and still on the vine) – so the firm grip I had several weeks ago has been replaced with a more gingerly touch. When you can see the blemish, or rotting part, or bug hole, well, you know, and it influences how you pick it, if you pick it at all. But then you have the duplicitous tomatoes, the ones that look firm and ripe and wonderful, and as your hand closes around it, your nerve endings in your fingers immediately alert you to the fact it is NOT that way on the backside. That’s a Tomato Surprise. Bleah.
So after picking the good tomatoes, I moved on to the pepper bed. I got some absolutely gorgeous peppers – I’ll take pictures tomorrow – we have banana, jalapeno, bell (some have gone red), serrano, purple (stunning!) and habanero. I pick most of the peppers with shears, snipping the stalk that tethers them to the plant. Peppers are curious, strong where you think they’d be weak, but it’s also easy to pull chunks of living plant away with the pepper. Snipping them is easiest, and doesn’t risk destroying the plant. For whatever reason, I also picked some of the habaneros with my hands (the stems are so tiny!) and a couple popped off at the stem cap, and my brain even thought, “Best be careful, getting that capsaicin on your hands” …and then, par for my life, promptly forgot.
It was warm yesterday, and I was sweating in the midday sun. I came in, took a shower, and proceeded to hang out, surfing on the computer. Wondering why I was SO CRANKY. Turns out, I used my capsaicin-laced fingers to wipe some sweat from my brow, rubbing just under my eyebrows and causing a very uncomfortable rash on my eyelids. Yep. Habanero juice. Lovely. The red finally had faded by this morning, but the skin is still sensitive. I’m not even sure what we’re going to do with these habaneros, but I can attest to one thing – they’re spicy!
Keep enjoyin’ the weekend – I am!
I’ve had what we like to call “A Day.”
Holy ABBA, Batman, bust out the shot glasses, swing on over to the liquor cabinet and keep ’em comin’.
I ping-ponged between a breakfast meeting to a client meeting, then off to the Studio to finalize the classes I’d be teaching, plus a lunchtime private lesson I’d scheduled. After waiting 15 minutes, I thought, hrm, maybe I should check my email, and sure enough, the student had canceled. (I found out tonight she had a very, very good reason. Poor thing.)
I high-tailed it back to the office, where I plowed through emails & a remnant handful of Doritos, and took off for another client/vendor meeting. All the while keeping my eyes peeled for a mailbox, which, have you noticed, no longer exist? Maybe they do, in small clusters or at drive-through post offices, none of which are near me, so I finally gave up on my way back to the office & just stopped at the Plaza branch. Again. No box out front. Must be the internet’s fault. Or terrorists. In fact, I’ve had such a long, machine-gun sorta day, I think it’s both. I should start a website. Wait. That might be …. confusing. Anyway, I went back to the office and stumbled into my iTunes, settling on some old-school Phil Collins to soothe my spirit. Now I’m thinking great, that was Christian Bale’s music choice in American Psycho. It’s been top of mind because I listened to the first part of this “This American Life” podcast when I was in New York last week. Just listen to Starlee Kine’s segment if you don’t have the time for the whole thing. It’s priceless. And will renew your teenage love of Phil Collins if you happen to be around 40 years old.
Oh, and through all of this, it was eleventy-billion degrees with the humidity.
But I’m home, the house is clean, we got Thai food for dinner, and it’s starting to rain. I’m going to knit and hang with the D-O-GGs and be so grateful that tomorrow is Friday, I have a half day (hopefully) and it’s a three-day weekend. Sleep. Crafting. Friends. It will be good.
If I had to do the same again
I would, my friend, Fernando. Or do you go by Sussudio?
Oh, I forgot a c-word (which is odd to type, seeing how it’s everyone’s favorite euphemism for uh, that “c-word”) that’s pretty crucial to my list…. Competitive.
…I really hope I don’t end up following a vehicle today that’s hauling an enormous round bale of hay. Because in my dreams last night, I came up over a hill, and there was the hay bale, and the driver was going 25 mph. I was not. I did everything in my power, but I still ended up hitting her trailer corner (the bar holding up the brake light) and the woman driving the truck turned out to be this beatific, sweet 60-year old lady – who morphed into a gigantic bitch in front of my eyes. And she tried to come back and tell me it was $6,000 worth of damage. For a scratch on a post.
I threatened to set her hay bale on fire. James was horrified through ALL of this, as he would be if it happened in real life.
Good to know I don’t lie down and take it, though – even when I’m lying down.
Boy, it’s been a long time since I’ve done some Random Orts. I have so many blog posts in my head, including the fact I completely ignored my Alphabet Soup Project immediately after starting it, but I think I’m going to shake off the smaller ones into a nice compact post and then maybe there will be enough space and room to let the other notions become full-fledged, viable posts.
