fearlesstemp: (ginger grin)
YOU GUYS, I just made the most awesome quesadilla, I can't even TELL YOU. Most of my quesadillas end up blackened on one side (at least) and have destroyed pans. This one is so pretty! And the pan is in one piece! Well, of course it is - previous pans that fell victim to my quesadillas did not, in fact, explode or disintegrate or anything. They just got, you know, visibly scarred. This pan looks as beautiful as it did when I pulled it out of the cupboard! Which is good, because I'm housesitting, and these people value their kitchen. I'm guessing they don't buy kitchen supplies at WalMart and Target like the MyLastNames. Making the quesadilla was just about the riskiest thing I've done in ages, considering my track record.

Victory!
fearlesstemp: (wrong number)
Someone needs to break into the house and take my mother's birthday cupcakes out of the kitchen. I AM NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO RESIST YELLOW CUPCAKES* WITH CHOCOLATE FROSTING!

Is anyone?

Off to eat one more, my final cupcake of the evening! Really! I mean it!

*I made them yesterday for my mother's birthday - yes, you read that right, I BAKED - and we were out of vegetable oil, so I used olive oil, and they taste all right and everything, but I keep thinking that they look yellow-er than usual. Or a different yellow. Mediterranean cupcakes or something.
fearlesstemp: (eehorton)
What am I going to have for dinner? This is a big question. There is nothing in the house too appealing, but I don't want to leave the house because (a) I shouldn't spend money when I don't really have to and (b) my face is breaking out and I don't want to put on make up because (1) I'm lazy and (2) I'm running out of makeup and can't afford to buy more.

I guess I'm staying here.

What I really need to do is work. I turned down social engagements for tonight because I really do have an expletive-load amount of work to do, and yet I just spent the last hour on Television Without Pity. Story of my life.

My financial stress is invading my subconscious. Last night I had a dream that I stopped at CVS and was offered by the cashier a car for $45,000 that typically sold at $60,000 or something. She really wanted me to buy it, and I caved and gave her my credit card. After she swiped it through I had one of those dream-realizations where you suddenly with absolute certainty KNOW something even though it hasn't been spoken to or read by you - it's just suddenly present in your mind with the same certainty that up is up and down is down. The dream-realization here was that the car was non-returnable, and so I ended up in the parking lot with a BMW and $45,000 in debt. I think I was equally ashamed of owning a status car (it seems like such a stupid thing to spend money on, to me) as I was of the amount of debt I'd just put myself in. You'd think after spending three years in the hunk of junk I call an automobile, I'd be immune to vehicular embarrassment. Not so.

Why did I type all that up? It is a truth universally acknowledged that no one gives a crap about other people's dreams. But I fall back on that glorious rule: it's my LJ, and I can do what I want with it (except for post spoilers without a cut tag, or say mean things about people, because that is Just Wrong, and I mean that. Really. Please do not assume that this parenthetical is sarcastic in any way - our society runs on good manners, and a spoiler-protecting cut tag is as important as the wave after being let into traffic on a busy road, or "thank you" when someone holds the door. IMHO).

Do you ever look up from the computer and realize the room has gone dark around you because night is falling and you haven't noticed because you've been staring at the computer screen too long? Do you ever then have a moment of soul-crushing fear that you're going to be alone forever, and lie dead in a tiny studio apartment for weeks, only discovered when the smell becomes too powerful for those around you? No? Just me?

Okay then!

Just remembered that I've got leftover tortellini from last night in the fridge - sweetness! Off to eat, then do work, then maybe come back here to blather some more. Because, again, it's my LJ dammit. And I will do what I want with it! As long as it's not rude. Or mean. Have I been mean in this journal? I don't mean to be.

Leaving now!
fearlesstemp: (cary kate net)
.i. desire

I can't express to you how much I want - no, need - Breyer's Mint Chocolate Chip Light Ice Cream right now. I kind of want to get in my car and drive to the store and buy it.

Things stopping me from this course of action:

1. It's that time of night cool cats like myself call the wee hours of the morning.

2. My car is covered in snow.

3. I haven't showered since yesterday, and it shows.

4. It would involve sneaking out and sneaking back in the house, which opens up the possibility of getting caught, and having to explain to parental units (who routinely say things like, "Ice cream? No thanks. Not in the mood.") why, exactly, it was so imperative that I get to the store.

