Spastastic

"Flashing your Headlights" can definitely mean more than one thing

2008-05-22T19:01:00.000-07:00

While driving at 9000 feet through the Rocky Mountains this last Sunday I learned that flashing your headlights could also mean that there are bighorn sheep in the road. The lady who flashed her headlights half a dozen times at me saved some poor sheep from a certain death that would have been otherwise brought swiftly by the bumper of my car.

I found this awesome pic of a bighorn on the internet should anyone need a visual on this:

*I added the picture of the highway underneath as to create the full effect of what happened.

Anyways...

I am officially settled in. Somethings are so familar about being back on the ranch, yet at the same time, the new set of people-- the new job position, have made it very different as well.

It snowed today. I have been eating copious amounts of food in hopes of gaining enough padding on my ass so it won't hurt from the abuse of daily horseback rides through the San Juan Mountains. Luckily we have an excellent German chef here who makes everything, including the hot-from-the-oven-delightfully-crispy-yet-chewy french baguettes, from scratch.

What do you mean I have a 7 inch whole in my...

2008-04-28T17:04:00.000-07:00

So far, my interactions with construction guys have taught me two important things: 1. Homemade cookies and a low cut shirt will get me a better quote. 2.There is something wrong with a $500 quote when its competition comes in at over $3,000 for the same job.

Because I learned number 2 the hard way, I now have a 7 inch hole in my hardwood floor. So other people can appreciate how shitty this is, I have included the following photograph:

Apparently, when the duct guy and I talked about placing the ducts as CLOSE to the corners of the rooms as possible, he thought I meant put them as FAR away from the corners as possible. Maybe we need to work on our communication skills.

Regardless, I called him back to fix his error. I wanted to wring his neck with that extension cord when he said, "Yeah, I thought about putting that vent in the corner, but I didn't know for sure. "

$180 Goes to the Guy in the Blue Taurus.

2008-04-07T21:02:00.001-07:00

Today I spent three hours of my life pushing my luck, traveling anywhere from 10-15 miles over the speed limit as I sped home from my parents' house. I had a nightmare last night that I was late to teach my own class, and the fear of professional failure was fresh in my mind.

I was rolling into St. Peter, entering the last leg of the race, when a Blue Taurus heading the opposite direction appeared to be experiencing a technical malfunction-- at least that was my initial interpretation of the on/off flashing of the headlights. After this spastic light display continued for several seconds, I began to dig deeper and look for another explanation.

I had heard that sometimes good samaritans flicker their headlights to signal that a radar-armed cop is waiting somewhere in the immediate future, but I had never actually experienced anything to substantiate this urban legend. Despite this, I decided to play it safe and drop my speed from 70 miles an hour to 55.

10 seconds later I was coming around the bend that snakes into St Peter from the north and sitting on the median was a white squad car, facing my direction, loaded down with state-of-the-art radar and not one but TWO eager police officers. I guarantee I would have been the reason one of them would have knocked his coffee over as he grabbed the stick shift to jam it into gear.

I owe that man a cut from the $180 I would have lost over a ticket, and I owe it to society to start flashing my headlights whenever I see a cop.

Note: Any sexual innuendos in the last two paragraphs were entirely intentional.

Freeze, dammit!

2008-03-31T10:01:00.000-07:00

The day started with rain that turned over to snow while I was in the kiln room loading pots with Amy (a fellow potter) at MSU.

This was my first time in the kiln room, and I swear to god I have lost several years off my life. The process of loading a kiln goes something like this: place delicate greenware (formed, dried mud)on shelf. Set nine little, 1.5 inch-wide cement pillars of various heights intermingled with delicate pots. Precariously balance three heavy cement shelf sections on top of nine little cement pillars. Repeat process until kiln is filled.

I kept having this reoccuring day-mare (is that a word?) of just one of the cement shelves slipping off its delicate little pillar and, like a domino effect, crushing layer after layer of artwork. Makes me sick just remembering it.

I have been distracted in that class lately. I am getting sick of getting asked out by someone who is taking me being nice for something else. I wish I had the balls to just tell him to leave me alone, but then again, if I had balls, I probably wouldn't be in this situation at all.

I left MSU intending to head to SCC to grade, prep, teach --the normal Monday routine-- when I almost met a Jeep Grand Cherokee head-on in a collison. The driver was coming around a corner too fast, which threw his Jeep into a sideways slide down my lane. It was at that point that I reconsidered having class in a few hours. The sky was a thick gray, there were two inches of snow on the ground on top of slush and potentially ice, and I had heard that they were projecting a possible 8 inches by the end of the day. When these factors are combined with my near- accident, it seems logical to cancel class, which is what I did. Unfortunately, now it is warming up enough to turn everything into slush and the roads look wet but bare.

