Thanks to my Uncle Spunky and my Other Mother, I've found the correct word to describe my condition in the state of Florida:
Agita: Heartburn, acid indigestion, an upset stomach or, by extension, a general feeling of upset. The word is Italian-American slang derived from the Italian "agitare" meaning "to agitate."
Turns out, it was a word used by my Italian grandmother, and not somebody's Jewish grandmother, during the years of my youth. I knew it was out there, I just didn't know it started with an "a". "A general feeling of upset", yeah, that sounds about right.
So, now I want to know: how does one spell the word which, phonetically, looks like this:
botch-ah-guh-LOOP
Cuz that's another goodie I used to hear from the Italian side of the family, and I've used it myself over the years, not really understanding what it means, but I'm pretty sure it's what you call someone when you don't want to say "jackass" or "son of a bitch". Or, it's what you say in moments of frustration when you've got no one to blame but yourself. For example, you're in the kitchen making a big pot of gravy and you stick a spoon in the pot to get a taste and drop the spoon so it sinks to the bottom of the pot. "Aya, botchagaLOOP!"
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Greetings from the State of Ogeda
Florida. What a place.
We came down to visit Alex’s family, his dad and grandparents, who live somewhere north of Boca Raton. On the flight from Seattle, I began experiencing severe stomach discomfort. It continued straight through my stay. And I blame it on Florida.
What is it about Florida? The state is full of crazy people. Granted, I only visited one section of south-eastern Florida, a section where the median age is 82 years and the driving privileges of every citizen should be revoked, so I shouldn’t speak of the entire state. However, my time here has colored my view of Florida, and my continuous stomach discomfort has given me a nasty taste in my mouth which makes me want to complain about all of it, the whole damned state. So I shall. I’m sure there are many hip and happening places to be in Florida. I’ve heard tell of South Beach and the parties and the nightlife and the Don Johnson look-alikes (okay, I can’t help but connect Miami to the glory days of the ‘80’s) and bikers love to cause trouble in Daytona, and the gays love the Keys, and so forth. But for me, Florida is a state of crazy cranky octogenarians who find great pleasure in complaining about, well, everything. I say this after having had a lovely visit with the family. Alex’s grandparents are wonderful people, and I could listen to their stories for days. I am so happy that they’d like me to call them Bubbe and Zayde (I dearly miss my own grandparents, but none of them were Jewish, so this is a whole new world for me) and I look forward to visiting them again soon. I just wish they lived in New Jersey. Oh well. They spent decades in Camden, back when it was a nice place to live, rather than the place where people from Newark go to feel good about Newark (I stole that line from Jon Stewart), so they deserve to spend their golden years wherever they please. And supposedly, it’s sunny all the time in Florida. I say supposedly, because it rained for 3 days straight for me. Florida. Ugh. There were car accidents every 2 miles on the highway, and I think it’s because the people tend to forget they’re driving. I got honked at more times than I can count, and I could never figure out what I was doing wrong. I think that’s because I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Four-way stop signs don’t cause most drivers to stop at all. Right turns on red are the rule, even when there are 3 lanes of traffic moving at full speed across the intersection. I saw a woman driving with her eyes closed. For real. It’s a terrifying place to be on the road, if you’re aware of your surroundings. And dining out? That’s all the people seem to do. And it’s less about the pleasure of going out or sharing a meal with friends or trying something new. It’s all about the pleasure of finding something wrong with the meal: the soup is ice-cold; the asparagus is raw; the brisket is cut like deli-meat (this complaint was given in a deli). Complaining is a state pastime. As is bingo. And chicken tic-tac-toe. (No joke: there is a dog-racing casino near Miami where customers line up to play tic-tac-toe against a live chicken. The chicken always wins.)
Florida is a trip, that’s for sure. And there are beautiful beaches and palm trees galore. I appreciate such things. But I don’t appreciate them in the rain. Next time, there will be sun. And I will come prepared with Alka-Seltzer. And Pepto. And Gas-X. And whatever else is needed to cure myself of the ills of the State of Ogeda. (NOTE: Ogeda doesn’t seem to be a word recognized by my dictionary. I know I’ve heard this word before, and it refers to some kind of stomach upset. Maybe it’s a Yiddish word, I don’t know. But in my time in Florida, this word has been held much meaning for me. And so, I shall add it to my dictionary. I will define it: Noun, a series of stomach ailments, including but not limited to cramping, gas, nausea, indigestion, diarrhea, which is brought upon not by consumption or virus, but by a feeling of aging before one’s time. Oy vey.)
