Jump around

Do you guyes remember Hippity Hop balls? Those big balls with handles on them that were pretty popular in the 70s and 80s where a kid would sit on it, hold on to the handles, and then hop up and down?

Well, some coworkers and myself decided to order some adult-sized hippity hop ballsfor the office.

Though I must admit they are a little more fun in theory than in practice.

After working a sore arm from pumping up my ball for about 30 minutes, I was ready for the fun to start.


Maybe a little TOO ready.

Upon my first "hop" back to my cubicle, I promptly fell backwards onto my ass.

Not to be defeated, however, I got back 'on the ball' (bad pun intended --sorry) and attempted to hop the 20 feet back to my desk. I didn't quite make it and succeeded in disrupting the whole floor on my way ("hopping," apparently, is quite loud and the idea of 13 of us hopping through the hallways makes me think of what a herd of elephants might sound like).

We went to one meeting all on our balls...and then the ($20) novelty sort of wore off. Sigh. So my ball sits under my desk, only to be used on the occassions where I feel especially lathargic.



Maybe I'll get another one for David and head to the park with them when the sun comes out...

Don't trust the Mounties, EH

Really, they may seem all harmless and friendly and Canadian...but they're not to be trusted.

I'm speaking from experience.

They stole my ID.

And this is after they held me at the border for at least 30 minutes, searching my rental car. I guess they thought I might be sketchy since I attempted to cross the border in a rental car with a temporary tag from Oklahoma, an Arizona driver's license, no birth certificate, and claiming I drove up from Oregon. I guess I can see where they might be on alert there, but really, my story was so elaborate that if I were lying it would be painfully obvious. If I was going to lie, I would have made it as simple as possible to AVOID such suspicion. At any rate, they made sit in a waiting room while they searched my car and my bags. And then the guy came in with what looked like my rental car paperwork. I was relieved for a second, thinking they would finally let me go...until the Mounty spoke.

Mounty: "I found the rental agreement but it doesn't have your name on it.."

Me:"What? Look at the bottom. My signature should be on there."

Mounty: "Well it would be if your name was James Pickens!"

Me: "That must be the paperwork for the previous renter, then."

Mounty: (guffaws) "Well I'm just going to have to give Thrify Rental Car in Portland, OR a call..."

So I tried to explain to him what time I picked up the car and where I thought I had left the paperwork. He wasn't buying my story, but went back out to the car anyway. He came back 10 minutes later with my paperwork, essentially my ticket to roam freely in the Great White North.

By this time I was in tears. Not because I was afraid of the Canadians, or feeling little and vulnerable. But because I was EXHAUSTED. I had been travelling for over 12 hours and just wanted to rest. The last thing I needed was a Canadian border patrol agent getting saucy with me. Seriously, what kind of an idiot would I be if I tried to steal a rental car and drive it across the border.

I've got a whole other story about how I thought I was going to get shot for cutting soomeone off in traffic... until I remembered that they practice gun control in Canada.

in the footsteps of Lewis and Clark

It was just one of those things…those things that you KNOW you need to do that sort of hit you all of a sudden.

Which is how I realized that if I want to move to Portland, I can’t sit around and waste any more time. I’m going to say that it was Monday of last week when it hit me: I’ve got to start saving money. So its really a simple solution that for whatever reason I have failed to recognize until just recently. Or maybe its kind of like what happens when I decide I need a hair cut; there is no dancing around the issue. I wake up one morning and just KNOW…end of story.

And now that I think about it, a lot of the “bigger” decisions in my life have come about that way (moving to France, going to grad school, getting married…)

So now the real issue: being patient. So much of me just wants to pack up our stuff and go right now, no looking back. Can we do it in 6 months? Ready, set….go!

Christmas crafts for the office!

So we're having a contest at work to see who can decorate their office in the most "creative" fashion. with such liberties afforded me, I took it upon myself to finally have justification for creating a masterpeice otherwise known as "tampon lights."

