365 Photos- 18/365

Thanks to the fantastic Amy Allred (and her whole family, which this project took up their home and lives for several months) I have learned to make a quilt out of old radio station t-shirts from many of my past lives. Not only does this represent many sweet memories of former jobs, but it also keeps me mega-f***ing-über warm. (Yep, that's a technical term)

I am wondering if I enter the quilt into the fair, will I get struck by lightning? I'm not a domestic homemaker, I do not make fruit preserves and I think we went through several bottles of alcohol in order to tie this stupid quilt. Does that go against the spirit in which the Utah State Fair was intended?

If so, I don't want to be right.

18/365

This photo is crap, I know. But it was taken with the camera phone because all I want to do is crawl under said quilt and go to sleep. Still, it looks very cool and it's much nicer than a giant stack of memories sitting in a closet, unworn.

365 Photos- 17/365

As my mom and I were leaving lunch today, I noticed across the parking lot another way of eating lunch. Though I didn't partake of the Mexican food myself, I did noticed that they also serve up the HCG Diet next door. This way, you can go and gorge yourself on refried beans and spicy meat and then go shoot up semi-experimental weight loss hormones to counteract the burrito bomb.

Why do so many gyms/diet establishments exist in strip malls next to fat fast food joints? One dance studio I frequent is sandwiched between a donut shop and a Maverik. My gym is next door to one of my favorite pubs. The pilates place where I take Zumba makes me walk past House of Bread. Though willpower is on my side, it's sometimes easier than other times.

Those other times being when I stuff a donut, beer and crusty bread loaf in my piehole.

17/365

365 Photos- 16/365

I took a trip to Big Lots today to find some cheap, blank DVDs and was amazed that I found so much more the store had to offer! I found a case of Ultra Douches (douchi? What's the plural of douche?) stashed on a shelf next to a case of Performance Energy Powerbars and laughed out loud. Of course! If a person is going to crack into a case of Ultra Douches, of course they're going to need a bunch of energy to do that! I'm so glad to see that Big Lots is sensitive to what is likely to be a fairly extensive process.

Upon further inspection of Big Lots items, I found probably the cutest box of tampons I've ever seen. Dittie tampons are, "the first premium brand of tampons that give women superior quality, ultimate reliability, diva-worthy style and a whole lot of fun..." And they even make you feel like you're a better person with their "mood uplifting messages printed on each and every tampon."

16/365

Who's the crazy lady taking a picture of Big Lots tampons?

365 Photos- 15/365

Friends don't let friends buy street corner blankets.

15/365

365 Photos- 13/365

This is my friend Natalie. I haven't known her for very long but she's an amazing person with contagiously uplifting energy. We had a Keytarmy rehearsal tonight and it was her birthday. On Saturday she's leaving for two months in India so we all had cupcakes and wine.

13/365

More on Keytarmy coming soon...

365 Photos- 12/365

I don't know what's worse...
This store torso's perky nipples, or my trying to pinch them through the window by using photographic magic.

12/365

No mannequins or nipples were harmed in the making of this blog post.

365 Photos- 11/365

Continuing onto the wine theme from last night. My decanter, how I love it so. I know that must be strange to think so fondly of a decanter, but it's my Princess Decanter and it makes me smile. Every time I walk in and see that shiny pink diamond on top I feel sparkly and pretty. And when I drink the wine I feel like wearing my tiara.

And opera length gloves.

And bust out my scepter, on the jerks who live next door and won't turn down their damn bass.

Remember what happened to the last guy who didn't turn down his bass next door? But I digress. I love my Princess Decanter.

11/365

365 Photos- 10/365

There's something to be said about a good glass of Bitch wine. However, it poses the question: Are you really what you eat?

10/365

I love that it's a good 2005 vintage.

365 Photos- 9/365

Did somebody say "shredded beef?" I don't think so.

9/365

365 Photos- 8/365

I had a rehearsal for an 80s band I'm dancing in and choreographing. One day soon, we'll perform. Until then, my knees are screaming in pain. Hello Kitty makes it all better.

And reminds me it's Friday.

8/365

365 Photos- 7/365

I'm going to brag for a bit here: I lost five pounds over the holidays. I know what you're saying right now, but save it because it was no easy task giving up desserts, fattening foods and even drinking less alcohol than I would have liked. So in my plan to continue last year's healthy eating into the new decade, I've taken up bananas.

