Priorities

As I'm on my way out to go to my second job of the day, I run into the office, turn Biker Boy around, give him a kiss on the cheek, and ask, in the sugariest voice possible, "will you record American Gladiators for me tonight?" Because there's nothing like a little Hulk Hogan when you get home from a twelve hour day.

How to do it all

I found that when I was an undergrad, I was more productive when I had a lot going on. It might explain why I always took 16-18 credits, volunteered, had a part-time job, and worked out like a mad person. I would study, every night, for the same three hours, and scheduled events like going out with my friends like they were classes. This system worked for me. Things got done when they got done because there was no other time. And since I need my sleep, the option of staying up late to pull an all nighter was never really an option for me. Do people really pull all nighters? Because I can't.

Today I just made a huge additional commitment to my time and took a third job. Not because we need the money (although the added money will be a nice cushion to our savings since both BB and I look to be out of jobs at the end of the semester), but because I think I need things to fill my time or I'm going to never get anything done. While this is counterintuitive to a lot of people, BB and I have talked it over and agreed it's the best thing for me. Plus, I won't be at home bothering BB every single available second of the day.

I know that right now I only update semi-regularly and I will try really hard to maintain that schedule. But bear with me over the next couple of weeks as I attempt to gracefully move into this new routine. Maybe there will be funny stories about my new job. Or maybe I won't talk about it, just like I don't talk about my other jobs!!

Who Wants the Funk?

There is a funk in the cabinet under our sink. We actually cleared out the cabinet of all our cleaning supplies and shopping bags and put a box of baking soda in there, but the stench remains. Biker Boy was so desperate that he actually went downstairs to our resident managers and asked them to take a look at it. The male resident manager determined that the funk is 1) decomposing food 2) sewer gas or 3) decomposing animal!

Oh, my GOD! I can't take it.

Let's take them one at time, shall we?

Decomposing food. Our garbage disposal backed up once when we first moved into our apartment. Since then we very sparingly use it. We ran an orange through it when we first noticed the funk, but it didn't help. The disposal is running smoothly and when you (or Biker Boy) put your hand down in there (!), there are no jams or anything. Probably not the disposal.

Sewer gas. This is the most likely culprit. The resident manager thinks that there may be a leaky pipe somewhere in the wall behind our sink that is leaky. I am not excited about them having to tear up a wall to our apartment, but as Biker Boy so snarkily put it, that's why we are renters and not owners. It's their problem, not ours.

Decomposing animal. The resident manager went on the roof (in the snow! on a cold day!) to check to make sure that there weren't any animals in the chimney/whatever holes are on top of a roof. Can I just say that I am glad I am not a resident manager if part of your duties include climbing on roofs in the dead of January? ANYWAY, the RM doesn't think this is too likely.

So we have to actually call the management company today and tell them all about our funk. At first I felt really guilty because I thought BB and I had done something to cause this, but it turns out that we hadn't. But you can't come over to visit us because our apartment stinks like sewer!


UPDATE: It's our fault, apparently. You need to run your dishwasher more often than the once or twice a month we do because if you don't the gaskets and this hose thing get, ummmm, unused (?) and dry up and stink. I guess. The maintenance man told us to stop washing our dishes by hand. Okay, but there are only two of us and six plates and six bowls and three butter knives. We feel so dumb when we use the dishwasher.

So we ran the dishwasher like five times. Once empty, once with dishes, once with Kool Aid lemonade, and we're going to buy some vinegar and run that through, too. But it still smells. Biker Boy is waiting for the maintenance man to call him back to discuss back-up plans if the running the dishwasher doesn't make the smell go away. Because the smell is starting to leak into the rest of the apartment.

Weather Report

It is currently -10 degrees in Minneapolis (feels like -29). That's Fahrenheit. That's cold.

To all the people who were bitching about the 30-35 degree weather in Pittsburgh earlier this week, we Minneapolitans scoff at you.

It looks like I'm going to be getting up a bit early tomorrow to make sure my truck will start.

