Chez Rougie

I am now going on 1 full week of having allergies being sick, and as such a seasoned veteran of the whole "being sick" thing (and also because I have nothing else to write about), I feel compelled to share with you the lessons I've learned. Here we go:

* If you haven't been sick in 2+ years, there's a good likelihood that when you do finally get sick, you will get knocked on your ass. Apparently time spent not being sick is directly proportional to time spent being sick.

* I can not say enough good things about Canada Dry Diet Green Tea Ginger Ale + Antioxidants. It is the best drink ever.

* Chicken soup (homemade or otherwise) with excessive quantities of hot sauce makes a girl feel good.  It won't cure what ails you, but it will go a long way towards easing your pain.

* In that same vein, Always keep homemade chicken soup in your freezer. ALWAYS. Because as good as Campbell's Chicken & Stars is, nothing tops homemade. (See Also: When you go to the store with every intention of making more homemade chicken soup because you are sick, don't get distracted by the ground chicken and decide to make Buffalo Chicken Chili instead. Chili is not "sick food," and after 1 day of chili you will really, really, really wish you had made soup instead.) 

* Stock up on crackers. There will be a 24  -36 hour period when all you want to eat is crackers, hot-sauce spiked soup, and ginger ale.

* Sugar-free Jell-O chocolate pudding is way better than fat free Fudgesicles. 

* Ignore any and all cravings for alcohol. Seriously.  Jack Daniels may be whispering in your ear, but trust me sugar, other than a little nip with some tea before bed, stay away.

* Whoever invented Puffs Plus deserve a Nobel Prize. Or possibly a MacArthur Genius Grant.

* Alka-Seltzer cold medicine tastes totally gross, but it totally works. And the nighttime stuff will knock. you. out.

* Too much time alone with your cat is never a good thing.

* Guess what? Your mom and dad totally lied to you. There is no Bed Making Fairy. I repeat: there is no Bed Making Fairy. This is particularly problematic when, in attempt to avoid lying in your own germ-riddled filth, you have washed your sheets for the umpteenth time and suddenly decide you need to pass out, like now, but your sheets are still in the dryer.

* Also? There is No Bacon & Eggs Fairy. You will wake up one morning actually hungry and you will want to eat a giant bone-in prime aged ribeye the size of your head but you will settle for bacon and eggs because it's breakfast but all you have in your house is crackers. And toast. And soup.  So when you're stocking up on the "being sick essentials," make sure you pick up something for when the worst has passed too. Or be prepared to hit a drive-thru. 

* It is possible to suffer a nasal passage injury from overzealously sniffing a Vicks Vapo-Inhaler.

* It's totally acceptable to go to Wal-Mart in your PJs. And actually, I think this rule probably applies to when you're not sick too, but just feeling extremely lazy.

* Turn off your ringer. Otherwise well-meaning friends (and parents) will call to see how you're feeling and rip you from blissful slumber. 

* There is a place in the world for trashy magazines. As much as the Kardhasians make me stabby, and as little as I care about The Bachelor or the ex-Hooters girl who tricked him into proposing marriage, and as much as I still don't understand who Jason and Molly are or why we, as a society, should care - this is all your phenylephrine-hydrochloride-addled brain can process.

* Similarly, every trash mag is virtually the same and you will see the same photos and read the same stories over and over and over again. However, you will be so tired and feel like such utter crap you really won't give a shit.

* REST. This is critical as rest is the only thing that will heal you. So stop working from home, don't decide to clean your house, skip the trip to Target (even though it'll give you a temporary shoppers high that will deceive you into thinking you're better), and watch your alma mater beat the tar out of the Tar Heels from the comfort of your own sofa.  The world won't spin off its axis if you put it in park for 48 hours and trust me, you'll get better a lot quicker if you can just slow down. 

* Don't be fooled by your first day feeling quasi-human.  I woke up yesterday ready to conquer the world. Instead, by the time I had driven the 45 miles to get to a world-conquering place, I felt ready to pass out. So I drove the 45 miles back home and did.  

I am pleased to report that I am feeling even more than quasi-human today. And while I don't have any major plans for total world domination, it's my goal to get up, get dressed and at the very least, make it to the office because OMG one more day alone with my cat and I will become certifiably insane.

Out of curiosity darling readers, how do you cope when you're feeling under the weather?

Last week I was having drinks and pomme frites (and duck confit pizza and 4 cheese fondue and all sorts of other yumminess) with The Banker and The Realtor, and we were gabbing, as ladies are prone to do, about what makes The Ideal Man.  Conveniently, The Realtor actually had her List handy - you know that List that every woman has detailing her "Mr. Right" and which incidentally, I don't have. Ahem.

So I've been giving my version of Mr. Right some thought. And so far there's only one thing I am sure of: I could never, ever, ever, ever in a million years be with a man* who eats Miracle Whip because Miracle Whip (as per my dear friend Queen Bitchypants) is Satan's Semen.

