Wednesday March 28, 2007

Two things which reside in my fridge, each of which I love enough to snuggle:
Trader Joe's Bengal-Spiced Lentils.  This little dinner-in-box serves two and comes in an astronaut-reminiscent foil pouch to be boiled, then dumped onto some rice simmering away in the rice cooker.  I made this for dinner on Tuesday night, and it has set a new standard for dinners-in-boxes.  The sauce isn't oily or chunky, but creamy and rich and just spicy enough; the lentils are pleasantly chewy and perfectly cooked.  I could eat this stuff every night without complaint, and I believe it costs something like $3.29 per box.  Get thee to a Trader Joe's, already.
Also:  Hansen's Diet Ginger Ale.  I don't think I ever tasted ginger ale until my late teens, and now it's an obsession.  Yes, the Reed's Extra Ginger is the winner in ginger-spiciness and variety of flavors (mmmm, raspberry ginger ale!), but the Hansen's stuff is way, way cheaper, and comes in Diet.  That way, when mixing it with Maker's Mark, I can feel a little less guilty, and even a little virtuous. 
However, sugar-free Peeps?  Now that's just weird.  I don't trust this- what will you roll the smooshy marshmallow in, if not pastel sugar?  This won't stop me from buying lots of them, then slitting open the package to let them sit out for a few days to become pleasantly stale before they're ready to eat, but still, I'll feel sort of untoward doing it.  Like kissing an ex-boyfriend's brother.*
As I'll be leaving town in June (holy crap, to be in the same place as Noah?  for more than 48 hours?  Unheard of!) , I want to do a combination spring-cleaning and this-doesn't-fit-anymore and moving purge of closet contents, some furniture, etc.  I'd rather it go to someone I know than a random craigslister.  For more swanky things, I'll probably try to sell some things online first, then have the Free Room of Stuff.  So, if there's anything reasonable that you've coveted in my apartment, send me an email and I can save it for you.  (Bed?  Not for sale.  Kitchen table?  For sale/giving away!)
*I haven't actually made out with any exes' brothers, but a few years ago, I was at a hockey game in my hometown.  A couple rows down from our seats was a group of guys who looked familiar, but I wasn't able to place them.  After obsessing about this for a full period, I started checking out a particular blond boy.  "Hmmm", I think, "he's pretty hot.  I wonder if we knew eachother in high school?  Maybe he was a friend's boyfriend?  Did we hook up, because he IS cute."
Soon, the realization hits me:  shit.  He's an ex's younger brother, who used to share a room with the ex.  I have been groped in close proximity to this dude's bed, when said little dude was about twelve.  Awkward.


Monday March 26, 2007

If you've ever been out with me, you know that my normal mode of consumption teeters between "indulgent" and "jesus christ!".  So, it came as a great shock to both myself and Noah to realize that even after a full week of his spring break, we had spent a total of $18.50 on going out to have fun.  How?  Well, luck mostly:  a gift certificate for two tix to the Jeune Lune on Saturday followed by the Azia late-night menu (using a $50 gift card from the boys at work), free bottled water from an overeager salesman (before he realized we weren't going to buy anything) and then a bridal shower on Sunday that involved Jenni telling Noah to eat some sandwiches and have a beer when he arrived to pick me up.  Our only expenses were $11 at Chino Latino for dinner plus a drink for Noah (the perks of eating dinner at 11 pm), $5 for chips and salsa on Friday night for nachos + Trivial Pursuit (thankfully, I had a full bottle of bourbon to mix with ginger ale), and a $2.50 beer at the Jeune Lune on Saturday.  Self-restraint!  Kind of!
We got a lot of good things done this week, because now we're at the point where we can discuss grad/law school & beyond plans without me bursting into tears, wailing "but what if I don't get in anywhere?", and actually think about where to live, when, and what sort of habitat we can afford in the future.  And it looks like, thanks to Milwaukee's insanely cheap rent and Noah's gorgeous 4br apartment, I'll be moving to Milwaukee for about two months this summer as a buffer between Mpls Life and Grad Student Life.  I have no great reason to stay in Mpls for those extra two months, when I could be luxuriating in proximity to Noah (and Smoo!), having a full storage room for all my crap, and paying $280 (aaaaah YES!)  per month in rent for a gorgeous brownstone.  I'd probably get a quick data entry gig in Milwaukee for that short period of time, and be able to save up just a little bit more than I could in Mpls, considering that my rent would be less than half, and my grocery bill would go way, way down when shopping and cooking for two (and splitting it) instead of just for me.  And Lake Michigan is right there, five block from Noah's place, to entice me to run and bike every day!
Plus, there are vintage stores in Milwaukee that I haven't shopped at yet.  And with the newfound appreciation of flesh as food, I will most likely be found at Jalisco every afternoon, tucking into a $2 fajita platter.

