Days like today are exactly why you shouldn’t blog about good news until you’ve signed a contract. My red-letter day last week? Not so red after all. More like…pink. Not completely colorless, but a bit…diluted. Pink is good, right? Pink is my favorite color (or at least it was, before I dyed my hair red and could no longer wear it). Pink would have been great if that’s what I’d been expecting all along, but it’s looking pretty pale compared to the deep red I’d imagined.
Oh, well. Margaritas, queso, and girl talk will heal the pain. Happy hour, here I come!
Give me one reason
When I was a kid, my grandmother always placed a lot of importance on eating all different kinds of food. Whenever I told her I didn’t like something, she would correct me, “No, you just haven’t learned to like it yet.” In some cases she was right. She did actually teach me to like brussels sprouts, although in order for me to eat them they had to be slathered in mayonnaise, which my parents never had at our house. I was a picky eater as a child, but now there is only a short list of foods I won’t eat: Mushrooms. Olives. Mayonnaise (ironic, I know). Duck. Pickles.
Yesterday, when I made subtle retching sounds (something my mother taught me never to do) as Nathan pulled relish out of the refrigerator, he asked me what it was about pickles that I didn’t like. This is an impossible question to answer, although that doesn’t stop me from repeating all summer long, “What do you mean you don’t like tomatoes? How can anyone not like tomatoes?” But seriously, tomatoes in the summertime? Amazing. Anyway, here’s how the conversation went yesterday.
Him: What don’t you like about pickles?
Me: Umm, the taste. The smell.
Him: Okay…
Me: The look.
Him: The look? What do you mean? They look just like cucumbers!
Me: They do NOT look like cucumbers! Cucumbers are a beautiful green color.
Him: Pickles are green.
Me: Not the same green at all. Pickles look like cucumbers that got sick.
Him: Oh, you’re right. Pickles ARE disgusting. I’m so glad you were able to give me logical reasons for your dislike. I see now that you are right and I am wrong.
Okay, it’s possible that the very end of the conversation didn’t happen exactly like that, and in fact resembled a simple eye roll instead. It's called artistic license, people.
There is one food on my list that I actually have a good reason for disliking. If asked about it, I think the conversation would go something like this.
Him: Why don’t you like duck?
Me: Because I had a pet duck named Howard. I don’t eat cat, either.
Him: (not-so-subtle retching sounds)
It’s true. I had a pet duck for a month my senior year of high school. Howard was hatched in my school’s Genetics & Embryology class. I had dropped the class earlier during a brief stint of animal rights activism (which basically consisted of me switching shaving cream brands and not eating enough protein), so I missed the hatching of chicks and ducks. A friend of mine had Howard and didn’t want to keep him, so I took him home. He had supposedly imprinted on my friend, but she hadn’t done it quite right, so he thought anyone wearing brown shoes was his mother. He was an amazing pet. He swam in the bathtub, ate about a head of lettuce per day, terrorized the cats, and napped on his back in the palm of my hand. Eventually he got too big for our house and he went to live at a farm. (That’s not a euphemism—it was an actual farm.) It’s been 10 years, and I now eat meat with gusto and have switched back to Gillette, but I still can’t bring myself to eat duck meat.
It’s a good thing I never had a pet goose liver. Mmmmm.
Yesterday, when I made subtle retching sounds (something my mother taught me never to do) as Nathan pulled relish out of the refrigerator, he asked me what it was about pickles that I didn’t like. This is an impossible question to answer, although that doesn’t stop me from repeating all summer long, “What do you mean you don’t like tomatoes? How can anyone not like tomatoes?” But seriously, tomatoes in the summertime? Amazing. Anyway, here’s how the conversation went yesterday.
Him: What don’t you like about pickles?
Me: Umm, the taste. The smell.
Him: Okay…
Me: The look.
Him: The look? What do you mean? They look just like cucumbers!
Me: They do NOT look like cucumbers! Cucumbers are a beautiful green color.
Him: Pickles are green.
Me: Not the same green at all. Pickles look like cucumbers that got sick.
Him: Oh, you’re right. Pickles ARE disgusting. I’m so glad you were able to give me logical reasons for your dislike. I see now that you are right and I am wrong.
Okay, it’s possible that the very end of the conversation didn’t happen exactly like that, and in fact resembled a simple eye roll instead. It's called artistic license, people.
