I Wa-wa-wa-wa wonder Friday

Bluetooth Annoyance Very Funny - Awesome video clips here

How do you pluralize bluetooth? Are they blueteeth? I have two bluetooths or I have two blueteeth? Wow. I need to get back to work.

Ode to Perkins

I am a fan of breakfast, a huge fan at that. If I could, I would eat breakfast for every meal, which I am sure my husband would not appreciate.

We love to go out for breakfast on the weekends. We usually find out-of-the-way gems of diners to check out. Sometimes though, if we are too hungry or hung-over we end up just going to the Perkins that is a few blocks away.

This is always an experience.

Mushroom and Cheese omelet, hash browns, wheat toast and iced tea. After a late night, we ventured out for an enormous breakfast. We were seated next to the most hilarious group of older people. There were probably twelve of them and every other word was “yeah” or “wow.” Seriously, it sounded like a recording because of the dishes clanking with intermittent “yeahs” and “wows” at different intervals. A symphony of yeah-yeah-wow-clank-yeah-clank-wow. I have never laughed so hard in my life.

Two eggs over easy, wheat toast, fruit, and orange juice. We were seated across the room from an older couple. The restaurant was packed and we were just finishing our delicious breakfast. All of a sudden, the old man across the room decides to pick out a new ring tone on his cell phone. Therefore, he goes down the list of every single blaring ring and serenades us. This went on for many minutes and was sidesplitting. Everyone in the room seemed to mind except for the old man, his wife, and Bobaloo (because he was laughing so hard).

Eggs Benedict with pancakes and iced tea. Now, when you eat out for breakfast it is pretty much agreed upon that you order an obnoxiously large plate of food; a feast. We sat behind a couple on their first date. What does the guy order? Cereal and fruit. Cereal? Cereal. That is all I need to know about a man before it is the last date.

The Veggie egg scramble, a muffin, and sprite. I am willing to surmise that Bobaloo offer our brand of comedy to other patrons, especially on nights like these. You know them. We closed down the bar and were starving so we made a very rational decision, Perkins! We stumble in and sit between philosophical college students, stoner high school kids, and other rambunctious bar-closers. The next morning it is always agreed that for once, maybe breakfast was not the greatest idea.

Make New Friends

Friends are a peculiar thing. I have known most of my friends longer than I have not. When moving to Colorado, I was terrified that my bashfulness would not allow me to make many new friends.

In Minnesota, my friends were the most devoted and dependable companions and we watched each other grow into varying degrees of adulthood. My old friends have telepathy, a sixth sense where they know that I am thinking of them. For example, yesterday I wrote about my best friend growing up and later in the evening she texted me. I have not spoken with her in months. In the morning, I merely thought about a very good friend and she called because she saw a commercial about Colorado.

My best friend is the greatest. We usually email or Facebook back and forth. She sends me stuff when I most need it. She somehow knows when I am having a bad day and a goofy email card will magically pop up in my inbox.

I have often felt bad since moving here because I am awful at keeping in touch. I send Christmas cards and that is about it. I hate talking on the phone. I also feel guilty when I am meeting new friends out here, as if I am slowly replacing the old ones.

I remember a song from Brownies:

Make new friends, But keep the old, One is silver and The other’s gold

My friends that I left behind are truly gold. I miss them terribly on days that I am down in the dumps and especially on days of great cheerfulness. I miss the little nuances and inside jokes of their lives and they miss mine.

Since moving to Colorado, I have met amazing friends. I do not even know how it happened. They just kind of trickled into my life. Although I have not known them long, they are here physically and provide much warmth in times of loneliness. That is what makes them gold.

Pie-Day Friday

So, apparently last Friday was National Pie Day. I am a little miffed about this because nobody even sent a card. Therefore, I missed what could be my favorite holiday. So, I have declared February 13th Pie-Day Friday at work. A do-over. I wish I could declare do-overs so easily in other aspects of my life! Anyway, show your pie pride and eat pie on February 13th. Mmmm...pie. P.S. Did you know there was a National Pie Council?

