Two's Company...Three makes me Blue

Blue's back for a brief two week visit while my parents continue their efforts to visit every city in the world. Every time I get to have him home with me, it elicits some sort of response that includes the word, "Bluuuuuuuuuuuuue," or "suchagoodboy."

I don't know how I continue to forget the very distinct differences between Blue and Casey. I think it's perhaps because the cuteness of Blue overshadows everything else about him when, you know, he's not around every day. But now? Man, that dog is clingy. Casey sure does love me, but after our walks, she's off napping on the couch, chasing the cat, checking the perimeters of the house for intruders, etc. Blue would prefer to be right next to me at all times. I'm pretty sure that I'll end up breaking my neck when I step back in my kitchen someday and just fall over the dog lying behind me while I cook. He also fancies himself good at organic chem and insists on helping me with my homework, as illustrated by this horrible cell phone picture.

Ever since my last visit to my parent's house, they've been telling me about a problem they've been having with Blue. Namely that he won't get into his crate to sleep at night. Where he used to just walk right into his kennel with no problems, they now end up either having to literally carry him into his crate (my dad,) or threatening him loudly until he gives in so that the noises stop (my mom.)

I'll be honest. I was over-confident. Suuuuuure they couldn't get the dog into his crate. They're just not dog experts like I am. They are obviously not being calm and assertive. They just don't know how to work with dogs. I mean, Blue may as well be named "Your Highness" at their house with his designated couch spots and routine of going out and coming in with only a single bark as notification that he wants something to change. He rules that place.

And so, the first night visiting my parents, I made a $10 bet with my dad that Blue would go right into his crate with no yelling, no carrying, and no stress.

I won $5. Blue walked right up to his crate and then crouched there, looking at me pitifully as if to say, "If you don't put me in there, I'll love you forever." He required some nudging to take his final grudging steps into his crate.

Still, I was not daunted. "He's just spoiled here," I thought, "We'll get him back to Indy and he'll be just fine."

Um, not so much.

Monday morning was another episode into stopping about a foot outside his crate and cowering like he was going to die. Monday evening before class I almost had him fooled as I raced the dogs down into the basement. Casey rocketed into her crate and stood triumphantly, "WINNER!!" Blue skidded to a stop just outside his crate and stopped. Damn.

Tuesday morning I literally had to carry 50lbs of pit bull down the stairs into my basement and deposit him into his crate. My biceps still haven't forgiven me. Tuesday afternoon I just kept him on his leash and tugged the unwilling dog down the stairs into his crate.

Wednesday morning brought more carrying. Ouch. Wednesday afternoon I knew that my biceps couldn't take another carrying trip, so I walked behind him all the way down to his crate. Each time he tried to turn around, I just body blocked him. Success!

Now? We're back to normal. Blue follows Casey downstairs and into his crate. Sweet sweet success. Because honestly? I couldn't carry him downstairs again. And I know that dogs don't think like this...that they live in the moment...but I can't help but think that Blue didn't really realize how good he had it with my retired parents and his routine of sleeping on the couch all day (not to mention going outside whenever he wanted to.) I can't help but think that he's down in that crate right now cursing to himself, "If ONLY I had behaved better and gone into my crate, they wouldn't have sent me back!"

Don't worry buddy. It's only temporary. You'll be back to being top dog soon. Believe me, Casey's looking forward to it too.

Wherein I am as delighted as a 5-year-old

I am exhausted today. I feel as though I could sleep for 1000 years if only given a chance.

I'm sure it's no coincidence that I have an organic test tonight.

But I did have a very productive weekend this weekend.

That doesn't mean I spent a lot of time studying...oh no. But I sure did spend a lot of time doing other things that needed to be done. Like sweeping and mopping the entire house. Like quickly cleaning the bathroom. Like walking the dog for hours. Like laundry. Like various female grooming habits that have been ignored as of late.

And THEN, when I couldn't find one more thing that I had on my to-do list before studying, I took a nap.

Believe you me, I needed it. Because then I studied organic chemistry for five hours straight. I discussed it with a friend. I drew mechanisms. I read my notes.

I still don't feel the slightest bit prepared for the test tonight. FYI.

It's okay, though. I feel....at peace. I've done what I can do.

Besides, my friend? The one I studied with for five straight hours? The brilliant friend who got a 91 on the last organic chem test? (Which I didn't even think was possible.) She has a rabbit. Among other animals, because, you know, she wants to be a vet. Like me. Except she has a house. And lots of animals. And....a bunny. And when I went over there on Saturday, there was a bunny just hopping around the living room....interacting with the cats and the people like, "What? It is totally ordinary that I am here."

I was ridiculously geeked about the bunny. I believe my first sentence was "You live with the EASTER BUNNY!!!"

My friend quickly learned that my happiness is on par with a five-year-old when I'm really really excited about something. A fact that the boy reiterated the next day. Because the next day when he came over, I believe the first words out of my mouth were about the bunny and I didn't stop talking about it until he agreed to go over and MEET the bunny.

This song came up a few times.*

Alas, I did not take a picture of the bunny. (Shameful, I know.) But have no doubt that I will. There is still a final to study for. And the bunny? Well he makes the studying all that much more enticing.

Until then, I will just keep repeating, "I do not need a rabbit. I do not need a rabbit. I do not have TIME for a rabbit. I can not have a rabbit." You know, even though my friend keeps informing me that foster homes are always needed. (I could be a foster bunny mom!!)

Oh dear.

*What? I totally watch Veggietales. You have to ask yourself, why don't YOU?

Heartache

“A Parable of Immortality” by Henry van Dyke.

I am standing by the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength,
and I stand and watch
until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sun and sky come down to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says, ‘There she goes!’
Gone where? Gone from my sight – that is all.

She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
as she was when she left my side
and just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the places of destination.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone at my side says,
‘There she goes!’
There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
‘Here she comes!’

Unique New York*

My alma mater won last night. Maybe you heard. If not, feast your eyes on highlights:



And it's sort of a big deal that they won. Sort of a "they've never made it to this level of tournament play before" big deal. But I know that a lot of my friends don't really follow basketball and, you know...to each their own. Whatever. But I do. Specifically, I care about the NCAA tournament, and to be even more specific, I care about Butler in the NCAA tournament. So I was pretty excited about this win.

I didn't get to see one minute of the game, thanks to ochem.

What occurred instead was one of the most unique situations that I've ever been in.

Thinking ahead, I set up z and the boy to send me text updates as the game progressed. I knew I would have zero access to internet or to a TV during my lab, so I thought the text messages would be the best option to keep up on the game. What ensued was hilarious.

The first part of my lab was a lecture. In the basement of the science building. Where cell reception is spotty anyway. And where my lab TA has been known to confiscate cell phones that make noise. (true story.) So I set my phone to silent and took the desk closest to the door of the classroom. I put the phone on my desk and kept surreptitiously checking when a new text would come in. I would carefully type responses so as not to draw too much attention as the lecture progressed. Keep in mind that this was happening in a class of 13 people. THIRTEEN. Looking back, I'm pretty certain the lecturer knew that I was up to something.

