Wednesday, June 30, 2010


Pepperidge Farm's new Goldfish Grahams are dangerously delicious, at least in the vanilla flavor.  I never would have bought them, but Smith's was rounding all coupons up to $1, so I spent hours (literally, multiple hours) clipping coupons and making my list.  I got the goldfish for all of $.25.  Unfortunately, I didn't seem to buy much in the way of dinner foods, and apparently you can only have Mexican food so many times in one month before Someone breaks down and complains.  But that's another story.

Of course, he took last night's non-Mexican leftovers and turned them into a burrito today, so I really can't win.  Face it, though, pretty much everything tastes better in a tortilla.  Apparently that includes garlic smashed potatoes and chicken and broccoli.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Imaginary letter from my husband

Dear wife,

I know you are very busy being ridiculously attractive, thrifty, brave, and the primary wage earner, but we're out of clean silverware.  Except spoons, of course; we have thrice as many spoons as any other utensil.  Surely you must have noticed this, as you resorted to using a plastic knife to butter your toast this morning.  And yet there is still one knife in the drawer.  You must have left it there for me, so I could make a sandwich for lunch.  That's very thoughtful of you.  Nevertheless, would you mind very much perhaps tidying up the kitchen sometime?  I would do it myself, but you seem to find the way I load the dishwasher unsatisfactory.  Perhaps it has something to do with my clinical inability to rinse dishes first?  I suppose I have more faith in its cleaning power than past experience would warrant.  Regardless, we are still out of clean forks.

Your husband.

Of course, we all know that he would never write this, because semicolons and words like "thrice" aren't really his bag.  Also, he's pretty good about not making me feel bad when I let the housekeeping slide.  I really did use a plastic knife this morning so as to leave him a clean knife.  I guess my plans for the evening are clear.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

A word of advice

If you are a married man and your wife complains that as she was trying to remove a skirt from the closet, the velcro on your duty gear put a hole in a brand new pair of nylons that is large enough for two toes to stick out, do not say "That's where it always is," implying that she should have known better to stand there.  She may have also burned her hand, be mildly nervous about a pending job interview, and very sad that your bff neighbors have suddenly announced that they are moving.  This will effectively ruin the day before the clock even strikes 8, and may make her a little tearful as she drives to her increasingly frustrating job.  Choose a more compassionate reply, such as "Oh no, that's terrible!" so as not to upset her more than the morning already has.

This is just a suggestion based on a hypothetical situation.  It's not at all how my morning went.  No, not at all.  I mean, I've got three toes sticking out the hole in my nylons.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Not lethal is not the same as benign

I have been suffering lately from some incredibly annoying muscle twitches.  (Would you like to see the video of my calf's "heartbeat"?)  The internet tells me they're benign, but I think what they mean is that they're not life-threatening.  Because you know what?  They're not harmless.  There's nothing benign about something that makes you want to rip your arm off at the shoulder--or that makes you flap like a chicken constantly in an attempt to make it stop.  There's nothing benign about waking up in the middle of the night because your butt is twitching and you can't fall back asleep.  There are some serious mental side-effects going on here.  I think so far I've had at least nine different muscles twitching.

There are various things that might cause twitching--exhaustion, stress, magnesium deficiency, dehydration--but it started very suddenly last week, with no obvious trigger.  I'm just lucky I guess.

Anyone got any awesome folk remedies?  My friend's dad suggested tonic water for the quinine (about this same time last year, actually) but I just can't bring myself to drink enough of that for it to make any difference.  Maybe it's just a summer solstice thing.

Friday, June 18, 2010

Limited powers

You know the old "If you could have one superpower, what would you pick?" game?  I like to play it as "If you had a superpower but could only use it for one specific thing, what would it be?"

Although I'm tempted to pick stopping time so I can sleep longer, I'm ultimately going to go with telekinesis so that I can put cigarettes discarded from car windows back in the car. That'd teach 'em a lesson they wouldn't soon forget. I'd be the Ashtray Avenger.  You?

Thursday, June 17, 2010

This is what we call a GBS

I got two--count 'em, two--compliments on my outfit today.  That is more impressive when you consider how few people I encounter during a day.  It's like winning a People's Choice Award, really.

