Potluck and Bloodsports.

For those of you that don't know, there was a pretty big ass change in my household late last year. You see, mah mans and I (meaning me) made the decision to cancel our cable television programming because we (meaning him) were watching entirely too much television.

It may also have had something to do with the fact that as the bill-paying member of this household, I'd decided to stop being fiscally violated each month by our Verizon FiOS television service. Because really, why is it necessary to pay $60 a month for television programming?

That?

Is obscene.

So I cancelled that bizzatch, and Jay and I switched to Comcast's program for little ol' blue-haired ladies - the $9.99/month service for local channels only. We tried that whole HD over-the air-antenna thing, but it didn't work for some of our old-ass televisions. And yeah, we're two people with four televisions, but what of it?

Don't you judge us.

Like I was saying, we're sans-cable television programming now. And that's not been too bad, actually. Mainly because with the local channel package through Comcast, they also throw in the Discovery Channel, which has been a boon to us.

That may also be due to the fact that it allows us to lose entire days to Deadliest Catch marathons. Don't get crazy - you'd watch it, too. Umm, also? Dirty Jobs marathons. We've failed to get out of our PJs for entire days some weekends.

Don't be jealous, you parent-types. We've got ourselves a serious life of leisure going on over here.

But one super mega bummer of the lack of cable television programming is the fact that we can't order up pay-per-view programming anymore.

No, not for that...get your minds out of the gutter for crissakes!

It sucks because we don't get to order OnDemand items or the monthly Ultimate Fighting Championship programs anymore.

And that is very sad. Cuz you know I like to watch them half-nekkid bloody mens beat each other around the Octagon and errything.

Fortunately, we got some new neighbors a few months ago, and they are all about the UFC. They invited us over last weekend for potluck-slash-bloodsports on Saturday, and the event did not disappoint - on either front.

The first thing I noticed was that they have entirely too nice a house for a couple with a four-year-old child. I mean, really - we have ZERO children, and our place still looks like it's in training for a filming of Hoarders. I mean, not that you'd ever know it if you were to come by, but that's only cuz you've never looked in our closets. You must always STAY OUT OF THE CLOSETS, people. There's nothing to be gained from checking out that situation - just you remember that, mmmkay?

Now where was I? Oh yeah. The UFC.

Okay, so there we were, kickin' it next door at the neighbors' house, checkin' out the Saturday night fights. The fella in the relationship works at Intel, so the house was crowded with other clean-room, bunnysuit-wearing types...which meant for the most part, they weren't nearly as bloodthirsty as yers truly. Actually, I take that back, there was one guy that was whoopin' and hollerin' just as much as me - but prolly he was the "other" for a bunnysuit-wearing chickadee. I mean, I'm just guessing.

Anyhoots - the fights were almost universally badass, particularly this one...

...which is where Stephan Bonnar got hizzass seriously busted up by The Polish Experiment, Krzysztof Soszynski. (Which I mean, really - is that not one of the coolest names in the UFC today? And I'm not just sayin' that cuz I'm half Polish. Or maybe I am. Whatevs.) This fella Stephan bled his lil' heart out in the season finale of The (first) Ultimate Fighter teevee show fighting Forrest Griffin, and displayed a similar tendency to spray his lifeforce all over the Octagon last weekend.

It was gory, folks. The Polish Experiment opened a big ol' gash on his forehead, and thus began the filling of the ring with Bonnar Blood. The fight was eventually stopped by the doctor-on-the-scene, something I hear Bonnar is contesting now. But really, I don't understand how that fool could even see what was coming at him, what with all that stuff coursing down over his eyes.

Regardless, I enjoyed the evening immensely, and am happy to say I didn't embarrass myself too much so as to preclude future invites for UFC events.

Which, let's be honest here - is quite fortuitous, given the fact that I'm never going to hand over my hard-earned cash to the cable company again.

I needs me that invite, yo.

And now it seems I've got it. Boo-to-the-yeah!

C-A-R-A-M-E-L

Today I did something I've never done before.

I told my hairchick that I was unhappy with my hairdid and asked for a do-over.

Normally, I'd hold my tongue...mainly because the difference between and bad haircut and a good haircut is a mere two weeks. But this time it wasn't the cut that inspired major angst in my life - it was the color.

My sister and I go to the same salon, and until late last week, we both had the same hairchick. But I decided to give one of the other women in the salon a try - for two reasons, 1) it meant the sister and I could get our hair done at the same time, rather than back-to-back, and 2) because I wasn't so much clickin' with our hairchick. And that may have had everything to do with the fact that I couldn't understand 55% of the things she said.

