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Thursday, November 18, 2010

The Official Statement

All I have to really say on the subject is: screw you NaBloPoMo.  You are not the boss of me. Truly, the very idea of NaBloPoMo goes against everything this blog stands for and I decided it was high time to fight back with non-violent protest.

Yeah.

I haven't blogged at all this week.  Mostly because I was busy with being alive off the internet.  Or because sometimes I forgot.  Both things are legit when we're talking about procrastination skills.

On the bright side, Friday is just around the corner.  And on Saturday I'm getting my nails done which will probably inspire me to write a blog about how much I love my nail salon.  Because I love them.

After the weekend comes 2.5 days of labor and then VACATION!  So YAY!

Also, last night I had a dream that Mike and I bought a big tacky house with a yard and we brought Apple over and she morphed into a hot pink stuffed animal and kept climbing up the walls and fences like a monkey - and then she slipped out of the door of our new house and she ran up the side of the fence and hopped in a tree.  I had to climb up the tree to get Apple - the barking wiggly stuffed toy.

When I woke up and saw the real Apple, I was confused because she wasn't pink and made of cotton and polyester.  It was really strange that I expected to see a living stuffed animal toy in Apple's place and it threw me off for a while.

I think my mind is still in dreamland.

(photo courtesy of Flickr user: .Purf)

Friday, November 12, 2010

Dog V. Pillow

No time to really blog tonight... but I'm sticking to the one blog post per day for NaBloPoMo as well as I possibly can, so I present 1:32 minutes of Apple digging into a pillow.

She had skin allergies so we had to put a spray on her stomach area to calm her itchies.  This is how she reacted (and how she reacts to freshly washed bedding, eating a tasty snack and other random things... it entertains me, but she's my dog, so practically everything she does entertains me.)

Have a great weekend! :)

Thursday, November 11, 2010

The White Stuff

I love mayonnaise. The really quality stuff... it makes almost everything taste better and  I feel like a good chunk of the world is with me on this one. I eat it in moderation only because of the potential health issues related to indulging in it too much. I think as a condiment, mayonnaise is under appreciated in the US and more disastrously, Mike HATES mayonnaise.

It's become a joke when I'm preparing a sandwich for him (or an artichoke, or tuna salad or egg salad or veggie dip, or...)  I'll ask "would you like mayo?" as I scoop it onto my delicious sandwich.  And he'll reply, "horf" and begin gagging.  I haven't tried to convert him - he's so repulsed by it that I don't think there's any way I could do anything to convince him how tasty mayonnaise can be and part of me just believes he must be lacking a certain part of his brain that really gets the awesome of a good mayo.

Part of it is mental - he can enjoy a well cooked dip or meal enhanced by the taste of mayo and it's not until the moment he sees the empty jar of mayonnaise in the trash bin that he can no longer enjoy the food he was scarfing only moments ago.

I'm tempted to make my own mayo and from reading recipes it seems really easy but I'm sure I'd probably manage to mess it up. Anyone have a killer recipe?  A delicious aoli?

I dislike a lot of foods and condiments, but I don't think any of them repulse me the way that Mike is repulsed by mayo.  I really (REALLY) hate peas... but I love split pea soup - it's a pea texture not a pea taste thing.  Maybe the closest thing I've got is olives.  Mike can eat olives like they're candy.  I have tried time and time again to like them without success.  I'll take a bite and really try to enjoy that greasy squishy dirt taste that Mike seems to love so much but it doesn't click.  How can olive oil taste so wonderful when the fruit it's born from tastes like mud goo?  It doesn't connect for me.  Tapenades make my tongue twitch and a stray olive on a slice of pizza makes me lose interest in finishing the rest of my meal (ok, I'm exaggerating... I'm  really good at eating around them.) So I suppose on a small scale I can relate, but it's a very very small scale.  A miniature scale... for dollhouses.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Blog 2. Woo Hoo.

Before I went on our trip to Iceland I was going to the gym 5 days a week.  F.I.V.E.  Never in my life would I have expected to go to the gym 5 days in a row, but I was doing it, for months... and for a while there, I was actually really enjoying it.

After Iceland (in August) I haven't been able to get my act together and have maybe gone to the gym a total of 8 times. Something happened and now I can barely make it 20 minutes working out without my brain screaming "THIS IS TAKING TOO LONG!!!!"  My body remembers the workout, it's not too fatigued and getting back up to my old pace isn't hard... my brain just refuses to get on board with the plan.

I work out at a really small gym - there are at most 4 other people working out there at the same time as I am.  The cardio machines each have their own TV with DirectTV satellite which used to be enough to keep my brain distracted long enough for me to get in a solid hour of cardio or weight training.

It no longer does the trick.  I can find a boring TV show or rerun to distract me as I work out in the evenings, but as soon as a commercial comes on my brain starts fidgeting and saying "I want pudding", "I want to watch something else", "I could be sleeping", "I bet things are more fun anywhere but here." Once the gym-brain fidget starts I can't get it to stop even when the commercial break is over.

I've resorted to bringing a portable DVD player - which does the trick... for now.  I've been bringing TV on DVD, so I know I can watch either a 2 episodes of a good comedy or 1 drama and get through my cardio work out without fidget brain turning on.  Thanks to this, I've been able to get back up to 3 days a week. 

Now the problem is weight training... bored in 3,2,1... ADHD GYM BRAIN ON THE LOOSE.  My brain starts saying "I don't wanna lift that", "I don't wanna move over there", "I don't wanna do pull-ups."

I can't watch DVDs while I'm weight training but moving a lot does nothing to calm my reluctant brain and my brain has memorized 90% of my work-out motivating music on my Mp3 player so I spend half of the time cycling through the music to find something the brain actually wants to hear.

Maybe what I need is a virtual world game...where I'm, I don't know, battling hoards of mutant alien badgers with a 25lb sword for an hour and in the process doing weight training.  Quick.  Someone.  Invent that for me - the gym-brain waits for no one.