One of them was from my co-worker who, uh, doesn't share my sense of style.  This always makes me nervous, because her idea of a store with "lots of really cute stuff" is Coldwater Creek.  (They do seem to have a few cute things online, but I can never actually get over the threshold of the store; it's like Anthropologie all over again.) But then a few minutes later, when I was at lunch, the girl next to me in line said she liked my outfit, so I knew it was okay.

It's a good outfit.  It reminds me of our wedding, oddly enough.  Story time!

As you know, the airlines have chosen to screw the consumer by charging for checked baggage.  I refuse to do it.  (Well, we did on the way home, because we had some gifts and it was still cheaper than shipping them.  They were heavy!)  I don't know if you were aware, but weddings require a lot of stuff.  Dresses (three, actually), veil, suit, shoes, jewelry, specialty underpinnings so you can actually zip the darn thing, etc.  As such, we had exactly one "rollerboard" (which I've also seen as "rollaboard") suitcase for all our other stuff.  That really didn't leave room for much in the way of a wardrobe.

Let me pause here so you can make a "you don't need much clothing on a honeymoon" joke before you get to the "add a comment" button.  Go ahead.  Get it out of your system.  I'll wait.

As I was saying, there wasn't a lot of room for clothes.  Most things had to do double duty.  I had the outfit I flew out in, plus a tank top to layer under my red cardigan (which technically was part of the wedding ensemble).  I seem to recall the shirt I flew out in getting baby vomit on it, so it's a good thing I had a spare.

And what a spare!  Look at those sequins!  It's so much fun.  A little flashy without being clearance-rack-at-Dillard's ridiculous.  I got it at Old Navy when it was the Deal of the Week, and I think I also had a 30% off coupon.  All I remember is that I paid less than $5 for it.

So this pairing ended up getting a fair amount of wear, like when we went down to the hotel bar for virgin daiquiris, or when we went to Mrs. Knott's Chicken Restaurant with our families before we left for the airport, or when we went to the mall to go to Claim Jumper.  Because you know what?  Room service is expensive (I think it was $28 for the hamburger?  Pardon me, cheeseburger.) and they don't have Claim Jumpers in Utah.  And it's the dang craziest mall I've ever been to, with Dolce and Gabbana next to Bath and Body Works.  Really, it's the most inclusive mall you'll ever go to.  No matter how much money you have, you can find a store willing to take as much of it as possible.

Anyway, it's a great outfit, and it reminds me of the best day ever, exactly six months ago.

Six months!

The last six months have just flown by.  A lot of crazy stuff has happened--surgery after surgery, deaths and a funeral, you name it--and I'm sure that contributed.  But in some ways, it seems like we've been married so much longer than just six months.  In all the best ways, of course.  We just work together so well, that there's been no significant adjustment.

I mean, sure, I can't take my half out of the middle of the bed anymore (mostly because he already does) and we've discovered that, thanks to night-breath, only one of us at a time can face the middle of the bed.  I've rolled over into his hand, there's the occasional kneeing, but for the most part we're just fine.  Well, we're just fine now that I'm back on my side of the bed.  He tried to claim it, but I sleep on my side, facing the edge of the bed, and it turns out I get no sleep if I'm on my right side.

Those are little things, though, and are far outweighed by everything else.  He cleans.  He helps with the laundry in clearly defined ways (RIP, grey cashmere sweater).  He kills bugs.  He makes me toast when I'm getting ready for church, without me even asking.  He'll hop out of bed to get me anything I need, even though I refuse to ask him to because it makes me feel like a jerk.  If something tastes good, it's "perfect," and when it doesn't taste good, there's no complaining (from him; I criticize my cooking freely).  He lets me be a little crazy, but will rein me in before I go too far.  He doesn't get weirded out when I cry for no good reason.

I could go on.  Suffice it to say I love the kid, and I'm glad I let him talk me into getting married.

Photo courtesy of my brother and his cell phone

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Dear Walmart,

Dear Walmart ad in today's paper,

What is your definition of "locally grown"?  Because Idaho potatoes are grown in Idaho (they're kind of protective about that), and I'm pretty sure that doesn't qualify as local.  Sure, the 'ho is only a few hours away.  But still.  It's an entirely different state.  And these aren't back-east, my-county-is-bigger-than-your-state states.  These are sprawling western states.

Also, I think it's more fair to charge for watermelons by the pound, as they can vary widely in size and weight.  I'm just sayin'.

