How we do

Rachel emailaddress@gmail.com
to Boyfriend

For lunch I have had 4,000 snap peas. I am about to turn into a snap pea.

Boyfriend		boyfriendemail@gmail.com
to me

Poof.


Babies in costumes always make Wednesdays more bearable. 

Thursday's Best Internet Finds! Stalker Edition

I spend far too much time on the internet. We could go into the why of this - but you're not my therapist, blog reader, and if you were - we would have waaaaay more important things on our metaphorical plate.

In my decade and a half of time spent in the internet tubes I have uncovered a lot of really amazing things and discovered some super cool people. Here's the weird thing - the people I've discovered, don't know I exist.

Its one thing to follow people who are asking for a following (Dear Baby Blog, I am looking in your direction). But there are others who have a super awesome thing going, but are not quite internet celebrities or are celebrities with personal blogs that don't get the same type of attention.

Internet stalking, yo. Don't knock it til you try it.

But today I am taking off the creepy black ski mask and letting my freak flag fly free.

Here are three of my favorites:

Army Pants and Flip Flops. This one is kind of cheating because this girl and I kinda-sorta travel in the same circles. I wouldn't know her if I saw her on the street, but my brother, my mom and probably my sister would - so...there's that. Anywhoodles, she is getting married to your Grade A type Army dude and so of course (because it wouldn't be a romantic comedy any other way) she is your standard Renn Fair loving theater geek. And he's deployed to Afghanistan. And there is a wedding to plan. And she's just trying to figure this ish out. The internet is a great place to get your Ish together. She makes me giggle out loud sometimes and she won Boyfriend's heart by confirming that you can in fact make a wedding registry on Amazon.com (not that Boyfriend is looking to register for Aneee.thing. He just really, really loves Amazon).

The Enjoy Project. Okay - Kristin is pretty darn close to famous. She has a business taking amazing pictures and so she probably racks up the hit counts. I found this blog through T-bone's wedding photographer Lydia Jane (check out T-bone's wedding! Lydia is ah.mazing) who is good friends with this Kristin, who (because Maryland is very, very small) photographed the weddings and engagements of some people I know from high school. Kristin's blog really caught my attention when she started blogging about how she met her (spoiler-alert) now husband. She and I operate on different wavelengths, but it is interesting to watch someone deal with doubt and fear and figuring it out because it makes you feel better about your own doubt and fear and challenges in figuring it out.

Please Note: I did not PLAN for this to be a TBIF all about shmoopy love business. I am not breaking away from my she-man-man-hating club. But I cannot be held responsible for the fact that girls who are increadibly talented and captivating writers tend to get boys all hot and bothered (I mean, duh, Boyfriend, case.in.point).

Dancing Brave. Heather is famous. Sups famous. I was obsessed with Heather back in 2002 when she was recapping for TWoP and had a sweet diaryland blog (guys - Diaryland was the real deal back in '03). Its weird to think that she was younger then than I am now. All making bad choices and being awesome. I thought she was so cool. I still do because she runs Go Fug Yourself (which I will proudly say, I've been reading since Day 1). But she also has a personal blog where she talks about raising twins (!!), and her love for all things Notre Dame (shake down the thunder, everyone). It is fun to see the dichotomy between her glamorous Fashion Week writing and her kids-at-home-how-we-do writing.

The internet is full of funny, smart ladies. The End.

More Sunday Thoughts

A few thoughts before bed.

1 - It took me almost two and a half hours to watch a streaming version of the one-hour-and-six minute series three premier Downton Abbey (oh, I am back down that dark alley with no regrets). The streaming was terrible. It kept stopping and skipping and I thought my laptop was going to spontaneously combust it was working so hard.

Consensus: Worth it. Oh my worth it. Guh. Sometimes you wait a billion years for something and it delivers. I cannot imagine waiting 7 more days, forget 4 months.

2 - I started a new class today on a whim (well, it was a whim about 2 weeks ago - now its a reality). Its weird to be in class again. I haven't taken a real improv class in about 3 years. Its weird to be learning for learning's sake again. But I guess its good to get my feet wet if I am seriously going to go back to actual school.