Amid all this fiscal responsibility, I saw this
Vita charity bracelet online today, and I think I've got to shell out the $44 as a happy-grad-student present to myself.  Wearing that plus the Allumonde ring and my Until There's A Cure bracelet, and I'm the picture of highly accessorized social consciousness!

(oooh, more pretties that I can't afford:  silk dress!) silk dress


Saturday March 24, 2007

You've heard of the tainted pet food scare, right?  Turns out it was motherfucking RAT POISON in the gravy.  Isn't there some sort of quality check that should've been done on pet food before it was approved for sale?  Something like:  uniform color, no dented cans, airtight seal, no foreign objects in food, will not kill animals.   I can understand it if you're not a huge fan of cat-blogging, but to stop the cat bloggers by poisoning their kitties is a rather extreme reaction.

All my (drinking) life, I've eschewed Bloody Marys.  I was convinced that the Bloody Mary was disgusting, and not something I'd ever want to consume, despite the involvement of my favorite things:  vodka and saltiness.  Well, this week Noah & I stopped in to the late-nite happy hour at Chino Latino, and they offer $3 Bloody Marys.  Noah, of course, happily orders one.  While ordering myself a big platter of beefy treats, I thought, hey, if I can learn to love meat again, what if I can learn to love the Bloody Mary?  I took a sip of Noah's drink, and holy hell, turns out I am a fan.  Bring on the spicy tomato juice and booze before noon!  I've got years and years of drinking to make up for!


Thursday March 22, 2007

oh. my. glossness!
I am in the throes of adoration for the most wonderful lipgloss ever:  Maybelline's Shiny-Licious gloss.  Yes, the name sucks.  It makes me think of vapid California blondes drinking Bacardi and Diet Coke poolside, but if these blondes were wearing this lipgloss?  It would make them more human.
I bought the "jam" color a few weeks ago on a Target whim, and my lips have not been bare since.  It's satisfyingly sticky and moisturizing, so I went back to buy their "cinnamon apple" color last night- it's definitely the first red lip gloss I've ever been able to apply without obsessively checking a mirror to see if the color has traversed my entire chin.  I'm converted to this stuff, which means it will be a one-season only product, and will be quietly discontinued before I can stock up for the lipgloss apocalypse.
Reasons that Noah is the best boyfriend ever:
when I come home from work all annoyed and crabby, his remedies are hot tea, backrub, and shoe shopping.  What straight boy would willingly go to the Mall of America for the sole purpose of watching a girl try on 3,007 pairs of shoes and not buy any of them?  (and I LOVE that all the shoe store workers give us that look like they have it figured out:  the best gay boy and his straight girl, finding her pretty footwear.)

I went and also tried on that strapless black dress that has been haunting my dreams- and wow, it was amazing.  And they had one left in my size, and it was perfect, and I walked away.  Without a fancy-ass place to wear it, I can't justify the $150... but I would totally buy it to wear for one fancy event, then dress it down around the neighborhood with a t-shirt underneath and flipflops.  A little bit of shopper's remorse on that one, for sure.  Maybe for Emmo & Chris' wedding?  Maybe if I find a wad of twenties stuffed in my pillow?

(For lunch today, I had a cheeseburger and a Diet Coke.  I'm now officially an american again, according to my boss.)


Monday March 19, 2007

Perhaps I should've been more specific, Yale:  when I said "call me!" I meant "to tell me I've been accepted".  (omg, you totally rejected me because I wrote about not giving a damn about my GRE.  I'm going to go fake being ashamed now.)

