Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Bullet Points Episode 4

1. Hi. We went to Ohio for Thanksgiving last week. It was wonderful as usual. The best part was all of it. Here is a picture of the new family dog playing football with Aaron and Joey. Her name is Rosie and she lacks all social grace and judgment and will immediately lick your face upon meeting you, not unlike Aaron. I like her but hope for an improvement in manners when I see her again at Christmas.

The rest of my family was fine, too, though not without their own manner issues (I think my brother cheats at Trivial Pursuit but the investigation is ongoing.) Here is ol' Pops carving the bird, which was delish. Isn't it weird that turkeys say "gobble gobble" and that's what we do to them? (That joke fell uncomfortably flat at Thanksgiving but I know how good it truly is.)

2. We flew home last Sunday and I immediately went to Paradise Bakery to get us some healthy soup for lunch because my stomach was so full of sugar and icing and icing made out of sugar, and stuffing and gravy and icing, though the icing was not on the gravy nor made out of gravy. As I was in line, a wondrous thing happened. There was a nice lady. She was very prim and proper. She was probably in her 40's. She was wearing a nice floral-printed skirt and had presumably just come from a meeting of a religious nature, it being Sunday around 12:00 pm and all. And there she was, very feminine and polite as she ordered her sandwich, and then she looked over her shoulder, and then went for it. She picked a big ol' wedgie, ya'llsies. IT WAS AWESOME. I know, lady. I know. There's something just unacceptably uncomfortable about underwears right up your butt. Sometimes you weigh the social unacceptability against the discomfort unacceptability and the discomfort is way more unacceptable. We're pragmatic, you and me. I applaud you and I bet you were super comfortable while you ate your french onion soup.

3. After the soup and a brief nap, Christmas threw up in my apartment and I wasn't even mad. We have stockings and a tree and a wreath and a little ceramic Christmas train (there are always trains! Do trains come out at Christmas?) and I even made Snickerdoodles, though that had less to do with Christmas and more to do with my debilitating sense of guilt after our neighbors watched Jethro while we were in Ohio and wouldn't accept payment, so I gave them Snickerdoodles instead. Nonetheless, they featured green and red sprinkles so the Christmas spirit was still very much alive.

(Jethro acted as if he had done all the work. Unlike us. Unlike Aaron. I...I didn't do anything.

Also while we were decorating we tried out a new grilled salmon recipe on the, you know, grill. It's surreal to grill outside in shorts and socks while hanging tinsel, but I don't want to start being someone who overuses "surreal" and I feel like I'm getting close to that, so let's just call it "life." It was life to grill out while hanging tinsel.

Before I wrote this post, I made an outline of it, and yes, it was as grand as you're imagining.


Wednesday, November 14, 2012

I Don't Deserve This

Last night I had just turned off the lamp next to our bed and laid down to sleep (lately a chaotic dream-filled adventure, inexplicably) when suddenly in my mind's eye I saw my guitar teacher and my gut wrenched into despair.

(This sounds dramatic but usually happens to me about every 3.5 seconds, with the guitar teacher being the variable, so don't be alarmed. Or do?)

I had the best guitar teacher. He was (presumably is) one of the sweetest people you could ever meet. He played for the worship team at the Catholic church I attended until I was 8. Then I moved away, but when I signed up for guitar lessons at Pellegrino's music in Belden Village when I turned 14, lo and behold, he was the staff teacher.

Every Thursday I drove to Belden with scratchy ripped CD's in hand, full of  The Who and Carly Simon and John Mayer and Michelle Branch and whatever other million songs I HAD TO LEARN. We'd put them on the stereo and he'd teach me the chords.

I took these lessons for years, and we became good friends. We even played at church togther on Christmas Eve sometimes, which was the best night at St. Mary's in Massillon. Catholic Churches have HUGE ceilings, and that's what Christmas Eve calls for. And dimness and candles and the small sense of awe that tells you that you need to shush, because something bigger than you is happening.

Anyway, I went off to college and met Aaron and fell in love and ate lots of bagel sandwiches at Bagel Street and learned Spanish and rollerbladed up Morton Hill, and then I was planning a wedding. So I invited my guitar teacher.

He came! He came by himself. He gave us a present. He got a new suit, he said.

I don't mean this metaphorically or existentially, I mean it literally: I don't know how to accept graciousness like that. How does the thought of him doing those things - driving three hours, getting a new suit and bringing a gift to the wedding of a punk kid he used to teach guitar to - not absolutely crush you? I wanted him to come; I wouldn't have invited him otherwise, but it would have been so much easier had he snubbed me or left a dead cat on my doorstep or something. Accepting sweetness like that is painful and I don't know how to do it.

So I stay up at night, hoping I was nice enough.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

A Love Letter to Songwriters

Hi I made a video blog. A vlog? Do we call them that? It's about songs and stuff. 

If you have a song to add to the list that uses these same chords, or some variation thereof, or something, leave it in the comments and I'll send you a prize, and that prize will be a mix CD of all of the best songs ever, which may or may not contain these chords.


Friday, November 2, 2012


This weekend I have several pressing matters to attend to, all of which you must be waiting with bated breath to hear, and I am not one to bate breath for much longer than necessary. (?)

1. First I plan to go back to the pool. I have been hot-yoga-ing 4 times a week for the past month but my Groupon has expired and I'm nothing if not cripplingly frugal, so I ain't paying no $100 a month to sit in a room of 120 degrees and try to stand on my elbows. I mean, say $20 and we'll talk, but, you understand. So I'll be heading back on Saturday to the pool, where it's only $2 for an hour and a half of unlimited uncoordinated flip-turns and water-up-your-nose incidents. Is it my birthday?!

2. Secondly we plan to take our car to the Toyota dealership to see if we can't trade-er-in for a newer model. Are you familiar with the story of our first interaction with Toyota? I'm eating a lot of protein tonight in preparation, is what I'm saying.

Really we're just going because we got a mailer that if we bring the Rav in before Nov. 7th to "discuss a trade-in" we'll get a $15 Starbucks card. I mentioned the crippling frugality, yes?

3. Thirdly I plan to finish my Ireland photo album. No I have not finished our wedding album, why do you ask? You know what, IRELAND HAS CASLTES. Aaron has... a beard? I'm just kidding, our wedding was awesome. But CASTLES.

4. Fourthly (fourthly?) I plan to make another Pinterest recipe. I can't decide what it means about me that I like to make Pinterest recipes. Every time I log onto Pinterest I think, "UGH, who USES this site? GROSS." And then I peruse for hours. As far as I can tell it's geared specifically towards middle aged teachers, the sexually confused and/or people who like Zac Efron. Am I one of these? I do not believe so. But then I find so many recipes I want to try, and then I do try them, and then I feel confused because I'm still hardcore, right? Like can I still wear thick eyeliner and combat boots sometimes or would that mean I have a personality disorder?

Actually I did make a Pinterest recipe this week and I decided I was going to photo-document it, like a good blogger would. I had grand plans to make my life look beautiful and put-together and fabulous and SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOURS, you know, a-la Cupcakes and Cashmere. But then the photos turned out like this, so it occurs to me that maybe I didn't do it right, but then maybe that means I did do it right?

Either way I promise I won't photo document these things anymore. Sorry, America.

Love you all. Happy weekend!