OH EM GEE

I forgot to blog yesterday! 

Dang.  Grocery shopping and pacific standard time and HYMIM and new Conan... it all messed with my head and I forgot!

I'll blog twice today.  And my second blog will be awesome.  Or maybe it will be below average.  I can't make any promises.

In reparation I offer you this:

http://gawker.com/5685128/is-beer-the-reason-any-of-us-are-alive-right-now

and this:

http://damnyouautocorrect.com/


Forgive me.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Sunday

Being that Sunday is the day before a Monday, I find it hard to do much of anything.  My goal on most Sundays is to make it to Church and then do as little as possible for the remainder of the day.  Mostly I end up wallowing in my dread of Monday.  I know that most people agree that Blue Laws originated to enforce religious standards, but I might argue that Blue Laws were put into place by people who hate Mondays so much that they wanted an excuse to not have to do anything on a Sunday. 

Sure, I need to go grocery shopping, and it would probably be more convenient for me to do it now than it would be to go after work on Monday, but it's Sunday... and I'd rather not do anything.  Without Blue Laws, you might call me a lazy slacker, but if I lived in an area that still had Blue Laws, you'd look at me and be like, wow... she's great.  She can't shop on a Sunday because the grocery store is closed so she's willing to do it on Monday after a long day's work.  Give her a pony.

I've always wanted a pony.

Although, Blue Law would mean I'd have to assemble my own lunch today... which is not something I like to do on Sundays.  So, I guess I'll forgo the pony and let you call me a lazy slacker every Sunday.  Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some wallowing to do.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

The Vet

We took Apple to the vet this morning for her regular check up and to get her up to date with her travel certificates since we'll probably be taking her with us when we head out to Chicago later this month.  

She's a funny dog.  Every time we go to the vet,  she knows the direction we're going but doesn't know until we get there that we're not going to the bark park  -  they're in the same direction about 2 minutes away from one another.

Even when we pull into the parking lot that is so obviously not the bark park, she  seems to recognize the outside and gets excited, whiny and wiggly and she begs to get out of the car.  She'll drag us on the leash towards the front door but as soon as we open it and step inside,  it all comes rushing back to her:

"wait.. this....THIS IS WHERE THEY PUT THINGS IN MY BUTT!"

We walk up to the front desk as she is now pulling on her leash in the opposite direction - trying to get back out towards the door  from whence we came - half obsessed with the other dogs in the waiting room, but more preoccupied with getting the eff out of that office.  

This is why it requires both Mike and I to take Apple, a 9lb dog, to the vet.  One to wrangle her and one to take care of business. While I'm checking in, Mike is dragging Apple to the waiting room.  Apple fidgets and whines - we imagine she's trying to reason with us at this point:

"Seriously guys.  We can go home now.  We're cool.  Let's just go before anyone notices we were even here.  But before we do that, can we just go over there and sniff that Pug's butt - just real quick and then we can just get out of here.  OK, fine.  I don't need to smell that Pug's butt.  Let's just go.  See.  I make sacrifices, you make sacrifices.  Let's go."

When the vet assistant comes out to get us, we walk Apple back to the weigh station and give her the command to get up onto the scale.  She obeys the command instinctively only to realize that as soon as she steps onto the scale she has now willingly participated in her vet appointment.  This sends her into a panic and she jumps off the scale of doom.   We put her back on - a whopping 9.8lbs - she's gained .8lbs.   Piggy.

We're directed to the room where she'll get her check up and the vet assistant takes her temperature by thermometer... in the butthole.  This is the funniest part (for me) because Apple doesn't move.  She's frozen solid. Her eyes go wide and they roll sideways to look at the vet assistant without moving her head.

"W. T. F."

The rest of the appointment goes normally with Apple leaning as far away from the vet as possible, but she's good - no snarling or snapping no matter how much they poke and prod her.  Every time the vet or his assistant would leave the room to get something, she'd  immediately rush towards the door, scratch and then look back at Mike and me:

"Ok guys, now's our chance... they won't notice if we leave now."

The vet comes back with Apple's bordetella vaccine - which is a spray in the nostril.  Apple sneezes dog snot all over my arm right after it's applied and gives us all a look:

"Oh god.  What was that... that was..."

This look becomes a glare as she realizes...
"You did this to me.  You two. "

At this point, she's stopped her little nervous shake because obviously her anxiety has been replaced with animus. Her evil Eric Cartman inner voice has returned.

"I hate you so very very much."

The vet's assistant brings out a really good treat - the kind where on any other day of the week Apple would have scarfed it before anyone had a chance to take it from her.  Apple turns her nose up at the offering.  The vet's assistant tells me I should try.  Apple looks at me:

" You are dead to me."

We hand Apple off to get her nails clipped while we go back out to pay up and pick up flea meds, etc.  When she comes back in the arms of the vet's assistant 3 minutes later, she's happy as a clam.  She knows it's all over and she is totally pumped to see us again.  God bless dogs.

She still wants out, but since I've got to wait for certificates and vaccination records, I tell Mike to just take her outside.  He does.  And she's back in about a minute.  Thus begins the final ritual at the vet - the Apple in, Apple out walk-a-thon.  

I've still got to pay up and Apple wants out.  So Mike takes her out.  As soon as she's out,  she pees a smidge and realizes I'm not outside and wants back in.  As soon as she's in, she realizes THIS IS WHERE THEY PUT THINGS IN MY BUTT! and wants out.  As soon as she's out, she pees a smidge, realizes I'm again inside and wants back in.  This goes on and on until I've finally finished things up - so maybe 10 minutes of Mike walking in and out of the door... with tiny tinkles between.    