I am probably the only teacher in the world who has ever canceled class over slush.

People feel sorry for me

2007-11-20T13:50:00.000-08:00

It looks like a paper bomb exploded all over my table (which is actually two standard coffee tables pushed together to make one large "super table"). I've refilled my also oversized tea cup more than once here at the Fillin Station, and the second time I did so, the gal working let me go behind the bar to do it myself since I pratically pay the mortgage here.

I imagine that seeing me working today is a little comical. I mean, I have had a paper clip in my mouth for the last 3 hours as I transfered scores from graded work into my gradebook. That isn't what people comment on, though. It is most likely the multiple piles of papers surrounding my laptop, which is strategically positioned behind my gradebook, which is, of course, directly in front of me, that interest them. Or maybe it is the user manual for an Oster blender that is resting on the table to my right (an extra credit submission from a Tech writing student). My keys are also somewhere in this mess. I have no idea what is most entertaining, but two gentlemen have felt compeled to say something.

The first gentleman, who I have seen in here a fair amount, walked past my table on the way out and said as he scanned the piles, "I teach speech [pause], and I am happy about it."

The second individual, one I have not seen before, continued to look at me and my piles as he passed my table. He met my eyes right before he turned to focus on a place to sit and simply said, "I'm sorry".

Contact Information

2007-06-02T13:32:00.000-07:00

I have finally made it to Durango, Colorado. This very charming town is only 30 miles away from the ranch, but it feels like it is thousands of miles away-- mainly because it takes twice as long as it should to get there because of the mountain roads and also because the ranch is so secluded that it feels like going anywhere requires pack mules or rock-climbing equipment.

I have put in over 80 hours of work in the past two weeks, and that is just the time spent on the ranch job. I am now working on the online class, and I have a feeling between the two jobs and the occasional horseback ride, I won't have much time for anything else. This will be my excuse for neglecting my blog and my email for the next month.

If anyone wants to enlighten my day with a delivery, I have finally found out the address where I can be reached:

Jennifer Panko
c/o Wilderness Trails Ranch
23486 County Road 501
Bayfield, CO 81122

If you are thinking of sending something my way, anything short of explosives or live animals would be greatly appreciated!

Hope you all are enjoying your summer.

Colorado here I come

2007-05-07T16:36:00.000-07:00

So, it's official: I'm off to the four corners region in 12 days. Looks like I will be spending my summer in the San Juan Mountains. Doesn't seem like a bad deal-- working the bar and store every morning and evening so I can spend my afternoons horseback riding, herding cattle, waterskiing, fishing, hiking, lounging by the pool and in the hot tub-- not to mention the insane amounts of delicious food I HAVE to eat at every meal...prime rib, chipotle-gouda smashed potatoes, tuaca zabaglione...yum.

I even get to stay in a gigantic log cabin for the duration:

I am worried about the people I will miss back here in Minnesota, but I am also hoping this job will provide a much-needed respite. Hopefully the experience will be a pleasantly memorable one, and not one laced with homesickness and poison oak.

Guess I'll just have to wait and see. For now, I spend much of my time at this website:

http://wildernesstrails.com/

DRATS this wretched Procrastination!

2007-05-01T18:36:00.000-07:00

I SHOULD BE GRADING PAPERS.
But I'm not. I'm instead filling a good part of my evening doing meaningless things like watching, "America's Trashiest Weddings" and organizing my lingerie drawer (by color first, and then texture). And although those things sound goddamn exciting, I have found something much, much better:

The Pagan Name Generator!!

http://www.fjordstone.com/fjo/generator.html

At this website, there awaits a fantastic little word machine that will spit out your new pagan name. Mine is:

Pretty cool, huh? I thought this name game was totally appropriate considering it is May Day. It was either celebrating the holiday this way, or showing up at CSU 248 tonight with a camera and seeing if Carl actually showed up naked and with a friend. Heehee.

Alright, I'm done. Back to the grind. Better yet, please entertain me (and give me yet another reason to procrastinate) by posting a response with your given Pagan name.

What's so great about the Eighties?

2007-04-25T18:00:00.000-07:00

I used to think that nothing worth anything came out of the Eighties. It was the age of plastic jewelry, plastic clothes-- everything was too fake and too big-- hair, makeup-- neon everything. Obnoxious.

But yesterday I came across the song "Closer to Fine" by the Indigo Girls, and I thought, "Huh, something good did come from the Eighties."

That's when I decided that maybe that decade marking my early youth wasn't so bad after all, (even if I was burdened with a younger brother and sister during that unfortunate time period.)

