thankful!

I know this is late for the thanksgiving-themed posts, but I just have to say that I am thankful for my awesome boss. I have not always had good bosses in the past (and I'm sure I'll have crappy ones again in the future), as I'm sure everyone can relate to. However, my current job is wonderful in many respects, one of them being that I'm blessed to have a boss who

-listens to her employees

-isn't a company robot (spouting the corporate line with a glassy-eyed, inhuman gaze that says "I've forgotten what it's like to be a real person")

-understands that her people have families and lives that often have to take priority over their jobs

-is known as "the best one" of the group of managers here

-somehow has mastered the mystical balance between being good at the functional day-to-day operations as well as being good at managing the people under her (most bosses are good at either one or the other; it's rare to find one who does both well)

-is just a nice person.

So yeah. In the current economic climate of joblessness and financial uncertainty, I am grateful every day that I have a job to go to at all--the other added bonuses of working here are ones I don't want to take for granted, either.

proverbs 19:11

"A man's wisdom gives him patience; it is to his glory to overlook an offense."

 

Working on this. Well, apparently God is working on this in my heart.

on the sewing rebound (and hoping this latest love will last forever)

I should probably be working but I was just catching up on some of my blog reading and decided it was time for an update of my own.

 

Lately my life has been a bit consumed with sewing. At a friend's invitation, I decided to "go public" with my pillow-embroidery skills and do a couple of craft shows to see if my wares would sell. So far, the shows themselves have not been too profitable, but the effort I put into organizing an order-taking system for the pillows has been. So, while the majority of my paying customers are still friends, and while I still have several gift pillows to make right now (Christmas is coming, you know) in the midst of all the paying orders, I feel rejuvenated and encouraged about how this little "business" is going (in quotes because...well...don't tell the IRS).

 

However, in the midst of all the excitement and busyness, I suddenly (a couple weeks ago) found myself needing a new sewing machine. The one I'd been using was only three years old, and the time I bought it I really thought I was getting a good brand that would last me for the long haul (It's a Huskystar--the more affordable line from Husqvarna/Viking--a trusted brand), it nevertheless has been jamming and skipping and behaving demonically a bit too much for my tastes lately. I think anyone who sews knows that sewing machines just act that way sometimes for no apparent reason. Usually they get over it and start working right again, but this time I'd had enough. One night, I spent hours just trying to use a zig-zag stitch to attach a "Buckeyes"-embroidered piece of fabric onto another piece of fabric (a task that should take five minutes on a good day), and by the third time I had to rip out the stitches because Husky-Beelzebub-Star insisted on eating the fleece and snapping the thread, I was done. I turned it off that night and swore that our three-year relationship of love and heartache was through. I now had actual work to do, with actual deadlines, and Husky could no longer be trusted. I needed a machine I could rely on, so it was time to get back into the sewing-machine dating game.

 

The first place I looked was JoAnn's, which is where I'd purchased my Husky, and I knew they sold quality machines there. In fact, a friend of mine had just bought a machine there a year ago and paid about the same price that I paid for Husky three years ago, and I'd been drooling over her machine ever since I first saw it. So, my point is, I had high hopes for the JoAnn's trip. I had a price in mind that I didn't want to exceed, but I thought my budget was more than reasonable, given my past experience and my friend's experience.

 

Wrong.

 

I should have known there was trouble when I was in line at the cutting counter, and my husband (yes, he came to JoAnn's with me--bless his heart) came over to me and muttered that there were sewing machines for sale that cost as much as our Corolla. (Granted, we buy used cars, and Mary Jo Corolla was 13 years old when we got her, but still) But in my heart, I was still starry-eyed and naive, picturing myself sitting in front of a lovely new machine, cranking out a perfect assembly line of pillows that would brighten the lives of children everywhere. Sure, there are Cadillac machines for sale--the ones that download embroidery patterns from the Internet and practically run themselves like a player piano--but I just wanted something simple and practical. Surely they had those for sale, too.

 

Wrong.

