This is from last Tuesday. I wrote it while waiting in line at the stores while I was running errands.


Driving home tonight, my windows are rolled down. Technically the moon roof is rolled back. And really, aren’t all windows electric now, so really there’s no rolling. Regardless, the windows were open. The air blowing in the windows breezes across my skin. My skin that is so happy to be in short sleeves in mid March. Kenny Chesney is ripping chords on the live version of “She Think’s My Tractor’s Sexy” (which I do).  My sunglasses are on. I smile while I belt out the chorus with Kenny. Tonight is a night to be celebrated. Tonight the sun is still out and I can have the windows down leaving my Massachussets based office. I’ve got a short drive to run an errand and a sexy tractor driver to keep me company. I turn the volume up a bit more as a little stream of sun peaks into my rearview mirror. Life is good.


Driving through town I see dozens of people out and about running, roller blading (who knew people still roller bladed?!), walking, and playing. Halfway to my destinaion I’m driving up a hill. I see a mother walking along the sidewalk, a toddler‘s hand tightly in her own. The toddler is very small and looks as though she’s still working out the walking thing. A single ponytail sticks up from the top of her head. I wonder why they are walking along the sidewalk and not in a park or a yard somewhere. They have no stroller or diaper bag and I think to myself, maybe it’s just so nice they wanted to leave the back yard for a little walk around the neighborhood. We crest the hill together and then I pass them. Walking towards them, presumably from the train that has just left the commuter station up ahead, is a man in his early 30s dressed in a smart suit and sunglasses, a messenger bag across his shoulder, iPhone in hand. At first I think nothing of it as there are people in business attire walking along the opposite sidewalk. And then I discover that mother and daughter were journeying up the sidewalk. This man in the serious suit suddenly breaks out into a mile wide smile and does a goofy two handed wave that a father only does for his little girl. And for a moment my heart sighs. It sighs over the sweetness of a mother bringing her little girl toddling up the street to meet her daddy. It sighs over a man who is so clearly over the moon to see his family walking to meet him. And mostly my heart sighs with yearing, hoping one day to be a part of such a simple joy as a commute home to a family.

Fat Tuesday? No. Crazy-ass-nutso Tuesday? Yes.