What is your favorite color? Blue! No, yel--

I took a preferred color test just for funs.  I find the results fairly accurate:

I can agree with that.  And anyone who has seen my highly unorganized spare room closet could probably agree with that, too.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

What makes you awesome?

I was filling out a job application (thanks, Amy!) and there was a box with the instructions "Tell us what makes you awesome."  I decided to go slightly whimsical, because based on the photos in their Flickr stream, it seems like they would appreciate that. I don't remember remember the job-applicable things I put, but I know I did include "I like to bake treats and force the surplus on my friends and neighbors.  I like puns.  I let my husband put his 'clothing optional beyond this point' sign outside our bedroom door." and I can't be sure, but think I closed with "I read the Chicago Manual of Style for fun.  Really."

So tell me, what you you put on a job application that asks you to tell why you're awesome?

Monday, June 14, 2010

More things I don't understand

I don't understand why everyone loves Anthropolgie.  Am I some weird freak of nature?  It seems that everyone I know (and blog I read) is obsessed with this store.  And when they post specific items that they like, I'm usually like, "Yeah, that's cute."  But every time I walk in the store, everything is unattractive or weird and the place is so loud and disorganized that I can't imagine how anyone could ever spend enough time in there to actually find something worth trying on.  I guess I'm just too distracted by all the expensive knob pulls.  No, really.  Knob pulls that are like, eighteen bucks each.  So I guess if I was redoing my very small bathroom vanity I could afford them, except that most of them are just nuts and ugly.  There are a couple I like, but most of them are too odd, even for me--and I want a Psycho-esque shower curtain.

But let's face it, I think my main aversion to the store is the prices.  You want how much for a shirt dress?  $118. But it has bicycles on it!  Um, okay.  I don't really even like bicycles that much.  I think I'll stay with my under-$30 H&M shirt dress.  It has cute little flowers on it.  And pockets.  And didn't cost me two weeks' worth of groceries.

So what does everyone think of Anthropologie?  Love it? Hate it?  Not even bother to go in?  Tell me I'm not crazy for thinking it's overrated.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Our first date (and second, and third)

For our first date, Adam thought we should go rock climbing.  Bouldering, really.  I said, "That sounds..interesting."  It did, really.  Interesting in a "you clearly don't know me very well if that's what you're picking for our first date" kind of way.  But I'm a carefree, easy-going girl (RIGHT?), so I went with it.

Um, what does one wear to go bouldering on a first date?  You don't want to bust out the track pants (or worse, yoga pants) but you'd also like to stay covered and look nice.  This is a terrible wardrobe dilemma.  I picked something, maybe wasn't 100% sure of it, but I went with it.  BECAUSE I'M EASY-GOING.

He got to the house, and we chatted for a little while.  I admitted that my nervousness existed on many levels.  I may have been even a little panicky.  I stalled, keeping him talking.  Think of all the ways this can go wrong--wardrobe malfunctions, awkward views of my butt, confirmation of my complete lack of coordination or physical fitness, heights, falling.... There were just too many ways to go wrong.

Finally, he said suggested that we just grab dinner, since he could see that the thought of going climbing made me uncomfortable (and as he pointed out later, the whole point was to make me comfortable so I'd keep dating him).  So that's what we did.  Our first date consisted of sitting in my living room, talking; eating dinner at Mimi's, where he learned that I too love ranch dressing and eavesdropping in restaurants; talking in my living room; talking outside his car.  See?  Lots of talking is a good thing, because it means you find each other interesting.

I had free tickets to the state fair, which ended very soon, and was hosting a birthday party at my house (all this also mentioned here) so I asked him out for our second date.  Our first date was on a Wednesday, the party was Friday, I had a date with someone else on Saturday, so I suggested that we go the next night.  I wanted cotton candy for dinner, dang it, and I had already been thwarted twice.

The state fair was fun.  I ate cotton candy, Adam attempted to win something for me on various carnival games, we saw cows and a large butter statue...everything I want from a fair.  He was panicking because of my date with this other guy, but I told him not to worry about it, because I wasn't really into Other Guy.  Finally I stuck my hand out and told him to hold it.  No subtle reaching over nonsense.  It's far easier to be direct.