You know I'm not good with deciphering that English-as-a-Second-Language scene.

Everything appeared to be going really well with the new chick, Hairchick #2. She even managed to talk me into a different style and whacked about 4 inches off my hair, creating a nice lil' a-line bob that just hits my shoulders. I wasn't sure about it then, but by the next day I really liked the cut.

The color, however...hmmm. I told her I wanted to add a few highlights, but nothing in the reddish category. When I emerged from the shampooing station, my brown hair was laced with super-light blonde highlights. I realized that the high contrast between the colors would lessen once my hair was dried, so I kept my mouth shut and waited it out.

Finally my hair was dry and she spun me around to face the mirror.

Oh. My. Gawd.

It was waaaaaaaay too light. And under the fluorescent lights of the salon, it looked weird. It looked almost...almost gray or something.

I realized I wasn't giving Hairchick #2 the happy look of gratitude she was expecting and I explained that it usually takes me a bit to get used to a new style. I paid her and made my way home, where mah mans took one look at me and said "Ummm, why does your hair look grey?"

Shizzsticks.

I did my best to like the hair color - I did - but it wasn't working at all. I called the salon on Saturday morning and bashfully asked whether I could come back for an adjustment. The only available time was the middle of the day on Monday.

Of course.

I was aggravated that I had to take time off work to drag my azz downtown for the fix, but it was very necessary in my opinion. I strolled into the salon today and was promptly informed that Hairchick #1 would be handling the color fix. What the what? Did Hairchick #2 fire me or something? "Great," I thought, "Now I'm gonna have to find a new salon altogether."

But it wasn't so bad, actually. In fact, it was pretty much a nonevent. I got outfitted with the cape, placed in the shampoo chair and she started massaging something into my hair. After just a couple of minutes, she washed that stuff out, shampooed and conditioned my hair and sent me back to her station. A few minutes later, my hair was dry and just about the perfect color. The super-blonde bits were toned down and my head was looking all golden-y again. I loved it.

As we walked out, Hairchick #1 told me that it was simply a matter of applying a toner to my hair after washing out the color. She told me that I should be sure to remind Hairchick #2 to use the toner by telling her to use what sounded like "cah-mah" on my hair.

"Comma?" I asked, "is that a brand name?"

"No," she said, "cah-mah is the color - you tell her you want cah-mah."

Oh.

She meant caramel. That I want caramel-colored hair.

Why the two of them can't just write this shiz down, I do not know. I feel like it sure would save a lot of time and energy if there was a friggin' recipe for creating my perfectly tinted head o' hair.

It's times like this that Jay's do-it-hisself clipper cuts sound so appealing.

But I swear to sweet baby jebus, if he comes near me one more time with those clippers under the guise of saving money at the salon, I will cut him.

Sigh. Being a girl is hard.

Now we're cookin'...

I'm the first to admit that my cooking repertoire is awfully limited. I can follow a recipe, and I've made some pretty tasty meals in my time, but cooking isn't something that I lurrrrvvve to do or anything. Cooking is simply the means to an end I like to call "Git in mah bellay."

My lack of interest and inventiveness at the oven also extend to the camping trips Jay and I have taken over our years together. I tried to always plan meals that we could cook primarily by stick. I mean, first of all - who doesn't like meat cooked on sticks? NO ONE, that's who. Secondly, skewer-based meals meant less clean-up time, time I could spend digesting my vittles and staring blankly into the campfire, possibly sipping a delightful peartini (what? doesn't everyone take a cocktail mixer when they go camping?)

But last year on our annual (yeah it was only the second time, but twice makes tradition, people) Presidents Day weekend trip to southeast Oregon, we met up with our friends Jon and Amy - and they do things a bit differently. You see, they rolled into camp on Valentine's Day with a dutch oven packed full of hunks of beef and 'taters. After the fire produced some nice ember action, Jon threw that bad boy right into the ring and not too much time later, we were eating like kings. Gluttonous kings.

I knew then and there that camp cookin' was never going to be the same for Jay and I.

The only problem? I didn't know jack diddly about cooking with cast iron. In fact, the previous summer, I'd purchased a nice Lodge skillet, used it once, and completely jacked it up. Rather than figure out what went wrong (seasoning? what's that you say?) I tossed it into a corner of our garage and forgot about it. I didn't want to post a photo of what I'd done to this poor skillet, but you should know, it looked worse than this:

photo via goons with spoons

Seriously. I should have my foodhandlers card taken away (you know, if I had one).