 

After finishing at the cutting counter and going over to browse the sewing machines, my first reaction was confusion. The cheapest machine was $330? On sale? Must be a mistake. Maybe all the cheaper machines were in another place in the store or something. So I asked the woman sitting behind a table (whom I'd assumed was an impartial JoAnn's employee but later found out was a Husqvarna/Viking dealer who works on commission) if they sold any machines within my (reasonable, I thought) price range. She actually snorted a little when she said, "OH no. They don't sell them for that low." Taken aback, I told her about the machine I'd bought there just a few years ago. And my friend's machine, just one year ago. Both around $200. As though she hadn't heard me, she repeated that the Viking brand simply did not sell machines for less than what was displayed there. At this point, I'm trying not to feel personally insulted (like I'm a big cheapo who just won't fork over the cash for a quality machine, so I clearly am in a lower caste than real sewers), and I asked her what brand, then, she would recommend for the price range I mentioned. Nose held high, she informed me that she would never recommend anything other than a Viking. (Again, this made sense later, when I found out that the sewing machine areas inside the JoAnn's stores are run by Viking dealers) Well, oooooookay then.

 

To make a long story slightly shorter, I did not end up buying a Viking. I would have liked to, but for some unknown reason, the company has apparently decided that marketing to people with realistic budgets is simply beneath them. And to be honest, I'm no longer convinced that their brand really is the best, anyway. If it were, shouldn't my trusty Husky have lasted more than three years? Anyway, I broke down and went to Sears and got a Kenmore, and so far, we are getting along swimmingly. The decision was borderline agonizing (I think I even had a nightmare about it one night)--when you sew as much as I do and really need to be able to depend on your machine not to let you down, you want a decision like this to be an informed one. And the right one. But I still, in my heart of hearts, don't think that a reliable machine with the basic functions and not a ton of bells and whistles needs to cost "one of these and one of these" (channeling the arm-and-leg chick from that one commercial). That's just a principle I believe in, but apparently Viking does not.

 

(And for the record, I pursued the Viking thing beyond the one rude saleswoman at JoAnn's. I did research on their Web site [and discovered that my friend's year-old dream machine is no longer being manufactured. WTH? Are you kidding me, Viking?], I contacted the company directly, and I also talked with another, much nicer saleswoman at that same JoAnn's. All of these avenues led me to the same conclusion--no dice, unless I got the barest of bare-bones machines [and while I'm not fancy, I'll admit that I wanted something slightly better than the absolute bottom rung of the sewing-machine ladder], which still would have cost me more than I wanted to spend.)

 

So, that's the latest drama in my life, and I'm glad it's pretty much over. (I say pretty much because my Kenmore is still within its 90-day return window, and I'm watching it very closely. We may be in a relationship now, Kenmore, but it's still early and I've got my eye on you. Don't break my heart like Husky did--I don't think I could take that again.)

missin' you

Today a coworker and I were sharing pet stories and cat pictures, and I was (of course) telling Obie stories and laughing to myself. That cat and his shenanigans.

 

I was then flipping through photos on my phone, looking for one of Cosette to email to my coworker, and I randomly came across one of Obie. And all of a sudden I wanted to cry. It's a fairly recent picture, taken spontaneously one evening when I was sitting at the kitchen table and Obie was sprawled on the floor per usual. I took it only so I could text it to my friend Sherry (I had just been talking about him to her that day, telling her how shamelessly he liked to lie around the house, exposing his goods for all the world to see), and it has been sitting in my picture file on my phone ever since.

 

Sigh. Man, I miss that cat.

reflections on joy, part 3

Lately, everything I read or hear about joy has been pointing back to the gospel of Jesus--the good news that he stood in our place and was killed so that we could be freed from God's judgment and enjoy eternity with him. Here are a couple of quotes I've been digging lately:

 

"So, have we nothing to do to obtain this righteousness? No, nothing at all! For this righteousness comes by doing nothing, hearing nothing, knowing nothing, but rather in knowing and believing this only--that Christ has gone to the right hand of the Father, not to become our judge, but to become for us our wisdom, our righteousness, our holiness, our salvation!" 

 

-from the preface to Martin Luther's Lectures on Galatians

 

"The redeeming love of Jesus gives rise to one grand and joyful passion." - Mark Bair

ISTJ meets INFP

Here's a semi-interesting story from my day (interesting to me, anyway) that gives a glimpse into how different my husband and I are. It's almost a typical day in the life of the Daltons.