1. Redonkulous travel observation, which was already made by someone else, somewhere, but when I read it, I was all, YEE-HAW and can I get an A-MEN?! Women’s restroom stall doors opening inward …at the freakin’ airport. I can see it being a-ok if it’s just you and your purse, but really? I have a fantastic piece of luggage (lemme give it it’s own Ort) and even the ease of travel with it is precluded by inward-opening doors. You have to somehow get all of you and your stuff into the stall – with extra clearance, unless you’re comfortable like that, not shutting the door. Speaking of which, my apologies again to the nameless, yet very surprised woman at O’Hare who had not locked her door on the handicapped stall, leading me to believe it was the only one available, and I swear, I was as surprised as you.
I’ve often thought it would be hilarious to just keep on going in. There’s room for two in those stalls. Don’t mind if I wait, do you? I’ll just park my luggage by yours, it’s so much easier to navigate in these, don’t you think?
2. My luggage. I put a lot of consideration into buying this item, because I knew I would be traveling a little bit, and I was replacing my previous small carry-on rolling suitcase, as this is a favorite item for burglars to steal. Because they load all your shit into suitcases & trot them out to their panel van. Burglars rarely seem to go around with Envirosaks, but maybe with the new efforts to Green Up, they, too, care about the earth. In any event, both times I’ve been burgled, there went my suitcases, as well. So I didn’t want to muck around this time, and now that I have a very good alarm system, I was also prepared to spend a little more money, and get a Spinner-style suitcase. What this means is, no matter what direction you pull your suitcase, it will go. Unlike in-line wheels, which only go forwards and backwards. I ultimately got this Heys carry-on, in bright turquoise, and I bought it at Overstock.com. People on Overstock seemed to be mixed on their reviews, but I really like it. So I just wrote my review to offset the haters. It’s the perfect size for 1-2 days and it’s lightweight, rolls anywhere you want it to go, and -let’s face it – the bright color is fun. The key though, is spinner wheels. And Costco sells the completer set, should we ever leave home on vacation ever again, ever. (Can you tell I kinda need a vacation?) I think bright orange would suit the NuWos just fine!
3. Cooking with Suba. God love her, but my former co-worker Suba is Hindu, so I should probably find out the proper deity to whom I should sing her praises. They have a lot. I don’t have that kind of dedication. So I’ll just sing her praises in general, to the almighty Internet, because she is fab-u-lous. And so enthusiastic about food and cooking. A designer by trade, Suba also designed her home, which is airy, open, clean, and as uncluttered as it could possibly get. Needless to say, I felt very, very bad about myself the entire time I stood in her kitchen. But I worked through my shame, and still enjoyed myself immensely. We learned how to make Yogurt-Curry Chicken with Mango-Mint Chutney and Basil-Chocolate ice cream for dessert. Dayum. It was delicious, and it was good for me to stretch my wings beyond my tried-and-true Thai cooking. (Even though I’d kill, keel, keel and jump up and down shouting, “Keel! KEEL!” if I could learn how to properly make some of the salad dressings and sauces served by my favorite Thai restaurants.) I’m taking her class next month as well, just to keep the branching-out going. You can actually see photos of what we did over at her blog – check it out! And try not to drool. I’ve got a little puddle of saliva in my mouth, just remembering it all.
4. Alphabet Soup. Remember? I said I’d list five words a week that described me, and all I got through was …the letter “A”. Story of my life. Let’s cram some in so I’m not quite so far behind. I’ve been traveling! (Can you hear the whine that just crept in there? I can.) Bombastic, Bullish, Brainy, Big, Brave. Crabby, Condescending, Crafty (both ways), Crazy, Caring. Dramatic, Diva, Devoted, Driven, Difficult. Entertaining, Exuberant, Ehhhh, that’s all I’ve got in me today. I owe ya three more “E’s”.
5. Knitting. I have to do more knitting. I have so many projects swirling around me, with more ideas coming each day, that I must give up some of the Packratting and Plurking and surfing and stick to my knitting! And tomato harvesting. That needs to happen, too.
6. OH Tomato Harvesting! Let me tell you, the fruit & vegetable strainer attachment for the KitchenAid mixer is heaven-sent. In previous years, we’ve used this little red jobber I bought for $20 at Williams-Sonoma, and you crank it and it suctions to the counter, until it decides to not suction and you flail wildly while tomato chunks threaten to fall all around you to the floor. However, you cannot find this attachment anywhere in town, unless your town is called “New York City” or “Los Angeles” or maybe “Chicago.” I called all over the place, and finally gave up and bought it from Amazon. It arrived quickly and we churned out a lot of sauce. With probably another batch on the horizon. I love my KitchenAid mixer, and yes, I’m in the Facebook group which is aptly titled, “I Love My KitchenAid Mixer!”. We are 261 strong, and one of the moderators IS a stand mixer. I’m sure it’s code for their PR person or something, but I appreciate the humor in that.
