Tuesday, July 28, 2009

a summer's morning

i see faint breaths of clouds in the red-orange warmth creeping silently over the horizon... so faint, it makes me wonder if they are not, in fact, clouds, but rather wrinkles in the back-piling of blistering, scorching heat too anxious to greet us.
then, i feel a cooler breeze off the freshly-watered park, and i remember:
it's only 5am.

still, i sweat.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

the gentle Ants of Missouri

friggem-fraggem.... $@*%!..... i am not happy.
if i wasn't so gosh-darned determined to have a blog available for the readership of anyone and everyone, i'd be "yelling" a few choice words right now.
"Let me 'splain..."

it's a beautiful Sunday morning.
i have a beautiful life.
(discounting last night's nightmares) i woke up early, took Clowie on an uneventful walk (big thing for my dog, let me tell you), wandered innocently into the backyard to give my budding vegetables a nice, long drink.... everything was going fine.

birds singing...
yard still shaded by the tangelo tree...
still at least an hour before we hit the triple-digit temeperatures...
mentally planning a lovely lunch with Mr. Fantastic's temporarily-bachelorized father...

you know, now's the time when bad things typically happen, right? just when you least expect it? you're ambling along in life, doing what you do, allowing yourself to get excited about little things here and there, and BAM!
something bad.
don't get me wrong.
i'm not equating this morning's event to chest pain, terminal illness, death of a family member or anything quite so unexpectedly horrible, yet these things, too, happen when you've let your guard down for 5 seconds... or even when you haven't.
not trying to philosophize, here, just trying to tell my dang story in my "so wordy" way (thanks a lot, Kate).

i had just given my zucchini and cucumbers a thorough dousing (geez louise, when are you guys going to FLOWER, for heaven's sake?!!! you've been taking up space, soaking up nutrients for 4 months, now.... *sigh*... my failure as a gardener belongs in a different post), and i walked over to the hose to refill the watering can and share the H2O with my withering tomatoes. that's when it happened.
i was being cautious!
i had kept a wary eye out for those evil little buggers, already... i guess my cursory glance at the ground earlier didn't count for my second trip to the watering hole.
because those furious, quick-footed, Arizona Ants were going to town on my left foot, covered only by the straps of my flip-flops.
i immediately dunked the assaulted member into a nearby bucket of water.
meanwhile, the rest of the troops attacked foot #2, which was fortunately covered up to the knee by a sturdy hiking boot and thick, cotton sock.
that one had a flip-flop, too.... me and my nearsighted dressing habits...
more like, me and my deafness to Tom's advice for Backyard Attire.

yes, Mr. Fantastic has told me time and time again, don't wear sandals in the backyard. be sure to wear, not only tennis shoes, but socks, as well (he had a similar experience while wearing shoes with no socks, and hindsight's 20/20). i never listened, or may just selectively tuned out these words. why? because i like flip-flops. they're handy. easy to slip on and off, available in a variety of styles, colors and sole-thicknesses... inexpensive... need i say more? but i'd like to think my resistance is not just about my penchant for being as shoeless as possible without actually being shoeless. i've grown up with the idea that the backyard is, call me naive- safe! it's the place where kids play, pets roam, birds alight, plants grow, friends gather: all kinds of wonderful, mushy-gushy things take place in the more private area behind our homes. at least, that's how it was in Missouri. granted, folks are a bit more idealistic in the Midwest, me being one of them. probably because the grass is always green (even under the snow), churches on every corner, you know the name of the cashier at the grocery store.... even the ants are nicer.
i'm serious.
when i was a kid, i'd sit on the sidewalk with my friends, or we'd even lie in the grass together, pick dandelions, make flower necklaces, stare at the clouds.... do glorious kid-things. sure, ants were everywhere, just like they are in Arizona, but Missouri Ants don't BITE. no joke. i told that to Tom (AZ native), and he didn't believe me. but my fellow Missourians can attest, you could let a Missouri Ant crawl all over your leg, up your arm without even feeling it, much less the painful sting of a vicious, hateful, vengeful bite for no reason at all. i was literally NEVER bitten by an ant during the entire 26 years i lived in Missouri. not once. not even a questionable incident. zero. nada.
bees, yes.
wasps, yes.
mosquitoes, most definitely.
but these are insects (ants are not).
and these insects have pointy implements of defense/blood-sucking. we are trained even as toddlers to avoid these insects as one of the the many self-preservation methods we will employ throughout our human lives.
i wasn't warned about the ants.