 

This morning I got up and got ready for work like usual. I left on time, swung by Starbucks (yum) for a treat, and made it down 71 before the "oh my God, the roads are wet! Let's all go 5 mph!" traffic jam started, and I arrived at work at the usual time. In my mind, everything was going well until I reached for my keys to turn the car off and noticed that there was a much bigger wad of keys there than I am used to grabbing. Uhhhh, those aren't my keys...

 

Somehow, in my half-asleep, pre-caffeinated blur of a leaving-the-house routine this morning, I had grabbed Craig's keys and left mine on the table. Maybe for most households, this wouldn't be a problem, but in our case, the keys in my hand held the key to Craig's work truck. Problem. I then grabbed for my purse, certain that there would be like five missed calls on there, one for each level of panic as my husband nervously tried to alert me of my error before it completely screwed up his schedule for the day.

 

...Except my phone wasn't in my purse. I imagined on the kitchen table, lying innocently (or maybe smugly--I haven't decided) next to my keys.

 

Crap. I then grabbed my stuff and flew up to my office (well, "flew" might be an overstatement, considering I work on the 5th floor and spent a few minutes waiting impatiently for an elevator) where I threw it all on my desk and dialed Craig's cell number from my work phone.

 

Voice mail.

 

Are you kidding me? Aren't you wondering where your keys are? If it were me, I'd be glued to the phone. This was the first moment since we disconnected our landline a month ago that I wished we still had it. The only time that phone ever rang was (a) when a telemarketer was calling or (b) when one of us really needed to reach the other one but couldn't get through on the cell. Dang it. At this point, I left a frantic voice mail ("IhaveyourkeysI'msorryIleftmyphoneathomeI'mleavingrightnowIshouldbethereby8") and ran back down to the car (re: "ran," see previous disclaimer).

 

On my way home, all I heard on the radio was how the southbound lanes of both 315 and 71 were backed up almost to 270 (as I whizzed past the parking lot on 71 going the other direction...the direction I would soon be going on my way back to work), apparently because it rained overnight. Columbus drivers, you are seriously a bunch of sissies. WTH.

 

When I arrived home, sweaty and freaking out, I found Craig in the kitchen, cool as a cucumber. He actually laughed when he saw me fly through the door. "Forget something?"

 

It's days like today when I am grateful that I married a man with a personality nearly the opposite of mine. Some people might have been afraid of the wrath they'd face at home after a blunder like that. I was just worried that I'd make him late for his first job (which wasn't, as it turns out, until 10am, so the only thing he was "late" for was driving to the office to drink coffee and kill some time). And you know what, even if he had had an 8:00 job and I'd made him late, he still wouldn't have been mad.

 

I took the through-town route on my way back to work and arrived around 8:30. The whole debacle gouged a nice hour out of my morning, but other than that, it left me amused at my freaky-outy reactions to things and the contrast of my husband's mellow, go-with-the-flow approach to life. Yeah, we're good for each other. 

okay, let's attempt to blog or something

I've become a lame-o on the blogging front. I'm not sure what my problem is, but maybe I'll try to give it another shot before giving up completely. Although, I don't know why I'm even concerned with whether or not my blog is lame--it seems that a lot of people spend a lot of blogging time/space with concerns about their blog's quality, and honestly when I read that, my mental response is almost always "What are you worried about? I like reading about everyday stuff! That's my favorite kind of blog." And yet, when it comes to myself, I feel like I have to be some sort of masterful wordsmith, crafting these poetic and profound posts that make readers weep/laugh/think deeply about the deep things of life, etc.

I need to chill out.

Um, so what's been going on? Well, the Buckeyes lost last weekend, and that was sad. And I know the angry sports fans of Central Ohio are calling for Tressel's resignation with their fists in the air (or maybe that's just my husband) and scoffing at anyone who makes comments like "well at least we didn't get totally blown out," but I have to say that I was actually more impressed with the athletes' performance than I expected to be. The way people were talking before the game, you'd have thought the Buckeyes were going to take the field and immediately pee their pants and wave a white flag. Instead of that, they fought hard and kept it close. I thought they looked good, with the exception of a few mistakes (which USC matched with mistakes of their own--hello interception, hello safety). With my limited football knowledge, I'll probably have to agree that Tressel's conservative play calling kept the Buckeyes from winning a game that they proved, athletically, that they were capable of winning. And that sucks. But I'm still proud of them--they played a hell of a game and proved something to the nay-sayers who expected them to look like a bunch of weenies.

