Saturday Excursion

Sometimes, a trip to the mall is all a girl needs...and let me tell YOU-today was that day for me.

Initially I thought that I'd just go to get out of the house, you know, to people watch, and to spend hours in Barnes and Noble, in my favorite chair, drooling over books that I shouldn't buy...

Next week I am attending an "elegant" event at an inn located in a wealthy town here in Connecticut. All of my "elegant" clothes are boring, except for one top & I feel uncomfortable wearing it because of the amount of cleavage the person to my left gets to see. (It's a wrap around top and the top layer flaps open when I sit down)

So needless to say, I didn't want to wear the Flappin' Boobie shirt.

I was completely successful in my search for new digs, right down to the shoes and jewelry-AND it was all either on clearance or on sale!

Freakin awesome.

I went for something different than what I'd normally pick. It's a sleeveless dress with a crizazy pattern on the bottom. I bought a little black half jacket to go over it (I don't think they're ready for this jelly) and cute 2" heals.


Now I'm extremely excited! I've never been to an event that was labeled "elegant" before-especially not one like this.

Also on my shopapalooza trip I discovered a new eatery. It's called J.B. Mack Macaroni and Cheese Kitchen.

I KNOW!

Macaroni and Cheese almost any way you like it, served on top of a roll. Which is weird. But good too.

The actual Mac n Cheese sucked. It was bland, and quite frankly, I was disappointed. They used tiny shells, reminiscent of Velveta and I gotta say, I would have preferred the tiny elbow...but the best part was when I had my fill of the pasta (I added ham) I dumped it out and had a cheesy roll.

THAT was yummy.

The other cool part was that because I was alone, I opted to sit at the "bar" near the mall window-so I got to people watch. It's funny to see people's reaction to a MnC restaurant. I saw a lot of people mouth, "Macaroni and Cheese!" as they veered over into the other lane to get a closer look-at my food.

One lady even knocked over a small child in her quest for wholesome goodness.

Overall, it's a cool idea, and I can see it quickly becoming popular. If I ever eat there again, I'm totally going to put hot dogs in it (because I do that at home sometimes) and I'll be sure to add some s+p to pep it up a bit.

I also got to see an under cover cop bust people in JC Penny.

Twice.

It was pretty cool. He was a young guy, maybe my age, dressed all thuggish. But then I got paranoid. While browsing the racks for new baubles, I kept seeing a thuggette looking at me out of the corner of her eye.

I totally could have taken her, so I didn't worry too much. ;)

I hope you are all having a fantastic weekend!

The Nose Knows...

I didn't know that people still wore CK1-the unisex cologne that, in my mind, came second only to Benetton Perfume in the “Every kid has to have this cologne/perfume” frenzy. I was totally on the Benetton Band Wagon-but CK1 made me want to vomit, with it’s sickly sweet “I want a girl to wear me but a guy can wear me too” smell.

Whatever.

The only time my perfume smells good on you is if it rubbed off on you during our night of passion. And the only time I want to smell your cologne when it’s not on you is if I borrow a sweatshirt and am wearing it because we’re not together.

We do not have to smell the same. If I wanted to smell myself, well, I would just-smell myself.

Was it because it had the “Calvin Klein” label? Did people think that by dousing themselves in a cloud of CK1 they'd somehow turn into a super unrealistically sexy model with six pack abs and a tan?

Or was it simply because everyone else was doing it? Every Tom, Dick and Heather was snatching up not only all of the CK1 with the same voraciousness of the Cabbage Patch Kid whirlwind, but also the cheap imitation versions as well?

Whatever the reasoning was behind CK1 trend, I do believe it has died.

But somewhere, closer to my nose than I want him, exists a man who dabbles in the land that is unisexy. It won’t surprise you, I am sure, that he is a middle aged man who wears his button down shirts open to the breast bone, exposing just enough chest hair to make you throw up a little each time you see him, even in the 30 degree weather, and even in the office.

He’s also from Jersey. I don’t know what that means-I just feel that it needs to be put out there.

House Broken: Part 19

It’s hard to say how she managed to get through those last few months-the ones she foolishly held onto with the secret hope of his return. She wandered a lot, walking aimlessly through life, fluttering numbly from place to place, person to person, hoping that something would make her feel again.

But with her broken heart and shattered pride, what mattered most was that she kept walking.

Hours turned to days, and they grew to weeks, and still, she kept on walking.

Her heart said, “Stop”. Her spirit said, “Don’t you dare”.

And one day, she remembered a poem he had given her on one of his visits to Massachusetts. And it made her feel.

“After a while you learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
and you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning,
and company doesn’t mean security.

And you learn that kisses aren’t contracts,
And presents aren’t promises,
And you being to accept your defeats,
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn, that even sunshine burns if
you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong…
That you really do have worth…
And you learn and learn…
With every goodbye you learn…”*

She remembered the day he gave it to her clearly. He just arrived from Florida and they sat in her dorm room, planning their short weekend. With a sheepish grin on his face, he turned to her and handed her a “barf bag” from the plane. On the back was his hand written copy of a poem he knew she would love.

