Yesterday I cheated in most aspects of life. I was going to make a vegan dish for dinner, but stuck chicken breasts in the pan with the vegetables at the last minute. I was going to work out after work, but I went home and cheated on my dinner menu instead. I was going to not eat four cookies and various junk foods, but, as they were being given away free at the Peterson Event Center, I cheated and helped myself to four wonderful cookies AND some candy AND a brownie AND graham crackers. I was going to leave my face alone and let my chin zits heal properly, but I cheated and dug a huge hole in my face. I could go on forever with all the cheating I did.
Finally, around 9pm, I just gave up on my day and sank into the couch with a bottle of wine and watched Corey and LeeAnn play Katamari. Then LeeAnn brought coconut popsicles...
So today, I am making up for it all by over-achieving. I am going to stop perusing the internet and finish fact checking a day early. I am taking a new MFA student out for lunch and telling her how to survive in Pittsburgh. I am going to buy a new toaster and a new George Foreman grill and cook up more vegan burgers. AND I am going to finish my freelance assignment. All this before going out for $0.25 drinks with the ladies at 730. Oh, it will happen! I will have a successful day today!
Friday, June 09, 2006
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Scary Chaos
I know why people don't try new things. Stronger than the fear of not being good at something and messing everyone up is the paralyzing, overwhelming feeling of not knowing what the hell is going on, where to stand, when to move, or if I'm even in the correct place. I think Three Rivers Rowing needs to work a little bit on "novice" organization.
When I got to the boat house, there was nobody at the front desk. The front desk person is your buffer between the world outside, where you are comfortable and know where to stand and the scary world of water, where everyone throws around nautical terms and runs about feeling comfortable in spandex. I stood in the very back of the room, observing these tall, lean people and hoping someone would see the look of terror on my face and show me where to stand.
Turns out, there were more unaffiliated novices at the practice than actual accomplished rowers with teams. The new people herded into the boat bays and spent an hour learning how to pick up the shell and then put it down. That sucker is heavy! Even with 8 people lifting, the fiberglass little sleek shell that skims across the water is HEAVY. We then went inside and used the "ERGS" to learn to row properly before they dropped the biggest scary bomb of the night:
The new people are expected to band together and form teams of 8 on their own! With no guidance. I am going to be picked last. I just know it. Nobody will develop as a natural captain, I won't make friends with these people because they will discover that I'm weird. I am going to be all alone, the single novice rower with no home team. I will float around that lobby each Wednesday evening waiting for a team to call for one rower.
Please, Jesus, don't let me be picked last for a crew team. Don't make me stand all alone and ask team spandex to let me join the back of their boat.
When I got to the boat house, there was nobody at the front desk. The front desk person is your buffer between the world outside, where you are comfortable and know where to stand and the scary world of water, where everyone throws around nautical terms and runs about feeling comfortable in spandex. I stood in the very back of the room, observing these tall, lean people and hoping someone would see the look of terror on my face and show me where to stand.
Turns out, there were more unaffiliated novices at the practice than actual accomplished rowers with teams. The new people herded into the boat bays and spent an hour learning how to pick up the shell and then put it down. That sucker is heavy! Even with 8 people lifting, the fiberglass little sleek shell that skims across the water is HEAVY. We then went inside and used the "ERGS" to learn to row properly before they dropped the biggest scary bomb of the night:
The new people are expected to band together and form teams of 8 on their own! With no guidance. I am going to be picked last. I just know it. Nobody will develop as a natural captain, I won't make friends with these people because they will discover that I'm weird. I am going to be all alone, the single novice rower with no home team. I will float around that lobby each Wednesday evening waiting for a team to call for one rower.
Please, Jesus, don't let me be picked last for a crew team. Don't make me stand all alone and ask team spandex to let me join the back of their boat.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Beaten by Beets
Last night I attempted to make vegan burgers a la Real Food Daily. Everything was going fine until I had to peel and shred a beet. I had never seen a real beet before in person. Is that pathetic or what? I didn't even recognize the brown, enormous leafy thing Corey brought me as a beet. How was I supposed to peel and shred that thing? For all I knew, it was as solid as a yam and the skin was as tough as pineapple skin.
So I did what anyone would do in such a crisis. I called my grandmother. Who proceeded to laugh at me for fifteen minutes. Then she told me what to do and off I went.
Only she didn't forewarn me that everything would become red. My hands. My knife. My cutting board. My Cuisinart. The mixing bowl. The spatula. The frying pan. The George Foreman grill. Everything. Red.
I called her back to report and seek cleanup advice. Lemon juice, as she suggested, pretty much did the trick. But I felt dominated by this new vegetable. Is it even a vegetable? It must be, because it grows underground like a carrot or onion. I will conquer this beet. I have three more left and am going to neatly eat them this week, by God.
Nanny has suggested peeling, slicing, and frying the beets in butter. She also likes to boil them and then spread butter on them. I see that butter is pretty much the solution to all my beet needs. Tomorrow night's side dish will be red and buttery and I will win!