We came down to visit Alex’s family, his dad and grandparents, who live somewhere north of Boca Raton. On the flight from Seattle, I began experiencing severe stomach discomfort. It continued straight through my stay. And I blame it on Florida.
What is it about Florida? The state is full of crazy people. Granted, I only visited one section of south-eastern Florida, a section where the median age is 82 years and the driving privileges of every citizen should be revoked, so I shouldn’t speak of the entire state. However, my time here has colored my view of Florida, and my continuous stomach discomfort has given me a nasty taste in my mouth which makes me want to complain about all of it, the whole damned state. So I shall. I’m sure there are many hip and happening places to be in Florida. I’ve heard tell of South Beach and the parties and the nightlife and the Don Johnson look-alikes (okay, I can’t help but connect Miami to the glory days of the ‘80’s) and bikers love to cause trouble in Daytona, and the gays love the Keys, and so forth. But for me, Florida is a state of crazy cranky octogenarians who find great pleasure in complaining about, well, everything. I say this after having had a lovely visit with the family. Alex’s grandparents are wonderful people, and I could listen to their stories for days. I am so happy that they’d like me to call them Bubbe and Zayde (I dearly miss my own grandparents, but none of them were Jewish, so this is a whole new world for me) and I look forward to visiting them again soon. I just wish they lived in New Jersey. Oh well. They spent decades in Camden, back when it was a nice place to live, rather than the place where people from Newark go to feel good about Newark (I stole that line from Jon Stewart), so they deserve to spend their golden years wherever they please. And supposedly, it’s sunny all the time in Florida. I say supposedly, because it rained for 3 days straight for me. Florida. Ugh. There were car accidents every 2 miles on the highway, and I think it’s because the people tend to forget they’re driving. I got honked at more times than I can count, and I could never figure out what I was doing wrong. I think that’s because I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Four-way stop signs don’t cause most drivers to stop at all. Right turns on red are the rule, even when there are 3 lanes of traffic moving at full speed across the intersection. I saw a woman driving with her eyes closed. For real. It’s a terrifying place to be on the road, if you’re aware of your surroundings. And dining out? That’s all the people seem to do. And it’s less about the pleasure of going out or sharing a meal with friends or trying something new. It’s all about the pleasure of finding something wrong with the meal: the soup is ice-cold; the asparagus is raw; the brisket is cut like deli-meat (this complaint was given in a deli). Complaining is a state pastime. As is bingo. And chicken tic-tac-toe. (No joke: there is a dog-racing casino near Miami where customers line up to play tic-tac-toe against a live chicken. The chicken always wins.)
Florida is a trip, that’s for sure. And there are beautiful beaches and palm trees galore. I appreciate such things. But I don’t appreciate them in the rain. Next time, there will be sun. And I will come prepared with Alka-Seltzer. And Pepto. And Gas-X. And whatever else is needed to cure myself of the ills of the State of Ogeda. (NOTE: Ogeda doesn’t seem to be a word recognized by my dictionary. I know I’ve heard this word before, and it refers to some kind of stomach upset. Maybe it’s a Yiddish word, I don’t know. But in my time in Florida, this word has been held much meaning for me. And so, I shall add it to my dictionary. I will define it: Noun, a series of stomach ailments, including but not limited to cramping, gas, nausea, indigestion, diarrhea, which is brought upon not by consumption or virus, but by a feeling of aging before one’s time. Oy vey.)
Monday, February 7, 2011
FREE BEER!!!
I've got a fridge full of beer. And salami. And holy crap, the cream cheese. Come raid my fridge!
The Super Bowl is over. And it was pretty super, in my less-than-humble opinion. Green Bay came out strong in the first half, making it look like there was a possibility of a blow-out. But Pittsburgh pulled it together and made it a game. And lost in the end, which is what I was hoping for. (I give my condolences to my Steelers Nation brothers, especially my brother Dennis, who runs a Steelers bar, and was certainly serving up Roethlis-burgers to a lot of sad faces last night. But hey, you people had a good season, and you've had two trophies this decade, so my sympathies only extend so far.)