I Can't Iron Clothes Either

I don't have knife skills. Which is to say, because I never really learned how to cook, I never really learned the proper way to chop vegetables. When I watch those dumb cooking shows (dumb because they never have gluten-free recipes and this upsets me greatly, in a completely irrational matter because I know full well that Rachel Ray would waste away to nothing if she couldn't have her pasta and bread and so why should she bother catering to a girl in Minnesota who can't fucking cook anyway) I am fascinated by the smooth chopping action. Chop an onion in fifteen seconds! A potato in ten! I don't know even the basics, like which knife to use. At one point, shortly after we moved in together, the boy actually took a steak knife (?) out of my hand and replaced it with a chef's knife (?). When we went to register for wedding gifts, among one of the more stultifying moments for me came when Biker Boy wandered over to the knives at Crate and Barrel and started talking to the salesperson about angles of sharpening and number of layers of micrometals or some such nonsense.

Oh, and why am I bringing this up to you, you ask? Because today while I was chopping potatoes to make the following

Vegetable Beef Soup (GF)

1 lb ground sirloin
1 cup chopped onion
2 cans (14.5 ounces) stewed tomatoes
5 cups beef broth (Swanson’s organic is GF - so is Kitchen Basics)
1 tablespoon salt
2 carrots chopped
2 stalks celery, chopped
1 russet potato, chopped
¼ teaspoon dried thyme
1 bay leaf
¼ teaspoon dried basil

Brown sirloin and onion.
Drain the grease.
Add everything else in a soup pot.
Cook until vegetables are tender (approximately 45 minutes)

(Oh, yeah, how it says thyme? Biker Boy and I have never owned thyme and this recipe is delicious without it. And, because Rachel Ray says I can make substitutions, we rarely actually get ground sirloin, but just beef tips because beef tips are cheaper. Because we are cheap. And thyme-less.)

I practically chopped the index finger of my left hand off. It was bleeding profusely, my friends. If I hadn't been so embarrassed by my lack of chopping skills, I might have called Biker Boy in the room to help me 1) take a digital picture of it for the purpose of showing you how it wouldn't stop bleeding and 2) help me put a Band Aid on it. Alas, I knew I was chopping incorrectly and it was my fault and I should not be allowed anywhere near a knife, so I put my finger in my mouth and ran to the bathroom (I can not see blood, I can not see blood, I can not see blood, I can not see blood) and attempted to put the Band Aid on one handed (I can not see blood, I can not see blood).

Then I continued chopping the damn potato and made the soup. It seems delicious. With a drop of blood.

And now I have to put on my list of things to do: watch YouTube videos that demonstrate how to chop correctly. So you don't end up having to amputate your fingers.

Getting it Done

My list of things to do is so long I don't know where to start. We had to go out of town, unexpectedly, for some family stuff and it put me behind. The semester starts in four days and two of those days I am running a training for eight hours a day. Which means I absolutely have to get all this stuff on the list done. But everytime I look at the list I want to sink down under my desk and just stay there. I tried to do the smart thing and rank things according to priority, but it's all a priority.

This wouldn't be an issue if I had more than six hours of sleep in a single night at some point in the last week. I have sleeping issues. If I do not get at least nine hours of sleep a night, I am useless. Seriously useless. Ten is better. Anything less than nine and I can't function. I have asked countless doctors about this and they have the standard line about everyone needing a different amount of sleep and I just need more than the average person. In my first two years of grad school, I was lucky if I could force myself to get more than five hours of sleep at night and I survived just fine, but not anymore.

Anyway, this sleep thing came to a head yesterday. We were waiting to get on our fourth plane in as many days and we had two hours in the airport. I looked around and all I could see were chairs with armrests. Chairs with armrests are great. Unless you want to get horizontal. I snagged Biker Boy's coat, bundled it up, used it as a pillow, put my own coat on top of me as a blanket, and fell asleep in the middle of the airport, in the middle of the day. Biker Boy was appalled.

"I heard several people ask why that homeless girl was allowed in the airport."

I will recover at some point and get everything on this list done. Hopefully.