And that's my girlie football commentary of the week.

Other news? It's getting cooler, the days continue to get shorter, and that makes me sad. I'm trying to put on my big-girl pants, though, and get mentally prepared for the inevitable winter. God, sometimes I hate living in Ohio.

Labor Day weekend was nice. We went up to my aunt and uncle's place in Michigan and had a family picnic on Sunday. There was the typical quota of family drama and tension, but that's to be expected. The comedic tension-breaking winner of the day was my grandma, who interrupted an uncomfortable silence with uncharacteristic, too-funny comedic timing.

*tense silence following some loud scolding*
Nani looks up into the trees and quips, "It's so *peaceful* here!"

Win, Nani. That was awesome.

But tense moments notwithstanding, it was a good weekend. Craig and I slept in the yard in the sweet, retro camper (dubbed The Mystery Machine because of its resemblance to the bus from Scoobie Doo, although my aunt can never remember the name. "What do you call the camper? The Time Machine? The Hippiemobile?"). That was awesome, although neither of us slept very well (It's hard to sleep next to a 6'3" guy in a bed not much wider than a twin, especially when he's snoring an inch away from your face. Not that I'd know what that's like or anything.), and we got some quality time with my aunt and uncle and cousin, whom we don't get to see too often.

Let's see...other news? I'm still having some hair issues, this time with a color job gone wrong. I decided to stop the highlighting and just go back to my natural color. Now, my natural natural color is pretty dark, so i was prepared for a shock. However, the color my hair lady used was a shade lighter and definitely redder than what God gave me. It's a great color, and if I were going to continue cheating nature, I might stick with it. However, what I was going for was honesty, and this does not match my eyebrows. But the yucky part is that it doesn't really cover my highlights. So as long as I have my hair in a ponytail and you only look at the top of my head, it's fine. But if I have my hair down and I'm standing in the light, you might notice some odd streaks that look...well, kind of green. Um, no, this is not going to fly. So I'm going to try to get together with her soon to see if it can be repaired. We'll see how it goes. I'll let you know.

Oh, and speaking of hair, I never posted a curly-do picture on here, but I think I've sort of got the hang of it. Success requires a combo of products and a dryer with a diffuser, but the result is probably as good as it's going to get for someone whose hair is really only naturally wavy, not full-blown curly. Maybe I'll post a pic if I remember.

Oh, well here's one, sort of, although you can't see much of my hair. This is from our neighborhood barbecue (celebrating the completion of the patios Craig and his friends put in for us and our next-door neighbor) That is our friends' two-year-old "riding" one of the neighborhood dogs (a ginormous Rottweiler mix--we love him!)

the devil's funeral

On my desk, I have a tear-off calendar of quotes from The Office. Since the year only covers one season (and 365 quotes from 20-something episodes), some of the quotes they've chosen are a bit of a stretch and not exactly the

crème de la crème of pure Office humor. Today's, however, I found delightful:

 

Pam: "You mean 'leaves' as in 'dies'? You want us to throw Toby a New Orleans funeral?"

Michael: "If the devil were to explode and evil were gone forever, what sort of party would you have?"

reflections on joy, part 2

Here's another one from an old favorite book I'm in the middle of rereading:

"'But it is so happy to love,' said the Shepherd quietly. "It is happy to love even if you are not loved in return. There is pain too, certainly, but Love does not think that very significant.'"

-Hinds' Feet on High Places, Hannah Hurnard

reflections on joy

This has been the theme of my summer--the main thing I feel God is trying to teach me these days. Maybe if I get around to it, I'll post some thoughts or other quotes that have gotten me thinking, but for today, here's just one:

 

"There is a joy which is given...to those who love you [God] for your own sake, whose joy you yourself are. And this is the happy life, to rejoice to you, of you, for you; this it is, and there is no other."  --Augustine

Home sweet empty(ish) home

We got home today from our Colorado vacation. Maybe my brain is still on mountain time because I am still up, although I am pretty exhausted.