Little did she know that the goodbyes in the poem would be from him, and that she really could endure, and that she really was strong, and she really did have worth.

And with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child, she kept on walking…

*Poem by Veronica A. Storffstall

Block Frenzy

Ever the hard worker, never the slacker....that's me.

Click here.

The highest I've gotten so far is 26.172-what's your high score?

A Slapdash Post

Thursday’s usually mean a chapter of my “House Broken” story here in Moo Town, but this week took a major toll on my sleep pattern and last night after the closing I flopped on the couch to watch LOST and then downed some Tylenol PM. Since I was in dreamland by 10:15, I simply had no time to write. Instead, here is some randomivity.

Rocco the Loan Shark and Heather the Bitchy Supervisor are going down. Letters will be written about the disrespectful way I was treated at my closing yesterday. NEVER USE THE MANCHESTER, CT BRANCH OF HFC FINANCIAL.

I don’t do well with the “direct flirt”. Even if I’m not even remotely interested in the flirter, being in that situation makes me nervous.

It’s sad to hear someone say “I’m ready to die”. Even if that person is an 85 year old widow who lives alone, and even if she’s a stranger.

It goes without saying that the hottest male nurse in the lab would be the one to have to give me instructions on taking a pee test. (Too much info coming: specific wiping instructions are involved for girls)

Sometimes being a unmanageable and unapproachable has its rewards, but only if that is paired with working for someone you truly respect.

Using big words is fun, but how fun is it if no one else knows what the words mean and you have to explain them? Or worse, they think you’re a snob because you use big words?

Did I mention that you should NEVER use the Manchester, CT branch of HFC Financial? Never.

LOTS of you expressed your excitement and congratulations to me yesterday both on the blog and off. Many, many thanks to you for showing me how much you care.

Good bedding really does make a difference.

Dulce de leche is yummy.

Tomorrow is Friday and for me that means the silliness will be off the charts. I mean, c’mon, Mexican night at Megan’s with Judy…wine, food, friends and dulce de leche cheesecake? That’s a recipe for success.

(I promise, I won’t start talking in foody language)

Friday also marks 1 month until school starts!!

Have a fantastic Thursday my peeps!

Now We're Cookin'

I GOT THE LOAN!

Only one more tiny hurdle-getting my dad to agree to let me go in April instead of July-either way-I'M GOING TO BECOME A CHEF!!!!!

I can't believe it. It's true. It's going to happen.

Dreams do come true. My dreams.

Wow.

50 Words or Less

In order to keep myself from going crazy while waiting for the yea or nea in the land of the loan shark, I decided to start writing essays for 2 scholarships that I will apply for if I do indeed end up getting the money.

The first scholarship is for $1000 and requires a 500 word essay describing why the money would help me reach my culinary goal. Based on my experience with financial aid/scholarships, it's doubtful I'll get this one because:

1. I have already hold a Bachelors Degree
2. I am and have been employed since high school (1990)
3. My father makes a lot of money. (Even though he doesn't support me)

The other scholarship is directly through the culinary school and is $500. It requires a 50 word essay describing my passion of the culinary arts.

50 words.

About a passion I've had probably since before I could walk.

And you all know my love of creative writing and most of all, adjetives.

So today on my lunch break I started jotting down some ideas in the form of a short essay. Though I felt like I wanted to elaborate more, I managed to pare it down to what I thought was just a little longer than 50 words.

Yeah. It was 226 words.

How, exactly, does one successfully explain the level of want I have for culinary training in 50 words or less? I'm beginning to think I can't.

This is how much of my original essay I can submit:

My fondest memories are of my large Italian family surrounding a table full of food on Easter, Christmas, or any given Sunday. It was the only thing all three generations of us agreed upon; that my Nana’s sauce was too thin but her peach pie could bring peace to nations (there's more to this sentence-but I don't have room)

Not likely to get me the mula. (Or in this case I should say dough.)

So instead of shaving off precious metaphors or the warm, homey scenes in which I paint my picture of love, I decided to go with what I really think they want:

Me like cooking. Alot. Please help.

What do ya think? Do I have a shot?

Toosdae ?'s

Hi everyone! Welcome to a little game called Toosdae! It warms the cockles of my heart to see your answers in the comments section. And really, would you like me to have cold cockles? I didn't think so...

1. Would you rather only be able to speak recognizable quotes from movies and songs or have to use Pig Latin forever?

2. Do you believe that everyone has a little prejudice in them or can someone be truly "pure of heart"?

3. Which is scarier to you-deep sea diving or spelunking?


1. Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.

2. I believe that there are people who are great at overcoming their prejudices by being aware of their existence and that everyone has some sort of prejudice in them.

