The whole point of Social Suppers is to socialize with friends while you assemble 8 or 12 meals. Well, it’s sort of a selling point. The main point of it is that you go in to a big kitchen area and they have all the ingredients chopped and prepared and set out, and you assemble meals by following the recipes, and when you’re done you have a freezer full of meals that are ultimately cheaper than going out to eat. Not necessarily cheaper than going to the grocery store & doing all the chopping and preparation yourself – but show me the weekend in my life where I’ve created 12 meals in 2 hours, bagged them, put cooking instructions on them and put them in the freezer. Nope. Plus you can try different things you might never make on your own, like “savory chicken enchiladas in pumpkin sauce”.

One thing about my personality is that it’s not consistent with one categorization. I’m not anal, I’m not organized, but man, I’d have made one hell of a factory worker. Put recipes in front of me with directions on how to do things? And I turn into a machine, unable to have much of a conversation, solely focused on the task at hand. Projects like that to me are things to GET DONE. Get ‘er done. Crank the handle, turn that mothah out. So I found myself not responding to my friends when they tried to talk to me, and I completely missed the duet my friend Beth was trying to sing with me – “Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart, she was Elton John and I, apparently, a drug-addled Kiki Dee, unaware that we were even onstage. I was FOCUSED, people.

But, the good news is that we have lots of fun recipes to try, the quality of the ingredients was great – we’d tried a dish from their open house & were impressed with the meat quality. And even though everything still requires preparation, it will take some of the “what’s for dinner?” mystery out of our lives. So if we’re happy with it, I’m sure I’ll do it again, and maybe this time? I’ll have a glass of wine and try to suppress a little of that inner-John Henry and his recipe-making hammer.

Whistle Tips with Bub Rub

This is quite possibly one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. I especially like the wrong-side-of-the-road driving and the running of a stop sign. Apparently, this has been around forever & I’m behind the times.

And by that I mean, Familiar With The Craziness That Can Be ME. For right now, I think I shall dash out of my office, into the street, and begin pounding on the motherfucking cherry picker that is in front of our building doing the “working” and more importantly, making the non-stop beeping sound that is inciting the MADNESS. Oh My God. Every time the fucking thing moves, it beeps. And it’s that “Hi I am a truck backing up over you NOW” beeping sound, however, I do not understand the point with the beeping feature on a no-good fucking cherry picker. Perhaps it is so if you are walking under it (which I did), you look up and make sure it is not coming down directly on your head, despite that being more the responsibility of the dude IN the cherry picker.

And it’s not like you can MISS the fucking thing, all parked up on the sidewalk and surrounded by cones and then a big tarp and yellow tape and shit all over the place, but god DAMN you sure can HEAR it, even inside, through the walls, as it BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEPS along through the afternoon.

It makes me miss the drilling. And explosions. I’m ready to go home.

Well! This morning, I had a huge list of things to blog about, bitch about and in general just match my mood to the weather today (gloomy, humid, mist-raining, send-you-back-to-bed kinda weather). However. I’m just not that much of a hatah. I’m actually in a pretty good mood, though that might have everything to do with the Philly sushi rolls I just ate. Mmmmm. There’s precious little our friend cream cheese can’t fix. Or our friends bacon and butter.

But I digress. On Saturday, I was a Baby Hatah, according to my husband. I woke up, hair sticking out from every angle towards every point in the sky, and plodded into the living room, where he had the news on. Moments later, the big story about the family who had quintuplets came on, and apparently was the missing flint for my match to set my hair on fire.

Now, I don’t care if you use AI or any other great scientific discovery to help yourself have a baby. But I do think five kids is pushing it. They will be in the hospital for who-knows how long, how on earth you pay for the diapers and food and clothes and Oh, my god, I’m doing it again. I judge! I do! Ack! I’m just set to the “rant” gear today! I already ranted this morning with co-workers. OK! Let’s talk about hair-pulling and the NFL. LOL!

And, we were/are a household that has mice. The change in temperature sent them seeking warmer climes, and they picked our house for the first time since we’ve been there. I think (and am fervently hoping) that we got ’em all, but it made me wish our dogs were better mousers, that’s for sure. James is going hunting this weekend, and I don’t know what I’ll do if we catch any more in his absence. Nothing like getting in touch with your inner killer with a mouse and a 2×2, I suppose. Eeesh.

Let’s see. Heaven forbid I run out of things to complain about……

Actually, I think that might be about it. OH no, never mind. The police, who are doing nothing (or at least not updating me) – because indeed, someone tried to pay their electric bill with our checking information (and who has a $1600 electric bill, I ask you? Probably people with quintuplets! Or hair-pullers! Or people with a mouse problem!) And Prison Break still isn’t on. Fucking baseball. They need to pull some hair, boost the ratings.

