Question:

Is it wrong to get drunk while choosing your wedding readings?

Squeamish about Sequels

Adam and I went to the bookstore yesterday (a dangerous place for a girl like me) so that Adam could pick up a Philip K. Dick book he'd been wanting. I wandered around looking at books with my brain drooling...if a brain can do such a thing.

As I meandered, I noticed the preponderance of Jane Austen "sequels." Darcy Takes a Wife, Darcy's Story, Darcy and Elizabeth...and on and on and on. In retrospect, it appears there were just Pride and Prejudice sequels which is funny, because if I could wish Jane Austen alive and writing sequels to her books, I'd want a sequel to Sense and Sensibility. Margaret is the best character in that book and I always wondered what happened to her when the book ended.

But I digress.

Adam, in a benevolent mood after receiving his paycheck, offered to buy me one of these books. I adamantly refused and he was shocked (shocked!) that I wouldn't want to read one. To him I guess it would be like finally seeing, in print, what happened to the characters after the original books.

To me, it would be like finishing an absolutely perfect meal and then joining my cats in their nightly moth hunt. It would leave a bad taste in my mouth. It would just be....wrong.

I will admit that there is one Austen "sequel" I briefly considered reading...and it is not really a sequel but actually the completed version of Sanditon. Austen was writing this novel at the end of her life and, unfortunately, her death precluded her from finishing it.

When I first read Sanditon, I began it knowing that it would not be finished but, somewhere along the way, I forgot that fact. It ends right when the story starts to pick up. It just...ends. I was left feeling bereft and incredibly frustrated. I just wanted to bring her back from the dead so she could finish the book and it irked that I couldn't.

Before reading that book, it was easy for me to forget that Jane Austen was dead. Once I came to that abrupt end, however, it was like being present at the moment of her death even though she died months after writing that last word.

So when I learned that her niece, Anna (or Caroline? Or Catherine?), actually finished the book after Jane's death, I considered reading it. It was tempting because the niece perhaps knew the direction the story was to take.

But Anna (or Caroline. Or Catherine.) is not Jane and so I did not, and will not, read it. And it still bothers me that I will never know the end to that story.

Once we got home from the bookstore, I read through a book of Jane Austen's letters that I've had for years. It is one of those books that I just thumb through from time to time but never actually read from cover to cover. I found a quote from Jane that I was unfamiliar with until last night but I think it applies to this, and all, blogs.

You'll see it under the title of my blog. I think Jane would approve.

Adventures in Temping

I have been told, at various parties and gatherings, that I should write a book about my many temping adventures. It is true that I have some good temping stories but I don't think I have enough to fill an entire book.

But a blog? Absolutely!

To start with I'll tell of the most bizarre place I ever had the pleasure of working. My "assignment manager" at the temp agency told me it would be a receptionist position at a golf cart part distributor. I couldn't stop the words "golf cart part golf cart part golf cart part" going through my head but, despite the unwanted mantra, I somehow managed to hear the rest of the details.

Many phone lines. Two companies. High call intake.

Not a problem.

I show up for my first day and, instead of putting me straight to work, they put me through a barrage of tests. Personality tests, aptitude tests, IQ tests...you name it and they gave it. It took the entire day and, at the end of the day, they told me that I would be "analyzed" the next day.

With visions of a cubicle palm-reading session dancing in my head, I somewhat reluctantly came back the next morning. But instead of some mystical woman smelling of patchouli I got a balding man with a beer gut, briefcase and charts.

Oh the charts! Charts that outlined everything from my skills to my temperament (both at home and the office) to my hopes and dreams. According to this guy, every nook and cranny of my inner self was right there in front of me on some 30-odd colorful sheets of paper with lines, boxes and pies.

I sat there for about an hour or so while this guy tried to convince me that yes, I am a math genius in spite of the fact that I hate math and need all four appendages and a calculator if I'm expected to do it.

The tests also said that I am a confrontational person and that I don't like to work with others. The highlight of all of this was the Mother of All Charts which laid out my working style and personality. This chart, along with a brief explanation, would be posted outside my cubicle so that people would know what they were getting into before they entered.

It was then that I noticed all the lovely colorful charts adorning cubicle walls.

"But I'm not a math genius. And I'm not confrontational...." I said, realizing that by saying this I was confirming that last bit instead of refuting it.

It turns out it didn't matter what I said...it only mattered what the charts said.

So, in addition to answering the 20+ phone lines they made me calculate the shipping on all of the outgoing invoices. Then I had to add the shipping to the total...without a calculator! They actually told me I could not use one because they thought it would distract me. (I guess my personality chart said I was easily distracted.)

And no one would talk to me because my chart said I didn't like people! It was miserable and, after 3 weeks, I told my temp agency I couldn't do it anymore.

The funny thing was, about 4 months later, that company needed a temp and they requested me. I guess they really wanted an anti-social math genius who, despite that genius, cannot add.

Needless to say, I turned them down.