As fate would have it, the lecture broke right as we hit halftime, and I got my final update: "35-25 at halftime. Fewest points in 1st half, biggest deficit at halftime for Syracuse." I almost danced up the stairs to the lab where we would begin our experiment, and started plotting ways to keep my phone in my back pocket, but still be able to check messages regularly.

On our way to the lab, I heard the lecturer (who was also leading this lab) ask someone else if they knew the Butler score. I almost tripped up the stairs, when I whirled around to blurt "35-25." He responded, "Syracuse?" to which I answered, "Nope. Butler. Can you believe it?"

What followed was a three minute conversation about Butler's chances, how the first half had gone, and how we couldn't believe they were up 10.

After that conversation, I went ahead and took the liberty of placing my cell phone in the same hood where my partner and I were conducting our experiment. Since the lab leader kept coming by to get the updates that I was getting, I figured I had a bit of license to be somewhat distracted.

Because both z and the boy were sending updates, I was getting different perspectives. When Syracuse pulled ahead, z was careful to never tell me the score...only who had possession and what foul had just been committed. The boy's updates were more irregular and more shorthanded (almost to the point where they could not be understood) but since he was giving me the score as Syracuse first caught up to, and then passed Butler, I could understand his stress.

Then suddenly, for a good five to ten minutes, both boys stopped sending updates. This coincided with a point in my experiment where I was washing my product with reagent and letting it sit for five minutes at a time - three washes. Three intervals of five minutes to obsessively check my phone for updates when, during the last two washes, none were forthcoming. I was fah-reaking out. We've already discussed how I can not handle suspense. And I had nothing. No way to check anything that was going on.

And then there was an explosion.

It seemed that everyone I knew was sending me a message. From "down by 4...they can't buy a basket... 4 min left," to "Woah, your boys r gonna win crazy!" to "holy shit!" to "62-56," "63-56. Syracuse ball," "63-58. 23.6. Foul on Syracuse," "Missed. Foul on Butler. In bounds to Syracuse," "12.7. Shooting foul on Butler. Almost made the shot too," "63-59," "Missed the second! Foul on Syracuse. Two shots. 9.9," "Missed the first," and finally "BUTLER WINS!"

These came in one after another after another. At one point I had 13 messages that I just could not keep up with even though I was reading them as they came in. Usually the first update would come from z (most of the messages above) and would be shortly followed by some variation of the same information from the boy. And then? Then came the Facebook updates after the win where EVERYONE freaked out.

It was unreal.

I know the game was stressful. I've seen the highlights and sorted through the text messages. Watching it would have been awesome. But this was a completely unique experience that was not the completely miserable situation I anticipated. My experience was tension from not knowing. Was jumping up and down while impatiently awaiting the next update and still managing to focus enough to time my reagent washes. My experience was excited chatter with others who didn't really have a stake in the game, but were catching on to my nervous excitement. It was sorting through a plethora of information that came all at once after a long period of knowing nothing at all. And finally it was jubilation that my team had just earned a huge win.

I was supposed to go home and go to sleep after that? No way. I live about five blocks from campus (if that) and if you stepped out on my porch in the rain, you could hear the noise from the students. I couldn't sleep. I watched highlights, I read Facebook posts, and I reveled in the excitement.

And I know that sports don't really matter. I know that I could be posting about any of several other more serious topics in the news lately. But when your team is the David that just beat Goliath? When the underdog gets a chance to say "Nah nah na nah naaaaaah?" It's a unique type of celebratory feeling. One that you want to revel in. To roll around in like a dog in an interesting smell. So that's my PSA for today. Get into sports. It's cheaper than drugs, and the highs are just as high. (just don't ask z about the lows.)

Now cross your fingers for Butler's next game at 4:30pm on Saturday, and if you have a time machine so that I can get study time in (for two tests!!) in ADDITION to watching that game? It would be appreciated.

*bonus points if you can tell me which movie the title came from.

An Open Letter About Karma

Dear person who hit my parked car and then drove off,

That was rude. I mean, I know there's no way you could have known that I was in a serious car accident a little over a year ago. Or that I had just gotten my beloved Curvy back from the shop where a very scary noise had just been corrected. I know there's no way you could have known that, perhaps as a result of the accident, car stress gets to me in a way that no other stress does. I know.

But you probably did know that my car, being parked in front of the humble abode that it guards every day, is my most expensive possession (and you probably guessed that I don't even really own it yet.) You probably did know, when your car connected with my car's rear left quarter panel and left a visible dent and scratches, that the damage would be expensive and that it was all your fault. That's probably why you drove off in a panic.

You probably had no idea that I had had a conversation about this very situation only a few days prior, and that I totally judged a co-worker when he said that he "wasn't sure" he would leave a note if he accidentally hit someone and there were no witnesses. You had no idea of my level of outrage because in my world? Not leaving a note is not an option. In my world? You own up to your mistakes.

But you know, I can't even be mad anymore. It happened. It's done. There's nothing I can do but suck it up and get my car fixed. There's nothing more I can do but rest assured that Karma is a bitch and I'm sure that what goes around, comes around.

But just in case karma needs some help, I have prepared a list of suggestions for what would befit a person, such as yourself, who would do such an underhanded cowardly thing.

- a pack of wild roaming cats can invade your house, pee on every carpeted surface and piece of furniture, and then disappear without a trace to leave you with the unending smell of ammonia until the day you die.

- your car will suddenly stop functioning on 465 at the point farthest from your home. In the left lane.

- you will be summoned for jury duty twice in 25 months and have to be sequestered both times.

- you will exit your house for a very important occasion (first date? job interview?) and step right into dog poo... the smell of which would follow you throughout the rest of the day/evening.

- Part I: your water-heater will stop working indefinitely, and since you don't have the money for car insurance (why else would you NOT LEAVE A NOTE?!) you will not have the money to be able to get it fixed.

- Part II: you will forget that you don't have hot water every morning until you're already in the shower.

- You will sit in cat puke multiple times in one morning.

- You will be forced to spend family holidays with someone who makes the experience absolutely miserable for you.

- Part I: You will be mistakenly picked up for terrorist activity and as torture, your fingernails will be pulled out one by one.

- Part II: As a result of your captivity, you will contract a nasty case of chicken pox and not be able to scratch.

- Two words: Adult Acne.

- When I leave for school full time, you will apply and be selected to do my job. For the rest of your life.

Any other suggestions befitting such a person? I mean, of course we have no effect on Karma whatsoever, but it sure would make me feel better. The more evil (but not permanent) the damage, the better.

EDIT:
- Ochem. I wish upon you a thousand classes of organic chemistry.

Snippets

- I am not a veterinary-school-prerequisite-filling dropout. I can't decide if it's because I'm ridiculously stubborn, or if it's because I really want to be a vet and haven't yet given up hope. I'm leaning towards the stubborn.

- I had an ochem test on Monday over the same material that was on the quiz (that I did, actually, get a 50% on.) I actually feel pretty good about it. The test, I mean. Not the quiz. I'm still depressed as hell about the quiz. But the test is worth 100 points, and the quiz was worth 25, so in the grand scheme of things... Anyhow, I'm afraid to spend too much time thinking about my test and how I did lest I jinx myself. I am supposed to get it back today, so if you don't hear from me for the next month or so, just come looking for me in the pit of despair.