* Unless that man happens to be Nathan Fillion in which case he could eat Miracle Whip smothered in Velveeta and I wouldn't give a shit. 

Recently I have been very inspired by my dear friend AndreAnna who is paring down and packing up as she prepares to move across country.  In fact, her personal undertaking has launched something so much bigger: Blogger's Spring Giving (Viva La Internet!) because who among us doesn't have more crap than we know what to do with? 

Truth be told, I pared down my life substantially last year. In fact, I pared down so much that she who loves to cook and entertain has been living in a kitchen with only 2 pots/pans (only 1 of which has a lid) for the last 8 months. Since I am not exactly in a position to hit Williams & Sonoma for some new All-Clads, I am temporarily borrowing some from Miss Mary (pots and pans which for the record, have been sitting unused in her storage which proves the whole "we usually have more than what we need" point).

Anyways, while I have until April 1st to clean, purge and donate, I've started to give some thought to where I might cut back. My original thought was that whenever I swapped out my closet replacing winter clothes with spring and summer clothes, I'd get rid of items that don't fit and/or I no longer wear and/or I simply don't like any more and donate them to charity. Well, I may have to rethink that whole plan.

Let me take a sidestep to the right for just a moment.

If there is one thing I hoard, it's my clothes.  But I hoard them with good(ish) reason(s):

1) I desperately hope that one day I have a daughter and that she will get to wear these pretty dresses/skirts/sweaters etc. that I once found such joy in.

2) I save all of my "designer" pieces and/or anything designed by someone that may have some value down the road.  Believe me, Michael Kors wasn't always Michael Kors and I used to actually be able to afford his dresses. (See also: Jimmy Choo)

3) I have a history of gaining weight, losing weight, gaining weight, losing weight hence why I have clothes that range from size 0 to size 12.  I always tell myself that the next time I drop or add a size or 2, I won't have to buy a whole new wardrobe - I can simply shop in my own closet.

4) I am a sentimental schmuck and certain things I just can. not. get. rid. of.

So last weekend while I was in Atlanta my Great Aunt and I visited Loehmann's and man, did I score. Calvin Klein. Michael Kors. At non-Calvin Klein and Michael Kors prices. I LOVE Loehmann's. 

Then yesterday I went to Target to buy office supplies for my new office. So um, I probably would have been better off at Staples because at Staples I would not have been utterly waylaid by racks upon racks of pretty spring dresses and cute capris and colorful cardigans. At Staples I probably would have had a mini-orgasm in the pen aisle and that would have been it.  Sigh. But I need pants - right? And they had $6 leggings - so phew. The leggings with the holes can finally be retired. 

Between my haul from Loehmann's and Target my closet was practically busting at the seams so yesterday afternoon I decided to clean house - er rather - closet. My goal was to swap out my winter and fall wardrobe for my spring and summer wardrobe and also sort through and get rid of stuff that I simply didn't need.

Second sidestep to the right.

Since last summer, I've gained 15 pounds. Maybe 20. I'm ok with it (kind of - we won't go there in this post) but much of what I wore last spring and summer fits me like a sausage casing which is to say, it's not that pretty.

And yet...

Upstairs in storage was the spring/summer wardrobe from 2 years ago which now fits like a dream.  And as sad as I was to retire some of my skinny dresses (esp. the navy sheath from Banana Republic - god I LOVE that dress), it was kind of fun actually to rediscover items I haven't worn in a while. By the time I was done swapping everything out, moving things around, rearranging, reorganizing and getting rid of all the crappy hangers, I felt like I had an entirely brand new wardrobe. Now I can't wait to go to the office this week. Like multiple times. 

Still. My closet cleaning efforts didn't exactly go as planned and I feel as though I failed in my first at attempt at Spring Blogger Giving.

The good news is, I have until April 1st to figure this out. Not that it should be that tough. It really shouldn't. I am already thinking of sweaters and dresses and skirts that I just don't wear any more (because even if they fit I buy new ones every season) and as much as I once loved them, I probably don't need to save them.  Well - not all of them.  I already have plenty of other sweaters and dresses and skirts and the ones I am not wearing aren't doing me any good sitting in storage unused and they'll do a whole lot more good elsewhere.

Ok. So I am feeling better. And next weekend I am totally retackling my closets/storage and I am slimming down!

UPDATED: I am not as big an asshat as I thought and it's all because of my laundry. Seriously: I DREAD putting away my laundry since my drawers are already busting at the seams and OMG I don't know how everything fit in there before because it certainly doesn't fit in there now.  So after publishing this post, dragging my heavily-under-the-influence-of-the-drowsy-kind-of-cold-medicine ass out of bed, and revving myself up on 4 cups of fully caffeinated iced coffee (OMG I forgot how much I LOVE iced coffee), I decided that I would tackle the 6 drawers of clothes in my room and GIVE dammit.  I told myself that if it didn't fit or I hadn't worn it in a while, it had to go. 