And as you might expect, one of the "ladies" in my office was offended. I was told to be "creative" and I did just that. When you think about it, tampons make a great craft matetrial. They're well constructed, designed for durability and provide a really versatile shape. Why more people don't jump on this bandwagon is beyond me!

You can find more great ideas for tampon craft projects at this website.

(you'll have to excuse the poor picture quality as my THIRD digital camera is, once again, out of comission. I used my cell phone.)

The female Russian Tortoise can retain sperm for up to 3 years

So I’m starting a new job on Monday.

And as much as I tried to fight it, it’s true what they say about the last couple weeks after you’ve put in your notice: I’ve totally checked out. So I sit at my desk all day, looking for entertainment on the internet, feeling ZERO guilt that I’m getting paid to do, well, nothing. My boss has refrained from giving me anymore projects, and rightly so, but I am bored out of my mind.

So I have mostly been spending my days reading about Russian Tortoises and chatting them up with other RT owners all over the world on this forum. I still have little insight as to why my torts haven’t mated yet – but at least now I know it’s possible for the female to retain sperm with her for up to 3 years before laying any eggs! I've learned that I need to improve their diet so I spent $12 ordering seeds online so I can grow them some tasty dandelions. (I could write a whole other post about my, ahem, “experiences” attempting to keep any plant alive, but that's for another day.)


I’ve also taken more internet surveys and lame questionnaires telling me everything from my IQ (which isn’t as high as it was when I was 6 and placed in gifted classes, to my horror) to which career I should be pursuing (detective) to what astrological sign I “should” be (cancer – good call). It’s amazing how much you can learn about yourself from these extremely reputable sources on psychology and human behavior. I never would have thought to be a DETECTIVE of all things! But now, thanks to the internet, I should probably start thinking about a major career move. And hey…maybe all those re-runs of Law & Order I’ve been voraciously watching over the years have had some integral effect on me.

On Sophia Coppola's "Marie Antoinette"

The French didn't like it. And I can see why, I suppose, after studying French culture, language and literature for 4 years - plus the 6 months I spent living there. It failed to acknowledge the down-trodden masses of people "without cake" while the Royal family and their constituants lived in lavish ignorance.




But I thought the film was beautiful: From the costumes, to the scenery to the music to the emotion. After watching the film I couldn't sleep that night. I was tossing and turning with visions of pre-revolutinoary France dancing in my head, of beautiful dresses and shoes and orante golden furniture. Of a young, ignorant Austrian woman forced into Royalty and power when she was just 15.

I like Coppola's modern take on the film as well; the character speak like young people speak today, wiht a certain lack of elegance and comfortable slang. The soundtrack included songs by the Strokes and Bow Wow Wow, yet somehow seemed to fit beautifully where they were placed, despite the 300+ years of cultural progression.

I'm all for "Vive la France"...

but she never said "Let them eat cake."

How much is that cat in the window?

The Lovatos make a night time appearance

The first *chilly night of the season. (*The adjective "chilly" being relative, of course)

Karaoke

Meet Dallas: karaoke star, Dog the Bounty Hunter look-a-like and social gem. I have no idea if, in fact, he is FROM Dallas...but I'm willing to bet that all his exes live in Texas.


This dirty old man kept flipping off the entire room as part of his dance moves to an amatur rendition of "That's amore"

Only in America

It's not the QUALITY of this photo that's important...it's the subject. To that end, this is what you get when you chop off the front of an old pick-up truck and solder(sp) it to some planks with wheels. CLASSY!

Apparently, Kim is constipated and I'm feeling a bit sassy (Scottsdale, AZ).


Preparing to hear Andy Rourke of the Smiths play a DJ set at the Rogue (Scottsdale, AZ).

Shakin our groove thang at the Phoenix show (Scottsdale, AZ). 

Phoenix plays Phoenix

Who never said that lighting doesn't set the mood? (Scottsdale, AZ).

Phoenix plays Phoenix, deux

The lead signer is engaged to Sophis Coppola (Scottsdale, AZ).

Any rumors that French folk are only into jazz can surely be dispelled (Scottsdale, AZ).