I never really liked bananas, it's a textural thing, to where any more than over half a banana hits the gag reflex. (Insert joke about gagging on a banana here.) But they are really good for me to eat during the first part of the day, and I've noticed the potassium helps out with keeping my post-workout muscle aches to a bearable level.

Now let's talk banana color, shall we? I only like yellow bananas that are ever so slightly green on the tips. If the bananas are too brown and spotty, I am immediately turned off as my spidey sense tells me the insides have turned to squish. I feel the slight green tip color lends itself to a firmer banana, a texture that is less likely a culprit in triggering the gag. (Fine, insert another joke here.)

Tonight, I saw an entire grocery store display of probably the most disgusting bananas I've ever seen. There were rows and rows of completely green, icky, unripe bananas; a shade of green so disgusting I've never seen it in reality. (Of course, I've never in my entire life changed a diaper of a baby who has consumed curry, so perhaps it does exist somewhere in reality. Or in India.)

And then I noticed the sign over the hideous zombie banana display read, "Golden Ripe Bananas."

7/365

I hate grocery shopping.

365 Photos- 6/365

Red Sox garden gnome is already gearing up for spring training...

6/365

365 Photos- 5/365

Shameless self-promotion. I'll write more this week. Later.

5/365

365 Photos- 4/365

My neighbors were very ambitious after this last snowstorm. While I did get a feeling of "stranger danger" when I stepped onto my porch and saw this out of the corner of my eye, it was alleviated when I noticed that Mr. Snowman was wearing a fedora.

And the bottom of him was sprayed pink. That was weird, so I just concentrated on his fedora-clad happy face.

4/365

365 Photos- 3/365

I'm a fairly healthy eater, but in the past couple of weeks have fallen off the food wagon by trading in real meals for easier, stress-free food like Triscuits and Laughing Cow cheese. A bag of Red Vines and microwave popcorn is apparently not a good dinner. A whole bag of pistachios is apparently not lunch. Fine. I understand that, and went to the grocery store this afternoon armed with a plan for cooking this entire week, in search of items to help me win the battle against eating like total crap.

In everything I've read, you should always start with fresh ingredients to make the end dish taste even better. Today at the store I found something even better than fresh ingredients, I found fersh ingredients!

3/365

Imagine my surprise to find a fersh bunch of green onions! And two fersh bunches for just one dollar! Just what I needed to add to a fersh soup I'm planning on making. I am excited to start cooking with these fersh ingredients, and I'm hoping that by using those fersh items I will make something really fersh and pleasing to my tastebuds.

365 Photos- 2/365

I had the pleasure of trying a new beer on New Year's Eve, Delerium Noel, and very much enjoyed it! For more of my thoughts on the actual beer, you can check out my beer blog over at The Brew Darling but if you don't feel like reading it then just bask in the glow of this happy bottle. Yep, that's a pink elephant wearing a Santa hat on the label. Holiday flavors! Pink elephant on the label! Beer containing 10.6% alcohol! What's not to like?

2/365

365 Photos- The Beginning 1/365

I've always wanted start a photo a day project which I plan to add to this blog in addition to more regular written posts. It seemed daunting at first, but then I realized I want to take better pictures to force me into learning new things about my own creativity through photography. I don't expect all the pictures to be winners, but they'll at least get my brain thinking with shutter clicking.

So, here goes number one of 365. I'm soon beginning rehearsals for Eurydice at The Grand, opening in March 2010, so here's the woman I've already been curling up with as I start to learn more about the amazing script and playwright, Sarah Ruhl.

1/365

Ho ho ho?

I don't want to rain on anybody's Christmas parade, but on the way to work this morning I had some fairly disturbing thoughts about Santa Claus. These thoughts were prompted by that good ol' holiday favorite, I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.

First off, has anybody ever really thought about the concept of Santa? Santa's an intruder. Uninvited, he just enters people's homes and starts eating their food and drinking their nog. (Or milk. Or my latest favorite, Soy Nog.)

Secondly, Santa is a peeping Tom. He sees you when you're sleeping? He knows when you're awake? Does Santa see me in the shower too? How about bent over after a night of too much wine? Then he passes judgment on the actions he sees when he is actually the violating perv? If I dated, and then dumped Santa, I'd slap his ass with a restraining order faster than you can say, "On Blitzen."