7. I am also a fan of Consumer Reports on Facebook. When we won the account, I immediately checked, and they didn’t have a FB page yet. I thought it would be a little presumptuous of me to create a page for them. Hi! I’m your #1 SuperFAN and I’m a little enthusiastic. Do you mind if I sleep on your floor? Actually, that’s what I associate with the ultimate in self-loathing – a friend of a friend had hooked up with this guy (this all the way back in Minneapolis) and he “had to go to work the next day” so she couldn’t actually SLEEP in the bed with him (after he’d gotten what he needed.) So rather than leave, go home, and reconsider one’s choices in life, she asked him if she could at least sleep on the floor BY his bed. Gah. Still gives me the creepy-crawlies to imagine feeling that desolate inside.
OK, that was not a particularly uplifting note to end on. Suffice it to say, I am brand-happy, slappy-pappy, and things are good-busy, but sometimes a little too busy. I need more sleep, I need less clutter, I need more knitting, and I’m doing ok with laughter. I was thinking today, after seeing someone Plurk about how her new boyfriend has already told her “I love you”, but she’s not there yet, what that moment was like for me. And I still remember it, vividly, the first time JWo told me he loved me. But what I really see, as I look back and reflect, is how ten years ago (and it’s been just over ten years), I had no idea what love was when I hold it up to what our love IS. Fresh chipper new love is grand, it’s an Asti Spumante high, frothing with potential and the moment. But enduring love is…. so multifaceted. Sweet, with some tang and full and strong. It’s the reason I don’t want to polish my wedding band. I like the small lines all over it. I’ve worn this band five years, and a lot has happened in that time. A seriously shitton of happenings. Some of the hardest life experiences, ever. And I got through those things with him. I see my existence and endurance in those lines.
Now I just need to have the same approach with my face. I actually bought my first “anti-aging” product last week, mostly by accident, actually. I was at the CVS, chatting on my phone while shopping, and I needed some facial wipes. What can I say. The packaging was pink. I’m never really going to grow up, and that, I firmly believe, is the Serum of Youth.
It seems only fitting that with my deep abiding love of COPS, that I now live across the street from a never-ending episode, COPS: SOUTH SIDE KC! But you need to say it, “KayCEEE!” take it up at the end.
So.
The Crazy Cat Lady disappeared last week. The po-lice were out and about, and they even knocked on our door, but we hadn’t seen her in a few days. Usually there’s an ambulance there mmmm, once a week, and if not an ambulance, then a cop car. There have been “disturbances”. And now her daughter (whoa, I had no idea CCL had a child) was looking for her mom, and was quite concerned.
It seemed to have settled down a couple days later – car in the drive, lights on, etc. I figured we were back to the usual.
NOT TONIGHT!
As I drove down the street, I espied not one, but TWO police cars, and as I got closer, I saw CCL stomping across a neighbor’s yard, and the po-po had a DUDE in HANDCUFFS. I did what any concerned citizen would do: parked in the driveway and called James.
“James! Crazy Cat Lady has a dude getting arrested! They have him in handcuffs and everything!”
James came to the door, phone to his ear, and looked down the street. He observed, ‘Yeah, they’re frisking him right now.”
“YES. And I’ve never seen him before. He looks quite nefarious.”
I’m never going to be a narrator for COPS. Sigh. However, I do hope to learn more about the “incident”, whether CCL lurches over here herself (and yes, I am that nosy, I’ll even take that doorbell) or if I have to deduce it from my favorite website, CrimeReports.com, where I have set up my account to email me weekly all nefarious activity in a 3/4 mile radius of our home. Because I can.
I’m pretty sure the term “Jet Lag” was invented for people traveling much further, beyone one time zone. Nonetheless, I’m home, I feel laggy, and I’ve been on four jets in two days, so excuse me for sounding dramatic (in my head, anyway) when I jump to that term to describe how I feel.
It was a good trip, the meeting was great, and at least this time, there were no planes hit by lightning, flights canceled, 8-mile walks through airports, etc. And on our last leg back, as we were sitting in O’Hare, I told my boss I think I’ve switched my entire position on little planes to preferring them over the jumbo jets. He asked me if I’d fallen and hit my head.
Because a month ago, i was pretty wonked out of my gourd that small planes were a Death Sentence. And I’m still going to maintain I don’t like itty-bitty planes, with prop engines. But the Embraer jets? That have 12-20-some rows, two seats on each side? Those suckers are nice. They are easy to embark/disembark, and you aren’t waiting for 100 people to gather their luggage and make their way down the football-field-long plane while you, late-booking passenger, are in the back of said jumbo jet. The seats tend to be bigger on the smaller planes, too. But it still doesn’t change the single biggest fact – traveling in this day and age is lengthy, hassled, and not terribly consumer-focused. You, the passenger, are freight, and the goal is to get said freight from point A to point B as efficiently and profitably as quickly as possible.