There is one food on my list that I actually have a good reason for disliking. If asked about it, I think the conversation would go something like this.
Him: Why don’t you like duck?
Me: Because I had a pet duck named Howard. I don’t eat cat, either.
Him: (not-so-subtle retching sounds)
It’s true. I had a pet duck for a month my senior year of high school. Howard was hatched in my school’s Genetics & Embryology class. I had dropped the class earlier during a brief stint of animal rights activism (which basically consisted of me switching shaving cream brands and not eating enough protein), so I missed the hatching of chicks and ducks. A friend of mine had Howard and didn’t want to keep him, so I took him home. He had supposedly imprinted on my friend, but she hadn’t done it quite right, so he thought anyone wearing brown shoes was his mother. He was an amazing pet. He swam in the bathtub, ate about a head of lettuce per day, terrorized the cats, and napped on his back in the palm of my hand. Eventually he got too big for our house and he went to live at a farm. (That’s not a euphemism—it was an actual farm.) It’s been 10 years, and I now eat meat with gusto and have switched back to Gillette, but I still can’t bring myself to eat duck meat.
It’s a good thing I never had a pet goose liver. Mmmmm.
Sunday, Monday, happy days
When I’m not working, my days tend to flow together. I end up languishing in bed far too late, overanalyzing, and experiencing daily rollercoaster mood swings that usually only come once a month. I try to establish some sort of routine, but without anywhere I have to be, it never lasts. So, to convince myself that the week has not been a total waste, here’s The Week in Review.
Monday: Labor-free, which didn’t make it much different from any other day. On my way out to take pictures, it started pouring as soon as I left my house. Still managed to take some halfway decent watery pictures and discovered parts of Houston I hadn’t seen before.
Tuesday: Bought a tripod. Haven’t used it yet. Walked around Hermann Park with CameraMan and took in the fauna, which included a dragonfly, an egret, and two muskrats (one on land, one in the water). Muskrats are gross. And fascinating. Drank beer and ate mozzarella sticks with the girls while taking many (drunken) pictures with my camera accidentally on the nighttime setting. I’m arty.
Wednesday: Got my hair done, which took 3 hours. Spent much of the rest of the day admiring myself in the mirror and a bit of time studying Daughter of the Regiment.
Thursday: A red-letter day for me career-wise, but I can’t talk about any of it yet (ha, I’ve always wanted to do that). Mourned the amazing Pavarotti by listening to him sing lots of glorious high C’s on my Daughter recording. Saw a fantastic play about Florence Foster Jenkins, where I listened to lots of not-so-glorious high Q’s. Ran into an ex-colleague who tried to convince me the “Jewel Song” was from Manon Lescaut. She was wrong. More beer and mozzarella sticks. And mini burgers. Yum.
Friday: More studying. And shopping! Bought a hot green opening night dress, new jeans, sunglasses, and more. Indian food with Nathan for dinner. Watched a really great (and disturbing) movie. See it.
And now? After gorging myself on a Nutella banana crepe, I am sitting in a café with my laptop and my husband, getting some work done. Tonight we’re going to an art opening which is bound to be inspirational, so tomorrow I’ll probably be out with my camera again. I’m trying to embrace the free time, since it’s going to be the last I have for quite a while.
Getting to know all about you (me)
I am a skeptic. I will call bullshit on your stories of miracles, ghosts, and love at first sight faster than you can say, “You will not believe what happened to me…” You’re right—I won’t believe you. I am an unbeliever. I could count on one hand the number of times I have been inside a church in the last five years without being paid to be there (paid to sing in the choir, that is, not for some kind of strange congregation-building scheme). However, though I don’t believe in God (not wholeheartedly, anyway), there are some tenets I hold dear. Tuesday was supposed to be List Day, but rules were made to be broken, so here it is a day late:
8* Things I Believe:
*I did just tell you I was an unbeliever. You expected a list of 10?
1. I believe that an extra “dessert stomach” exists that makes it possible to eat dessert even when you’re stuffed. Lucky me, I have two.
2. I believe that it is possible to be both a strong woman and a girly girl. My favorite color is pink, but I can still change a tire (you know, hypothetically, like I understand the concept of how to do it).
3. I believe that there is someone, somewhere, who has the secret of how to balance a successful career with a full personal life. If that someone is you, and you’re reading this blog, call me.
4. I believe that moderation in all things makes for a life lacking adventure.
5. I believe that the perfect outfit can make any situation better, and that what makes an outfit perfect very rarely has anything to do with comfort.