You know what? It was a whole lot easier than I thought.  So what if that t-shirt is C&C California? It's too big and has a funny wrinkle in the neckline that will not under any circumstances go away unless it's ironed and seeing as I don't iron...That cute striped t-shirt from J. Crew? Sure it's cute and sure it fits but I don't do stripes and I haven't worn it in YEARS despite telling myself every summer I'll wear it. 

The drawers were such a success that I went ahead and tackled the 3 under-bed storage bags sitting under my bed.  I bought these bags because when I moved into this house I lost a lot of closet space and drawer space.  These were meant to provide easy access to items I might need but just didn't have room for. You know what? This crap has been sitting under my bed for 8 months and I have survived without it. Sure - some of it is spring/summer and needs to get cycled back into my drawers. And I will absolutely hold onto all of my mom's old cashmere sweaters. And yes - I am keeping my JV volleyball t-shirt. But the rest of it?

Long story long, we now have the makings of a pile:

(Actual pile size is ~ 29 x 20 x 14 i.e. pretty damn sizeable.  And this is the stuff I thought I couldn't live without!)     

So for the longest time ever I was totally against crockpots. And then I was finally inspired by AndreAnna to get one and over the holidays I was at Wal-Mart and found one for $17 - an entire meal-providing crockpot for a mere $17. Seems like a much more logical purchase than a $595 t-shirt - doesn't it?  Anyways, I purchased the crockpot, made AndreAnna's It's All Fun And Games Until Someone Loses An Eye Chili, and thus the crockpot love AND my love of chili was born. Yup. Had never been much of a chili fan before. Mainly the whole bean thing.

Ok. So then. I hung with Lilsaej and her family over Christmas and on the way home from dinner Lilsaej and I were talking about chili and crockpots and somehow she mentioned a Buffalo Chicken Chili and I'm all: "Oooooohhh that sounds yummy" and she was all: "Yeah it totally is" and then I'm like:  "Where'd you get the recipe?" and she was like: "It's Rachael Ray" and then the conversation came to an abrupt halt I pushed Lilsaej out of the car into oncoming traffic because I ABHOR DETEST DESPISE CAN NOT STAND HATE LOATHE Rachael Ray with the heat of 10 gajillion fiery suns and 1 small nuclear meltdown. But because I love Lilsaej I darted into oncoming traffic and totally rescued her. Because I am awesome like that.

Anyways. I had to confess that the idea of Buffalo Chicken Chili sounded AWESOME even if the recipe came from a woman who turned us into a nation of EVOO-pouring, sammie-snacking, chowdah-slurping yum-o drones. So I decided to figure out how to make kick ass Buffalo Chicken Chili on my own because while even though I don't know that much about chili, I know a shitload about Buffalo wings.

Ok. So here's the part where you possibly totally hate me because I didn't really measure quantities (or take pictures) and the two times I've made it what's gone in the crockpot has depended on what's in my fridge and what's available at the store. Then again, this isn't an exact science and I think you should trust yourself as a clever, creative cook to get it right. 

The thing that's stayed the same both times? Ground chicken. You'll need 2 pounds of it.  I also suppose you could use ground turkey or a combination.

Next up? Onion.  Both times I've used about 3/4 of a large onion, chopped.  Yellow, white, red - whatever you prefer. Chop it up and add it to the pot.     

Carrots and celery are the most critical accessory to Buffalo wings and they make a grand appearance in this chili. I keep a bowl of baby carrots in my fridge at all times and I've just cut them up until I've had a nice layer in the pot.  If you were going out and buying carrots I'd say 2 - 3 well-sized carrots would do the trick.  As for the celery, I used about 4 or 5 ribs diced. It was definitely a substantial amount but I love celery. You can adjust the quantities to your taste. 

Chili isn't chili without peppers.  The first time I made this I diced half a green bell pepper and then 3 long yellow Italian frying peppers. Neither of these is particularly hot. The second time I used about half of a red bell pepper and a whole poblano. The poblano has a little heat but not much.  And then of course jalapenos.  I always use 2: 1 de-seeded and de ribbed and 1 with everything in it.  

Of course don't take this as gospel.  You should use what's available and what you like - just try to stick to the whole onion-pepper-carrot-celery theme and you can't go wrong. Also? Dice as you will. Sometimes I dice fine because I want everything to blend together. And sometimes I go for more of a rough chop. It all depends on my meds mood. 

Once this whole mess is in the crockpot add one 28-oz. can of crushed tomatoes. I actually get the roasted garlic flavored crushed tomatoes but plain ones will work fine.  I don't like my chili liquidy so I don't add any broth, but if there's some tomato stuck to the inside of the can, add some water (no more than halfway), swirl it around, and then add the tomato water to the pot.  Last but certainly not least, a healthy dose of Frank's Red Hot. And when I say healthy, I mean like 4 oz. Probably more.  And while there are 18 thousand hot sauces to choose from out there, it has to be Frank's which is the Buffaloiest.  On that point there is no other choice, no being creative.  Then cover, turn on high, and let the crockpot do its thing for about 2 hours, stirring 2 or 3 times.