My Mouth's Most Happiness (part 3) (...Finally)

Sooooo, like, 7 months ago, I had a crazy delicious meal and started writing about it (check out the first couple courses, and then the middle couple of courses. Annnnd finally, I got my act together to finish it tonight. Enjoy the third installment of our Alinea adventures.

After all the real food - it was dessert time.

They brought out Winter. Like the seaweed log before it, this was basically some designer's wet dream, with 4 bites of food on it. In this case - another log, with pine needles, and rocks that had been cooled to -80 degrees and adorned with peppermint flavored snow. Resting on top of the snow were bites of different fruits (including persimmon) and a nutmeg marshmallow.

Then there was the deconstructed hot chocolate, that was water but of course, it was actually hot chocolate. Okay, Harry Potter, you win.

The snow was realistically cold and fantastically delicious. I scraped it off the rocks with a fork until Boyfriend said that, really, that was quiet enough.

The penultimate course was one of the ones that I wish had been a surprise for me (but was happy was a surprise for Boyfriend). It was a balloon, full of helium, made of something akin to Apple Fruit by the Foot (but, you know, a billion times more delicious and flavorful). Dangling off the end was a silver implement that we were instructed to use however we wanted - with the end result being eating the apple balloon.

I went the direct route and stabbed the balloon right through with the silver tool. This left me very, very sticky, but satisfied.

Boyfriend managed to find a way to eat it slowly enough that he could suck out minimal amounts of helium (but enough to make his voice high pitched) and keep the balloon afloat as he ate it. He's an engineer, people.

The final course was easily the most amazing thing that happened throughout the entire meal, and will continue, probably until the end of my life, to be the best show I've ever seen. I don't know how they managed to keep this course a surprise - but they did and holy.crapballs. was it worth it.

One of the chefs came out and asked about our meal. I was in such a place of pure bliss already, I could barely talk to him. He put a dark chocolate fishbowl on the table and filled it with liquid nitrogen (poured out of a dainty white china pitcher). And then as he chatted with us, he started using various sauces (butternut squash, lingonberry and stout) to draw designs on our table.

I know that I should not be impressed, as plating and presentation is a fairly basic component of culinary arts, but the designs were so beautiful and smelled so amazing. It was art more than food. Boyfriend's birthday present was not so much the meal, but me restraining myself from taking a picture of the final design.

The beauty was either heightened, or short lived, depending on your opinion - when the chef picked up the chocolate fishbowl and unceremoniously dropped it back on the table where it broke open, full of treats like the fanciest pinata this side of Mexico.

The liquid nitrogen had frozen bits of cotton candy, toffee, sweet potato and magic in the fish-bowl-pinata-of-delicious. We were handed spoons and left to enjoy as much of this amazing last course as we could.

If you know me, you know I don't leave food on my plate (or...table? as the case maybe). I think about the starving kids in Africa, the fact that I am paying for this, my Italian grandmother who was always telling me to eat more, my friends who use leaving food as a weird dieting mind game that I will have no part of, and the fact that I may never have this chance again, and I eat until its gone.

So I ate as much as I could fit inside me. There have only been one or two times where I have truly eaten to the point of near stomach explosion (our feast in the Italian countryside comes to mind). And even when it got to the point where I could literally feel my stomach stretching uncomfortably inside my beautiful Jason Wu dress, I kept eating the delicious chocolate scooped up with amazing sauce and real (real!) magnolia petals.

I don't think I would have stopped without Boyfriend telling me I was under no circumstances allowed to throw up in the cab ride home. I would have sat in that restaurant for hours letting the waves of hedonism wash over me if given the chance.

But eventually, sadly, it had to end. They brought the check and cleaned up the end of the beautiful chocolate mess. While we waited for a cab, we got to sneak a peak inside the kitchen which was surprisingly normal looking (I am not sure why I assumed that they would be like, cooking with flame throwers and wearing those crazy super magnifying glasses - I have a very active imagination).

We got in our cab, and went home - and like any vacation, there was that crushing realization that we were very much back in the real world, where you eat on plates with regular forks and all of the food is just normal and boring.