but i have a theory:
Arizona Ants vs. Missouri Ants
small vs. not as small
fast vs. leisurely
vicious vs. mild-mannered

(disclaimer: i am not a scientist. i just listened in biology classes.)

these comparisons directly correlate with habitat differences:
Arizona vs. Missouri
dry vs. wet
bare and brown vs. lush and verdant
2-season desert climate vs. 4-season temperate climate

my conclusion:
Arizona Ants are angry and defensive because they live in a constant state of struggle for food and resources. Missouri Ants are relaxed and congenial because they enjoy abundant food and resources.

hm... kind of sounds like people. you know, Maslow's heirarchy of needs? if you don't know, click on the link. it's pretty interesting.
and, in my highly-educated and obviously humble opinion, applies to ants as well as humans. it would be interesting to chat with some kind of ant-research-person on this topic...

well, this post looks like my brain just puked all over the page. hopefully it is entertaining. definitely therapeutic; i feel much calmer now than when i started writing... but then again, that's why i created this blog in the first place.
i must tend to my sore feet.
and plan lunch.

until later,

Saturday, July 25, 2009

RecipeShare #1: Spin-A-Jack Dip

Ah, yes, the fateful hour has come when I venture from my comfortable, wordy repose and offer my culinary experiments to the world! Bwa-ha-ha-haaaaaa.....
I apologize for being so rude in my previous post- showing a photo of the delicious concoction without delivering the goods. For this I am truly sorry (kind of- I got busy, okay?!) and am here today to amend all wrongs (well, one, at least) by sharing my recipe, complete with (a few) photos and Hannah-esque proportions (a little unconventional, i know. some recipes will incorporate a classical measuring technique, but not this one).
Enough blah-blah, let the RecipeShare begin!

Cheesalicious Spin-A-Jack Dip

Foods you need:
Cream cheese

Grated parmesan cheese
Sour cream
Garlic salt

Frank's RedHot (hot sauce)

Dried minced onion

Creole seasoning

artichoke hearts
Roasted red pepper

Fresh spinach
Monterey jack cheese

Tools you need:
Large casserole dish (similar proportions to 9/13 pan- wide, not deep)

Large mixing bowl

Mixer (hand or stand)


Sharp knife

Cutting board


Kitchen sink

Paper towels

Salad spinner (optional)
Good eye-balling skills (or measuring cups/spoons)

What to do:
Preheat oven to 350F. Get out that large casserole dish and set aside.

In the large mixing bowl:
16oz cream cheese
Big glop of mayonnaise
Very generous shake of parmesan cheese (1/2-2/3c.)
8 oz. sour cream

Blend well.
Few shakes of garlic salt
Few shakes of Frank's RedHot (flavor + heat)
2 tbsp. dried minced onion
Sprinkle of creole seasoning (watch out, this stuff is potent)

Blend well again.
Set mixing bowl aside and head toward your kitchen sink...

Pour into the colander:
12oz jar marinated artichoke hearts (found this big boy in the refrigerated produce section)

Transfer to the cutting board and chop it all up into small enough pieces for dipping, basically- as long as you have patience for chopping (for me, not too long). Make sure you have a sharp knife, or it will slide all over those slippery artichoke hearts- dangerous!

On the same cutting board, place:
5-6 roasted red pepper slices

Dry pepper slices with paper towels and dice finely (this part is actually necessary for thorough distribution of that fantastic red color throughout the dip). Again, a sharp knife is important for this part.

Transfer to mixing bowl.