Despite my sibling rivalry issues, I do have fond memories from the Eighties. I had slap bracelets, plastic headbands, Kit and Kaboodles, and when my brother would share, Marios Brothers on the Nintendo and MTV on the gigantic TV console.

And if my younger siblings monopolized the sun room, I could always go up to my room and listen to cassette tapes while jumping aroung in my leggings and over-sized seatshirts singing "Like a Virgin" into a hairbrush, crimped hair everywhere.

When my much older cousin came to live with us for a year, I would watch her tease her WHOLE head of brown hair so high it looked like it might need structural reinforcements. She would be wearing some shade of a sparkly sweater, or a ripped jersey sweathshirt off of one shoulder, tank top showing from underneath. Her stone-washed GUESS jeans would be folded or pinned at the bottom and her jewelry would compete with her hair: BIG, plastic hoop earrings, (her favorite were white), lots of rings and bangly bracelets.

She would finish primping herself with a smear of bright blue eye shadow, a touch of black mascera and red, red lipstick. The whole bathroom would smell like her: Debbie Gibson's "Electric Youth" perfume, AquaNet hairspray, Marb lights, and occasionally, a touch of pot.

If I got sick of watching her get ready to cruise the strip listening to bands like Guns and Roses or Metallica in her Dodge Charger, I would leave the stickiness of the bathroom to rifle through the VHS tapes, pushing aside Jane Fonda for Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, Ferris Bueller's Day Off or Back to the Future.

And if I was sick of watching movies, I could always sift through the major networks and stop by a rerun of Charles in Charge, or Family Ties. The Simpsons were even an option before the Eighties were over.

Most of the time, though, I would ditch all of the plastic recreation of that decade, grab my jelly sandals (can't abandon everything) and head outside to find a tree that needed climbing.

So, what I want to know is if the music from the Eighties wasn't all the bad, (and how could it be with groups like the Indigo Girls, Red Hot Chili Peppers, U2 and Ozzy Osborne), why is it the only shit you hear on the radio during "Back in the Day Cafe" is stuff like this:

Songs like this just leave a bad, slightly metallic, technofunk taste in my mouth that colors my opinion of the rest of the decade a putrid shade of neon green.

I'm a girl of the Nineties, and things were still bad in that decade for a while.

Good thing before I had to start worrying about following social trends, the backlash of the Eighties had dissolved into the windpants (skids!!) and fanny packs of the mid to late Nineties.

Jeeps

2007-04-14T18:13:00.000-07:00

What a wonderful day. I woke up, enjoyed a nice breakfast, went horseback riding at 10:30 (and had a GREAT ride) and then went to the local Fillin' Station for some soup and tea for lunch. I was even highly productive with grading until Liz met me and we moved outside to enjoy the beautiful weather.

This is when the productivity decreased, but the day ripened. We chatted casually for a little while-- I told her about the Wilderness Trails Ranch being interested in my application materials, she talked about her need for a pair of sparkly underwear (j/k, Liz ;-), and we talked with a couple guys in a wedding party (one who happened to be "the hot meter reader guy"). Later, when she was talking with her mother about various tax deductions, I leaned back in my chair, felt the sun on my back and watched clouds bump into each other as they moved across a crisp, blue sky. It was grand.

Sometime after she got off the phone, I thought of the Jeep and how great it would be to have one at that moment. I asked Liz if she would come with me to test drive one. She agreed, so I called the man selling it to set up a time. He needed an hour, so we killed time at the bookstore across the street, (we read some pretty dirty stuff-- I think my favorite was a sex scene from a book where the author wrote it from the first person perspective, but then switched to third person when referring to his member).

This is the beautiful piece of machinery that we drove around all over town today:

My verdict: Pretty damn sweet. Just needs a hard top so I can actually hear the radio when traveling on the highway. Also needs to come down a couple thousand in price, and I am still debating whether or not I should hold out for black.

Liz's verdict: Although she thought the Wrangler was cool, it still wasn't a CJ. Apparently there is some sort of weird Jeep culture where rivaling gangs defend the superiority of their Jeep's particular model. A Wrangler just isn't as tough as a CJ, I guess.

After an hour and a half, the Jeep went back to its rightful owner. I do think the man was a little worried after we were gone so long... and maybe the fact that I said, "See ya in a week" after he handed me the keys through the driver's side window had something to do with it. Heehee.

I am going to do my research on buying a hard top and a CD player before I talk turkey with the man. Haha. Talk turkey. What the hell kind of cliche is that? Who ever came up with "talking turkey" as a way to express negotiation?

My turkey doesn't look very confident.

