Voice-over Work

From the day Apple became part of our family, Mike and I have done this thing that I'm just starting to realize not all pet owners do.  When one of us asks Apple a question, the other will answer as Apple's voice-over.  Describing it now makes me realize how strange that actually makes us, but what's even stranger is that it wasn't something that came up gradually, it just automatically happened. 

Usually her voice-over is influenced by whatever animated shows we're watching at the moment.  The first voice that naturally came out as Apple's inner voice was South Park's Eric Cartman. Although there's a gender and species discrepancy, this is the voice and inner attitude that returns most often when we're talking for Apple.  Her voice-over has also had stints as Henchman 21 and Dermott Fictel from the Venture Bros. and Special Sister Mary from Lucy, Daughter of the Devil (voiced by Eugene Mirman.) Right now, we're having moments of Tina from Bob's Burgers squeak into the rotation (voiced by Dan Mintz.... we've never been able to get any actual girl voices into our girl dog's inner voice) especially when Apple is being awkward.

Apple's voiceover is 1% lovin', 99% attitude.  Yes.  She's a bitch.  Literally.  But also figuratively.  Some sample conversations we've had:


In her "NPR Cartman" voice


Scene: Apple sees me throwing out chicken bones and cleaning out the roasting pan and is suddenly interested in what I'm doing in the kitchen.
Apple:  Hey mom, what... what are you doing?
Me:  None of this is for you.
Apple:  No, that's coo.  I'm just.  I just love you so much.  And you know, chicken.
Me: You can't eat this.
Apple: But maaaaaaaaaawwwwm.
Me: Don't lick the trash can.
Apple:  I hate you.  So very. Very. Much.


In her "Angry Cartman" voice.



Scene:  Mike got out of bed for 3 minutes to run to the restroom.  Apple immediately moved to his spot and is snuggling up next to his pillow so he can't get back in bed.
Mike:  Apple, really?
Apple:  Suck it, dad.
Mike:  No, Apple, you need to move.
Apple: Whateva, I do what I want.  You're not the boss of me.
Mike pushes Apple out of his spot.
Apple: I just want to say: I love you guys, I do... except you Dad.  I hate you.

Scene: Mike and I are downstairs sitting on the couch watching TV.  Apple is upstairs.  Alone.  Not hanging out with us.
Me: "Apple!  Come down here and hang out with us!" 
Apple runs out of the bedroom and stares at us from the top of the stairs.
Me:  "Apple!  Come here!  Snuggle!!!"
Apple:  "I'm busy.  Damn hippies."
Apple turns around and runs back to the bedroom 

In her "Special Sister Mary" voice
(there's a video... if you can't see it, here's the link: http://video.adultswim.com/lucy-the-daughter-of-the-devil/holy-crap-no.html )

Scene:  We're trying to put Apple's harness on so we can go outside.
Mike:  Apple, come here.
Apple:  Uhm.  No.
Mike:  Come here.
Apple:  Uhm. No thanks. You guys go without me.  I'm cool.
She runs back upstairs and puts herself in her crate.

Scene:  Apple is sitting on Mike's chest.  In bed.  At 1 AM.  STARING at his face.
Apple:  Uhm.  Dad?
Mike:  No.
Apple: Uhm.  Dad... I have to pee.
Mike:  No.  I just took you outside 15 minutes ago.  And all you did was bark at the air.
Apple:  Fine. I hope you enjoy the surprise turd I leave in your closet tonight.  Sleep tight.
Mike closes his eyes.
Apple slaps him.  With her paw.  She actually does that.
Apple: Take me outside or I will cut you.

So 4 years now we've been doing this... and we do it automatically.  It's gotten worse.  Recently, when other people ask Apple questions, we'll instinctively respond.  For example the following exchange happened at my birthday party when Apple met one of our friends for the first time:

Colin: Hi Apple! You sure are a cutie pie!
Apple looks at him and deftly avoids a gentle pat on the head scooting past him.  I provide the voice over without thinking twice.
Apple:  Yah buddy, I got shiz to do and crap on the floor to eat.  No time to chat.
Colin looks at me silently.  He blinks.  I explain that I'm insane.

We've also started doing this for babies.  Which makes things more troubling because Mike and I seem to assume that all babies have the same attitude as Apple and many parents don't agree with our foul mouth interpretations of their darling child's inner thoughts.  Most people put cute things into the mouths of speechless babes, but when we see babies, they're little smack talkers.

