shiny meatloaf

considering my facination and love of all things martha, you would think that i would be able to cook.

nothing could be further from the truth.

yet, for all of my efforts, my culinary skills just aren't up to snuff. friends and family have been more than generous (heroic even?) in their attempts to swallow things I've placed on their plates.

lasagna so crunchy you need a knife to cut it and lots of fluids to keep it from getting stuck in your throat. a roasted winter vegetable casserole with balsamic vinaigrette that turned into a warm, brown mush.

i have many favors to repay. but none so much as for the shiny meatloaf incident.

in high school, my mom thought i was mature enough to start dinner while she was at work. after a few botched attempts at a making the meal, my role was downgraded to putting it in oven at 4pm only. it was all i could handle. and really, i was okay with that.

on the night of shiny meatloaf, i did exactly what was asked of me. the premixed meatloaf was taken from the fridge at the prearranged time and placed it into the preheated oven. fait accompli.

my mom arrived home from work to find her meatloaf dinner nearly finished cooking. wow, that smells good, she said. when she removed it from the oven, she also noticed how good it looked.she was really impressed and wanted to know what i did to make it so shiny.

did i brush it with egg whites before baking? nope.

did i apply a coating of olive oil to get that glistening and crunchy coating? nope.

still baffled, it wasn't until she attempted to cut into that glistening and crunchy coating did she discover my secret recipe for her meatloaf.

a double layer of plastic wrap added the special touch. i had forgotten to remove the plastic wrap when i took it from the fridge to place in the oven.

hopeless

this is my first day without her. and i miss her already.

for purely selfish reasons, i wish she hadn't made that decision. i can count a million and one reasons why it didn't make sense for her to do this. but that was "me" thinking.

one of the greatest things she taught me was to break outside of me and do things differently.

live dangerously, take chances, who cares what someone else thinks? a 10-minute walk in the middle of the afternoon is good for the soul. leave on time, even early sometimes. leave even earlier on fridays.

my wild-eyed friend pulled another trick from her bag. she resigned. she decided to leave her unhappiness with the direction of her life, the stresses that made it worse. it was time, she said. all i needed was the kick in the ass to do it. and like always when she made up her mind, she did it.


i admire hope for many reasons, the greatest of these is her ability to befriend everyone. never in a saccharine way, but she has an uncanny ability to empathize with everyone she meets. whereas many people would be stuck in their own bubble oblivious to the outside world (count me in this group), she said hello to strangers. she's someone who can and will strike up a conversation and truly effect change in that person.

selfishly, i wish she could have stuck it out, took a vacation, cleared her head, whatever was needed to right herself. yet i know, she DID take the right action. she took a risky move and only time will tell how it pays off, but in someways, it already has.

she's happy again.

designer of everything

some thoughts on our reading regarding chunking...

as writers, artists and designers, we are routinely called upon to use our skills to provide organized solutions.

we organize concepts and behaviors. we provide structure for communication.

we command attention where its due and nudge influential pieces of information into the spotlight.

we control the power to persuade, to argue and to illuminate.

we solve problems not simply by building the bridge that's asked of us but by asking about the size of the chasm that separates us. (last sentence restated from an article in Fast Company's Power of Design issue, Jun 05)

really, we are the designers of everything.

mozilla + blogger = not good

first lesson in browser sensitivity:

not all browsers are created equal. my it geek husband switches network browsers and software like some people change their underwear. logging into the computer is always a unique experience to see what changed from my last visit.

software comes and goes. but i thought internet explorer was here to stay. unfortunately, that was not the case.

it usually starts with a denial of service error, e.g. can't find network to let me know he's been monkeying around again.

this time, we were using mozilla's firefox for our web browser. bill gates got his walking papers.

but after spending 3 hours trying to post a few blogs, (being the smarty-pants that i am) i finally checked the known issues list on blogger's help section. typing in the exact error in the search field got me nowhere.