You get to pick the cake. Sometimes your mother even makes you the grown up version of a barbie cake. (see picture) You get to eat dinner in the dining room on the fine china. And Grammy and Grampy and Michelle all come over. For crying out loud, my Mom and J were on their honeymoon during my 14th birthday. So they had a birthday cake for me. AT THE WEDDING. So. We are not canceling dinner just because we have to change the venue again. Dinner is still on, damn it. Even if I’m cooking over an open fire because all the kitchens in the world have burned to the ground. Of course. I’m having this conversation with my mom while in the middle of Best Buy while I’m holding three bargain CDs (seriously. 6 bucks for 14 songs. iTunes can’t touch that). I was one of those people. Wandering the store. Yelling into the phone. I’d like to think I was speaking reasonably, but I’m sure someone thought I was one of those people. Anywho. J didn’t show. So I called. Turns out he had left me a voice mail asking to reschedule because he was helping my mom with Grammy. Crap-ola. Maybe I should start listening to my voice mails. I had driven an hour and a half to get there. There’s a Best Buy 2 miles from my house. This one is 20 miles from home. But we worked it out and I was still able to get the gift. The gift is a [secret]*. And they sell it in a department where each sale is sort of complicated and there were two customers being helped. But the transactions take 10 or 15 minutes. The next guy in front of me decided the sales guys were being rude and not helping him (dude. They aren’t standing around. They are with other customers). So he called [secret] a company that makes [secret] to see if he could buy one over the phone before the sales guy got to him. Dude. Seriously? You can’t wait in line for 15 minutes? Your wife is with you. Why don’t you two have a little chat. Catch up on your day. Talk about all the things you’re going to do with your new [secret]. Or get a smart phone. I was having a grand ole time, entertaining myself with ThoughtCatalog.com posts, so I was good. I was reading through all of today’s posts and then halfway through one a sales guy came to help me. The other guy had left the line to buy his item on the phone. WHILE HE WAS STANDING IN A STORE THAT HAD THAT ITEM. I made my purchase of the gift and my CDs ($6!!). And then headed over to the [secret] section to buy the gift from my brother and I. Except apparently there are no staff people in that section. Now. I had very patiently waited in line once in the store because the staff was all busy with other customers. This time there wasn’t a guy in a blue shirt to be found. I waited a full 5 minutes, looking around. And I know the two guys DOING NOTHING in home entertainment could see me waiting. But I sure as heck wasn’t going across the store to get someone to get some other staff member to help me. So I left. I feel like maybe I turned into that guy from earlier. Except not. It wasn’t impatience, really, it was a “I’ve now spent more than 25 minutes waiting to spend hundreds of dollars in your store and there’s no one to help me” Patience and twitter only get a girl so far. I knew I could make my purchase at the Walmart down the street so I started to go there. But I have this thing about Walmart. It’s not me getting on a soapbox, but everyone knows that company is notoriously bad to their employees. And something about the place perpetuates an attitude towards society that I’m not totally down with. It’s basically make it cheap and sell it cheap. And when it breaks, buy another. I was raised to buy nice things and maintain them. Even if your air conditioner ends up draining through a glue cap you ripped off a bottle (that’s a Grampy original from years ago). This is all to say, I don’t like to shop there when it can be avoided. Instead I headed to Tar-jey. I wanted to make sure they sold [secret] so I stopped in a parking lot to google it on my phone. The Though Catalog post I hadn’t finished reading was still loaded so I decided to sit for a minute and finish reading. And thank goodness I didn’t finish it in the store. It was such a simple post, but it was incredibly moving and suddenly I was bawling my eyes out. With just a couple hundred words it knocked my problems down a bit and reminded me that there are folks way worse off than having to drive an extra hour to buy a really nice gift for someone I love. So, after I finished reading and then confirmed Tar-jey had what I wanted I drove over. Talk about a win. It was $45 cheaper. Yesssssssss. I paid and then headed home. I was starving. Because I hadn’t eaten since lunch at 11:30. And it was 8:30. I stopped at Wendy’s for a chicken sandwich. And couldn’t find my wallet. Luckily I was the only one in the drive through. I had to put the car in park and search through four bags until I found it. When I finally had my card out, the cashier who had waited for me, very patiently I might add, gave me an understanding smile and I told her “sorry about that. It’s been a bit of a day”. A bit of a day, for sure. I drove home rocking out to a new song I just bought (on iTunes). I was totally drumming the steering wheel at a read light. I must have looked crazy to the guy next to him. But I hope it made me smile. Because that’s what I was doing. That’s the only way to live through long crazy twisted days.