Our gathering ended up dividing into two camps: Green Bay fans in the living room (or "The Future") and Steelers fans in Alex's office (or "The Past"). It was a bit of a time-warp in our apartment yesterday, as it seems the Comcast cable service which Alex's tv is hooked up to is on a 10-second delay. The tv in the living room is hooked up to good olde-fashioned rabbit ears, and while it glitched out from time to time, it still provided a pretty clear picture, 10 seconds ahead of the digital cable. Alex worked very hard to try to eliminate this time delay, purchasing a DVR online to hook up to and pause The Future tv, so we'd all be living in the same time zone. Alas, the DVR requires a phone line, which we don't have. So, Alex then purchased a Magic Jack to hook up to our laptop to hook up to the DVR to hook up to The Future tv. But the Magic Jack proved less than magical. Customer Service could do nothing to help. So, the Steelers fans in The Past were hearing the cheers or the groans from the Green Bay fans in The Future, trying to decipher the degree of the cheering (was that a first down? a touchdown?)or groaning (was that a sack? a fumble?) while the Green Bay fans were treated to a 10-second delayed reaction to whatever play caused the cheering or groaning. It actually added an extra element of fun. The two camps were cordial with one another, not antagonistic or spiteful, but as a Green Bay fan, any good play made by my chosen team was made extra-good by hearing the defeat from the back room. All in all, a good time.
And I must say, I loved the Half-time Show. I mean it! I know there are a lot of people out there saying it was awful, but I enjoyed it so much, I watched it twice. Seriously. I'm pretty sure that if I had been at that stadium, I would have been moved to tears. Not that it takes much to move me to tears. But that show was like the biggest Broadway spectacle ever! The silly costumes, the light displays, the cheesy references to nostalgic moments from our youth (Slash? for real? and that song from "Dirty Dancing"? Oh no, they didn't!), I found it Super Terrific! I think that such a show can only translate so well on tv, and I know that this event is reaching millions more on tv than the 100,000 fans at the stadium. But it translated just fine for me and the people watching from The Past. (The Future was less enthusiastic. In fact, phrases such as "worst halftime show ever" and "you've got to be kidding me" were making their way into The Past. I guess in The Future they prefer halftime performances by old-man-bands performing their time-tested hits of yesteryear, the acts of choice since the horror of Nipplegate. Which is fine, I mean, Springsteen totally rocked 2 years ago, especially when he did that stage-slide that had his crotch slamming into the camera. But The Who? last year...oh no.) And clearly, the people in the stadium loved it. The people performing (including the thousands of dancers decked out in Saran Wrap and Christmas lights) were having a mighty good time. And I love to see performers enjoying themselves. So, I give it a thumbs up. Then again, I wanted to buy almost every product advertised yesterday, I was entirely susceptible to their not-so-tricky schemes which made cars seem super-cool and Doritos seem...well, actually, that Doritos ad, where the guy is licking Dorito-cheez off of another guy's fingers, it was kinda gross. I need no Doritos today, thank you very much. Regardless, I was rather exhausted yesterday from stuffing all that cream cheese into all those mushrooms, so I was giddy by the time the Black Eyed Peas descended onto the stage. Perhaps if I was less tired, my sense of cynicism would have been more intact and I would have found myself offended by the whole spectacle. I am glad for the exhaustion.
And now, now I've got a fridge full of beer. Seems everyone who came over brought beer, and no one drank very much of it, and now it's all hanging out in my fridge. And on my balcony. (No more room in the fridge.) It's hanging out right next to the salami and pepperoni that are left over. I stopped eating salami around the same time I stopped drinking beer. My fridge, which would look like the best Christmas morning for some people, is looking like a gag gift to me. There's so much goodness in there, and I can use none of it. Well, I guess I do eat cream cheese, but I don't need 2 pounds of it. So, who wants to come raid my fridge?
Seriously, if you are in the Seattle area and want some free beer, come to my place! You can take it all. I've got Stella, Alaska, Fat Tire, PBR. Host a party, or just make your roommates happy. I'll throw in a pound of salami (unless you're a vegetarian, in which case, I've got a big ol' tub of hummus with your name on it!) No one left my home hungry yesterday, and no one left empty-handed (I forced food on people to the extent where they may fear a return visit). Still, I've got more food here than Alex and I can possibly eat, even with the sickest case of the munchies. And we're heading to Florida on Wednesday, so it's really of no use to us. Please, I beg you, come raid my fridge. I'm far too Irish to consider throwing out all that beer, and we're moving to a new apartment next week. That beer ain't moving with us.