After 2 hours, it's seasoning time.  I use a combination of garlic powder, celery salt, onion salt, sea salt, and a Southwest seasoning that has chili, cumin, garlic etc.  I'd say go for some traditional chili seasoning but try to add some extra celery salt or onion salt. I don't know. That tastes good to me. Do what feels right for you. Just don't be heavy handed with the cumin. Oh. And since the chicken probably isn't cooked, don't do too much tasting and adjusting. There's time for that at the end. 

Once again cover and leave on low for about 2 - 3 hours and go do a load of laundry or get your nails done. This, my friends, is the total joy of crockpots. 

Whenever you're done having a life, you'll have to thicken your chili. I tend to like mine on the thick side. You might like yours soupier.  Either way, this technique works for everyone. You're going to make a roux - which maybe sounds scary but really isn't.  You will need equal amounts of butter and flour so for every tablespoon of butter you use, you'll need a tablespoon of all-purpose flour. For soupier chili, use about 3 of each. For heartier chili, go up to 6 of each.  You will also need 1/2 to a full cup of cooking liquid from the chili pot.  Just scoop it out straight from the crockpot. If bits of meat or veggie are in there, don't fret.  I mean, you want mostly liquid but you don't need to strain it or anything.

In a saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter.  Once the butter is melted, add the flour and stir with a wooden spoon.  It should all come together very nicely, very quickly.  Then stir in the chili liquid and in less than a minute you will have something resembling Alpo. Add the chili roux back to the crockpot and stir it in well. You can even use a whisk.  Finally, cover for 1 final 2 -3 hour session on low. 

When the chili is done, you can adjust the seasoning and heat to taste.  This most recent time I needed a whole lot more salt and a whole lot more Frank's. Then again, I'm kind of sick right now and my taste buds are all out of whack. 

I like to serve mine in a bowl and top with blue cheese crumbles. It's quite tasty that way and the blue cheese melts and makes it all creamy and mellow. And let's face it, blue cheese is pretty much the other key accessory to Buffalo wings so it makes sense.  So yeah. Try it like that and tell me if you don't just want to eat the entire crockpot in one sitting because OMFG it's that good. 

Rachael who?

So I don't exactly live in Little Israel. In fact, when I first moved down here to Smalltown USA Dad used to joke that there was a 1-Jew quota and I was it and that's why he and mom couldn't visit. Truth be told, I not only live in a pretty much Jew-less town (if there are 5 of us in this town I'd be SHOCKED), but I live smack dab in the heart of the Bible Belt.  Which means that the checkout girl at Wal-Mart is likely to tell you to have a "blessed day" and upon meeting a stranger they will oftentimes ask you where you go to church before they ask you where you live or where you went to school. Such is life in the South and I am pretty much used to it.

So you can imagine my surprise when I walked into the local Bi-Lo yesterday morning to stock up on sick day essentials and saw a giant table laden with products for Passover. There were boxes upon boxes of matzoh. There was matzoh meal. Kosher for Passover macaroons.  There may have been more - it was simply overwhelming.  I mean - they usually keep 1 or 2 boxes of Manischewitz brand products on the lowest shelf in the ethnic food aisle but as I previously stated, this town is not exactly teeming with Tribe members and so to see so much kosher food in one place - well, it almost made me smile with pride.

Until I saw the sign. Taped to the Manischewitz-laden table was an 8.5 x 11 piece of white paper that someone had written on in purple marker:

"This do in rememberance of me" and then underneath were 3 large, hand-drawn crosses.

Um - What the fucking fuck Bi-Lo people? Are you serious?

After I Tweeted this horrifying discovery, I walked around Bi-Lo in a complete and utter haze for like 10 minutes, unable to process what I had just seen. It just didn't compute.  Jesus is EVERYWHERE down here. And that's fine. I get it. I accept it. I live with it daily. BUT REALLY??  DID YOU HAVE TO ADD HIM TO THE DAMN MATZOH DISPLAY TOO? I DON'T CARE IF HE WAS A JEW. I have celebrated Passover for the last 35 years - most years 2 nights so I'd say I've participated in at least 60 Seders, probably more. And I'm sorry but I don't remember Jesus ever being in the Haggadah. Jesus's death is not part of the Passover story. And his death upon the cross has nothing to do with why we eat matzoh (and bitter herbs, why we recline and why we ask a whole lot of questions). 

Part of me wants to give the local Bi-Lo folks major props for taking the time, effort and resources to promote a culture and religion that is virtually nonexistent and exceptionally unfamiliar in this town.  No doubt there was enough matzoh on that 1 table to supply the entire local Jewish community (and half a dozen potential converts) for the next two decades. And I will happily agree that Judaism and Christianity have the same roots, that the Torah is the same is the Old Testament, and that there are many beliefs we have in common.  But where I draw the line is the whole "Jesus died on the cross for my sins" thing. That is not part of the Jewish faith and I take enormous personal offense that it was thrust upon me.