House of Cats

David makes friends with Chaucer and his leather paws. (Phoenix, AZ)

Chaucer likes him some itunes. (Phoenix, AZ)

Over-saturated color is a great disguise for a blurry image - and if you look REAL close, you'll notice there are 3 cats and one Jill. (Phoenix, AZ)

No scarlett letter for this guy - he had his 'manhood' removed before he got to tom-cattin' around

I think it's just today

Today is one of those days where all I really, REALLY want to do is sit in bed and zone out in front of the TV. I’d like to lose myself in bad re-run sitcoms and fall in and out of sleep as my cat cuddles up against my feet. My head hurts; I’m not feeling social; and I think that my brain has shut itself off indeterminately.

I’m supposed to be working. To be coming up with ideas on follow-up marketing materials for our fall membership recruitment campaign. Or sending out more spam emails about our hair show in February. But instead I’m watching the beta fish that I’ll be “fish-sitting” for the next week. He doesn’t do much; not that most fish do for that matter. But he seems perfectly content in milling about in one place, unceasingly flapping his mini side fins. And he almost looks dead – and I keep thinking I should be shaking his bowl just to make sure he’s moving. And I wonder if I ever appear that way to people? if my face is so blank or my eyes so tired that maybe I don’t look like I’m living. And sometimes I almost wish there were a way to REALLY shut off your brain, you know? So you don’t THINK about how unproductive you’re being, or how much fun you’re not having, how much money you aren’t making…how many elderly and sick people you aren’t visiting.

It’s warm. My desk is in the corner of the marketing office, and my two walls are floor-to-ceiling windows. And that might sound like a desirable place to be if you’re stuck at a desk for 8 hours a day. And really, it is. But not today. Because its one of those days where everything seems out of place, misplaced, mechanical, blasé. And the 100+ degree heat beats down on my all afternoon. The sun shines and shines and shines until you just want it to go away for a very long time, like when you spend too much time with your family – it’s nice for a little while, and then pretty soon it wears on you. Most days I take a great deal of pleasure from watching the critters scurry across the courtyard below: birds, bunnies, lizards, rats. They say there used to be coyotes around our building, but all the recent development (over-priced condos, Hummer dealerships and golf courses) has scared them off. There’s always a crane visible from my window, too, lest I forget that where I’m working used to be the desert.

But really…really, I think that I’m just having one of those days.

My attempt at "Domesticism"

For those who talk to me on a semi-regualr basis, you'll know that I've been talking up the idea of my learning to sew for quite some time now. Though I haven’t abandoned this idea altogether (I WILL learn to sew…even if I’m 80 when I do it), I replaced it this past weekend with another domestic hobby: baking.

Well, sort of.

I’m the really, really impatient type - like, if I try something and it doesn’t turn out fantastic the first time I give up and abandon the idea that perhaps I might just be the next x prodigy. “Practice makes perfect” and all that cliché jazz, I know. I just haven’t quite reached the point in my life where that becomes practice as opposed to theory.

So, I made banana bread last night. I used my mother’s recipe (through her insanity she does have some typical motherly qualities, including a collection of family recipes and the ability to sew). I had been planning on making said banana bread for about 2 weeks and Sunday evening seemed like the perfect time to do it. I even had rotten bananas stored in the freezer!

So this recipe, obtained from my mother via email, was basically a simple list of ingredients followed by a couple lines of instruction:“Sift drys three times. Cream butter and sugar. Add beaten eggs. Mix bananas and sour cream alternately with drys. Bake in greased loaf pan(s). Bake for about 45 minutes (depends on size of pans), but check for doneness before that.”

I had several…ahem…"problems” with these instructions. For starters, she never specified what temperature at which to bake the bread. Trying to think logically, I ruled out 450 degrees because that is what I usually set the oven for when I’m heating up a nice gourmet dinner-- consisting of a Freshetta 4-cheese frozen pizza. After "baking" cookies (well, "cookie dough") a few weeks ago at a temperature of 350, I figured that cookies and banana bread have a bit more in common than banana bread and frozen pizza.