OK, I’m going to go grumble about something else, away from the keyboard for a while. Don’t worry. I’ll be back.

I don’t think I’m overly OCD; that said, I’ve noticed over the past 6 months or so an increased need and delight in washing my hands. Not over and over, until the skin falls away, that to me would indicate a PROBLEM. But just enough that if I can’t wash my hands, or I have to delay washing them? I’m not comfortable, there’s a heightened anxiety of a sort, and I start trying to figure out at what point I will get access to soap and water.

And I would assert most of this is pretty normal. Or at least that’s what I tell myself so I don’t get carted away by the men in white jackets.

Clean hands are happy hands!

So, I got quite a few inquiries yesterday when people saw a new car parked in my spot in the garage. Mostly because it was a Mercedes, and not the Murano.

Mimi got her new dashboard installed, and let’s just do a fervent hand-clapping YAY about that! And I was even happier that they got it done in a day. I made the dealership get me a rental car (slowly eating away at that profit they made from me), and kudos to Enterprise for the savviest upsell tactics, ever. The girl drove over and picked me up (just like in the commercials) and when I got in, surprised it was a Mercedes, she said, “I know the dealer is covering the base price on the rental, but for $10 more you can have this car for the day.” Now, since they’d originally told me I’d be in a Chevy Impala, I ask you, dear reader, what you would do? It certainly wouldn’t come as a shock to you, anyway, that I said, “Oh! Of course!” Well, let me tell you, it was the C-280, and it just wasn’t as comfortable as the Murano (even though they’re priced the same. And the Mercedes requires premium fuel.) I spent the entire drive to work mucking with the seat position, steering wheel position and desperately trying to change the radio station from the bubblegum pop she’d turned on.
However, it was still kinda fun. It was definitely responsive, more so than LaFonda or Mimi, and the handling was tight, so I was tempted to do some Super! Aggressive! Maneuvers! (calm down, JWo) but I didn’t, mostly because I just wanted to get Mimi BACK as soon as possible.

I’m sorry. I’ve gotten distracted by “Work”. I had to paste someone’s picture on the Blink-182 album “Enema of the State” because another co-worker sent out an email she’d be doing cavity checks due to the donuts & brownies she brought in – and I’m sorry, you can’t send out “cavity checks” to the whole office and not get a response from ME, and then I got a prank phone call for a bajillion reams of salmon three-hole punched paper and I TOTALLY fell for it. You can send one (not to me, please) here, and it was damn funny. I was PISSED, like, why in the hell am I getting this call and why isn’t he letting me interrupt so I can transfer this to the office manager?

Karma, man. I tell ya, it’s the real deal!

This isn’t the first time he’s done it? But it was the first time I had a camera handy, and so we had a little amusement with the built-in rear-view camera on Mimi Murano. Personally, I think you’ve got to turn and look & I don’t really rely on the camera – except as a double-check – especially in the garage at work, where there are many Perilous Poles and a co-worker scraped his brand new car a week after he got it.

So I think it’s pretty damn funny that the Wo jumped in and started making faces. The first time he danced & pulled his shirt up; suffice it to say that left to our own devices, we make just about everything into a comedy show.

Sometimes the spam subject lines just have to make you laugh. I can’t imagine what random word-generator paired those two things together, and honestly, if your ass can admit a pair of binoculars, then you, my friend, might have what we call a “problem”. But the Mexican drug cartel sure would be happy to know ya!

I got the bank account OFFICIALLY closed this morning, the overdraft charges reversed & we don’t owe anybody money; I’m still going to have to follow up with the electric company to determine if the charge was made to an account (and then subsequently follow-up with the po-po) or if it was just a stupid (large) error on their part. I’m honestly hoping for the latter, though the terrier inside me kind of perked up its ears at the idea we could have another lead on the burglary case.

And, the weather continues to cool down, for which I’m grateful & it helps my mood. The leaves are turning – I plan to get some pictures one of these mornings, or even over the lunch hour, because the Ward Parkway commute is just lovely with all the trees beginning to change their hues. On the knitting front, I’ve churned out 4 more Lizard Ridge blocks, and my hands are starting to squeak a little at me. I’m also getting geared up to knit myself a sweater – not sure which one I want to make, probably a Harry Potter sweater with a big “J” on the front…(bought the yarn last year!). I think I’m officially nesting in for Winter!

Oh, and we named the car – Mimi. Mimi Murano. And her new dashboard gets replaced tomorrow, and order will be restored to the universe. Apparently I think I’m in some sort of Murano club, as I wave at other people driving them, because I believe they, too, must be as excited as I to be in one. I don’t get out much.