The Super Bowl is over. And it was pretty super, in my less-than-humble opinion. Green Bay came out strong in the first half, making it look like there was a possibility of a blow-out. But Pittsburgh pulled it together and made it a game. And lost in the end, which is what I was hoping for. (I give my condolences to my Steelers Nation brothers, especially my brother Dennis, who runs a Steelers bar, and was certainly serving up Roethlis-burgers to a lot of sad faces last night. But hey, you people had a good season, and you've had two trophies this decade, so my sympathies only extend so far.)
Our gathering ended up dividing into two camps: Green Bay fans in the living room (or "The Future") and Steelers fans in Alex's office (or "The Past"). It was a bit of a time-warp in our apartment yesterday, as it seems the Comcast cable service which Alex's tv is hooked up to is on a 10-second delay. The tv in the living room is hooked up to good olde-fashioned rabbit ears, and while it glitched out from time to time, it still provided a pretty clear picture, 10 seconds ahead of the digital cable. Alex worked very hard to try to eliminate this time delay, purchasing a DVR online to hook up to and pause The Future tv, so we'd all be living in the same time zone. Alas, the DVR requires a phone line, which we don't have. So, Alex then purchased a Magic Jack to hook up to our laptop to hook up to the DVR to hook up to The Future tv. But the Magic Jack proved less than magical. Customer Service could do nothing to help. So, the Steelers fans in The Past were hearing the cheers or the groans from the Green Bay fans in The Future, trying to decipher the degree of the cheering (was that a first down? a touchdown?)or groaning (was that a sack? a fumble?) while the Green Bay fans were treated to a 10-second delayed reaction to whatever play caused the cheering or groaning. It actually added an extra element of fun. The two camps were cordial with one another, not antagonistic or spiteful, but as a Green Bay fan, any good play made by my chosen team was made extra-good by hearing the defeat from the back room. All in all, a good time.
And I must say, I loved the Half-time Show. I mean it! I know there are a lot of people out there saying it was awful, but I enjoyed it so much, I watched it twice. Seriously. I'm pretty sure that if I had been at that stadium, I would have been moved to tears. Not that it takes much to move me to tears. But that show was like the biggest Broadway spectacle ever! The silly costumes, the light displays, the cheesy references to nostalgic moments from our youth (Slash? for real? and that song from "Dirty Dancing"? Oh no, they didn't!), I found it Super Terrific! I think that such a show can only translate so well on tv, and I know that this event is reaching millions more on tv than the 100,000 fans at the stadium. But it translated just fine for me and the people watching from The Past. (The Future was less enthusiastic. In fact, phrases such as "worst halftime show ever" and "you've got to be kidding me" were making their way into The Past. I guess in The Future they prefer halftime performances by old-man-bands performing their time-tested hits of yesteryear, the acts of choice since the horror of Nipplegate. Which is fine, I mean, Springsteen totally rocked 2 years ago, especially when he did that stage-slide that had his crotch slamming into the camera. But The Who? last year...oh no.) And clearly, the people in the stadium loved it. The people performing (including the thousands of dancers decked out in Saran Wrap and Christmas lights) were having a mighty good time. And I love to see performers enjoying themselves. So, I give it a thumbs up. Then again, I wanted to buy almost every product advertised yesterday, I was entirely susceptible to their not-so-tricky schemes which made cars seem super-cool and Doritos seem...well, actually, that Doritos ad, where the guy is licking Dorito-cheez off of another guy's fingers, it was kinda gross. I need no Doritos today, thank you very much. Regardless, I was rather exhausted yesterday from stuffing all that cream cheese into all those mushrooms, so I was giddy by the time the Black Eyed Peas descended onto the stage. Perhaps if I was less tired, my sense of cynicism would have been more intact and I would have found myself offended by the whole spectacle. I am glad for the exhaustion.
And now, now I've got a fridge full of beer. Seems everyone who came over brought beer, and no one drank very much of it, and now it's all hanging out in my fridge. And on my balcony. (No more room in the fridge.) It's hanging out right next to the salami and pepperoni that are left over. I stopped eating salami around the same time I stopped drinking beer. My fridge, which would look like the best Christmas morning for some people, is looking like a gag gift to me. There's so much goodness in there, and I can use none of it. Well, I guess I do eat cream cheese, but I don't need 2 pounds of it. So, who wants to come raid my fridge?