Open Windows and Broken Toilet Seats

All night last night I could hear a radio. It wasn't loud but the murmur of it was like a backdrop to my night. At first I thought I had forgotten to turn off the little under-the-cabinet radio in our kitchen.

But, when I checked, it was off.

Then I thought it wasn't a radio at all but perhaps a neighbors' television. It wasn't until 1:00am, when most of the neighbors were going to bed, that I realized it was still droning on.

With all the windows open, I could hear all the little details of our neighbors' lives. Dishes being washed and put away after dinner, the nearly newborn baby crying across the street, the socially inept neighbor whistling his cats in for the night.

Not all of it was good. I also heard the semi-naked guy next door burping and farting on his couch.

And, through it all, that damn radio.

While things on the outside of my house were busy, things on the inside were rather quiet. Adam is away for the week at a training workshop thing so it is just me and the cats.

And the broken toilet seat cover.

And the off kilter bed.

And the back door that doesn't want to close.

And the TV antennae that has inextricably moved out of its "I can pick up Channels 2, 5, 6, 8, and 10 Zone" and is now in a "I will only get Channels 2 and 10 Zone." And no matter what I do, I cannot get it to cooperate.

Most of the time, I'm a DIY girl. I can fix a running toilet, hang curtains, paint a wall decently, put together a crappy IKEA desk and change a doorknob. But for some reason, whenever Adam is gone, all the "Adam" jobs suddenly need my attention.

And I can't quite do them.

I'm sure the 16 year old "I don't need a man" version of myself is cringing. And, if Adam were here, I would probably insist that I could handle all of these things by myself, thank you very much...before I let him handle them.

But I like the fact that we've split up our household duties...without actually having a conversation about it.

I feed the cats.

He cleans out their litter boxes.

And I think we can all agree that I got the better part of that one!

Hot hot hot

I am currently spread out on my hardwood floor, eating rapidly warming Rainier cherries (yum), with all my windows open and my one fan pointed in my direction. My cats are next to me in much the same fashion...only, they aren't eating cherries.

It is H-O-T here in Portland.

Mind you, it isn't as hot as it was growing up in Little Rock. It isn't even humid and there is a breeze blowing every once in a while.

But it is still hot.

And we have no air conditioning and not even the hope of a quick afternoon storm.

The lack of AC in most residences, and a startling number of businesses, seemed quaint to this southern girl upon arrival in Portland 2 years ago.

I vaguely remember grabbing Adam's hand and saying, "Isn't it cool? They don't have AC because they don't need AC! I love it!"

But it isn't cool. It is hot.

And what once seemed quaint now just seems crazy.

Dream Recipe

Bell Pepper Stuffed with Mushroom-Vegetable Risotto
Serves 4


2 small or 1 large onion, diced
10 to 12 mushrooms, chopped (I used Shiitake)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup arborio rice
2 cups water, vegetable broth or mushroom broth*
2 cups broccoli, chopped
2 bell peppers
1 bunch fresh asparagus
2 Tbsp butter, margarine, what-have-you**
1 Tbsp olive oil
Smidge of Marsala and Pick-a-Peppa***
Salt and Pepper to taste

1. Preheat oven to 425

2. Dice onions, chop mushrooms, mince garlic and chop broccoli

3. Heat up deep skillet, add olive oil and saute onions and garlic until soft and slightly brown

4. Add mushrooms and cook for another 2 minutes or so, until mushrooms have cooked down

5. Add a smidge of Marsala and Pick-a-Peppa and cook for another minute or so

6. Meanwhile, cut the tops of the bell peppers off and scoop out the insides. Chop the tops up and add to the onion-mushroom mix

7. Add the broccoli and cook for another 2 minutes

8. Next add the cup of arborio rice and 2 Tbsp butter/margarine and stir well.

9. Pour in the water/broth in 1/2 cup increments. (ie-Pour in a 1/2 cup, stir frequently and when the water has been mostly absorbed add another 1/2 cup....)

10. After 25-30 minutes, all of the water/broth should be added and the rice mixture should be creamy....not soupy. (If it is soupy, keep stirring and cooking).

11. Fill the bell peppers with the rice mixture and cook for 15 or so minutes (until the to is golden brown).


While the bell peppers cook:

1. Drizzle the asparagus with olive oil, salt and pepper

2. Grill


* I had to use water because I forgot broth in my shopping extravaganza. This recipe is creamy and therefore needs a bit of salt to counterbalance that....so broth is the way to go. Plus, I guess you could use meat broth if you want.

** I use Earth Balance because it is vegan and non-hydrogenated.

*** I used both of these to give the mixture a little bit of smokiness. If you don't have Pick-a Peppa (shame on you!) you could use Worcestershire Sauce...but it does have anchovies.

Wedding gowns and torture

My wedding dress came in so I went to the shop on Friday to try it on. The shop was abuzz with hopeful brides-to-be and it was hard not to get wrapped up in the giddiness and jump up and down while clapping and screaming.