Boyfriend bought me my own Molecular Gastronomy At-Home Kit which I am waiting for a really special occasion to play with. The next time I eat crazy stuff, it'll probably be of my own making.

Do I recommend Alinea? Absolutely. If you el-oh-vee-ee LOVE food and are not going to be scared off by a price tag akin to a new computer, then absolutely. Do it. Or find some other amazing restaurant and eat there (and then tell me about it). The thing about living is that you should really enjoy it as much as possible.

4 Summers Later

Four summers ago, I was 23. And Barack Obama and all his friends, let me live out my wildest dreams.

I got to go to the Democratic National Convention and not just as a guest, but as a photographer - a career I had almost not even dared to dream about because it seemed so out of reach. It was one of the most exhausting, inspiring, eye-opening, amazing 4 days of my life.

Childishly, it let me, if just for a few days, believe in my dreams. I got to believe that I really could DO anything. And I realized that that was the theme of 2008 election for Barack Obama supporters. Hope. Change. Dreams.

Its been four years and I have been watching this year's DNC and I am flooded with both nostalgia - and a solid reality check.

This summer, the summer of 27 - has been much more bleak. I am not crushing hard on a boy I barely know. I am not enjoying the hedonistic life of a part time job and a city full of adventure. And I am most certainly not living out any dreams.

This is a summer of cold, hard reality. And watching this convention has made me realize that the election is mirroring that again this year. Its not about far-fetched dreams anymore. Its about keeping things real.

And if I have to live in this country for the next four years, I want Barack Obama's reality. The reality that will let my friends marry whomever the hell they want, that will maybe raise my taxes - but will raise everyone else's too, and the reality that will not only make health care accessible, but let me make all the decisions about my own body - no matter what.

I'm all grown up at 27 - I am willing to put my dreams aside because I know things are busted right now. But as I sit listening to these speeches - I am determined to live in the reality that the President has offered us. With any luck - we'll get back to the dreams soon.

Outside and Off.

Sometimes I get home earlier that Boyfriend. Earlier enough that it doesn't make sense to start dinner yet. And occasionally I manage to make it home without feeling the heaviness of work that must be done before the sun goes down. On those days I have made it my mission to turn everything off.

I leave my phone and my laptop inside. I take a book and a glass of something delicious out onto the deck and I read. I know this doesn't seem particularly luxurious, but it is my favorite part of my week.

If I am awake 15 hours a day, I probably spend 13 of them staring into the soulless brightness of a screen. And its totally my own fault, I will admit that. Between having a job, looking for a job, and Dance Moms - I find it hard to tear myself away from them.

But for, like, 40 minutes, twice a week - I make a decision to just let it all go. Its wonderful. Its amazing. Its all the adjectives. Four out of five Rachels agree.

So my new goal is to do it more. By the end of the year, it should happen almost every day. Granted- if I am unemployed by that point - it shouldn't be too much of a struggle, but jic - let's enjoy the world beyond the internet.


***bonus points if you can figure out what book I am reading...

Sunday thoughts

Here are two thoughts for this Sunday night.

1 - I could listen to The Civil Wars forever. They make my brain stop running so fast. There is a soothing to their music that affects me unlike anything else. Perhaps it was because the first time I really listened to them was in a field surrounded by about 4,000 of my closest personal camping friends. Anytime I hear them, I am taken back to the calm and delight I felt that first time.

2 - Lucy Steele is kind of a see you next tuesday. Misunderstood, my balls. She is the worst.

An Update: The Witch from Next Door

A while back I wrote a little piece about Kathy Afzali (and get used to seeing that name a LOT. I know how google works). You can read my first Kathy Afzali piece by clicking Kathy Afzali.

And while I am sure most of you are friends with my mom on facebook (who isn't?) and know how this all went down- for the rest. Here is how the people in charge of the government act sometimes:

Finding Kathy Afzali's original note to be incredibly rude and disrespectful, my mother asked (face to face, like a grown up) if she would reconsider. Kathy Afzali SAID NO.

Kathy Afzali literally said that our family was not allowed to use a driveway that had been shared for over forty years.