So far we have yet to meet anyone that does what we do.  People seem to imagine inner voices for their pets, but none of them actually have conversations with those inner voices.  So that either means that both Mike and I are insane, or insanely awesome.  Win win.  

Doppelganger Dream Theater

My husband might literally be the nicest person in the world.  Yes.  Literally.  He is so nice to everyone all the time. He’s even nice when I’m being annoying.  And I am annoying a lot.  I haven’t met everyone in the world yet, so I could be wrong… and he’s no saint, but when it comes to being nice, he’s at the top of the nice list.

Which makes it odd when I have dreams like the one I had two nights ago.

Dreams where my Mike is mean to me. 

I’ve had them at least once every six months since we’ve been together – so going on 8 years now.  And, because Mike is so nice, he actually feels guilty about the actions of Mean Dream Mike and desperately tries to find some way to make it up to me for his evil dream twin. When I tell real life Mike about my dreams, he seriously feels bad about it and apologizes! 

The subject varies, but it’s always ridiculous.  This most recent dream was one where Mean Dream Mike bought a house and paid cash because he wanted to live in a house separate from me and not pay for the mortgage.  I sobbed hysterically and he tried to calm me by saying “I don’t want a divorce; I just don’t want to live with you.”   SO MEAN! RIGHT!?

Another time I had a dream that we were at a party and he kept making fun of the stories I was telling, so I threw my punch in his face and ran and cried in another room.  Another one I remember was that he went on vacation… WITHOUT TELLING ME!

SO MEAN!!!! 

(And also, I cry a lot in my dreams. Wah wah wah)

Why do I do this?  Why do I dream that he’s mean to me?  I never dream that he cheats on me, or that he physically abuses me, but I totally dream up scenarios where he’s such a mean guy!  In the morning, I’m so relieved to discover that nice Mike is real life Mike that I’m overcome with joy and want to hug and kiss him to death and make sure he never leaves my side.    Is it because his real life persona is so nice that my subconscious has to make up for it by making him evil in my dreams? 

Why can’t I dream that he’s a superhero and then be able to tell him about that in the morning? He would be so pumped instead of depressed!  Usually when I dream about superheroes, it’s just me with the awesome skills.  Come on sub-conscious, cut the husband a break… how about cranking out an awesome superhero dream for Mike sometime?

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.

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.

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.  

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.

Wienerlicious

Mike has a very specific laugh when he watches ridiculous animal videos or looks at silly animal pictures.  I never hear the same laugh when we're talking or watching TV. It's kind of this low bubbling chuckle and it's one of my favorite sounds so I do my best to get every hilarious animal video and image to him STAT.  I even sit through episodes of America's Funniest Home Videos for clips of animal highlights whenever possible.

When we see a dachshund on the street, that laugh spills out almost naturally.  It's like he can't see a wiener dog and not laugh.  It doesn't have to be doing anything cute or funny. It just has to be... a wiener dog. 

When we have room for a second dog, it will probably be from a wiener dog rescue.  Apple happens to love dachshunds, so it should work out well (she'll find the one dachshund at the bark park or dog beach and it will be the only dog she's not intimidated by - our theory is that they're the only dogs that are shorter than she is.) 

It's awesome.

So... I bet I'll be able to hear Mike's chuckle when he reads this blog. 

Because of this:

I mean, I totally get it.  They're naturally hilarious.
(I own none of these photos... they were all just pulled up off Google Image search and, I  believe, chuckle inducing.)

Wiggle Jiggle, Yellow Middle

I love eggs.

The thought of someone telling me to "go suck an egg" would not be thought of as an insult but rather some kind of delicious reward.

"Why thank you, I will gladly go suck an egg. I'll take mine poached please. With a crusty baguette.  Thanks."

There are few things in the culinary world that make me happier than a perfectly cooked egg.
 - Discovering a delectable boiled ovoid with a slightly soft core in a steamy salty bowl of ramen? Bliss.
 - Pale, fluffy scrambled eggy goodness tossed with fresh cubes of feta and cool seasonal tomatoes served over freshly baked sourdough?  Drool.
 - Popping the yolk of that delicately fried egg so that it just barely oozes onto freshly steamed rice? Home.

My mom was making these for my birthday dinner.

Eaten with thinly sliced Colombian style beef, rice, avocado and tomato. 

So good.  Add a fried plátano and an arepa and you're golden. Trust.

