Ten random things about me

1.  I hate the word "random."  Makes me think of Annoying Facebook Girl:

2.  On the phone or in recordings, my voice is almost indistinguishable from my mother's. 

3.  When I was a kid, I went through a brief phase where I was scared of dinosaurs.  At night, I hated having to wait in the downstairs hallway to use the bathroom, because I was afraid that a dinosaur was watching me through darkened windows in the living room.  To make matters worse, I was doing a school project on dinosaurs at the time.

4.  If the money weren't so bad, I wouldn't mind waitressing for the rest of my career.

Even if it did make me look like this sometimes.  My dad calls that the Vulture Look.

5.  I have the world's broadest shoulders.  LITERALLY LOL IM SO RANDOM

No, seriously.  When I wear a dress, I look like Clay Matthews in a dress.

6.  My musical tastes are from another planet.  Know any other 27-year-old girls who go absolutely apeshit for Genesis, Yes, Jethro Tull?  Anyone?  That's what I thought.

7.  My cat Micky is my emotional clone.  You never know if I'm going to be extremely needy or if I'm going to scratch the shit out of your face.  She follows me everywhere, always comes when she's called, and greets me at the door like a dog.  And when I'm sad, the first thing she does is to sit on my lap and purr.  Not afraid to get all BACK UP BITCH if need be, but probably the most loving and loyal sweetheart ever.  Except for the time that I had a migraine and was vomity/crying and she peed on my bed while I was in it.  ....just like I, at times, can be similarly irrational....

Plus, she likes little hidey places.  She doesn't celebrate Christmas, but she celebrates when I break out the decorations.

And I'm serious about her following me everywhere.  When I sit at the computer, she just sits there and stares at me.  For as long as it takes.

8.  I'm left-handed, but I pitched softball for nine years as a righty because my dad couldn't find a left-handed mitt at the store that would fit me.

9.  I am incredibly, unconditionally stubborn.  Yesterday I refused out loud to wear weather-appropriate shoes.  "I AM, they MATCH my OUTFIT.  Who gives a shit about snow.  I certainly don't.  Take that, snow."  ...but no one was there.  No one was trying to talk me out of anything.  I was refusing to -- that's right -- myself.  Which, really, that's the best way, because then I always win.  Hey guys, check out me winning:

win win win win win win win win

10.  In a perfect world, I would be eating pizza right now.  Or, really, any given moment. 

It's really hard to just think of "random" things about yourself.  I kept wanting to put things like, I'm five foot seven, or I'm a Taurus, or I like to cook.  But those are things kind of on the surface, and I wanted to try to think of things that you might not guess.  (I can hear my parents and David smirking at someone maybe not guessing I'm hysterically stubborn.)  And to the things that you maybe would guess, I tried to at least add something interesting about it. 

Okay, time to jet so I can make some steaks tonight!  om nom nom... so expect an update to the recipe page soon if this works out!  Got some ribeyes for $4.50 apiece today, and I haven't done ribeyes in a long time, so let's hope this works out for the sake of my precious, precious ego.


11.  I put hot sauce on everything.  Everything.


It's Mondaytastic

Today started off similar to most Mondays I've had lately, where if you're near me and breathing then I want to kill you:

More and more people are telling me that my hair looked better when it was long and dark.  What am I supposed to do?  Say, "Oh, hang on for five years, brb growing out my hair"??  Steal the hair back from some little cancery kid and glue it to my head?  Or maybe wait until a time machine is invented so I can use it for the sole, frivolous purpose of going back in time to stop my haircut?  Yes, I'm growing it out because I miss having long hair.  And yes, I'll become a brunette again eventually -- not because I don't like the blond, but because being a brunette is less expensive.

July 2010...there's actually more hair than that; it was down to my waist
May 2011

November 2011.  Um, the one on the left.

So that was my biggest pet peeve of the day, and considering that the pet peeves of some people are things like, "I haven't eaten in six days" or "I wish this guy wasn't knifing me to death right now," I now feel pretty silly.  But if those people wanted to, they could start a blog and write about those things. 

