Category Archives: musings

musings, thoughts, observations, writing, living

It LIIIIIIVVVEEESSSSS!!!!

BOOM BABY!!

BOOM BABY!!

So, I’ve been gone for a long, long while. After healing from my broken finger and working back up to my 5k running skills, we got PCSd by the Navy! Again! I hope you can understand and forgive me. Posts will begin again soon! Prepare for a list!

Holy shit a list this is the best day ever oh my god oh my god oh my god!!!

Holy shit a list this is the best day ever oh my god oh my god oh my god!!!

First, though, I must tell the tale of the shit-storm that was Fall of 2014. Dun-dun-duuun!! They sent us right back to the same place we were before going to CA, but we had sold our house so now we’re renting a condo. We had less than 30 days to pack, find a place to live and get across the country. On the way, I am sad to report, Miss Kitty passed away.

Rest in peace, Miss Kitty.

Rest in peace, Miss Kitty.

The stress of it all caused my back to lock up. The doctor (once we got here) put me in physical therapy, but the office was at the hospital which required close to three hours of driving to and from for 45 minutes of stretches. Fuck that noise. Yoga was working for me and I could finally get my underwear on by bending over again. Seriously. I couldn’t put on my panties without laying in the fetal position. Still, I was on the mend and making my way back into the gym. Then, disaster struck again.

Taking out the trash one morning, I stubbed my right toe, lunged forward to brace myself and…. felt the arch pop and give away. Part of my foot that has never touched the ground felt the cold cement. I couldn’t put weight on it. I had sprained my mother fucking arch.

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This was right before Halloween. It is now just past St. Patty’s Day and while I can walk now, I still can’t run or play volleyball. Advil is  never less than three feet away. I still have Flexeril (for my back) that I need to take some nights just to get some rest. I now weigh about ten pounds more than I have ever weighed before – even when I gained my “freshman 15.”

Still, I can go to the gym again. I have lost four pounds so far and can go five miles on the stationary bike. Work is still a bit of a pipe dream, but a clean house is totally within my grasp. And now that we’ve shaved Boyo, once I vacuum I’m fairly certain I can keep this ridonc cream carpet clean.

And with that… peace and I’m out

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It’s Not Quite What It’s All About…

Those who know me may or may not be aware that I worship at the altar of Nigella. She is my idol and (as Eric von Zipper says) my ideal. She cooks and bakes to picturesque picture perfect perfection – okay, alliteration failed me – and it always looks like something you’re meant to eat. And she does. And I want to… a lot.

The other day I watched a few hours worth of The Almighty N on youtube and got all bakey. So I made a Mediterranean herb and cheese bread from a bread machine mix. Only I’m an epic failure with those death machines so I did it all by hand. It was a little chewier in the center than I would have preferred – a little dense – but the hubbs loved it and we ate the whole thing with oil and balsamic vinegar. Yay!

For New Year’s we made a Russian chocolate cake (apparently a traditional thing there) from scratch. He loved it even though the cake was a bit dense and dry (totally my bad on poorly scooping flour) and the rum wash didn’t quite come through the flavor of the ganache. I love that word. Ganache. All this baking and cooking and talk of food makes me want to get even more bakey so I’m trying a recipe that’s deceptively difficult.

Hokey Pokey. Honeycomb. Diabetes in a tin. That’s what I’m working on right now. You know what they say – third time’s a charm!

We’ll see.

Batch one was awful. The instructions call for 1 ½ tsp of baking soda. I accidentally grabbed a ½ tbsp. Whoops.

Batch two tasted better but was flat and chewy and still a tad too carpet powdery. Blech.

Batch three is cooling now and I’m praying my tiny heart out – oop. Nope. Flat and chewy again.

The whole idea of this snack/desert thing is that it’s supposed to set all fluffy and hard and then you smack the crap out of it with a hammer to make hard little chunks of biteable yummy. I can’t tell what I’m doing wrong but I’m doing it WAY wrong because I keep ending up with chewy taffy-like stuff. While I’m sure someone somewhere could do something with this stuff I’m unfortunately not that talented and I’ve got a hubby on a diet. WAH!! Anywhoo… there are no pictures of this baking failure, but I will embed what should have happened a’la Nigella.