lesson learned:  if it's taking wayyy too long to post something, even with a cable modem or dsl, stop it and read the help section.

and ie is back on my laptop.

crack and barrel

the new 'crack and barrel' catalog came in the mail today.

i'm in love.

there is just something so warm and fuzzy about that place; i want to set-up shop there and live happily ever among their autumnal selection of table linens and pumpkin soup tureens. i just know i'd get a good night's rest if i laid my head down upon their bright, modern comforter and sheet sets. it makes me want to wrap myself in their velvety fabrics and my rooms in their rich color choices. my desire for wreaths, berries and vines are awakened when i flip through their catalog.

the crack is addictive.

somehow i got added to their distribution list, probably when i bought a candle at the store in kop 3 years ago. now each season, i know (hands wiggling excitedly) it's coming. each time the catalog is in my mailbox, it's like a little gift from the mailbox fairies. a new catalog to drool over, and by the time the drool dries *poof* a new season is already upon us.

it should be no surprise that this one appeared. the furniture catalog arrived last month. oh, the orgy that catalog inspired! all of my latent-martha-stewart-tendencies spring to life and i just want to design, decorate and masturbate to its hardwood furniture selection. forget the ol' furniture that's in my house, there's a new man in town and i'm a decorating slut.

my train buddies and i poured over that rag for like a week straight, dreaming of our new lives with perfect houses filled with perfect furniture. we were having way too much fun with the fantasy to bother adding perfect men.

that's just stretching the truth a wee bit too far.

momma's girl

if it were possible for her to share my genetic code -- like family members with 2 legs instead of 4 -- it would make sense how freakin' similar my dog chloe is to me.

but we don't.

and still, she IS me.


chloe was meant to be baby. how else could you explain how sight unseen I drove three hours to pick her up from idiots who couldn't care for her?

yup, this little goldie-locks with curls is very much like her curly-haired, blonde mamma:

• we both like to start shit; yet when things get too crazy, we're the first ones to go find a quiet place to hide.



• we both get too loud when we are excited. this more than makes up for the times when we could give a shit about talking at all.



• we both are petrified of the water. the pisces and the water dog, go figure. (only i have the added misery of wearing a bathing suit on top of it.)



• we are both imperfectly perfect; from a hooked tail to thunder thighs, we are beautiful and we know it.



• we both love to snuggle down to get a belly rub. and neither of us are afraid to give kisses to those we love.

and we will never, ever turn down a cookie.

drunk dieting

okay, so there’s no secret that there is less of me to love these days. in fact, i'm quite proud of my shrinking presence in the world. be gone, Tastykake, I’m through with you now.

but there’s one thing about weight-loss that no one talks about it; it’s the dramatic toll on your drinking tolerance.

when it’s diet season (defined as the weeks or months prior to an event in which the clothing you’ll wear makes you nauseous at the thought of being in them, i.e. bathing suit, bridesmaid gown, etc.), all bets are off.

people have managed to live on carrots sticks and celery (a zero calorie food) for a month before a vacation. or have lived to tell about doing similarly stupid, stupid things with food. always though, the first thing most people tend to avoid most during these moments of famine is alcohol.

why? it’s the calories, stupid. when suddenly faced with only consuming 1200 or 1500 calories a day, do you really want to spend them on beer? hardcore peeps might answer yes, but that’s another issue entirely.

for dieters, when that beer is the caloric equivalent of dinner, 99% of the time dinner wins. on those occasions when a dieter decides, “i’m going for it. give me a light beer, barkeep,” is usually when trouble ensues.

see a dieter, in restricting his or her diet, is also changing his or her bodies’ metabolism to adjust to the new food intake. the dieter’s mind doesn’t adapt as quickly. if, in his or her previous life, he or she could drink 4 beers and still be able to walk a straight line, i will bet you money that after being on a diet, he or she will zigzag all over the place after the same amount.