- When you're the first person in the office in the mornings, and you happen to be in the bathroom when the second person gets into the office, it's super awkward when they call out "Good Morning" and you answer from the toilet.

- Next week is my SPRING BREAK. I plan to be as lame as ever during that week, but I'm still excited. Getting in to work at 8:00am! Dinner with friends instead of class during the week! NCAA tournament!!!!!!!!

- Yes, I will choose Butler to go all the way. I'm willing to throw away my $5 again.

- My dog is muddy. I would hate on that, but temperatures have been above 50 degrees lately, and I'm so happy I could cry.

- I know I haven't mentioned him recently (mainly because I try not to think about his existence) but I think we may have stumbled upon a new drug regimen for Tyson that just might work and is not out of the boy's budget at $10/90 days. I'll keep you updated on this very exciting news. (Well, in my world. You probably don't care. Unless you live with Cash.)

- My fingers = the same or worse. Thank you for all of the suggestions (I've tried each of them) but I think I'm resigned to have to go see the dermatologist about this. Drat. Maybe I DO have a latex allergy. Does that mean that I would have to quit organic chem lab? Do you think a Dr's note will excuse me? (I know, I know. I'm reaching. But it's nice to dream.)

UPDATE:
The majority of this blog was written yesterday and just not posted. Last night I found out that my professor will not be returning our ochem tests until after Spring Break. So I'm spared a week in the pit of despair. I'll find out on March 22nd. Do you know what happens before then? The NCAA TOURNAMENT BEGINS!!! Woot!! Hopefully I can keep my mind off of the suspense... Go DAWGS!

Drowning

So I studied all last weekend and then Monday and Tuesday nights for an ochem quiz that I had yesterday. When I got the quiz, everything looked familiar and I was thrilled that it didn't look like Chinese to me. I methodically worked through the problems and felt okay about the quiz...

...until the professor put the answers on the board.

People, I'll be lucky if I got a 50% on that stupid quiz. And I have a test over the same material on Monday.

Tomorrow is the last day to drop out of classes with a W instead of a grade.

All I can think is that I don't want to be in school anymore.

I mean, I know I want to be a vet. I get that. What I'm tired of is feeling dumb. I'm tired of questioning whether or not this whole "I'm an intelligent person" idea that I have is based less on fact and more on self-delusion. I'm tired of not having any free time. I'm tired of putting all of this effort into a class that I won't use ever again EVER and getting such little return. Most of all I'm frustrated. I hate that I can't do this. I hate that I'm drowning under work and school when I'm supposed to be able to handle anything.

I hate that organic chemistry has shattered my confidence.

Because vet school? Very competitive. And my GPA? Can't handle another C in chemistry.

The boy suggested taking a semester off. But if I was going to take a semester off, this should have been it. I mean, summer is coming after this, and that's usually enough of a recharge to get me back on the saddle in August. And if I take the fall semester off this year? Do I really want to delay my application to vet school again? (Answer: no.)

Z asked me if I was willing to do this for five more years. No. No I'm not. But I don't have to. Once If I get into vet school, it would be school full time. OMG I dream about this. It's like my crack. Forty hours more per week with which I could study? Classes that are relevant to what I want to do with my life? Done! Sign me up right now.

Only, I have to get through this part to get to that part. And right now, all I can think is that I don't want to do this anymore.

So I'm sending out an SOS. Help a girl out. Remind me that I can do this. Remind me why I should. Because right now? I can't remember on my own. All I can think is that I don't want to keep getting kicked when I'm down. I don't want to keep putting all this effort into something and barely getting by. Who, in their right mind, would sign up for this torture? All I can think is that I don't want to be in school anymore.

And tomorrow is my last day to make that decision.

Easily Eliminated

It's wintertime. It's cold. And apparently my low maintenance status-quo is just not cutting it. My body is screaming that I must pay a little more attention to it. I don't know if I'm treating this winter differently than I have previous winters, but I'm dealing with dry skin like you would not believe - even with all the water I've been drinking. Lotion has helped, but in particular, my fingertips are dry, cracked and peeling. Ouch. It's gotten to the point that I notice it all the time - it's pretty annoying.

(Before you ask, no, I'm not touching or using any lotions or creams that are different than my usual routine, and I always wear latex rubber gloves in chemistry lab.)

Of course I made the mistake of mentioning this to my mother and now a healthy dose of motherly guilt is suggesting that I head to the doctor to see if anything is seriously wrong. I don't believe that I have any serious illness but, you know, under the barrage of mother guilt, it's impossible that the door of doubt isn't cracked just a bit. What if I really AM dying? Because it's a little known fact that all serious diseases begin with dry, cracked fingertips, you know.

And so, even though everyone says not to do this, I googled my symptoms this morning. I was totally expecting all signs to lead to cancer, but I was surprised. There were actually some common circumstances/chronic illnesses that were NOT cancer and suggested as possibilities for what I'm experiencing. So I decided to go through them one by one and see if perhaps I did need to go to the doctor after all.

Um, no. Each one that I clicked on had "extreme weight loss" listed as one of the symptoms. That's not happening here... move along. And please pass the hand lotion.

Any suggestions from others?? I would appreciate any help at this point.

Quest for Ice Cream

(I need to begin this post with an apology to both z and the boy. Because I totally do this to them. And now at least I know where I get it from.)

On Saturday evening, I was heading out the door to meet a high school friend for coffee when my dad stopped me.

"Where are you going again?"

"To Starbucks to meet Kristen, dad. I'll probably be gone about an hour/hour and a half or so."

"Oh. Okay. You want to pick up some ice cream on your way home?"

"Sure. I can do that. What do you want?"

"Do you want ice cream?"

"No thanks."

"Oh, well, then don't worry about it."

I changed my tune. "Sure dad. I would love some ice cream. There is nothing on this earth that I would like more."

He laughed and said, "Forget about it."

"No seriously. I'll pick it up no problem. What do you want? A strawberry blizzard?"

"No. I don't like strawberry."

"Right, right. That's mom. You like peanut butter cup."

"Don't worry about it. Really."

"Oh maybe I'll just pick you up a pint of Ben and Jerry's?" I mused.

My dad immediately perked up and responded, "Do they have pistachio?"

"Pistachio? I'm not sure, but I can look."

"Nah. Don't worry about it."

"Fine."

Now, I don't know if I've ever mentioned how difficult it is to do nice things or buy gifts for my father. He's pretty self sufficient, and when you ask what he wants, you never get a good answer. (When he was working it was always "a new tie" - the man had over 100 ties - and now it's always "a bottle of Beefeater." - there is no shortage of alcohol at my parents house.) My dad is usually all, "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm fine." But this conversation? It was a chink in the armor of self sufficiency. My dad wanted pistachio ice cream. He wanted something. That I could provide! It was now my mission in life to bring home some pistachio ice cream.

I came to find out that this was easier said than done.

I started off by meeting my friend at Starbucks and then hitting four stores on my way home. The first was the grocery store that I had visited earlier that day. Where I struck out. But not after spending about 15 minutes in the surprisingly small ice cream section pouring over every different container. Still, I left optimistic. There were two other grocery stores within five minutes. Surely one of them would have it.