5. Also, I would have to get out of my desk chair.

Tomorrow is another day.

.ii. cat wranglin' woman

I was able to snag the random black cat not once, but twice, after I wrote Thursday's entry. And this done without a scratch or bite! There were other casualties, however: a flowerpot, my dignity.

On the loss of my dignity: At first, I couldn't figure out a way to grab the guy while he was hiding under the stairs, so I constructed an elaborate plan that involved me scaring him out of the spot and up the stairs toward the first floor of the house - where he would meet a closed door and I would be able to trap and grab him. The plan worked perfectly, except for the part where after he met the closed door, the cat turned around, got all puffed up, hissed, and I responded by throwing my hands up and screaming in terror. Screaming! Like a little girl! Which made my mother, standing behind me, scream too, and then the cat ran away and hid, pretty successfully, in one of the basement windows (which was, like, ten feet off the ground - how he got up there, a mystery).

On the loss of the flowerpot: I reached up for him on the window ledge, which led to him leaping onto a shelf and knocking a flowerpot over, and then jumping to the ground. He ran back to his original hiding place, under the stairs.

The ultimate tool of success was a broom, which I used to push him towards me until I could reach in and grab the scruff of his neck. After I snagged him, and carried him upstairs, I had a nice screaming fight with my parents.

Their opinion: He looked like our neighbor's cat, so we should let him go outside and let him find his way. He's scared! He doesn't want to be here! Just look at him!

My opinion: We should lock him in the bathroom and call our neighbor, and have him come over and get the cat. It's cold!

Our arguments were much less eloquent and far more CAPSLOCKY, and finally ended in me caving, yelling, "FINE!" and, for some reason I still don't understand, putting the cat down a few feet from the back door instead of outside, which, naturally, led to the cat taking off in the wrong direction and hiding under a recliner. We had another fun conversation that went like this:

Parental Units: WHY DID YOU DO THAT?

Self: I DON'T KNOW!

PU: REALLY, WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT?

Self: I DON'T KNOW!

And so we called our neighbors.

Dad: Hi, Bob? It's Jim MyLastName. Just calling because we think we might have your cat here.

Neighbor: Our cat's dead.

Dad: Oh.

So it wasn't that cat. The non-dead black cat did have a collar, though, and has been spotted often in our yard, and so, finally, I gave in to my parents and snagged him and put him in the yard - at which point he immediately made a beeline down the street, which gives me hope that he does have a house to go to. At the very least, he was very healthy when I found him - nice coat, well-fed. Then again, we don't know how long we've been subsidizing him.

More news if the story develops!

.iii. sacramental stories

I've started screening my calls because, I don't know. I think I'm a very important person or something. Really it's because my life is extremely boring and I don't feel like talking to people, because I never feel like I have anything new to say.

So that's why even though I was home all morning, there was a message on the machine when I was leaving for the day on Friday. I decided to listen to it even though I was just barely on time and wouldn't be able to return a phone call anyway.

Answering Machine: Hello, this is Debbie from Shady Pines. This is NOT an emergency. I was just calling to let you know that Father G. stopped by this morning and administered the last rites to your grandfather.

Self: WHAT?!

I picked up the phone and dialed my mother and played the message for her.

Mom: WHAT?!

Self: I have to go! I'm late!

And so I left. This may seem like a very callous reaction - all I can say is that it's a family trait. We don't respond well in crises (Exhibit A: The time Lifeline called to tell us that they'd gotten an emergency message from my grandfather's Lifeline necklace, and that the fire department was on its way - could we meet them there? Sure! we said, and then my mother stopped at the gas station for a Pepsi en route).

In the car, I illegally called my father on my cell because this was, after all, his father we were talking about.

Self: So, uh, Dad, Shady Pines called, and they said it wasn't an emergency, but that Father G. stopped by and administered the last rites?

Dad: Yeah, I got that message too.

Self: Is Grandpa okay?

Dad: He's fine. Father G. just happened to be there.

Self: And so he administered the last rites?

Dad: I guess.

Self: Because he was in the neighborhood.

Dad: Yup.