So my suggestion to the Bi-Lo folks is that in the future, please keep Jesus over by the Cadbury Cream Eggs and marshmallow Peeps - where he belongs. And keep him away from my unleavened bread.

I don't know. What do you think? Am I overreacting?

PS Lilsaej told me last night that in Finland, Duct Tape is called Jesus Tape. As she put it, she's pretty sure there's a joke in there somewhere. I'm inclined to agree only my head is still spinning from the whole "Jesus selling matzoh" thing.

I am not sick. Do you know how I know this? Because I don't get sick. Seriously. I have been exposed to various forms of Bubonic Plague, Typhoid Fever and even the Common Cold for at least the last 2 years and I honestly don't remember the last time I even had the slightest sniffle.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday I gave blood and I felt pretty ok although the phlebotomy people give you so many warnings and "Don't Do's" it's hard not to be concerned. I mean - I was fine and yet I was so convinced I could possibly pass out at any given moment that I took that as an excuse to eat my weight in Samoas. Don't judge people - I gave blood.

Anyways, I was pretty much fine until I started sneezing. Whatever. Sneezing is nothing. Unless you sneeze so many times you realize you need more tissues in your purse. Unless you sneeze so many times you start to have difficulty breathing through at least one nostril. Unless you sneeze so many times that you actually sound congested. Unless you sneeze so many times your nose looks red and swollen and begins to hurt from blowing it so frequently.

Still. I don't get sick. So I refused to believe that I was sick and I took the chronic sneezing, the flushed cheeks, the watery eyes and the unexplainable craving for whiskey as a sign that I had allergies.

Meanwhile, in the few hours of sleep I managed to get, congestion crept into my left nostril completely to the point where I can no longer breathe through it (whatever - breathing through both nostrils is highly overrated) and as a result I am up at 4am eating chicken soup, drinking diet green tea ginger ale, and telling myself that I am not sick. Am not. But just in case, I have made the following grocery list:

• Dayquil/Nyquil
• Halls Sugar Free Vitamin C Drops
• Crackers
• Soup
• Sobe Zero Acai Fruit Punch
• Tea
• Diet Green Tea Ginger Ale
• Puffs Plus
• Ice Cream
• Jack Daniels

Ok. It's possible I am sick.

UPDATED I totally went to the store and have big, big plans for today:

And for the record, I really did want ice cream but they didn't have sugar free Fudgesicles. I mean - who doesn't have sugar free Fudgesicles? I mean, they had Jesus matzoh but that's tomorrow's post. Anyways, so I had to settle for pudding and it was like, sugar free pudding was on sale or something because my choices were virtually non-existent. Sigh. I need my mom.     

Also? When one has not been sick in 2 years, one feels like one is entitled to whine one's sleep-deprived, stuffed head off because one hasn't had the opportunity to whine in forever. So yeah. Whine. Oh. And I still want my mom.   

As a basic rule of thumb, I keep work out of my online life.  I think in the past I've mentioned that I am employed, and maybe that I am good at what I do (I totally am), and that I have an important sounding title that starts with Director of. And a week or so ago I mentioned on Twitter how my assistant showed me where the secret candy stash was and my friend the Investment Banker was all: You have an assistant? And I was like: not really. But kind of.

But mainly given that I work in a conservative industry in a conservative part of the world and given that I am prone to use less than ladylike language and because sometimes (more often than not) I am a stabby bitch on Twitter and also because I once suggested that I might be inclined to perform an ungodly amount of oral sex if a man gave me flowers (But not just flowers. 100 flowers. And not crappy flowers either. I know I said carnations were ok but I totally lied. I want the good stuff. Like calla lilies. And it can't just be 100 calla lilies because. It has to be 100 calla lilies because the man in question thought of me 100 times the night before. And really it can't just be any man. He's got to have Patrick Dempsey's hair, Daniel Craig's abs, and Warren Buffet's wallet. Wait. Now I sound greedy. I'll settle for 1 of the 3.) Well - you can see why I keep work on the work side of the Internet i.e. far the fuck away from Rougie. 

Anyways, the last few days have been sunny and warm and lovely and I was all set to go out and take a picture of the pretty purple wildflowers blooming in my yard and write a post about spring and sunshine and photosynthesis. And I was going to celebrate that Daylight Savings Time is almost over. Or it's almost beginning. I never remember which. All I know is that we spring forward this Saturday and anyone who bitches about losing an hour of sleep is no longer my friend because OMG 1) you totally got an extra hour in the fall and 2) HELLO long days and sunlight and warm weather and bye-bye seasonal affectation disorder and gloom and doom.  Anyways - I was all set to write a happy, sunny post welcoming in Spring and the Ides of March and all that crap except wait: Mother Nature is still epically pissed off at the world and it's fucking snowing. For serious. So yeah - I totally blame Mother Nature for fucking up my spring post and making me write about work.