Seriously, if you are in the Seattle area and want some free beer, come to my place! You can take it all. I've got Stella, Alaska, Fat Tire, PBR. Host a party, or just make your roommates happy. I'll throw in a pound of salami (unless you're a vegetarian, in which case, I've got a big ol' tub of hummus with your name on it!) No one left my home hungry yesterday, and no one left empty-handed (I forced food on people to the extent where they may fear a return visit). Still, I've got more food here than Alex and I can possibly eat, even with the sickest case of the munchies. And we're heading to Florida on Wednesday, so it's really of no use to us. Please, I beg you, come raid my fridge. I'm far too Irish to consider throwing out all that beer, and we're moving to a new apartment next week. That beer ain't moving with us.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Super Bowl, Super Belly
My cupboard is loaded with gigantic bags of chips. Pita chips, potato chips, tortilla chips. My fridge is dominated by super-huge tubs of dips. Hummus, salsa, guacamole. There's a 3-pound block of cream cheese in there. 3 pounds of cream cheese. What the...
This Sunday is, of course, Super Bowl Sunday. (It is also, according to an article on NPR, National Porn Sunday, which isn't nearly as exxxciting as it sounds: hundreds of churches across the nation will be showing a video of current and former NFL players speaking out about how pornography has disrupted their lives. Seems there's a porn epidemic in this country: according to Craig Gross, whose sermon will be part of the video, "The statistics say that 48 percent of Christian families are dealing with the issue of pornography in their home. I would say the other 52 percent are just unaware of it being an issue in their house." That means every one of you Christians reading this has an issue with pornography!! But I digress.) The Green Bay Packers will meet (and hopefully defeat) the Pittsburgh Steelers in Dallas, and Alex and I are hosting a gathering here in Seattle, as he will be unable to step away from the computer, and it's no fun to watch the Super Bowl alone. Especially when it's the biggest day of the work year! When he lived in Vegas, he'd always go to some big VIP party hosted by one of the casinos. But last year in Jersey, Alex watched it solo, and while I felt bad for him, I didn't feel bad enough to sit by his side, oh no. I headed to Astoria to watch the Saints and the Colts with a group of people who don't really like football, but do love to shout about it one day a year. (I think the highlight for all of us was that Betty White Snickers commercial. Pure advertising genius.) This year, we're gonna bring the people to Alex. Which means, party food! Which means, Costco membership!
I headed out the other day to do some shopping, and I figured I might as well stop by and see if a Costco membership might make sense for me. After all, we're not only hosting a gathering, which requires massive amounts of chips and salami (at least, that's what I tossed into my cart), but we are soon moving to a new apartment, and for the first time since we left W 110th St back in 2008, the apartment we're moving into will not be furnished. There will be no dishes, no linens, no pots and pans and cleaning supplies and all the other stuff we've been provided with over the past few years. That means there's a lot of shopping coming my way. And I figure, why not do some of it in bulk? I mean, 36 rolls of toilet paper may be overkill for a household of 2, but it's one less thing to think about over the next however-many-months it takes to go through. (If there are trees in the lobby of our new home, you can expect to see them TP'd come Mischief Night.) Okay, most likely, I won't have a whole lot of use for bulk shopping in the years to come. But as I perused Costco's never-ending aisles, I found myself wondering: is a 15-piece bakeware set enough? Or should I go for the 22-piece set, for only 20 dollars more? I do like to bake, and maybe I'd do more of it if I had more cookie sheets. And how about that food processor! I've always wanted one, and this 18-pound bag of onions would have so much more usefulness if I could puree half of it. A gym on a door? I don't even know what that means, but the man on the packaging is totally ripped, and I'm sure there will be a door in my new home. Oooh, a gun safe... I don't have any rifles, but that price seems too good to pass up, there must be something I can store in there. If not, I can buy something at Costco! And, wow, there's a whole section of books and DVDs and bean bag chairs and...
By the time I made it to the food aisles, I was worn out. Which made those huge bags of lil' smokies and 3-pound tubs of mozzarella balls so easy to choose. After all, they were giving out samples! I ate my weight in samples, of mini muffins and rice chips and madras lentils and tabasco cheese (I'm not making that flavor up), and it was only my adherence to a no-red-meat-or-the-other-white-meat policy that kept me from sampling the beef empanadas and the pork nuggets and the salami wraps and the beefy cheese balls. Standing in the check-out line, my stomach was doing back flips, not the happy kind that give me a giggly roller-coaster dizziness, but the kind that make me wish I wasn't a 20-mile drive from my apartment.