But THEN, David called me at work and said his mom sent him something in the mail.  The package contained:
- one of the DVDs that David got me for Christmas (Black Swan was absent... if my aunt Sally starts yelling "ATTACK IT!  ATTACK IT!  ATTACK IT!" at random moments, we will know that she kept the DVD and got swanned in by the metaphors one is whacked over the head with when watching that movie)
- the headset that David also got me for Christmas.  This is very important.  See, when we're both sitting in the office playing SWTOR, we're sometimes also on a program so that we can talk to others in our guild.  Some of you gamers out there are going, "um, yeah, Vent, der," but my mom's not hip to it, so gimme a break.  Anyway, so at times he's let me borrow his headset so that I can chat with other guildies.  And then this is what happens:

Me:  "Hey guys."
Everyone:  [variations of "hi," "how are you," and Joey going "YO"]
Me:  "I'm on the Imperial Fleet crafting at the moment, but I'm gonna head to Belsavis and do some dailies."
Everyone:  [variations of "cool," "I'm on the Fleet too," and Joey going "SCHWEEEET"]
AND David:  "You talkin' to me?"  I shake my head at him while other people talk.
Me:  "Awesome, I finally got the advanced insight enhancement.  That took forever."
Everyone AND David:  "hyeoyu  gsrhaotusl dK akte,e pm aRkEei nogn et hfoosre m toeo?."  (Joey:  "AWRIIIITE")

Of course, when everyone + David talks, it's usually during one of my cinematics, when my character is having a conversation, so I'm trying to listen to upwards of at least three people at once.  Now, if we both have our headsets on, we'll know when the other person is talking on Vent.  Mostly so I don't have a nervous breakdown.

- And finally, the package included a spare set of keys to David's car.  He broke his key about a week ago.  I was so worried that he'd get a job interview and I'd have to leave work to take him to it.  That would be bad news for him, because I would never be able to resist trying to clean his face with a spitty thumb and yelling after him, "NOW BE GOOD!  REMEMBER YOUR MANNERS!  MAKE SURE TO SAY 'PLEASE' AND 'THANK YOU,' AND FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, TUCK IN THAT SHIRT!"

So, that package -- and the fact that I'll be signing my own name on my very first audit (okay, so I assisted my boss, whatever... I'll still get to sign my tiny, lowly name under his big important one) -- made my day much better.  I no longer want to kill people for simply breathing. 

Though I will still kill people who eat loudly and with their mouths open, because what the fuck.



Okay, so for the last two weeks, any time I go to my blog, it fucking freezes, and it's annoying as shit.  I don't give a fuck about my language right now, because I'm fucking pissed.  NOW, I've just learned that ever since I changed my blog name from "Q the Avenger" to "The Park Ave. Pub," my favorite aunt can't get to my blog, which doesn't exactly make my fucking Christmas morning, and she'd probably tell you asswipes the same thing.

When I go to my main blog page, everything's hunky-fucking-dory until I try to visit any other link on my page.  Like, for example, ANY OTHER FUCKING LINK ON MY PAGE.

There isn't anything I can't stand more other than people not doing their fucking jobs.  I want this thing fixed, NOW.

A bouquet of condescension

I have a habit of taking shows I watch and writing summaries or rants on them.  For example, I bitched about the Kardashians, and I wrote the synopsis for any given episode of Mad Men and Grey's Anatomy.

But I can't seem to do it to Army Wives

Photo courtesy of fanpop.
 The show is, dare I say, perfect, despite the tear-jerking scenes, over-the-top military-sounding music, and redonkulous stereotyping.  It has eroded away my snark to the point where I only have like, a little snark nub, or something.  So frustrating.  Who am I without my snark?  I'm so lost.

I don't like the Moran kids on the show, but that isn't saying much, because I don't know many people who love snotty kids with whiny voices.  (I like the LeBlanc kids though.  They're more realistic.  I don't like that they switched out the actor for the older kid in the fifth season, though I don't know their reasoning behind it.  I'm very glad they switched out the actress for Emmalin after the first season, because the girl who played her originally had one of those faces that I just really wanted to punch.) 

David said all the Army stuff involved in the show is really accurate, except for the uniforms, since there are laws about that or something.  Anyway, I've been watching Army Wives for three days straight after work, even abandoning SWTOR, because it's so addicting.  And this is my third time watching the whole series.  It isn't even new to me. 

It's kind of driving me nuts.  The other day I used the word "chit" instead of fine (as in a ticket for violating something, not "fine" like what people say when they're mad and passive aggressive). 