The next night was my friend's birthday party, which he also attended, though not for long.  He tried to kiss me on the cheek, but I totally blocked it, mostly to harass him.  Besides, we'd only been on two dates.

Saturday night I had a date with Other Guy, so Adam went to the gym and swam.  The whole time.  He was a little anxious.  But when I got home, I called him.  I had to go grocery shopping, so I asked if he wanted to come along.  Third date:  Albertson's. Some might say that's not technically a date, but why can't it be?  Not every date has to be a song-and-dance number.

We talked about dating exclusively (why does that sound so old-fashioned?) and I believe my exact words were "I can agree to that."  I'm such a romantic.

After that, we were inseparable.  In fact, the only days we haven't seen each other since our first date was when I went  home for Thanksgiving and he had to stay and work.  Even if it was only for an hour or two, we always made it a point to see each other.  And it must have worked.

Friday, June 11, 2010

They want me to eat rabbits? Cute, floppy-eared rabbits?

I just read an article that suggested we all raise chickens and rabbits for meat instead of having a pet.  First of all, I'm pretty sure chickens are more work than people think.  Second, I'm not going to eat rabbits, especially if I raised them myself.  They're cute and soft and cuddly, and I would have a pretty hard time KILLING AND EATING something so pet-like.  Especially if you gave up a pet to raise them--you're likely to view them as pets, anyway.

The article also went on to say that we should plant gardens instead of lawns and use leftover animal fat to make our own soap.  Uh huh, uh huh.  Where should I set up my candle-dipping station?  I mean, don't get me wrong, I like the Little House books as much as the next girl, but I have no great desire to re-live them.  Remember The Long Winter, where they almost died because the winter was harsher than they expected and they didn't have enough food stored?  Yeah, I totally want my winters like that!  Maybe I'll turn off my heater, too, and just live off the straw I can twist into bundles to feed into my wood-burning stove.

Honestly, people can be so ridiculous.  I hate that people take good ideas--grow a garden, eat less meat--and make it a battle cry, like I'm a terrible person who doesn't deserve to live if I don't rip out my lawn and put in a lettuce patch.

And what do these people do for a living, that they not only have time to be so ecologically productive, but to also judge me for not doing it?  Sign me up for that job.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

When to update

I'm about to embark on reading the entire Chicago Manual of Style.  I've read a great deal of it, but I figure I'll read it all, straight through, a la J.J. Abrams reading the Encyclopedia Britannica.  (His book The Know It All is a delight.)

But I checked Amazon, and the next edition comes out August 1!  Do I wait and read that one?  Am I sure that they'll even let me buy it, what with all the budget crunching?  It seems a waste to read a style guide that's about to be updated.

What do you say?  Should I read it anyway?

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

How I met my husband, chapter two

Last we met, he asked for my phone number on Facebook.  If he had asked me out over FB, I would have said no.  He assures me that he knows better than that.

I don't remember how it started.  Did he call first, or send a text? He had the tendency to set up "appointments" to call.  "Is it okay if I call you tomorrow?" type of thing.  I found that amusing.

He got my number on Saturday, so at this point we've known each other for a week.  He had to work on Sunday, but he asked if he could call me.  I told him he could, but if I didn't answer it was because I was taking a nap.  He did call, and I did hear it, but I didn't answer.  Naps are important.  I called him back when I got up, though, and suggested that he come to the potluck at the church that night.

He did go--just to see me, he tells me now--but the dish I was making took longer than expected and by the time I got there, there were no seats to be found.  Someone else jumped up to get me a chair and make room for me, so I ended up at the complete opposite end of the table.  I couldn't even really remember from the previous week what he looked like, so it was a good opportunity to check him out.  He was cute enough, but I wasn't exactly head over heels for him.

He had to work early the next day, so he didn't stay long, but I think he did try my baked pasta concoction and come over to our end of the table to say hi and how delicious it was.  (It wasn't.  It's better as regular pasta and not baked.)  I'm sure we had an appointment to talk the next night.  There were lots of calls and texts at first, and I don't have my hand-written journal handy, so some of this is approximations.  Deal with it. I'm not under oath.

On Wednesday, I was going to a party with a friend.  Also in attendance was the friend from the last chapter, who had helped Adam find me on Facebook.  We were talking about it, and I said that he was coming on a little strong, and that I was tempted to send him a text message that said, "Hey, you seem like a nice guy, so let me give you a tip: you're coming on a little strong."  I mean, calling, texting--what was going on here?

