In the thick of unpacking, I discovered it's not all too hard to be a good cook.
The thing about getting married, you get a ton of awesome presents that aren't necessarily useful immediately, but you know will come in handy in a short amount of time. Like the hot chocolate maker. We didn't have hot chocolate today, but believe you me, it's only a matter of time.
We got a slough of presents related to kitchen activities, and I spent the morning trying to figure out where the heck I'm going to fit a blender, a hot chocolate maker, 3 cake plates, a kitchen aide, a cheese plate, a chip-dip platter, a fondu melter that came with the crock pot, the crock pot, a lemonade dispenser, a waffle iron, and a cast iron skillet that rivals Thor's hammer for liftability. I finally remembered that I have a massive pantry, so stuff I won't be using in the near future - like the cheese plate and that ridiculous skillet - can get tucked safely away where they are easily accessible should I ever need them, but very much out of the way for now.
Then I decided I didn't like where we were keeping the cups, bowls and plates, and moved them all.
But the real point is that I now own a crock pot. The person who got me that is getting a fantastic thank you note, because dinner just became a piece of cake.
No, not a literal piece of cake. That has nothing to do with a crock pot.
Though I have had a piece of cake for dinner before.
Yeah.
Moving on.
Anyway, tonight we had barbecue chicken for dinner. I threw 3 chicken breasts in the pot, dumped a butt-load of barbecue sauce on top, and because that seemed too easy, I cut up some onions and added those. Then... oh, the agony of crock pot cooking... I did the most difficult part of the ordeal. I turned the crock pot on. Yes, that's right. The hardest part was figuring out which button to push.
4 hours later we were eating dinner.
I've been a little resistant to the whole becoming domestic thing. I mean, I like cooking and all, but I hate coming up with what to cook. What's for dinner? I dunno. You tell me, and if it sounds like fun, I'll cook it. In the past, I've only ever had myself to cook for, so stuffing burritos were a frequent occurrence. Now, well, meals are a family thing.
As for my being the only cook... I'm not. Carl makes killer lasagna. And we kinda agreed (and by "kinda agreed," I mean, "I said and he didn't object,") that while we're both working full time to support our family, we're evenly splitting the domestic responsibilities as well.
"Evenly splitting" hasn't been fully defined. We both cook. We both do the dishes. He takes out the trash. Whatever the domestic parameters, it means I still have to cook once in a while.
But hey! Now I have a crock pot! I can cook!
And tonight, I feel proud of my domestic skills.
Because the crock pot was too easy.
Far too easy.
So I sauteed some onions, fried some potatoes, covered the lot with seasoned salt and added a side dish to the barbecue chicken.
That's right. Main dish AND a side.
And he took the leftovers to work with him. That's not just success. That's victory.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Thursday, January 31, 2013
A little late for an announcement, and a lesson in history.
I don't know if I've formally put this on my blog yet, but guess what! I'm getting married! Woohoo!
Yeah. I know. I should have announced that MONTHS ago.
Anyway, next Saturday, I'm getting hitched to an amazing person who matches my weirdness in all the right ways. (Yes, Carl, I'm calling you weird. But it's a good weird. I love your weird.)
Now, there are whispers floating around that a shivaree might be in order.
Let me make something very clear.
This. Is. Not. Cool.
No, seriously. I have a sense of humor, I love a great practical joke, but some practical jokes are not funny.
This is one of them.
Why not? Well, let me tell you a bit about the shivaree, or Charivari, where it came from, and what it means.
The Charivari began as an old French custom. And by old, I mean we have documentation of it existing in the middle ages. So, roughly a good thousand years of history there. After a while the custom migrated to England, Wales, Germany, and a few other places. A little bit after that it moved to Canada, where it got named the Chivaree, and America, where they misspelled the Canadian word and turned the C to an S.
It was a mock serenade at the home of newlyweds, or not-so-wedded couples, used as a form of coercion. This was created back in the days before there was much law and order, and was used to enforce moral codes. It stuck around into the days of law and order, and became an expression of disapproval, and a form of coercion against those who couldn't be prosecuted by law.
Relatives of the couple would gather pots and pans, march over to their house, and sing as loudly and off key as they possible could, banging the dishes, annoying the crap out of the couple, and subjecting them to public humiliation, as the entire village got to listen in on the disapproving ode.
Which couples got subjected to this?
There were a few types:
1. Those who weren't married, and their families were trying to manipulate them into getting married.
2. Those who engaged in "unnatural" marriages. Unnatural is typically defined - in this case - as a really, really old man marrying a young woman.