The second place where I stopped closed at 9:00pm. It was 9:10pm when I got there. I was dumbfounded. Seriously? The store closes at 9:00pm on a Saturday? Um, okay. Small(ish) town, I guess.

I tried an ice cream shoppe next. They make their own ice cream, so I was hopeful that maybe they had specialty flavors that no one else carried. Vanilla Bean, they carry. Chocolate, they carry. Pistachio - negative. So much for exotic flavors. However, after three strikes, I decided to ask if anyone knew of anywhere that I COULD find pistachio ice cream. I was directed to the Baskin Robbins on the east side of town. Sweet! That was on the far side of town, but if worse came to worst, at least I had a confirmed supply. I mean, assuming the high school kids behind the counter of a small-town ice cream shoppe were right. Grasping for hope, I chose not to doubt them.

On my way home, I stopped at the final grocery store. They were locking their doors as I arrived, so I just squeezed in under the wire. No pistachio, but they did have spumoni. I vaguely remembered that my father also liked spumoni, and perhaps the green layer in the spumoni was pistachio? (it isn't.) Regardless, I decided not to go home empty handed and bought the spumoni ice cream before heading back to my parent's house.

..where my father verified that the green layer is NOT pistachio, but still shared the ice cream with my mother so I wouldn't feel like a failure. Didn't work.

That night, while out with friends, I was recounting my quest and subsequent failure. I asked if anyone knew where to get pistachio ice cream? I was rewarded with independent verification that Baskin Robbins did indeed carry what I sought. Of course, they were closed by then (well past midnight) but I started plotting as to when I could get some ice cream the next day after church but before I drove the three hours home.

When we left the bar, my friend Jackie suggested that we drive past Baskin Robbins just to make sure. We did, and sure enough, "Pistachio-Almond" ice cream was on the menu. I was giddy. Super-giddy. This is what I blame on why I agreed when Jackie made the following suggestion, "Do you want to just go check Wal-Mart before we head home? It might save you a trip tomorrow."

It was 2:00am. I was tired. The thought of getting up for church was exhausting enough, not to mention the subsequent three-hour drive home. Saving me a trip sounded like bliss. Besides, I figured it was a long shot. I was certain that Wal-Mart wouldn't carry what I needed. No one else in town did. There's no way Wal-Mart would. Psh, Wal-Mart. Like they have anything good on their shelves.

Guess what Jackie found at Wal-Mart?

What a pickle. Seriously. I was torn. Spend money at Wal-Mart? The hated Wal-Mart? A store I wouldn't set foot in even when I couldn't afford real hand soap? The root of all evil? I mean, I sometimes act soulless and unethical, but to actually give my money to a soulless and unethical business??

But... the only pistachio ice cream I had seen in the entire town. (sob.)

I'm a daddy's girl. We all know how this story ends. Tears were shed and tantrums were thrown, but in the end I sold my soul for a pint of pistachio ice cream. I even had to use my damn credit card so there's proof! I feel dirty. Oh so dirty.

Still, the look on my dad's face when he found it the next morning? Priceless.

Not that I was there to see it, mind you. The man gets up at 7:30am. I didn't move until at least ten. But, you know, I can imagine.

An Early Morning Lesson in Small(er) Towns

This past Friday was my father's sixty-fourth birthday. Since I am the epitome of a daddy's girl, I made the trek back to my hometown for a visit. And since it's scientifically proven to be impossible to buy birthday presents for fathers, I decided to make waffles for breakfast (and do the dishes) on both Saturday and Sunday while I was visiting. Happy Birthday dad!

In preparation, I called my mother to make certain she had most of the perishable ingredients needed to make waffles that would not make the trek with me from Indianapolis. When I found out that she didn't have milk, I offered to stop on my way home, but she repeatedly assured me that she would pick up milk before Friday night...no problem.

Apparently this promise was forgotten. Two glasses of wine into the visit on Friday night (where alcohol seems to be flowing ever copiously,) my mother remembered that she had forgotten to get milk. Damn. No problem...I love my dad...I'll get up on Saturday morning before my dad gets up and buy some milk.

My dad gets up at 7:30am. Everyday.

My hometown is on CST while Indy is on EST.

So not only was I getting up at 7:00am on a Saturday, my body actually felt like it was getting up at 6:00am. I had also had two three a few glasses of wine. You can imagine how happy I was when I went to get milk on Saturday morning.

"I really love my dad," was what I chanted to myself repeatedly when I went to get milk at the crack of dawn. (It was either that or evil thoughts about my mother who had forgotten the milk in the first place. It was with great effort that I focused on the positive. I really really hate mornings.)

When I arrived at the closest grocery store to my parent's house (approximately a three minute drive, I might add) I had progressed from grumpy to crabby to certifiably evil. I headed to the back of the store to get the milk, cursing because I had to walk through the entire store to get to the dairy section, and seriously, what are we really accomplishing by setting up the store like this except making people who only need milk REALLY grumpy because they have to walk five miles farther than necessary in their trek? On my way to check-out, I grabbed a Starbucks frappuccino in an effort to help my mood and keep my familial relations friendly. Then I proceeded to get in the only checkout line open, behind two women approximately 70 years of age and shopping for their grocery needs for the next five months.

I looked around for the U-Scan, and finally sighed in resignation. Stupid small town. Stupid no technology. Stupid wait in line for 10 hours to buy milk and a frappuccino. Stupid waffles. Stupid people who shop for five months at a time. This would be so much easier if I were at home. In Indianapolis. Where there is technology and the world makes sense.

It was at this point in my internal grumbling that the lady in front of me turned around and said, "Honey, why don't you go ahead in front of me? You only have two items."

My early-morning brain literally could not process a response. I stood there in dumbfounded silence, during which the second little old lady turned and made the same offer. "Goodness yes. You only have two items. You go on ahead sweetie."

I should note that I did not know either of these ladies.

I stumbled over a "Thank you" and immediately felt guilty for my evil thoughts of only moments earlier. I shuffled to the front of the line, paid for my two items and got back to my parent's home within 15 minutes.

And it was thus how I was properly chastised by my small(er) hometown. Because you KNOW that for all the technology in the world, there's no way that would have happened in Indianapolis at 7:00am. In fact, the little old ladies up here might have even thrown elbows if I had dared reach around them to get a pack of gum.

Lesson learned. Small town living for the win!

Okay. Maybe not for the win...but not a complete loss. And for me to think that way about my hometown? Progress. Way to go, little old ladies!

I hate everyone. Where's the caffeine?

So today marks the beginning of Lent.

Obviously, I was raised Catholic.

Being somewhat non-committal on the subject of religion now (I prefer to say that I "make it up as I go") I'm always surprised by the gravity that Lent has for me. By the longevity that it's had in my life. When I was little, it was (duh) because Easter was coming. Easter meant Easter baskets. Easter meant a pretty dress to wear to church. (If I was lucky, there was also a hat.)

These days, though there still are Easter baskets, (that still come from the "Easter Bunny" because my mother rocks) I think I prefer the tradition of the season. (Lord knows it's not the Easter mass that I enjoy... Sorry Lord.) I kind of like the sacrifice. I like the deliberate-ness of taking something small and important out of my life, and every time I turn to do it/eat it/use it out of habit for 40 days, I deliberately think of WHY I am not doing it/eating it/using it.