This Super Bowl gathering is gonna rock! You know why? Cuz I'm gonna wraps bricks of cream cheese in crescent roll dough and bake it til golden! I'm gonna serve mini chicken snausages on toothpicks! I'm gonna make a dozen little pizzas! And serve tall boys of PBR! (I'm told that's what the kids like to drink these days.) And come Monday morning, I'm gonna be wishing that I had shopped in a non-bulk store, because I'm most likely gonna be looking at a fridge full of food that should only be consumed while watching a football game. Ugh. So, guess what? You're invited to my place for brunch on Monday! I'm gonna be serving cream cheese on potato chips and pepperoni with hummus and salami-wrapped almonds and cream cheese on other stuff and...
This Sunday is, of course, Super Bowl Sunday. (It is also, according to an article on NPR, National Porn Sunday, which isn't nearly as exxxciting as it sounds: hundreds of churches across the nation will be showing a video of current and former NFL players speaking out about how pornography has disrupted their lives. Seems there's a porn epidemic in this country: according to Craig Gross, whose sermon will be part of the video, "The statistics say that 48 percent of Christian families are dealing with the issue of pornography in their home. I would say the other 52 percent are just unaware of it being an issue in their house." That means every one of you Christians reading this has an issue with pornography!! But I digress.) The Green Bay Packers will meet (and hopefully defeat) the Pittsburgh Steelers in Dallas, and Alex and I are hosting a gathering here in Seattle, as he will be unable to step away from the computer, and it's no fun to watch the Super Bowl alone. Especially when it's the biggest day of the work year! When he lived in Vegas, he'd always go to some big VIP party hosted by one of the casinos. But last year in Jersey, Alex watched it solo, and while I felt bad for him, I didn't feel bad enough to sit by his side, oh no. I headed to Astoria to watch the Saints and the Colts with a group of people who don't really like football, but do love to shout about it one day a year. (I think the highlight for all of us was that Betty White Snickers commercial. Pure advertising genius.) This year, we're gonna bring the people to Alex. Which means, party food! Which means, Costco membership!
I headed out the other day to do some shopping, and I figured I might as well stop by and see if a Costco membership might make sense for me. After all, we're not only hosting a gathering, which requires massive amounts of chips and salami (at least, that's what I tossed into my cart), but we are soon moving to a new apartment, and for the first time since we left W 110th St back in 2008, the apartment we're moving into will not be furnished. There will be no dishes, no linens, no pots and pans and cleaning supplies and all the other stuff we've been provided with over the past few years. That means there's a lot of shopping coming my way. And I figure, why not do some of it in bulk? I mean, 36 rolls of toilet paper may be overkill for a household of 2, but it's one less thing to think about over the next however-many-months it takes to go through. (If there are trees in the lobby of our new home, you can expect to see them TP'd come Mischief Night.) Okay, most likely, I won't have a whole lot of use for bulk shopping in the years to come. But as I perused Costco's never-ending aisles, I found myself wondering: is a 15-piece bakeware set enough? Or should I go for the 22-piece set, for only 20 dollars more? I do like to bake, and maybe I'd do more of it if I had more cookie sheets. And how about that food processor! I've always wanted one, and this 18-pound bag of onions would have so much more usefulness if I could puree half of it. A gym on a door? I don't even know what that means, but the man on the packaging is totally ripped, and I'm sure there will be a door in my new home. Oooh, a gun safe... I don't have any rifles, but that price seems too good to pass up, there must be something I can store in there. If not, I can buy something at Costco! And, wow, there's a whole section of books and DVDs and bean bag chairs and...
By the time I made it to the food aisles, I was worn out. Which made those huge bags of lil' smokies and 3-pound tubs of mozzarella balls so easy to choose. After all, they were giving out samples! I ate my weight in samples, of mini muffins and rice chips and madras lentils and tabasco cheese (I'm not making that flavor up), and it was only my adherence to a no-red-meat-or-the-other-white-meat policy that kept me from sampling the beef empanadas and the pork nuggets and the salami wraps and the beefy cheese balls. Standing in the check-out line, my stomach was doing back flips, not the happy kind that give me a giggly roller-coaster dizziness, but the kind that make me wish I wasn't a 20-mile drive from my apartment.