I also don't think I could be a Ms. Snarkypants about Man, Woman, Wild, but probably only because the couple in the show is so adorable.

Now, I love Six Feet Under, but I bet I could make fun of it, because seriously -- nobody talks like that.  "I appreciate your honesty, wrapped as it was in a bouquet of condescension"?  "Did you just make me a lifetime commitment right before the thinly veiled threat of abandonment"?  Although it does have its syllable-challenged characters... like Claire, when she smoked crystal meth in the first episode right before finding out her father had been hit by a bus:  "I guess this whole hellish experience I'm about to go through is just going to 'burn a little brighter,' right?  Great!  Thank you!  Fuck!"

I'll throw something together for that show, because apparently I don't have much going on.

Favorite shows, anyone?  Any you love to hate?


Team Party 2012

Changed my header -- tell me what you think, because I'm not an experienced designer one bit.  Any tips on how to make it more "outdoor cafe menu-like with chalk text that matches the color scheme" would be great.

It's almost time for the 2nd Annual Park Ave. Pub Super Bowl Party Of Awesome.  (Just got a flashback from The Office -- Pam answers the phone, "Michael Scott's Dunder Mifflin Scranton Meredith Palmer Memorial Celebrity Rabies Awareness Fun Run Race For The Cure, this is Pam... yeah, they hung up.") 

I'm not big on any of the teams that are still in the play-offs (if you could have only seen me jumping up and down at the Checkerboard when the Saints scored this weekend, only to sit with my forehead on the table a minute and a half later), but considering the location of the Super Bowl this year -- Indianapolis, what up -- it'll still be pretty special.  So come one, come all.  I'll be making my now-award-winning chili and spinach dip, maybe deviled eggs since the other two dishes take so little time to make, and I'll stock the bar up a bit for you heathen drinkers. 

Since I can't bake, and because I think it's ridiculous, I will not have one of these:

Or...oh my god, this:

Last year's Super Bowl party was a lot of fun.  It's quickly becoming my favorite holiday.  Instead of the stand-bys like chips and salsa, people brought homemade dishes -- walnut and gorganzola crusted grapes, garlic cheese fondu, calzones, taco dip -- and the day after the party, it didn't matter that I showered, because the smell of garlic and onion was seeping out of my pores, I had an upset stomach, and I felt both hungry and full at the same time.  That's right -- I had a food hangover.  I was barely even drinking at the party last year, which is always how it is when I host, but the next day I felt like I'd had so much food that I couldn't move.

That's my goal for this year, too!  C'mon, Super Bowl!  Make me feel like shit!  Woooo!

Real quick:  David's former co-workers came over to cheer him up when he got laid off, I asked our friend J. if he wanted a beer, and he said, "Sure. I'll stop at one." Later in the evening, I asked him if he'd like another beer, and he said, "Oh... no, I stop at one." Then I got confused because it was only 10:30. Took me a bit to realize that he stops at one drink. True story.

Anyone else having a Super Bowl party?

EDIT:  Improved (in my opinion) the header.  Thanks to Rachel for the suggestions!


"The Funky Chicken" takes on new meaning

Yesterday, I saw the commercial where a girl loses her shit over a spider in the living room.  Her boyfriend sighs, goes over to kill it, and the spider GRABS THE DUDE AND TOTALLY KICKS HIS ASS.

I crossed my arms with indignation and turned to David.  "They really do that, you know.  So no more making fun of me for being freaked out by spiders.  Because now I have documented proof."  Oh, there's no livin' with me now.  I guess #11 on my 12 for 2012 isn't going to get done anytime soon.

In other news, I'd like to write about a chicken I roasted last week, because I can't stop thinking about it.  (Insert joke here about how I had my hand in its cavity and didn't even call the next day.) 

The chicken, before the roasting and before an intestinal apocolypse.

See, I may or may not have made people sick with this chicken.  Here's a sampling from the group:

Me:  Ate chicken, potatoes, celery, two dinner rolls; drank Kool Aid. 
David:  Ate chicken, potatoes, celery with peanut butter, two dinner rolls; drank Coke.
J.:  Ate chicken, potatoes, celery, two dinner rolls; drank Coke.