Hard boiled, fried, scrambled, poached, baked... yum. Chicken, quail, ostrich... yum. I don't even have to dip into the plethora of baked goodies that would not exist without the glory of the egg.

Many nutritionists assert that the egg is nature's perfect food. I found thousands of cookbooks dedicated to the egg on Amazon... including this one, this one and this one.  I'm contemplating getting one of them since it seems I have no problem eating eggs for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

I eat eggs practically every day - which isn't as cheap as it used to be.  Ever since I converted to the world of  certified humanely handled, local, free range, organic, and antibiotic free eggs (as well as poultry, beef and bacon) eating animal products has become much more expensive and much more of a treat in the last 4 years or so.  A fair trade off for some of the most incredible tasting eggs I've ever prepared (also some of the hardest eggs to peel.  What is with that?  Peeling a fresh boiled egg is near impossible.)

I had three must-do's in our most recent trip to London.  1) Tower of London  2)Beatles shenanigans and 3) Scotch Eggs.  We found this incredible gastropub that focused on local organic foods and made the most amazing scotch eggs.(A neat thing about London was that free range hens and eggs were pretty much the standard wherever we looked - even McDonald's touted free range eggs and organic milk.) My photo does not even do it justice.

Throw away all your previous notions of  "scotch eggs" because these were fresh, fluffy and so incredible.

Mike isn't as much of an egg addict as I am.  He enjoys the occasional scrambled egg or the omelet stuffed with goodies or even a couple slices of a spinach quiche... but he wouldn't touch a hard boiled egg with a 10 foot pole.  A poached egg or a sunny side up egg would likely make him gag but maybe I need to get more creative. If you have any incredible egg recipes, please do tell!

And now I leave you with this from the Korean website www.iloveegg.com

In English (couldn't embed - but seriously - check it out)
http://www.iloveegg.co.kr/egg-song%28English%292.swf

My favorite part:

"Oodle doodle!
Popular and perfect and so complete in every way!
I love you eggs!
Come into my tummy, oh so very yummy."

Brilliant.

In Korean it's even cuter somehow http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLoT0rqkMYI

And if you look up "I Love Eggs" on you tube - they have an animated series!  Seriously.  Win.

I love you egg.  Thank you for being eggy.

I Wanna Be A Great Plumber Like My Brother, Mario

Last week, Mike and I started playing Super Mario Bros Wii together.

There was a time when I was pretty good at your standard video game.  I was pretty decent on the Nintendo (still kill at Tetris) could definitely hold my own on the N64 and totally pwnd Gauntlet Dark Legacy for the PS2, but it's been a while since I've played a Mario game as an adult.  I may suck at SMB Wii - but it sure is funny.

Mike and I have completely different playing styles.  I'm of the smash-every-block-and-leave-no-coin-behind faction and he's of the beat-the-bad-guys-as-quickly-as-possible faction.  And because he's player 1, we move at his pace when we play together.  Meaning, I regularly get smooshed by the left side of the screen as I'm attempting to collect coins... prompting him to console me after my Luigi character dies for the 3rd time in 2 minutes with an aptly versed,  "I think this should teach you some relevant lessons about greed."

Seriously.  He literally said that.  He kills me.

So, on our first day of playing we had just warped to the 3rd level when I took stock of the fact that my Luigi character had died at least 55 times already - it may have been more considering I had found a few 1UP mushrooms and promptly used them falling off a ledge or walking into a Goomba when I meant to stomp him.    That's 3.4375 times per level, 27.5 per world.  Mike was still playing off his original 5 lives and had accumulated a few 1UP lives - at this point, it was almost assumed that Luigi would die every few minutes and it was Mike's responsibility to keep the game going. 

During particularly hard levels, I'd keep Luigi in his floating resurrection bubble until we were past the danger zone and then I'd shake him over to Mario to be popped.  The levels would get harder and harder - and I was dying faster than the game would allow for regeneration. My shoddy skills were no longer keeping me afloat. 

Now, Mike is no pro either. While he was definitely better than I, on more than one occasion his fat little Mario delicately pushed my unsuspecting Luigi off a warp pipe and into the bottomless ravine or bounced on my Luigi's head to reach an item and as a result trapped me in the direct line of a Bullet Bill.  It's ok - I was more than willing to sacrifice my Luigi's lives for the greater good of the team.  His Mario needed to stay alive to keep the game going.

In any case, Mike was out of town the last couple of days, so I decided to practice my skillz so that when he got back, I wouldn't be the let down drag out Luigi any more.