Don't count your chickens

At the fantastically fun bowling party thrown by Biker Boy's part-time work employer, I beat the pants off of Biker Boy during the first game (113 to 82, suck it BB!!). As a matter of fact, I was on the team with three of the bike shop's best and brightest employees and BEAT THEM ALL. I was quite proud and may have made many promises of future ass kickings.

Then the second game came around. The score was 113 to 77. I am sad to say that I did not score 113 two times in a row.

Damn it. He beat me by more and so he holds the rank of Bowler Extraordinaire.

Delicious!!

Okay, I don't want everyone thinking my vacation was all evil illnesses, dead deer, and catty Christians. There was also not exercising, eating badly, and extended car trips in icy weather conditions!! Ha!! Oh, and a slew of adorable babies...including the following baby who I shall call Lex because, ummmmm, that's his name!!

Here I am holding Lex. He is a badass baby in his Metallica onesie. His favorite aunt, aunt NGS (honorary title, of course) bought this for him as a Christmas present. He loves to wear black. It's his favorite color. (That's me holding him, too. I am, however, also suffering from a crazy sickness and although the baby is fine in a short-sleeve onesie, I am wearing a long-sleeve shirt and sweatshirt because I was cold, people!! And probably giving that baby some illness from which he might never recover.)

Here I am cuddling the baby. He fell asleep while eating (notice the Elmo bib) and Bestest Friend took this picture, thinking that it looked somewhat inappropriate. Poor little guy. Four months old and accused of pornography already!

Yay for babies!!

Tomorrow is three days later!

Hi. When normal people get a cold, they may stay in bed for a couple of days, feel pretty lousy, but then return to their normal lives. When I get a cold, I am out of commission for two weeks. Fortunately, this getting a cold thing couldn't have happened at a better time in terms of actual commitments of my time, but it still sucks because it means I haven't done anything that I really wanted to, including updating here regularly and prepping for my class next semester or for the training that I have to start next weekend.

Today I feel semi-normal and I am hoping it will be the last day that I am housebound. And it better be because I have to resume normalish activities starting tomorrow.

I think I'm going to briefly spell out the evangelical Christian story, but not go into details because it alternately makes me livid or deeply sad and I can't really figure out which it will be today, so I'll keep it short.

I had a friend in high school. She was very religious, but she understood that I was not. I respected her beliefs, she respected mine. It was a very comforting relationship, two girls from abusive homes growing up in small town America where everyone knew, but no one did anything. We walked down the aisle together at graduation. We played the same instrument in the marching band (which can be a surprisingly bonding experience). We maintained contact after high school. She got married and now has two beautiful children.

And then one day she hated me. I don't know why. Some people think she's jealous of my lifestyle. Some people say I must have said something, unthinkingly and unknowingly, that somehow insulted her. It's a mystery, even, especially, to me.

So our group of high school friends got together. There were children. There were hugs and tears. For an hour I listened to this "friend" say things about me and my life. Not one of them was untrue. It was the value judgment behind each mild criticism that threw me for a loop. No, I don't have a full-time job. I have two part-time jobs, health insurance, and a heavy volunteer schedule. Yes, I am living with a man I am not married to. So did half the people in this room at one point. No, I don't go to church. No, I don't believe in God. But I do believe you should be nice to other people. No, I don't have children. I am not married yet. No, we're not planning on having children. Maybe in another five or ten years? Yes, I voted for Al Gore and John Kerry. And would do it all over again. Yes, I have marched in several rallies calling to impeach Bush. I would do it all over again. Yes, I'm proud of my education. It's been years in the making. I don't feel that because I went to school some deserving child didn't get to go.

Eventually she stormed off when I told her that I felt we should stop talking about why my life was awful in front of the children. She told one of my other friends that I should be ashamed of myself. And that she never wants to see me again. I wish her well in future, with her beautiful children, and her understanding husband.

My other friends gathered round and told me that they she overreacted. That I had done nothing that they hadn't wanted to do. That I had said nothing they hadn't wanted to say. I didn't say it harshly. I am defensive because I've never had a relationship end quite so abruptly before and I feel like I have done something wrong.