3. Widows and Widowers who remarried too soon after the death of their spouse.
4. Widows and Widowers who were really old when they got married period.
5. Aldulterors
6. Wife beaters
7. Unwed mothers
In short, anyone not young and a virgin. This persisted into about the middle of the 20th century, but is an outdated custom that doesn't really exist anymore.
Let me just say, there's a reason it doesn't exist anymore.
People get hurt.
Did you know it takes 4 seconds of a good choke hold to knock someone completely unconscious? 8-10 seconds, and they're out for a good long while. This leaves the bride and groom with plenty of peace and quiet, while the obnoxious relatives are left drooling on the hallway floor.
I kid you not, leave me alone on my wedding night.
Yeah. I know. I should have announced that MONTHS ago.
Anyway, next Saturday, I'm getting hitched to an amazing person who matches my weirdness in all the right ways. (Yes, Carl, I'm calling you weird. But it's a good weird. I love your weird.)
Now, there are whispers floating around that a shivaree might be in order.
Let me make something very clear.
This. Is. Not. Cool.
No, seriously. I have a sense of humor, I love a great practical joke, but some practical jokes are not funny.
This is one of them.
Why not? Well, let me tell you a bit about the shivaree, or Charivari, where it came from, and what it means.
The Charivari began as an old French custom. And by old, I mean we have documentation of it existing in the middle ages. So, roughly a good thousand years of history there. After a while the custom migrated to England, Wales, Germany, and a few other places. A little bit after that it moved to Canada, where it got named the Chivaree, and America, where they misspelled the Canadian word and turned the C to an S.
It was a mock serenade at the home of newlyweds, or not-so-wedded couples, used as a form of coercion. This was created back in the days before there was much law and order, and was used to enforce moral codes. It stuck around into the days of law and order, and became an expression of disapproval, and a form of coercion against those who couldn't be prosecuted by law.
Relatives of the couple would gather pots and pans, march over to their house, and sing as loudly and off key as they possible could, banging the dishes, annoying the crap out of the couple, and subjecting them to public humiliation, as the entire village got to listen in on the disapproving ode.
Which couples got subjected to this?
There were a few types:
1. Those who weren't married, and their families were trying to manipulate them into getting married.
2. Those who engaged in "unnatural" marriages. Unnatural is typically defined - in this case - as a really, really old man marrying a young woman.
3. Widows and Widowers who remarried too soon after the death of their spouse.
4. Widows and Widowers who were really old when they got married period.
5. Aldulterors
6. Wife beaters
7. Unwed mothers
In short, anyone not young and a virgin. This persisted into about the middle of the 20th century, but is an outdated custom that doesn't really exist anymore.
Let me just say, there's a reason it doesn't exist anymore.
People get hurt.
Did you know it takes 4 seconds of a good choke hold to knock someone completely unconscious? 8-10 seconds, and they're out for a good long while. This leaves the bride and groom with plenty of peace and quiet, while the obnoxious relatives are left drooling on the hallway floor.
I kid you not, leave me alone on my wedding night.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Mondays
I've never been a fan of blaming the day of the week.
Dear Monday, it's okay. It's not your fault.
I mean, it IS your fault that it's the first day of the week, and I have the rest of the week left before I get a break, but the rest isn't your fault.
No.
It's mine.
It's my fault that when I got home last night, driving through 3 inches of snow in the freezing cold with a stuffed up head and a horrible cough, when I found that my parking lot was full, as was the street in front of my house, I parked off to the side of the driveway.
Which, despite the fact that I've seen people park there before, is apparently not a parking spot.
But really. It was either walk a quarter mile in the snow with a miserable cold at 11:30 PM, or stick my car there.
So, this morning, I got up, feeling quite a bit better. I think the worst of the cold passed yesterday. Still a little sniffly, still coughing a bit, but the deep-chest coughing is done, and the headache is gone.
I skipped outside to head to work.
And my car was gone.
That's right. No car. I had my hopes up for alien abduction of the vehicle, or possibly an evil wizard I would have to battle, but the impound place dashed those hopes. Turns out THEY had my car.
So, I called Carl. He came and got me, then gave me his car to get to work and run errands. At lunch break I took one of the girls I work with to the impound place, and we recovered my car.
I wasn't going to argue with the place - I've seen how fruitless that can be - but Ksenia (girl who came with me) tried it anyway, saying the parking lot and street were full, etc. They guy basically recited the user manual, which I'm sure is because he gets people arguing a lot. So, I paid the **choke** $175 after fees and stuff, signed the form, wrote "bite me," next to my signature, and went to get the car.