And why am I giving something up for 40 days and 40 nights? Well, to go into that would be to go into what I personally believe regarding religion and a higher power. And you guys don't want to read that, right? That is not what this blog is here for. Let's face it, you guys want to know what I gave up for Lent.

I don't have any set rules for what I give up each year. I usually just know what it is when I stumble upon it. It has to be difficult enough to be a sacrifice, but it can't be so difficult that I'm miserable for 40 days and 40 nights. In the past (before I had to cut back in order to have the innernetz at my house) I have given up Starbucks. That was difficult enough that I actually did that a couple of years running. Last year I gave up high fructose corn syrup. MAN. That stuff is in EVERYTHING. That was a tough one. When I was in high school I gave up carbonated beverages.

This year, when I solicited suggestions on Facebook, they ranged from the ridiculous (regular Coke - please, people... the goal is not to be miserable) to the non-applicable (American Idol - sorry...I don't partake.) But they led to some considerations. Give up Survivor and my beloved Colby? Somehow I don't think that would be difficult enough. Another friend suggested giving up texting (and blogging) and I was intrigued... until I realized that all that would do is probably raise my phone bill (and, let's be honest, how regular have I been with posting lately??)

As Fat Tuesday wound to a close and I hadn't yet thought of anything to sacrifice for Lent, I started to panic. In the end, instead of just giving in and giving up something reasonable like regular Coke (which would be really tough, but not impossible) I had a complete lapse of sanity and decided to give up the snooze button on my alarm clock. Let me say that again. I gave up the snooze button on my alarm clock. For Lent. For 40 days and 40 nights. No snooze button. I get up when my alarm goes off. Like, I hear my alarm, and then I have to get out of bed.

I can't even blame the boy for this suggestion. I did it all by myself. Madness.

Me. The person who owns several different types of pajamas that all say the same thing, "NOT A MORNING PERSON." Me. The person who my family has learned not to speak to until I've been awake for at least an hour or had Starbucks. Whichever comes first. (My mother gave me a coffee mug for Christmas that says "Crabby." Yep, that about sums it up.) Me. The person who could sleep for 13 hours at a time if you let her. Me. The person who had an organic chemistry lab that lasted until 10:20pm last night and had to be in to work at 7:00am. Me. The person who everyone was afraid to wake from a nap in college (except for one brave soul....) Even today the BOY hates waking me up from a nap. It's not pretty. I do love me some sleep.

The things I'll do in the name of religion....sheesh. I swear. (Wait. No I don't. Swearing is a sin. Oops.)

The first thing this sacrifice did was cause me to re-set my alarm for a reasonable time. No more of this setting-for-5:30am-in-order-to-get-up-at-6:00-or-6:15-stuff. The second thing it did was cause me to practice self restraint when my alarm went off this morning, I couldn't hit snooze, and I had to remember why. The object is not to be bitter when remembering why I'm sacrificing. Yeah. That was a challenge. My entire shower was spent thinking things like, "Not bitter. Doing this for a reason. Deliberately thinking about things that I otherwise might not spend time thinking about. Not bitter. Do not hate the world."

Of course, if my cat hadn't chosen today to poop on my doormat which caused me to realize that no, I hadn't yet gone to the store to replenish my supply of paper towels, I probably would have been a tad more successful.

Anyone else out there give something up? If not, you can still show me some love by giving me your thoughts on how successful I'll be at this undertaking. The boy thinks I'll last a week. He's so supportive.

VD came, and VD went (with a little buyer's remorse)

It's that time of year again.

I have friends who love love LOVE February 14th, and get flowers and jewelry - the whole nine yards. I celebrate with them. If that makes them happy, then it makes me happy as well. I'm still a girl - I love a good romantic story as much as the next girl. Tell me all about what your husband/boyfriend/significant other did for you. Yay love!

Me? I don't want that. Save your money. Don't buy me flowers - my cat might eat them and they might be poisonous. Do you want to be responsible for killing my cat? Let's buy tickets to go see the Colts play next season. Infinitely more romantic from my perspective. Better yet? Spend Thursdays with me and don't complain when I watch Survivor and root for Colby. Commiserate with me when he's voted off, or celebrate with me when he wins. Even if you don't care. THAT'S what I want.

That doesn't make me bitter or angry or a VD hater. It's just a different perspective. I don't try to get other women to do as I do, I just don't choose to participate in this particular tradition. And that's okay. Personally, after the way I spent this February 14th, I don't think my life is lacking any in people that I love who also love me. There are multiple points of view in the world. Sometimes I have to remind myself that it's good to remember that.

So I say enjoy VD whatever way you do or can. Or not. Whatever. But tell me all about it whether there were flowers, diamonds, or pizza in front of the TV involved. Me? I wore red, ate waffles with two of my favorite people, fruitlessly studied organic chemistry and then squeezed in some quality time with my favorite boy and my favorite dog. No commercialization involved. Just another Sunday.

On a more important topic, I purchased a dress today and am feeling a bit of buyer's remorse. I drove past the dress for over a week before I absolutely had to purchase it lest someone else get to it first. (In case you hadn't noticed, I don't generally react this way to clothing.) The problem is that it was full price. Not too expensive, but still. Emily doesn't like paying full price. So I'm torn. Keep it or return it. So I decided to handle this decision the way I would handle any big decision... I'll let the internets decide.

So, internets... To keep the dress, or not to keep the dress? That is the question. (But don't forget to tell me about your VD too!!)

Never Fear, Casey is here

For some reason, I've never been scared of coyotes. Wolves, yes. Coyotes? No. I mean, it's not like I would want to come across a rabid coyote while all alone on a pleasant evening walk... and it's not like I've forgotten my first experience with nightswimming where there was very little swimming by Emily and very much twining myself tightly around my companion when random howls began from the nearby vacant country field... but ever since becoming more familiar with dogs, learning their body language and reading about coyotes, I would say I'm more respectful of them than I am scared.

Which is why I didn't have a total panic meltdown last Friday when Casey and I were playing fetch in the woodsy area of Crown Hill near my home and Casey suddenly went tearing off towards the woods. Vaguely confused, I looked at the ball in my hand which had not yet been thrown, then back at the rear end of my rapidly retreating dog. Suddenly my gaze was caught by a flash of movement slightly ahead of Casey. Another couple of seconds identified it as a coyote. A coyote on which Casey was rapidly gaining as she chased it into the woods.

Initially I freaked out and called her name repeatedly. Each time I said her name it was more high pitched and frantic. Casey paid me about as much attention as the boy does when playing Peggle. So I took off in a dead sprint in the direction she was running. Reason (and the fact that I'm out of shape) reasserted itself in about 20 steps, and I stopped and realized that there was absolutely nothing I could do. So I waited and listened for any noise coming from the woods in which Casey had disappeared.

Three minutes later, Casey came bounding out of the woods towards me with a big silly grin on her face and immediately demanded that I throw the ball for her. I checked her over while she wiggled impatiently and tried to snatch the ball out of my pocket (bad dog!) She was fine. Not a scratch on her.

So I was somewhat amused yesterday as Casey and I headed home after another round of fetch and the neighbor across the street came out to warn me away from that particular grassy field.