Oh, wait.  Apparently that's what they call pursuing.  It's not really done any more, so it was a little foreign to me.  But I thought about it, and decided that though it was unusual, it wasn't actually unpleasant.  So I decided I should help him out a little.

On Tuesdays, Adam had a crazy long day that would start at like, 4:30 a.m.  I had never initiated contact with him--all the calling and texting conversations were started by him.  So on a Tuesday, I sent him a text message and asked how his long day at work had been.  He told me later that he was still on the trucks when he got my message, but that he was so excited.  See?  I know how these games work.

All this time, we still hadn't gone on a date.  When he asked for my number, he had plans to go to California to visit his family, and because his job is dumb, he had to work twelve days straight in order to get a few days off.  So there had been no time to go out.

But finally, after almost two weeks, the date was approaching.  I told him to come up with something interesting.  It turned out to be too interesting...

Join us again next week, when I talk about our first date!

TV is on vacation

Last night when the news came on, FH asked, "Why don't we turn off the TV?"  I looked at him, bleary with my crying-induced headache, and said in the most pitiful voice (no mustering needed), "Because you took the batteries out of the remote!"

He had been looking for AAA batteries, and we didn't have any, so he just Frankensteined them from the remotes.  I knew he'd forget to put them back, and we'd end up in exactly that situation.  So he had to get up and walk ALL THE way across our not very large living room to turn it off.  Serves him right.

Anyway, Glee is over for the season, so there's nothing left to turn on the TV for until season premieres in the fall.  Well, and Netflix.  Thank goodness for Netflix.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

If only the second life hadn't been so short

I just finished Stephenie Meyer's novella "The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner."  It wasn't absolutely terrible.  Only a few ridiculous similes.  And Bree is a much more likable character than Bella.  Alas, if only the series had been about her and the novella about Bella.

Anyone else read it yet?  Thoughts?

Do not adjust your sets...

Do you ever have one of those days where everything just blows up in your face?  And even though it could have been worse, it's bad enough that that's really no consolation?  As grateful as I am that things aren't worse, I would prefer them to have been better.

That's been our week.  There are some regularly scheduled posts, but perhaps not much else for a little while.

Sigh.  Stay tuned.  We will return to our regularly scheduled programming.

(Also, don't go to Stevens Henager college, because they will probably screw you over.)

Sunday, June 6, 2010

How I met your, my husband

In honor of our six monthiversary (ask me sometime why it can't be a six month anniversary), I thought I'd tell a few stories, since apparently at least one inquiring mind wants to know.

My Fabulous Husband and I met at church.  I was teaching Sunday School.  The lesson: dating and marriage.  Yeah.  Not that the lesson manual specifically talks about dating much, but for a group of singles, it's the obvious route to take.  What am I going to do, stand up there and talk about how great marriage is?

Anyway, I don't really mince words (you had no idea, did you?) and apparently he found something quite appealing in my no-nonsense approach to telling people what they should do.  (Let's face it, you can't get married if you don't date.  That's just how this game works.)  I don't actually remember him from that class, though I do remember that he sat behind me in the combined third-hour class.  I said hello, maybe "Are you new?"  Nothing spectacular.

So he friended on Facebook the girl he was sitting next to, and then asked her how to find me.  I'm her FB friend, too, but was blonde at the time and my FB profile picture is brown-haired.  I'm pretty particular about accepting friend requests (ask the nine people currently languishing in friend-request purgatory) but accepted his, even though I didn't know him.

A few days later, he sends me a FB message (smart people don't put it on your wall!) that said
So I have this problem. I'm not going to be in church for 2 weeks and there's this girl I would like to ask out(wink wink) but I don't have her phone #. apparantly when I get back she won't remember me either(wink wink) so I need to act fast so I'm not forgotton. How could I go about getting her number(wink wink)???????
He thinks that was pretty smooth.  I think that was pretty dorky.  But I let him think he was smooth.  Marriage is all about picking your battles.

I replied with
Well, there's always the ward list. Or hey, you could ask her for it.
 I was riffing on Ocean's Eleven there, which really only works if you know the movie well.  It works even better if you hear me say it.