Anyways, so I left and headed for St. Clair with Nathan. The drive was beautiful. The pavement was wet from a quick rain, and the sun was sitting lower in the sky, but still strong enough to make everything smell intensely spring-like. I love that wet pavement, wet dirt and grass smell. Very fresh. All of the colors were intensified by the rain and sun, and the sky was almost a cobalt- a vivid, deeper blue to the East. I was driving and marveling at the beauty of this blue against the bright yellow of the dried cornstalks when suddenly a rainbow started to appear. I actually watched a rainbow appear out of nothingness against the backdrop of these draining clouds and golden corn. These are times I wish I had a camera with color film in it.

It was so amazing that I pulled over on 83 and showed Nathan. We sat and watched the rainbow deepen and intensify as the sun set a little lower. It was quite entertaining to see Nathan as he giggled and tried to say "rainbow" while pointing out the window. Unfortunately, I eventually had to pull back on the road-- I was beginning to feel like people might think we needed assistance. Who knows, maybe I do need help. I did spend like 10 minutes, mouth open, oooing and ahhing at light reflecting off of water drops in the sky.

In case you feel the need to oooo and aahhhh at sun reflecting off of atmospheric moisture, I have added the following image:

Hope that was as good for you as it was for me.

The night closed with Nathan jumping up and down in the bathtub, treating the 2 foot by 4 foot tub filled with 5 inches of water like a waterpark. Drenched everything within the three feet of the tub's edge, including myself, but he was having so much fun yelling "Booyyyeeee Yah!" and jumping on his knees, that I couldn't help but let him do it over and over again until there was more water outside the tub than in it.

Really a wonderful day.

A lifetime and only 4 measly sentences

2007-04-11T19:40:00.000-07:00

GODDAMN MOTORCYCLES. I don't know what else to say. I just learned that one of my students from last semester died just a couple weeks ago.

I remember talking to his mother, often... working with him after class one-on-one to help him pass the class...reading his personal narrative about how he fell in love with a girl he met at a lake up north last summer.

This is the third person I have known to die young from a motorcycle accident. The first is a nameless highschool friend of my mother's-- in fact, one of my earliest memories is of my mother cursing motorcycles under her breath as she visited his grave in Oslo, MN. As for myself, one of my classmates was impaled by a tree after flying off his motorcycle just days before high school graduation.

Now, Nic, and I say "Nic" because that is how he wrote his name on all his papers, is also gone. What really pisses me off about this is that I am sure there was so much to say about him, so many personality traits, hobbies, hopes, and yet nothing remains. I googled his name, and the only thing I came up with was his obituary. Four measly lines and they didn't even spell his nickname right.

Nicholas “Nick” Janni, 19, of New Ulm died Friday, March 23, 2007, from injuries he received in a motorcycle accident near New Ulm. Funeral services are 2 p.m. Tuesday March 27 at the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity in New Ulm with burial in the New Ulm Catholic Cemetery. Visitation is 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. Monday and 7:30 a.m. to 1 p.m. Tuesday at the Minnesota Valley Funeral Home in New Ulm.

God as an Authoritarian Discipliner?

2007-04-10T20:18:00.000-07:00

The following is a current surface map of the United States. I am a little confused because it looks like there is a huge chunk of white stuff over Minnesota, yet it is is almost the middle of April. Hmmmm.. this leads me to ask, "Is there no God?"

What have we done to deserve this? Is it because of Minnesotans' poor attitude towards their friendly neighbors, the Wisconsinites? Maybe God is dishing out a little negative reinforcement. It seems to me that if Minnesotans would try to be nicer to their amicable neighbor to the East (and I mean real nice, not passive-aggressive nice), maybe we wouldn't be dealing with 10 inches of snow just two weeks after 80 degree weather. I'm just sayin'.

So back to how much snow sucks. Snow sucks. Although I do wish I was plowing-- seems the best way to play with snow is in the cab of a plow truck. I imagine those folks are all warm and cozy, hot cocoa in a thermos, radio on high. And to top it off, they get to play with a big-boy-sized shovel attached to the front of their truck. Think of the gigantic snowmen that could be made.

If I could get my hands on a plow truck, I would make a creation like this (only maybe not as creepy looking):

Hats off to all you who have to go out in this weather. Personally, I'm hoping school is canceled tomorrow.

$3.99 a minute ain't that bad

2007-04-08T19:03:00.000-07:00

A Chinese fortune cookie told me today that, "Nothing is to be feared- only to be understood." At first this seemed profound and thought-provoking, until I actually thought about it a little more-- WHAT IN THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN? This sounds like a whole lot of bullshit, albeit a timely bit of bullshit considering the uncertainty of my future. Dammit. Why can't I just have a little crystal ball that tells me what my life will look like in a year? I am beginning to understand the appeal of those $3.99-a-minute psychic hotlines.