So now we're back and I've got to figure out how to give a dog that is only occasionally food-motivated an oral tablet.   A piece of cheese just doesn't cut it.  I've even hidden tablets in bits of chicken only to find the chicken abandoned on the carpet minutes later and her tiny face watching it from under the bed.  She knows it's evil.  She knows there's medicine in it. 

Her favorite human food treat is scrambled eggs which she doesn't get very often... so I'm giving that a shot.  

Apple, you are one spoiled dog.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Whapow!

I just learned how to make a towel whip - aka. a rat tail whip.  Believe it or not, there's a technique to this skill.




I was watching TV while swinging around my wet hair towel and convinced Mike he should let me practice towel whipping while he sat in the recliner.

Not only did he oblige, he gave me tips and pointers to get the whip motion just right and get that satisfying snapping sound.

And after 5 or 6 tries I NAILED IT!

Right on his knee.

POW... he's now got a red welt on his knee courtesy of my rat tail whip and I've acquired a new skill I should probably add to my resume.  He laughed and ouched at the same time while I did a victory lap around the living room. 

Skillz.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Good ol' AIM

Mike and I recently finished watching "Freaks & Geeks" (awesome - Netflix it if you haven't seen it) and have just started watching "Undeclared" as a follow up (even though it's not a follow up at all. They're both Judd Apatow TV projects, so it was kind of a follow up since we felt abandoned after Freaks and Geeks ended without telling us everything about everyone!!! WHY TV!? WHY!!!?)

Anyway, Undeclared follows a group of college freshman, circa 1999 or 2000, so the music, the clothes and the references remind me a lot of my freshman year in college.  I started looking through my old backup files from my old computer and found a small stash of old AIM chat sessions I had saved from late 1999 - early 2000 when AIM chat was our Facebook.  Most of my really hilarious (in my touched up nostalgic memory) conversations were lost when my parents' computer was replaced, taking with it any funny AIM conversations I had saved on it.  I think I backed most of them up onto floppy disc... but who uses a floppy disc for anything nowadays?  The only ones that I seemed to still have were the ones I had e-mailed to myself after the chat which meant it took place in the University computer lab.

The first one I found was an AIM conversation between Mike and I.  We had talked about this particular AIM conversation before - he was up in the Central Coast, living in the dorms and had just broken up with his high school girlfriend.  I was kind of starting to date someone at my college,  but was still living at home and had not really talked to most of my high school friends in a while.  Here we logged onto AIM,   to reflect on our high school relationships and fess up to old feelings.  Seriously.  I don't remember thinking it was awkward... but reading the stuff I wrote now, makes me cringe... we were SO strange. 

Mike called me "man" a lot.  Like, "thanks man", "totally man", "you got it man", "talk to you soon, man."

At the part where I admitted to having a secret crush on him in high school and explained that I had just recently "got over it" I followed up with "I hope there's not weirdness between us now."

Wtf.

Who says that in real life?

Apparently me.

I mean, I married the dude!  Obviously, we're totally cool now and it turns out those feelings were kinda legit.  So why does reading this conversation now make me feel like hiding under the sofa?  Shouldn't I be feeling "awww... we were so cute?"  We tried to talk like calm grown-up adults, discussing old feelings as if it were no big thang and instead we come off like really really weird eighteen year olds.  Really weird.
 
I found another chat - between me and a good friend from high school (SunsetBBQ... you know who you are) in the Fall of 1999 - and I wrote the entire chat in ALL CAPS.  I WAS INTERNET SCREAMING THE WHOLE TIME.  What am I?  New?

So awkward.  

And while I'm tempted to delete them out of private embarrassment, I can't bring myself to do it.  It's like looking at me in another dimension.  I can actually read how stupid I sounded.  AND when I have grown teenagers that make me maybe want to bang my head against a wall, I'll be able to look at these lame things and put everything into perspective. Right?

I had read about a monthly open mic event done in NYC where instead of people reading poetry, they read pages from their childhood/teenage journals.  I would totally be down for that.  I've got to go find my journals at my parent's house somewhere. I think I have like 40 volumes worth of material.  I had a lot of crap to write about from the ages of 11 to 17 that NO ONE ELSE WAS ALLOWED TO READ.  Nail polish, boys, parents, tv, homework.  I'm sure it's thrilling.  And humiliating.  Well, the kind of humiliating that probably leads to humility.  So.  Not too bad.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Ack

This does not bode well for me.  Day two of NaBloPoMo and I've already got writer's block. 

You'd think I'd maybe write about voting or the election or something... but no.  As part of my civic duty, I voted, but I'm only barely interested.  Apathy? Maybe.  I don't care. Same as it ever was, I suppose the Talking Heads would say.

Work is still too busy and I don't like thinking about it when I'm not being paid to do so. I'm happy and grateful to be working, but I'm really looking forward to the end of November when my stressful work season will pause briefly and I can take a breath before it goes crazy again. 

Sometimes I think about going back to school and getting my Masters... everyone seems to be doing that or having babies... or both... which should make me feel like an underachiever, but really? Meh.  What graduate program? Uh. Probably napping.  I'd make an excellent Professional Napper... I just haven't found a program that really addresses my ideal field of study and I've never heard of anyone getting a decent salary for professional napping services. (And before you suggest it, medical studies are temp work - and they wouldn't pay well enough for someone with a Masters in Naptime.)

I'm really good at it so I'd have to ask for a ridiculously high salary for my napping skills. I could be the clincher of a professional nap-time endurance team. I often wonder if maybe my ideal cycle would be 24 hours awake, 24 hours asleep.  I'm pretty good at staying awake late and once I'm asleep, I've got no problems staying asleep.  Waking up and falling asleep are not as fun...obviously.