I wrote a really nice post about running yesterday. And then was too busy running to type it into WW and post it. Instead you’re getting a message from me. Buzzed. On Sam Adams Alpine Spring. Because my co-worker/friends(/ex-friends) decided I needed to flirt with the singer at the bar Because 6 weeks ago I said he was cute (he is!). After a drink and a half (tall ones) he took a break and was sitting at the bar. And they WOULD NOT LET IT GO so I went up to the bar but I needed an excuse to talk to him. So I ordered another beer at the bar. Even though I hadn’t finished my beer at the table. Did I mention it’s Tuesday. And I still have to work tomorrow. And the next day. And the one after that. We talked for a minute. But I knew it would be nothing. Because a friend that is not a co-worker is an A+ FB stalked and found his girlfriend. But they WOULD NOT LET IT GO. Still. He was really nice. And he’s still cute. And he sings incredibly well. And is there every week. And is better than the last singer they had. Not a total loss.
I always go to the gym after work. Not usually. Always. But we planned this big trip to the bar tonight (when I say bar, I mean slightly over priced bar at a two star hotel in the middle of a tiny town in MA that’s convenient to the office because it’s only a quarter mile away and there’s never traffic in that direction). Anyways. Because we were barring it tonight, I meant to get up this morning. But I’m not a morning person. I hate morning. I think it’s dumb. Morning should really start at…I don’t know…11:30? So the thought of getting out of bed for more than 15 seconds to turn off the alarm that is across the room specifically because I can snooze an alarm beside my bed in my sleep is just too much. 15 seconds, a snooze, and Bam! I am back under those covers. Forget actually getting up to work out with Jillian Michaels. If you think that is happening you should find your local mental hospital. Cuz you crazy! So it was 8:30 and I still hadn’t gotten in any exercise because we went straight to the bar. Which meant no hour long weight lifting work out that I usually get on Tuesdays. On top of that 30 Day Shred with Jillian Michaels arrived the middle of last week. And I let her just sit on top of the DVD. And then planned to start working out with her this morning (hahahaha. yeah right). But when I got home, I knew I needed to check off that dang GHG check. So I put on gym clothes and popped that DVD in. And. Oh. My. I think I’m dead. I’m fairly certain I’m posting this from the afterlife. Laying here now, I’m terrified of what the morning is going to look like. And the morning includes more quality happy fun time with JM. Because I’ll be heading into the city for a volunteer thing tomorrow night. And then I’m going running. So no time for JM after work. Because MA is experiencing a sweet little heat wave (40+ degrees!!!!) and the snow is all melted leaving clear and clean sidewalks. I would like to hurt JM. Instead I’m going to let her hurt me. For 30 days. Straight. You might ask why…


…I have no idea.

Hearts and 21 weeks to summer!!!

Disclaimer: I stole this from my WW blog. I actually wrote this yesterday…


Week 1 of my 167-days-of-Weight-Watchers-until-the-first-day-of-summer  is over! (I call it something different every time I write. I think I need an acronym. Or something funny.) And there’s so much to discuss. In my defense, I just left the gym so I’m a little high on endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. And happy people don’t just kill their husbands!

Hmm. Where to start. Well. Check out the picture with this blog. That? That right there? That’s 42 smileys. You can see at the bottom but with WW online you get a check for everyday you track one of these 6 things. And a smiley if you meet all these checks. I met them all. Hooray!! I will fully admit there were days I wasn’t sure I’d drink enough water. And there were definitely days I just wanted to sit on the couch. But I managed to move my body. Every. Single. Day.

Next. I beat the stuffing out of my body at the gym tonight (ok. Technically it’s a fitness center in one of the buildings in my office complex. It’s one of the perks of my company being in a park with other companies. Free gym.) And somewhat shocking, there were only two new people along with the two or three regulars I usually see. I guess those resolutions to work out everyday that the whole world set on Jan 1 have already started to falter. I did three circuits of: standing bicep curls, tricep flys, crunches, lateral pull down (I’m up to 60 pounds of resistance on that bad boy!), jumping lunges, front/side flys, planks, and side planks. I’m most jazzed about the side planks. I could only hold each side for 15 seconds but looking at myself in the mirror I looked…fit. And that was AWESOME! Of course, I’m not going to be able to move my arms tomorrow. Is it acceptable to call into work because I won’t actually be able to type??

I’ve got monthly trivia tonight so I knew I’d want a cider tonight (the bar has it on tap!) so I needed dinner to be 8 points and include oil. Man did I accidently whip up something delicious. 2 tsp. peanut oil, 3 oz. ground turkey, red pepper, mushrooms all stir fried. Then after they were tender I added a little chicken broth a little white wine and a little lemon juice and let it cook down until most of the liquid was gone. So so tasty.

I know tomorrow’s WI isn’t going to be exciting because I’m a terrible peeker and though I dropped 5 pounds by last Friday, the scale hasn’t budged. So, for the week I’ve lost 5. But I think it was mostly bloat when I WI last Wednesday. Still. It’s 5 pounds I’m not carrying around anymore. Ok. Must dash. Time to fail miserably at trivia!