David and I got sick, and J. did not.  I know, what a jerk.  David actually felt unwell immediately after eating, but I got the pleasure of my stomach rebelling at 3 a.m.  And 6 a.m.... 10 a.m.... 1 p.m.... and finally, 5:30 p.m.  So the time it took for us to feel crappy suggests something bacterial.  But why did J. not get sick? 

Some details on the chicken: 
- I did not thaw it, as I'd just picked it up from the grocery the day before and kept it in the fridge.

- Housing:  In a roasting pan, surrounded by potatoes, celery, garlic cloves, and two cups of chicken bouillon. 

- The dinner rolls were the frozen Sister Schubert's kind, where you put them in at 350 for about ten minutes.  They were a last-minute addition to the meal when I discovered that they heat up at the same oven temp as the chicken.  I put them in a little pan, placed a pat of butter on each roll, and sprinkled the whole thing with garlic salt.  They came out soft, buttery, and garlic salty.  MMMMMMMMMM.

- Adornments:  I squeezed lemon over the bird and then put the quartered lemon in the cavity.  Also in the cavity, I put in a bunch of rosemary, oregano, part of a quartered onion, and a crapload of garlic.  This impromptu stuffing was prepared cold.  I put four tablespoons' butter under the skin.  Over the lemon juice on top, I added a bit of olive oil, oregano, rosemary, minced garlic.  I then shook seasoned salt over the whole pan, potatoes and all.

- Food safety:  I washed my hands after handling raw meat, and I didn't use the same knife for the chicken as I did for the vegetables.  I chopped the vegetables and put them in the pan, then used that knife to open the wrapping for the chicken, and then I was done with that knife.  I worked in restaurants for many, many years; I know about cross contamination.  With my brand new digital meat thermometer, the internal temp of the chicken was 175 degrees, which is ten degrees higher than what the USDA recommends for chicken.

- The senses:  The chicken (and everything else) did not smell "off" when it was raw.  Then when it was cooked, it smelled, tasted, and looked awesome.  It was still juicy, despite me cooking it longer than recommended.  The potatoes were really good, too. 

Any ideas on what could have happened?  I'd like to be able to brag about my chicken again, considering a slightly different version of the recipe is on this site.


12 for 2012 -- a.k.a., things I put off in 2011

It's a little late to make New Year's resolutions, but that's fine because I'm not really into that concept.  Instead, I made a list of things I would like to do this year.  I'll cross them off once I complete them.  I'm excited about my list -- let me know what you think.

12 for 2012

1.  Take a cooking class
I learned how to cook on my own, and I suspect there are a lot of things I don't know -- expect a post in the near future about a roasted chicken snafu, for example.  I'd love to know more about how to cook from scratch on a budget.  Maybe that's a contradiction in terms, or hell, maybe it's redundant.  But I don't even know, because I haven't gone out there to learn about it.  The only two places that hold cooking classes in my town are Kitchen Art and the International Center (which has a really outdated website).  I called Kitchen Art, and the woman said to check back for the schedule.  I hope it isn't too expensive.

What up, salmon cakes.

2.  Go out dancing
I suck at dancing, but I'd like to put the nearly $300 worth of ballroom dancing lessons to good use.  The only time I ever got the ex to dance with me outside of a dance class was at a wedding, and we stuck out like a sore thumb among the other people our age who were doing little more than hugging while swaying from side to side.  I'm going to convince whoever I can to take me dancing somewhere appropriate for waltzing, even if that means we have to crash the social night at an old folks' home. 

3.  Live off the land
This means anything from a simple weekend camping trip to a full-on week-long Survivorman-style adventure.  I know that my mom is yelling at her monitor right now -- "You CAN'T do that.  I am NOT going to let you.  You're going to get hurt!!  Or... or a bear might eat you!!  What if you get hurt and can't move?!?!  What if you get AUDITED?!?!?!"  But despite my mother's worries and yelling, at some point this year, I am going to catch a fish, gut it, throw it on a fire, and then eat it.  And not frivolous, either:  I'm not going to just drive somewhere, hop in a creek, and catch the fish.  I will do that because I am hungry. 

4.  Complete P90X
I have a couple of different reasons for wanting to do this.  One -- yes, I'd like to look smoking hot.  Two -- I'd like to complete at least something, one damn time, for once.  Three -- I'd like to get in the habit of working out.  I hear these strange, freaky people say that after a while, they look forward to working out, and they feel bad if they can't do it.  I'd like to be one of those strange, freaky people.