Sunday through Thursday I normally dread waking up the next morning so much that I fight to stay awake for as long as possible the night before.  I'll crawl into bed, burney eyed and yawning, alternating keeping one eye open at a time. Watching TV, browsing the internet, reading shampoo labels - anything so that I can enjoy my time after work for the longest period possible.  Irrationally I've convinced myself that the longer I stay awake, the longer it will be until I have to be back at my desk.  If I fall asleep at a decent hour, not only do I miss all the fun TV (this is my inner child talking, she doesn't know about DVR) but I will also be jolted awake by the sound of my alarm after what feels like 2 minutes of sleep.  I know this ends up coming back to bite me in the morning... when I've hit the snooze 7 times and am rationalizing 10 more minutes of sleep when I have to be at work in 15 (I've done it.)  Once I've stepped into the realm of REM, there's nothing I can do better.  10-12 hours of sleep is a comfortable Friday night/Saturday morning if I've got the time.  15 hours makes me feel like I've discovered the fountain of youth. 

Mike used to get annoyed when he'd wake up and be bored on Saturday morning and I'd still be sleeping, blissfully uninterrupted.  No alarms, no gardeners, no loud noises can wake me prematurely on a morning I don't have to be up before noon.  "How could I sleep away a precious day off?!" He would ask.

He finally came to understand that outside of social obligations, sleeping is my past-time of choice.  Where he might like to play video games or even be productive on a crisp sunny Saturday morning, I would like to continue my dream cycle well into the afternoon.   And if you had some of my dreams, I'm sure you would too. 

In  97% of  my dreams I am awesome.  Like I'm flying-ninja-pirate-sexy-Iron-Woman- and-Mother-Theresa-combined-into-one-mecha-warrior awesome.  2% of the time, I have work-related dreams that serve to annoy then amuse and 1% of the time I have nightmares.  Even the nightmares are kind of badass because I always wake up happy that it was a dream and then think, dude... I'm practically Stephen King... except I've never written any of my nightmares down.

I do feel guilty about sleeping in so much sometimes... mostly when Mike is hungry and bored and I wake up at noon to find the kitchen cleaned and laundry being done out of boredom.  Oops.  Eventually I'll make up for it with my nocturnal cleaning  though.  I have been known to suddenly have the urge to clean the ENTIRE house top to bottom at 11:45 in the evening... make the whole place spotless while Mike sleeps blissfully unaware... and then sleep in until 3pm the next day.  So.  It works out.  Mike can fall asleep in 10 seconds flat, but can't stay asleep more than 9 hours even if he tries.  I can take hours to really fall asleep, but when I get there, I make it count.

Ok, it's 11:50PM... I have to post this before I fail at NaBloPoMo on the second day of writing.  Leave it to me to procrastinate this early in the blog game and then write a weird blog.  

Monday, November 1, 2010

NaBloPoMo

New momma, Marci, over at "Marci Explains It All" wrote a blog today reminding everyone that it was NaBloPoMo... aka. National Blog Posting Month.  Essentially a challenge that casual bloggers take up to blog at least once per day every day in the month of November.  

I took on that challenge when I first started this blog, and I didn't do so well.  Not bad... but not good.

I'll be giving it a shot again thisNovember - and of course that means quantity over quality.  Probably a lot of short blogs.  And pictures of my dog.  

So.  Let's get this NaBloPoMo off to a good start... 
 

...With Apple in her Slave Leia costume.  She couldn't be at Mike's Star Wars themed 30th birthday party, but she got dressed anyway. Don't focus too long on the fact that her costume slave torso was too big for her tiny legs and that I ended up just draping it over her like a towel, lest we forget this dog is wearing a wig.  

A DOG WIG, PEOPLE. 

Nothing is better.

Except for Snooki Wookie.  Which was easily the best costume at Mike's Star Wars party... if not the funniest costume of 2010.  It kills me that I forgot to take a full costume shot of her full Wookie outfit dolled up in MTV's Snooki style.

Snookie Wookie / Snooki Wookie
It was a perfect Star Wars party costume - the ridiculous loads of self tanner, the Snooki inspired wig and bling glasses, the official Wookie fur and bandolier with functional pouch.... it all still cracks me up.  Snookie Wookie... hahahahahha!  This is why I always want to throw themed parties... you guys come up with some ridiculously hilarious outfits.

Anyhoo.  This and more to come for NaBloPoMo.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Wait...

Is this really already the last week of October?

What the heck happened?

I'm pretty sure that yesterday was August.

Which reminds me... whatever happened to September?

Why do months whiz by, but I never seem to get enough Fridays or Saturdays?

I've got a lot to recap.

Coming soon...

Things and such.

Blogs.

Etc.

Stuff.

Maybe photos.

Get excited... but not too excited... because, lets be honest, it will probably be a let down.

So instead.  Don't get excited.  Dread it.  DREAD MY FUTURE BLOGS... so that when I eventually write a legit blog, you'll have really low expectations and then I'll seem frakkin' brilliant.

Yes.  I set realistic goals.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Music for the Masses

When Mike and I travel, we make it a point to find a Catholic Church wherever in the world we are and schedule Mass into our itinerary during our vacation.  'Cause, you know, we're Catholic.

As a couple, we've been to mass in France, England, Japan and Iceland so far.  We love seeing the little differences in each country - like how the Japanese bow to one another during the Sign of Peace, or how the French and Icelandic don't go up for Communion in any orderly fashion. Or how nowhere else but in the USA do people hold hands during the Lord's Prayer and how the Confiteor was said at every Mass we went to overseas, but almost never heard at any of the Masses we went to in the USA.  In our traveling around the US, it's kind of surprising how varied the settings can be from parish to parish. Unexpectedly, there have been times where we're more lost during a Mass in English than we were following along with a Mass in a foreign country.

It's the same overall though, so there's a comfortable familiarity in the Mass that makes you feel at home even when you're thousands of miles away from it.

