I had coffee on my friends' porch. I introduced my sister to some friends and her boyfriend to mine. I learned that my great grandfather was a lifeguard with Ronald Reagan. I watched my boyfriend cut the dickens out of her finger (see bandaid in above picture).
It all made for a lovely Saturday.
Did Ab Ripper X.
And the 10 Minute Trainer Ab workout. Back to back. I needed the stress relief or, as my friend Kaitlin would say, the medicinal benefits of exercise. It worked, to an extent. And... just now I sneezed and felt the confirmation of all that hard work.
Graded.
16 papers today. And 16 papers every day through Thursday to finish them up. I can do that, right?
Made (and ate) this sammich.
Peanut butter, bacon, green apple, honey. Mmph.
And now I'm going to watch TV and work on my Thanksgiving week menu. Get excited! I'll share some of it with you, if you're good.
Last night I was caught off guard by this commercial:
I went from happily sipping whiskey and watching Chopped to the wanting to curl up under a quilt and cry.
This little thirty second ad said only one thing to me: The Post is in danger.
Now... you might have seen me around on the internet. I spend a lot of time there. Facebook, twitter, tumblr, this blog, your inbox, your mom's inbox. I get around online. I'm not ashamed of it. I've met friends, enemies, girlfriends, experts, celebrities, and probably your mom online that I likely would not ever have bumped into in any other way. The internet is my medium. I get it. I use it.
But. It's not the post.
The post is dreamy and romantic and personal and requires effort.
I can sit in my office and write you an email that says, "I'm thinking about you today."
You'll get the email in seconds. You'll smile, maybe, then it's done.
If I, on the other hand, write the very same message, "I'm thinking about you today." in a card or on a piece of stationery, seal it in an envelope, hunt down your address and a stamp, drive the whole lot to the post office (because my apartment pick-up is unreliable), and send it off in your direction, then you'll receive it in a very different way.
You'll get my card, open it, and know that for at least a bit of one day, I was thinking only about you and the piece of mail that would literally travel from my hands to yours. And then for weeks when you see it on your fridge or maybe a year later when it shows up in a junk drawer, you'll know that I was thinking about you then and just might be thinking about you again.
And... if the piece of mail is from me... then you might be able to tell that instead of spending minutes on your mail, I actually spent hours. Gluing paper, revising wording, baking treats, compiling songs, what have you.
Whatever the case... mailing something to someone means a lot more to me than sending them a text, a message on Facebook, a tweet. Those are daily. Those are tired.
The post. The post is where it's at.
It's no secret that this love of the post was passed down to me by my mom. My mom sends me roughly one card per week. Some weeks there's more than one. Some weeks (very rare) there isn't one at all.
Her cards range from the sincere to the bizarre.
Some of my favorites include the congratulations on my ballet recital and the mazel tov on my son's bris. Also the "Love being your sister" and the countless "Happy Birthday"s covered up with hearts and flowers and swirlies.
The common thread woven through these often silly cards is the fact the my mom loves me and that she thinks about me in a deliberate, focused way at least once a week.
Even so... I'm not the only person who benefits from my mom's postal expressions of love.
My brother, sister, boyfriend, and even some friends benefit from the occasional card. She recently sent one to a close friend of mine that featured a hotdog on the front and the inscription, "Bet you didn't think you'd get a wiener today!"
Don't you wish you were on her list now?
What I'm saying is... I love the post. Always have.
As a kid, I thought having a British pen pal was the best thing I could ever want out of life. As an adult, I've only slightly revised that idea.
My mom fuels my love for the post through her regular mailings. And I do my best to send notes and packages around as often as possible.
The thought that the USPS might be in such dire straights that they need to convince us to use paper in a world that begs us to go paperless is upsetting.
I've long thought of the post as the government's polite, "I'm going that way, would you like me to take that?" and I'd hate to see it waste away.
So... today I'm going to write letters. And buy stamps. And drop mail into the box knowing full well it will reach its destination and make one person feel good. Or better. Or something. Because that's what I do with the power of the post.
Really. Not a damn thing. I sat at home. I might have even had cereal for dinner; I don't remember.
This, for me, has been difficult. I love the hell out of Halloween. Usually I spend several months planning and perfecting my costume.
Since I didn't have the excitement of planning and executing the perfect costume for the day, I've had a hard time letting go of the costumes I'd considered. So... I'm blogging them in an attempt to set them aflame and push them out to see.
