October's Party

And with little time to spare - an October tradition...

October's Party
George Cooper

October gave a party,
The leaves by hundreds came.
The chestnut oaks, and maples
and leaves of every name.
The sunshine spread a carpet,
Miss Weather led the dancing
Professor Wind the band.

The chestnuts came in yellow
The oaks in crimson dressed
The lovely Misses Maple
In scarlet looked their best;
All balanced to their partners
And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky.

Then, in a rustic hollow,
at hide and seek they played
The party closed at sundown
and everybody stayed.
Professor Wind played louder
They flew along the ground
then the party ended
in jolly "hands around".

Me & Panther

me: (arriving this morning with hot Starbucks) I love the Starbucks on Monroe! (*and I do, Starbucks on Monroe, I do!)

him: why?

me: the cute girl with the perky hair always remembers me. She says, "Hello Friend!" She always remembers the soy milk and for some reason calls me graphic designer.

him: yeah, she usually calls me sweetie or honey or... [dead pan] sex panther.

awesome. good service is really hard to find.

No Flip Flops

I love flip flops (or flop flips*, or whatever). I wear them everywhere. With everything - formal, informal and everything in between.

Until yesterday, when the charm of my flip flop choice du jour failed to inspire confidence in my superiors. DANGER! NEED NEW SHOES.

NEW SHOES THAT GO WITH EVERYTHING. The thing about flip flops - I'm a tall lady. A tall, tall lady. Even taller when I put on shoes that aren't flip flops. I used to wear heels all the time - fifty pounds or so ago. At this point, piling all of me on the equivalent of two golf pencils just isn't all that appealing.

Yes, there are wedges. I know, I know. I just /hands on hips\ like wearing my flip flops. The toes need to be free!

Now that my treatise on flip flops is almost over, there was another punch to the gut -- my beloved dress code of jeans and polos/t-shirts will soon be a thing of the past. I'm headed to the land of business casual. How's that for a Halloween horror story.

So, now I'm flipping through Talbots Outlet, JJill Sale and some Lands End choices. I want a uniform equal to my jeans combo. I never thought I'd be less excited about shopping.

Wisdom, Hops & You

"I know less about life than most of these people know about beer."
- said while waiting in line at Brewfest Tallahassee

Or was it the other way around...

When I wish for more flu

I had the flu earlier this week - not swine, just normal flu. Or so I thought. Normal flu would have been gone by now... Right?

Nope, still dragging. Yesterday I took a "nap" around 6 PM, and woke up around 1 PM. It is the first time in my life I slept in later than K.

I wish I had more flu. It was easier.

FIRST!

I don't get it.

I enjoy read Dooce. As a matter of fact, her blog is probably my hands down favorite -- I like it so much I save it in my reader and then move over to her actual blog to read it. That's how I show respect bitches.

I don't understand, however, why people get all hyped up about commenting first. I simply DON'T GET IT. Yeah! You clicked there first! Whooppee! Now, I know I don't have hundreds or thousands of comments - maybe that's why I miss the thrill.

I'm super super confused by the d-bags that end up somewhere like #18 who are all thanking their respective deity for the honor of posting first. Um, Hi D-Bag. You suck. Not to be a hater, but why don't you go write your own blog where you get to be first EVERY DAY. C'mon - be proactive!

I get excited when I get comments. Period.

What did I do?

Since the wee age of 14, I've been coloring my hair. First, champagne blonde, then platinum, then red, auburn, brunette, espresso. You name it, my hair has been that color.

I heart hair. Even more, I heart doing things to my hair. Some are successful -- some are DISASTERS. Like the time Feria and I clearly did not see eye to eye and coloring over my highlights resulted in LAVENDER streaks through my hair. Or the time I left my foils on too long (yes, I did my own foils). Or the time the Southern Baptist gay man clearly did not understand that I meant honey blonde and not Clemson orange. I have more hair stories - all by myself - than most Southern chapters of Kappa Delta.

So, this past week I made a(nother) drastic change. I chopped off my hair in a longer-styled reverse mullet. Think Sienna Miller, not Kate Gosselin. And it's not bad - the new hair cut. It's super easy to fix and takes no time to dry.

Nonetheless, I was sitting in the chair when I realized what had happened. Several pounds of hair on the floor... AND OH HOLY SHIT BALLS. I look like my mother.

Titillation II

Apparently, Tallahassee can be titillated.

I attended the Hotel Duval Grand Opening with a few friends on Thursday night. I have to admit - there were moments I didn't feel like I was in Tallahassee. I think that's probably the best compliment I could pay...

Wish I had taken pictures. Probably best that I didn't.

Apple Crack

I've been obsessed with The Pioneer Woman Cooks lately. OBSESSED. She cooks with BUTTER. And BACON. And lots of DELICIOUSNESS. I am super ashamed to say that the first time I read her recipes, I wasn't so crazy about them. I didn't own a skillet and I think - well, I'm blaming it on - kitchen gadget inferiority.

I now have a skillet. And I have joined the ranks of millions who follow this woman. Have I mentioned bacon and butter? Some recent expeditions into her recipe vaults have yielded successes like Bacon Wrapped Jalapeno Thingies, Blue Cheese Onion Goodness, Caesar Salad, and oh sweet goodness - Onion Straws. Do not get me started on the Firecracker Shrimp.