In Japan, only about 0.5% of the population is Christian (which, from an American perspective, makes it incredible to think that Taro Aso, a  Catholic, was elected Prime Minister in '08. Could you imagine Americans voting for a president who practiced a religion that only comprised 0.5% of the American population? It would be like Americans electing a Hindi president... oh the hissey fits so many Americans would have if a real life non-Christian was in a position of power...but that's a blog for another time) so there aren't any massive cathedrals like you would see in Europe, but on our last trip there, we managed to find a tiny church in Suita that we stopped into for Mass on a Sunday.

The Catholic church in Suita, Japan

As soon as we walked in, the parishioners rushed to get us chairs (because all the pews were already filled), and booklets with both the Japanese words written out in Romaji and the English translations on the adjacent page. Obviously they could tell we were "gaijin" as we were the only non-Asians in the vicinity. After the Mass a few of the parishioners came up to us and wanted to tell us about their regular Mass hours and invite us back to the English service the following week, but I had to explain that we were just tourists making a stop for Mass before our 1 o'clock beer tour of the Asahi Brewery down the street.

Which was awesome.

Even if we were hungover from the previous night at karaoke.

Good times.  Yay Asahi!   Moving on.

Iceland is similar to Japan in that they both have, in their history, specific measures taken by the ruling forces to oust the Catholic Church from the country with relative success. In the mid-1800's there were only about 9 Catholics left in all of Iceland... and two of them were from France. Now, the country has a total population of about 300,000, and of that, about 8,000 consider themselves Catholic (the national church of Iceland is Evangelical Lutheran Church of Iceland.)


The Catholic church we attended in Reykjavik, Iceland.

There are 5 Catholic churches in Iceland and the nearest one to us while we were on the Eastern coast with my family was about a 5 hour drive away. We were able to attend a Sunday mass in Reykjavik when we got back to the West coast and while it was mostly filled with other tourists, it was a lovely service cantored by the parish priests who had lovely clear voices. The meditation after Communion was done in complete silence.  I had never thought that the "meditation music" after Communion was a distraction until I tried meditating in total silence. Everything felt uncomplicated and for that brief moment I understood how someone could be drawn to a cloistered monastic life. 

In France, where about 50% of the population is Catholic (although somewhere between 13-50% of those counted French "Catholics" say they don't believe in God... so... I don't know how that works) we found an incredible cathedral on what seemed like every corner. We went to an early morning Sunday mass at Notre Dame before the sun came up. It was my first time at Notre Dame, but if you're Catholic, I think that's the way to see it.

Notre Dame - from the riverside.


The Mass was (obviously) in French and seemed a little more formal than we were used to back home but it felt significant even if there were only about 30 local parishioners there for the morning service - mostly elderly Parisians who had walked from their nearby apartments and who promptly left after the service. By the time we got out, the sun had come up and the tourists and peddlers were starting their daily frenzy outside and we were on our way out with an experience at the cathedral that all the other tourists missed.

When Mike and I got to London, we had originally intended to go to an early morning Mass near our hotel, but we accidentally slept in so we decided to do a little sight seeing and eventually wander over to the Westminster Cathedral (the Catholic one. Not to be confused with Westminster Abbey or St. Paul's which are both Anglican) for their noon service.

The front of Westminster Cathedral 
nestled between two very modern office type buildings.

And it was - without a doubt - THE most incredible Mass experience I've ever had in my life. 

The cathedral was completely filled with people - locals and tourists alike.  We didn't realize it when we walked in, but the noon service was a "Solemn Mass" sung by the choir.  Having been choir nerds, we were looking forward to what a big metropolitan church choir would bring to the service, but we had never been to a Solemn Mass before, so we were not sure what else we should expect.  Mike and I had been to a "Sung Mass" near our home (again, the result of us sleeping in too late) and while that wasn't a bad Mass experience, it was stiff and we often lost our place in the service so we never went back.

The solemn Mass at the Westminster Cathedral was a completely different beast.  Everything seemed important, worthy of reverence, and I remember feeling like I was completely unable to escape the massive mystery surrounding me. I wanted to open my eyes, my nose and my ears as wide as I possibly could to suck in every sensory experience and remember that feeling exactly.  It was impossible for my mind to wander like it normally does in a quiet comfortable space. I was blissfully captive.

The choir. O.M.G. Truly unbelievable.

I could listen to it all day... this video was actually taken a week before we were there.

I actually enjoy the music that is played at my parish. The morning choir is very good for a local church choir and they've sung some really beautiful pieces during the meditation.  The rest of the music is the standard, simple, sing-song stuff (albeit, sung by cantors with incredible voices) that's meant to be easy for the parishioners to sing along to. It's not the stuff that gets me into the God groove, but it's pleasant and I enjoy singing along. Anyway, it's not like I'd listen to those songs outside of church on CD.  But that's because I'm a snob. With really specific tastes.

Still, I would trade my well above average parish music ministry and maybe my left foot...AND I would offer to stand in the back for all eternity... in 4 inch stiletto pumps... for a weekly Mass like the one we stumbled into at the Cathedral.  I'd request an adjustment to my work schedule to attend a daily Mass like that. Seriously - never before in my life had I experienced anything like it.

And the even more surprising part?  The Archbishop's homily. 

I had mentally prepared myself for the moment the homily would come up and ruin my euphoric experience with a boring ...or worse... an angry, you're-a-bad-Catholic-and-you're-going-to-hell-for-fill-in-the-blank type of sermon, like some of the ones I've sat through in the past. In my previous experiences at Mass in the USA, I had come to connect the dots that Latin in the Mass or in its music more often than not meant an uptight, grim, grumpy, dull, uninspired sermon. Snooze.

I waited for that awkward homily to kill my buzz.

And it never arrived. Maybe it helped that he had a British accent that just made him seem like an actor hired to play a slick priest, but the Archbishop (who was saying the Mass) stood at the lectern and talked passionately about tolerance, social justice and about the God of forgiveness that loves all his creation - Catholics and non-Catholics alike. He talked about the importance of living our lives as an example of that love despite the everyday fears that would cause us to act otherwise.  I remember thinking that his homily would fit right in with the homilies I'm inspired by at my home parish. 