A Viking funeral for the costumes that didn't happen.
Now... this year I also have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who is more than willing to play along with my costume excitement. You'll see that reflected in my choices. Let's start with the classics...
JFK and Marilyn Monroe: I could be his Jackie, sure. But... I'm more Marilyn, dontcha think?
Johnny Cash and June Carter: But only if I can carry around a dulcimer and tell all our friends we can't stay long because he's goin' to Jackson.
Now... a quick jump to...
Joan and Roger: Any day. Any time. As long as I get to smirk, speak softly, and walk around the office like I own the damn place. Because... I do.
Which leads us to our topical couples...
Prince William and Kate Middleton: Quick! While people will still recognize us!
DaveCat and Sidore: Clear winner. Hands down. Amirite?!
Incidentally, "hands down" refers both to the DaveCat/Sidore win and the pose I'll be assuming for the entirety of the evening: Hands down, eyes blank, mouth slightly open. I've been practicing. It's spectacular.
So... I think this has helped.
I'll let these costumes go for this year. Knowing full well that I've catalogued them here and can revisit next October.
Who would you be if Halloween were this week and you had all the money and time to costume?
I doubt you're surprised about the game, it's kind of a big deal. But you may be surprised to see me blogging about it.
I'm a little surprised myself. Just weeks ago I uttered this sentence: "What's a Bear Bryant?"
And look at me today.
Crimson velvet cake with cream cheese icing.
And that, there on the left, is my attempt at Bear Bryant's iconic houndstooth hat. Use your imaginations, please. Houndstooth is not an easy pattern to reproduce. Tiny. On gum paste.
What I'm saying is, I've come a long way. I know who Bear Bryant is. I know which way they run on the football field. On a good day, I can even explain downs to you.
But... I'm still me. Take a look at this:
Uh huh.
I prefer to think that instead of being runny, my icing is just being spirited. Roll icing, roll.
I... found this post, titled "Stuff ______ Likes," as a draft that I began August 1, 2009. It contained only this list of 8 things that I, at the time, liked.
And, while I do still like some of these things, I don't know that they would be the 8 things I would list when asked what I like. Let's revise, shall we?
1. PrinceIt's not that I don't like Prince. It's just. That. I like a lot of people like I like Prince. 2. Cookbooks These stay. I read them like novels. 3. QuiltsThey're fine. And sometimes great. But sometimes real freaky. Like when they're pilly. With... banish the thought... someone else's pills. Ew. I don't like those to touch my skin. 4. Texting Keeping this. Because, let's be honest. I don't function (as well) without it. 5. Fancy Drinks I'm a whiskey on the rocks girl. So, if that's fancy, then sure. 6. Flintstones vitaminsFell out of like. Only munch them occasionally these days, out of obligation and because I bought my last bottle at Sam's. They'll last forever. 7. Crafts Will. Always. Love. 8. Sleeping Same. C'mon.
So... I'm now left with
1. Cookbooks
2. Texting
3. Whiskey
4. Crafts
5. Sleeping
To which I'll add...
6. Teaching
7. Costumes
8. Cuddly toys (to include babies and round animals)
9. The Internets
(Webcam pumpkin-carving double date with my parents. Obvs.)
I say that not because it changes the greatness of this cheesecake. I say that because I don't want you all showing up on my doorstep, demanding pumpkin ginger pecan cheesecake.
Because... you guys... it's really that delicious.
For Thanksgiving two years ago (like I said... old), I wanted to do something traditional... but more exciting. So, instead of a good ol' pumpkin pie, I started researching pumpkin cheesecakes. It had to have been done, right?
And, boy, had it.
I ended up combining the filling from Sweetest Kitchen's Pumpkin Walnut Cheesecake and my own crust of ginger snaps, chopped pecans, sugar, and melted butter.
I riffed Sweetest Kitchen's crumble topping by swapping out the walnuts for my tiny pecans.
Trust me: it was all perfect. Perfect creamy pumpkin sandwiched between rich ginger snaps and sweet, mapley pecans.
Anyway... E is guest blogging tonight about her root. So... without further ado... I'll let her get to it.
My Root
As you can see, I was clearly born this way, so it’s hard to point out one early root to my extreme gayness. There were a few clues, however, such as the ways I related to popular Nickelodeon shows, including but not limited to:
• Hey Dude and Salute Your Shorts: Both shows featured tough lady characters with gender neutral names: Brad, Venus, etc., and involved cowboy garb and cargo shorts.