Snow Day

All of the snow reminds me of where I am from. I try to be stoic, but the truth is sometimes I miss where I grew up. I am not even sure if I should call it home. After all, home is where the heart is and my heart is here. A little piece of it might be there. I think it would feel like betrayal to call it home after three years. Therefore, I will go with calling it the place where I come from.

The place where I come from is cold eight months out of the year. I remember snow like today. I used to get up early and leave my house at 5:30 in the morning to get to work. One day, the morning was dark and luminous at the same time because of the perfect downy snowflakes. I was inside of a snow globe. That is the perfect snow.

I saw the northern lights where I come from when I was 10 years old. I was in my gray snowsuit laying in the snowy front yard with the older kids. It was midnight; I was eating snow and watching a glowing performance of lights that I thought was just for me. Back then, I did not realize that would be the only time in my childhood I would see such a thing. I can recall the taste of the sopping snow and feeling minute.

There were neighbor girls where I come from. We sledded and ice-skated every day after school. We built snowmen, forts, and had snowball fights. When we were finished playing we would put our dripping knit mittens on the radiator vents to dry and make hot cocoa with milk.

I remember 1991 where I come from. My brother was born a month before the blizzard. I was a princess on Halloween and it snowed. Is snowed and snowed and snowed. Dad let us jump off the roof that year into the humongous snow banks.

Christmas where I come from involve ice fishing. My uncle's coveralls always smelled like outside when I hugged him and my aunt's flannel shirt scratched against my cheek when it was time to say goodbye. My first fish was a Northern.

I miss it all today, including the snow. I miss where I come from.

A Boost Of Positivity

Although I have been out of blog-worthy material as of late, I have all sorts of plans for the weekend up my sleeve. Tonight on the menu is Kickin' Joe's formerly Jammin' Joe's to meet up with old and new friends. I have old friends in Colorado, can you believe it? It's amazing how many awesome people I have met here in the last three years. I am going there to see my friend Dave, who is kind of an outlaw hippie dude. He is awesome and it has been too dang long since I have seen him. With me, hopefully I'll be bringing my other Steve Goodman loving friend, Sam.

Tomorrow is Rachael's birthday fun on Market Street where we are going pup crawling. I think I will do my first Adventure of Yet-To-Be-Named Creamer Cow then.

Happy happy hour my kickin' chickens! Please vote for my creamer cow's name on the right. Here is a picture for inspiration:

Grumblings and Ramblings

I am feeling a bit tired and salty as of late. So in that vein, here's a list of the top 8 irritations in my life:

1. The guys who work at Valvoline (no, I don't want a stupid air filter).
2. Waitresses in a hurry and make me order something I don't want to eat.
3. People who say "thanks much" or write "thanx" instead of "thanks." It's one extra letter!
4. People who call only to put me on hold.
5. Slow baristas.
6. $180 Textbooks.
7. The Gap.
8. Blank pages.
9. Writing when there's nothing to write about.
10. Writer's block because I haven't been anywhere or done anything lately.

I am kind of dissapointed in my posts lately. They have been barely mediocre. I started up another semester at school and am taking many writing classes so I am hopeful that from now on my posts will be both thrilling and thoughtful! My first creative writing assignment was to write a short story in exactly one hundred words. I encourage you to give it a whirl; it is kind of fun. Here it is:

The man could not believe that after thirty-five years it was over. However, by the gray in her face and the snarl in her hair he could tell it was true this time. The cold way she told him to get out left him exasperated, yet relieved.

He ambled down to Market Street and made a decision. The man pulled of his sullied fedora, reached into his pocket, and pulled out creased dollars. The money passed to a man selling yellow roses.

The man walked back up the street to her knotted wooden door and knocked. She was already gone.