"You'll wanna be careful, young lady. We've seen a coyote in that field almost every night."

I want to know what went through his mind when I said, "Thanks for telling me. We saw the coyote last week and my dog chased it off, but we'll be careful."

He cast a glance at Casey panting happily beside me and didn't say anything else as he headed back inside.

And I wonder where Casey gets her reputation...

Unique Commodity

The boy came over one day last week when I was feeling particularly....amorous. I kissed him as he came in the door before he said hello, and he didn't even have a chance to take off his jacket before the kissing turned from playful to serious.

(Don't worry. There's a clear line of things I'll talk about and things I won't. This blog post won't cross it.)

When we finally paused for a moment, the boy took off his jacket (purchased at the outdoor store where he works and probably wishes he could spend all of his time) and tossed it on the chair. My brain to mouth filter was obviously otherwise occupied because I observed and immediately said, "What's that mark on the shoulder of your jacket?"

I immediately cursed myself. Stupid over observant tendency. Stupid off-topic comment. Stupid inability to stop thoughts from becoming words. That totally could have waited.

The boy was immediately distracted from me.

"There's a mark on my jacket? What mark? Where?"

I would have been disappointed at the ease in which he was distracted from me if I hadn't already seen it coming and was prepared. (This whole knowing each other well? It goes both ways.)

"Ahem. Girlfriend trumps jacket?"

"Right, right," The boy turned back to me with a smile and a kiss. "Girlfriend trumps jacket. Jacket is easier to replace."

This time I drew back. "I'm sorry, what was that again? Easier to replace?!"

The boy immediately realized his mistake. "Well... I just mean that you're one of a kind, baby."

"Nice try." (But I won't lie. I was won over.)

The boy sighed. "This is going to be a blog post, isn't it?"

"You betcha."

"Fine. Just be sure to tell them that I said you're one of a kind."

"Sure I will. AFTER you said I was replaceable."

"But you're more difficult to replace than a very expensive North Face jacket!" The boy pointed out helpfully.

"Man. This just keeps getting better and better..."

Can't....Stop....Laughing...

I apologize in advance if you have a fear of clowns. Or are easily offended. Or have no sense of humor. This won't appeal to you. My sense of humor must not be as refined, because I literally can't stop laughing at this commercial.

Unfortunately, it's an ad for a store I hate. But I literally laugh every time I think about it. The first time I saw it, it literally almost made me pee my pants. Lucky for z, since I was sitting on his drum stool at the time, I was able to control myself.



Still not shopping there. Nope. But I'll sure use this to lift my spirits next time I'm down. Thanks Wal-Mart!!

For Shame! (a roundabout book review)

I can't handle suspense.

Is this a character flaw? I'm not sure. I just know that I get all stressed and freaked out with suspense and omigod if you've ever watched a movie with me that I have NOT previously seen but you HAVE previously seen? I apologize in advance. In fact, some friends have banned this practice because of my incessant questions. "Does he die?" "What happens next?" "Does she die?" Here's a tip - just answer my questions and I'll shut the hell up.

Although usually? I'll ask the questions even if you haven't seen it either. The boy has resignedly chalked this up to a "cute quirk." The latter usually said between clenched teeth.

When I read a suspenseful book? I read the last page of the book when the suspense gets to be too much to bear. Seriously. Not the entire last chapter, but the last page. I wish I could say it's because I have a dark side like Harry, but really I just want to know if the main character dies.

And while most people judge me for this (You're ruining the story!) in fact, it does not ruin the story for me. It relaxes me so that I can read the story in peace and focus on the details leading up to the ending.

Because, as I recently realized, when I read a suspenseful novel and I get to a suspenseful part, I tend to skim until I get to the resolution. And while most times I'll go back to re-read in detail what I skimmed, sometimes there's something else suspenseful that I just found out about and then....well.... then the book is over too quickly. And I do like to savor my books. Even the suspenseful ones.

With all this stress, one would wonder why Stephen King is my favorite author.

But all of that leads to an explanation for why I got up out of my warm bed last night in the wee hours of morning. I was listening to 'Under the Dome' and since the option of skipping ahead in the book is removed when listening to an audiobook, I was literally to the point where I was going to:
A) Call my cousin and beg her to give me her best friend's (who had already finished the book) phone number so that I could get all my answers
B) drive to the closest store to purchase the hard copy so that I could read the answers for myself or
C) be reduced to begging my dog for answers

Did I mention this happened at one o'clock in the morning?

I was so tired. And I knew that the responsible thing would be to go to sleep, but omigod, is Rusty going to die?! So I got out of my nice warm bed and into my 50 degree house to pull out my laptop and google the book. Casey, who remained under the nice warm covers, thought I was insane. Laney thought I was insane. Heck, I thought I was insane. And yet, there I was. Berating myself while I typed the words into the google toolbar.

For shame. I know. I felt like I was doing something dirty and sneaky. So much so that I left the lights off in my house while I was googling. But what was I going to do?! I had no choice! Seriously! (I knew there was no way my cousin was going to give up D's number once she knew what I wanted it for. And if she did? I had already warned D to stay strong and not give into my begging. I didn't really mean it, D. Always answer my questions. It's for my sanity. Consider it a charitable donation.)

Luckily Wikipedia came through with enough answers so that I could sleep and not enough to ruin the rest of the story arc. And so I was able to sleep. Blessed blessed sleep.

I know. I feel so ashamed. I feel like I should write a letter of apology to Mr. King. But does it count as redemption if I've badgered at least three other people into reading this book just so I have someone (anyone!) to discuss it with? I can't go through this alone anymore.

And so, it was with a heavy heart that this morning I turned off my desktop. And am giving my laptop to the boy. (He's thrilled! All Peggle all the time! Woo Hoo!!!) At least until I'm through this book. Because I obviously can't be trusted. And the desktop is a dinosaur that takes 20 minutes to start up. Twenty minutes in which I will hopefully regain my sanity and step away from the internet.

But seriously. You should SO read this book. Right now. And tell me what happens to Chester's Mill. Because if this is another Needful Things? I need to know now in order to prepare myself.

Random Stuff

-I think I'm going to love my biochem class this semester.

-I missed work because of illness on Friday. Then I did nothing on Saturday and felt better. Then, when I felt worse on Sunday, the boy suggested that I do nothing again. I literally could not sit still for another 24 hours. Of course, I've felt progressively worse since. Apparently the boy was correct. Just don't tell him.

-In a related note, the little muscle underneath my left eye has been involuntarily twitching for about three days now. You know the one? I'm sure everyone has been through this. You can't do a thing about it. I'm sure it's tied to being sick somehow. I looked in the mirror today and felt sort of sorry for that poor little muscle. Think about how tired it must be! And then I have to stop and wonder if it's burning calories while it's twitching away. 'Cause that would be okay.

-I didn't go to a large public school for my undergrad, and for the first time ever, I was grateful for that fact yesterday. Because if I had to deal with the parking situation I had to deal with yesterday for the entirety of my four years of undergrad study? I would be certifiably insane. In-sane.

-I love my dog. She's awesome.

-I am succeeding in my drinking water goals....just not in my avoiding other forms of liquid part. I'll still drink my eight glasses of water, but I would be lying if I didn't say that more often than not there's also a glass of Coke somewhere during the day. Ugh.