Our trip was good. We decided to go on the trip to celebrate our sixth year of wedded bliss, and it was a decently good time. I'll write about that another time, though.

Last Saturday morning—the day we were scheduled to leave for the first leg of our westbound trip—we awoke to an awful discovery. Obie, our sweet/quirky/wonderful/inquisitive/one-of-a-kind/preposterously ridiculous cat of six years had died during the night. He appeared to have died in his sleep. We're grateful that it was apparently painless, but the suddenness and unexpectedness of it shocked us with a force that was felt throughout our trip and felt with a different kind of force this evening when we arrived home to the soft mew of only Cosette (our formerly timid and mostly hidden cat, now endowed with a new boldness, or maybe just a curious confusion about being suddenly left totally alone in the house for almost a full week).

We miss him terribly. I find myself in tears at the silliest moments--opening a can of tuna this evening, realizing that I only needed to drain the "tuna juice" (which had been so greedily coveted by Obie, but shyly eyeballed by Cosette, who was able to enjoy her portion only until Obie's was gone and he bullied his way over to her bowl. Jeez, just the sound of the can opener would bring his 20+-lb frame sprinting from any corner of the house within seconds if he thought the delectable taste of tuna juice was coming) into one dish tonight.

Anyway. Now that we're home, it's starting to sink in a little, but the freshness of this new loss hung over our trip like a wet cloud, and we arrived home this afternoon exhausted in more than one way.

We'll miss you, "little" Obie. You've been as much a fixture of the past six years of our marriage as anything else, and we loved you. We're grateful for the laughter and absurdity you brought to our life, and I have a feeling we'll be telling Obie stories for a really long time.

Are you kidding me, FedEx?

I woke up this morning with one goal in mind: be here when the FedEx guy came. They'd attempted to deliver a package yesterday (the shipment from our wine club, which [obviously] requires an in-person, adult signature), and since I knew they'd only attempt to deliver two more times before I'd have to drive to Groveport to pick it up, I determined I was not leaving the house today until I'd signed for that package.

As an added surprise bonus, today is apparently the day our condo association scheduled our roof to be replaced. So I was awakened at the crack of 9 to overhead banging. Constant. Overhead. Banging. Sweet, well at least I'm awake, right? It sounds like the house is going to collapse around me at any moment, but I'm up, I'm home, and I'm not going anywhere. (You hear me, FedEx guy? I'm home!!)

About a half an hour ago, Craig called me from work, and we were chatting about his morning so far. I was telling him about the roofers, and joked that I hoped the FedEx person was smart enough to ring the doorbell when he/she came, since all I can hear is what sounds like constant knocking.

As we were chatting, I peeked out the front door and saw...are you kidding me?? Is that a door tag from FedEx? One of those polite-but-not-so-polite "we attempted to deliver your package, and we're only going to try one more time, you bastards, so you'd better be home next time" door tags? The time on the tag: 10:21. I checked my watch: 10:26.

Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me.

I made a phone call, utilized my polite-but-not-so-polite tone and a little "I understand your once-per-day delivery attempt policy, but I swear your driver can't be more than a couple miles from my house right now" logic, and somehow I managed to convince them to come back.

So I have our wine, but I'm still a little irritated and in more than a little disbelief that the guy came, knocked, and left my house while all around him there were roofers hammering and throwing shingles around.

Really? Really, FedEx?

So the moral of the story is....

If you're a FedEx customer in a similar situation: Put a note on the door. Something like, "I'm home, jackass--maybe try ringing the doorbell." (or something more polite if you're a nicer person than I am)

And if you're a FedEx driver: Ring the doorbell. It's not rocket science.

stating the obvious

I do this. I don't like that I do this, but I do it.