I would readily part with a crisp twenty dollar bill to have all the answers-- that money would give me 5 minutes of quality time with someone who just has to tap into a sixth sense to let me know when I am going to figure out Mr. Right, what career is best, where I should move, and what my dead grandmother has to say.

I figure that even if she (or he) bullshits around for a minute or two getting my name, birthdate, underwear color, etc, we could at least get the one and only question I want answered in before I quickly hang up when the egg timer on the oven goes off. Yep, a psychic would grant me some loooong overdue serenity. I can feel it now. Sure would be nice to avoid thinking about life's bigger issues since analyzing the shit out of everything only gives me an answer that becomes yet another question.

I'm tired tonight. Damn tired of everything and sad, really sad. I recently applied to a ranch in Wyoming for a summer job (I can continue to teach online if necessary: everywhere I am looking has WiFi), and I received a prompt response- unfortunately it was a prompt, "We would love to hire you but just recently filled the position" response. Dammit. I was told, "Please try applying next year, only maybe just a little earlier." Grr. I am applying to a couple other places... we'll see what happens.

I'll be bummed if I can't escape my life for a few months on a ranch. There is something so idealistically wonderful about galloping across moutain meadows. Then again, I would be leaving in a month, which means I would have to get my shit together. Speaking of which, where the hell is the semester going??? I have only a month until grades are due, which means I will do nothing other than prep, teach, grade, student conference, prep, teach, grade, student conference, prep..... ah, yeah.... until May 12th. I hope to God I am busy enough to avoid thinking.

Screws and Cigarettes

2007-04-01T22:02:00.000-07:00

What a weekend.

Saturday started off dramatic and held strong throughout the day. I had an emotional morning, and Liz, being the excellent friend that she is, offered to drive me around since I was in no shape to do so myself. Her objective was to get some food in me and offer good counsel while we cruised around aimlessly in Mankato.

After a Number 9 from Taco Bell and a short spin on some back roads off of 22, I suggested we head to the barn so she could see some horses. We had a relaxing time at the barn: fed half a bag of carrots to Zippy, took a tour of the place... everything was going so well...until we went back to the van and Liz noticed a hissing noise coming from her front tire. Yeah, tires are supposed to be quiet. We decided to chance it and sped like maniacs towards the Hag all the while talking about decompression and other made-up car/mechanical things that could possibly explain such a noise. Unfortunately, once we parked on concrete outside the Hag, there was no denying what the problem was: a large screw was firmly punched through the tire tread.

Luckily for Greg and Liz, Discount Tires rocks, so after a somewhat nerve-racking drive going 50mph on hwy 14, with me following close behind to check for explosions and rim damage (heehee), we arrived safely at the tire store where they made magic happen in under 15 minutes.

Saturday night was fantastic. Greg and Liz braved the trip to St. Clair after I promised them some salmon and a bottle of Pinot Grigio to split. Greg made the white wine and saffron risotto I have been dreaming about for months, and I pan fried some southern Italian-style peas and baked a terriyaki-glazed salmon. After a delicious dinner, we enjoyed blackberries, hot fudge and vanilla ice cream, followed by the movie Wet, Hot, American Summer, which is both disturbing and amusing, an entertaining combination.

Sunday continued to prove to be interesting as my day was spent scrubbing my bathroom tub naked. Yes, that's right: naked. Sounds crazy, but Soft Scrub is some messy stuff, and since I knew I was going to be taking a shower right after I cleaned it, I decided to avoid getting my clothes wet by taking them off. Worked well.

After this rousing scrub-down, I went into town to put a handle on my pitcher. Liz joined me so I could use her key to break into campus. (For some reason I have a hard time keeping track of keys.) We decided to hit the Hub afterwards to do some "work". The work never actually happened, but I think both of us would blame Katy for that. She was just going to join us for a Mountain Dew and some malted espresso balls (seriously disgusting: DO NOT EAT), but while sipping on her drink, she suddenly gets this mischevious look on her face and suggests we should, "Smoke some cigarettes until we make ourselves sick." Since none of us had ever really smoked before, this was at first just one of Katy's crazy ideas, until she pushed it, Liz seconded it, and I finally gave in. I needed to get baby wipes, anyways.

We first stopped at Kwik Trip where the cigarettes are discount priced but the baby wipes are not. Marb Lights in hand and a honey cigar for Liz, we rolled down the windows, lit up, and drove to Cub Foods for the wipes. We paused for a photo shoot outside the Landcruiser/pimpmobile in the Cub parking lot. (Pictures to come.) Quite the night-- I have to thank both of them for being there for me. Not much cigarettes and heated seats can't do for a girl hurtin' for a distraction.