To my surprise - I kind of kick ass. 

But not in the way most gamers would kick ass. I started my own game and  I collected every coin, replayed each level until I collected all the necessary star coins, saved the stupid Toad every time he screamed for help (and often died in the process) and found every hidden 1UP mushroom I could find.  I did die a lot in the process, but I hadn't even reached the World-1 fortress and I already had 28 lives.  28!!!!!   Slow and steady wins the race.

Mike came back and we picked up where we left off, but he sensed that my mind wasn't in our game.  It was, but I had little attachment since my Luigi character had already died and come back to life at this point about 75 times.  Plus, we had left so many Star coins behind in the worlds we passed.  I mean, is that even a complete level?  Not in my book. 

Despite my lack of attachment to our game, I was still eager to show off my newly honed skills so I really was trying to play better... but 2P is HARD.  It's way harder than 1P. Suddenly I was having to watch not only my dude, but Mike's dude too... and he was moving erratically trying to collect stuff, so I'd run into him and bounce into a bad guy and die.  Or if I wanted to super run through an area with dropping stuff, he preferred to sit and methodically time out his jumps, so I'd get stuck near the edge of the screen and die.  2P is a whole other ballgame.

So, after this experience, I don't think anyone can rightfully call themselves a SMB Wii master until they've defeated all the levels with 4P.  Because with Mario, Luigi and two stupid Toads, I can only imagine it's gotta be a cluster-thwomp.

The Great Mike Detective

About a week ago, Mike had asked me if I had seen a BevMo gift card he received on his birthday but had since lost.

I hadn't. I didn't even know he received a gift card or I would have told him to put it in his wallet right away. Losing a gift card is particularly frustrating for Mike because back when we bought our condo, the Realtor we used gave us a congratulatory gift basket complete with bathrobes, mugs and a $100 gift card to Zov's in Tustin. Mike misplaced the gift card somewhere and has been kicking himself over it for the last 3 years.

Mike, being a great detective, found the missing BevMo card a few days after asking me about it. Apparently it was sitting peacefully in the bed of our scanner. With the card "safely" in his possession, his mission was now to find the culprit behind the mysterious misplacement. After all, why would a BevMo gift card need to be scanned?

Primary suspect numero uno was me. Of course.

As we lay in bed getting ready for sleep, Mike filled me in on his exciting discovery and followed his story with an open (but obviously accusing) question. "Who would leave the gift card in the scanner?"

I laughed. I told him I definitely didn't do it and reminded him that I had never even seen the card and that I would have no reason to scan it.

He was smiling - but he wasn't laughing. He still suspected me.

He still suspected me!!!

I laughed again, incredulous. "You seriously think I did it!?"

He smiled, "Who else would put it into the scanner? That's too strange."

I laughed as I began my defense...

Mike's got this old scanner that is the most finicky, complicated thing to use. You have to be running some special program and operate everything from the program - it frustrates me to use it so I usually have Mike come and set everything up for me so I can actually scan stuff. I reminded him of this and also of the fact that I would have NO reason to scan his BevMo gift card.

He smiled at me. A smile that was a mix of accusation ("you know you're guilty, right?") and pity ("poor wife, you probably are going senile and forgot you did that! How sad.")

I repeated my arguments. No awareness of gift card + no knowledge of scanner set up + no motive = wife not guilty.

Ok. He sat in silence for a moment as he gave it some thought.

He began to think aloud and told me that I was still suspect number one. He had to figure out another suspect in the lineup. Obviously this would be...

My brother.

My brother?

My brother had come over a couple times in the last few weeks to help me update my computer with new software. He was there for hours at a time installing my new OS and reinstalling my old programs.

Mike had deduced that whoever was scanning probably used the BevMo card to run a test on the scanner.

My brother was working on my computer and the scanner is connected to Mike's computer. Why he would run a color test on the scanner for Mike's computer while working on my computer is unknown - and in the case of the great BevMo Gift Card Heist - is also apparently irrelevant.

As Mike mulls over the two prime suspects, he begins to realize there may be room in his lineup for a third suspect. The least likely candidate of the shady bunch, himself.

Mike has been sitting in silence for a few moments.

Still baffled as to why I have remained suspect number one, I begin to list my alibis over again. I had never seen the card, I can hardly use the scanner, and even if I was using the scanner for some test, I would have probably picked a picture I could use once it was scanned. I then told him he was more likely to be the culprit - thinking that maybe he was making copies of other card-sized documents and absentmindedly threw the BevMo card onto the scanner and forgot it.