In the same colander, rinse:
A couple of huge handfuls of fresh spinach
Dry well with a salad spinner or paper towels.
Transfer to the same cutting board, and chop it to your heart's content (same method as with the artichoke hearts). Add to the piling mass of deliciousness in the mixing bowl, and mix well with the spatula.

Last, but not least... add:
About 1/2lb shredded monterey jack cheese (bought mine in bulk ON SALE!, pre-shredded)

Stir again after addition of the cheese and spread in the casserole dish. Bake in preheated oven until entire surface is bubbly and slightly golden. Serve hot, cold or any temperature inbetween, accompanied by your favorite brand of tortilla chips. But, heck, to quote my Dad, "This stuff would make the sole of an old boot taste good."

I hope you like it.

Friday, July 24, 2009

my first attempt at mobile photo-posting.... experimenting is indeed
dangerous, as proven earlier today... my dear Eleanor was traumatized.
I do hope she is well, now.

(what i tried to post earlier today)

good morning!
this is my first attempt at email-blogging... yep, I have my iPhone set up, so I can blog on the go. we'll see if this actually works... [FYI: it didn't work]

(yes, I promise I'll post the recipe SOON!)
today I'm feeling, um, like, "I just dare anybody to cross me: I do what I want" (thank you, Christy Moon Jefferson). I slept in (til the slothly hour of 5:15am), didn't walk the dog (yeah, take THAT. no seriously, that's probably the one thing I DO feel guilty about), rolled out of bed just in time to throw Tom's food in his frozen lunchbox (this is Arizona, remember?) and take him to the bus stop, and then I rebelliously decided that I refused to rush around showering and watering plants before speeding to catch my own bus. So I didn't shower, and I didn't water the plants. take THAT, universe! besides, my plants are looking dismal, anyway, and what is the point, honestly, of showering just to please a few morning patients when we (employees) are being being cruelly forced to survive an afternoon with no scheduled patients, for the second time this week, just so certain uppity-ups can go on vacation and not feel guilty for leaving their business unmanned, or - God forbid- close its doors for an entire 4 hours on a Friday afternoon.
yes, I spritzed on a little perfume, a couple obligatory swipes of deodorant and clean clothes, but the body underneath is taking advice from her European ancestors: Dont bow to your germophobic, hyper-hygenic, head-to-toe shaving societal rules; be free!
no one will notice, anyway... it's not like you've been rebelling against that time-wasting device called a shower for several days, or even more than one...
this decision, however, created the need for some hairstyling creativity, as my long, fine locks don't keep secrets when it comes to skipping shampoo for more than 24 hours. I'm no beautician, and this was a challenge, considering wet hair makes my everyday, up-in-a-clip do a snap. hmph. I was working with dry, slightly greasy, clip-frumpled hair, desperately hoping a few bobby pins and a lot of hairspray would at least hold things together for the morning, after which any remaining facade of caring would truly be gone. I figured a style I had never tried even on a good day would be a fantastic addition to my "be free" look, so I forced that stuff up top to take on a new shape and called it good.
it will be interesting indeed to see how a day that starts like this unfolds...

DISASTER! my last blog post was split into 17 sections... remedy pending. So sorry! ~h

Sunday, July 19, 2009

"You're killing me, Smalls..."

Name that movie!
I'll give you a minute....

Okay, time's up: The Sandlot.
Too bad if you haven't seen it.
That's one of my all-time, favorite and most usable lines EVER.
Works well in any situation.

Well, I'm not quite up to posting my elaborate, spinach-artichoke dip Recipeshare at this time, but I will be soon, hopefully. Regarding detailed tasks, I seem to do better first thing Saturday mornings, but that time was used up this weekend for other "detailed tasks," like exercising, gardening and coupon clipping and organizing. Oh yes, I'm a HUGE coupon clipper. I take twice as long at the grocery store because I have to be sure the sale item I just purchased doesn't have a coupon to accompany its wonderful-dealness. If the item indeed DOES have an accompanying coupon, I will feel greatly empowered and be in a fantastic mood for the rest of the day, even more so if the store is double or triple-couponing. If I leave the store without using a single coupon, I feel lazy, guilty and/or like I missed an opportunity to put money back in my pocket. I will hereby cut short my dissertation on coupon clipping due to the fact that I am completely off-topic already.