Sunday is New York Times Day, which is always Style Section Vapidity Party Day for me.  Until, that is, I saw that this over-privileged twit made the cover of the Style Section.  I'll admit, a tiny part of me wants to give her a miniature high-five for not being in the Alice Walker Fanclub*, but god, lady, get over yourself. 
Oh no, I was thrust into a world of undefined identity!  And I can't live up to my parents!  And I find all my contrived rebellions hollow! 
(hello and welcome to adolescence, Rebecca.  now please sit down and stop yelling.)  Ooh, I think I'll capitalize on my famous last name- which I'm keeping, even though I AM NOTHING LIKE MY MOTHER DO YOU HEAR THAT MOM?- and write an asinine, critically-panned ego-driven puff piece on the true joy and fulfillment that only getting knocked up and devoting myself to continuing the line of self-centered bastards in my family can provide and the rest of the world is simply too career-driven to ever, ever understand.  Oh, and this proves that I'm not gay anymore, because as you know, the gays eat babies.

*  why do I hate on Alice Walker?  Oh, it might've been the interview she gave in "Warrior Marks", a documentary about genital mutilation that I saw during my Womyn's Studies and Herstory seminar, in which she speaks of a childhood bb gun accident.  I'd expect an elementary-school-age accident with a bb gun to be noteworthy if it involved, say, a purposeful shooting on the basis of race, or maybe if the person shooting you was Dick Cheney.  No, AW seems to seriously think that her brother accidentally peppered her with bb's, one of which lodged in/near her eye and left her blind on one side, because he had some deep-seated priomoridal fear of AW and her power to see and understand too much.  He meant to hit her in the eye, to blind her, because he feared her power and needed to keep a strong woman (age 8!) in check
And this to begin a film about being forcibly mutilated.
Truly, this is no exaggeration- this exceedingly moronic statement on her part was captured on tape.  So this is why I cannot ever respected Alice Walker- becaues if you're going to make a giant, overgeneralizing, self-important statement like that ("hey, my eye is wonky, and you don't have a clitoris!  I totally have the same pain as you!"), at least don't let them get it on tape.  At least save the "I was misquoted!" defense for yourself, because honey, you'll need it for anyone to take you seriously again.


Sunday March 18, 2007

Last night, I dreamt of this dress.

If I had an extra $140 (ha!) in my checking account, I would've been on the train this morning to the mall to ogle it in person.  Black!  Cotton!  Trench dress!  Oh, why are you not mine?

(I also dreamt that after buying this dress, I drowned Anna Wintour, who was very reminiscent of the marionettes from "Team America".  Skinny bitch wouldn't stay dead, though.)


Friday March 16, 2007


hey, Yale?  um, Art Institute of Chicago? 


Thursday March 15, 2007

While running errands tonight after work, I splurged on a can of Enviga at the grocery store because I am a sucker for novelty, and y'know, $1.29.
While it is delightfully effervescent and vaguely fruity beverage, I'm troubled by its color.  I assume that the marketing advisors thought of it as the hippie Red Bull, to always be consumed straight out of the can, so they didn't actually look at its color.
It is... bright, flourescent, neon, safety-reflector, Mountain Dew-yellow.  Not the color of health, fitness, and wholesome green tea goodness.

I think I'll finish the rest of this glass with my eyes closed, and pretend that it's a normal food color instead of HI! WAKE UP! YELLOW!