My bliss, however, was based on the fact that my wedding gown shopping experience is over. Shopping for a wedding gown is somewhat akin to torture...especially if you don't relish getting naked in front of strangers.

I prepared for my experience about as thoroughly as I prepare for a visit to the "woman doctor." I took a bath. I shaved. I wore decent undergarments. I'm not shallow...I'm just exceptionally modest.


(Although, that seems like a contradiction in terms. How could I admit to being both exceptional and modest in the same breath? Not sure...I just know it is true.)

Upon arrival at the bridal shops (I, luckily, only had to visit 2) I was immediately faced with the exuberance of the staff. I am normally a cheery person...just not when I'm trying on dresses. I was fortunate in that I had my mom and sister with me to temper the mood.

The sunny disposition of the staff quickly turns to a military-like precision when you arrive to your dressing room. Take off your shoes. Take off your clothes. What is your bra size?

So you stand waiting half-naked. When they return, they put the strapless bra on for you and put a hair net thing over your face to prevent the transfer of lotion, make-up or that bit of salad dressing left over from lunch.

Then you turn your back to them (something which, at this point, you don't feel comfortable doing) and raise your arms above your head. A little Abu Ghraib-ish?

Perhaps.

But once I found "the dress" I was willing to put aside all of my questions about their methods of trying-on torture. Instead, I put that perky bridal shop staff up on a pedestal.

After all, they helped me find a dress and, when it comes to this girl, that is no small feat.

*The picture is courtesy of FashionEra.com. I couldn't very well put a picture of my dress up here!

Highlight of my day

As awful as it may seem, the best thing I saw today was a homeless person's sign. It read:

Ninjas kidnapped my girlfriend. I need money for the ransom.

I'm sorry...that's just awesome.

Adventures in Grocery Shopping

I awoke Wednesday morning bleary-eyed, cotton-mouthed and brain-addled to Adam murmuring in my ear.

Sweet nothings?

Not a chance.

It was something more along the lines of, "Do you you need the car today?" and, in a desperate attempt to return to my dreams, I gladly told him he could have it.

When I "officially" woke up 30 minutes later, I realized my mistake. You see, on occasion, I dream about making food. Shopping, chopping, sauteing...the whole bit. And yesterday, my early morning dreams were such that once I awoke I simply had to make that risotto-ish stuffed bell pepper with roasted asparagus.

One slight problem: no car.

No big deal. I've walked to the store on numerous occasions. We have 3 grocery stores nearby and yesterday I decided to patronize the one that is cheapest and, incidentally, the farthest away at 15 or so blocks.

On my way out the front door I saw, from the corner of my eye, the handy handled re-usable sack we often use for grocery shopping. However, I decided not to bring it because it has the name of another store on it and I thought it might be rude. Southern politeness and all.

Here's what I bought:

1. Bag o' carrots
2. Bag o' celery
3. 5 peaches (they were on sale)
4. 3 onions
5. Can of brown lentils
6. 2 stalks of asparagus
7. Wedge of Parmesan cheese
8. 4 red bell peppers
9. Rice

Notice something here? Most of these things are somewhat heavy...especially when put together. It is at this point that I realize that usually, when I walk to the store, it is to buy a few things (bread....fruit...cereal) and not the makings for an entire meal.

At the checkout, I asked for paper sacks because I once carried a bunch of groceries home in plastic sacks and, by the time I arrived home, one of the sacks snapped. In the melee of spilled groceries, a jar of plum jelly was broken. It was the key ingredient in another one of my "dream recipes."

(On that particular occasion, I sieved through the jelly to pick out all the broken bits of glass. That night, as Adam was about to take a bite, I nonchalantly said, "Be careful, there might be glass in it. If you bite down on something hard just spit it out." The meals I make can really be quite eventful.)

But I digress.

On my way out of the store with two cumbersome sacks (that were uncharacteristically handle-less) I decided things weren't so bad.

I changed my mind after block 1.

So I sat the sacks down, readjusted, and moved on again thinking that it wasn't so bad. By the time I was at the 2nd block I thought I would die.

And so on, and so forth.

By the time I was halfway home I started having out-of-control fantasies.

1. I imagined leaving one of the bags in a hidey-hole and coming to retrieve it in the dark of night.

2. Despite my hard and fast rule about no hitch-hiking, I imagined hitching a ride with one of the many people who drove by who were presumably saying, "Look at that poor girl walking home with her grocery sacks. Hahahahah".

3. For one blissful moment, I saw a little boy and seriously considered bribing him to help me...."Hey little boy, I'll give you a carrot if you carry one of my sacks." Maybe not.

I was 3/4 of the way home when the bottom to one of my sacks broke and a bell pepper and an onion rolled out. I then ran down the street, grocery sacks flapping in arms, to retrieve the renegade produce.

At this point, sweat was running down my face. My arms were screaming and I honestly saw what I believe was a mirage of a grocery cart in the middle of the street up ahead.

I credit that cart, mirage or no, with giving me the will-power to get home, cursing Adam heartily all the way.