Last night I ventured into her dessert repertoire... Apple Dumplings, or as K. renamed them: Apple Crack.

First, this was an EASY recipe. I didn't even measure anything. One apple, one can of whomp crescent rolls, a stick of butter and some Mountain Dew. (Oh, some cinnamon and vanilla too).

Let's break it down:
2 Granny Smith Apples
1 Can Crescent Rolls (I used reduced fat - don't know why...)
1 Stick of Butter
2/3 c. Sugar - or more, to taste
1/2 tbs + Vanilla
1 tsp Cinnamon (I added some nutmeg and allspice)
Pinch of Salt (because I used unsalted butter)
1/2 c. or less Mountain Dew

Core and peel the apples. Slice each apple into 8 slices. Wrap each crescent roll around two slices of apple (*original recipe calls for one slice per roll, I wanted a little more apple). Place each wrapped apple in a baking dish that's small enough so the apple dumplings fit in snugly. Think cinnamon rolls snug.

In a sauce pan, melt the stick of butter. Dump in the sugar and stir just a bit - you want it lumpy. Add in cinnamon, salt and vanilla.

Now here come's the OMG part. Pour the butter mixture OVER the dumplings -- gooey, delish and decadent. Now add the Mountain Dew - I sort of poured it in between the dumplings.

In to the oven they go - 350 for 40 minutes. I suggest putting a cookie sheet under the cooking dish to avoid splattering. (Dear Lord! The splattering!). Try not to pull them out of the oven with your bare hands.



CRACK, I tell you. I made eight dumplings last night -- and they're all gone. I had two. K. is obviously a crack whore.

It's chilly in Tallahassee today -- good thing I have some more apples. And crescent rolls. And BUTTER!

Holy Facebook!

A few weeks ago, I deactivated my Facebook account.
Take a moment. I know it's SHOCKING... especially for someone like me, who is rarely without a portable device and has seriously looked into the internet addiction clinics.

I deactivated my Facebook account and FB assured me I could come back whenever I wanted too. I haven't tested their good will yet, but rest assured I will let you know.

Anyway, even though I dropped off the face of the earth, ahem, no one noticed. (Well, until today - but for the purpose of this post, let's just keep moving.) Dropping away was easier than I expected. It has also freed A LOT of time in my day. A few times I almost caved and logged back in. But I caught myself.

So why leave Facebook? I have a tendency to be petty - I know it; I'm working on it. Facebook gives such a beautiful platform for being petty. I really don't even need to work that hard at it. I turned off my shallow bullhorn until things get a little calmer around here.

I finally reached a point with too many status updates. Who knew?

Titillate

I received an invite to attend an even this Thursday. The invitation used the word "titillate" -- seriously? It's Tallahassee people. Titillation that happens here shouldn't be talked about, much less advertised.

So, for a titillating event in downtown Tallahassee, what do y'all suggest I don? I was considering a huge hat - or perhaps fur. Remember the temperatures here are still hovering around 90. And, have I mentioned that I'm in Tallahassee? Tiny Tally? Yeah.

Titillation. Um, yeah.

Wild Rumpus

I hate cartoons. True story - when I was a kid I didn't get them. As in, I was a CHILD and I didn't UNDERSTAND CARTOONS. I'll wait while you shed a tear for my misspent youth. (also, if the show/movie/whatever had animals, I was even less interested.)

To this day, I don't really get kid movies. I mean, sure - cute. But I don't watch them, or wait for them, or even turn them on while ironing. But, dude, I am excited about Where The Wild Things Are. As in, I may go watch the movie WITH CHILDREN.

Okay, so that's a stretch. I'm totally not going to a movie theater with a bunch of kids. Perhaps a midnight showing with a bunch of hipsters would be better.

Now, if we could just get a Gem re-make I would be a happy girl!

Grace in Small Things -#422

1. Hulu
2. A pedicure after too long -- People we are not counting weeks
3. Love from my Grandfather (G-dad)
4. A boss who agrees to stock Diet Coke in the fridge (HALLELUJAH!)
5. Clean floors

I need to do this more often.

July?

Seriously? July? Goodness, someone walk over here and slap me firmly across the face.

Let's go with the excuse that the wind blew out of my sails, m'kay?

Really, I want to blog about my parents - about the continued craziness that will not stop. But then the inner monologue starts:

"But then they'll send you hate mail and threaten you with their made-up lawyer."
"But it's my blog. And I'll write what I want to. Write what I want to."
"Dude, your choice. But you're typing on thin ice."
"Seriously? That's the metaphor you come up with?"

You see how it digresses quickly.

It's October, and my mother always starts getting crazy in October. She's been sending weird postcards and text messages and strange Southern voicemails. Yes, she's lived in the south for thirty-plus years, but she's from New Jersey. Greer-like diction just doesn't work for her.

I haven't been to one football game. K. left his job in July (hmm, wind - I think I found you), and we've been cutting back. As in canceled cable cutting back. I've become addicted to Hulu.

And this week, I did two weeks of grocery shopping for $114. I felt like fist bumping the cashier, but I wasn't sure if she fully supported fist bumping, knew what fist bumping was or would - ultimately - take offense to it. So, no fist bumping this week...