Before we headed out on this year's trip to the desert southeast (see! a third year in a row! that's a tradition if I've ever heard one), I was determined to figure out this dutch oven bidness. So I turned to the innerwebs. I learned all about selecting your dutch oven - and most importantly - how to season a dutch oven.

Just after we returned from our first trip across the river to the hot springs, Jay got the fire going while I assembled my pre-chopped meat and veggies to make Byron's Dutch Oven Pot Roast from this-a-here web site.

Perfection, in process.

I don't think I can express to you the deliciousness of this meal. The rosemary definitely had something to do with it, but so did the sweet, sweet realization that I'd figured out how to prepare a meal over a campfire without utterly destroying my cookware.

We had waaaaaay too much food left over in the end, but I packed it away in the cooler and we availed ourselves of the leftovers on Sunday night. Before reheating everything, I cut the fist-sized chunks of pot roast into 1-inch pieces, tossed them in the pot with the potatoes and carrots and added some beef stock. A hot minute or 30 later, we had ourselves some bomb-ass beef stew.

Yeah, I don't think I'm ever going back to the skewers.

* Note: Thanks to the fantastic Lodge website, I had the confidence to tackle rehabbing that rusty ol' skillet in the garage today. I sanded away all the rust with a piece of very fine sandpaper, washed it, oiled it up and threw it in the oven for an hour. While it doesn't exactly look *good as new*, it might actually be better - cuz now it's seasoned!

Thoughts on Google Buzz...

I was initially quite concerned about Google Buzz's linkage between innerwebs personas. I like to keep my personal and professional web presences nice and separate, and I was awfully freaked that all my tweets, Facebook posts and Flickr photos could be seen by anyone with my Gmail address. A lady likes to maintain a bit of mystery, amiright?

But after watching some of my friends' comments and shared items come up on Buzz, I decided to give that bad boy a try. I opted to start out slow, only linking my Google Reader profile to Buzz. I'm not ready for everyone in my address book to see the stuff I post on FB or this here bloggity blog, after all.

So this morning, I posted a comment to the Buzz saying this:

craigslist electronics trolling is crazy addictive. I WANT ALL THE GADGETS.

And not long after, one of the dudes in my CD club (once a year, we each post a carefully selected digital playlist with the 11 others in the group - new music every month!) commented on my post, saying "this is even more addictive http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/all/"

And oh my giddygods, he's totally right.

I have a feeling my lunchtime is going to be spent exhaustively studying the pure comedy gold of some of these posts.

Like, oh, I dunno - THIS one:


Found: Shirt, Bra, Thong and Vomit

Date: 2009-11-20, 6:14PM MST

Friday Morning Found behind 3665 JFK Parkway Building 2 - near corner of Horsetooth.

All CSI work done on the end of a stick.

White shirt with some vomit on it - no obvious logos.
Nice black bra size B+ ish (I guess) with light shorter length dog hair on it.
Thong - black, may have been recently hot. (Looked like some hair scrunchie thing with an extra loop - estimated waist size 8 inches).
Vomit - looked like vomit - you know - diced carrots and slime.

Clean up Kit used - already mentioned shirt plus napkins from Chipotle grill takeaway. (You didn't finish all your takeaway?) If you were at Chipotle grill on Thursday night, have a dog, and are missing underwear - you now know where you were later Thursday night.

Just one thing to say, isn't Chipotle the greatest!

CSI on the end of a stick signing off. (I hope it was not the C part)

Location: Fort Collins

it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
PostingID: 1475465393

Pardon me.

I know, I know. I should probably be blogging about the day I spent with 1,400 women, 70% of which had godawful hair...or maybe the WineBookClub getaway I took to Central Oregon...or maybe the fact that I dragged mah mans out to the hinterlands of Eastern Oregon this weekend.

Instead, I'm glued to the television, sucking up all the Olympics viewing I can possibly absorb. I'm a big fan of the snowboard cross racing, the slalom racing, and even the curling, people.

But one thing I can't stand?

Men's figure skating. Look, that's just how I feel, okay? Really thin dudes with giant noses, wearing tights and spangles, flitter-fluttering around the rink? No freakin' thank you. I can tolerate the men in the figure skating pairs competition, but just barely.

What I'm especially excited about this year is the lil' fella there in the photo below. Yeah, that guy with the reddish mane, posted up in his leopard leggings, kickin' it with Tony Hawk.