The wheels in Mike's head were turning. He spoke as he thought (and I'm paraphrasing here...)

"Ok, you may not be the suspect anymore... you probably would have remembered when I asked you about it last week. So, here's what probably happened. Your brother came over to work on the computers...and we were connecting your computer to our network... and I was trying to link your computer to the printer/scanner so you could print over the network... and..."

...and...

And it turns out Michael had put his own BevMo gift card onto the scanner bed to use as a test for scanning over the network.

Mystery solved!

Mike then proceeded to pat himself on the back for his superior sleuthing skills. He had figured out the great BevMo gift card mystery of 2009. He asked me if I was impressed by his deducing skills.

Seriously, he did.

He cracks me up.

Rub-a-dub-dub, Thanks for the Grub.

Everyone seems to be posting the things they are thankful for. I have a lot of things to be thankful for so, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, here we go.

I have to get the normal stuff out of the way - they'll get weirder because I'm thankful for weird things too.

First, I'm thankful for my family - husband, mom, dad, brother, and all my relatives all over this planet and my fantastic in laws. I wouldn't trade out any of them... even for Johnny Depp.

I'm thankful for my dog and all the dogs I've met or ever lived with. Dogs are awesome.

I'm thankful for ALL my friends and that you all are nice to me. I'm thankful that some of you are smart, some of you are thoughtful and some of you are stupid awesome - you all make me happy.

I'm thankful that I was born a healthy human being with a fully functioning human body. By "I", I mean my consciousness or whatever it is that seems to be linked to my human body but not limited by it. "I" could have been an ant or a termite or a monkey. Sometimes I'm jealous of my dog and the Lochness monster, but in the end I prefer to be human. As a human, I am thankful for all the animals and plants that sustain my omnivorous life. I'm thankful for all the humane farmers and workers who treat those creatures with respect and the people who work to make sure that the Earth and all animals are treated that way no matter where they sit in the food chain.

I'm thankful for all the blessings that came with the fact that I was lucky to be born in a first world country. I didn't do anything to deserve it, but considering that the odds of being born in the USA is about 3.1% and about a 15% chance of being born in a first world country, I pretty much already won the lottery. I'm no more or less special than any other child born on the same date at the same time, but "I" got lucky.

I'm thankful for the guy who designed Mercedes 300E that was built in '87. My old car is the best.

I'm thankful for technology. Facebook. Computers. Internet. Blogging. Google. Nanomachines. Robots. Even if I hate some of it, I'm still thankful for it.

I'm thankful for Battlestar Galactica. And the X-Files. And Arrested Development... And The Office... And Cartoons.... And actually, if I go on it will be too long. I'm thankful for TV... but only the shows I like. I'm not thankful for shows I do not like.

I'm thankful for subtitles.

I'm thankful for Michio Kaku, Ray Bradbury, Dorothy Day, Francis of Assisi, Anthony of Padua and Steven Colbert. Maybe for reasons other than what you might assume.

I'm thankful for Jon Stewart - probably for the same reason you assume.

I'm thankful for time travel (it will happen/has already happened... we can discuss this another time.)

I'm thankful for cheese.

I'm thankful that I haven't been abducted by aliens.

I'm thankful for ghosts. Even though I haven't seen one myself.

I'm thankful for photographs.

I'm thankful for pizza and nachos and frozen yogurt.

I'm thankful for patient polite strangers.

I'm thankful for people who hold open doors for others - male or female.

I'm thankful for holidays.

I'm thankful for the reality that my perception creates. Because of this, I believe the world I see every day is actually very beautiful.

I'm thankful for many more things that would take me years to list. Since I can't list them and because Michael is telling me we have to go, I have to remember to say a thank you in my head for those little things when I come across them - Thanksgiving time or not. I'm Thankful for it year round.

Offspring From The Future

Procreation is pretty trendy lately - everyone seems to be having babies. Mike and I are not planning on jumping on the baby bandwagon for a couple more years, but our friend Jessica (Swaaaaaan) recently posted an awesome link on my brother's Facebook page called 1,001 Rules for My Unborn Son which, over the course of the last few days has had me thinking of all the "rules" I've got in my head for my still unconceived children.

