Thursday April 19, 2007

What is, hands-down, the least interesting thing I can enthuse about?  How about:  gel insoles.  Yes, I've hijacked the body of a frumpy podiatrist.  But- I bought a large quantity of assorted gel foot cushions and heel cushions and other squishy things on sale at DSW last weekend, and I can confidently say that my quality of life goes up every time I take a step.  Yes, I'm lame.  But these little ball-of-foot squooshy pads!  They are so squooshy!  It's like having a little tiny chipmunk masseuse living in my heels.  If you could step on the chipmunk without killing it, obviously.  How have I lived my life without the luxury of $4 gel insoles thus far?  My god, THE TECHNOLOGY.
I should really tape a notecard to my cupboard saying:  "When making spicy pasta sauce, either use the hot chili oil OR a bunch of ground black pepper.  NOT BOTH."
Though I do love to mess with the plain, jarred Trader Joe's marinara sauce, it's throat-searingly spicy when I decide to dump both the chili oil and a bunch of black pepper in.  Does the runny nose and teary eyes accompanying my dinner remind me to eschew one of these next time?  Of course not. 
Last night, I laid awake for some time thinking about the two pears in my refrigerator.  They're just this side of overripe, and I bought more pears than I needed when making scones on Sunday.  Could I core them, fill them with mascarpone and walnuts, and then bake?  Or saute them in whiskey and use to fill crepes?  Or mush them up with some ginger and make a custard?  Or chop with some cucumber and mangoes and bell peppers for a salsa?  Or I could just eat them before they get too mushy.  That thought honestly didn't occur to me until this morning. 
This week, my internship with the Southern's managing director ended.  I was briefly elated, thinking "free time for running, doing laundry, and making sure my cat is still alive!".  Ha. This week, my online business calculus class begins.  I have 8 weeks of assignments plus a midterm and a final to prove that some tiny part of my brain can be adept at math.  The MBA dept at UC requires a calculus class before starting the MBA Arts Admin program, which means that for the next two months, I get to hunker down and do homework.  There are two bright spots, however:  1) I'll have this class finished before I move from Mpls, so those two months in Milwaukee with Noah will be blissfully free of responsibility, and 2) I get the impression that it's graded more on "effort" than "right answers".
(Much like my high-school Spanish I class, in which I wrote my answers in broken French, painted my nails in class, and got an A.  Oh, the convenience of a lecherous teacher plus a very, very short skirt.)

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