And today my arms, my neck and, oddly enough, my bottom are sore. What's worse, our tub is so small that trying to submerge all three looks a bit like water-yoga...if there is such a thing.

Lessons Learned:
1. Don't dream about making food and if you do...don't act on it.
2. Don't worry about offending grocery store chains
3. Don't agree to anything first thing in the morning.

Recipe for sore gluteals

1. Get on your machine of choice (I like the elliptical)

2. Put your mp3, cd or tape player on Fergie's "Fergilicious" song* (yes, I know it is so last year).

3. Turn both the incline and resistance up as far as you can handle.

4. Walk/Climb/Run in time to the music.

5. Feel the burn.

6. Take a nice, long, scalding bath when you get home!

*Note: this also works with The Dresden Dolls "Girl Anachronism"

First Night of Summer and a New Obsession

Thursday was the first official day of summer and that night we decided to celebrate accordingly. We went with our friends Annie and Dave to the first home game of the Portland Timbers, Portland's professional soccer team.

Mind you, I know very little about soccer and I've never been to a Timbers game before.

I've never had more fun on a school night!

We took the bus over to PGE Park downtown. We are lucky enough to live a block away from the #15 line which goes straight to downtown. (Have I mentioned how much I love our apartment?)


Annie and Dave had been to a Timbers game before so they knew exactly where to sit...next to the Army section. Not the United States Army but the Portland Timbers Army.


These guys (because it is mostly guys with just a sprinkling of girls) go to every Timbers game and act like regular soccer hooligans. They have a litany of songs, cheers, chants and taunts and I was lucky enough to catch some of the phrases:

1. "There's no pity in Rose City." (Rose City=Portland. This is said when a player on the other team gets hurt. Awesome)

2. "Over there its so quiet, over here its a riot. Walking in a Timber wonderland." (done to the Winter Wonderland tune, obviously)

3. "Oh oh oh oh oh oh....oh." (Done to the tune of the White Stripes "Wichita")

4. "When I root I root for the Timbers." (no tune at all...just yelled loudly)

Needless to say, I was hooked. I vowed then and there to buy myself a Timber scarf and attend every home game. Because, despite the fact that I know very little about soccer and at times found it a little boring when no one scored, I am pretty easily persuaded.

I will yell in righteous indignation when the official makes a mistake.

I will jump and scream like a fool when "we" finally score.

I will boo (yes, Mom, I'm sorry) when a player on the other team does something even remotely wrong.

Give me a cold beer, a good seat, a nice evening and I'm all yours.


Oh, and ladies, if you are ever in Portland and lookin' for love...I suggest going and sitting in the Army section at the Timbers game. The male-to-female ratio can't be beat.

Strange days...

So, without going into too much detail, let me just say that I am once again looking for work. And I'm not happy about it. The story of my recent unemployment is long and complicated so I won't dwell on it except to say that I am finished with non-profits.

I'm going to be greedy from now on. Screw the planet. Screw the animals. I'm looking out for #1. (Okay, and maybe numbers 2, 3 and 4) Bring on the money...my goal now is to get a job that pays a lot. I'll be rolling in the money.

Until I go to grad school in about a year. Then I'll be broke again.

Oh resumes and interviews...I really know ye. In fact, I know ye a little too much. In my years since college, I think I've spent more time applying for jobs than I've actually spent working.

Okay, that isn't entirely true but it certainly feels true today.

In these past years, I've learned some important interview tips that I will now impart to you:

1. Don't look sexy
2. Don't look too trendy or too rich
3. Don't look too poor
4. Don't look too smart

Basically, don't look too anything. If you can look like an asexual person who may or may not have money and may or may not have ambition then you are on the right track. Be ambiguous but smart. But not too smart (as in, don't correct your interviewer when they confuse Long Island with Long Beach. Just nod and smile.)

Most importantly, don't have big boobs. I know this may be a tad crass (sorry Mom, if you are reading) but having big boobs in the workforce is a big downfall. People don't take you seriously. The women in the office hate you. The men in the office either avoid or ogle you. I have seen this time and again. When I can disguise my big boobs, everything is golden. If I make a misstep, and happen to show my big boobs, all is lost.

So imagine my disappointment this morning when I couldn't quite get the safety pin to close the gap between the buttons on my button-down shirt. Any girl with big boobs will tell you that the button-down shirt is a curse. It fits everywhere but at the boobs at which point it gapes open to reveal the bra and skin underneath.

All in all, not a good look for an interview. Usually, I can manipulate a safety pin in-between the buttons but this is truly an art form. Sadly, I was lacking in that art form this morning. On all 4 of my button-down shirts. And please don't say that I could simply sew a button on the inside to hold it together. I can't simply sew anything.

Instead I wore a black short sleeved sweater and gray pants. It wasn't my usual interview attire but I thought it was okay.

On my way to the bus a guy whistled. Granted, he was old and probably partially blind but this was still a bad sign. On the bus I was told I had a nice ass. By a woman. Things were getting worse.