So we ignored her. Because, sometimes when you ignore a gnat - it goes away.

But no. Kathy Afzali came back and dropped some legal bizness on mi madre. She was going to take my mom to court. Over some pavement. That she, herself, personally, does not actually use.

Let me repeat that. Kathy Afzali, delegate to the Maryland House of Representatives District 4A, threatened legal action over a piece of asphalt that is, literally, 10 yards long and that has been shared for half a century.

I'm sorry, but shouldn't a delegate to a state as amazeballs as Maryland have better things to do with her time than threaten legal action against her constituents? ...but I guess trying to pull a fast one on women, gays and minorities takes less time than I think it does.

The end of the story is that after meeting with some people, my mother was told that she could probably take Kathy Afzali to court and win - but she would need to pay a lawyer and legal fees and take time out of her actual job to deal with this woman. And really, who has time to deal with Kathy Afzali?

So Mom is throwing in the towel on this. But I'm not. I am not bound by any of the moral ethics my mother tried to instill in me.

Kathy Afzali - I find you to be a wretched person. Truly. I have such high hopes for women in politics - even when their opinions differ from my own. And you have confirmed my suspicion that there are some people out there who are really just mean. And awful. You are all the worst things about suburban sprawl, the real estate market and "my-way-or-the-highway" modern conservatism. And you're bothering my family.

To all those reading this. Please feel free to tweet at Kathy Afzali (@Kathy_Afzali). Or write on her facebook page. I would - but I've already been blocked (her little busy beaver interns are on their game). Or write her a letter. Give her a phone call. Ask her why she has it out for her own neighbors and constituents. Feel free to share this with people who vote in Maryland. Make copies, pass it around. People should know the real Kathy Afzali.

Dumb Stuff I Do: two wheels edition

Since we moved up north, I have been a bicycle riding monster. If a monster still gets panicky making left hand turns and is terrified of the day they get a flat tire three miles from home.

Overall, it has been awesome, but since I can't do anything right - it hasn't been without its spectacular mishaps.

The best one so far is that I cannot manage to bike to Target without coming home with over 10 pounds of Target on my back. I feel like I should blame Target for being so g.d. tantalizing, but really - I should learn some frickin' self control.

I am too terrified to slip bags over my handlebars still, so everything has to go into my backpack. And then my backpack looks like this:

While I am pretty good at the biking, I still struggle on big roads and with making left hand turns. So of course, this particular journey - no matter how I slice it, will always include at least both of these things.

And the problem with biking with a bodega on my back is that my first concern switches from "keep yourself alive" to, "don't spill yogurt all over the ground." Why I put spilled groceries ahead of my own well being, I am not a hundred percent sure, but the fact is - its Chobani before skull all the way these days.

Here is all the stuff that was in my big ole backpack (that pink rectangle is my computer which should maybe lose some weight if it wants me to carry it around all the time). And yes. That is a giant tub of animal crackers. Perhaps in the future, I will wait to buy ALL the animal crackers until I have an automobile at my disposal.

And seriously? Bread, bananas and yogurt? I managed to find the holy trifecta of things that should be delicately transported. What an idiot. Although the bread was the only thing that got ever-so-slightly damaged in the trip (no, that's not a glare on the photo, that's a dent in the loaf).

I like to think that I have learned my lesson and will just stop going to Target when I am on my bike, but no. I'll just get one less yogurt next time.

crystal ball

I am not particularly good at "the future." It is a long, scary hallway where its really dark you know there are spiders but you don't know where they are, just that they're waiting to eat your face.

I don't know if I will ever be ready to face the future.

But I do know that right around 1 PM, every day, I am overcome with a very serious want. I want to make dinner, eat animal crackers and complain our days with you.

That's as much into the future as I am willing to go, for right now. In six hours, I want to be with you. Everyday.*



*Except on the day where JBH takes me out for lobster nachos. Then I just want to come home and tell you about it.

island life.

It smells like burnt toast.

And mildew.

It doesn't have enough "things to do."

(as if you would want more to do than sit around and read a book).

It's full of cars.

And jerks in silly clothes.

