Freezing Fog

Last night I drove home through freezing fog. It was strange. It doesn't seem as if you're peering through mist; rather it seems as if everything becomes blurry...like you need glasses. It feels like driving through a dream in which you can't quite see clearly.

I have nothing really to say. Nothing interesting. I just keep thinking about those tiny sparks of ice I could just see in my headlights. If not for that, I may have thought that I had indeed fallen asleep and had driven into some kind of dream.

Four Cheese Florentine and other related matters

I would apologize for not having written in so long, but apologies are tiresome, so I will jump right in and not even try to recap my life for the past seven months.

Lately I have had less time to cook food from scratch--or perhaps I have just grown disgustingly lazy...very probable!--so I have been cooking things that come in bags and say things like "cook in bag in microwave" and "you can cook this and pretend it's natural even though it's not at all, but at least there's a picture of a farm on the front of it, and it's ready in thirty seconds" on the packaging. It's easy and it's all from Target, so it's a win-win for me, really.

Anyway, tonight I decided to cook something the nice green box called "Four Cheese Florentine." It looked very fancy and delicious...much better than macaroni and cheese from the blue and orange box with the dinosaur on the front. You're obviously a child or a loser if you eat THAT. This is super classy, though. And it's from Target...did I mention that? I love Target. Anway! So I started cooking it, added the cheese sauce, and it boiled up like crazy. I thought, "This couldn't possibly cook for another fourteen minutes without boiling over!" And then I looked at the directions, and they said to turn the heat down to a simmer. This is a lesson, I say firmly to myself. Always read directions.

So, yes, in answer to your frustrated queries at this point, I DID just write a blog post about....really, nothing at all. But I, my friends, am on Christmas break, and so I can write about nothing, because nothing is what I do, and I am thrilled with it.

Please tune in next time for another exciting installment!

I like.

I like rainy days--sometimes--because they make me feel cozy-warm-happy.
I like using dashes--hello!--because they are bolder than commas and because Emily Dickinson liked them too.
I like candles--but who doesn't?--lit on a rainy night because they're romantic and because they're warm and because they look like they'll protect you when electricity looks so cold and might disappear with a flash of lightning--BOOM!
I like things that people like and things that people don't like and things that people don't like because other people and too many people do like: example of the first being chocolate; example of the second being Damien Rice and grammar; example of the third being country music and Twilight.
I like being myself and liking it and sometimes being other people because that can be fun too, and why should you be always just yourself when yourself is probably three or four selves?
I like being girly.
I like being romantic.
I like being bookish.
I like being the femme fatale.
I like being cutting.
I like being caring.
I like cooking.
Looking.
Seeing.
Being seen.
Hiding.
Sleeping.
Buying and making.
I like liking what I like.
Don't you?
What makes you like who you are--what you do?

Tell me.

Babies.

This is the year of babies! Last year--or was it the year before?--was the year of weddings for me, and this is the year of babies. The problem is that the year of weddings could not make me want to get married because I already am. The year of babies, however, is making me want to have a baby. Peer pressure! I must withstand, however, unless I want to be juggling a baby and English classes. Not happening! Plus, juggling might not be good for the baby.

I must wait. But still! Now all my future child's friends are going to be older than him/her because I didn't jump on the bandwagon fast enough! Stupid school. Oh well.

On a different note, I am going to try baking again today, as a reward for cleaning, laundry and grocery shopping. But I suppose that means I should start the cleaning/laundry/grocery shopping.

Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers and moms-to-be! Please wait to have some children, though, dear friends, until I do. Or else, who will my baby be best friends with and eventually marry? See?

Dear everyone,

I wish I were a baking goddess who always wore floral-print sun dresses and high heels. I would wear frilly aprons whenever I cooked, and somehow never have to do dishes. Dirty dishes simply don't exist. Basically I wish I were a slightly younger version of June Cleaver. Oh no, Donna Reed is who I want to be. Beautiful and capably domestic.

Our moving date is coming up so soon, and I feel terrified of it, more often than not. It's not that I don't want change, or that I'm not looking forward to some of things that are coming. I am. But I am so comfortable with how things are now, and our next step is, I feel, another transitioning step. We are not completely done with school, and we are not moving into our house with a yard. We can't yet get a dog or start a family. If things must change, I wish that that were the change. I wish we were at the part of our lives where we could settle down.

But I must be thankful. I have so many things to be thankful for, and this will be an exciting part of our lives, and one that I will fondly look back upon, I am sure, when I am holding crying babies in the middle of the night, wishing for sleep.

I must muster my wits, to paraphrase Shakespeare, and also muster some enthusiasm! And perhaps try baking in heels. Maybe that would invoke the calm domesticity of Mrs. Cleaver.

Autumn

My dearest readers, I must confess something most shocking to you: as much as I have been enjoying--really, delighting in--this past spring, I have just had a longing for autumn. The feeling came about this way: I was reading a recipe which involved baking pumpkins, and all of a sudden the sights and scents of autumn flooded my memory. As every lover of fall knows, it's somehow more than the spicy scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and burning leaves. It's also the first bite of chill wind, the mustiness of fallen leaves, the peculiar blue of autumn skies. It's the thrill of Hallow'een, children swathed in spectral apparel.

Whereas spring gently urges contentment, autumn demands courage and action. Perhaps that explains my sudden longing for fall: a desire for courage.

I have many changes rapidly approaching, regardless of my readiness to meet them. And they will come amidst the torpor of summer, though I may wish for the brisk brilliance of fall.

How to train your....

Ladies and gentlemen, I last night was instructed how to train my dragon. It was great fun! Now, those of you who know me, may be familiar with the fact that I generally do not like children's movies. They are usually really sad near the end and usually because someone innocent, like a child or animal, suffers. That happened in this one too, but the ending was fantastic and made it all worthwhile! Not to mention that said movie featured the gorgeous voice of Mr. Gerard Butler. Beautiful. Toothless, the main dragon, reminded me of my kitty, Jasper. This is a picture of Toothless, to the right. Maybe you can't see the resemblance here, but you can see it in the movie.

Last night was also remarkable because I got to meet the boyfriends of two of my dearest friends, Bethany and Elise. Their boyfriends were lovely: Josh, charming, adorable, and quite enthralled with the lenses of the 3D glasses; Max, tall, dark, handsome. Good job, ladies. Impeccable taste!

And now I must dedicate a bit of this post to a certain person I will call J. J is a boss--the boss, really--at a place of employment of a family member of mine. Now, I visit this family member, P, at said place of employment fairly often. I feel that J does not like me. Granted, she smiles at me when I walk in, but there is a sort of evil glint in her eye.Perhaps the reason for said dislike is that I get a discount when I go there, and she regrets that I take up space in her building without paying her the full amount of money. But, dearest J, may I point out that said discount was your own idea. I merely take full advantage of it.

My latest grievance concerning J happened recently. I visited her establishment and was waited on by L, a sweet girl, about my age, married, and going to the same school as I. So I try tip her well. Try being the operative word. But L and I play this game in which I tip her, and she gives me the tip back, and then I attempt to give it back again. Today, we began the game. She gave me the tip back, so I slipped the money into an Express pamphlet that L had been admiring, and, as I leave, tell P to give it to her before she leaves. P turns to J, who was standing next to him, and says something. I overhear, as I am walking out the door, J say severely to him, "No, don't play games. If she doesn't want the money, don't try to give it back to her."

Don't play games? Ah. Of course. Because, really, why should work be fun? And why should a waitress get her tips, for that matter? And why should I try to be nice? J, darling, here is a tip for you: watch How to Train Your Dragon. Perhaps it will instill some fun into your life.