**Now that I read the story again, it is kind of a downer. I need happier posts, I think

***For a happier post on inauguration party hilarity check out this by The Bloggess.

Stranger in the World

Normal has always been an indefinite concept. Through time, it has gotten even more perplexing. For example, I know that my life used to be normal and now it is not. Still, if it is not normal, what is it what is the word?

Worse yet, his life used to be normal. Now it is not. I do not know the word for that either. Nevertheless, I know it is my fault.

After meditating on this strange world, for a moment I realized that perhaps “strange” is the word I am looking for.

What a long way from then to now, from there to here. Do I want to go back? Can I get back? Perhaps before, my life was normal and now it is strange. Our lives are strange.

A Slightly Strange World

I have a piece of paper pinned up at my desk. It says, “The world can be amazing when you’re slightly strange.”

I am not sure I agree with that. Maybe the word “slightly” is too relative. What is slightly strange as opposed to, mostly strange?

Also, does the phrase work backwards? Can the world be strange when you are slightly amazing?

What do you think?

From The Bar To The Grave

Glenwood Springs is by all accounts a stunning city tucked away in the mountains. A gigantic golden canyon welcomes visitors. Rest stops are plentiful along the snaking paved road so one can peek at the beautiful scenery at their leisure. After entering into the town of Glenwood Springs it easy to be taken aback by the quaint and modest main street. Tourists and townies mill about in no hurry. The downtown is dotted with restaurants, specialty shops, and a few bars. Most notably, Doc Holliday’s. Doc Holliday’s is easily visible as it sits next to the crossing bridge to get to the hot sulfur springs.

Upon entering the bar, you can see it is pocket-sized, yet immaculate. The bar, stools, and low tables are all made of a dark and rich wood that adds to the vibe. Doc’s is a cozy joint that caters to a motley crowd. The drinks are made stiff and the bartenders are both pleasant and warmhearted. After a few cordial drinks, it is not out of the ordinary to have the locals strike up curious conversation. At this point, it is highly suggested to inquire about the celebrated Doc Holliday.

There are varying different versions, but one will soon learn that the Doc is buried in the Linwood Cemetery on the way out of town. There are just enough signs for the gravesite that it piques one’s curiosity. So, bring some hiking shoes, as the cemetery is a quarter of a mile up a hill. This is not a bad idea if you quit drinking the night before. However, the more you drink at Doc Holliday’s the more friends you make and the later you stay out. This makes the next day’s hike excruciating. A daring and dehydrated walk up the hill becomes a bitter disappointment when coming across a sign that informs tourists that there is a good chance that good old Doc is not buried there.

What the hell? Why did I just walk up this hill then?

Good For The Soul

I have a case of itchy feet. They are anxious and eager to set sail on a new expedition. The time has come for a move of some sort. Perhaps a move to a different apartment, state, or country. There isn’t a whole lot of difference between the three. This is not quite the right time though. I think that I like the ocean although I’ve never been in past my knees. Fear of the unknown. Sometimes the best cure for loneliness is to desert your life. Then solitude doesn’t seem like an affliction, but an adventure. But change is good for the soul, right?

Happy Happy Hour

Friday is the most spectacular day ever. It is my favorite day of the week. I like that I have to work to earn my happy hour in the evening. Once at happy hour, I like that I have two whole days to do everything or nothing.

When I wake up on Fridays, I am almost euphoric. There is a whole weekend of possibilities ahead. Have you ever noticed that at work everyone has a completely different attitude on Fridays? Maybe it is the casual dress. Maybe it is that everyone is keyed up for what lies ahead.

My dad instilled the love of Fridays in me. When I was little he would wake me up on Friday mornings and exclaim, “Good morning Jillie, it’s our favorite day!” This continued well into high school and I remember this phrase fondly as one of my much-loved memories while growing up.

Our relationship has evolved. He does not call me in the morning to tell me it is our favorite day; however, we started a new tradition. 928 miles separate our doorsteps and with our conflicting schedules, it is difficult to arrange regular phone calls during the week. You can count on very little things these days. I can count on my dad being at his bar for Friday happy hour and he can count on me being at my bar during happy hour. I always know that if I call between the hours of four and seven my dad will pick up the phone and be in great company and great spirits.