Flying out of White Plains (omg, I just typo’d that as “Whitie”, which is pretty funny, given the demographic makeup of Westchester NY), we spent a ten minute time frame watching our flight go from on-time to delayed (an hour) to on-time, to delayed again, then back to on-time. Thinking the aiport bar might not be the best vantage point to ascertain what was going on, we headed down to go through security. Apparently both Chicago-bound flights (United & American) had ping-ponged between being on-time and delayed by an hour, due to weather. People were PISSED. We were standing in a line of maybe 50 people, and all of us were on flights that were flashing “now boarding” and we still had to navigate the “take-your-shoes-off, place everything in tubs” blah blah part of the adventure. People were squawking. The American flight people got to jump in front of us, as barked by the oh-so-non-enigmatic TSA personnel. Then word drifted back to us that the despite the fact our flight WAS delayed by an hour, the pilot wanted everyone on the plane NOW and we would do our waiting on the tarmac.
Everyone instantly hated their respective pilots. Playing god, making me drink my gin and tonic at record pace, keeping me from a bathroom visit, creating panic as I waited behind an obviously inexperienced traveler who had not thought through the fact that all his piercings and jewelry might set off the metal detector. And by the way, putting your oversize silver bracelet IN YOUR POCKET isn’t going to keep the machine from detecting it, unless you’re taking your PANTS OFF and running them through with your shoes. I’m just sayin’. It took him three attempts to finally clear the machine and the wand lady. OY.
On our delightful jet, anticipating an hour of waiting, we were informed by our pilot what his strategy was, that there was a chance, some hope, that we might actually be released earlier than the hour delay – and it paid off. We took off only about 20 minutes behind schedule, and we instantly forgave his god-like behavior that had caused such turmoil earlier.
I got home around 11:30 p.m., and after heading to bed, we had storms that knocked out power for about an hour – plus the dogs were out of control, whining and wanting to go out repeatedly. I foresee a weekend of many naps.
Completely unrelated: I have no idea how to fully appreciate synchronized swimming, because I just keep seeing the vision of Martin Short saying, “I’m not that strong a swimmer.” Enjoy the weekend.
I’m a little nutters right now. Each day has been jam-packed, and it definitely feels like it’s Whack-A-Mole time here at PlazaJen Enterprises. (The PJE covers all aspects of my life, btw. Laundry to Work to Dogs.)
I did finally flip the switch on a bunch of WordPress Widgets. They should all be working fairly adequately, though I will say, I thought importing my Bloglines feeds would be a snap – and it was – but then re-categorizing them all? That blew chunks. Big beefy ones. Bleah. And it’s not one of those things I can just leave hanging out there, either. OCD! Must! Finish! Or! Gouge! Out! Eyes! So who knows if I mastered that properly but right now, I am done with it and let’s leave it at that.
If you look over there to the right, you’ll see my Plurk feed, which may get entertaining over the next couple of days, as long as Plurk Mobile stays intact and doesn’t self-destruct. (Reports from the field are that it’s not working, which puts me in a TIZZY.) I’m off to NYC tomorrow, with a whip-back-home the next day, getting in late Friday night. Again with the little planes and the connecting flights, but at least coming back we’ll have time to eat/drink in Chicago. She says, even though last time we were stuck on the White Plains tarmac for an hour. LA LA LALALALALALA. And I forgot to buy my airline-approved liquor as a cost-saving measure. Maybe tomorrow. I miss the good old days, when you could take an entire bottle on board.
OH, and because I haven’t had enough time, I squeezed a pedicure in over lunch, went across the street with a co-worker, and while they were fairly fast, they were NOT my Nancy at Nailcessity, and they also charged more. Bleah. But I was happy, at least, to have gotten a good polish and buff….for fifteen minutes, until I dashed off to another meeting and put my very nice leather handbag on my foot as I got into my boss’ car. I noticed the bright pink polish on my bag, first, then the large gap down the center of my big toe. Nice. I will say this: what did we do before the internet? I found a site that instructed me on every way possible to remove nail polish from every surface imaginable. And? It worked! With very little effort. So now to just get the toe fixed and be done with that … lordy!
Now, I’m heading home to finish laundry & pack. And pick up OPI’s “Kinky in Helsinki” from Beauty Express on my way there. Or not. A quick search (I was going to link you to the color!) shows it’s discontinued. I might have it at home….. or I might be that girl with one big toe that just doesn’t match the others. Hell, at the rate I’m going, I could start a trend.
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