By the time I arrived to the interview I felt like nothing more than a harlot and was half-tempted to turn around and head home. But, damn it, I was wearing heels. And Spanx. I wasn't going to put my body through those rigors for nothing.

I went to the interview and was so preoccupied with trying to hide my boobs that I don't even know if it went well. Oh well.

The bus ride home was uneventful except for this lovely conversation:

Man/Woman (I couldn't quite tell which): I used to have a purse like that.
Me: Oh really?
Man/Woman: Yeah. I kept locks in it. Do you have locks in yours?
Me: Locks? (locks?!) Um....no.
Man/Woman: Why not?
Me: I...don't know.
Man/Woman: Oh, well. You should carry locks with you.

I have no idea what this conversation meant but I was glad when it was over. The Man/Woman got off the bus at the methodone clinic near my house. Very fitting, I think.

Road Rants and Recollections

I was driving today when this guy on a bike crossed two lanes of traffic and cut in front of me. Without a helmet. Talking on his cell phone.

For the next few blocks he simply rode in the middle of the lane so I could not pass him. I finally turned onto another street and got around him that way.

I fought the urge to flip him the bird as I turned.

I hate driving now. I didn't realize until today how much I hate driving. I used to l-o-v-e driving until I was rear-ended by a Hummer. Yes, a Hummer.

But today, as I drove down the side street with my rage bubbling just below the surface, I thought back to the days when I first started driving. In those days I drove a VW Cabriolet and, whenever I passed another VW Cabriolet (or Rabbit), we tooted our horns, smiled and waved.

That doesn't happen now. Maybe Subaru drivers just aren't as friendly.

I also remember an artsy couple in their 30s who happened to have the same early morning schedule as me during high school. I'd be headed to school and, inevitably, they'd be in the turning lane next to me.

I followed them one day (and was late to school for the first and only time during my high school career) and saw that they owned an art gallery at the bottom of Cantrell Hill. From that day on, I'd smile, wave or, depending on the day, roll my eyes as we sat at the red light.

When it turned green, I'd go straight to school and they'd go left to work.

One day the lady in the couple gave me a bagel for breakfast. Since bagels were still somewhat of an exotic delicacy in Arkansas, I thought this was a real gift. I made sure I had a little left over when I walked into school that day. Just in case my fellow classmates were unsure of how up-and-coming I was.

Despite our every-weekday contact I never learned their names. I never told them that I was so jealous of them because they didn't have to go to high school and learn about algorithims but instead got to open the doors to their own business, look at artwork and eat bagels all day.

I wonder now if they were jealous of me because I got to go to high school and didn't have to worry about bills/taxes/rent/etc while sitting in a little art gallery which closed a couple of years later anyway.

Then there was The Boy. I think every girl has a boy like this in their lives at some point. Mine was in high school and, despite the fact that he was so cool and elusive, I felt certain that The Boy would someday see me and fall in love.

Why would we fall in love? Because we had the same car (the aforementioned VW Cabriolet)

Why would he see me? Because I stalked him.

Oh yes. I first noticed the car when I was going to pick up my friends. Then, on another day, I saw him get out of his car and I was speechless. He was so cute and, if he had short dark hair instead of his long-ish, blonde-ish hair, he would've be a modern day James Dean.

So I left a note on his car. I think it went something like this:

Hi. I have a car just like yours. My name is Erin. If you see me someday, say hi!
-Erin

Oh god.

Over the years I learned his name was Jake (ahhh, Jake) and that he was adopted (don't remember how I learned that one). He worked at a local restaurant so I added that to the the list of places to "drive-by" when I was out and about.

I'm sure he saw me at some point. He never said hi. He never fell in love.

Despite that heartbreak, I'd like to get back to those days.

The days when you smile, wave and toot your horn at someone just because you share the same model car.

The days when you could possibly be best friends, or at least bagel breakfast buddies, with the people who share your morning commute.

The days when you could fall in love because you share the same taste in cars and, therefore, everything else.

I'll make this promise. From this day forth, I will give a little wave to everyone who drives a Subaru Forrester. In case that scares people, I promise to wear a smile on my face instead of a scowl.

Unless you are on a bike without a helmet. On your cell phone. Cutting across traffic. I still reserve the right to flip you off.

Either this man is dead or my watch has stopped.

As part of our pre-wedding counseling experience, Adam and I have to put together a budget and draw up our Wills. The budget part is pretty easy...we've already got one.

1. Get your paycheck
2. Pay: rent, utilities, school loans, car loan, credit cards
3. Buy: groceries, toilet paper, cat litter, shampoo/conditioner, q-tips, etc
4. Put aside some for savings
5. Spend the rest (if there is any left....)

Excellent. Great. Mark that off our list to-do.

The Will on the other hand is a little tricky and more involved. Not to mention dismal. Have we done it yet? Hell no. We've got 5 months still....why do today what you can put off and do tomorrow?