The “happy, happy hour” phone calls are what we call them. One of us calls up the other and exclaims, “happy happy hour!” It is a quick phone call, not a lot of catching up is done. Nevertheless, it is nice to know you are being thought about. My dad always says to have a drink for him and he will give me a “Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!” while looking to the West.

Traditions are good. Family is good. Friday is a combination of the two and is great.

Have a Happy Friday everyone and have one for me!

What Was The Best Thing Before Sliced Bread?

Today was an exciting day. In fact I feel like I have been waiting for this day my entire life. There are mornings when you wake up and know something great is going to happen to you and then there are the days of spontaneous greatness. Today’s random display of awesomeness came as a surprise. Of what mind-blowing wonder am I talking about? Chedd’s. Yep that’s right. Chedd’s.

Chedd’s is a miracle. A whole restaurant devoted to the oft overlooked delicacy known asThe Grilled Cheese.Upon entering this superior establishment you will notice that it is quite cozy. The tables are as orange as cheddar and the wall behind the counter is covered with Wisconsin license plates (you get a free sandwich if you bring one in). The lunch rush was over but there was still some hustle and bustle. Astonishingly, a table opened up.There were about four sandwiches I was choosing between when I opted for A French Kiss (the name of the sandwich).

This glorious delight included garlic and herb jack, gorgonzola, onion, sun dried tomato spread, and pizza sauce on focaccia bread. It was scrumptious.A hearty sandwich; but one that you could finish in one sitting. A little bit greasy, but other than that, the sandwich was pretty remarkable. The cheese to onion to pizza sauce ratio was stupendous.Chedd’s has made my day. With menu items such as The Buff Hamster, A Man From Iowa, Hot Gobbler, and The Oinky, what’s not to love? Giant cheese-hats off to Chedd's.

http://www.chedds.com/

Whoa, that last post was serious. This one isn't.

Cheers to the best of Pier One Imports (straw not included).

Shades of Okay

For the first time since August, I feel sober when I am sober. Steadiness and control have never come naturally to me. For many years, I accepted the fact that I would have to work harder at gladness and ease than other people. Under stress, my psychosis ran away from me and my brain was very unkind. Varying degrees of melancholy and excessive happiness took hold and had absolute jurisdiction over my every thought and every movement.

For a long time people have found me strange and unnerving. I suppose, not comfortable in my own skin would be the best way to put it. At least that is how I felt I was perceived, I have long ago accepted my social clumsiness. This has been thwarting, painful, and most of all lonely. I thank my lucky stars I have such lovely friends who have seen me through my thorny years.

Social anxiety and mania make life extremely hard to live. It is terrifying to find life unlivable and forget who you are and where your spirit is. Fortitude was lost on my youth. Was I crazy? Was I having a quarter-life crisis? Was it hereditary? Was it all in my head? So much uncertainty and no reprieve.

It is strange what a capsule of medication can do. Or cannot do, for that matter. Side effects are sinister. The commercials on TV do not help. Moreover, the commercials gave me enough of a reason to put off getting help.

Never take for granted the ability to think clear and concise thoughts. The ability to feel effortless enjoyment, the gift of getting through the day without a fight. That was then, this is now. Minutes, hours, and days are infinitely easier. I never knew that living and breathing could be so unforced and natural. I like it. What a change from wanting to pack it all in and give up. I want to forget the hardships, but also recognize the importance in remembering them. Such are the vicissitudes of life. I will leave them here for now.

On Breakfast

Sunday mornings are a source of weekly enjoyment in my life. While the masses are busy shaking off their hangover in order to get to church on time for repentance, my husband and I have breakfast. Sundays of yesteryear were merely the day before imminent Monday imposes its gloom upon the nine-to-fivers of the world. Until I met him, a modern day Saint of Sundays who replaced the doom and gloom of yore with delicious divinity manifested as pancake stacks, French toast, and my favorite, the breakfast skillet.