But its my favorite. Favorite. Favorite. 

Pictured:

1. The boat at Something Natural. Docked in the correct spot for a midday cookie.
2. The window of the chapel in 'Sconset with mandatory hydrangea.
3. Sailboats.
4. A Provisions sandwich and a Nantucket Vineyards cranberry sangria. Perfect after a 3 mile walk.
5. The harbor from the ferry. Its a crime to leave when the sky is this blue.

the wonder friends

Today has kind of been the BIGGEST day for many, many reasons.

This blog is only going to talk about two of them.

Specifically these two.

They aren't friends anymore. But in honor of the fact that they are both 30! YEARS! OLD! on this Monday, they get a joint post. Sorry ladies, its Monday night, and I am drunk on red wine and tuna melts, I only have one blog post in me.

Once upon a time, I was 19 and I had no idea what was going on. I grew up in a small town where everyone knew who I had been since the age of 6. I couldn't shake off 3rd grade memories no matter how hard I tried to redefine myself. And then I moved to New York, where I could have redefined myself if anyone had given a shit. Which, surprise, surprise, no one really did.

And then! I got to move to a small little cesspool of insanity (known as summer stock theater) where no one knew my business, and I got to be whichever version of myself I wanted to be. I managed to spin the wheel and land on a version of myself that seemed to attract some really great people.

And thus began, 8 years ago, the silliest summer of my life. I try not to dwell too long on the past, but the summer of 2004 will always be ingrained as the best, worst summer of all time. As I reminisced about it today:

"...we made some really astoundingly bad choices. And we only ever had enough money for booze. And we kissed boys who made us cry. And we had the literal definition of dead-end jobs. And we ate week-old crabs. And yet we were still the happiest of girls..."

And these two amazing women, who have pretty much knocked life out of the ball park in the past 8 years in their own ways, were the two people who bought my new personality, hook, line and sinker and wanted to keep me around - even after the dream summer ended, and I went back to my real life, 15 pounds heavier and so much more aware of the kind of person I wanted to be as a twenty-something.

These girls taught me that its acceptable to do things just for the story. To write it all down. To get your heart temporarily broken for a night of fun. To play the "let me tell you about yourself" game. They taught me that people will love you even when you pour candle wax on their chests. And almost drive their cars into a clothes line. That its okay to be made fun of when you deserve it. And its okay to cry when it all gets to be too much.

When I first met these two girls, they were fresh-faced college graduates and I idolized them. I could not believe that these two people who seemed so much cooler and more grown-up than me wanted to be my friend. And even though I have never had an iota of true self-confidence, they made me feel like I was an awesome, hilarious person. They are both also awesome and hilarious.

So thank you. Thank you for 8 amazing years of self-discovery and debauchery.  Happy 30th Birthday!

things that make a home

We've been living in our apartment for almost two months now and it is still awesome. Both Boyfriend and I keep telling each other how happy the place makes us. With any luck, we'll be here for a long time.

Rather than taking pictures of each room (sorry, Mom), here are my top 5 favorite things about the apartment (right now).

 

Okay - so the first picture is a room, but it is the smallest room in the house. Its my wee little office (that I am very good about sharing). Its painted the nicest, pale yellow (this apartment has the BEST wall colors) and its perfect for books and thoughts and a desk full of treasures. When the sun shines in, its one of my favorite places to be.

 

Speaking of sun shining through - Hazel has found her favorite spot in the whole apartment. The window sills in our bedroom are super deep and just right for a nap. She also crawls through the blinds when they're down so she can sleep inside but pretend like she's outside.

Nearly everything in this apartment is modern and updated, except this amazing light fixture in the entryway of the apartment.  Its so fancy! Most of the lights are recessed halogen fixtures which I find to be super boring and unflattering but this totally makes up for it.

This picture is from one of our first days in the apartment, but it still makes me so happy. Look at our little yard! Its so nice to be reminded that things grow in the city and to get to see them every day. I can't wait to plant things next year.