Wait, what?  Did I just get an hour of incredible music, a full dose of incense, a touch of Latin,  the Eucharist AND an inspiring compassionate homily followed by a massive grand pipe organ recessional?

Shut up.  I totally did. And I don't know if I'll ever be the same again. 

I get that not everyone gets to live in the area that the Parish that the Westminster Cathedral covers, and I do love my parish, but I want to experience that - or something like it - again. Are there any churches/cathedrals on the West Coast (or uh, America?) that that do the same? I can find what I'm looking for scattered at a number of different parishes, but nothing that combines it all into one package quite the way Westminster did. A reverent, sleek Mass that's comfortable but not casual. Rich in ritual and progressive in thought. A smart, compassionate and well spoken preacher. An impeccable choir singing incredible sacred choral music that you only get to hear in concert halls and an organ with actual air going through real pipes.

Maybe the experience I had in London is the only one I'll ever have until I find my way back there?  The perfect storm of my ideal Mass.

I admit, I've had to listen to a bit of cheesy churchy-type music outside of a churchy setting lately (for reasons beyond my control) and I've reached a breaking point... so that's  probably why I've been longing for the non-cheese and reflecting on my favorite experiences inside a churchy setting.

Seriously. If anyone knows where I can experience a Mass that packs all the punches like that again in the US or abroad - let me know.   I'll want to add it to my travel list. My parish is awesome and often comes close, but there's no pipe organ (they've got an electric one... it's good, but it's just not the same.  A shame really because the organist is really really good.  I don't even know where there's a real pipe organ in use at a Catholic church around here.  Am I the only one that still likes that stuff? You can hear the wind moving through the pipes - it's awesome!  Vwhooooooom... that's the organ noise.)

In the meantime, anyone know anywhere I can hear a really awesome choir sing good  non-show-choir choral music?  As in not Glee? And free?  Ok, now I think I may be asking for too much.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Revenge of the Cuppy Cakes

Once upon a time I attempted to make cupcakes for Mike's birthday.

From scratch.

You may remember the annual Halloween parties we'd throw at the Nevada house and later at the Chandler house that would usually end up falling on or right before Mike's birthday.  We'd have a crazy kegger and at midnight, we'd sing Happy Birthday and enjoy a slice (or three) of cake with our fancy red cups filled with Guinness (...and Newcastle...and Great White...and Widers...and Stella)  Tasty.

The year we got married - and at the height of the cupcake craze - I decided that I would make cupcakes rather than buy the standard sheet cake, so as to impress all of our friends with my amazing cupcake making skills...something I somehow believed was instinctual among the female of the species. 

I was to be the prime example of the perfect domestic wife... one who not only had vast prowess in the kitchen, but who could also carry the end of the flip cup chug line (through a straw. It's a skill.)

I had never actually made cupcakes from scratch, but I had a new hand mixer and I had made cakes before, so I figured it was just a difference of containers.  I was going to make a set of chocolate cupcakes and a set of vegan pumpkin cupcakes.  I got to work on the chocolate cupcakes, since they would be the easiest.

I burned half of them. Mistake No. 2. 

Yes.  Number 2.

No biggie, I told myself.  And, no, it didn't matter that the chocolate cupcakes that were not burned resembled the Hunchback of Notre Dame more than an actual cupcake because I'd make up for it in the frosting. 

Which I also had never made before. 
But I'm good at following directions.
Cinchy. 

Mistake No. 3.

I whipped up the batter for the set of pumpkin cupcakes, poured them in their cups and set the time for baking.  Meanwhile, I followed the instructions for the frosting to go on the chocolate cupcakes and poured that goop into my brand new piping bag and began piping away.  

The piping bag exploded.

Everywhere.

Sad face.

Mistake No.4.

By this time, it was late afternoon.  The party was that night and I was sitting in a kitchen covered by exploded frosting. Now I fully understood that Mistake No. 1 was thinking that I could make cupcakes from scratch THE SAME DAY AS THE PARTY.

I wiped the frosting off my sad sweaty face and said, screw it, I'll just spread the frosting onto these cupcakes.  I made a second batch of frosting and got to work.

And then I learned - frosting melts on warm cupcakes.

Mistake No. 5.

I got so frustrated I ate a melty frosted cupcake.  

And then spit it out.

The cake part was fine.  

The frosting tasted like Cap'n Crunch vomited in my mouth. 

Maybe it was the salted margarine I used INSTEAD of butter since I used all my butter up in the cake batter and that first round of frosting that now coated my kitchen walls.  Maybe it was the 1/4 cup of granulated sugar I substituted for confectioner's sugar because I didn't have enough in my pantry.  It really doesn't matter because it was DISGUSTING.

The timer went off and I scrambled to get to the oven to pull out my pumpkin cupcakes in time. - I'd have to deal with the frosting dilemma later.  When I opened the oven I was devastated to see 24 fully baked cratercakes sitting where I had expected to see 24 cupcakes.

Apparently you shouldn't throw in that little extra pumpkin sitting at the bottom of the can into the batter to make the cake more moist.  I became angry at the recipe - WHO USES 4/5ths OF A CAN OF PUMPKIN!? WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THE REMAINING 1/5th!?  I MEAN SERIOUSLY. I'm still mad. This may have been Mistake No. 6... but no. I get a bonus point for being LOGICAL. CLEARLY.

I took out those crater cake bastards and tasted.  

Not bad.  

For a muffin.  

Mike had wandered down to check on me. He walked into the kitchen and saw... the danger room.  I looked at him like an inmate in an insane asylum and said "TASTE!" and shoved a pumpkin flavored cake crater his direction.

THIS was Mistake No. 6.

I think he was scared.  I mean, here I am - sweaty faced, covered in frosting and flour, crap all over the kitchen walls and shoving a heavy cratered brown thing towards his face.  I'd be scared too.