In times like these it is very important to be thankful for the good things in our lives, and I for one, am thankful to be married to a man who is a breakfast skillet connoisseur. Who, for the sake of anonymity shall be referred to as one of the following: The Bacon Authority, The Sausage Link Specialist, The Eggspert (saw that one coming), The Brunch Buff, or most preferably, the Breakfast Ninja.

The most favorable time to start breakfast on a Sunday is around eight thirty. This hour allows for a little sleeping-in yet it does not feel like you have wasted the entire morning. This is preferable timing in our dwelling because the actual eating of breakfast can then coincide with the end of The Sunday Morning Show when Bill Geist is on, allowing for some mellow, yet cheery tunes beforehand. Breakfast is the only routine we have in our lives and it is an endearing occurrence amidst the hustle and bustle of opposing workweek schedules.

Breakfast Ninja usually begins the meal with a lot of banging around in the quaint u-shaped kitchen, a symphony that fills the entire apartment with a reassuring racket. Cabinets are clamoring, uproarious plates are blundering around in the blaring dishwasher, plates clanging against each other, the general stirring around of kitchen items. Taking things out, putting things away, rearranging. I am not sure, but I have to believe there is a process behind all of this commotion. To add to the ruckus, Bacon Authority cooks with his music on and kind of bops around the kitchen while cooking. It is an endearing quality.

Eggspert usually starts the coffee next adding a Drip! Drip! Drip! to signal the beginning of something great. He is quite scrupulous in his preparation with each step carefully mapped out. The cooking begins with potatoes because those take the longest to heat through. While the tiny finger potatoes are sizzling in the skillet, the other vegetables are primed.

A typical breakfast skillet is pretty much a veg fest due to my vegetarian ways. A robust breakfast includes bell peppers, onion, mushrooms, cilantro, and potatoes. Bacon Authority is exceedingly methodical when he is chopping the vegetables. I know that there is a reason for such diligence. Vegetables should be sliced small so that they will cook thoroughly, yet large enough so you are able to pick them up with your fork. Crunchiness is also a factor to consider when contemplating vegetable dimension.

Because I am a vegetarian, breakfast on a Sunday usually consists of an element Sausage Link Specialist and I refer to as Facon. Fake bacon for the layman. This product is made from soy and has similar coloring, taste, and texture as bacon. It is somewhat eerie upon first taste but an excellent substitute nonetheless. The facon is put in another pan and started shortly after the veggies are added to the skillet.

Around this time, the smell is very big in our tiny apartment. I sometimes wonder if the neighbors are as envious of our breakfast aroma as we are when they barbecue outside. I like to think so. Brunch Buff adds the eggs around this time and starts getting the necessary tools (forks, plates, juice, ketchup, etc.) for eating. These next few minutes are the most unbearable because everything smells so good and you do not realize how hungry you actually are.

Last, Breakfast Ninja smothers the skillet with a hearty dumping of Colby Jack cheese. The skillet is skillfully plated up and the appearance is nothing short of stunning. The reds, yellows, greens light up the plate and boast the assortment of flavors and textures. The whole moment is both glorious and exciting.

The taste is magnificent. It is as if your mouth deprived itself during eight hours of sleep and all of your taste buds woke up. I personally enjoy each bite doused in a glutinous layer of ketchup and some green chili on the side. The colors and textures are splendid, you just feel happier and healthier after this breakfast.

Home Sweet Home

It's not everyday you come home to a pencil thin mustache.  Hmmm.....

San Diego, German For "A Whale's Vagina"

Well, I am off to San Diego for a few days to see this awesome little guy:

I also get to visit with my sister-in-law and mom. I am pretty jazzed.

I am bringing along my notebook in case of any blogworthy material. The airport always provides some good old fashioned fodder. I am hoping to bump in to Ron Burgundy. I'll let you know how that goes.