I am sure this cabinet has some sort of practical application, but it has become my things-I-love-that-need-to-be-shown-off cabinet. Right now its holding my whale measuring cups, my Lilly Pulitzer animal cookies, my favorite panda mug, a chocolate alligator from Florida and fancy Queen's Jubilee tea. Things I don't need, but it just makes me happy to look at while I eat breakfast.

Its so nice to be in an apartment that finally feels like our home. Come visit.

Buffy.

Here are some things I am not going to miss about our cat Buffy, who passed away earlier this week.

1 - Her room clearing farts. Apparently, once you lose half your colon - your gas becomes more frequent and potent. Nothing like a purring cat on your chest who rips a noxious gas bomb and then refuses to get off of you.

2 - Her uncanny ability to vomit directly where you are about to walk. Something about cat puke on your bare foot first thing in the morning that makes you reevaluate all of your life choices.

3- Her pathetic yowl. It was like a meow, if Lady Gaga meowed and it wasn't autotuned.  Luckily, it was something she just did when she was hungry, which was pretty much all the time.

I loved her very much. She was a wonderful part of our family but with all old pets, it is eventually time for them to go. I don't know if I'll ever know another animal as dumb and as patient as she. And let's be honest, for the reputation of cats everywhere - that is probably for the best.

Two Mangos in a Pepper.

Sometimes. I think Boyfriend and I are made for each other...

This weekend while I was in Vermont, I discovered this amazing Mango Habanero business (the one with the twee little checkered cloth) and brought it home as part of Boyfriend's prize, only to find out that while I was gone, he went to the grocery store and bought pretty much the exact same thing.  Although, I am sure that his will not be nearly as good mixed with cream cheese and slathered on a cracker eaten while wandering around gorges and thinking about maple candy.

You live with someone for four years and you think that finally you have it all figured it out. And that you've found the person you're supposed to spend at least four more years with. And then this shows up in the mail.

Seriously, Boyfriend. Knight and Day? Someone is losing Netflix queue-ing privileges for a while.

Good Fences?

My Mom has lived in the same house for 20 years. I love it. There is a part of me that wants to quit my current life, move home, and spend my next few years renovating it. We've had our share of kooky neighbors, but we've always had pleasant enough relationships with them. Perhaps not friendly, but always cordial and respectful.

Well, this morning (last night?) my Mom found this note taped to her front door.

This woman's house (that she doesn't live in, mind you, she just rents out - driving down every one's property values in an already *awesome* real estate economy) has a driveway that we have been using for 20 years. Before we used it, the people who owned our house for 20 some-odd years before us used it. Why? Because when you live in small town full of nice people, that is what you do. You share things like decent, civil human beings.

But now Kathy Afzali has decided (after a single complaint) that being neighborly, and kind, and a decent human being is trumped by being kind of a dick.

This has nothing to do with her being a delegate for Maryland (which is something she is probably fine at doing), this has to do with her not being a particularly nice person and I, for one, wouldn't want not-nice people representing me in government. But, I don't vote in Maryland anymore. Its not really up to me.

I feel like this is a perfect example of how people have just become more rude and antisocial. Why is that? Why are we all jerks? Even just 20 years ago, there was no question about us using that driveway and now we are getting passive aggressive notes addressed to "neighbor." Kathy Afzali didn't even have the decency to find out what my mother's name was and address it to her personally.

This note is not particularly rude when just read, but when you take the time to learn the back story, and if you know the community - you would know that the polite thing to do would have been to knock on the door, and work things out. When you own property in a small town, you do things the small town way, right? Otherwise, what is the point of living in a place like this? Move to Urbana if you want to be mean.*

I am just angry. And disappointed. I don't image that Kathy Afzali has any interest in being a good small-town neighbor and I doubt this blog will change that. But I wanted to put this out on the internet in the hopes that it gives someone else pause before being so inconsiderate.

*Ooooh. burn. Sorry Urbana, I didn't really mean it.

if by sea...

Chicago, more than any other city I know, is best viewed from the water.

This city at sunset makes my heart stop sometimes. Not in a million years did young Rachel ever think that she would call this place home and now, I find it hard to imagine leaving.

 More time on a boat at sunset with champagne and fresh caught salmon. Those are the goals for the rest of my life.

