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!