Instead we spent this weekend pondering death from a nice, safe distance. First, we went to see 28 Weeks Later. Talk about dismal. This sequel picks up 7 months after the end of the first movie, 28 Days Later. So, technically, this should be be 32 Weeks Later. I guess it doesn't have the same ring to it. Will the next one be called "28 Months Later?"

The movie, unlike its prequel, was just plain gory with little-to-no suspense. The worst part was when one of the main characters kisses his wife (who is a carrier of the bad zombie virus thing), turns into a manic zombie and then proceeds to eat her neck and gouge out her eyes. He then goes on a search for his kids because he wants to eat them too.

After the movie, Adam and I were talking about how it seems that when you become a zombie you want to destroy (as in, eat) those people you loved most in your pre-zombie life. Adam said I'd be #1 on his list of people to eat if he ever became a zombie. I said that, if he became a zombie, I wouldn't hesitate to kill him.

Aaahh, love.

So that was Friday night. Saturday was a rainy, dreary day here in Portland. What can you do on a day like that?

1. Read a book
2. Clean the house
3. Write in your blog
4. Go look at dead bodies.

Since Body World 3 is in town, we opted for #4.

Since everyone and their dead brother had the same idea, we had to wait in line to buy our tickets. While we were waiting, we were talking about whether or not we would donate our bodies to something like this. At first I thought no but then I realized it'd be better than being in a coffin. You get to travel, you get to educate and, if you are lucky, you get to be posed in a semi-sexual pose for all eternity. Also, if your loved ones want to see you, they have only to pay an admission of $21!

Excellent. Great. Sign me up.

The exhibit itself was pretty interesting. I only wish they could have provided more information about the "specimens." How old were they when they died, how did they die, where had they lived?

One fact about their lives, their gender, was glaringly obvious. Needless to say, most of the donors were men. They were there in all of their naked glory for all the world (or at least all of bored, rainy day Portlanders) to see. What was shocking to me was not the goods in front but the thing in back. Without being crude, I'll just say that I had no idea the butthole was so....big and...muscular-looking.

Anyway, some of the comments I overheard:

1. Look at how fat the spinal column is. I had no idea!
2. If that is what I look like when I run, I'm going to stop running.
3. What's this one called? "Woman at the gynecologist?"
4. Person 1: Is that the stomach? Person 2: I think its a lung...

The most interesting part was looking at the problematic body parts. The smoke-blackened lung, the tumor in the liver (I think) that had grown so big it pushed into the heart and spinal column, the tumor in a woman's breast and the arthritic hip. I guess Body Worlds is like Nascar...it is most interesting when something goes wrong.

By the end of the exhibit, I had decided I did not want to donate my body to Body Worlds. I can't even strip in front of a little old lady at a wedding gown store. I can't imagine stripping off my skin, some of my muscle and, in some cases, everything but my nerves and veins.

But I guess, in the end, we unknowingly drew up our Wills:

1. I want Adam to kill me if I become a zombie (and vice versa)
2. If he doesn't kill me, I will eat him first (and vice versa)
3. I don't want to donate my body to Body Worlds
4. If I die in my 28th year, and a movie is made about me, I want it to be called "28 Years Later." If for no other reason than to head off a 4th 28 Days Later movie.

Excellent. Great. Mark that off my list to-do.

(Oh, and my title today is a quote from Groucho Marx.)

Stream of consciousness and sweat at the gym

Here are some of the random thoughts that went through my head while I was at the gym today:

Gosh, I'd hate to be the person who does the closed captioning for "The View."

What would that job be like? Do you just sit there, watch TV and type as fast as you can? I wonder if you could do that from home or if, somewhere, there is a room of people sitting with personal TV's and computers. One person does The View, another does People's Court another does Days of Our Lives.

I could totally do that job. My last typing test put me at 102 wpm with 2 errors. Of course, I guess most shows have a script and aren't live so you wouldn't really need to type fast.

Regardless, I'd want to pick the shows that I closed-captioned for.

I'd do Gilmore Girls, Lost and Ugly Betty but I'd refuse to do American Idol. God, nothing could be worse than typing the words that come out of Ryan Seacrest's mouth. He shouldn't even be allowed to talk.

Why do I have Tori Amos on my mp3 player? Who listens to Tori while working out? Apparently I do. skip

I do wonder how that whole closed-captioning thing works. Its like keys. Honestly, how many different combinations of notches and grooves can there be? When they make a new lock and key do they then go to some "Master Key Combination List" and mark off that particular combination?

At some point, we will run out of different combinations and then all hell will break loose. My house key could be identical to Dick Cheney's.

Actually, I doubt Dick Cheney has house keys. He probably has a specially designed gun that , when he shoots at his key hole, the bullet goes in, explodes and unlocks the door. That would be weird.

That's a good idea for a horror movie. Not guns that open doors but that some day, in the not too distant future, we run out of key options. There could even be some sort of global government cover-up in which all the world's leaders are aware of the fact that keys have been made obsolete but hide that fact from the general public.