He took a bite. And kind of nodded his head very politely without saying anything. "Hmm..."

In a dramatic breakdown inspired by Winona Ryder in Great Balls Of Fire, I tumbled to the floor and started crying and howling:  "I'M A TERRIBLE WIFE", "I CAN'T EVEN MAKE CUPCAKES!" , "I'LL NEVER BAKE AGAIN!" "I'VE RUINED YOUR BIRTHDAY", "NOW  NO ONE WILL HAVE CAKE", "WE NEED TO CANCEL THE PARTY!" so on and so forth. 

Mike hugged me... kind of panicked because he didn't know how to handle his brand new clinically insane wife, but also kind of laughing as he assured me things would be ok and that the cupcakes did not matter.  I'm glad he laughed... because even if it made me want to punch him in the stomach a little, it made me relax.  He really wasn't all that disappointed in my lack of cupcake making skills and he promised I didn't even have to clean the kitchen.

He knows how to solve problems.

I still felt like a total dill though.  Because I had spent the afternoon making a mess and then crying on the kitchen floor, it was almost time for the party and I had to get dressed.  Mike ended up having to go down to the grocery store and pick up his OWN birthday cake and ask them to write his OWN birthday message on it and because I was so traumatized by the sight of the cupcake disaster area I couldn't even go into the kitchen to clean up my own mess so he really did have to clean the kitchen... ON HIS BIRTHDAY!!!  I was useless. What the heck was wrong with me?

I have never baked a cupcake since.

As I'm working on Mike's 30th Birthday party now (he'll finally get his own non-Halloween themed party!) I've been tempted to give it another go since there are some really cute Star Wars themed cupcakes out there that would just be too expensive to have custom ordered and seem simple enough for me to make on my own.

As I begin this process, I reflect on the reason I haven't made cupcakes in the last 3 years and I wonder if I should even go there again. I've been convinced that it can be done. There are some things I've learned:

1. Don't bake the day-of.
2. Ask friends for help.
3. There is no shame in the Betty Crocker box mix and matching frosting.  I'll scarf down a funfetti cupcake any day of the week and naysayers are welcome to make my cakes for me.

Also... and this is the big one... I'll have a back up plan this time.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Apple's Grand Day Out


You may have seen this status update from me yesterday:  

"please prayers. we can't find Apple and we're in orange. she broke out of the yard. i don't know what to do"

Which was typed while I was slumped over, sobbing on the floor in front of a police car at a Mexican kid's birthday party at a park in Orange.

Yesterday was our Goddaughter's 2nd birthday, so we packed up Apple to drop off in Heather & Dave's back yard while we were about 10 minutes away at the birthday party.  We had done this before. They've got a nice back yard with heavy doors and an enclosed screen patio where Apple can hang out and stare out at the birds and other things rather than sitting in her crate alone while we're gone.  We never would have imagined that she could escape not only the patio, but the yard as well.

We were gone for 6 hours or so at the party and we left before Heather and Dave to go pick up Apple.  Our hearts sunk into our feet when we saw there was no Apple in the patio.  The screen door had been torn open.  We ran around their back yard to try and find her if maybe she was hiding or stuck somewhere.  Nothing.  Not a peep.

Panic.

I was shaking.  I walked illogically up the street to some people that were outside playing with their dog to ask if they had seen a small 9 pound dog running around.  They hadn't.  But they asked what color she was, and I couldn't describe her.  Tears just started pouring out of my eyes and all I could say was thank you.

Mike got on the phone... I don't know who he was calling and then he got in his car to drive around the neighborhood. I just started ringing people's doorbells.  I don't remember much of what I said or what they said, although I know I was sobbing and they were compassionate.  None of them had seen my dog.

I had my phone out, but we don't live in the area and I didn't know how to call Animal Control.  I think I called my brother while I asked some kids sitting in the back of a pick up truck if they had seen my dog.  They hadn't but they told me they'd help look and ask neighbors.  I started crying again.

My brother overheard and called me back.  "Have you found Apple?"

I started sobbing "No... and it's my fault.  I don't know what to do."

He and Rhonda headed over. Mike called me, "where are you?"

"I don't know." 

I turned around and walked back up the same sidewalk back to the house.  I tried to pray, but I couldn't remember how. All I could say over and over and over in my head was "please God help" which I think was good enough.   Heather & Dave were back... they saw my face and Mike standing in their lawn and instantly knew something was wrong.  Our poor Goddaughter saw my face and became distraught.  I still feel bad that a 2 year old was worried about me.  I'm the grown up here.

I said I was going to keep walking and Mike came with me.

We asked every person we passed - no one had seen a dog and most of the people who were outside had been out for hours.

I saw a park in the distance where a huge party was going on.  I got excited thinking that if Apple had got out, she would run that direction and see people and maybe the people would catch her and would have kept her for the entire day.  I spoke to as many people at that party as I could - at this point with my mascara smudged around my eyes and my lips swollen from sobbing.  One guy would translate my question to ask others at the party and I could hear others ask in Spanish, "why is she crying?" and the response "she lost her dog."  

I lost my dog.

At this point the thoughts running through my head were the worst case scenarios. Apple has a license, tags and is micro-chipped. But no one at all had seen her. I begun to believe that Apple got out shortly after we left, was injured from squeezing her way impossibly under the gate and was found by some people who thought she was cute and sweet and decided to keep her as their own pet instead of calling the name on the tag.  Or that some thugs just happened to be driving around and saw a cute little 9lb dog that would make great training bait for their Michael Vick inspired dog fighting ring and that Apple would never be found again. Horrible things. And since no one had called us in the last 6 hours this was what I started to imagine. Someone would have called if she was hit by a car or found, right?  

I had been wandering around for over an hour and I was sure I'd never see Apple again.  