I think I get it from my mother, who is Colonel Obvious (higher ranking than Captain Obvious, according to Wikipedia). The best example of this (most annoying when I was younger, but funny to me now) is the inevitable conversation that ensues whenever watching a movie or a TV show with my mother. Sooner or later, the implausibility (or unlikelihood, or absurdity) of a particular plot line will get to her and she just has to blurt out something like "Why doesn't he just CALL her? That would solve the whole problem!" "But Mom, that wouldn't be funny, and then the show wouldn't be very interesting."

However, I now find myself doing this.

If you watch the show 30 Rock, and you happened to watch it on Thursday, I'd be curious to hear if you had the same thought I did about the Jenna-poisoning-Kenneth storyline:

Brief recap: Lutz gets injured. A cute EMT shows up and tells Jenna he's her biggest fan. He has all her albums, he reads her blog, he loves her (And he's not even gay!). But after he disappears without leaving his name (he did give his phone number to injured Lutz [to give to Jenna], who unfortunately ate the slip of paper [apparently his head injury made him a little loopy]), Jenna begins scheming ways to find him again. The smartest plan she can come up with is to exploit Kenneth's strawberry allergy in hopes that Cute EMT will show up when 911 is called.

I was entertained by the episode, but the Colonel-Obvious's-Daughter part of me kept wondering why Jenna didn't just write about Cute EMT on her blog, which he admitted to reading religiously? He could leave her a comment, and they could get in touch that way. Duh. Of course, the disbelief-suspending part of me realized that anaphylactic shock clearly makes for better television, but every time Jenna whined "How will I ever fiiiiiiiind him again??" I kind of had to grit my teeth a little.

And, okay, I might have yelled at the TV after the third scene where Kenneth is writhing on the floor, clutching his throat and gagging.

Am I turning into my mother? Like most people who ask themselves this question, I really hope not. But if I am, I suppose there are worse qualities I could have inherited.

I can't believe I actually wrote a big, long blog about a freaking iPod

(I wanted my blog to be more ordinary, and now I just feel shallow. Forgive me.)

 

Both the husband and I enjoy music, although he on a larger scale than I. While he is searching eBay for a perfect deal on surround sound speakers and endlessly tweaking the settings on the stereo receiver, I am perfecting my iTunes playlists, researching iPods, and contemplating the best brand of earbuds for sound quality.

 

I've been pining for a new iPod for awhile now. The used one we purchased last summer has turned out not to be worth the money it saved us. The sound is distorted at times, the volume level keeps getting worse, and recently the click wheel has been acting up. I have been sucking it up and dealing with it (no small feat, considering I listen to it constantly—while working out, while driving, and all day while working), but last week I caved and started looking into the cheapest way to get a new one.

 

Thanks to some patience and some clever eBay bidding, I found a brand-new 4th generation 8 GB nano for about 2/3rd of the retail price (a total which technically is about equal to my share of some yet-unspent Christmas money from months ago...so when you play little mind games with yourself, you can believe it was basically free. Not that that matters, but it did something to ease my "Is this expense necessary or frivolous?" internal battle over the little 1.5" X 3.5" piece of machinery). It arrived on Wednesday—a little purple gem nestled in bubble wrap and a clear plastic box inside a bubble envelope. Resisting the urge to tear it open with my teeth and start using it right away, I decided to be patient and wait until its accessories (specifically, the hard case) arrive. Meanwhile I let it spend a day plugged into iTunes, charging its battery and loading itself with music I would be enjoying (clearly! and loudly!) all too soon.

 

Fast forward to last night. Wait, I should back up a little. Several years ago when I got my first iPod (a 2 GB 2nd generation nano that now belongs to Craig), I became enthralled with the Apple-brand earbuds. Until then, I had hated earbuds—they hurt my ears, they always fell out, the sound was crap, etc.—and opted for headphones. But all that changed once I discovered the bonafide, name-brand, meant-for-my-iPod-and-my-iPod-was-meant-for-them earbuds. I don't know what it is, but the sound quality is phenomenal through those little guys. They retail for around $30 (!!??!), but they come standard with any new iPod. So imagine how crushed I was when I discovered that Obie (the 20+ lb spaz cat from outer space) had chewed through the cord. Since then, I have been making do with lesser earbuds, on the prowl for a generic set that can deliver the same quality (to no avail).

 

End sidenote.