Anyway, he then replied and asked for my phone number.  I waited 11 hours before I responded, partly because I was in Orem most the day, but mostly just to mess with him.  I had time to do it before I left for the storytelling festival; I just didn't.  I'm apparently a huge jerk like that.

Stay tuned for our next exciting chapter of How I Met My Husband.  Although, actually, we've covered all that.  I guess someone needs to come up with a better title.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Life can be so unfair

I am absolutely forbidden from buying this:

So unfair. I think it would really jazz up the bathroom.  And it's even my signature color!

The only chance I have in getting it is if I agree to get the LED shower light, which we first saw in the SkyMall catalog on one of our many trips.  I cringe at the thought of it.

See, FH's decorating style tends to the college-age doofus (yes I did cave last week and let him put up his "Clothing optional beyond this point" sign outside our bedroom door) and mine tends to the zany...and macabre.

Marriage is all about compromise.

Friday, June 4, 2010

More phone tips

I dislike speaker phone, as a rule.  What I'm hearing is "This phone call is so unimportant, I can't even be bothered to hold the receiver."

What's worse is that, unless you're an important corner-office type (lucky you) chances are that someone near you can hear your conversation.  Now you're being rude to the person on the line AND every other person in earshot.  If your office doesn't have a door, you don't get to use the speaker phone.  It's just that easy.

There's a website called Smart, Pretty, and Awkward, which gives some good advice (although I don't seem to have the same fashion aesthetic as the author), including things like this.  Maybe I should write an unsolicited advice column.  Maybe that's my key to blogging fame and fortune, eh?

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Stupid boys

Last Monday, Fabulous Husband went to the doctor's.  Yesterday, he had a test done (in the hospital, because the provider is on our insurance, but not if they do the procedure in the clinic she's based out of.  I don't get it.).  In the week and a half between appointments, he managed to lose eight pounds.  Eight.

Granted, scales are different, and he was wearing jeans last week and track pants yesterday--not to mention that the test required him to completely empty various intestinal tracts.  But still.  He goes without eating for 39 hours (as he reminded me in the car, wasting away and practically starving) and loses several pounds.  I ate practically nothing for days after my tonsillectomy, and I lost essentially nothing.

Even worse, is that in the time we've known each other, and mostly in the nearly six months we've been married, FH has lost fully 20 pounds. I am the same weight, or perhaps a few pounds heavier.

Why?  Because when he was single, he ate fast food for lunch every day, and who knows what kind of nonsense for dinner.  Now he has a wife to make him sandwiches for lunch (that actually only lasted a few weeks, while he was on the truck) and buy string cheese and yogurt and Sun Chips and all manner of delicious, healthy foods.  I make homemade hot pockets that are simultaneously more filling and more healthful, thanks to my half-whole wheat dough and lack of preservatives and artificial flavorings.  I make actual dinner (sometimes), and insist that he really doesn't need to eat half of a pizza in one sitting.

My eating habits haven't really changed, except maybe to eat more.  Because I can't really convince my husband that popcorn is an appropriate dinner selection.  Unfortunately.

The emergency stop button is for what?

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

We're going to need considerably bigger buns

A thousand points if you can tell me what movie the title of this post comes from.  Negative fifty points if you google it.

So, perhaps you know that I like to cook?  Bake, really.  I don't care for making dinner (except for homemade for it!) but I like to make treats.  Every Sunday night, we have dinner with our neighbors, and I generally pick what dessert I'm going to make before I pick a main course.  For example, I had already picked chocolate toffee cookies before we decided on homemade pizza again (watch for it!).

Anyway, we rarely eat hamburgers, because I don't love 'em. But I also don't hate them, and I had been wanting to try out a recipe for hamburger buns that I had found in the NY Times.  Fortunately, the remarkable Deb of Smitten Kitchen made them for me (by which I mean on my behalf, not to give to me.  Dude, I don't even know her.  Or her adorable baby.  Sigh.).  You can find the recipe there, but note that I used no bread flour (because who keeps bread flour?) and it turned out just fine. They're even good for eating plain (also toasted with a little garlic salt and mozarella).  See?

I also made a batch using instant yeast instead of active dry (try googling that difference some time) and again, just fine.  They mostly just rise faster, which is just fine by me.  I actually made the second batch during the week, it was so speedy (it helps if they're sitting by the dishwasher during a heated dry cycle, I'll admit).  I have them in the freezer, just hanging out, waiting for me to cook something meaty to put inside it.