3. The only reason I am choosing deep sea diving is because I think that suffocating would be one of the worst ways to die. If I could guarantee that my tank would not malfunction or that I'd run out of air, I'd be completely up for deep sea diving (as I love snorkeling). Caves, well, bats...snakes...ghosts of the cave people...not my cup of tea.

Rocco the Loan Shark

For those of you who are keeping score-I've not yet heard from the bank.

Well, that's not ENTIRELY true. I have heard from them. I spoke with Rocco, my personal loan officer, 3 times today. The last time was about 1/2 hour ago when he was telling me that the are just getting through Friday's loans and we're next in line-after that.

The first question I had was, "Why am I not part of the 'Friday Loan' pile?" Because, Rocco, I was supposed to be.

Your sniffley, punk-ass manager told me that I'd be approved on Monday, and yet, here I am at 7:43 PM still not knowing FOR SURE if I can go to culinary school or not.

Yes, yes, Rocco, I know...you ASSURE me that I'm approved.

But then again, you also assured me I'd be approved BY TODAY.

Does this scare me a little bit? I'm not gonna lie, Rocco. Yes, yes it does. It scares me that if I do get approved, I'll end up in some rundown crack house type building signing my paperwork, only to find out that Mr. CM was indeed right about the "Loan Shark named Rocco".

But what can I do but wait?

And you, my fast talking LS named Rocco, know this to be true.

The Season Called Spring

Raindrops on roses and the absence of mittens
Bright colors clothing and new loves a smitten
The promise of park hopping and soaring on swings
These are the first signs of the season called Spring...

Pink colored tulips and one bunny hopping
ham with your family and new clothing shopping
Robins with blue eggs and the songs that they sing
These are the first signs of the season called Spring...

The rebirth of nature and everything in it
Fresh air and flowers and a blanket to sit
A promise that new life is not just a fling
These are the first signs of the season called Spring...

When the clouds come
When the rain starts
When the flooding's bad
I simply remember it's the season called spring
and then I don't feel so sad!

Happy first day of spring everyone!

Bedtime Prayer

Now I lay me down to sleep,

my dreams, patiently waiting.

If I should wake before I die

I'll know my passion's abating.

Keep them safe,

Keep them warm,

Keep them close at hand

For dreams are often heard, at last,

when we are least to understand.

A dream or two is all I have,

so please, answer my prayers.

And once the answers come to pass

I'll live without any cares.

I'm having trouble getting to bed tonight because tomorrow is an important day. Tomorrow is the day I find out for sure whether or not I got the loan I need in order to attend culinary school.

I know worrying doesn't help anything. It's not worry that I have. It's more of an anxiousness, a feeling of impatience, of not knowing whether or not tomorrow will bring tears of joy, or sorrow.

It's a cautious anticipation, a careful protection of a dream already fragile from heartbreak.

It's a girl, who's wanted something for so long, who's afraid she might actually get what she asked for.

Good night everyone.

Home Owner Woe's

I never thought homeownership would be easy. But I certainly didn't expect it to be as hard as it is. Especially living alone, I'm learning more and more about the never ending battle for everything to be fixed, tidy and livable.

You all know about the lovely flood I had this winter, causing my furnace to erupt and ultimately leaving me broke and confused. Though my dear friend Skinny Pete came to help clean up the mess, we ended up ghetto rigging the sump pump in order to prevent further floods.

It's a hose attached to the sump pump with an extension cord. It comes through my hallway and drains into my sink and I turn it on every morning while showering and then when I get home from work, unless it's raining and then I keep it on.

This morning I plugged it in and came in my office to check emails and eat my yummy Special K with Red Berries. When I was through I put my bowl in the sink. That's when I noticed it-water all over my kitchen floor. First reaction was "WTF?!?! Did a pipe burst now?!" And yes, I was angry. But then I realized that it was simply that when I plugged in the pump, the hose must have kicked up out of the sink, spraying the bulk of the water from last night onto the floor.

Luckily.

But, I still had TONS of dirty water to clean up. And the only Dirty Water I like is at Fenway.

So, basement, toilet seat (that I can't seem to fix), broken shower nob (which causes some people's skin to melt), roof that may or may not leak, trees that may or may not crush me while I sleep, lawn mower, wall that dog chewed that I haven't fixed all the way...and on, and on, and on....

I'm not really complaining-even though it sounds like it...but it's just hard.

On another house related note: I just discovered Mr. Clean's "Magic Eraser"

I SUGGEST EVERY ONE OF YOU STOPS READING THIS AND GOES TO BUY A BOX.

They're fantastic-almost unbelievable. I used it on my tub which I've scrubbed and bleached for almost 2 years now-and it's so white!!! If you're someone who (is a geek like me) and loves to SEE that your cleaning is working-get these.

That is all. I'm off to take my first walk of the season and then do some errands.

Have a good rest of your Sunday and I'll "talk" to you all tomorrow!!