Many of my ideas actually don't really involve actual parenting - which should give you some insight into where I am mentally as far as the mothering-spectrum is concerned. For example, the one I decided today is this: When I eventually do have an infant, I think I would like to strap it to my body in some way while I go about my business. I'm talking full on papoose-field-worker-baby-attached-to-your-back-like action. It makes sense to me. You know where the baby is. It's not eating anything it's not supposed to be eating. It's got tons of crap to look at while you're doing your own thing. It's floating around like it did in your belly. I have no problem falling asleep in a hammock - and it's pretty much the same thing, so baby nap time seems like a no brainer. Plus, it seemed to work for the hardest working women all over the world. They've got their hands free to do all the stuff they needed to do and freedom to bend over to pick stuff up and junk. Brilliant.

Of course, I'm sure I'll read something as I get closer to having children that might change my opinion, but for now all I need is to look at awesome pictures and stay pretty convinced that this is totally what I will do.

Most people that have had the "will-you-have-kids" conversation with me already know that Mike and I are dead set in rearing some awesome nerd-children. If you review this venn-diagram that Marci shared the other day, I'd say we're aiming for the bluish-purple hemisphere with some yellow overlap for fun. Obviously the "Genius" is our kid, but I'm sure we'd be happy anywhere in the realm of "Brain", "Geek" or the classic "Nerd." We don't want to venture too far into the "Dweeb" category or the emotional dysfunction and social ineptitude hemispheres, but let's be honest, your stereotypical "cool" kid is nowhere on our radar.

Until our children can beat me away from their closets with their tiny fists, they will be dressed primarily in clothing of awesome. This includes daily animal costumes (they aren't just for Halloween friends) hats, sunglasses, and crazy shoes. There's also a good probability that on any given day my kids could walk out of the house looking like they stepped out of a vintage photograph. Why? Because I can. And because kids look cuter in knickers and bloomers. And because you don't remember much of what you wear before you're 4 anyway - you just remember what it looked like in pictures. I promise to be kind and avoid itchy fabrics... but yah. Get ready to be jealous of how awesome our future children will be. Someday.

I'm glad I'm writing this down so that in 7 or so years when I'm actually trying to get a 4 year old to wear a pea coat, knickers and a cap and he is screaming bloody murder and I'm crying because his 2 year old sister prefers to run around naked after ripping off her hippo costume that I tried to make her wear for the family trip to the zoo in February (because seriously, most appropriate time for animal costumes) you can all print this out to remind me how sure I was about how easily this would all work out.

Remembering Grandpa Russ

Back in June I blogged about the passing of a man who I had thought of as a grandfather-figure since my childhood. This week another person that I had come to view in the same light walked through those pearly gates.

We got a call from Mike's sister late Tuesday night letting us know that Grandpa Russ had fallen earlier in the morning, was in the hospital and that things were not expected to get better. We wrapped up things at home and got to the hospital pretty quickly. When we got to his room, we were met by Mike's parents (who had been at the hospital all day) and Mike's aunt and her husband.

Grandpa Russ was not conscious, but he was breathing on his own and the medical team was doing everything they could to make sure he was comfortable as he slept. Occasionally he'd move his legs or clench his fists, but he wouldn't open his eyes. He couldn't say anything, but I think he knew we were there.

Mike and I spoke to him and reminded him that we loved him and that he just needed to relax and get good rest because everyone was taking care of him. His breathing seemed calmer when someone was holding his hand or talking to him. He knew he was loved.

I walked into that hospital room telling myself that I had to be the strong one. I had to be the one Michael could lean on when we faced reality. After all, Grandpa Russ had lived in the same house as Michael the entire time he was growing up. He was a fixture in Michael's childhood memories and a fixture in their household even after he was grown and out of college - this would no doubt affect Michael in a way I had probably not seen him affected before.

I suppose I just wasn't prepared for how much Grandpa Russ had affected me. Within minutes of walking into that hospital room, reality hit and I lost it. I was being hugged by Mike's mom and Mike was stroking my back. In a way, I failed. In a sense, Mike and I have been able to lean on one another to stop us from toppling over. It has been difficult and although Mike has been doing well, his grief is unfamiliar and sad and I never know quite what to tell him, or how often I should hug him. When he's vulnerable, I have complete control of my emotions, I can talk to him and listen and when he's strong, I become a big blubbering mess. So. Balance.