• Clarissa Explains It All: I desperately wanted to be Clarissa’s neighbor friend Sam. I wanted his haircut, and I wanted his flannel. Most of all, I wanted his constant access to a pretty lady’s bedroom.
• All That: As many of our people do, I’ve always appreciated a variety show. In true lesbian fashion, my favorite sketch featured the deadpan Lori Beth Denberg offering sarcastic Vital Information (For Your Everyday Life). Early love of snarky women…check.
• Doug: I still dream of a closet in which I have 20 sets of exactly the same outfit.
• Nick News: This show helped spark my adult love of current events, and Linda Ellerbee is one bossy bitch. Her wide-shouldered blazers had an early impact on my sense of fashion.
What is one early memory worth sharing that makes you nod your head and say, “Yep. I was born this way?” What is your queer root?
The root of my particular queerness can be traced right back to… Beauty and the Beast.
The Disney movie.
Just think about it:
A nerdy girl who wants more than this provincial life runs off into the woods to rescue her hapless father from certain death at the hands of a legit beast. In order to free her caged father, she must live in the castle and dress up for the beast who’s taken a liking to her. She dutifully puts in time both batting her lashes and scolding this helpless brute, until one night he gets in a fight with another suitor, ascends to the heavens, acquires spirit finger jazz hands, and falls back to earth as the most beautifully effeminate dandy.
In other words, Belle meets someone. Moves in far too soon. Watches her life partner fend off another butch and marries the fairy when the dust settles.
I don’t know how I didn’t see it all along.
I mean. C’mon.
Super gay.
No wonder I ran home from school most days to watch it.
Last night I went to sleep debating the possibility of participating in NaNoWriMo this month. Do I have time? Am I interested in writing a novel? Justin Bieber and Miley Cyrus wrote autobiographies, so I’m old enough to write a memoir… right?
This morning my usual social network review turned up this post in which Bee determines to blog more in November.
Well.
Now.
That I could get into: regular posting, a return to a simpler, more prolific time. And, unlike NaNoWriMo, no one would be holding me to word counts. (Oh heeeeey, 50,000 words!)
I excitedly tweeted Bee to let her know I might steal her idea and the whole thing snowballed from there. Folks joining in, sharing ideas, and generally getting excited about writing. There was talk of writing prompts, blog community, and even media moguls… all of it queer.
Do I need to tell you what all of this did for this queer writing teacher’s heart? DO I?!
So… here I am. Writing the first post of my November attempt to blog more. Regularly.
And in this post, I’m going to set up the first prompt for our little queer blogger community. There are no rules, restrictions, or binaries; just respond to the prompt if you want to. I’ll probably come back later tonight to respond to the prompt myself. Here goes nothing!
What is your root?
I’m sure many of us have seen But I’m a Cheerleader. And many of us have joked about our “roots.” If you haven’t seen it, or you’d just like the refresher, enjoy:
Now, we all know that none of these things made our beloved characters gay. Graham’s mom’s wedding pants didn’t force her into lady love.
But.
It’s pretty damn funny to, as a grown ass lesbian, look back on my childhood and point out the queer bits that I didn’t notice at the time. I’d love to tell you about one of my queer roots and read about yours too.
What is one early memory that makes you nod your head and say, “Yep. I was born this way?” Tell us about your root.
Annnnd... Here’s a sneak preview for my root, if you’re interested:
Now... go forth and blog, my friends! About this prompt or about anything your hearts desire! If you do respond to the prompt though, let me know! Send me the link in the comments or on twitter. I want to read!
Thank you all for helping me get back on track with the blog world. : )
Do you ever just happen upon the absolute most perfect thing to wear for a particular day?
I don't mean the big events that we plan for and stress over, I mean the day to day.
Because every day requires a costume, I hope you know. Observe:
See? Little Edie knows.
Well, last night I stayed up late. And this morning I snoozed the alarm a few times.
So by the time I found myself standing in my closet doing the debate thing, I was feeling uninspired and very any-old-thing-will-do.
But instead of tossing on any old thing, I reached for a particular old thing. Specifically, this mod-inspired dress I bought at the Goodwill for $3.99 this week.
I chose this dress because it was 1) hanging in the closet doorway, fresh from being laundered and 2) fairly wrinkle free. Perfect: I wouldn't have to go to great lengths to either find it or iron it.
Once I had my major piece picked out, I zsouzsed: sheer black cardigan, black leggings, and my grandmother's blue bead necklace.