All hail Nigella!

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I Know, Cute Right?

So I got a haircut last week. It’s taken me a while to blog about it or take a picture of it (normally the first thing my sister and I do when we get a new hairdo) but today I realized my hair was kind of cute.

At first, as soon as my hairdresser was done cutting and styling I hated it. I hated it so much I came close to tears, but I smiled and tipped her (because she did a good job objectively speaking) and left the salon. My friend smiled and told me I looked cute. I just kept smoothing down various sections. You see, I am curesed when it comes to stylists. Male stylists love to play with my hair. They part it on one side, then the other. They scrunch up the curls while it’s wet then blow it out and flat iron me to silky perfection. Ahh…

Female hairstylists? Female stylists that aren’t my sister? Bitches. They barely speak English, they never quite do what I ask for and then they style me so I look like I’m about to accept a Country Music Award for Best New Artist. Yeah, that’s right. Down to the exact reward.

Today, however I woke up and took down the braids I slept in and my hair was adorable. Then I got dressed in an outfit to match my new boots – every girl does it. You know you do. Anyway, I decided to take a half-hour and straighten my hair and realized that my new ‘do is actually very cute.

That's right. Even the bangs are working!

So, I guess the moral may be that you can’t judge a haircut by the style foisted on you by a tiny Asian stylist, but the moral I’m taking away is this: DON’T GIVE JENNY BIG HAIR! SHE HATES IT!!

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Filed under Lady Rage, musings

Flour, Butter and Sugar. Nom.

So, yesterday I made this:

Not pictured: flour behind my ear and in my hair.

This is my second attempt at making shortbread and it’s still not right but my poor husband came home right as they were just finishing in the oven. The house smelled of sweet buttery goodness and my poor hungry husband realized he wouldn’t be able to eat any of them. Why? He’s on a diet.

Yeah, I’m a bastard.

I woke up this morning and walked into the kitchen to discover my cookie tin sitting next to the pan. A small, subtle reminder from my loving hubby to put the shortbread away. So now I have a full cookie tin and a full biscotti jar because I apparently chose the “shit-ton” recipe.

This isn’t really about what a jackass I am but I had to take off my watch and wedding rings to knead the dough but forgot to put them on after I got cleaned up. Being lazy I spent the entire night trying to adjust rings and a watch that weren’t there. At one point the hubby suggested I get up and put them on but I would have had to get up and at the time I was playing a video game… Yeah.

But it struck me how empty my finger looked without the rings and this morning when I finally put them back on it felt so right. And that’s how I fell in love all over again with my husband twice in the last twenty-four hours.

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Ah, the Holidays…

A time of magic and wonder and straight up murdering a bitch at the mall for taking the last parking space. *sparkle*

Fortunately for me this is also the holiday when common sense and taste go right out the window. Without further ado:

Live long and prosper. We give you thanks in the name of the Spock.

Oh, you thought I was done?! Fools!!

Good luck sleeping after that!

Not quite like a bowl full of jelly...

Oh. My. God.

And now for a palate cleanser…

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You Can’t Turn Up Preserves…

Anyone who knows me knows how I feel about the whole Kardashian clan. If you don’t (for some reason) then how the hell did we meet?

Simply put, the Kardashians are the excrement that other reality shows turn their nose up at. It takes hard work to make The Hoff and The Donald look classy. Congratulations Kardashians! You did it!

Now, I’ve never recorded a single meant for public consumption (yes, I have been inside an actual recording studio before and sung and had it down on tape and everything) but I’m pretty sure someone SOMEWHERE must have heard this tripe and said to themselves “Whoa. Hang on there.” The problem is that either the power of her ass, boobs or dad’s money kept them from saying it out loud. As a result, this exists:

If you are simply going to insist on using tits, ass and cash to promote a singing career, could you please make sure you can actually sing? While even the power wielded by the mighty Tyra couldn’t pull it off, at least her song is something I’d hit the elliptical to:

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If you haven’t done this lately

Then what the heck are you waiting for?!

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