Several, highly-bloggable events and conversations have transpired since my last post. You will not hear about all of them... *sigh*... That's the way it goes, I guess, but it pains me to deprive all of you eager readers of the intricate convolutions that take place on a daily basis in my fascinating, documentary-worthy life.

I will speak in generalizations, then, as the time and and energy do not exist for thorough expression. A Monday-night conversation with a friend I haven't seen in ages must have prompted yet another existential crisis because not even a week later I found myself in complete meltdown mode. I do mean complete as I have not experienced this degree of emotional breakdown in about 19 months. My dearest dear was unfortunately present for the Meltdown, and I do believe he was a little unnerved by it. Of course the man has seen me cry before and cry hard, but never have we spent time on the side of the road in 110+ degree weather, wasting gas on air-conditioning as the blubbering, incapacitated driver questions the past, present and future.

Seriously, people, I am 28 years old.
I have a BA.
I have travelled the world.
I moved myself across the country in a 1994 Pontiac Bonneville.
I have somehow, miraculously survived 2 major heartbreaks that that nearly caused the annhilation of my spirituality and ended my life (yes, medication deserves a little credit).
Above all, I have found the love of my life.

I should be flying high.

Considering my most recent crack-up, I am still, obviously, unquestionably NOT OKAY.

Why am I baring my soul?
1. It is therapeutic.
2. It's not like people don't know this.
3. Perhaps it will help someone (me, for example).

I have done some thinking about what led to this and have narrowed it down to a few factors. First of all, my job has been stressing me to-the-MAX. Forty hours a week spent in misery can start to wear at you after a while, yes? Secondly, I have been thinking about going back to school but am utterly torn as to what I should pursue. I don't exactly have all the time in the world to think this one over as marriage and kids are in the not-so-distant future. I don't want to cause any more burden than necessary on the guy who will be Mr. Mom/Mr. Pay-all-the-bills while I do whatever-the-heck it is I think will meet my career goals and fulfill my potential while simulateneously paying off my college debt. Geez.... I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself. I'm just trying to be realistic, here.
The combination of #1 and #2 are less than ideal due to the fact that the faster I decide on #2, the faster I'll be rid of #1.... even worse is the conversation I had about #2 on Monday night (see above reference) conjured up old dreams I thought were dead and gone due to their painful suffocation by 2 years of rejection from medical schools and current disillusionment with healthcare, in general.
Apparently, those old dreams are still gasping and wheezing a little... haven't quite kicked the can, at this point.

Oh, but there's more.
(Feel free to stop reading at any time. Remember, this is my therapy session, here.)

Number 3... nagging guilt over thoughts that I'm not doing a good job taking care of my guy. We commute together, leaving early and getting home late (due to public transportation schedules), and I somehow have the energy and presence of mind to check on my garden, feed the dog and monitor my Weight Watchers points for the day, but am just too exhausted to think of what to fix for dinner, much less pack him a lunch to take to work.
Yes, the guy can cook and take care of himself, but I can do it, too. And I like to. And I have been way more focused on me than him, lately. And it's bugging me... probably should be. How does this contribute to the Meltdown?
Well, I had perfectly calculated (or so I thought) the time it would take me to get a few things at the store and across town, so we could make the last bus of the day and not have to stop on the way home. I had planned the best supper ever, jotting notes to myself throughout the day, and I was simply elated that I was pulling it off. I even made it out of the grocery store on time, despite the chatty cashier who had lectured the, um, older woman ahead of me in line on why it was okay for him to answer his cell phone while he was at work. She proceeded to lecture him back on the fact that if people could fall ill without you before cell phones existed, then people could certainly do it now. He didn't understand how she could say such a thing when his father had recently been hospitalized, missing her point entirely. Like I said, I still made it out on schedule, even when the same cashier insisted on examining and commenting on each of my items... good thing I didn't buy anything too personal. Geez.