Ksenia drove my car back, and I drove Carl's.
And then I rolled down the window.
I was trying to talk to Ksenia for directions, so I rolled the window most of the way down... and then tried to roll it back up.
No such luck.
Apparently rolling it that far down knocks it off its track.
So, yeah. I got my car back, but I broke Carl's.
And no, Monday, that's not your fault either. It's okay.
Dear Tuesday, got anything better for me?
Dear Monday, it's okay. It's not your fault.
I mean, it IS your fault that it's the first day of the week, and I have the rest of the week left before I get a break, but the rest isn't your fault.
No.
It's mine.
It's my fault that when I got home last night, driving through 3 inches of snow in the freezing cold with a stuffed up head and a horrible cough, when I found that my parking lot was full, as was the street in front of my house, I parked off to the side of the driveway.
Which, despite the fact that I've seen people park there before, is apparently not a parking spot.
But really. It was either walk a quarter mile in the snow with a miserable cold at 11:30 PM, or stick my car there.
So, this morning, I got up, feeling quite a bit better. I think the worst of the cold passed yesterday. Still a little sniffly, still coughing a bit, but the deep-chest coughing is done, and the headache is gone.
I skipped outside to head to work.
And my car was gone.
That's right. No car. I had my hopes up for alien abduction of the vehicle, or possibly an evil wizard I would have to battle, but the impound place dashed those hopes. Turns out THEY had my car.
So, I called Carl. He came and got me, then gave me his car to get to work and run errands. At lunch break I took one of the girls I work with to the impound place, and we recovered my car.
I wasn't going to argue with the place - I've seen how fruitless that can be - but Ksenia (girl who came with me) tried it anyway, saying the parking lot and street were full, etc. They guy basically recited the user manual, which I'm sure is because he gets people arguing a lot. So, I paid the **choke** $175 after fees and stuff, signed the form, wrote "bite me," next to my signature, and went to get the car.
Ksenia drove my car back, and I drove Carl's.
And then I rolled down the window.
I was trying to talk to Ksenia for directions, so I rolled the window most of the way down... and then tried to roll it back up.
No such luck.
Apparently rolling it that far down knocks it off its track.
So, yeah. I got my car back, but I broke Carl's.
And no, Monday, that's not your fault either. It's okay.
Dear Tuesday, got anything better for me?
Friday, January 25, 2013
Why bawling your eyeballs out over a stupid movie is emotionally healthy
Last night I had my heart ripped from my chest.
And it was devastating.
And I cried.
And the world imploded around me.
How could this happen? Why? What purpose is there in these things that hurt so...
Okay, okay, so I was watching a movie and it was really sad.
I mean, really sad. I don't think TV has wreaked that much havoc on my emotions since I saw Castaway. Only... there was this other one... what was it? Hmmmm... I don't remember. I just remember somebody died and I was depressed.
Oh! Bridge to Terabithia. That's right. That's what it was. Yes, I was depressed.
For three days.
So, last night I was watching a movie and somebody died that I REALLY REALLY didn't want to die. I managed not to cry while I was actually watching it (just yelled, "Aw, that sucks!" at the TV), and then it looked like they hadn't actually died, and then I found out that they were as good as dead for all the good they could do for the main character and the main plot that I cared about. So, I held it in and didn't cry during the movie... the sting of betrayal from the screen writers was a little much for tears. Thoughts like, "Seriously, what is their PROBLEM???" and "Sure, torture the main character. That scale of torture only works in literary fic, and this is sci-fi, geniuses," should have been floating around in my head, but really, the only thought that would finish processing was, "That sucks. Oh wait, no it doesn't suck! Oh wait, yes it does. Wow. That sucks."
And then I got past "the screen writers are idiots," it started to settle, and the emotion kicked in.
As I was driving home, still in depressing-movie-aftermath mode, I thought back to my experience watching Castaway, The Ring, and other movies that have had a MASSIVE impact on my emotions. Castaway depressed me for a week, and The Ring kept me awake ALL night, and gave me nightmares for a year. After the movie last night, I could feel the ghost of real loss. There was a hint of ache, and a reminder of what real loss feels like that made it ache just a little more.
And then, inevitably, the editor kicked in.
"I can't deny, they were effective. They did an excellent job of building up empathy for the character, and winding the character up in the viewer's heart... oh, my poor heart! That poor character... who is a very well drawn out character with compelling conflict. They did well on that front, no question."
