Uphill battle.

On Saturday, I worked on my yard for the first time. Ever. Yes, I closed on my house March 1st and have been inhabiting said house for about 90 days...we've had quite a bit of rain, so you can guess that things are, well, growing.


A truly unfortunate fact about my darling house is that the landscaping is heinous in every way. Truly, an offense to the eyes. I mean, it is absolutely the most random configuration of hideous plant-y things I've ever seen. Naturally, a fact that is magnified by my neighbor's pristine, flawlessly manicured lawn with newly up-lit trees. Bastards.


Allow me to set the scene: imagine a cute little house sitting atop a steeply sloping lawn. Now, imagine that lawn covered in the following: some cactus, a rosemary bush, two rose bushes (placed nowhere near each other), a couple crepe myrtles (sure why not?), some yuccas, a very tall branchless tree, some other unknown bushes. Oh, and don't forget the cutesy rusted wagon wheel, hanging from a dead tree stump. Because that gem'll save the yard! Idiots.


Anyway, here's what I've learned about yard work:

• It's crap. Don't do it ever. Honestly, I now envy those people who just loooooooove to work in their yards on the weekend. With their perfectly calloused hands and awesome wide-brimmed hats. You wanna know what I positively loooooove about working in my yard? Paying someone else to do it so I can lay by the pool and have a drink.
• Apparently, you're supposed to regularly keep up with yard work so that it's not such a beat down. I didn't get the memo....lesson learned.
• There will come a moment -somewhere into hour two- in which you realize you've created a bigger, uglier mess than which you started. It's like that moment when you decide to completely re-organize your closet, only to find yourself sitting in a pile of Jordache acid wash jeans and novelty socks, overwhelmed to the point of nervous breakdown.
• Speaking of which, I chopped all this shit without having any plan for cleanup...again, lesson learned.
• Ok, ok. Truth be told, there is something fantastically cathartic about taking a 14" pair of steel sheers and hacking away.

All in all, I accomplished a bit of good. But only a bit. There is definitely some sort of killer weed destroying everything in it's path; no lie: it started growing up my front windows. Quite literally overtaking the house...and I tell you, this thing has roots. The more I pulled, the more came up...it had literally grafted itself onto just about everything, in an effort to choke out all traces of life. In a flash of dread, I realized the whole thing felt very Hitchcock. Very, very Hitchcock.


Things are "cleaned up" now, although I use the term loosely. Frankly, the bushes (shrubberies? what's the diff?) are reminiscent of this haircut I got in the 8th grade...I wanted something very cool, very short, very Claire Danes (at the moment). I ended up with a sort of mutated mushroom look. I learned later that my hairstylist was fired for being a meth addicted speed freak, with a real penchant for inhaling mountains of coke.


Go figure.

Cheese?

If you know me, you know I love cheese. Plain and simple. I almost congratulated myself this morning for having gone four days without cheese, until I realized I made baked feta for dinner last night. Meh.

So this being Texas, what more popular cheese dish than queso? On Friday, had some gal pals (yes, I channeled my mother just then) over for dinner at the house. With our sweet potato enchiladas and guacamole, we just had to have queso. Which means Velveeta entered my house. Shameful, I know...but it melts so well!

Here's the scary thing: ever try to find Velveeta in your neighborhood grocery store? Yeah, good luck with that. I spent no less than 18 minutes prowling the aisles in search of that yellow box. Because really, where do you look for the stuff? It's not really cheese, so it's not in the dairy aisle. Canned vegetables? Pasta? Condiments? Just what the hell IS it?

Think about it: anything that says "Pastuerized Cheese Food Product" on the box is not your friend. You should never EVER have to specify on the label that a product is indeed food.

Finally, in total exasperation I found an employee and inquired about my precious Velveeta. Apparently, it's housed on an end cap. All by itself. At the end of the toy aisle. Yes: TOY AISLE.