 

Fast forward to last night. I'm checking my email and a flash of brilliant purple catches my eye. I glance over to see my new little toy sitting there patiently on top of the computer tower. I think it actually winked at me. So I thought, to heck with it. Case or no case, I'm going to unplug this girl and take her for a spin. I reached for my new (and long-awaited) pair of Apple-brand earbuds and flick the wheel to a favorite old song ("Inside Out" by Eve 6). To my surprise, the intro is only playing in my right ear. Desperate to find a reason other than the inevitable one I'm dreading, I think to myself, "Maybe the song starts this way. I'll bet it does. This is the acoustic part—once the drums kick in, I'm sure I'll get sound through both speakers."

 

Nope.

 

With a sick feeling in my heart, I slowly look down at the cord and discover what I had most feared—there's a spot where the outer rubber coating is broken and there are wires sticking out. Whether the cat is to blame or this injury was there (but unnoticed) when I opened the box, I don't know. But once I could bear to look over at him, I swear that cat was trying just a little too hard to look cute and innocent.

 

To be honest, I am a little embarrassed at how sad this made me. I just wanted to enjoy the superior sound quality of my new toy (and fully appreciate the difference between it and the broken-down, janked-up one I'd been using for the past year), and now I'd have to wait even longer.

 

Thankfully, I found some factory-sealed Apple earbuds on eBay for $7.99 (Why I never thought to look there before, I don't know), so now it's just a matter of waiting for the mail to get here. Meanwhile, my little purple treasure sits there, waiting much more patiently than I for her full potential to be realized and appreciated.

 

Soon, little one. Soon.

Okay, I need to use this thing.

I feel like this blog has an identity crisis. When I decided to retire my old blog and make a switch, part of my goal was to be a little less serious--a little more "ordinary life," a little less "all my personal inner thoughts out there." So many of my friends have awesome, this-is-my-daily-life blogs, and I love reading them. I want to be like that! So here's my attempt. We'll see how it goes.

I discovered (/created) a new drink over the weekend. I was at the liquor store, trying to find the fixins for pomegranate martinis (i.e. vodka + cointreau + pomegranate juice). That goal was thwarted. Thwart #1: cointreau apparently costs about one million dollars for a teeny-tiny bottle. My desire to contribute a quality beverage to Saturday's girls' night could have overcome my penny-pincher side, but then came Thwart #2: The store didn't have any pomegranate juice. The guy was like, "Try Kroger or Meijer." I thought to myself, "Buddy, I've got places to go--I intend to finish this errand in one stop. I'm not going to the freaking grocery store." They did, however, have pomegranate liqueur. I have had this before, and it's quite yummy. So, I decided to give it a try--nix the cointreau (Yay! That crap's expensive anyway), get vodka and pomegranate liqueur. However, the pomegranate juice was the non-alcoholic ingredient in this whole blissful concoction--substituting liqueur in its place is just a recipe for quick drunkenness (not my goal). I needed a water-downer substitute. So, I grabbed some club soda and got the frick out of there.

The result? Tasty! A fizzy, fruity martini. However, I'm wondering if it would be better to eliminate the vodka altogether. I tried making it with a small amount of each (vodka and liqueur, which has about half the alcohol of liquor), but it didn't have much flavor, so I ended up adding more and more of the pomegranate liqueur until it tasted "right." However, I'm afraid that upped the booze content a bit too much--these are yummy, but you can really only enjoy one.

Any advice? I'm thinking that maybe adding a fruit juice (either instead of or in addition to the club soda) might be a non-inebriating way to add some flavor, but I'm not sure what fruits go well with pomegranate. I know cointreau has an orange flavor, so maybe orange juice? Okay, that's the end of everyday blog #1 :)

new blog

So, this is my new blog. As you can see, it needs some work. Any suggestions?

Since this new blog is supposed to be a little less serious than my old one (think "New Deep" by John Mayer), I'm fighting the urge to make a personal metaphor out of the whole "under construction" thing. But "In Repair" (again, by John Mayer) is running through my head.

More later. Until then, I leave you with the moose post from that blog--the one that was funny for awhile, but which has now just become redundant. The moose post is still my favorite.