Connie, My Cranky Alter Ego Has A Cream Cow

Bobaloo and I celebrated our three-month anniversary last Sunday. To make merry, we had some leftover gift cards from the wedding to spend. We should not be allowed to leave our house. Ever. Someone could get hurt. Don’t get me wrong I like to shop however, places such as Bed, Bath, and Beyond and Pier One Imports are a little out of our league. For us, this means both dangerous and new territory. Bobaloo signed up for this expedition so there were no excuses or complaining allowed by him.

When we shop together, it is strange. We are almost telepathic which both helps and hinders our shopping experience, either way it is certainly enhanced. We both get annoyed at the same time and at the same things. When we really get going, you can feel our combined blood boiling to Mt. Vesuvius proportions. Moreover, we exchange exasperated looks that scream, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” Usually after a particularly perilous shopping trip, we end up drinking. See: Mall Trip at Christmastime 2007.

We are polite, courteous people. It just seems whenever we are out so is every idiot on the face of the planet. And, I truly mean every idiot. I am sure occasionally we are the aforementioned idiots, although we always move to the side of a store if we need to chat, we do not bump people in the back of the heels with shopping carts, and we do not have spoiled temper-tantrum-having babies with us. We do not just stop and leave our cart in the middle of an aisle. Or stalk people for parking spaces in the parking lot. When we go out, it seems like we are seeing the decline of common courtesy right before our eyes.

We started our super-extreme-fun shopping day at Barnes and Noble, which was pleasant. We had coffee and separated to find our own books in our own interest section. We soon left to walk over to Bed, Bath, and Beyond. We are smokers. Yep, disgusting, drudge of the earth smokers. However, we are also polite smokers. After Barnes and Noble, we moved a ways away from the entrance of the store to light up. It was just us, our cigarettes, and a wall separating two stores. Dumbass daddy decides his kids should play right in front of us. Making me feel immediately guilty, but at the same time, what the hell dude? It is called second-hand. So the cig was short-lived and we made it to BBB.

We made it to Barnes and Noble, Bed, Bath, and Beyond, and Target. The crescendo of the day though, was Pier One.

Top 5 reasons we should not be allowed in Pier One:

1. Did you know “tweens” think Pier One is cool and frequent there? Weird. “Tween” girls that shop at Pier One freak me out. This post about Pier One has me using the word, “tween.” Ugh.
2. There is a lot of glass. A lot of glass. Glass + Bobaloo + Me / Pier One = Catastrophe.
3. I had to convince Bobaloo that we needed new glasses because the chipped free-with-a-bloody ones from college just are not cutting it. In the end, he gave in. He probably gave up because he wanted to leave. Either way, I am taking that win!
4. The woman at the counter was not very nice. Even though I lied about not having an email address, she should not get all persnickety. I doubt I am the first person she has encountered who doesn’t want Pier One harassing them. Not to mention that I had “I am not a regular customer” written all over me.
5. With a $25 gift card you can either buy one cool thing or all sorts of random objects such as eight glasses and a creamer cow.

Top one reason you should shop at pier one:

1. $5.00 Creamer cows. Don’t act like you’re not impressed.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?

I am not sold on the whole New Year’s resolution thing. It seems a little irrelevant to me. Technically, are not our birthdays our New Year? Unless you were born on January 1, it is not really your New Year. Therefore, I have four extra months to think of ways to resolve to be a better person on my birthday. Birthday resolutions. I did make a decision regarding the New Year. What happened in 2008 will stay in 2008. I am letting go. Letting bygones be bygones. I will move forward, work harder, and keep trying to do the best I can. I cannot change the past. In a book by Paulo Coelho he writes, “Remembrance is for the old.” Although I am not old, there are many days when I feel like I am a hundred. It is time for all of that to stop. So, here is to moving and grooving forward. Even through the rough times. No matter how your 2008 went, cheers to a better 2009!