Yup. Behold a "food product" so unclassifiable, so inexplicable it stands alone, save the Limited Edition Malibu Barbie.

Bon appetit!

Fact.

Oh yes, it's that time again! First, shout out to my mom for expelling me from her uterus this day 25 years ago...you're the best.

So, as I begin a new year, a little update on my list of lessons learned:

13) This one is an addition from mom, after the 2008 list: Children grow up, enjoy them when they are young. Enjoy them when they are grown as they will become truly amazing adults. Each comes with special blessings and joys.

14) Not my original thought, but a friend shared this with me and it stuck:

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, "My son, the battle is between two "wolves" inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith." The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: "Which wolf wins?" The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."

15) There is no such thing as too much fresh cilantro. Ever.

16) Mai pen rai. <--- Google it. Live it.

17) Let's just all go ahead and agree that Ke$ha must be stopped.

18) Surrender to the waves <---Think about it.

19) All-you-can-eat buffets should have a Pepto Bismol dispenser on the soda fountain. Because let's be real: they might as well rename them All-you-can-shit-your-pants-at-3-in-the-morning buffets.

20) Austinites will never manage to drive in adverse weather conditions. The sight of rain is literally so shocking, it stops us in our tracks...which is usually southbound I-35 or northbound MoPac.

21) Confession: sometimes at work, I type extra fast and loudly so that it appears I'm working harder than I actually am. In fact, I'm probably just furiously updating my Facebook status.

until next time....

Recap.

Yes, I've slacked off for the past week. Frankly, life has just been too much fun for blogging. Kidding! Nothing is better than this sweet, sweet piece of cyberspace right here. Anyway, here's the weekend highlights:

• Went to The Highball with my [visiting for one-night-only] brother and friends. Had a great time...pros: excellent cocktails and food, cons: too many hipsters and apparently I suck at bowling.
• Saturday farmer's market made for a lovely brunch spread. I made: mini zucchini-leek frittatas, rosemary new potatoes, Fredericksburg peaches with [made from scratch] whipped cream, and sliced up some early girl tomatoes. P.S. Kocurek Family Charcuterie makes outtathisworld Czech style bacon.
• The game Twister is much smaller than I recall...seriously, don't you remember struggling to reach right hand red? Turns out, the damn thing isn't much bigger than a postage stamp.
• Best weekend discovery? Pudding shots. Yes, you read that correctly.
• South Congress Cafe has the best bloody mary in town. Hands down.
• 80s dance parties never get old. NEVER.

Sadly, I'm now grounded until Friday...all this playing meant absolutely zero studying got finished. Which leaves me shackled to 250 painful pages of reading about Czech politics circa 1968, before class...tomorrow.

Let them eat cake.

I love Scott Calvert of The Cake Plate. Love! Also kind of hate, because he launched a new company called Cake Jars and brought samples to our office....



Mind you: I have an inflatable slip 'n' slide to attend to this Memorial Day weekend. Sailing the next weekend. Pool party the following. Now is *not* the time to bring me cake, layered with mousse, topped off with sprinkles, and stuffed into a convenient, all-too-easy to hold jar.



[insert sigh of resignation here]



I was able to "just say no" to the red velvet layer cake. The carrot cake. Even the cuteypatootey named Dreamsicle cake. But the man brought -wait for it- waaaaaait...



Peanut Butter Chocolate Bomb.



AKA: THE. DEATH. OF. ME.



It 2009 I placed a peanut butter ban on my house (which has yet to be lifted) after I once purchased a jar on Sunday afternoon and polished it off by Tuesday evening. The horror! Unfortunately, we've had these samples for a couple weeks...but in an office full of women, we decided to risk it.



One colleague said, "hmmmm...it definitely tastes like something is thinking about fermenting in there."



But did that stop us? NO! We plowed through that milk chocolate cake, with peanut butter pie filling, dark chocolate mousse and peanut butter cups like it was our last day on this green earth. Like it was a mission from god, I tell you!