Wednesday March 14, 2007

My liver hurts:  I blame that on the bottle of champagne (Nicolas Feuillatte, I looooooove yoooooou...) and the surprise donation of an eight-course wine tasting with dinner last night.  I had planned for a single bottle of champagne to carry myself and Jen through dinner, thinking "well, it's a Tuesday night, and it's best not to stagger in to work drunk mid-week", but if you're my boss and you're going to keep filling my ever-growing assortment of wineglasses up with each course, I'm for sure going to smile pretty and drink up.
I cannot even begin to express the awesomeness that was the dinner we ate last night, except to say that now, "slow-poached pheasant with oyster mushrooms and foie gras" are magic words to me. 
Jen's reaction as the second course was being delivered:  "If I burst into tears during dinner, it's a good thing.  They're tears of joy."
My reaction to the squid ink ravioli filled with salt cod:  "Is it truly inappropriate to stand up and yell Holy shit this is good?"
My ass hurts:  I'm uncertain where the blame should fall for this ailment.  I'm fairly sure that it's a bruised tailbone, which has happened to me on at least one occasion in the recent past.  However, I cannot figure out how this bruising occurred.  No one dropped me from a great height, no one kicked me in sacrum, and I have not been involved in any anal-fisting orgies.  Have gnomes been smacking my ass in my sleep?  Ow, ow, ow.  This makes sitting awkward and painful, and last night during yoga class, I interrupted everyone's peaceful concentration in upward-facing boat pose by groaning "eeeeaaoooooouucccchh!" as my tailbone came into full contact with the floor.
Come to think of it, I'm never sure what causes these bruised tailbones.  Am I inadvertently falling down repeatedly, then blocking out the memory?  Ouch.
My pride hurts:  I got the official rejection from Madison this week for their MBA Arts Admin program.  Truthfully, my ego isn't wounded that badly, as I also got the official "you're in!" letter from the University of Cincinnati.  Getting rejected from Madison is disappointing, but not fatal- and according to Craigslist, rent in Cincinnati is hella cheap.


Monday March 12, 2007

My favorite exchange between myself and Noah this month:

me: "(something, something, something,) my balls."
Noah: "wait a moment. I have to assert my testicular superiority here."


Saturday March 10, 2007

Oh no.  No, no, no:  The MisShapes will be dj'ing at Bar Fly on Friday night, and that is simply two miles too close to my home for comfort.  What if the black-dyed asymmetrical haircut is catching?  Horrors!

(I took my GRE this morning at 7-goddamn-30, and freakily did better on the math portion than the verbal- both surprisingly good, considering my utter lack of interest in studying for this.  Uh, Yale, you're not reading that, right?  Good!)


Wednesday March 7, 2007

Ira Glass is now my friend on facebook. Holy christ. That turns me on. (Yes, I just found out he's married, but that DOES NOT KILL THE FANTASY.)

Jean Baudrillard died this week, and I think the Gawker obit that said he "died" is the greatest thing I've ever seen. Hopefully my consumerism ahoy! post last night did not kill him. (Simulacra: 1. Baudrillard: 0.)


Tuesday March 6, 2007

I got paid today. 
However, I also did my March budget today (and oops, I might not have
gone to Trader Joe's last weekend if I'd done this budget in advance
like a good girl), and I'm going to be running a deficit this month. 
Shit.  And this just when I finally get my home wifi up and running,
the better to facilitate internet shopping!  Well, looking at the
internet wistfully, anyway.  If given a magical credit card with no
need to actually pay the bill, the following would be my lust objects
for spring:

KELLY GREEN LEATHERvs. tory burch reva

these "Kelly" shoes,
appropriately enough, in gorgeous kelly green.  They're not the sweet
fake-snake of the Jeffrey Campbells, but I just can't stomach the insipid mint green color.  And whee, they're a cooler color than the Tory Burches and for 1/3 the price!


to fulfill my need for snakeskin shoes, these Nine West flats

gold flat

and more Nine West, in a lovely gold leather flat to best approximate the gorgeous, bajillion-dollar Lanvins that I will never ever own.

metallic silver & gold Chucks

lace pump

lace-overlay pumps

(see!  mostly shoes that aren't obscenely expensive!  self-control!)


J Brand mid-rise bootcuts

yet another pair of Joe's Jeans "Muse"

and tailoring to bring in the waist
of my other jeans and work pants, which have gone from "slouchy" to
"clearly a size too large"


the elusive grey tonal-striped tee I covet

every other thing on the American Apparel website, including more long tanks, a skinny orange scarf, and stretchy dresses

a decent pair of sunglasses that
will not break upon contact with the floor (which means I'll probably
have to shell out for more than the $4.80 sunglasses at Heartbreaker)

more titacular bras, and then some sports bras for when it's best not to buttress cleavage up up and away

a trashy-fabulous cobalt blue vinyl handbag, clearly a one-season accessory, with bonus points if it resembles the Marc Jacobs Stam bag.


