In Other News...
Today I bought edible gold spray paint, and it's all I can really think about. Sure, sure, the Super Bowl is happening downtown in like 72 hours and the PGA Open starts in Scottsdale tomorrow and Justin Bieber is currently staying at the hotel where my friend's husband works, but WHAT IF there were GOLD OREOS????
Is anyone going to stop me?
Also, today at work, I finally figured out how to do something that had us all good and stumped for a whole long while. I'd thought it incomprehensible at first, but after lots of tinkering and perseverance, I figured it out. I cracked the code! Huzzah! I felt invincible and glorious and radiant and infallible...until I tried to make another batch of macarons tonight and was firmly reminded of my place in the Hierarchy Of The Universe. Don't try to overstep your bounds - learn where you belong, woman! While I may reign regally over the realms of speedy typing and eating lots of guacamole and deciphering confusing computer programs (positions that not everyone may be fortunate to boast), I will forever come up short when pitted against traffic, humidity, being placed on hold, and (unfortunately) macarons. I assure you, macarons will be the death of me!
After a hurricane-sized baking storm ravaged its way through the kitchen this evening (what? who? me, hurricane?) my roommate looked at me dead on and pointed out, "You have pink icing in your hair." Of course, the worrier warrior in me chose to hear "You have pink eye," and I momentarily freaked. Close call, close call.
As of late, I've inadvertently found myself reading novels that portray female protagonists around my age taking care of men with incurable medical conditions. I know that's quite specific, but conversely, though not as extreme, I've found the men in the periphery of my real life kindly looking after me, whether that's my guy friend gently insisting I finish that 2nd enchilada because I haven't eaten enough, the karate teacher at school suggesting that I get more sleep, or the first counselor in the bishopric pointing out to me when I have lipstick on my teeth. It's heartwarming, really.
Also, I know I have an affinity for office supplies more than the Average Jane, but since beginning 2015, I've oddly been offered calendars from 4 different people at work, three of which I have accepted, though none of which I've needed. On the bright side, one of the calendars features twelve artful still-life shots of vegetables, in case you were wondering. (The artichokes are the best.)
Saturday morning our dear apartment was once more visited by the plumbing ghosts, who every three months feel the need to manifest themselves through our air vents and remind us of their existence. Scene: the kitchen, at least this time around. It made for an interestingly abrupt end to my phone call, I'll tell you that. "Sorry, gotta go. There's water pouring out of my ceiling. Again!" Only after I hung up did I realize that I was powerless to stop the ceiling precipitation, because, unfortunately, I'm not omnipotent (anymore). So the water dripped its drip and I made waffles and it eventually stopped.
The perks of donating blood now amount to free pizza, free t-shirts, and as of this weekend: free symphony tickets. I guess my red blood cells are just more cultured than yours.
Spent the better part of last night learning to do a proper headstand, so...more useless talents, I guess.
P. S. Does it still count as a veggie burger if you cook it in bacon fat? #askingforafriend #whynot #noshame
Is anyone going to stop me?
Also, today at work, I finally figured out how to do something that had us all good and stumped for a whole long while. I'd thought it incomprehensible at first, but after lots of tinkering and perseverance, I figured it out. I cracked the code! Huzzah! I felt invincible and glorious and radiant and infallible...until I tried to make another batch of macarons tonight and was firmly reminded of my place in the Hierarchy Of The Universe. Don't try to overstep your bounds - learn where you belong, woman! While I may reign regally over the realms of speedy typing and eating lots of guacamole and deciphering confusing computer programs (positions that not everyone may be fortunate to boast), I will forever come up short when pitted against traffic, humidity, being placed on hold, and (unfortunately) macarons. I assure you, macarons will be the death of me!
After a hurricane-sized baking storm ravaged its way through the kitchen this evening (what? who? me, hurricane?) my roommate looked at me dead on and pointed out, "You have pink icing in your hair." Of course, the worrier warrior in me chose to hear "You have pink eye," and I momentarily freaked. Close call, close call.
As of late, I've inadvertently found myself reading novels that portray female protagonists around my age taking care of men with incurable medical conditions. I know that's quite specific, but conversely, though not as extreme, I've found the men in the periphery of my real life kindly looking after me, whether that's my guy friend gently insisting I finish that 2nd enchilada because I haven't eaten enough, the karate teacher at school suggesting that I get more sleep, or the first counselor in the bishopric pointing out to me when I have lipstick on my teeth. It's heartwarming, really.
Also, I know I have an affinity for office supplies more than the Average Jane, but since beginning 2015, I've oddly been offered calendars from 4 different people at work, three of which I have accepted, though none of which I've needed. On the bright side, one of the calendars features twelve artful still-life shots of vegetables, in case you were wondering. (The artichokes are the best.)
Saturday morning our dear apartment was once more visited by the plumbing ghosts, who every three months feel the need to manifest themselves through our air vents and remind us of their existence. Scene: the kitchen, at least this time around. It made for an interestingly abrupt end to my phone call, I'll tell you that. "Sorry, gotta go. There's water pouring out of my ceiling. Again!" Only after I hung up did I realize that I was powerless to stop the ceiling precipitation, because, unfortunately, I'm not omnipotent (anymore). So the water dripped its drip and I made waffles and it eventually stopped.
The perks of donating blood now amount to free pizza, free t-shirts, and as of this weekend: free symphony tickets. I guess my red blood cells are just more cultured than yours.
Spent the better part of last night learning to do a proper headstand, so...more useless talents, I guess.
P. S. Does it still count as a veggie burger if you cook it in bacon fat? #askingforafriend #whynot #noshame
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