So here's the thing. It is 12:30 in the morning, and I have to get a baby ready, drive into town, work out, attend photography class, prep for my morning class, and teach for two hours--- All before noon. I also have an afternoon filled with grading and teaching another two hour class. I should be sleeping, BUT thanks to my new friends, nicotine and caffeine (had an espresso drink at 6pm-- not the best idea) I am WIDE AWAKE and just now coming down from the shakes leftover from the ONE cigarette I had (and I didn't even inhale...no, really, I didn't). I thought about calming my nerves with a shot of whiskey, but the idea of bringing the three kings together in under 3 hours didn't seem like the best idea.

Hopefully some toast and a banana will take the edge off enough for me to pass out.

Carla Bruni - Quelqu'un m'a dit

2007-02-25T19:12:00.001-08:00

This woman is amazing. French is such a beautiful language. I hope I can one day understand everything she is saying. My other goal is to read Madame Bovary in French sometime within the next three years. We'll see what happens.

I Refuse to be a Poop-Flinging Monkey!

2007-01-30T19:22:00.000-08:00

Monkeys fling poop when they feel threatened. It's a fact. If you don't believe me, refer to the totally reliable oracle of truth, Wikipedia.

Behold, the Chimp:

Look at him; he's thinking about throwing poop right now.

You would think that millions of years of brain development would elevate the social behaviors of the homo sapien to a level above their cousin, the chimpanzee. But, no, sometimes, humans can be just as dirty as their nearest relative.

I have recently encountered such an individual. For some reason, unknown to me, I have received a little bit of love in the form of an anonymous email that spews some of the foulest insults I have heard in my short life. The immature thing to do here, since I am fairly certain who this "anonymous" sender is (let's just say this isn't the first time she has done something crazy to me or someone else), would be to regress back to her level of maturity and send a spiteful return email, or maybe leave a bag of flaming dog poo on her doorstep, or egg her car, or, or... I don't know; I'm sure there are limitless options for retribution. But I will maintain my dignity and a level of thinking that puts me somewhere above a chimpanzee (but still below the common gerbil ;), and I will choose NOT to digress and become a poop-flinging monkey because, unlike her, I think poop should only be flung in zoos.

Co-op Boy

2007-01-28T18:32:00.000-08:00

Yesterday afternoon I had the most fantastic time with Liz at one of the most unlikely places: The St. Peter Co-op. We decided to go there so I could get my hands on some saffron, which is incidently the most expensive spice in the world. I did NOT know that before I decided to make the white wine and saffron risotto. Unfortunately, I learned this when I was looking at the six dollar price tag for an itty, bitty 1" square packet that supposedly contained the stigma of a crocus. A crocus looks like this:

It doesn't look like it is worth a MILLION dollars, but it is literally a cash cow if someone was patient enough to hand-extract its stigma (and then repeat the process 70,000 times-- you need that much to make one pound of this stuff). Bottom line is: this saffron risotto better be GODDAMN DELICIOUS, or I may cry a little.

After we picked up this little gem and some random other organic goodies (and, no, Katy, we did not come across any organic, free-range, USA-made edible undies--sorry), we decided to get some warm goodness from the buffet. Our menu was benign enough-- a sandwhich, some scalloped potatoes, etc-- until Liz suggests we try some weird drink called Kombucha. This stuff was $3 a bottle. After picking up my expensive little packet of stigmas, I was skeptical about this over-priced drink's worthiness. So, being the safe girls that we are, we asked an employee to tell us a little about this magical bottle of elixir from the East. In reply to our inquiry, the co-op dude said, "Yeah, it's good; sorta tastes like vinegary fruit". This did not sound $3-good to me, but Liz insisted. (I think it was because the dude -- I have to refer to him that way because he really looked like someone who would say "dude" often, and probably in reference to himself--told us that there was a small amount of alcohol in it. She is such a lush.) Here's a picture of Kombucha in case you were interested:

Anyways, food and Kombucha in hand, we went to the checkout line only to come face-to-face with the one man who would change our lives for the next 30 minutes: awesome-voiceover-co-op employee boy. This 16 year-old, pimply-faced boy had the voice that sounded EXACTLY like the deep voice of the men you hear during movie trailers. And with the enthusiasm of someone who had temporarily replaced his identity with his role as a cashier boy for the co-op, he excitedly asked, "Are you a member of the co-op?" For the first time all day I smiled so hard it hurt, and replied, "No, but now I feel like I should be." Hence, the inspiration for our movie that starts: "In a world where no one was a member of the Co-op, one man bravely faced..." The entire dinner was spent composing the opening scene for our movie based on this new superman. Quite entertaining--in fact, it was the most I had laughed since Katy and Matt tried to entertain me with dirty jokes involving foot stools and washing machines.