So yeah. Work. All you really need to know (other than the whole conservative thing) is that for the last 2+ years I have had the luxury of working from home. In truth, I spend at least 90% of my time traveling so it's not like I am sitting around popping Bon-Bons all day but I am also not expected to be in an office all day, every day and that's kind of nice. What's also nice is not having to deal with rush hour traffic every day because Holy Hell - that shit makes me more-than-stabby.  

What's even nicer? I don't really have to wear pants. Yep - I am the living, breathing stereotype of someone who works from home in that unless it's utterly required, I probably won't get out of my robe and/or PJs.  If I do have to leave the house, you can be sure that it will be in the same dirty ass pair of holey leggings that I wear every day because OMG they are the most comfortable thing ever. And truth be told I do need to buy another pair but I really can't because Wal-Mart seems to have ditched the rack of $5 No Boundaries basic black and gray leggings and replaced it with some shiny, animal print leggings courtesy of Miley Cyrus and Max Azria and which are frankly DOWNRIGHT SCARY. And while I know I can get leggings elsewhere, I refuse to pay $25 for American Apparel leggings when Wal-Mart had them for $5 a pair a few months ago. And so yes. Because I am insane of my steadfast principles I continue to walk around in dirty, stinky, torn up leggings. Awesome.

Holy fuck where was I?

Oh yeah. Work. Pants.

So basically I either get to spend my days trekking across the Southeast and putting beaucoups of miles on my car (from 9800 Sept. 26th to over 20,000 on February 21st) or I don't have to wear pants. Until now.

After 2+ years of a lifestyle that has for a good long while worked very well for me, I have decided to go back to having an actual office. You know. With a door. And some windows. And a nameplate outside the door. And a phone. And office supplies. Only this office isn't attached to my kitchen.  It's about 50 miles away and requires not only that I get dressed - but that I kinda maybe sorta fight rush hour traffic on occasion. 

I am actually oddly excited about it. I mean - as much as I dread having to get dressed on a more consistent basis and deal with idiot drivers (Oh - and pooping in public. Really - not a big fan.), I am looking forward to being around people all day (not that I don't love and adore Psycho Kitty). And to the camaraderie. And to the 3pm visit to the snack machine (although my ass is in utter disagreement with me on this one). And to the fact that I have the world's best IT guy sitting 100 feet away which means every time something goes wrong (which is pretty much ALWAYS), someone is on instant hand to fix it. And to being close to the mall in civilization for more than a few hours at a time.

And the even better news is that I have only committed to 2 fulls days/week. For now. Which means the possibility for me to pretend that on occasion, I am Lady Gaga, still exists. 

So...it's not like I am shy or anything. And it's not like I have a hard time confessing things I shouldn't be confessing or sharing some of my personal struggles with you. I mean - I am a pretty open person and I don't think one should be embarrassed by too many things and I have a tendency to want to invite people into my life anyways and well...umm...you see...the thing kind of is...well...I don't really...ermmm....I...so...

FINE. I LIKE TOBY KEITH. THERE. I CAME OUT AND ADMITTED IT. OK? DON'T BE SO FUCKING JUDGY.

You know what's even worse?

I don't even really like the boot-stomping, ass-shaking, hee-hawing songs that one would expect from one of the biggest redneck country male stars out there. Because, like, that would be too...logical. Nope. I go for the FUCKING BALLADS. WTF me? And OMG this is the most embarrassing thing EVER to share because...ACK. Toby Keith. Schmaltzy ballads. I GET EFFING TEARY.  AND ALL OF YOU ARE JUDGING ME FOR IT BECAUSE HOW CAN YOU NOT? I MEAN - I AM JUDGING MYSELF HERE PEOPLE. FUCKING TOBY KEITH BALLADS MAKE ME WEEPY. 

And what did I do? I just downloaded, like, FIVE MORE BECAUSE APPARENTLY I AM SOME KIND OF GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT OR NEED TO ADJUST MY MEDS OR PERHAPS I AM JUST A SENITMAL, SAPPY SCHMUCK.

Really. I have no suspension of disbelief when it comes to love stories starring impossibly good looking men but give me a love song about broken hearts, unrequited love and/or love gone wrong (and occasionally death) and OMG I HAVE TO PULL OFF TO THE SIDE OF THE ROAD BECAUSE I CAN'T SEE THROUGH THE TEARS. It's like, every Toby Keith song on my iPod is ABOUT ME. Except the one about the preacher's daughter on a motorcycle because 1) my dad isn't a preacher and 2) I don't ride motorcycles because the whole balancing on 2 wheels thing just seems utterly wrong. In fact this is why I don't ride bikes. Also? Because I am extraordinarily clumsy and the last time I rode a bike I missed a turn, rode of the edge of the road, down a hill, and crashed. In Holland. True story. 3) I have never been Baptized. In clean or dirty water. But that's probably because I am Jewish and I am pretty sure we don't believe in Baptisms. 4) I have been to Arizona. Just not Tucson. 