I'll have to do this if I want more of THESE bad boys.

5.  Stabilize my finances
At this point, creating a savings account that I don't tap into and staying within my credit card limit is a bit of a lofty goal, considering my household is single income at the moment.  It's actually not that bad, but it's something I worry about.  David is applying pretty much everywhere and has been to a few interviews, but he hasn't come across the best opportunity yet.  Until then, I'm just going to try to keep my head above water, but when he does find a good job again, it's time to save more money.  I really need to accomplish this in 2012.

6.  Sell a piece of writing
I haven't done this since I was 19 years old.  It really isn't that hard to look in a writer's almanac and see who pays for freelance writing, but I haven't really considered doing it again until now.  It's an easy way to make some cash, and at any rate, I'd be writing at least.  Hell, maybe I'll even look into those spammy-looking ads on Craigslist.  I just miss seeing my name on a byline -- something that, despite being a technical writer for a living, I haven't seen in years.

The last time I had a byline was eight years ago.

7.  De-junk the house
I wanted to have a garage sale in October, but I was too busy/lazy/mostly lazy to follow through with my plan.  While it's still cold out, I'd like to box up old clothes, books, CDs and decorations; those boxes will go in the garage and go up for sale once it gets warm out.  I could sell things on Craigslist and Ebay.  Things like, say, my wedding dress, which I don't have much use for anymore.  (Well... hell, even if I had gotten married, I wouldn't really have a use for it, right?)  Point is, there's simply too much crap in my house.

It's time for this to go.
Wait.  Lemme just...look at the pretty...

...K.  I'm good.

8.  Finish house projects that I've started
My master bedroom is sitting in ruins.  The plaster I took down in the kitchen is still untrimmed.  The area in the backyard that David and I chopped up in order to install a pond and plant flowers is now overgrown again.  This year, I want to finish all these projects -- before I start any more new ones.

9.  Get caught up on laundry
Sounds weird, but I have always been behind on laundry.  There are shirts I haven't worn -- or seen -- in months because they're probably at the bottom of a closet somewhere (maybe in the closet of the room that's all torn up right now).  Part of this may require the achievement of #8 so that I can start a new project, which would be to redo the laundry room.  That room isn't very efficient in its current design, and I'd like to change that.  I at least want some shelving in there!

This picture was taken eight years ago, where I'm showing off my mad laundry skillz.  I haven't gotten any better; actually, I think I've gotten worse.

10.  Refinance my mortgage
This is a long story, but in a nutshell, I still own the house with my ex, and I've been trying to refinance for months.  It's going to take a lot of effort, but I really need to get this done.  I don't know how, and I don't know what it'll cost me, but I think there's a big part of me that is still haunted by that relationship because he still owns half the house.  So it's actually imperative that I do this for the sake of my sanity.

11.  Kill a fucking huge spider
David usually does the spider-killing.  I help by running into another room, screaming, and getting hives.  In 2010, he killed a pregnant black widow on the front porch, and the stain from that horrifying night is still there on the concrete.  But what if he's not at home someday, and I find a 50 pound spider in the living room eating the kittehs?  I have to be calm enough to kill it with a revolver. 

12.  Leave the state at least once
 I've left the state several times, but now is not the time to get complacent.  I don't have any trips planned, but expect there to be some once my money is good. 

What do you think?  What are everyone's goals for this year?


Shut up, at least I gave them money

I also wanted to mention that, since it's now January, I can use my new 2012 planner that I got at work.  I got the awesome pink ribbon breast cancer one, so of course the charity got proceeds from my purchase.  And it's adorable.

Thing is, on every page there is a little quip or tip about health that is an automatic downer.  So, say the months go by, I'm flipping through the planner, and I come up on May, the month of my birth.  I'll be all like, "Yay, the best month of the year!  My birthday is coming up, and I'm all set to go to the Indy 500.  Plus it's getting nice and warm outside!  Tra la la la laaa!" 

Then I see in the corner of the May page, in bold letters:  "Become familiar with the normal look and feel of your breasts.  If any change occurs, you should have a clinical breast examination by a trained medical professional."