Then, a common criminal will one day say to himself, "I wonder if my key will open this other person's door" and things go downhill from there.

Oh god...Shakira. Must not break out dancing. Must work out on elliptical machine without shaking my hips and bottom. I'm going to invent a new form of exercise where you get to dance while on your elliptical, treadmill, what-have-you...without looking like a fool.

Speaking of treadmills and fools....what is that incredibly pregnant woman doing running on the treadmill? Is she insane or just stupid? I'm all about exercising when you are pregnant (I guess) but not running on a treadmill. Do some yoga or something. Or better yet...just stay home and relax on the couch with a good book. You're pregnant for Christ's sake....if that isn't an excuse to stay home from the gym I don't know what is.

Christ's sake...that's a weird term. If you believe in Christ wouldn't everything be for Christ's sake? If you don't believe in Christ then why would you do anything for Christ's sake?

5 minutes left on the this machine. I feel good. I feel like I could go for another 10 or 15 minutes. I don't really want to do the weights today....


I Wikipedia-ed keys and closed-captioning. My closed-caption questions are answered but my key questions remain.

All sorts of stuff going on in the Flowers/McEvoy household this past week.

First of all, we booked our honeymoon spot. Yahoo! We're going to St Lucia in the Caribbean. I'm going to have a problem telling people where we are going because I have issues with the word Lucia (repeat: st loo-sha not st lucy-a) and the word Caribbean (when I was little my family thought it was "cute" that I pronounced Caribbean with an exaggerated southern accent. Now I can't say it the "normal" way). Anyway, I'm excited. After Ad made the reservations, I asked him if we could change it to next week instead of November.

He said no. Damn him.

Friday evening we met up with some friends at the Avalon. This place rocks and is just down the street from our apartment. It is an arcade/movie theater but I should say that, although it did smell like a 13-year old boy, the crowd there was primarily of the over 25 sort. You pay $2.50 for admission and most of the games cost 10 cents! You could win tickets at most of the games and let me just say that when it comes to ski-ball...I still got it!

At the end of the night, Ad and I combined our tickets to get:

1. a plastic fan
2. a skeleton head key chain
3. a whoopie cushion
4. a harmonica.

Our friends decided they were going to save up their tickets to try to get a beach ball. Borrrring.

On the other hand:

1. I broke the fan because I opened/closed it too much
2. the whoopie cushion doesn't make noise
3. the harmonica is wooden and leaves splinters in your lips when you try to play it
4. I think one of our cats ate the skeleton head key chain.

Oh well.

Sunday we met up with our friends Kyle and Cory (and their new baby Marley) for ice cream. They are moving back to Montana this week so it was the last time for us to get together. I'm sad...they are good friends. That's the bad thing about Portland---most people are here temporarily. Our other good "couple" friend Annie and Dave are moving back home this fall.

We need to replenish our friend coffers and I still need a couple of good girlfriends (or gay guy friends...or straight guy friends who would be willing to go shopping with me and watch crappy romantic comedies...I'm not picky). Any takers?

Mmmmmm

I made a delicious dinner last night....if I do say so myself. I'll call it Sweet Potato, Black Bean and Jalapeno Quesadilla but it is so much more than that! I first saw the recipe in a cookbook but I added some things to it so I feel like I can call it my own.

Here goes:
Approx. 2 cup shredded sweet potato or one sweet potato
1 small onion, chopped
2-3 cloves garlic, diced
2 jalapenos, diced
1 can black beans (drained and rinsed)
2 tsp apple cider vinegar or white wine
1/2 small apple, diced
4 wheat tortillas
1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese
2 tsp olive oil
1 tbs cumin
Salt and pepper to taste

You'll want to shred/chop/dice your ingredients first because, once you start cooking, this goes pretty quickly.

Heat oil in deep skillet over medium heat. Add garlic and onions and saute for about 1 minute. Add the apple and jalapeno and cook for another minute or so. Now add the 2 tsp of apple cider vinegar (or white wine...whichever is most handy), the sweet potato and the cumin. Cover the skillet and let it cook for about 5 minutes or until the sweet potato is soft but not mushy. Check on it every once in a while and stir. Next add the black beans and cook for another minute or so.

Then assemble your quesadillas: tortilla, a bit of cheese, sweet potato mixture, a bit more cheese and then the 2nd tortilla. Cook until cheese is melted and enjoy!

You could almost omit the cheese because you don't even really notice it. This would also be pretty good with some spinach mixed in but we didn't have any growing in the garden yet. The onions were fresh from the garden though and so good.

The best part was, while everything was cooking, I ate the other half of the apple. The apple had been on the cutting board where the jalapenos were diced and so it was a little spicy.

Made my lips tingle. Yum!

I don't heart Huckabee

I have a confession to make: I'm from Arkansas. Now here's another: I'm proud to be from Arkansas. I love my home state, its people, its food and its atmosphere.