Self: So I could stop by St. Patrick's right now and get the last rites if I wanted to.

Dad: Probably.

I guess nowadays that's how the sacrament works - it's called Anointing the Sick, and can be done at any time of mental or physical illness, not just on your deathbed. But if that's what you're going for, don't call the family and use the old school sacramental designation! Last rites makes you think, you know, it's the Last Rites, time for deathbed confessions, the whole shebang!

So that was stressful.

.v. film flam

On Saturday I went to see Something New, which was exactly what I hoped it would be. I recommend!
fearlesstemp: (eggs basket oh)
Ladies and gents of Livejournal, I had a totally awesome hair day today. TOTALLY AWESOME. My hair was curly but not wild, frizz-free but not flat, and there was this one lock of hair on the right side of my face that curled across my forehead just so - it's hard to describe, but once in a blue moon my hair does this, and it looks like I've spent hours artfully styling it into place, when in truth I could never artfully style my hair to do anything (my hair care routine is this: wash/condition, comb, air-dry as long as possible, dry with a diffuzer with my head upside down for the rest, apply frizz control cream, and pray). Suffice it to say, it was fabulous. Naturally, have my long-scheduled hair appointment tomorrow evening. That is the way with these things, right?

The other big event of the day happened this afternoon, when I dragged my butt a half hour off of my usual commute route to get to this scary box-store plaza that featured both a Barnes & Noble (where I could get a discount this week!) and a Panera's (where they serve my favorite, baked potato soup, on Wednesdays!). I was so looking forward to my late afternoon lunch, where I was planning to read my newly-purchased fabulous novel on the recommendation of several lovely people. Then I got to the register with my potential purchases only to discover that I had left my wallet at HOME. And had only the two dollars and change in my coat pocket!

IT WAS SO TRAGIC!

Once I knew I couldn't get my Panera lunch, I suddenly realized that I was famished and would not survive the 45-minute drive home, and therefore scrounged together my quarters and bought Hush Puppies at the Taco Bell/Long John Silver's in the scary box-store plaza. I spent ten minutes of the drive home eating the Hush Puppies and the other thirty-five minues hating myself for eating them. All in all, good times!

The goal for tomorrow is: To remember that I have to leave an hour-and-a-half earlier than usual. I'm a little afraid I'll get into my usual routine (which features time-stamps for when I should be doing things - at x mintues past the hour I make my oatmeal, at y minutes past the hour I do my makeup, etc et) and forget. But I believe in myself! I do! I CAN DO THIS!

twix query

Apr. 20th, 2004 02:22 pm
fearlesstemp: (Default)
Why did I just eat a Twix bar? There was no reason for that. I vaguely wanted one but probably could have gone without, but I ate the whole thing in ten minutes and now I feel sick. This brings up an important question: When one is talking about eating one traditional-sized package of Twix candy, is that eating one candy bar or two? Technically I suppose it's two, since there are two bars, but it's only one package so it feels like the two together should count as one candy bar. Hm. Something to ponder.

In other news: I completely forgot about Everwood last night. This came right on the heels of me completely forgetting about Alias on Sunday night. Grr, I say. Grr! I do this all the time, along with my other popular method of self-annoyance: taping shows and then forgetting about them. Or, to be accurate, not so much forgetting about them as forgetting where they are. I have approximately eight billion VCR tapes, which I've accumulated since I was about thirteen, and I have this thing about labeling them: I don't. Or maybe I'll label them once, in a fit of organization, but never again, no matter how many times it's taped over.

It's all because of this completely unjustified faith in my own memory -- I always think I'll remember stuff like, say, last Wednesday's Keen Eddie is on the unlabeled tape on my dresser, while this week's Keen Eddie is on the unlabeled tape on top of my TV, and last Wednesday's ep of The OC is on the tape labeled "ABC Soaps" standing upright next to the VCR. And then I leave the room, and the information vanishes, so that the next time I'm there, I just find myself staring in front of the TV willing the tape with the show I want to watch to snake its way out of the pile, or start glowing, or something.