Liz and I finally left the co-op to seek out beer downtown with friends, but nothing compared to the last conversation of the night. I am so lucky for that-- kept me going today even when my pots continued to fall after 5 inches. Damn pottery class is kicking my ass. For some reason, I have no problem handling anything up to 6 inches; after that, things get a little crazy and my pot gets out of control. Oh well. I guess I'll rant more about the clay tomorrow.

Dirty Art

2007-01-27T12:08:00.000-08:00

So Thursday, despite feeling under the weather for various reasons, I decided to finally keep my promise to Brandon to do some headshots. I showed up at his door an hour late, Inta juice in hand, and a scowl on my face. Apparently that isn't the best facial expression for close-ups, so Brandon immediately offered a raincheck if I wanted to wait until the dark cloud of gloom lifted. I was too miserable to want any part of his raincheck, so I simply sat down and sucked $6 juice from a styrofoam cup for an hour and a half as we chatted about philosophical ramblings and past loves. By the end of that pre-gaming, I was in a better mood, so the camera came out.

After four rolls of film and a quick trip to the downtown Cub for some lipstick (for Brandon of course), we called it a day. I'm not sure how these pictures are going to turn out considering my state of mind and the fact that the worst head cold of my life (and that is saying a LOT considering I am always fucking sick lately) has kept me from sleeping much. BUT at least I can say my word is good for something. I guess Brandon had a good enough time to ask me to do more at a later date. Next week we have plans to meet at a local watering hole to peruse through the pictures and decide if there are any worthy ones. Regardless, I suppose we can always shoot more later. He even agreed to be my subject in some future pictures I would like to take for class. Good stuff.

Speaking of class, I pulled up my first pot this last Thursday!! I was so damn excited. Going into this class, I had NO idea how difficult wheel pottery was going to be. But, damn, it is VERY, VERY difficult. So difficult, I have asked the teacher on more than one occasion to let me just do pinch-pots. He didn't think that was funny. I wasn't joking.

Anyways, Liz and I are going to head to the studio in an hour or so. She is apparently bored this weekend and looking for a good laugh. I can't deny that it is probably quite entertaining to watch me magically get clay on my nose, ass, forehead and completely down my front. I am not kidding when I say that I am by far the messiest person in that classroom. Somehow there are three clean-cut, sorority-type girls who go in to class looking like high maintenance and come out the same. I go in looking a little frazzled and red in the cheeks (due to my morning dedication to the treadmill/track) and come out looking like I should be in a pen on someone's farm. Ah well. Art is supposed to be dirty, right?

More Procrastinating

2006-12-03T21:52:00.000-08:00

It is 11:53p.m. on a Sunday evening, and I should NOT be writing in this blog. I should not be hanging out with Liz and Darren, and I definitely should not be taking "seduction quizzes" that were originally posted on Darren's waste-of-blogspace blog. BUT here it is, the results of all my hard work for the last 20 minutes:

Just think, I could have spent that time grading student essays...hmmm... can't think of anything more enjoyable. Oh wait a minute, yes I can: that's the benefit of being "a juggernaut of sin". Hee hee.

Darren says I am being bitchy in this post, so I guess I have to end with something warm and fuzzy:

I hope everyone has a nice week, and take care-- remember, God loves you!

p.s. Darren wanted to add his touch to this post, so in his words (referring to himself, of course) "what a damn dirty ho i am" (I don't know why he isn't the Charlatan.)

I'm BACK!!!

2006-11-22T11:49:00.000-08:00

Hello to the two or three people who read this. I'm sorry I have been away so long. I guess I don't really have a good excuse... nothing noble like helping the homeless or volunteering time in a soup kitchen...just hookin' on the streets trying to feed the baby and save up for the paternity test. Ok, that's a lie. I have actually just been working (and I do know who the daddy is). BUT, the benefit of reaching a breaking point in the amount of stress tolerable by a sane human is that I turn to drastic measures to procrastinate, hence the blog post. That also explains my willingness to take Liz's crazy-ass quiz titled, "What Pseudo Historical Figure Best Suits You". I guess I should give props to Darren for the original link being posted on his lame-o blog.