You can imagine my disappointment when I arrived across town, ready to grab my things and hop on the train that will take us to the last bus of the day, and Tom announced that we had missed it.
Missed it.
Are you telling me that I had survived she-who-shall-not-be named, a painfully slow afternoon, and the creepy, 40-something cashier who still lives with his parents, and we missed it, thereby necessitating our driving home, thereby ruining our perfect balance of car and public transportation and costing us extra gas money??!
Add that to #1, #2 and a very long week (this was Thursday, mind you), and you get instant tears, rapidly descending to self-loathing.
I'm not exaggerating (as if I ever do).
I don't know what came over me, but the next thing I knew, I was being told to pull over, park the car and handed Kleenex for the mess my nose had made on my face. I was literally melting, apparently. I was asking Tom why he was dating me, there are so many better, more beautiful, incredibly successful, way-more-with-it women out there he could have, why on earth was he with a schizophrenic gal like me, stuck in a dead-end job with mounds of debt and an old, dusty car with a cracked windshield.
He just pulled me over to his chest and kept handing me Kleenex.
Poor guy.
Poor, wonderful guy...
Yeah, he told me a bunch of nice stuff about how I was the one he wanted to spend his life with, etcetera, but the main thing that stuck with me was, "You are not your job" (not that I'm discounting AT ALL the loving, supportive, chick-flick-worthy things he said, as well).

That statement was the one that saved me the very next day (Friday) when I was ready to throw in the towel already at 9:30am when my fresh coffee got dumped down the sink by a picky coworker before I could even snatch one, measly cup. No need for me to describe my emotions at that time. Let it suffice to say I was ready to march into the office manager and demand a Mental Health Day. Instead, I retreated to the bathroom, took a few deep breaths and remembered what Tom had told me. Between that quiet moment alone and the lunch we had together later, I made it.

This Sunday evening finds me happy. However, a tinge of emotion lingers behind my eyes, somewhere in the top of my head, maybe in my nose, I don't know, as I regret another too-short weekend and try not to get heartburn over the thought of going back to work. At least I have a break from the Offender, as she is on vacation all week. But my Thursday Meltdown is still with me since I haven't fully resolved any of the contributing issues, #1-3. Yes, I made Tom a couple of meals this weekend, which always makes me feel good with a dutiful sort of satisfaction. But I won't feel great even about #3 until I've been more consistently selfless over the next few weeks.
God help me. I think I can summon a tiny bit of flickering faith from this neglected soul of mine. I know the Big Guy doesn't mind a call for help, especially from an admittedly "bruised reed."
And I'll take any assistance available.

Be well,

Thursday, July 9, 2009

infamous, and then she was gone

my mind is in a fog, thus the cool title of my post.
sad, but true, my foggy mind seems to produce better material than the other mind from which i write at times.

this photo you see is a teaser for an upcoming post regarding my infamous spinach-artichoke dip, known even to strangers whose names i cannot remember as "that great dip at the Witkins' party."

too bad, so sad, the only details i have the energy to reveal for now are those, um, already revealed.

i am retiring to my soft, cool bed quite soon, only to wake in a few short hours, walk the dog, water the garden and on to work for a perfectly long Friday, immediately followed by a multi-hour trip to a campsite we will share with several friends in a more north, more cool locale.
during this time i will be utterly unavailable.
not that you'd notice, just thought i'd let you know.

and i'm just too doggone exhausted to give you the beautifully-photo-journalled post you deserve with the secret recipe you've all been waiting for... and didn't even know it. yes, we often do not know what has been missing from our lives until we encounter it and realize it is now necessary to our existence.
take my iPhone, for example.
as of 03/29/2009.
prior to that, i was obviously living in a pitiable state of deprivation, scraping by each day with my weak Motorola Razor.... Razr... ? (sp?)

my beverage is gone, thus indicating bedtime.
please be well this weekend, and await my very first Internet Recipeshare with baited breath.

thanks for reading.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009


every decision made is designed to solve something.

more and more lately, i have found myself searching for a solution to my utter distaste for a certain coworker, due to the fact that my constant heartburn in her presence is really making me miserable.
a few weeks ago i thought i had solved the problem by virtue of a certain epiphany:

Years from now, I will wonder why I wasted so much energy (and money spent on Tums) being angry. Therefore, I choose to preserve my health and energy and stop being angry at (insert name here).

it really did help for a while, but a certain turn of events in the workplace have caused this person to become 27 times (that was for Ruth) the thorn in my side she previously was, and i am apparently too weak to resist the influence of her icky behavior.