Out the door I went. Looking something like this:
When I got to class and set up my projector, I realized that there was going to be an issue. The projector was set up to work with the screen... not the whiteboard. That's fine... I can deal with off kilter framing, I thought.
What I did not realize was that mid-class, I'd discover that I am woefully short and cannot write in the little tippy top space I'd allowed myself.
I looked at my students, I looked at the board. I looked at my students, I looked at my outfit. Then, while still listening my students, I pulled a chair from behind an empty desk, climbed atop it, and continued to take notes on their purposes for attending college.
My only hope is that one of their purposes for attending college is to have one really quirky instructor in their first semester. Because thanks to a Goodwill dress and some trusty ol' leggings, I was wearing the perfect costume for jumping up on a chair and teaching as if I am not a miniature human being.
DVD Bonus: I did not (by the grace of God) fall off the chair on any of my 8 trips onto it. I did, however, forget that it was behind me and run slam into it while on flat ground. Might have done a "Did she trip? No, she's jogging. No... she stopped. She tripped! You tripped!" Ellen move.
"What happens to a [tweet] deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?"
- bastardization of a Langston Hughes line
Some days I think in tweets. A lot of them.
And some days, I tweet all of them. Just throw them out there and say, "there you have it."
Other days (most days), I pick and choose. I tweet some. I send some to friends. I consider others and let them go.
But today... TODAY, kittens. Ima compile them right here. For you.
Let's get started. In no particular order...
TWO DAYS AND A WAKE-UP.
There will be baking this afternoon. I have spoken; all depart.
I might have put brown sugar in my coffee this morning. Mama's walkin' on the wild side!
I've been happily singing Gasoline & Matches for the past two days. You're welcome, huddled masses. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCT17rUr_Jo #babybabybabybaby
Me: "What are some concepts, theories, principles associated with college?" Student: "Don't get caught." #touche
I wouldn't let myself bake earlier this week, so the pent up baking need is STRONG. This could get messy. (cc: @TheKateSullivan)
Things I want to do: blog, bake, nap. Things I need to do: emails, class prep, workout. If I get 4 out of 6, I'll be ecstatic.
Dear God: I'd like clouds all day while I teach (shades up, projector on, FTW) and a thunderstorm when I arrive home. Thanks in advance, Amanda
TWO DAYS AND A WAKE-UP.
Yeah. See? A smathering.
I assure you, my head is a fun place to see from the inside.
because sometimes one is just not going to cut it.
Who has these days? The days when everything is slightly off and nothing is easy? When you have a doctor's appointment and your car breaks down before you get the chance to buy groceries? And the baby's fussy and those pants are getting tight? And that student keeps emailing about that one thing and Netflix keeps pausing to "retrieve" something or other?
No one?
Just me?
Well, now I know you're lying. Because those things happened to me, my boyfriend, me, my BFF, me, me, and everyone who uses Netflix. This week. In that order.
So let's take comfort in food, shall we?
It's the right thing to do.
Let's start with the good ol' American brown bag staple.
The PB & J. Peanut butter and strawberry jam, in this case.
Our first way is simple.
PB & J, sliced on the diagonal (requirement), in a ziploc bag (requirement).
The unrequired elements of overenthusiastic, early morning posing will no doubt provide some level of comfort. But warm up to this advanced placement, day improving activity, please. I don't want you to pull something.
Our second PB & J manipulation came to me direct from the boyfriend.
Well. The idea did. I wish she made it for me, but I had to handle this one myself.
Anyway... enough of that. Grilled PB & J!
It's as easy as it is delicious. Take any ol' PB & J sandwich, butter the outside pieces of bread, and toss that thing into a frying pan or onto your panini grill (my choice).
The bread gets buttery toasty like a grilled cheese and the peanut butter and jam get warm and omgamazing.
Try it tonight with a glass of milk as a late night snack and you will not be disappointed. The comfort will be overwhelming.
Finally, our third PB & J is...
can you guess?
PB & J French toast. : )
Shock and awe, right? Okay... the shock I'll let go. But the awe you should keep. Because it's really, really tasty.
And just like our other manips, super easy to do: Take a PB & J sandwich, soak it (one side at a time) in an egg, milk, vanilla mixture, brown it on both sides in a frying pan, and bake it until it puffs up and is firm to the touch.