Mike and I started dating in 2004 and while I had always had a rough idea of what the "Layton Legacy" was, I was not prepared for what it meant to walk into the Layton home on Christmas day. I swear, there were probably 45 men, women and children there and I was introduced to everyone by name within the first 20 minutes. I am 95% sure I met Mike's secret sister, Kim, who everyone tells me does not exist. In any case, coming from a family where our warm Christmases were always just between our happy family of 4 (with occasional guests) this was nerve wracking. God forbid person A would ask me to get person B a drink, because I couldn't remember who person B was and would have no idea who to move towards.

As always, their house was vibrant with kids running around all over the place, siblings laughing, reminiscing and helping out in the kitchen. It had been a while since Mike had seen some of his nieces and nephews and was eager to catch up with all of them. I was the brand new girlfriend and I didn't want to get in anyone's way . I didn't want to be a burden on Mike as he enjoyed this time with his family.

And there he was.

Grandpa Russ sitting in his chair at the kitchen table smiling as he watched the hustle and bustle of your standard Christmas dinner at the house on Pinto. I had met him before, I think, maybe when I was in high school - but I didn't remember adults very well back then. He said he remembered me from when Mike was in high school, so I sat. We talked about things for a long while - probably food, and Christmas and family. Dinner was served and I went to sit with Mike at another table.

Every holiday or family dinner at the Layton house would go much the same way for a while. I couldn't remember who Mike's siblings were or how many he had and who was married to whom and what children went home with what parent, and which one had 4 kids and which one had 3, and who lived in California and who didn't and where the heck did Kim go!?

Grandpa Russ was constant.

We'd come over and he'd be in his chair and I knew that I could grab a coke and sit in the chair next to him and we could talk until dinner was ready and I could be comfortable and I could ask him over and over again which sister that was and who that child belonged to without getting embarrassed for still not being able to keep this big family straight. He was happy to tell me all about it.

Even after I finally learned everyone's name and forgot about imaginary sister Kim, the most comfortable place for me to be was still sitting in the chair next to Grandpa Russ.

When Mike's parents would go out of town, we'd go to their house so that Grandpa wouldn't have to be alone and Mike could make sure that he ate dinner and was ok. We'd bring Apple over and she'd go crazy in his room acting like she owned the place. Grandpa loved it. The last time we did this was a little over a month ago and he was having a harder time getting down the stairs so we sat in his room with him eating In-N-Out. He insisted that he didn't want to be a burden and that we should go eat downstairs at the table. We insisted that we wanted to eat upstairs with him and set up a dining room for the three of us. He ended up showing us all the treasures and family heirlooms that he had kept with him and the stories that he could remember going with them.

He was born in 1913 - what a century to live in. In 1913 the 16th and 17th Amendments to the United States Constitution are ratified, the Mexican Revolution is being fought, Woodrow Wilson succeeds William Howard Taft as the 28th President of the United States, the zipper and stainless steel are invented, and the first automobile road across the United States is dedicated. Most people ride around in horse and carriage and the trolley is a fancy new transportation device. He lived through tuberculosis, cancer and heart attacks (with unbelievable stories to go along with them) as well as the Great Depression, the invention of the telephone, x-ray, sonar, radio, television, antibiotics, Velcro, the microwave and sliced bread (literally.) He talked about how wonderful his wife, Mike's grandmother was, and how good his daughter and her family were to him (Mike's parents.) He lived an amazing life.

He was loved and respected and I don't think he ever knew how much of a crutch he was for me. He always worried about being a burden as he got older but he was the person who unknowingly gave me solid footing when I was so nervous about being liked. He took away any pressure I had put on myself to make the right impression in front of Mike's family. I didn't have to say much or be funny or smart - he'd let me sit there and just listen which is all I wanted to do.

I'm a little nervous about going back to the Layton house now that the chair at the kitchen table isn't claimed. I feel as though I should be stronger and less affected, but I can't help it. By now I know and love Mike's family as if they were my own and I don't need Grandpa to be my safe zone, but I really enjoyed just sitting with him during our visits, and I'll miss that. It will be hard to not notice how empty that chair is now but I'm glad I spent time sitting next to it when it was filled. I have boat loads of stories to tell our children about their awesome great grandfather and his adventures in the days before TV.

Much love Grandpa Russ. Say hi to Grandma Millie for me - we never met, but I know you missed her the most. You'll always be in our hearts.

Parasomnia

A while ago, Angela over at According To Angela was participating in an attempt to blog every day for a month. I thought it was a pretty neat idea, but I missed the boat that time around. I think I'm going to give it a shot now since I have to make up for lost blog time. Well, almost. I'm going to try and blog at least once every weekday for the month of June (I think have ADD on the weekends). I wonder if quality will diminish with quantity. Probably.