Hearts and side planks!!!

163 days until summer. And counting

What up home slices???

(I recently learned there’s a difference between home slice and home skillet. So, while I prefer home skillet it really doesn’t have a nice definition)

I made an amazing recipe last night. I wish it had come out a little prettier. It’s cod picatta. And amazing. And I even managed to make it a little healthier. Though I think that’s where my pretty factor went off the rails. It’s essentially some cod in a little flour into a pan with oil in it. 7 tablespoons of oil to be exact. that’s a little much. So I substituted 3 tablespoons of the oil with chicken broth (more of which was added). But the broth diluted it a bit much and my fish didn’t crispify as much as I wanted it to. Next time I think I’ll take out the 3 tablespoons of oil, but I’ll put in a little less broth. There’s also another 3 tablespoons of oil that get whisked in at the end. So I exchanged 1 of those for broth as well. In this case a 1 to 1 exchange was fine. This recipe was another delicious one from Mercato del Mare. It’s my favorite email to receive every week. These two women decided to start a fish market in the North End of Boston. But decided to make it fun. They have fish, prepared meals, teach an oyster shucking class, and send out a hilarious email every week with easy and delicious (and very nearly professional grade) recipes. I ❤ Liz and Keri. The subject line of this week’s email was “What in the name of cod did I eat” referring to the inevitable weight gain most people (including me!) faced last week. I’m bad and I peeked this morning. Looks like I had a little beer bloat going on Wednesday and my WI was a little inflated (ha! it’s not a pun. But it sounds like it is. Right? I’m flying on a full 8 hours of sleep and two diet cokes right now. I have no idea what’s going on).

Hearts and skillets!

PS. Get thyself over to Mercato del Mare’s website and sign thyself up for their email. You’ll thank me.

Yeah. So. Had myself a pretty little kitchen incident tonight. But let first me preface that to say I had a lovely Christmas and it was so fantastically nice to spend 5 days going to visit the people I love and while I was there knowing I’m genuinely liked and don’t feel like I’m in the 6th grade. Because that’s not how life is feeling most of the time these days. It was a perfect little break. And I received some perfect little gifts. My favs include a new knife magnet, reflective vest for running, a picture I saw at a fundraiser that was actually taken by the host of the party I’m bringing the sangria to, and the complete series of the West Wing. (I’ve been asking for that last one for about 6 years and my mom completely surprised me with it. Go Mom!)

My lovely Christmas gifts. From my lovely family

The weapon of thumb destruction

First. Here’s the recipe.

Ingredients:
2 apples, cored and sliced
2 fresh pears, sliced
3 oz. Damiana liquer
20 whole cloves
1 tsp. nutmeg
1 bottle chilled dry white wine
1 bottle chilled champagne
2 bandaids
1 latex glove (these last two are only if you’re me)

You mix everything except the champagne together and let sit over night. Just before serving you mix in the champagne. Talk about easy. And delicious. At least, it better be delicious.

Second. Here’s what it’s supposed to look like.

Photo: From the recipe

To start I went shopping last night. That way I could actually let the pears ripen a bit more, chill the wine, and if I forgot anything I wouldn’t have to rush right back out to get the whole cloves because it turns out the cloves in my spice cabinet are ground, not whole. It was like I was a real grown up. A new liquor store opened next to my Market Basket. I peaked inside while driving by when it opened in late October and it looked kind of sad and a little sketch. I was wrong!! It’s a fabulous place and I sort of would like to move in. The staff are friendly. The place is spotless. Their craft beer selection is actually a craft beer selection not a bunch of Sam Adams and Wachusett (don’t get me wrong. I love both of those. But it’s not exactly what I would call craft beer). And oh my the wine. A huge selection, good prices, and an expert that wanders the stacks and helps you pick out the perfect bottle. Yes please. I suck at choosing wine. I had someone over for dinner and served a wicked sweet dessert wine with dinner because I had a cold and couldn’t taste it and the interwebs said it would be good. Oops. The expert dude (is he a sommelier if he’s not in a restaurant?) pointed me in the direction of the supposedly perfect bottle of dry white wine. And then I asked about the Damiana. He had no idea what Damiana was. I told him it had a citrus flavor. He showed me the triple sec and said it was the closest thing. I have triple sec at home. That’s what went into the sangria. Because I have never heard of Damiana. And a search on Google showed me I had never seen it before either. Anyone drinking it will just have to deal.