Seriously. Emotional movie-trauma + editor analysis makes for a weird night. Driving home, getting ready for bed, laying in bed... whatever I did I waffled back and forth from, "That sucks so much!" to, "Well... what they were trying to do was done well, but at the same time, you have to be very careful how thoroughly you betray your audience. If watching your movie becomes more miserable than living without the character they've grown attached to, you'll lose your audience."
And then, right before sleep, came the synthesis of the two.
"What is the purpose of fiction? It's to allow us to experience things we can't otherwise experience. Science fiction is all about a sense of wonder, which becomes all the more potent with a compelling character. This character you empathize with so thoroughly discovers new things and sees a vast world beyond your own, which you experience with him. He does things far more epic than you will ever be able to do, and when you empathize with him enough, you feel it too. Now, this particular movie was pulling on far more than a sense of wonder. It was making you experience a piece of reality in the emotions of loss and loneliness. This type of fiction has a genuine value, in that you experience something painful, but it's not the real pain. It's just a shadow of it, but there's enough of it there that your mind and heart have to cope. When the real pain - the real loss - comes, and it will, you'll have a shadow of some of the tools you need."
Essentially, emotionally potent movies are a training ground for reality.
That said, there is no way in heck I'm gonna be watching The Ring again. Thanks, but my life can go on well enough without deliberately putting sheer terror in it.
I also have no intention of watching Castaway or Bridge to Terabithia again. Once was enough, and just because it's a good experience (I don't regret watching either of those), doesn't mean I'm going looking for depressing movies to make my heart ache.
But it's still worth watching when you come across it. It's worth discovering what your heart does when it hurts, and what your mind tries to do to relieve it.
And when all is said and done, I can still hold out for a happy ending.
I believe in happy endings, especially in real life.
And it was devastating.
And I cried.
And the world imploded around me.
How could this happen? Why? What purpose is there in these things that hurt so...
Okay, okay, so I was watching a movie and it was really sad.
I mean, really sad. I don't think TV has wreaked that much havoc on my emotions since I saw Castaway. Only... there was this other one... what was it? Hmmmm... I don't remember. I just remember somebody died and I was depressed.
Oh! Bridge to Terabithia. That's right. That's what it was. Yes, I was depressed.
For three days.
So, last night I was watching a movie and somebody died that I REALLY REALLY didn't want to die. I managed not to cry while I was actually watching it (just yelled, "Aw, that sucks!" at the TV), and then it looked like they hadn't actually died, and then I found out that they were as good as dead for all the good they could do for the main character and the main plot that I cared about. So, I held it in and didn't cry during the movie... the sting of betrayal from the screen writers was a little much for tears. Thoughts like, "Seriously, what is their PROBLEM???" and "Sure, torture the main character. That scale of torture only works in literary fic, and this is sci-fi, geniuses," should have been floating around in my head, but really, the only thought that would finish processing was, "That sucks. Oh wait, no it doesn't suck! Oh wait, yes it does. Wow. That sucks."
And then I got past "the screen writers are idiots," it started to settle, and the emotion kicked in.
As I was driving home, still in depressing-movie-aftermath mode, I thought back to my experience watching Castaway, The Ring, and other movies that have had a MASSIVE impact on my emotions. Castaway depressed me for a week, and The Ring kept me awake ALL night, and gave me nightmares for a year. After the movie last night, I could feel the ghost of real loss. There was a hint of ache, and a reminder of what real loss feels like that made it ache just a little more.
And then, inevitably, the editor kicked in.
"I can't deny, they were effective. They did an excellent job of building up empathy for the character, and winding the character up in the viewer's heart... oh, my poor heart! That poor character... who is a very well drawn out character with compelling conflict. They did well on that front, no question."
Seriously. Emotional movie-trauma + editor analysis makes for a weird night. Driving home, getting ready for bed, laying in bed... whatever I did I waffled back and forth from, "That sucks so much!" to, "Well... what they were trying to do was done well, but at the same time, you have to be very careful how thoroughly you betray your audience. If watching your movie becomes more miserable than living without the character they've grown attached to, you'll lose your audience."
And then, right before sleep, came the synthesis of the two.