Solution #1:
Seek new job (working on it...).

Follow-up Solution to Solution #1:
Avoid undesirable coworker if and when at all possible (most definitely already doing, even to the extent of taking my homemade lunch to an outside establishment).

Solution #2:
Don't let her know she's getting to you (trying my darndest with my suave acting skills; i deserve an Oscar).

this is my best shot so far at conserving my energy and disposition while on the job.
i am quite disappointed in myself for allowing it to affect me so much.
i wish i was:
more tolerant
better able to ignore ridiculous-ness

really and truly, i do wish these things...

but you know, it just occurred to me, perhaps this really is the "thorn in my side...?"
(sorry about the mid-blog revelation... work in progress, folks...)

i was at church (SHOCK) a few weeks ago, due to this choir director position i recently landed, and the minister preached a sermon that actually spoke to me.
this hasn't happened in years, so i was naturally surprised to find myself actually listening and agreeing.
the sermon was based on a New Testament passage where the Apostle Paul discusses "a thorn in my side," how he had asked God repeatedly to remove it, but it was still there.

anyway, this is not a preaching blog, nor am i a preaching person, so i'll end my Bible study there....
it makes sense, really.... boy, it sure does SUCK if i'm right...

i'm gonna have to sleep on this one.
and continue eating my lunch elsewhere... no need to push it, you know...

Monday, July 6, 2009

The Trials and Tribulations of a Commuter-Blogger in Arizona

It seems to me this blogging business can all too quickly become a sort of trite, overly-introspective and somewhat annoying narrative of one's daily life and thoughts, perhaps too many details for anyone outside of your own brain.

I'm not sure how to get around that.
And perhaps it isn't necessary.
I will have to do some more thinking on this subject.... maybe a little introspection, thinking out loud, getting my thoughts out on this page... hee-hee.

I accept what I am, and I am a blogger.
If it's too much blah-blah-blah, then don't read it.
So there.

Back to my Monday...
I found myself oddly energetic, yea, even cheerful on this post-holiday Monday. I have found that post-holiday Mondays, not to be confused with post-holiday Tuesdays, have a sourness to them for which few have developed a liking.
On any other post-holiday Monday, I would be like the rest of my coworkers, clunking around the office with a forced smile reminiscent of the one you contort your face into after opening an undesirable gift in front of an eager in-law.
But not me.

Today, I was the irritating "neighbor who calls loudly to thee in the morning" (see: Bible), brimming with strangely positive energy after a short, sleepless night.
I did my best not to call too loudly to any of my neighbors, but having beaten the odds by barely making my 6:30 bus (yes, I sprinted) by sacrificing my morning blueberries and depriving my precious garden of a much-needed watering, I had earned the smile on my face, and I wasn't about to fake grumpiness just to avoid usnpoken conflict with those sourpusses.

I even sported a grin after being disappointed by a poorly-stocked ATM in attempts to deposit a $46.44 check. What did I do?
Hopped back in my dusty Bonneville and drove around the bank to the other ATM, which happened to be overflowing with envelopes, and deposited my small quarry with a satisfaction only a gal who cuts coupons and pinches pennies can feel.

It's ridiculous, I know. I can't explain my good mood, although I tried to reason through it all day, wondering how in the world I could feel the way I did without so much as an afternoon crash (which I fully expected).
I was "a-blowin' and a-goin'" (to quote my boyfriend's dad) the entire day, 8-5, with only a short break from the Crabby Ladies for lunch, which I felt necessary in order to preserve both my countenance and my sanity.