I got home, popped the pears in a brown bag to help ripen them a bit more, popped the wine in the fridge, and checked my spices. I made a mental note to buy whole cloves on the way home. Today I stopped to buy the cloves. The grocery store was a mad house. I guess everyone thought everyone else would be at work or still at home and not be at the grocery store. They were wrong. Also, someone needs to tell the woman in front of me in line that ugly sweater party season is over. And that she’s not actually supposed to wear the ugly sweater to the party. Luckily the 12 items or less line wasn’t too long. I came home and turned on the oven for the frozen pizza that would be my dinner. It takes 8 minutes to cook. PLENTY of time to cut the fruit for the sangria because I have that new fangled slicer. Um. No. It took my the entire Sugarland album that was also a Christmas present. In the recipe’s defense, quite a bit of time was dedicated to the stoppage of the blood flowing from my thumb. And searching for a band aid. Because the only ones in the medicine cabinet were for Jimmy Fund Walk blisters and were about six thousand times too big.

I washed the fruit. I put the correct spacer for the slice size I wanted. Then I peeled the sticker off the blade. The sticker that says “SHARP BLADE: Use Extreme Caution When Handling”. No joke I had this thought while I was pulling it off. Well, duh it’s sharp. It’s a slicer. What dumb idiot needs this caution sticker. That should have been my warning. Oh wait. IT WAS!  I pulled a knife of my new knife magnet, sliced the fruit, and stuck a piece of apple onto the safety handle thingy for the slicer. And made my first slice. And it was perfect. And I made 4 or 5 more slices. And then the apple piece fell from the handle. Probably because I wasn’t using it correctly. But I didn’t feel like reading the little manual. So I just went with it. And pushed the apple down against the sharp blade. And then pushed my thumb through the blade. It just barely nicked the outer edge of my thumb. And the whole wound is about the size of a pencil eraser. And it really didn’t hurt. But it was bleeding. A lot. This happens when you cut yourself with a sharp blade because it makes a clean cut. I was actually surprise I didn’t swear. Or make any noise at all for that matter. I just walked to the bathroom and pulled out all the wrong bandaids. I searched all through the bathroom. A task made more difficult by the absence of a functioning right thumb. Finally I decided to just slap one on until I was done with the sangria. This next part is a little icky. It was bleeding through the bandaid. At that point I went and found the correct size bandaid. And while my left hand was trying to doctor my right hand all I could think was where’s my Top Chef paramedic? I really need one of those guys to swoop and take care of this business. Which got me thinking. I might keep bleeding. I have latex gloves from an old craft project. I put one on over the next round of bandaids to make sure I didn’t get any blood near the sangria. Food safety first. Always.

Thumb up for food safety. And for stopping blood

I finished slicing. I had finally figured out the correct technique and it was actually kind of fun. I threw it all in a pitcher and left it in the fridge. I hope it’s good. I would hate to waste my flesh wound on something that will just be spit out.

So far, it looks pretty good.

And it was a good thing I put on the glove. I did keep bleeding. And then I started to wonder at what point I would have to start worrying about it not stopping. But it did stop. And now I just have a nice little throb going. So I don’t have to go to the ER and explain what an idiot I am. Which is good. Because I’m pretty comfy in my pjs. And it’s hard to project intelligence when you’ve sliced yourself open on a blade that HAD A WARNING LABEL ON IT.

Hearts and bandaids
Liz