Messed up

When I think people might be coming over to my apartment, and it is a disaster - here is the order in which I clean things (...I discovered tonight):

Kitchen
Laundry Room
Clothes Closet
Linen Closet
My Bedroom*
My Bathroom*
Living Room
Office
Guest Bathroom
Dining Room

...Either I have some super strange friends, or I have some super strange assumptions about what my friends are going to be interested in seeing. Or perhaps it is that I have some bizarre insecurity about what my friends are going to judge me on. Do they care that my dryer sheets are on top of the dryer, rather than the shelf. Erm...probably not as much as they would care that there isn't any toilet paper in the bathroom. Although, with my friends, that could potentially go either way.

I am discovering this new apartment has a great deal more places in it than my last few. Which is cool because I never have to feel obligated to throw anything away ever again, but I can foresee becoming overwhelming when I don't have anyone come over for a few months or so and then someone does come over and its like a 3 day process to get it looking acceptable.

But seriously, we love this new apartment. It feels more like home than anywhere we've lived together. It came with bright colors on the walls that we liked, so we didn't have to live in a taupe nightmare or resent any rooms for making us stay up until 4 in the morning painting. It fits all our things quite nicely without the real need to buy any new stuff.

I should take pictures of it and place them on the internet, but I am going to wait a few days - as it sinks back into its normal state of filth, because this is a blog - not a real estate listing.

*I am not saying this to be a dick, but I hate the term master bed/bath and I needed to distinguish the fact that I cleaned the least accessible bathroom before the one people will use.

Not Harry Potter.

This weekend, I was a very good girlfriend and went to see Magic Mike.

Boyfriend doesn't really agree with this statement. But here's the thing. He has all these new coworkers and I am trying to be a very good work-girlfriend so when some of the other +1/SO's said they were planning an outing to see Magic Mike - I selflessly agreed to go with them to make Boyfriend look better at work. What can I say, I'm a saint.

Magic Mike was surprisingly plotty for a movie about strippers. Meaning, I felt that I had to care about far more peoples' feelings and outcomes than I was really antisipating. More dancing, less emotions is pretty much my review.

And then?! The credits rolled and I found out that, what the what?! Steven Soderbergh directed this smoldering pile of man meat and cliched backstories.

For those of you who are my little sister, let me feel you in - Steven Soderbergh directed Erin Brockovich, Sex, Lies & Videotape, Ocean's 11 (and 12, and 13). He won an Academy Award for Traffic.

What the blunt is Steven Soderbergh doing directing this? Seriously...what?! how?!

I feel like the story of this movie eerily mimics Channing Tatum's actual life, where he is living this life as a stripper and has a dream and since he's so pretty, everyone just tells him to go for his dreams, even though he has shown that he isn't really good at the thing he wants to do in his dream world, because really?! things for pretty people (whether producing butt-ugly furniture or making really terrible movies) tend to work out.

Also, did anyone else envision - mid-talky part of the movie when Channing Tatum's face is all scrunched up with acting - a moment during filming when Cha-Ta threw a fit and yelled, "I don't want to say all these words, I Just Want To Dance."
 
That being said - I like dancing. And being the best girlfriend a guy could possibly ask for...

Obliging obligations

I haven't blogged in ages and ages. There are reasons for my prolonged absence that I am not quite comfortable writing about all over the internet. Although - I am not sure why...

Okay, let me test it out, see if the walls come tumbling down...

I am looking for a new job.

.
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...
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So far nothing, but the types of walls that I am antisipating to see fall don't fall right away or even overnight. It takes days and sometimes weeks.

At any rate, I feel about six pounds lighter just typing it, flinging it out into space, its as refreshing as ice cold lemonade on a hot July day.

It has not been an easy process for a whole host of reasons, including the fact that me leaving my job is going to leave a Rachel-sized hole in the organization I currently work for. Its a hole that will quickly be filled by some one else, but I imagine that it will not be a perfect fit and that is hard to stomach sometimes. Even when I think about how much better things will be for everyone once the move is all done.

Anyway, now that that is off my chest, more blogging. All the time. About absolutely nothing at all. And food. Always food.