Dare to dream, little breads.  Dare to dream.

Tell me something I don't know, finance bloggers

I read something last night on five ways to save $500.  They were all useless.  It included things like "go a week longer between haircuts."  Seeing as I get my hair cut about twice a year (if I'm lucky) that's really not going to make a difference.  I've complained mentioned before that I've reached my maximum couponing ability for my current stage in life, so that's no good.  I already bring leftovers for lunch.  We eat meatless several times a week, but mostly because I don't like meat that much.

That's the problem with the "one less latte" brand of money-saving advice.  If I'm already doing it, then an infinity of tips aren't going to help me save money.  I can't turn the A/C up two degrees if it's not even on yet (thanks again for the ceiling fans, Dad).

I think my all-time favorite tip is "make more money."  Thanks, guys.  WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT?

So forget about the "pros."  How do you, my loyal eight readers, save money?

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Nearly six months later...

Man, these files are huge.  The size of this post is directly determined by my patience with the uploading speed.  Thank you, friend who has his own photo "business" for giving us all the pictures, free of copyright restriction nonsense.  (Incidentally, the captions come before the photos, because when it comes after, I always end up scrolling up to look at it again.  You're welcome.)

Coming out the entirely nondescript door set aside for marriage parties: 

Not sure what's going on here.  Had I grabbed his butt, maybe?  It's quite, quite possible.

Announcing it on Facebook, to the surprise of those who only communicate with me on Facebook.  Such was their punishment for not keeping in better contact.

Blowfish face.  My face hurt from all the grinning.

The rare Smiling Little Brother.  We should photoshop my sister to face forward.

I totally won.  You know what game I'm talking about.

I like pictures that don't show that I have poor posture:

Although it looks like we're gazing lovingly into each other's eyes, we're mostly just talking about how friggin hungry we are:

Okay, that's enough for now.  Funny thing, the DVD of our pictures has been in my computer basically nonstop since we got them.  Apparently I don't use my disc drive much.  

Am I missing something?

Um, did I ever post wedding pictures on the blog?  I know I did on Facebook, and I know I posted the announcement (which, incidentally, I failed to mail to anyone.  Is there a statute of limitations on that?), but I don't think I posted actual wedding pictures.  Is there anyone who didn't see pictures who wants to see them?  Speak now or forever hold your peace.

The lost art of the telephone

I get a lot of phone calls at work that aren't specifically intended for me.  Basically, anyone that they don't know whom to send to, they give to me.  As such, I get a lot of long-winded explanations.

It's a small thing, really, but when you add up how much of my time is spent listening to unnecessary information, I think it becomes understandable why it irritates me so much.  For instance, just this morning, I was on the phone with a man who went on and on about the first-graders they were bringing on a field trip from a Title One school, most of whom are not members and are mostly African immigrants, so it's a really great experience for them.  They take them on a tour of the Square and the office building, then give them a can of lemonade on the southwest corner of the Eagle Gate.  He just found out that they're closing that cross walk today, so it would take three crosswalks to get to that area, and could they have permission to do it on the grassy area by the fountain?

How much of that did I actually need to know?  They're taking a field trip, and access to the area they usually use for snack time is limited, so could they please use somewhere else?  What needed all of 30 seconds to convey enough information for me to accurately route his call instead took three or four.

I get this all the time.  The worst is when they call for someone specific and it rolls over to me.  "Would you like their voicemail?" I ask (ever so sweetly).  "Well, maybe you can help me," they say, before launching into a three-minute explanation.  My response is almost always without fail, "Yes, you would need to talk to [whomever they were originally trying to reach] about that.  Would you like to leave a voicemail?"  Right back where we started.

Voicemails, of course, is a similar problem, with people leaving far too much information.  And then of course they say their phone number like they're auditioning to be the new MicroMachine guy, so you have to listen to the entire rambling message so that you can get the last six seconds, which is the only really pertinent information.  And why is it that people always speed up for the phone number?  My rule is say it slowly, say it twice.  Even better, say it once at the beginning and once at the end, so they don't even have to listen to the rest of the message.

Honestly, it's like no one knows how to use the phone anymore.  I blame texting.