There was a parked police car keeping an eye on the festivities since it was a really really really big birthday party.  Mike walked over and was talking to the police officer about Apple and gave her a description.  I wandered around in circles and eventually slumped over onto the floor behind Mike next to the police car. I lost my dog.

I couldn't think of who to call for help.  I logged onto Facebook and posted.  Maybe someone saw her and then saw my post and would be able to give me a clue.  The internet moves faster than I can walk and at the very least someone would pray for me when I couldn't keep my mind in one place do to it by myself. And they did.  Good thoughts, prayers, vibes... whatever anyone sent out our direction... prayers were heard and the universe reacted to those feelings, because not five minutes later we got a call. 

Apple had been found.

She was running around the parking lot of the Orange Mall and two teen girls had seen her and chased her until they were able to capture her and get her tag information. Their dad called us and gave us his name, number and address so we could go pick her up.

I started running.

We got back to the house told Heather and Dave and hopped in the car to drive just a little ways up the street to get her.  We called my brother and Rhonda with the news.  They were at the mall because on their way over they had asked a couple of skaters if they had seen a dog. They had, and said it was a little while ago near the mall, but no one stopped to try and grab her.  

We pulled up to the house where the girls were standing outside with Apple on a leash.  I started sobbing and  tumbled out of the car while Apple frantically pulled towards us yelping like crazy with excitement.  Mike talked to them for a while - he was the normal one.  I was the crazy lady.  We tried to offer them a reward - basically all the cash we had in our wallets - but they turned us down.  Their dad came out and shook our hands and we thanked them over and over again. 

The girls explained that they were at the mall and saw the dog running around the parking lot.  They were worried that she would get hurt so they followed her and tried to get her to come to them and stop her from trying to cross Tustin Ave.  Instead Apple, trying to avoid them, jumped into another person's car while they were loading up their stuff.  The person in the car handed Apple to the girls, scared and shaking. They brought her home and had their dad call us.   They said they spent about 20 minutes trying to get her.   They saved our dog.

We went back to the house and our Goddaughter was happy to see Apple again and to see me smiling.   Dave was ready with a glass of wine when I walked in the door.  I needed it.  Heather & Dave filled us in on what probably happened from their investigation in their yard and phone calls they made while we were out looking.  Their gardeners came - probably 20 minutes before we did.  They opened the gate, and most likely left it open while they worked.  Apple, probably frightened by the loud blowers (she's scared of the vacuum) burst through a small tear in the patio screen and right out the gate, going back home the way we drove in through an unfamiliar neighborhood. She crossed a major street, but luckily didn't make it over to Tustin Ave.

As other people passed, or ignored her, these two girls went out of their way to save our dog.  And they said did it because they knew that that if their dog had gotten loose, they hoped that someone would stop and try to do the same.  We have, and we are so thankful for those two girls choosing to do the right thing even when it might be inconvenient.  So so so so so so thankful.

I'm so thankful for good people, so grateful to be blessed with good family and friends who are ready to help and comfort us, and so relieved to have Apple back home.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Inspired By Iceland! (The Photo Recap)


I wrote a number of unpublished blogs and attempted to upload a number of videos whilst we were on our Icelandic excursion... but had issues with internet connectivity after the first few days and ended up not being able to upload more than photos to Facebook... and I uploaded A LOT.  So if you saw those, you pretty much have a good idea of what we did.

Now that we're back (and the internet is no longer working against me) I've been able to upload some of our original update videos which are not really relevant anymore. They cover the basic story.  I stuck them at the bottom of this blog... in case you're REALLY bored.  Yay.  

More importantly, back at my own fancy computer, I was able to go through my photos on a bigger screen and pick out some of my favorite non-people photos and get them into a blog so you can see some of the same incredible stuff we saw.  

Incredible.  

My camera and shoddy camera skills can't really even capture everything I saw.  Plus a good number of these photos were shot from a moving car...but. Still.

Námafjall - It looks like Mars and smells like rotten eggs smothered in moldy athlete's foot.

Námafjall - Bubbling Boiling Mud Pools

Námafjall - A Stinky Stinky Fumarole

Jökulsárlón - Glacial Lakes
 

Jökulsárlón - Blue Iceberg

Driving around Southern Iceland

Driving Around Southern Iceland

Vík í Mýrdal - Black Sand Beach - the Southernmost Tip of Iceland


Þingvellir - Continental Drifting

A touch of Lake Mývatn



Icelandic Moss - Actual Color!

The back side of  Eskifjördur - my dad's hometown.

Eskifjördur's waterfall (where we shot our travel update video #3!)

Some of us go to Húsavík for the whale watching... some of us go to Húsavík for a very unique museum... just sayin'.

Húsavík Church - a two minute walk from that extra special museum... just sayin'.

Icelandic Geese in Reykjavik

Icelandic Horses in Eskifjörður

Icelandic Sheep off to the side of a 4WD only road that we had to take to get to the waterfalls in North East Iceland.

Icelandic Spider... chillin near Skógafoss.

Jökulsárgljúfur National Park

Laki Lava Flow -  1783 the largest historic lava flow.

 Flowers Growing In Mountain Rocks.

Flowers Growing In Mountain Rocks.

Mýrdalsjökull Glacier

Driving around North Iceland to Akureyri. 

Reykjanes Fog

Planes over Reykjavik

Selfoss

Skogafoss

Þingeyrarkirkja - the church my great, great, great, great, great grandfather - Ásgeir Einarsson - built.

The inside of Þingeyrarkirkja

The altar at Þingeyrarkirkja

So, that's it for now.  There were a couple other photos I remember taking that I liked, but I couldn't find them in my late night stupor to get it uploaded here. Maybe I'll find them later.  Maybe I'll keep them just for me.  In any case it was an amazing trip - filled with incredible sights, great family and awesome adventures.  

We'll be back.

And for those of you with time to kill... I present Fast Movin' Fog