Still - I do love that song.

Anyways. Are you living my life Toby? Have you taken up residence in my soul because HOLY CRAP YOU APPARENTLY GET ME.

It was bad enough when I admitted to liking Nickelback because apparently Nickelback is the biggest joke to come out of Canada, like, EVER and now...now this.

I honestly don't know what to do.

I am some cross between mortified and horrified. Either way. I have to go now.  I'll be back later when I can look myself in the mirror.

I hate Matthew McConaughey. And I hate duct tape. Or is it duck tape? I don't fucking know the difference but whatever it is and whatever it's called: IT MAKES ME STABBY. Along with that stoner-dude-surfer-boy who plays the bongos high naked and any piece of lovey-dovey schlock he stars in. And lovey dovey schlock in general.

There. Now you know what they have in common:

Why I ABHOR duct tape (or is duck tape?): First of all: what the fuck is this shit called? You know? That heavy duty, silvery, really sticky tape that construction workers and engineers and REDNECKS (apparently) carry around in their pockets because you never know: At a moment's notice something might break need to be taped? Sigh. Anyways - let's forget its name. And let's discuss its presence all. throughout. my. house. In the shower. On the kitchen floor. On the porch. Apparently - whenever something broke, the previous tenant decided to slap some fucking tape on it and hello...welcome to Redneck Rigged Central. It drives me fucking batty like you would not believe, Ok - maybe you believe. And oh by the way ARGH! I hate this crap. Of course.....

{um hangs head in shame}

Remember that time Mother Nature decided she wanted to impregnate me and so she fucked me for 36 hours straight? And she produced copious quantities of rain? And flooded my basement? And submerged my furnace? AND LEFT ME WITHOUT HEAT FOR 4 GODDAMN DAYS SMACK DAB IN THE MIDDLE OF THE COLDEST WINTER NORTH CAROLINA HAS SEEN IN A FARCKING CENTURY? REMEMBER THAT? DO YOU?

Well - you might not. But I do. (Oh trust me. I remember) And one of the results of that 4-day Armadillo-Ball-Sucking-Hell was that I had to slash some giant insulated shiny silver whosamathingywhatnot that connects my furnace to my whatsamajiggy in order TO LET THE RIVER DRAIN. And it will probably take 100 years for the whosamathingywhatnot to dry out but when it does, I have been instructed: to tape it up. With that thing of which I can not actually speak BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LEGITIMATELY CALLED.

Sigh. And STAB. STAB. STAB. STAB.

Welcome to my Rednecked Rigged Hell.

Meanwhile....

(Hold on for a moment: DEAR MOM AND DAD: YOU DON'T NEED TO READ THE REST OF THIS POST. GO READ ABOUT WHAT HARMZIE COOKS HER KIDS FOR BALENTIME'S DAY. IT'S ALL KINDS OF SWEET!!)

Now....we have this....

First of all. NO ONE. And I mean NO ONE. Looks that good in real life. Seriously.

Secondly (and here is where the wine takes over I get my Rom Com leading men confused):

The day some man sends me 100 roses (or fucking carnations - I'd settle for the goddamn shittiest flower in the universe) because he thought of me 100 times the day before, is the day I give him 100 blow jobs. In a row. 

The day some man shuts down Tiffany's so I can pick out my very own engagement ring, is the day I peform oral sex on the corner of 57th and 5th.

The day some man is ready to chuck bachelorhood after 10 days despite my ongoing attempts to SMOTHER him, is the day I become a lesbian and perform oral sex on Kate Hudson.

The day that I eat as much as Sandra Bullock in any one of her movies and proceed to NOT GET FAT and WIN THE MAN OF MY DREAMS is the day I call shenaningans. Also? It's probably the day I call Jenny Craig because there's NO way you wouldn't gain 400 pounds ordering that much Chinese food. 

The day that Hugh Grant dances naked across my living room...well...never mind. 

And for the record, to THIS DAY I CANNOT really watch Sixteen Candles without wanting to hurl my TV across the living room because I was Molly Ringwald in high school (I didn't have red hair and I wasn't 6 feet tall or anything but I was all, awkward and unpopular and shit) and trust me, Michael Schoeffling never showed up at church after my sister's wedding to wish me happy birthday. Let's forget for a moment that I don't have a sister but still...

My suspension of disbelief is as good as the next girl's but when it comes to Happily Ever After, well, sorry. My inner duct duck duct duck fuck-I-don't-know-what-it's-called-tape hating cycnic takes over and she doesn't believe in it. Happy yes. I definitely believe in happy. But fairytales for grown-ups? I just don't buy them. 