Alright, so I had the oven pre-heated and my ingredients out. It was time to “sift the drys” (which, for someone without a sifter, consisted of a bowl, a fork and a lump of flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt). Easy enough, right? Okay.

This next part is where the real problems came into play. What the hell does it mean to "cream butter and sugar"? Seriously. WTF does that mean?!? After searching on the internet and through the one cook book I own (a wedding present, no less) I was still clueless. And at this point I had already dumped half the sugar in the bowl with the other “drys” but decided that maybe to “cream” butter and sugar means to mix them together until they turn to a “creamy” concoction. So I threw the butter in the microwave to try to make it “room temperature” but there were 2 sticks of butter - one I had taken from the freezer and the other from the refrigerator. So of course one of the butter sticks was more cooperative than the other. At any rate, I began to “cream” the oddly melted butter and half of the remaining sugar, which basically turned into a butter-sugar-hand mixer free for all.

Next up were the “beaten eggs.” The recipe called for two eggs, but nowhere (besides the “instructions”) did it mention they were to be of the “beaten” variety, nor did it go into detail about what, exactly, a “beaten” egg is. Is there such thing as an egg beater? Is this a kitchen appliance I forgot to register for? (I ended up using a whisk). An added bonus on this one: I hate eggs. I think they’re disgusting and the look and smell of a raw egg is almost enough to make me vomit. Oh joy.

So after I had “sifted the drys,” “creamed” the butter and sugar and “beaten” the eggs,
I was, again at a loss. The recipe never said WHEN to add said ingredients together. So I just poured them all together in a separate bowl at this point. The dough was a pretty gross glob of raw eggs, gooey buttery sugar, and cups of flour and sugar – definitely not like anything I gleefully witnessed my mother baking as a child…but I wasn’t quite done at this point. I was to interpret the next portion: “Mix bananas and sour cream alternately with drys.” Does this mean I shouldn’t have added the “cream” and eggs yet? And was I supposed to start with the bananas or the sour cream? OR, was I to mix them together with each other first and then add to the rest of the mix? What I ended up doing, I think, was dumping both the smooshed bananas and the sour cream into the already existing lump of crap until the color was almost cohesive. And as for actually baking these loaves… well… “about 45 minutes”? And how about “check for doneness”? How am I supposed to know when a loaf of banana bread is “done”? And the fact that I was guessing at the baking temperature didn’t help, either. So I ended up cooking them a bit too long, until the top of the loaves were a golden brown. There’s nothing wring with a crunchy crust, right? I mean, especially when we’re talking baked goods. All in all, though, surprisingly, they turned out alright. They didn’t taste as good as my mother’s but at least they’re edible and will probably be super yummy heated up and served with vanilla ice cream and hot fudge.

Will I be baking more banana bread anytime soon? Probably not. In fact, I think I’ll refrain from even buying bananas for fear of seeing them turn ripe – the sure sign that they’re prepped for banana bread goodness.

After the Convention: Co-workers and alcohol

Looks like someone's been hitting up the tanning bed a bit more often than recommended... (Las Vegas, NV).

I have no idea what to say to this (Las Vegas, NV).

Obviously, I had clue where, exactly, the camera was pointed (Las Vegas, NV).

This guy was soo READY (Las Vegas, NV).

The boss finally lets loose (he's the tall skinny white guy in the blue polo)

I find Vegas is more 'delightful' sans flash

Before the convention: co-workers and Nobu

Looks like a couple people may have had a bit too much to drink. The result: I am molested by co-workers (Las Vegas, NV).

FRIENDS FOREVER!!!

Christy makes everyone look like a giant...and those chopsticks were actually about a foot in front of her chest (Las Vegas, NV).

I make friends wherever I go (Venice, CA)


How hard can I pretend that my piscture ISN'T being taken? (Venice, CA)


Attempting a feat of strength only few can achieve... (Santa Monica, CA)


Only in California: gym + beach (Santa Monica, CA) 

Tudo Bem

These guys were 'discovered' in a fishing village outside of Salvador. SAMBA! (Salvador, BR)


Peacocks a plenty! (Salvador, Brazil)