So I go from  :D  to  : |

K going to hell, brb

I miss sleep.

I decided to stay at home for a week.  I didn't tell many people I was doing this, because I pretty much wanted to be left the fuck alone, so when I returned to work yesterday, here's how all my conversations went:

Enginerd:  Whoa!  Where've you been?  Thought maybe you got the axe.  [cue karate chop motion, complete with vocal sound effect]
Me:  Um...?  No, I didn't.  I took some time off.
Enginerd:  Where'd you go?  On a singles' cruise?  Get yo' freak onnnn?  Amirite?  Hahahahahhaa--
Me:  No.  Just spent it at home. 
Enginerd:  Ahhh, a staycation, eh?  Schweeeet.


So in my week off:  I played computer games, I didn't cook, I barely bathed, and best of all, I slept about 12 hours a day.  And I'm back at work this week, which means I've had six hours of sleep in the last two days.  Now, I hear how new parents and Kim Kardashian complain about sleep deprivation all the time, but for right now, all of you shut up.  I am going back into sleep debt and feel absolutely miserable. 

Now I have routine again.  And not the kind of routine that looks like:  sleep, SWTOR, nap, food/SWTOR, Netflix, sleep.  Because it looks like:  work, food, work, work out, food, toss around in bed, work.

Anyway, the holidays before my vacation-where-I-went-nowhere (seriously.  I would rather say that than have to hear Enginerd in my head.  not even trying to be funny here.) were good:

I babysat my two-year-old niece (whom henceforth shall be referred to as "Monkey") overnight a couple days before Christmas, and that was fun.  My brother was taking me through the house beforehand, making sure I knew where Monkey's little potty was, the food she likes, etc.  And then he knelt down next to this creepy looking toy elf stuffed in a stocking that hung down from the railing below us and said, quite seriously, "This is Chippy.  He is a magical elf.  If anyone touches him, he loses his magic."

"Are you high?" I asked.

"Pffft.  Anyway, it's supposed to be in a new spot every morning.  Just take him after she goes to bed and move him somewhere.  It's supposed to be somewhere up high so he can watch over both of them.  Both she and Bean will ask about him tomorrow morning and try to find him."

So I did this:

So the next morning, after SOMEONE'S ABCs woke me up through the baby monitor at 5:30 a.m, Monkey went looking for the evil elf that probably would've given me nightmares when I was a kid, and as soon as she saw him, she went apeshit and was like "CHIPPY!!!" and danced around happily.  I'm proud of my work. 

Then Christmas was good.  Went to my brother's again.  Still bad at wrapping gifts:

In other news, David is still looking for work, but he has leads on a few places.  He told me to not ask him about anything for fear of jinxing an offer.  He also got more information today on collecting unemployment, and from what he's told me so far, it appears that being a veteran has its handy moments.

Then in my free time, I have been immersed in SWTOR.  That's pretty much all I did on my week off, and it was awesome.  I won't really go into the details of SWTOR on here because it will probably bore everyone else, but I will say that all my characters are named after Shakespeare roles.  The Minola Legacy.  Represent


About bloggers.

Bloggers are narcissists.

They are narcissists to the point where one of them, out of "concern," commented on one of my posts with a mightily sincere "What a day!," accompanied (of course) with a link to her idiotic blog.  Her latest blog post, where she complained about getting three birthday gifts from her friends (when's the last time I got a birthday gift from someone other than family?  I don't know, because I don't care, and it's highly unnecessary), I commented and told her she was being a bit selfish -- because, as we all know, just because we successfully arrived at a birthday does not necessarily mean we deserve fucking gifts for doing so -- and she responded by complaining about getting cards for her birthday.

Oh my fucking God, people remembered my birthday with fucking CARDS and now I have to kill myself.


HEY EVERYONE, INCLUDING FAMILY:  Feel free to never get me another birthday present for the rest of my life.  Writing on my Facebook wall warms my heart just fine.  Reason:  I don't give a shit about birthday gifts, or my birthday -- even if it is at the most awesome time of year ever -- and I'm not the kind of passive aggressive idiot that enjoys bashing her friends for not giving her cheap trinkets for a ridiculous reason.

Like this blogger, my birthday coincides with a national holiday.  Unlike this blogger, I don't get my panties in a pouty little wad about it.