Little did I know what awaited me at the fateful hour of 6:15pm... the 533 Express to Gilbert.
Sans air-conditioning.
A minor detail seemingly incapable of undoing an entire day of unwavering rainbows and butterflies, but alas... I was not strong enough to withstand the heat.
My cold-blooded, Norwegian stamina failed me quickly on the 100+ degree bus.
And no, I am not exaggerating.
It was 100+ degrees outside, actually cooler than the inside of the bus on a baking freeway.
Fortunately, I had a craving for an extra-large, icy lemonade before embarking on the Dark Ride to Crushed Dreams and Withered Hopes, and my dearest Thomas sustained me with his advice to take an ice cube and rub it on my neck and wrists.

Don't get me wrong.
This was not a steamy picture of romance, my knight in shining armor graciously providing relief with the gentle caress of a lemony ice cube...
Ah, no.
We were seated across the widest aisle from each other, close enough to share only the most necessary information if spoken very loudly above the roar of the bus engine and whipping, hot wind through open windows, and with plenty of distance to avoid increasing body heat exponentially by touching someone else.
The ice cube tip was shared by means of shouting and sign language, providing some relief nonetheless, but not enough to salvage my fast-dwindling karma.

(My apologies to all who know the true definition of "karma" and are offended by my loose usage of the term. Plbbbt!)

Long story long, needless to say and other cliches that may apply to this ever-so-bloggy tale, I was a glistening, limp rag of a girl by the time we reached the hot, hot truck at the Park-and-Ride 45 minutes later.
I had long forgotten any aspirations for my evening, possessed by one, (literally) burning desire only to remove my sweaty clothes and lie flat on my back beneath a very large, very fast ceiling fan.
This I did, minus the flat on my back, plus a few cathartic groans when my socks were removed (don't tell me that isn't the best feeling in the world) and off into my corner chair with a cool, down pillow I went, ever so grateful to Tom for offering to feed the dog, which is usually my evening chore.

I awoke sometime later, dehydrated and icky-groggy (you know how this feels, i am sure), wondering if it was actually detrimental to my health to be waking up instead of relocating from chair to bed. The smell of food convinced me otherwise, and I was positive my dear mother had stopped by during my nap and fixed me some of her perfectly greasy, fried potatoes.
I was wrong.
I had somehow mistaken the smell of George Foreman-grilled steak and frozen green beans for my mother's fried potatoes. Surely my sense of smell had been damaged by my harrowing journey!

I shuffled around the kitchen, eyes barely open, driven more by hunger than by exhaustion (exhaustion usually wins, but I'm on a diet). I fixed myself a Lean Cuisine mac & cheese with a veggie burger topped with yogurt and salsa on the side (hey, anything tastes fantastic on a low-calorie diet, people)... and please, please, PLEASE- don't forget the icy cold Diet Barq's that made the venture into the kitchen all worth it.

My culinary adventure woke me up just enough to retreate to my blogging spot, complete with crooked lamp and rickety chair, strewn bills and yes, even a label-maker at my side which had been used over the weekend to label shelves in the linen closet (call me OCD, but I can't stand unfolding sheets to figure out what-the-heck-size they are).

I am content, again.
Sure, it would be nice if there were one, last gulp of Diet Barq's left in the can, but there isn't, and I'm okay with that.
I shall now make good on my promise to myself to retire earlier than I did last night, being sure to medicate the new red bumps on my chin with benzoyl peroxide (thank you, 533 Express from Hell).

Be well,

honesty counts

right now i just feel like writing in lowercase... kind of lazy, but then again, it is 12:34am, Arizona time, and i feel entitled to a little indulgence at this hour.

i am quite aware of the fact that at least 2 other people will be reading this, so forgive the lowercase letters for now, if you please, and know that my typing will be more formally upper-cased in later posts.

i have initiated this blog as a creative avenue for any blooming thing i feel like writing about, which may include but not be limited to the following:
gardening woes
vent sessions
love stories

today is my day, and these are my words.
i look forward to more of both.