sure, there’s gotta be a scientific reason for this. (just like there’s a reason for writing this.) and for those of us who had a hard time holding their drinks before, well, you’re screwed. you’re doubly screwed if you try to put your diet first and eat less to drink more.

an evening might go something like this:
dieter mind: hmm, i need to be sensible tonight. so if i have the chardonnay, i will skip the bread.

dieter belly: no! don’t skip the bread. you haven’t eaten bread in a week. c’mon, you’re killing me here. oh man, this place even has the good oil to dip it in. please don’t skip the bread.

dieter mind: this wine tastes so good. it’s seems like forever since i had a glass. mmmm.

dieter belly: it's because it has been ages since we had a glass. this is pretty nice but, ah, some bread or some of those nice fried appetizers the waiter just brought out might be nice, too. just a little bite, okay?

mind: i am so relaxed - i’ve missed this feeling. but my belly is killing my buzz. quit rumbling, tummy.

belly: now you’re telling me to be quiet? you’ve got nerve, brain. go ahead, order the second glass of wine – you ordered a salad. here’s your warning “smarty pants” -- there better be a dessert in front of you or else.

mind: you’re so silly, belly. [hiccup] there is no dessert coming.

belly: no bread. no appetizers. and a salad with NO dessert. this is war, smarty pants, and i’m taking prisoners.

the worst part of this is? there are no “Mothers Against Drunk Dieting” groups out there, warning people not to drink and eat celery sticks. no counselor at Weight Watchers, Nutri-Systems, LA Weight-Loss or Jenny Craig will warn you that you are about to become a lightweight drinker again.

but my liver had the last laugh. it took out a restraining order on both my belly and my brain.

you can dress me up

you can dress up the girl, but you can't make a lady out of her.

i've never been a big fan of heels. if it wasn't a doc martin, i wasn't wearing it. and i was wayyyy to much of a rebel to be caught dead in sneakers.

and then, i got old. and got a career. now heels are a part of my daily habit. but a change in wardrobe doesn't necessarily change the soul...

i had decided to wear a new, black pair of heels i had picked up at the nine west outlet in OBX while on vacation. this was a skinny heel, the kind you wear-to-strut-your-stuff-in or else look as if you're a 4-year-old who has raided mom's closet again.

so here i was sitting in a conference room, cross-legged as normal in my seat, running a meeting. my work badge is tossed in my pant's pocket with the large cord dangling. being the bundle of energy that i am, i jump from my seat to write some comments on the dry erase board and somehow by the luck of the goddess, i realize that the cord from my badge has wrapped itself around my skinny, heel.

"whew! that was a close one," i told the group as i stood like a flamingo trying to untangle myself while perched on one leg. we all had a good chuckle and moved on -- crisis diverted.

once back at my desk, i'm working in the zone, when i leap from my desk to grab something off the printer. only this time, i was snared.

at this point, many things are running through my head:
+ thank goddess no one else is around,
+ thank goddess the walls of my cube are high,
+ at least ... hey, why is he looking at me?
+ oooh no, he can see me!

yep, trying to keep orca under wraps while she's going down was a little too much for my cube walls to conceal. it seems the leap from my chair propelled me far enough outside my cube as to make my descent visible to all who were in the office. d'oh!

the only thing i could do was to laugh. my coworker who witnessed the great fall was kind enough to see if i was alright before letting the guffaws out. another routine day in the life of bean.

welcome to the world of bean

:: greetings and salutations ::

as an avid reader (more like devourer, really) of wickedly funny wordsmiths (such as david sedaris, laurie notaro, stephanie klein , augusten burroughs, and the granddaddy of them all for me -- john irving), i hope that you will take as much enjoyment from reading this as i take from them. and more importantly, your demented interested will match mine.

gentle readers, i hope, will also find my wicked sense of humor appealing. i plan to share my views on [mostly] everything and i hope you feel inspired to respond.