6. I believe that the music you listen to, the books you read, the art you see, and the theatre you watch help shape who you are, so it’s important to experience as much of all four as possible. Especially when you get free tickets.
7. I believe that people still judge you based on things like good manners, proper grammar, and meticulous grooming. I just hope they don’t notice my cuticles.
8. I believe that life is better when your hobby is also your job, even if it means you can’t think of anything to say when people ask you, “What do you in your free time?”
What's been happening in my life lately, you ask? Well, the most exciting news is that I dyed my hair a dark coppery brown (see #2). If Houston won't provide the fall colors, I will.
8* Things I Believe:
*I did just tell you I was an unbeliever. You expected a list of 10?
1. I believe that an extra “dessert stomach” exists that makes it possible to eat dessert even when you’re stuffed. Lucky me, I have two.
2. I believe that it is possible to be both a strong woman and a girly girl. My favorite color is pink, but I can still change a tire (you know, hypothetically, like I understand the concept of how to do it).
3. I believe that there is someone, somewhere, who has the secret of how to balance a successful career with a full personal life. If that someone is you, and you’re reading this blog, call me.
4. I believe that moderation in all things makes for a life lacking adventure.
5. I believe that the perfect outfit can make any situation better, and that what makes an outfit perfect very rarely has anything to do with comfort.
6. I believe that the music you listen to, the books you read, the art you see, and the theatre you watch help shape who you are, so it’s important to experience as much of all four as possible. Especially when you get free tickets.
7. I believe that people still judge you based on things like good manners, proper grammar, and meticulous grooming. I just hope they don’t notice my cuticles.
8. I believe that life is better when your hobby is also your job, even if it means you can’t think of anything to say when people ask you, “What do you in your free time?”
What's been happening in my life lately, you ask? Well, the most exciting news is that I dyed my hair a dark coppery brown (see #2). If Houston won't provide the fall colors, I will.
My heart is leapin', I'm havin' trouble sleepin'
I have not been sleeping well since I got back to Houston. I think several factors are coming into play to destroy my sleep, including the human heater who shares my bed and the cats who got used to sleeping on my side of the bed while I was gone this summer and are loath to give up the habit. I suffered through it for about a week thinking it would get better once I got used to being home, but it didn’t. Then I went several days meaning to buy over-the-counter sleep medicine and forgetting. Finally, one night I decided to take Nyquil, which we already had in the house, despite the fact that I didn’t display any symptoms of sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, or fever. That night I did, however, get the best sleep I ever got with a cold.
Unfortunately, the next time I took Nyquil we had the loudest thunderstorm in the history of the world (at least it seemed like it at the time), so I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. The next day I felt woozy all day and ended up sleeping on the couch for most of the morning and afternoon. This experience prompted me to actually go to the drugstore and buy sleep medication. I’ve been taking that for 2 nights now, and it doesn’t seem to be doing much good at all. And, to make matters worse, when I wake up, Nathan wakes up (we don’t have one of those mattresses where you can put a glass of wine on it and then jump up and down without the wine spilling), and then the cats all wake up and think that it’s morning, even if it’s 3am. Yeah, we’re rockin’ it “Nessun dorma” style at the Daughtrey house.
Tonight I’m breaking out all the big guns I can think of. I plan on drinking wine, taking a hot bath, popping pills, and sipping Sleepytime tea. Don’t call me in the morning; I’ll be sleeping in (fingers crossed).
Unfortunately, the next time I took Nyquil we had the loudest thunderstorm in the history of the world (at least it seemed like it at the time), so I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. The next day I felt woozy all day and ended up sleeping on the couch for most of the morning and afternoon. This experience prompted me to actually go to the drugstore and buy sleep medication. I’ve been taking that for 2 nights now, and it doesn’t seem to be doing much good at all. And, to make matters worse, when I wake up, Nathan wakes up (we don’t have one of those mattresses where you can put a glass of wine on it and then jump up and down without the wine spilling), and then the cats all wake up and think that it’s morning, even if it’s 3am. Yeah, we’re rockin’ it “Nessun dorma” style at the Daughtrey house.
Tonight I’m breaking out all the big guns I can think of. I plan on drinking wine, taking a hot bath, popping pills, and sipping Sleepytime tea. Don’t call me in the morning; I’ll be sleeping in (fingers crossed).
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