He's Shaun White, the skateboardin' snowboarder.

And I luuuurve him.

He's just about the cutest ginger-headed thing I've ever seen. And he's taking to the halfpipe again shortly. So I'll just have to bid y'alls a big ol' adieu.

PS - I was not aware of this whole "biathlon" competition bidness. Skiing and rifle-shooting? That sounds just like my kind of jam. I'd ski and shoot the shiz out of those mammerjammers, yo.

That's what I call switcheroonie style.

Eleven months ago today, my sweet baby nephew was born. A few days later, my sister came home from the hospital with her lil' babe and an assortment of goodies packed away for her by the hospital.

Some of those things she needed - the diapers and wipes, the medicine for The Nephew's wee belly button, etc...but there were a few things they sent her with that she didn't need.

And her husband made sure to dispense with those items in the sneakiest, most underhanded ways possible.

Here's a for-instance for ya...the night they were all first home from the hospital, a bunch of us were over to celebrate the new family's homecoming. My sister was away nursing the wee one, and I was in the kitchen pouring myself a glass of wine - as I'm wont to do - when my brother in law called out to me:

Brother-In-Law: Hey there - is this a new bag?

Me: Yes! I got myself the hookup over at the Columbia Sportswear Employee Store. It's cool, right?

BiL: Yeah, I like it.

Me: I think it's supposed to be a tote bag, but I've got my wallet and everything in there. It's a great bag for going back and forth from work.

BiL: Uhhuhmmm...

Now, I should have been at least slightly concerned about this exchange, since my brother in law isn't really interested in things like tote bags unless they're constructed of leather and he's put them together himself with all his Ye Olde Worldery leatherworking supplies. But you see, I was all giddy on new aunthood and everything and couldn't be bothered to notice.

Sometime within the next few days, I had occasion to go searching for something in my fancypants new tote bag.

It so happened that I was at work at the time.

And since I was having a hard time finding what I was looking for, I started pulling things out of my bag and tossing them on my desk...and then I saw a smallish white disk in the bottom of my bag. I had no idea how the item had come to be in my bag, and as I pulled it out, there wasn't much I could do beyond look quizzically at this item, which made absolutely zero sense being in my bag.

It was a brand new container of Tucks Hemorrhoid Pads.

"What the...?!?," I thought, then "Ohhhh, that rat bastard."

So the brother in law thought he'd be slick and pass off some unnecessary hospital items to me, huh? "Oh, just wait," I thought, "I'll get him back."

Unfortunately, his birthday came and went last year and I didn't remember to wrap the Tucks up nice and give them to him as a super special birthday present.

But last week was my sister's birthday, and I didn't forget this time...

And you know what? I think she liked 'em! At least she's smiling, right?

Happy Birthday, Sweet Sister!

An assignment.

See these sushi minicakes? I need some.

Like, immediately.

photo via epicute

This? Might not work.

A few months ago, I attended one of those at-home sales party things at my new neighbor's house. She was hawkin' something called Scentsy, which I thought had a rick-diculous name, but wanted to check out. These Scentsy things are scented wax warmers that plug into the wall and heat wax using a small appliance light bulb.

I've always loved burning candles, but Jay is not at all a fan. He doesn't like the soot that collects on the walls and ceilings, and he's always worried I'll forget to blow one out - and I've gotta be honest here - he's got a point. Because, uhhh...yeah, that's happened before.

And given the fact that the house directly behind our next door neighbor is sitting vacant because of a recent fire (disgruntled roommate kicked in the door and set that betch on FIRE - nice, huh?), Jay's a big ol' fan of putting safety first on the candle front.

So I ordered myself one of the warmers and some of the bazillion scents the company offers. My selections included Enchanted Mist, which has some apple and jasmine notes, Green Tea Smoothie (delicious!) And White Tea and Cactus. As of last night, we'd tried the first two for a few weeks and liked 'em very well. I was curious about this White Tea and Cactus biz, so I swapped out the scents and waited for the wax to melt and scent the air.

I was over at the desk, sorting out our new wireless router via a phone call to my new best friend Vijay in India, when Jay said "What the hell is that scent you put in the warmer?"

"White Tea and Cactus," I replied.

Jay said, "Well it smells like a cat pissed on a light bulb."

Umm...grosssssssss.

I switched back to Enchanted Mist with a quickness. As I'm sure you would, too.

Amiright?

Damn, that's ewwwy.