Last night I woke up at 3 am to a thunderstorm happening pretty much right on top of my house. The flash of lightning lit up our room (despite our "black out curtains") and the thunder grumbled right along with it - no counting between flash and sound. It was so loud I got up in a hazy stupor to attempt to close my bedroom window. It took me about 3 minutes of pushing the window with all my strength under curtains and without lifting the blinds all the way up to realize that the window was already closed.

Once my brain caught up with my body, I pulled apart the curtains and lifted the corner of our blinds to look outside. Now I'm not sure that my vision wasn't affected by the half dose of NyQuil I took last night for a stuffy nose, but everything outside was... pink. It wasn't a pretty My Little Pony happy rainbow cloud pink either. It was this gross watered down blood shade of puke pink. The clouds, the street, the cars - everything was tinted this nauseating pink. The lightning flashed again and for a second everything was super bright and contrast before going back to that icky pink. There was nothing I could do about it obviously, so I went back to bed and talked for a little bit with Mike about how loud the thunder was and how yucky it looked outside. He laughed as we both mumbled ourselves back to sleep.

This morning as Mike was leaving for work, I mention something about how crazy the thunderstorm was last night. He looks at me blankly. "There was a thunderstorm?"

Mike is like the Incredible Hulk. Almost. His Hulk comes out when he's asleep. Luckily Mike-Hulk doesn't have anger issues and is pretty much just like the regular Mike...only generally more confused, more possessive of pillows and aggressive with his bed space. I will have full conversations with Mike-Hulk in the middle of the night with his eyes wide open looking right at me. Usually these midnight conversations will make no sense at all so I know I'm talking to Mike-Hulk, but occasionally there are midnight conversations that flow perfectly without sleepy slurring that make total sense. When that happens, I think I'm talking to the real Mike and we'll chit chat like normal before falling back asleep. It's only when morning comes that I realize I was fooled when I mention a conversation we had during the night and real Mike has no idea what I am talking about. I think the Mike-Hulk is getting wise and is probably trying to glean some kind of useful information off me. There are probably hundreds of sensitive secrets I might tell Mike in confidence that the Mike-Hulk is trying to get a hold of (you know, like my ATM PIN so he could drain my bank account and steal my identity. Darn you Mike-Hulk!)

I'm pretty sure I've blogged about it before, but my favorite Mike-Hulk moment was the night of the "mysterious disappearing wet spot". I'm lying in bed watching late night TV next to Mike who has been sleeping for at least the last 2 hours. He suddenly grabs his pillow and throws it on the floor. Puts his face on the bed where his pillow was and starts sniffing. I ask him if he's ok. "The dog peed on the bed" he says. Again, I've been awake for the last 2 hours and the dog has been nestled comfortably (for her) between my legs (why do dogs do that?) so I know she hasn't peed on the bed - much less peed under his pillow. At this point, I'm pretty confident that I'm dealing with Mike-Hulk so I turn back to the TV watch for a few minutes before turning it off and trying to get to sleep. Only a few moments pass before I feel Mike-Hulk pulling on my pillow. I grab hold of it for dear life as Mike-Hulk pulls the other side with full force (a woman knows no strength like when she's trying to keep her side of the blankets... or her own pillow). I ask, "do you want a pillow?" He nods. I pick up his pillow from the floor and give it back to him. He curls up with his pillow - it seems to pacify the Mike-Hulk for the night. Of course, in the morning real Mike has no real recollection of what transpired the night before. After much thinking, he has a vague recollection of the bed being wet... but that's about it.

Mike said that as a kid he used to sleepwalk. I read the Wikipedia entry on sleepwalking and it's pretty crazy all the things people can do or have done while "asleep". Neither Mike or the Mike-Hulk are ever the violent or angry types so I wouldn't expect anything as scary as some sleepwalkers have apparently done. I'm not going to lie though, I would love it if Mike-Hulk suddenly got the urge to scrub the bathtub and toilets in the middle of the night and had no recollection of it in the morning. How great would it be if Mike-Hulk decided to retile our bathroom floors and repaint the cabinets in the middle of the night? Supposedly some sleep walkers have the ability to do those things with great skill! I wonder if I could use the power of suggestion during my next Mike-Hulk encounter to get him to do that. I'll let you know how it goes.