Pair it as you would any other sweet, filled french toast. I chose scrambled eggs with some serious hot sauce. And syrup. Because I like it. And butter. Because how would one compose a picture of french toast without a pat of butter?
Mmmm... Are you feeling comforted yet?
In all honesty, I am. These PB & Js might have been made over a week ago, at different occasions, but... just writing about them has calmed down a bit.
So... let me take my small bit of comfort and go back to my busy day. And just maybe, when it's all over, I'll comfort myself with something other than food. Or... maybe not. : )
Hello, blogfriends. If there are... in fact... any of you left.
I haven't been blogging of late because I've been far too busy, well, not blogging. But! You probably arrived here from Facebook or Twitter and just want to see the latest kitchen dancing video.
So here it is, lads and lassies. Me, dancing in the kitchen, with (and here's the good bit) my new favorite dance partner.
Just... drink in the fabulosity.
Now, I'll leave you all with one question: why, if you have a webcam, are you not making videos of yourself dancing in your kitchen?
Right. No reason not to.
So, go do it and come back when you have a link for me.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to search for kitchen dancing videos on YouTube.
Oatmeal with flax and a bit of caramel syrup Leftover burger with feta inside One egg (overcooked, sadly) Half a broiled grapefruit (sprinkle of sugar, time under the broiler, sprinkle of salt)
One orange 1 oz of a chocolate Power Bar Apple cinnamon oatmeal Portabella veggie burger One scrambled egg
Kashi cereal with skim milk Half a broiled grapefruit Half a two-egg broccoli, mushroom, and white cheddar frittata
See what I mean?
These breakfasts make my day. And... by using my protein leftovers, I can actually whip up one of these breakfasts in a hurry.
Tomorrow, for instance, I'll be starting my day with the leftover frittata, some greek yogurt, an orange, and... maybe toast!
I'm following a 2 protein, 1 fruit, 1 grain, and 1 sweet (or sweetish addition to one of the big four).
And how is the big breakfast working?
Well... I'm down 2 lbs and .7% body fat since I started doing it. So, I think it's working!
Here's to breakfasts! I'll take mine big, thank you.
I do. I know it's odd, but I love it. Other people's clothes always fit better, feel comfier, and just generally seem better than my own duds.
Friends of appropriate size who leave items in my car or loan me something to sleep in or... you get the idea... should consider themselves very lucky to ever see those items again.
I'm a black hole for your clothing. You've been warned.
I'm not sure that I've ever told April about this, but she must have picked up on it at some point. Because one day while she was doing laundry, she crossed the hall to the kitchen where I was loading the dishwasher and said, "I brought you these pants."
Immediately, I knew I loved the blue, white, and black striped pants. I washed my hands, picked up the pants she'd tossed on the kitchen table and began my inspection. They were broken in without being ragged. They were within my three size range. They reminded me of an old Southern gentleman's suit.
As she continued to sort the wash - jeans over here, undershirts over there - she interrupted my musings to add, "I used to wear those to church."
Well. That did it. I tried them on right then and there in the kitchen.
And they fit.
From the back, one might even say they fit well.
But there was a fly in the ointment that both April and I noticed right away. The hand-me-down pants were... too short?! April's got several inches on me... so... my April-in-church mental image shifted to include extreme highwaters, or at least a shorter, younger version of April. I'm purposefully sticking with the latter.
So... hmm. The pants are comfy enough that they could be lounge-around pants, but they are cute enough that they should see a larger audience. What to do? What to do?
I've been thinking about this predicament for over a month. Probably two, actually.
Well... this morning, it hit me like an Oprah Aha! moment.
Shorts. Shorts are hard to buy, hard to fit, and just generally... not my favorite thing. So what do I have to lose by making pants I can't wear into shorts I just might?
Answer: Nothing!
After trying on the pants again and doing some figuring, I hacked off one pant leg, just above the knee.
I used the reject part of leg one to cut leg two to be the same length.
I tried them on again...
and started to get excited! It was working!
But while Bermuda shorts are nice and have their own time and place, I had something a bit... fancier in mind for April's cast offs. I cuffed them a few times...
and hit them with the iron.
I tzsujed the look by adding jewelry, red lipstick, nude heels, and a coyly sheer white tee.
To say that I'm deliriously pleased with the result would be pretty accurate.
Pin up style shorts from my soft butch bff's church pants. I've been smiling all day.
Now... since April is in basic training at the moment, she has no idea that I took the scissors to her pants. You, um... think she'll mind?