So if you pick up tomorrow's Statesman and it reads:

"Young Woman Loses Self-Control and Gorges Herself on 8 Billion Calorie Cake Gimmick Resulting in Early Death"



...it's me.

You must choose.

I work (worked?) in sales...in an odd sort of sales way. Really more event planning, but my business card still reads Senior Sales Manager. Fortunately, I have mercifully avoided ever making cold calls. Good thing, because apparently people really hate the task.



I've never had a root canal, but I'm not entirely certain I agree with the survey's findings that a violent dental operation resulting in a spectacular eruption of pain is worse than cold calling. I did once have to make cold calls on behalf of a non-profit, begging shamelessly for donations.... Somehow I lived to tell the tale, but honestly I'd rather take a bullet. I'd also rather:

• Be tied down and forced to watch Waterworld for seven days straight


• Piss a golfball


• Have a dorsel fin growing out of my back


• Eat deviled eggs (vile things!)


• Be a sound engineer on a Paris Hilton album

Really, I can't blame anyone for choosing an uncomfortable one month dry spell over cold calling for one week. Just sayin'.

The good life.

I've decided today is a good Tuesday. Here is why:

• our weekly meeting that normally lasts three hours was shaved down to a waif 50 minutes. Funny- the male heads of department are at our corporate office for the day. Turns out, when the "womenfolk" are left to their own devices we: a) start on time b) avoid passive-aggressive pissing contests and c) operate efficiently. Shocking.


• the New York editors have given me a feature which just might be my crown jewel of 2010: writing about the food scene at Austin City Limits music festival in the fall.

In sum: I have more time to accomplish work at the office today, while also knowing come October I will get my ACL pass comp'd so that I can soak up the sun, listen to live music all day, and eat whatever the hell I want.

When did it get so good?

Real quick.

Been having too much fun to bother with the internet, so apologies for lack of updates. Am currently being herded out of our Indiana hotel room for one last visit with Emma before we hit the road. Here is my roadtrip update, Twitter style:

1. You can drink beer on the street in Memphis. I like Memphis.

2. Stinky Gringo pre-mixed margarita is actually good. I like this too.

3. Spinach dip during Nashville happy hour is not so great. But their Long Islands are pretty rad.

4. Visited my first casino. The biggest in the Midwest. EPIC. Plus, *worst* looking people ever.

5. Ate my weight in crab legs and frozen yogurt at said casino's buffet. Not so epic this morning.

6. No beef ribs in Memphis. Just for the record.

DING!

Trippin'

I'm taking the blog on the road. It's 6:54 am and I'm Memphis bound with one of my best friends.

We have a Sony HandyCam, Nikon D40, a mountain of mix CDs, and a bottle of wine (for tonight!) and a full tank of gas.

...buckle up.

Quitter.

Notice the new blog title? Dig it? Well, you should because it's really quite apropos. No longer a full-time working professional and full-time graduate student. Just a full-time bad ass and full-time graduate student.



All joking aside, I took the leap and resigned from my corporate job for numerous reasons that are just too boring to list here. In typical manipulative manner, they coerced me into staying in my shackles until July 2nd to fully train my assistant who will take my position.



Daily motivation is now a challenge, but I power through it by reminding myself of my sweet reward: Costa Rica in July. Per the usual, I somehow managed to corkscrew my obssession with travel into a seemingly productive and absolutely necessary trip abroad. I'll spend one week in San Joquin de Flores, earning 3 hours of graduate school credit then another week traipsing about on my own. It's gonna be the pig's tits!



Note: don't bother asking me questions like: how will you pay your mortgage? car payment? tuition? I can't be bothered with such rational practicalities. I mean, that's just ridiculous. I am now fully embracing my inner artist and everyone should understand I'm a creator! A wandering soul! My tortured, misunderstood and superior spirit would be positively crushed by logicial thought at this point.

Give me my camera. Give me my pen. I'll find adventure and there I'll be fine.