Anyways. Yeah. Rom Coms and some kind of tape make me fucking stabby. What makes you want to stick the Pillsbury Dough-Boy in the thigh with a fork?  

Yesterday I plunked down two hundred and two dollars AND ninety five cents to attend BlogHer 2010.  And as excited as I am to have another bedaucherous weekend with my girls...And as excited as I am to possibly meet some new bloggers who I admire from afar...And as excited as I am to be in my hometown with my family and dear friends a few days before I turn the big THREE-FIVE (Hello Mom and Dad: Please save the date of Sunday August 8th to take me out for an over the top birthday dinner complete with dancing girls, ponies, an illusionist, a spoon bender, a diamond tennis bracelet and an 18-layer cake. Or - I'll settle for a shopping spree at Bloomie's and overpriced Chinese at Mr. K's.)...

Well, for one thing, I am not in a position to spend two hundred and two dollars (and ninety five fucking cents) on anything not related to my mortgage, groceries, gas for my car or wine i.e. the essentials. There's a good chance that by August I will have made some headway in this area, but for now, every time I pull out my credit card, I vomit a little in my mouth. And two hundred and two dollars (and ninety five fucking cents) is just for the BlogHer ticket. That doesn't factor in plane fare. Or a hotel room (because let's face it: while I could totally stay with mom and dad, when BlogHer registration asked me if I minded if sponsors put free shit in my room, I was all SWAG ME UP BABY! Also? I might be imbibing more than an average quantity of alcohol and there's nothing more awkward then drunk stumbling into your parents' apartment when you're almost 35. Trust me. I know of what I speak.). Or taxis in NYC. Or dinner. Or drinks. It goes on and on and on. I know because I am still paying off the tab from my trip home in January. (Cue mouth vomit)

But more than the money, most of the time I don't really consider myself a real blogger. I don't have the traffic. I don't generate the comments. I don't have corporate America breathing up my inbox and asking me to whore myself out. And even if I did, do people really give a crap what I think about (fill in the blank whory product here)? Not that I would whore myself out. Because I am so not that girl. But I'd like to be asked - ya know?

When I started blogging a gazillion years ago (on a different blog, under a different pseudonymn), my goal was not to make money or cultivate readers. Blogging was merely an easy vehicle to communicate to friends and family en masse all of my "city-girl-moves-to-the-country-fish-out-of-water" experiences. But somewhere along the way I picked up readers who weren't related to me by blood. And somewhere along the way I started caring about traffic. And page views. And hits. 

But more importantly, somewhere along the way I realized that I loved blogging because it allowed me to write.  I am a writer. I always have been. So what if my attempt to dethrone Sophie Kinsella as the Queen of Chick Lit rots on my hard drive, 66% complete (And frankly? It's so sucky it needs to be burned...) So what if my memoir slash cookbook detailing a lifetime of struggling with food and body issues and weight and eating disorders (and which at one point actually had the attention of a real live agent) rots on my hard drive, 58% complete? So what if the epiphany I had over last summer while getting pedis with Dr. Diva for an honest to goodness real life awesome NEW chick lit novel that isn't total crap sits locked in my overtaxed brain? Who has TIME to write a book? Besides - you know - people who are actually PAID to write books for a living?

So yeah - this wee little blog allows me to fulfill my dream on some small, paltry level. And I relish in it. Roll around in it sometimes like satin sheets. Soak in it like a - OMG I am writing crappy analogies. Do you see what's happened to me? Actually - I am rather stabby tonight because women's figure skating is on but NBC is a giant bunch of asshats and they've chosen to air more important events like women's skicross and bobsledding and Dear NBC: No one gives a moose's ass about anything other than figure skating so stop dressing Bob Costas like a douchehose (no man should EVER wear a mock turtleneck) and fix your programming STAT before I stomp all over your head IN MY FIGURE SKATES. That is all.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Writing. I love writing. And I love blogging. And I love THIS blog. This blog ESPECIALLY represents so much about what is good in my life and what I am proud of.  Yes. I am proud of my wee little blog. But when I pause and measure myself against people who do this professionally or even quasi professionally...well, once again - cue mouth vomit.

Still. August will find me in NYC attending BlogHer. Perhaps it was peer pressure (When I mentioned that I was on the fence about the whole thing AndreAnna told me to "remove that piece of picket from your ass and buy the tickets." I mean - how do you say "No" to that?).  Perhaps it was simply a chance for another awesome weekend. Or maybe going to BlogHer means that I am actually taking this whole blog thing seriously {*gulp*} and maybe I'll learn a thing or two to help me elevate my game

What I won't be doing is meeting my Internet crush because she she'll be off camping somewhere.  This would be tragic but if I go visit her in Texas I get to eat Whattaburger taquitos with sausage, egg and cheese (at 2am of course) and so that's kind of a win-win for everyone. Except my ass.

More importantly: Are YOU going to BlogHer because OMG if so, I totally want to meet you. For serious.