So I did what anyone would do in such a crisis. I called my grandmother. Who proceeded to laugh at me for fifteen minutes. Then she told me what to do and off I went.
Only she didn't forewarn me that everything would become red. My hands. My knife. My cutting board. My Cuisinart. The mixing bowl. The spatula. The frying pan. The George Foreman grill. Everything. Red.
I called her back to report and seek cleanup advice. Lemon juice, as she suggested, pretty much did the trick. But I felt dominated by this new vegetable. Is it even a vegetable? It must be, because it grows underground like a carrot or onion. I will conquer this beet. I have three more left and am going to neatly eat them this week, by God.
Nanny has suggested peeling, slicing, and frying the beets in butter. She also likes to boil them and then spread butter on them. I see that butter is pretty much the solution to all my beet needs. Tomorrow night's side dish will be red and buttery and I will win!
Monday, June 05, 2006
Top 5 Insane Nutters I've Encountered Since Wednesday
5. The drunk goth guy on the bus this morning who applied eyeliner as we went over potholes and asked the suited businessman to his right whether he, too, had enjoyed 25 cent shots at the gay bar the night before.
4. Cat, from my bus stop, who never fails to ask for change or demand why I have no cigarettes lit for him to use to light his own cigarettes.
3. The short lady from the bus stop in Squirrel Hill who said "Are you Diane? You look just like her... God, I really thought it was you... Man, you look like Diane. ..You have that aura like you've lived in Squirrel Hill your whole life." Suddenly, a small Asian woman came to the bus stop who mysteriously also looked exactly like Diane. Hmmm...
2. The elderly black woman who saw my braided pigtails and told me I would look really cute with a weave and lots of braids with beads on the end, even if I am a white girl.
1. My boss, who has left numerous wild and raving emails, voicemails, and scrawled notes on my desk asking me repeatedly to help her open files, attach documents to emails, and other seemingly self-explanatory tasks. One question at a time, I am very calm when teaching this 76 year old basic computer skills. Piled up after a weekend in Philadelphia, these are the rantings of a nutter. I honestly don't think I can show her how to open a Word file another time today without stabbing myself in the ear.
My favorite nutty email from her: an otherwise completely blank email forwarded to me saying "What is the meaning of this email???" on which the entire editorial board was copied.
4. Cat, from my bus stop, who never fails to ask for change or demand why I have no cigarettes lit for him to use to light his own cigarettes.
3. The short lady from the bus stop in Squirrel Hill who said "Are you Diane? You look just like her... God, I really thought it was you... Man, you look like Diane. ..You have that aura like you've lived in Squirrel Hill your whole life." Suddenly, a small Asian woman came to the bus stop who mysteriously also looked exactly like Diane. Hmmm...
2. The elderly black woman who saw my braided pigtails and told me I would look really cute with a weave and lots of braids with beads on the end, even if I am a white girl.
1. My boss, who has left numerous wild and raving emails, voicemails, and scrawled notes on my desk asking me repeatedly to help her open files, attach documents to emails, and other seemingly self-explanatory tasks. One question at a time, I am very calm when teaching this 76 year old basic computer skills. Piled up after a weekend in Philadelphia, these are the rantings of a nutter. I honestly don't think I can show her how to open a Word file another time today without stabbing myself in the ear.
My favorite nutty email from her: an otherwise completely blank email forwarded to me saying "What is the meaning of this email???" on which the entire editorial board was copied.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Organic Temper Tantrum
Our organic veggie delivery started yesterday. I was so disappointed! The crate was full of lettuce and herbs and a loaf of bread and that's it. In my mind, my table would heap with peas and rhubarb and carrots. Or at least a tomato. So overcome with sadness was I at the lost dinner salad that I had an enormous temper tantrum.
When Corey walked in the door with a bag of lettuce, I just lost it. Freaked out! I was so hot and tired and had walked so far and waited so long for the bus yesterday that I could not deal with one single thing going wrong. After yelling and raving like a madwoman, I ripped open the bread and shoved it in my mouth. That made me feel, if not better, at least less hungry.
This morning it is only 65 degrees and I feel much more excited about the lettuce. We also got fresh rosemary and a recipe for rosemary bread. Perhaps the light crate load is not the end of the world after all. The true enemy is global warming! What will I do if such heat takes over the world and I am forced to deal with my temper tantrums every day??
When Corey walked in the door with a bag of lettuce, I just lost it. Freaked out! I was so hot and tired and had walked so far and waited so long for the bus yesterday that I could not deal with one single thing going wrong. After yelling and raving like a madwoman, I ripped open the bread and shoved it in my mouth. That made me feel, if not better, at least less hungry.
This morning it is only 65 degrees and I feel much more excited about the lettuce. We also got fresh rosemary and a recipe for rosemary bread. Perhaps the light crate load is not the end of the world after all. The true enemy is global warming! What will I do if such heat takes over the world and I am forced to deal with my temper tantrums every day??
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