That night I cried for the loss of that friendship. But it wasn't much of a friendship at all.

I Made Him Promise

Okay, we'll briefly discuss my vacation and never speak of it again.

I grew up in a rural area. I went to a small high school that gave me a very good education and I'm quite proud of my public education. However, let's be honest and say that my social and political views do not quite match up with those of the kind folks with whom I went to high school. The people I went to high school consider it odd to have less than three kids by the time you are 26 and even odder to not be married at 27 (oh, you crazy spinster).

When my parents moved us to the house in the cornfield, I was in second grade. That's cool. I had to walk about a quarter of a mile to catch the school bus. Again, that's cool, although a quarter of a mile to a malnourished seven-year-old with the wind gusting in her face can seem like a really long ways. No one told me about hunting. Namely, no one told me that our neighbors would shoot a deer, gut it, and hang it from the tree in their front yard right next to where I had to wait for the bus. I was sobbing by the time the bus got there (not sure what was the most upsetting - the dead deer or the idea that someone put a noose around it and hung it up) and the kids on the bus made so much fun of me. I vowed then and there to never again flinch when confronted by dead deer or dead deer byproducts. So in high school when my friend C's dad came in to their house with hands all bloody from gutting a deer, I took it in stride without blinking. When offered venison jerky, I always took it, never letting my slight unease show.

So when I was leaving C's house last Wednesday and was confronted by a pile of blood and flesh on their front porch, I forgot all about vows made when I was seven and screamed and ran away. C had the gall to laugh at me. Apparently her avidly crazy hunter husband wants to mount the skull of his latest deer kill on the wall in their house. They already have one full head, but now he wants a skull. So he took the skull out of their freezer and boiled off the flesh.

I don't want this to come off as anti-hunting. I understand and respect reasons for hunting. Deer overpopulation is a serious problem and I'd rather C's husband kill the deer than hit the deer with my truck. C's family does eat the meat. But I do want this to come off as anti-boiling the flesh off the deer head in my house. Also, anti-storing a deer head in my freezer.

I immediately called Biker Boy and made him promise not to boil a deer head in my house - ever. He agreed without much comment, apparently envisioning in his own mind what I had gone through that night.

Tomorrow: throwdown with evangelical Christians and how I am responsible for the downfall of America.

It's a mess!

When I travel, my purse becomes the catchall for everything that is absolutely essential to my life. So when we got home last night** and I emptied my purse, here's what I found.

1 box of Tylenol cold caplets with two doses remaining
1 bag of Hall Mentho-lyptus cough drops (someone may be addicted to these)
1 bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol
too many receipts to count (for hotels, gas, and fast food)
2 albums of engagement pictures
1 unopened Christmas card from the people I used to babysit for (he used to be 5 and now he's 18!)
1 checkbook
1 grapeseed lip butter (by the Body Shop)
1 wallet, fat and barely able to close because of all the crap stuffed in there
1 pair of non-prescription sunglasses
1 par of prescription sunglasses
2 tampons
1 cell phone charger
1 cell phone
1 packet birth control pills
2 peppermints
too many cough drop wrappers to count
6 pens
1 mechinical pencil
1 planner
6 business cards for my part-time job
1 assignment from my first semester in college that my college friend gave me
1 partial bag of Kleenex
1 bottle of lotion
2 tubes of Blistex

This from the woman who once claimed that all you needed when you left the house was your wallet, cell phone, and keys. What have I become?

I will write more on the vacation from hell later (teasers include: boiled deer head and evangelical Christians), but for now, all I have to say is yay Mike Huckabee!! If he wins the nomination, the Dems are guaranteed a win!!


**Yes, we're home a bit earlier than anticipated. Someone got a really bad cold and could barely drive, thanks to the many medications dripping in his/her veins. This meant that we cut off the last leg of our "vacation" and came straight home to go straight to bed and sleep for twelve hours straight. I'll leave you to decide who got sick.