Finally the song in question itself, I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, Santa's magical charm perpetuates infidelity. Consider these lyrics:

Then, I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus
Underneath his beard so snowy white;
Oh, what a laugh it would have been
If Daddy had only seen
Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night.

Really? Mommy tickled Santa under his beard when Daddy wasn't looking? Something tells me Daddy might not be too thrilled at Santa's actions and perhaps punch his nog-drunk ass underneath his beard so snowy white. Unless Daddy was banging the babysitter. Or Daddy was a derelict.

I don't want to cast a damper on the season, but I just had to share with you these thoughts at one of the most festive times of the year. Enjoy the days leading up to Christmas, there are only a couple of days left.

Won't you be my neighbor?

I've lived in my current apartment for nearly four years. I first decided I liked this place when I saw that a major focal point of the inside was a 70s-tastic love nook with fireplace and built in vinyl seating. The bedroom is a loft. The walls are wood paneling. All this disco fabulous living, and it wasn't in such a bad part of town, so I moved in. But since moving in, strange things have been happening in the neighborhood, and now I'm wondering just where I'm living.

I affectionately refer to my neighbors across the parking lot as "Domestic Dispute." During one of their brilliant fights last summer, the guy living there nearly drove his Jeep Cherokee through their sliding glass door. He got out of the vehicle yelling four-letter words at his... girlfriend? Wife? Baby mama? And I had half a mind to jump in his running vehicle and drive it to the 7-11 just to be funny. I decided against making that incident interactive and instead settled back onto my porch to watch the show.

Why just last week "Domestic Dispute" put on another stellar display, culminating in her throwing a bar-b-que grill lid across the parking lot at his head. While I can't give her points for substance (typical four-letter words and basic defamation of his sexuality) I can give her style points. I keep waiting to wake up one morning to even more police officers casing their joint because one of them has killed the other.

Speaking of deaths around my neighborhood, I don't know if I ever mentioned the guy who died last fall in the back half of my duplex. They partied a little too much, and when I got home from the gym the next day the whole area was blocked off with yellow police tape. I thought I killed someone when I left the house with New Kids on the Block blasting on the stereo just to passive-aggressively "get back at them" for keeping me up the previous night. But it wasn't KNOTB that offed him, he apparently overdosed. In the other half of my duplex. Dead. There's something a bit unnerving about seeing a fully-zipped body bag being wheeled past your back door.

Almost as unnerving as that day is the sight of my new neighbor's decor I just noticed when I came home for lunch today. Maybe I'm a bit cranky because new back half of the duplex neighbor was having a good time with his bass knob last night, but I couldn't help but take this little photo of his fantastic new curtains that I'm fortunate enough to see each time I walk up to my own front door:

Asian bordello? No sir, that's the back half of where I live!

I shouldn't complain, at least I have somewhere to live. And it's warm. And it's covered in wood paneling. But who are these people that live around me?

Culinary Snafu

I damn near chopped off my finger last night. I was cutting up a lemon for vodka lemon chicken and it all just sort of slipped and I took out a chunk of my left index finger. With a really big, really sharp knife (thanks, Henckels Knives!) To make matters worse, I started passing out from the shock and awe of it all, and as I went to sit down on the kitchen floor, smacked my head on the counter. Yep, I passed out because I'm a wuss and can't stand the sight of my own blood or the thought of my own pain. I can watch an evening of Freddy Kreugar's antics, but when it the bleeding is on my own person, I'm a five-year-old.

I'll live, it's no big deal, but today I was thinking something much more profound about the whole experience. About five seconds before I stabbed myself, I knew it was going to happen. I pictured the scenario and I even thought to myself, "I'm totally going to cut my finger open." Lo' and behold, what happened? I became a fainting kabob.

We are so quick to dismiss our instincts with a "duh, that's lame," rather than trusting that maybe there's some truth in how we feel. So many times I have believed that I was just being stupid, given into pragmatism and ended up hosed. This pragmatism applies to so much more in my life than just this one instance; I find that I'm dismissing my instincts when it comes to situations or even the people with whom I share my life and time. For example, I have found myself putting up with inordinate amounts of crap from the men I date and dismissing red flags for a "that's just me being stupid/impatient/harsh." In these instances, my heightened instincts get cast aside for my inability to give up or move on or let go, and then I ultimately end up bleeding.

What have I learned from last night's kitchen cutting? Next time, drink the vodka and leave the chicken to the grill. Oh, and trust in my hunches just a little bit more inside the kitchen and out.