I must say, in my defense, that it does sometimes work. For example, a few weeks ago when I became fixated on Astaire/Rogers musicals for a week or so, I decided I absolutely positively NEEDED to see the ones I'd taped off of Turner Classic Movies back in high school. I hadn't watched the tape in five years or so, I'd guess, but I knew to go to the back of the pile and pull out the one marked "Beyond the Sea" (it had been originally used to tape that X Files episode about Scully's father), where Follow the Fleet and Swing Time were both found. Also discovered on the tape: an episode from Sunset Beach! OMG, I so totally LOVED that show back in high school, and wow, it was TERRIBLE. The episode I taped was from when they were doing that Poseiden Adventure storyline with the boat flipping over. It was awful. Awful! Naturally, I loved it then and now.

Speaking of awful things I typically love, I went to see the teenie flick The Prince and Me )

I just realized that they dropped off the mail I'm supposed to distribute sometime in the past hour or so and I totally didn't realize it, even though the mail drop off place is, you know, ON MY DESK. Must go deliver mail. Fun fun.
fearlesstemp: (jess)
Were I Boss of the World, one of the very first things I'd do would be to find a way to make secondary food choices have fewer calories. Because, seriously? It's so not fair that my hips are going to register this raspberry danish I just ate when what I *really* wanted was just one little butter cookie, which would have had far fewer fat grams and calories. But! We have no little butter cookies! This is because my 87-year-old grandfather had the audacity to finish them all when he came over for dinner Sunday night. I know! What nerve!

Anyway. I needed something carby and sweet to go with the hot chocolate I was about to drink -- which was also not my fault. Someone mentioned how their dreamy husband had just delivered a nice hot cup of tea to them while I was talking to them on the IM, and I couldn't help thinking: I want that. Meaning, a hot husband delivering hot beverages. Sadly, all I have are two cats who are at this point not acknowledging my existence because I bought them the wrong kind of cat food, and so I had to drag my sorry ass downstairs in search of a hot beverage, which was, in my case, hot chocolate. And somewhere between getting the beverage idea while sitting by my computer and reaching the kitchen, I'd somehow become incredibly attached to the hot chocolate 'n butter cookie duo, and when the butter cookies weren't to be found, I had to go to a secondary food choice -- the raspberry danish, which was suitably carby and sweet (a little too sweet, to be honest).

And now I'm going to have to pay for the fatty secondary food choice. It's just not fair! I know, life isn't fair.

I thought I had more to say when I opened this Update Journal window but, apparently, I was wrong.
fearlesstemp: (working girl)
The subject line is what it is because I am RAVENOUS and part of me knows that there are thousands -- nay, millions! -- of kids out getting candy RIGHT THIS SECOND and I WANT SOME. Am so hungry.

Hunger is especially brutal because I have half a PB&J sandwich right in my reach but cannot eat! For I am at University Library, where all the cool kids hang out on Friday nights. And not just any Friday night, but a Friday night that is a holiday, a Friday night during which there are hundreds -- nay, thousands -- of really cool, fun parties going on. And I am sitting in the library with no party in sight. Post-library I will call my parents in the hope that they and my brother (home for the weekend) will be going out to dinner so that I can meet them somewhere and score a free dinner. Possibly one with garlic mashed potatoes. Mmmm...garlic mashed potatoes. And then I'll watch my tape of Joan of Arcadia when we get home and hey, that sounds like a pretty good night to me.

For Halloween this year I have dressed up as a Directionless Twenty-Something. All I had to do was wear my most confused, angsty expression, which was accomplished by spending thirty seconds every fifteen minutes or so thinking about My Future.

I forgot to take off my identity badge (which just says TEMPORARY EMPLOYEE) until a few minutes ago. Which means I've been wandering around the library from computer to printer, interacting with many people, with the badge on. Feel kind of lame, which is stupid, because seriously, WHO CARES?? Will that part of me that's still thirteen ever grow up and stop obsessing over Looking Stupid? Though that begs the question: Should that part of me grow up, would it take with it my affection for Two of a Kind, NSYNC, and many young adult novels? Do I really want to let all that go just so that I'll, you know, stop obsessing over little things no one cares about and enjoy my life? It's a tough call.

You know what's really cool? JSTOR. Holy crap, how did people do research before JSTOR??? I shudder to think.

Final thought: The OC. Could I love it any more? Details in a later post.

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