"What is the purpose of fiction? It's to allow us to experience things we can't otherwise experience. Science fiction is all about a sense of wonder, which becomes all the more potent with a compelling character. This character you empathize with so thoroughly discovers new things and sees a vast world beyond your own, which you experience with him. He does things far more epic than you will ever be able to do, and when you empathize with him enough, you feel it too. Now, this particular movie was pulling on far more than a sense of wonder. It was making you experience a piece of reality in the emotions of loss and loneliness. This type of fiction has a genuine value, in that you experience something painful, but it's not the real pain. It's just a shadow of it, but there's enough of it there that your mind and heart have to cope. When the real pain - the real loss - comes, and it will, you'll have a shadow of some of the tools you need."
Essentially, emotionally potent movies are a training ground for reality.
That said, there is no way in heck I'm gonna be watching The Ring again. Thanks, but my life can go on well enough without deliberately putting sheer terror in it.
I also have no intention of watching Castaway or Bridge to Terabithia again. Once was enough, and just because it's a good experience (I don't regret watching either of those), doesn't mean I'm going looking for depressing movies to make my heart ache.
But it's still worth watching when you come across it. It's worth discovering what your heart does when it hurts, and what your mind tries to do to relieve it.
And when all is said and done, I can still hold out for a happy ending.
I believe in happy endings, especially in real life.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Blogging
"Blogging: Never before have so many people with so little to say said so much to so few." -Despair, Inc.
I have nothing to say.
That is all.
I have nothing to say.
That is all.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
That person on Facebook
I just hid someone from my newsfeed on Facebook.
I wonder if I'll miss her.
I mean, when the narcissist stopped instagramming herself, I really kinda missed it.
But this one?
Nah.
She was one of the loudest Facebookers during the election. To read her page, you'd think one of the original twelve apostles came to her in a vision and asked her to fight the anti-Christ, who was embodied in Obama. From her feed we find that Obama committed treason, is a liar, wants to take away our freedom, is deliberately trying to sink the economy for his own agenda, will turn America into a Muslim country, and eats babies.
After the election came the aftermath, and the "please can we secede from this fallen nation," and more anti-Obama stuff.
And then I was pretty sure things would settle. Election was over. We've got 4 more years before this will all boil up again. I hoped to get back to finding out what was going on in her life. And what her kids were doing. I love those kids, and I'm totally curious about all of them.
No luck.
Now it's gun control.
Now, don't get me wrong. I agree with her. Her opinion is that restricting and outlawing guns will take defenses away from law-abiding citizens, while those who would harm us aren't about to obey the restrictions anyway. She's exactly right - the best way to deter shooters is to make sure they know you are armed, and statistics have proven it. It takes a special kind of crazy to open fire on a crowd where half of them are packing.
But man. When you see half a dozen posts in a single day - articles, videos, status updates, etc. - all about the same topic and expressing the same opinion, it's a little annoying.
And then it continues. Day after day after day. Week after week. It's been going on for a solid month now.
The historian in me likes to see the opinions floating around my friends in this day and age. It's interesting to me what the issues are, and how the people around me react.
But really. Let it be interesting how I react when I block her status updates from my news feed.
I am so done.
I wonder if I'll miss her.
I mean, when the narcissist stopped instagramming herself, I really kinda missed it.
But this one?
Nah.
She was one of the loudest Facebookers during the election. To read her page, you'd think one of the original twelve apostles came to her in a vision and asked her to fight the anti-Christ, who was embodied in Obama. From her feed we find that Obama committed treason, is a liar, wants to take away our freedom, is deliberately trying to sink the economy for his own agenda, will turn America into a Muslim country, and eats babies.
After the election came the aftermath, and the "please can we secede from this fallen nation," and more anti-Obama stuff.
And then I was pretty sure things would settle. Election was over. We've got 4 more years before this will all boil up again. I hoped to get back to finding out what was going on in her life. And what her kids were doing. I love those kids, and I'm totally curious about all of them.
No luck.
Now it's gun control.
Now, don't get me wrong. I agree with her. Her opinion is that restricting and outlawing guns will take defenses away from law-abiding citizens, while those who would harm us aren't about to obey the restrictions anyway. She's exactly right - the best way to deter shooters is to make sure they know you are armed, and statistics have proven it. It takes a special kind of crazy to open fire on a crowd where half of them are packing.
But man. When you see half a dozen posts in a single day - articles, videos, status updates, etc. - all about the same topic and expressing the same opinion, it's a little annoying.
And then it continues. Day after day after day. Week after week. It's been going on for a solid month now.
The historian in me likes to see the opinions floating around my friends in this day and age. It's interesting to me what the issues are, and how the people around me react.
But really. Let it be interesting how I react when I block her status updates from my news feed.
I am so done.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)