Thanks to my handy dandy Lonely Planet February e-newsletter, the Eat Something Ewwwy Challenge is back in my head. I feel like I did a pretty good job last year at pushing myself beyond my dietary boundaries, but I didn't quite manage to eat something nasty each month as I'd planned.

So maybe I'll pick it up again for 2010. In fact, I've already gotten one item down - spit-grilled chicken heart! And it was gross. Not as bad as the fried pork skin I had last year, but it was pretty close. The texture of that heart was un-plea-sant. Ugh.

So the Lonely Planet newsletter provided me with some great ideas for this year's continuing challenge...

Mmmm...crispy scorpions! Sign me up!

Giant-ass grubs? Uhhhh...I don't know if I can hang.

Pigfaces? I pass.




According to Lonely Planet, this stuff is chicha, a fermented beverage made from corn, cassava or fruit. It's chewed to break down the starches in the material, which means there is a significant amount of human spittle in this drink. HOLY JEBUS that is disgusting.

What in the hell? Are those...are those what I think they are? Are those testicles? And the red things...those are veins or something?

Oh god. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

Becoming Jon Hamm.

Most of you ought to know the name Don Draper by now. The show Mad Men has been everywhere for the last couple of years, even winning a Golden Globe just a few weeks back. The show features the world of advertising in the 60s, filled with cocktails, cigarette smoke and (ironic? maybe) misogyny.

Actually, I don't know anything about the show. I've never seen it because I declared jihad on cable television programming in my house sometime before figuring out where exactly AMC fell on the channel lineup.

Whatever. I read about it.

Okay?

Anyway, I know who Don Draper is. He's played by this one square-jawed fella named Jon Hamm. So there.

He's this guy:

Scotch, scotch, scotch, I love scotch.

Many people find him very attractive.

Moving right along...I'd imagine fewer of you probably know about Galatea George, but lemme be straight with you - she entertains the hell outta me. She's not blogging as frequently these days (like that doesn't sound familiar, eh, pally-o types?), and to make up for it, she recently provided a guest post from her homie Rupert.

And in his quite hilarious guest post, Rupert described his various new year's resolutions (Item 1 - Make a list of resolutions, so when you've completed the list, you can immediately check one item off the list! Win-win!). But it was Item 4 on Rupert's list that truly caught my eye, reprinted here for your reading pleasure:

4. Become Jon Hamm

'Mancrush' would certainly be the word to describe my feelings toward award-winning actor Jon Hamm, if there was a word to describe my feelings toward award-winning actor Jon Hamm, but there isn't such a word. The feelings that I have toward Jon Hamm are complex, strange, and confusing to say the least. I'll attempt to sum them up (I've bullet pointed the following short list to make it seem manlier):

- I would like to go on an adventure with Jon Hamm, where we fight enemies together and fire crossbows and somebody saves somebody else from a deadly fall by grabbing their arm at the last second and screams "don't you let go!" and maybe there's a castle at some point.

- In another scenario, I'd like to walk through a busy casino with Jon Hamm in slow-motion. There would be a sense of urgency in this walk; we're not rushing, but we definitely have places to be. And we're wearing really nice suits.

- I'd also like to relive the events of the movie Space Camp with Jon Hamm, but in real life.

The post goes on a bit about how Rupert wants to Single White Female up Jon Hamm and be the Corey Feldman to his Michael Jackson, which is all just about awesome. Now, I'd wager that having a violent adventure, strolling in fine suitery and blasting off into outer space with Jon Hamm aren't likely to happen. But at least this guy's got goals, right?

Which brings me to my 2010 resolutions...and I'm slackin', folks. I haven't written 'em down yet, and we're one month into the new year already! Embarrassing.

So here's my first crack at the list of 2010 resolutions:

1. Make a list of resolutions (zing!)

2. Pat self on the back for making it through (mostly) Sober January.

3. Get thee to the multiplex for Oscar prep movie-watchin'.

4. Seriously reconsider recent thoughts about expanding the 2009 Eat Something Ewwwy Challenge into 2010. Wasn't one year enough? (but I did have that chicken heart at dinner last night...)

5. Play more Boggle (so as to not embarrass self at future family game nights).

6. Take a relaxing vacation with mah mans, one that doesn't require a ton of driving or sleeping outside in single-digit temperatures (since that's soooo not his fave).

7. Get back on the bloggin' horse.

8. Become Jon Hamm.*

*just jokes! I'd way rather become Christina Hendricks. Cuz she's va-va-va-voom!