That pride has been put to the test with the emergence of Mike Huckabee (our former Governor) as a Republican Presidential candidate. While ole' Mike was governor we all knew he had aspirations for the White House. He's been power hungry from when he was Lt Governor and lead the impeachment against his superior, Governor Jim Guy Tucker, which resulted in Tucker's resignation. His sights on the White House became sharper once he lost all of that weight. For some reason weight loss = Presidential material.

When he first announced that he would run I didn't really take it seriously. Mainly because I can't take him seriously. I figured he wouldn't get enough support/money/attention and then he'd go on his merry way and write another book.

But then I see him on the Republican debate and damn if he doesn't seem actually serious about running. It just makes me want to run in the opposite direction and hide. This guy doesn't even believe in evolution!

Now, I truly think that a person's religious beliefs should not have anything to do with whether or not they would make a good President. However, I have to really question the intelligence of a person who believes in "Creationism" or "Intelligent Design." It shows an ability to ignore all scientific evidence and common sense. I certainly don't believe that science has all the answers and I don't think that the theory of evolution is complete....but I do think it is the most plausible option.

I'd be willing to bet money that Huckabee has never read any thing Darwin wrote whereas most people know the story from the Bible. In what other areas would a "creationist" President ignore one-half of the story while blindly clinging to his own beliefs? That is what scares me the most.

I love Arkansas but I will gladly say that this country (and this world) is not ready for another Arkansan President in 2008.

But maybe someone who used to live in Arkansas with her then-governor husband. (ahem)

A car, a little bit of Ice Cube and some popcorn

Memorial Day weekend here was a little uneventful but still nice. Saturday was warm and sunny (I got a little sunburn!) but the rest of the weekend was overcast, rainy and chilly. Bleargh.

We spent Saturday day hanging out in the garden. Rather, I was hanging out. Adam was actually working in the garden. Ah well. The main objective of my day was to move my chair to the sunny spots when I got cold and then move it back in to the shade when I got too hot. It was very complicated.

Saturday night we went to the drive-in. I love drive-ins. My car is a great drive-in car because we can put the seats down, pile it up with blankets and pillows, open the hatchback and lie down to watch the double-feature. We also brought enough food to feed an army in a blizzard for a month.

I don't understand why but, at a drive-in, you'll see movies you would never see otherwise. For instance, on Saturday we saw "Are We Done Yet" and "Spiderman 3." The first movie (featuring Ice Cube) was absolutely awful. The story made no sense, the characters were annoying and the song that played as the credits rolled sounded like Jungle Fever . I, of course, was then stuck to Junlge Fever for the rest of the night. Not a good song to be stuck to and for that reason alone, I hated this movie.

But it was okay because we were at the drive-in!

Spiderman 3 was a little better but I still don't really understand why people love these movies so much. All of the movies based on "graphic novels" (everyone knows they are just comic books) are kind of lost on me. What I want to know is why they haven't made a movie based on Archie yet. I read those comic books a lot growing up and I loved them! They have love, humor, suspense and adventure....now that's a movie I'd gladly see whether it be at a drive-in or otherwise.

Pancakes, Peddlin', and Picnics

Saturday was one of those days that is heaven-sent. It was a beautiful day...warm but not too warm. Sunny but not to sunny. Breezy but not too breezy. It was simply not a day to stay indoors. It wasn't a day to lay about in the backyard either...it was a day for greatness!


We woke up early (but not too early) and made pancakes. What better way to seize greatness than with a coupla thick, buttery, syrupy pancakes? Sitting by an open window while listening to Chopin (but not too much Chopin) and the sounds of the world go by doesn't hurt either. If you can convince your loved one to make your pancakes in the shapes of various animals, it borders on nirvana.





Next up was a delightful bike ride. A surprise, no doubt, if by peddlin' you thought I meant selling sundries on the side of the road. If you live in Portland, or are visiting and find yourself blessed with a nice day and a spare bike, I suggest going on the Springwater Corridor. It is a great way to see various parts of the city (warning: it ain't all pretty folks) and get your nature fix as well. It is a well maintained path with many of stopping points along the way and you'll see all sorts of characters.


On Saturday, we went as far as Powell Butte park. We were looking for a good spot for a picnic and were hoping that Powell's Butte would afford as a nice grassy area with a vista. That wasn't quite the case but we wandered around (mostly up) the trail for a bit before deciding to turn back and find another picnic locale. On the way down I had my first brisk introduction to downhill mountain biking (on my poor little cruiser bike) and I have to say it wasn't so bad. I literally had to say it. At the top of my lungs. The whole way down.

So, plan B. We rode our bikes on the path back towards Portland but took a detour to go to the Leach Botanical Gardens. I was hesitant at first until I saw the signs and realized it was in fact, Leach and not Leech. Visions of slimy parasitic bloodsuckers evaporated when we entered the gardens which are just off of a busy road here in Portland but, once you step in there, all the grimy rushing of the city goes away.

This was the perfect picnic spot.


Raspberry beer, lemon chevre, smoked gouda, crackers and fresh raspberries. Perfecto!