Estimated cost of my wishlist:  somewhere between $1,000 and WHAT IN GOD'S NAME DO YOU MEAN, MY DISCOVER CARD IS MAXED OUT?

Probability of actually purchasing any of these things:  vaguely possible (in the event that the IRS decides to give me back all the taxes I paid in, plus a little extra just for fun) to utterly delusional.

Probability of me going through my liquor cabinet before the month is through to dull the pain of a single-digit checking account balance:  medium-high.  Orange alert!


Monday March 5, 2007

Tonight, I decided to suck it up and go to two yoga classes at the studio. Normally it's Lovely Teacher #1 with relaxing yoga, then Lovely & Tough Teacher #2 with ashtanga. I was too blissed out in my stretching to notice that Teacher #2 was absent, and in her place was my least favorite teacher at the studio. I can't explain why I dislike him so much, except that his voice seems to be the aural equivalent of a really condescending bottle of quaaludes. He's all monotone and whispery and overly gentle, which annoys the hell out of me.
Tonight, as he came over behind me to adjust my Half-Moon pose, I really wanted to fart on him.


Friday March 2, 2007

oh, yeah. I got into Indiana's arts admin program today.

Two down, five schools to go.

Friday March 2, 2007

Wait, wait, wait a minute.  When I was at the U of M, classes weren't cancelled for ANYTHING.  9/11/01?  Go to class!  Sub-zero temperatures and blowing snow during finals, with no cross-campus buses running?  Sorry, you'll just have to walk the 1.5 miles at night, alone, across the arctic tundra (ah, memories, Emmo).  But yesterday, some pansy-ass administrator at the U decided to cancel classes because oh my, we're going to get 6" of snow today!  Heavens!  Four goddamn years of college for me without a single snow day, and then to compound the insult, CHIPOTLE CLOSED DUE TO SNOW.  Stand between me and my spicy chicken taco and you'll find me a very agitated D indeed.
We at the Southern Theater, however, are badasses.  One lousy snowstorm does not mean that suddenly performers are too fragile to dance, oh no.  The show went on as planned, and we were prepping for the Friday school matinee, when all the schools called to cancel their attendance "because we might be snowed in!".  Lame, lame, lame.  If I can walk to work at 9 a.m. this morning sans dogsled, you can get your ass to a theater to watch some amazing flamenco dancers with creepy masks.
Even Noah is proving his upper-midwestern hardiness, by driving in his teeny-tiny Toyota to Minneapolis tonight to see me.  Our love is stronger than snowstorms!  Stronger than the distance across Wisconsin!  I do wish our love had anti-lock brakes and power steering, though.
Twitty, girly moment of happiness:  last night one of the most beautiful, wonderful dancers I know, Jamie (remember:  dancer = hotness) commented on how svelte I appeared.  While I was eating m&m's.  Nothing is quite so ego-gratifying as to have someone whose job it is to work out all day every day- and look gorgeous doing it- call you "skinny".  I do believe I may have blushed (and then put down the next handful of m&m's).
Oh, I posted my quest for a nice tonal-stripe tee on Closet Therapy Forums, and despite making it clear that H&M, Urban, Forever 21, etc had come up barren, I'm getting replies like "god, I see those everywhere.  I can't believe you can't find one."  Uh, not helpful.  If you're finding it so easy to purchase this, how 'bout you just tell me WHERE YOU'RE BUYING IT?  I did get a dark green/light green one at Target for $12 this week, which is nice, but my holy grail is a grey/dark grey or a grey/navy one.  The search will continue.
And not that I have any cash, not at all- when you have to charge cat litter at Target due to insufficient funds in checking account, that's a bad sign- but I'm eyeing these metallic gold and silver Chucks with lust.  Is it necessary to own two pairs of metallic sneakers, especially at $10-$25 more expensive than plain Chucks?  No.  But they're so shiny!  Shiny!