-If I could quit my job, I would. Today. With no notice.

-I paid all my bills the other day, and still had money left over. I was ecstatic until I realized that I hadn't yet paid tuition for the month. Back to reality.

-I messed up and scheduled myself in an organic chem lab where I know no one. Luckily, after I introduced myself as a returning student with a degree taking pre-vet courses (during group intros,) I was approached by another returning student to be their lab partner. Apparently no one over the age of 25 wants to be paired with someone under 21 when a grade is involved. I thought it was just me.

-I hurt for about three days after shoveling my walkway, the sidewalk in front of my house, and my neighbor's walkway free of snow. About halfway through, I knew I would hurt afterwards, but thought that the sense of accomplishment would be worth it. It wasn't.

-I took my dog to play fetch in the snow with two brightly colored tennis balls. I came home with no tennis balls. Apparently I have a dog with a defective nose.

-My cousin gave me Peggle as a gift. Or, more appropriately, she gave the boy Peggle as a gift. Because she's awesome. (Don't know what Peggle is? Go here. You're welcome in advance for the massive amounts of time you will now lose to this game.) Last night I left for my lab at 7:00pm after having dinner with the boy. He said he was going to leave after "a couple more games." When I got home at 8:40pm, he hadn't moved....but he had beaten three more grand master challenges! He ended up going home at 10:15pm. And it wasn't because of me. I could have gotten naked and done a little dance and it still wouldn't have made him put down my laptop.

-I made waffles on Sunday for myself and some friends. And they rocked. I want to make them again, but my recipe makes five and I can only eat one. Anyone want to come over for waffles?

-I have discovered audiobooks and love them. I'm currently in the middle of Stephen King's 'Under the Dome.' But what I've found is that the audiobook stresses me out more than actually reading the book. Apparently (since I can't handle suspense) I tend to skim through the stressful parts of a book when I'm reading to get to the resolution more quickly. With audiobooks this is not possible. My stomach is in knots constantly with this book. I'm not sure it's good for my blood pressure.

-My organic lab this semester meets from 7:30pm to 10:20pm twice a week. But it's only a 2 credit hour course. Can someone explain that to me?

-I turn 2^5 this weekend. I would normally have trumpeted this news long before now, but I feel more mellow about this upcoming anniversary of my birth. Could it be I'm mellowing in my old age?

-The boy, who has been reminded repeatedly of what is coming up this weekend does not think I'm mellowing at all.

Who I Am

This has got to be the most unprepared that I've ever been for a semester of school since I re-started. I mean, I was heading to campus at 5:15pm for a class at 6:00pm and suddenly realized that I had not purchased an updated parking permit.

Needless to say, I was a bit late getting to class.

Once in class, I was pleasantly surprised by the charisma and outlook of my professor for Organic Chemistry II. If I manage to pull an A in this class, as opposed to the C+ last semester, we'll all know it's completely based on the teacher. (Of course, if I pull another C+ then we'll just forget we ever had this conversation...)

One of the first things my professor handed out was a list of questions and a request that we write a paragraph or two about ourselves. He wants to get to know us. I was thrilled! And completely uncomprehending when I heard the scattered groans from other students around the room.

Let me backtrack a little. Last summer when I started getting together materials for my application to vet school (before I delayed it by a year) I realized that I needed academic letters of recommendation. I knew I would need letters of recommendation from someone I work with (check!) a veterinarian (check!) but I did not realize I would need one from an academic source as well. Bummer. One of the reasons why I chose the smaller school where I completed my undergrad studies was the smaller class size. I knew all of my professors. Of course that was....ahem....over ten years ago. As my mother delicately put it, "You're not even sure if any of them are still alive." This time around, the class sizes are much larger, my schedule doesn't generally allow for me to visit professors during office hours, and I'm pretty self sufficient with any questions I might have anyway (read: I send emails.) So relationships with my professors are scarce. No matter, I just had to make friends with a professor, right?

Here's where the roadblock popped up. Um, I can't. I get ridiculously anxious and freaked out when I have to speak to a professor and either come across as a bumbling idiot, or a complete flake who has to cut the conversation short lest she burst into tears from the stress. Yes, it really is that bad. No melodrama. Ask z who has had to talk me down off of ledges after several such disasters. On second thought, don't. It's incredibly embarrassing.

For the longest time, I couldn't figure out what the problem was. I mean, I'm personable. I'm friendly. People tend to like me. Being a pretty strong extrovert, I have an overflow of personality on most occasions. I can make friends (or at least conversation) with almost anyone. If I like you, I can have a pretty endearing charisma. (If I don't, well, it's...different.) But after thinking about it for a while, I came to two determinations. 1) It's really difficult for me to ask for something (especially something I can't do on my own.) 2) It's really REALLY difficult for me to ask for something that means a lot to me. Therein lies the problem. Becoming a vet means a lot to me.

There's my soul bared for everyone to see.

Still, I'm stubborn persistent. Even though I had a mild massive heart attack every time I did it, I continued to visit my physics professor (by far my favorite professor I've had) over and over until at one point I got enough of my personality through to make him laugh. (During the first visits, I'm pretty sure he thought I was mildly mentally handicapped. But I made a strong finish at the end when I made a quantum physics joke. Sweet.) So all I had to do was ask for the letter.

Yeah, the semester is over and I still haven't asked. Sigh.

So when my ochem II professor asked us to write about ourselves? For a narcissistic blogger like myself? A way to make myself stand out without having to leave my comfort zone?! DONE! Are you sure you want only two paragraphs? Because I can write pages if you want! Pages that will make you laugh, cry, and want to give me an A immediately. After all, answering questions like:

Are you from Indiana?
What are you studying?
What has been your experience with chemistry classes at IUPUI so far?
What are your goals once you complete your degree?

Easy peasy! So why the groans? Especially since the professor seemed pretty easygoing. He said two paragraphs, but he also said that we could just answer the questions with one word if we wanted to (as if!) Or write more if we felt like it. I was so confused. Until I looked over at my neighbor and saw that he was already working on the assignment. Next to the first question, in tiny precise lettering, he had written "yes." And next to the second question, in the same perfect letters, he had written "pre-med."

And it was then that I realized that this personality thing? It might be a rarer commodity than I originally thought. And maybe, just maybe, it will be my saving grace in this quest. At the very least, maybe it will get me the coveted letter of recommendation? Let's all cross our fingers.

My (diabolical) Plan

I awoke on Sunday morning with aspirations of making breakfast for the boy. Just because. To be nice. 'Cause that's how I roll. Apparently I had forgotten that I don't cook.

I left the boy sleeping peacefully and got into the shower to wake myself up. Once showered and dry I checked back into the bedroom to see the boy still sleeping with Casey curled up next to him. Sweet! My plan was proceeding perfectly.

I went to the kitchen and thought about how to proceed. Normally when we cook together, the boy handles the potatoes and I handle the bacon and eggs. (The eggs are just for me as the boy does not partake.) Since I wasn't feeling particularly hungry, and since I wasn't foolish enough to think I could handle cooking three different things at once, I decided to forgo the eggs. Then, in thinking back to the cooking-together times, I remembered that I am almost always done with the bacon before the boy is done with the potatoes... so I deduced that I should start the potatoes first. Pleased with my logical thinking, I extracted the potatoes from the freezer only to find that they had frozen into one big iceberg of potato in a bag.