Well, I’m struggling to stay in a decent mood – it really is counterproductive to be such a control freak, and I can intellectually recognize how the behavior doesn’t help – but change, oh my, it is so hard.

Last Friday, either the burglars tried to pay off their electric bill using our old checking account – OR – the electric company made an enormous error, but regardless, it’s still a problem, because the bank didn’t properly close the old account & they think we’re in the hole for over $1,600. It’s extra joyous that today’s a stupid holiday and everyone’s closed, so there are no answers to be gleaned. I know I will get it straightened out, and we will be fine, but it doesn’t stop my stomach from doing the flippada and churning up some extra acid. I hate that I’ve always been like this, too. Such a worrywart.

The other part of it is, if it was burglary-related, it means I have to pick up my battle axe and go head-to-head with the (very unresponsive) police department again, because hello – they weren’t trying to pay for electricity to their moving mobile home, they had to have tried to put it towards an account number, so this would be a pretty good lead. You just have to wonder who has an electric bill of $1,607, and you also have to wonder how fucking stupid someone has to be to think a) I’m not going to notice a debited amount that size or b) someone won’t come knocking on your door with the LIGHTS on inside because you paid for the LIGHTS with someone else’s money.

I once asked my aunt why she thought I was so worry-centric, and she said that maybe long ago, my ancestors stopped to worry if there was a saber-toothed tiger behind that rock, as part of their self-preservation. Apparently for one of my ancestors, there was a very large tiger, and possibly some wolverine-esque animals that went for her ankles. Thanks, She-Rah. It’s just the DNA gift that keeps on giving.

So, let’s talk about tv instead. (Distract! Shiny things! Jingle, jingle!) Here’s my take on (some of) what I’m watching, sound-byte style. Prison Break’s on hiatus. People, I don’t care about baseball anymore, and this is a huge inconvenience. Vanished – I hope I remember all the intricacies and conspiracies in three weeks. CSI My Jammies: I can do without the hi-def closeups on David Caruso’s face. EEK! What is up with Smith getting yanked? CBS! Please! ACK! Lost – could that get any weirder? I suppose green men could fall from the sky. Desperate Housewives is getting tedious. Let’s ramp it up. Survivor: better pick up the pace – last week was boring, but at least the castaway was something of a surprise. I hate that Parvo chick. (Yes I know it’s not her name exactly, but I dislike her, so she shall be known to me as the dog disease.) Grey’s Anatomy – such a soap. Is it wrong I don’t want Meredith to have either guy? CSI – we’re hosed because last week’s episode stopped recording, ten minutes before the show ended. YouTube, I need your help! Law & Order (pick any of ’em) – you’re my old comfy shoes, my friend. Don’t ever change. However, I’m not used to the new faces yet. So give me some time.

Sigh. All the cancellations & haituses – well, I guess this means we can get caught up on The Wire! Gotta love the ol’ iControl. I’ll just sit down with the remote – and a bottle of Mylanta. And hope the power doesn’t go out…..

Well, if you like Cyndi Lauper & ever have the chance to see her perform, jump at it. She put on one hell of a show last night, and the night would have been PERFECT had we not had the rudest girl in the world in front of us. Not so confidential to the bitch in seat J-18: YOU SUCK. There’s a reason you had an awesome view of the show – everyone else was SITTING DOWN. Oh, and nobody really wanted to crane their head around your stupid-ass interpretive dancing. (and folks, two security people asked her repeatedly to be respectful & she refused.) All I can say is, Karma is a Bitch. Because this particularly rude girl apparently lost something in her dancing & running around to other seats – and I hope it was really, really important and she didn’t find it. She disappeared towards the end of the show, and perhaps she was trampled. Sigh. A girl can dream.

But enough about her, she was just the gnat in the air on a gorgeous summer’s evening. That Cyndi can SING, and she did some crazy improv jamming in her encore, proving herself to be far more a musician than the entertainer she always has been. And, despite the rudeness situation, the Uptown theater continues to be my favorite place to see shows. We had some really fun, crazy drunk ladies behind us who were ready to do a takedown in the bathroom on this girl, so let’s just hope they got home and didn’t spend last night in jail. Now the Wo & I are up really early & he’s got an ambitious day planned with all sorts of outdoorsey work. Me? I’m gonna restore a little order, do some laundry, and then attack the DVR, before it starts deleting shows on me. I have a lot of tv-catch-up to do, and that means KNITTING. And possibly Thai food. Mmmm, I love weekends! Enjoy yours!