This Super Bowl gathering is gonna rock! You know why? Cuz I'm gonna wraps bricks of cream cheese in crescent roll dough and bake it til golden! I'm gonna serve mini chicken snausages on toothpicks! I'm gonna make a dozen little pizzas! And serve tall boys of PBR! (I'm told that's what the kids like to drink these days.) And come Monday morning, I'm gonna be wishing that I had shopped in a non-bulk store, because I'm most likely gonna be looking at a fridge full of food that should only be consumed while watching a football game. Ugh. So, guess what? You're invited to my place for brunch on Monday! I'm gonna be serving cream cheese on potato chips and pepperoni with hummus and salami-wrapped almonds and cream cheese on other stuff and...
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
My room with a view
Back in July, when Alex first walked into the apartment we are now calling "home", the first thing he noticed, the thing that made him say, "I'LL TAKE IT!" before seeing anything else, was the view. The front door opens into an open space bordered by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looking south at the Seattle skyline. Here's what a looksie:
That wall of windows, which continues into the bedroom, is my favorite thing about this apartment. And there is a lot to love here! The kitchen with the stove on the center island, the giant showers with good water pressure, the open feel of the place, the king-sized bed (we're renting the place furnished), the decor (which is reminiscent of a suite at, say, the Wynn Casino)...it is by far the nicest place we've ever lived together.
And, sadly, our time here is coming to an end. It's time for us, once again, to make the move to a new place to call home. And so, it's time that I shared some pictures with you! Here's a brief tour:
The living room and the entry to the bedroom, which is where my grandmother's dressing table sits in a perfect nook by the windows.
What does a sober lady do with a full-sized bar? Why, she adorns it with pictures of all her friends and family who live in other spots in the country!
Alex's favorite building, as seen from our roof-deck (that's his mom next to him).
The roof-deck comes equipped with hot ladies!
Our "fireplace" (there's no actual fire; it's more of a mild heat-box with some flame-like lights it displays). The mantel has been home to our She-ra memorial (though it is now home to a TV, in preparation for our Super Bowl gathering this weekend).
Our dining room, where people can't help but smile!
Inside Alex's office, where the people can't help but cheer!
Mt. Rainier, or "The Big Guy", as seen this morning from my living room (he only comes out on clear days, and today is all blue sky and sunshine).
Yes, this has been a lovely home for us. I am sad to say goodbye to it. We're on the hunt for another room with a view, because frankly, once you've lived with a view, there's no going back. (I'm told the same applies for living by the water, a theory I would love to test out.) The one thing that is making this move a little less heartbreaking is the reality that the view is in the process of being destroyed. Construction has been happening for 2 months on what will be a 17-story apartment building directly across the street. My view is currently marred by a giant yellow crane:
I am SO glad it wasn't my job to put that thing together, nor to be the guy who has to climb up there every morning and spend all day 17 stories above ground with nothing but a lunch sack and a glass jar. Ugh.
So, we'll go find another view. A better view! A view that will stay put for as long as we shall call our next place "home". We're thinking 2 years. Then, we're hoping to find a home that has a bit more permanence to it. Frankly, we're tired of moving.
One last look at our view, panorama-style, before the Giant Yellow Crane moved in:
That wall of windows, which continues into the bedroom, is my favorite thing about this apartment. And there is a lot to love here! The kitchen with the stove on the center island, the giant showers with good water pressure, the open feel of the place, the king-sized bed (we're renting the place furnished), the decor (which is reminiscent of a suite at, say, the Wynn Casino)...it is by far the nicest place we've ever lived together.
And, sadly, our time here is coming to an end. It's time for us, once again, to make the move to a new place to call home. And so, it's time that I shared some pictures with you! Here's a brief tour:
Yes, this has been a lovely home for us. I am sad to say goodbye to it. We're on the hunt for another room with a view, because frankly, once you've lived with a view, there's no going back. (I'm told the same applies for living by the water, a theory I would love to test out.) The one thing that is making this move a little less heartbreaking is the reality that the view is in the process of being destroyed. Construction has been happening for 2 months on what will be a 17-story apartment building directly across the street. My view is currently marred by a giant yellow crane:
So, we'll go find another view. A better view! A view that will stay put for as long as we shall call our next place "home". We're thinking 2 years. Then, we're hoping to find a home that has a bit more permanence to it. Frankly, we're tired of moving.
One last look at our view, panorama-style, before the Giant Yellow Crane moved in:
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