No problem. I had faced this issue previously and just went ahead with what one should always do in this situation....which is pound the iceberg of potato on the counter top until it breaks into pieces of potato suitable for frying.

It wasn't until Casey entered the kitchen to see what all the racket was about that I realized that perhaps pounding things on counter tops was not conducive to making someone a surprise breakfast.

I peeked into the bedroom and saw that the boy had rolled over. I couldn't see his face, but he still appeared to be snoozing soundly, so I counted my lucky stars and tiptoed back into the kitchen.

Since I was not as familiar with the cooking of the potatoes, I checked the instructions on the side of the bag to be certain that I didn't screw anything up. The instructions stated that once the oil was heated, the potatoes should be cooked between 4-7 minutes on one side, before flipping the potatoes and cooking another 4-7 minutes on the other side. I split the difference and decided on 5 and a half minutes on each side.

Once the potatoes were safely started and the timer set, I began on the bacon. I figured I had about 10 minutes for six pieces of thick sliced bacon, so I felt pretty confident. Still, I turned the heat up a little higher than usual to ensure that I could cook three strips at a time and still be done within the allotted timeframe.

A little past the halfway point when things were proceeding smoothly, I checked in on the boy (hadn't moved) and decided to check my email. On my way to the living room, I realized that the air was a little hazy and had just enough time to think, "Gee, it's a wonder the smoke alarm hasn't gone off," before the smoke alarm began it's jarring beep.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!!!

Casey cowered next to my leg while I froze for a moment before dashing down to the basement to get the step ladder necessary for me to reach the beeping alarm.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!!!

I had no sooner grabbed the step ladder than the smoke alarm stopped. I sheepishly climbed the stairs and was greeted with the sight of the boy standing in the hallway between the kitchen and the bedroom with a thunderous look on his face.

"Morning Honey! I made you breakfast!" I said brightly.

There was incoherent mumbling from the messy haired figure in the hallway. He did not look pleased. It was at this precise moment that the timer beeped signaling that the potatoes were done.

"Here, sit down on the couch and I'll bring you breakfast. Do you want juice?"

The boy shuffled past and tossed the now quiet smoke alarm on the microwave as he passed. I took that to mean that he did, in fact, want juice.

I went to turn the heat off of the potatoes and noticed a familiar smell. The smell of....burning?

I snatched the cover off the skillet to see that the second side of the potatoes were now colored a very dark brown that some might describe as black. Drats. What to do now? In a flash of brilliance, I got some shredded cheese from the fridge and smothered the potatoes. I didn't have enough of any one cheese to do the trick, so what covered the potatoes was an interesting mix of mozzarella, co-jack, and cheddar. I turned off the heat and re-covered the potatoes to let the cheese melt while I poured the juice.

It was at this point that I rescued the bacon that had triggered the smoke alarm. Thankfully, it looked fine.

When I took the boy his breakfast (uncovered with a flourish) I said, "I'm so sorry for the rude awakening. I know that the smoke alarm isn't um, a fun way to wake up. But maybe this breakfast will make up for it? It comes from the heart!" I was hopeful that I would be forgiven. After all, breakfast > rude awakening by smoke alarm, right?

The boy's response was, "Next time you're cooking as a surprise, I suggest breaking the potatoes apart on the front porch." (busted!) And then, "Are the potatoes black?!"

"Only on one side! And I'm not sure why. The bag said 4-7 minutes on each side, and that's what I did."

It was at this point that what was left of the boy's bad mood gave way completely and he said in a bemused tone, "Sweetie, that's only a guideline. You still have to watch them."

"How am I supposed to know that? You always do the potatoes!!" I said a silent prayer of thanks that he doesn't expect much from me in the way of cooking and watched as he ate his "surprise" breakfast. "So? How did I do? I mean, forgetting the pounding and the smoke alarm. Er...on a grading scale? B-? C+??"

Chewing thoughtfully the boy asked for the salt and then said, "I think this is more of a pass/fail. You passed."

"Um, what if we add in the pounding and smoke alarm?"

"Let's not press our luck, shall we?"

It was all eaten and I'm pretty sure I'm forgiven. The next "surprise" breakfast will be waffles which are much quieter. Of course, I'll be sure to take the smoke alarm down first. Just in case.

Gearing up for the year

I know, I know. I was chastised by JennyG for letting too much time pass between blogs and here I am doing it again. It's not that I haven't had time, I'm just enjoying my between-semester-break too much to actually do anything productive.

Is blogging productive?

What I've learned from this is that I function much better with a schedule. Though mine is admittedly hectic and exhausting, at least things get done. When I have a lot of time on my hands, it's too easy to say, "I'll just do [insert detested chore here] later" instead of having a two hour window when the chore must be done lest I not have time again for a week. Still, I'm not gonna lie... there is some appeal to starting on the dishes, doing about half, and then having the time to finish them up later in the evening or even the next day. (But since I haven't yet tackled the whole 'sweeping of the floor' thing, I still think that Emily-on-a-schedule is the better option.)

This new year's eve passed with less pomp and circumstance than previous years, but it was still a fun time. Looking ahead to everything that's going to happen this year is a bit daunting what with applying to vet school, but when 2011 rolls around I'll know more about my future, for better (Philadelphia) or for worse (Lafayette.)*

Also, since I'm so stupidly stubborn (and apparently I like alliteration) I don't usually like to commit to something unless I'm 100% certain that I will follow through. I have this inability to say "can't" and as such have learned to think long and hard about what I commit myself to. So I don't generally like New Year's Resolutions. A whole year? To do something I'm not already doing? Tell me THAT'S not setting myself up for failure/misery.

So I didn't make any resolutions, per se. I just decided to take action on some areas in my life that I noticed needed some help.

Like getting up in the mornings.

Luckily, the weather cooperated with that. Internets, I have found my threshold for getting up earlier in the mornings, and that threshold is somewhere in the neighborhood of 17 degrees Fahrenheit. Brrrrrr. I can't imagine leaving the house with wet hair in this cold so I have to put some effort into my appearance (i.e. blow dry my hair) as well as get up earlier to do it. I haven't been late to work yet this year....until the snowpocalypse this morning. (On a related note, cuz, if your vehicle currently doesn't have 4WD, or at the least good front wheel drive, I would look into doing something about that before your upcoming move. People are dumb in the snow.)

Another area that needs help? Drinking more water.

I know that I don't drink enough water. And I know that the body could actually use a whole lot more water than most people give it. And this is an easy fix to a lot of problems....so drinking more water it is. I'm not trying to change everything at once, but I am trying to only have one non-water drink every other day while drinking as much water as I can daily. So far so good, and I expect this to hold up until....oh.....finals week. When Coca-Cola is the only thing that gets me through and all bets are off.

So no resolutions, but some minor changes that I'm trying out to see if they stick.

What about you guys? New resolutions/changes? Does 2010 hold anything fun in store for you?

*I'm not even THINKING about the worst worse. I'll cross that bridge (weeping) if I have to.