You scored as Hugh Hefner. You will look young well into old age, possibly because the skin from your nether region has been used so much as to pull the rest of your epidermis tight, either that or it's a whole shitload of plastic surgery. You will be the envy of most men throughout their teenage years well into their 40's and maybe even old age. However, you are the scourge of all romantics amd someday all lovelorn creatures become homicidal psychopaths so an escort of bodyguards as well as scantily clad members of the other gender is well in order.

Hugh Hefner

100%

Elvis Presley

92%

Steven Morrissey

92%

Miyamoto Musashi

83%

C.G. Jung

67%

Charles Manson

67%

Friedrich Nietzsche

67%

Sigmund Freud

67%

Stephen Hawking

58%

Dante Alighieri

58%

O.J. Simpson

50%

Jesus Christ

50%

Mother Teresa

50%

Adolf Hitler

42%

What Pseudo Historical Figure Best Suits You?
created with QuizFarm.com

Yea, I fucking rock. Now I just need a bunch of scantily-clad men (and, yes, I would still call them "bunnies" just to get back for all the years of bimbos being reduced to fuzzy vermin-- take that suckas!).

My bunnies would feed me grapes.

Sween Cream and a Birthday

2006-08-11T17:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was at the Blue Earth county office for some business when I came across an assortment of cream resting atop a cabinet in the hallway. Yep, you heard that right, on top of a cabinet in a hallway. I wasn’t sure what was more surprising- the cream or the cabinet. My eyes rested briefly on the bottles and squeeze tubes only long enough to read the title: SWEEN CREAM.

Holy crap. How come I’ve been in Mankato for three years and haven’t heard about this shit before? I could have really used “Sween Cream, good for red, sore, irritated skin” when the other TAs in 206A were giving me crap about Panko Crumbs, and Matt C. was printing out recipes and tips on how to store Panko (inside an air-tight container in a cool, dark location) and leaving them on my desk. Anything would have been helpful. Maybe Sween Cream and Ms. Katy Sween (now Clay) could have deferred some of that harassment.

I had to whip out my phone and take a pic of the stuff, even though two employess brushed by, eyeing me with a look that clearly said, “she must be looking for the mental health department.” Unfortunately, I’m not tech-savvy enough to know how to take the picture off my camera and on to my computer, so I found this one on the internet:

Heehee.

Today was Nathan's birthday. His second birthday. The birthday that should mark the beginning of hellish period otherwise known as the "Terrible Twos". Lucky for me I have a little angel for a son, so he has yet to give me much of anything terrible. I must have done something right somewhere along the line to get such a good one.

Here he is enjoying his new truck and my

bag of tortilla chips:

Reasons to Celebrate

2006-08-09T10:45:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is pretty damn exciting. First off, I actually posted to this blog for two days in a row, which surprises even me. I won't deny that there was a part of me that believed blogging would end up as one of those "good" ideas of mine that never get off the ground. Kinda like scrapbooking was.

Yea, I never did get on that boat. I had intentions to-- I mean, scrapbooking seemed like the artsy way to capture memories, and I had plenty to catch with Nathan coming around, but I found myself getting annoyed with all the oddly-shaped scissors, corny sayings frozen on stickers, and annoying foam cut-outs and assorted goodies meant to be glued on colorful paper. The whole thing just started to bug me a little. I mean, who has all that time?

Unfortunately, I spent thirty bucks supplying myself with an arsenal of the before-mentioned goodies before I decided that the hobby pissed me off. It's a shame considering the types of quality art I could be producing with all that crap collecting dust under my bed. Shrimp, anyone?

So other than actually maintaining this blog for 48 hours, I am also excited about my new pact with Liz. And, no, not a lesbian pact (that's with you, my dear Katy). A pact that we will both take the GRE in the next month or two, and a pact that we will keep on each other about applying to doctorate programs for next year. The idea was one people (you know who you are) have been pushing me to consider as of late, and it is one I am considering more seriously... well, as of the last 24 hours... which of course means it could end up as successful of an idea as scrapbooking.

Yea, I have a blog!

2006-08-08T15:06:00.000-07:00

So, this is officially my first post to my newly-created space in the world of blogging. Exciting stuff.

Although I have been toying with the idea of starting a blog for a couple years, I have been slow to start one-- mainly because I read and admire the blogs of my creative friends and fellow former TAs who consistently write clever, funny things or stories with detailed dialogue on a regular basis, and I know I don't have the time to be an excellent "blogger"--(child, relationship, mortgage, job, a recent string of bullshit, etc)-- but, nevertheless, I'm in now. But I'm not here to be entertaining; I'm here to vent, because, dammit, I got a lot of shit on my mind.

But all of that can wait for now because as I said before, I'm a little busy. Must make dinner for a starving two year old. Here's the little monster now. . .

Maybe I'll get to the thick stuff tomorrow. ;)