Life on the Cusp

Uh guh bluh

2009-07-12T14:53:00.002-04:00

Minions, I am SO tired! My sleep schedule is FUCKED! I wake up late afternoon and I'm still too groggy to function. Blaaaaaarg!

But, be that as it may, Cheeky Lotus posted a new blog post and I will not be outdone even though I have nothing to say that isn't simpering about my relationship or complaining about work.

But wait! I have dogs! Kilo is now 75 lbs, Maddie has arthritis in her back legs, and they're the only dogs I know who get their dinner with a side dish.

I also have a nephew! Who...I only saw twice since he got out of the hospital. Apparently he's gaining weight like it's his job and also he is adorable. Somewhere in this house there exists a USB to connect the digital camera to Hugh. One day, I may find it. I promise nothing!

I have a GRRRR! Because my boyfriend is an annoyingly good guy who actually posesses a work ethic. The result? The only chance I have to see him is Monday night because all the other days of the week he's at one of his two jobs and RAWRDONOTWANTRAWR!!!

And I have a reccomendation! If you're not reading Jeph Jacques' webcomic Questionable Content, you really, really should. It's AWESOME, but don't read it if you have somewhere to be because it's nearly 2000 pages long and addictive as hell!

That's all I can think of, so... please enjoy this condensed awesome:

This. Means. WAR!

2009-07-01T01:57:00.002-04:00

Last year, it was fruit flies.

This year, it's motherfucking ANTS!

This Job has been invaded, invaded I say, by six-legged demons from the spawning pits of Hell!

I was sweeping up the sprinkles and nuts behind the register when I noticed some of the chocolate sprinkles seemed to be moving.

Okay...a lot of them were moving...and segmented...and were way smaller than chocolate sprinkles should be and HOLY CRAP ANTS! ANTS IN MY STORE! DIE! DIEDIEDIEDIEDIE!!!

So I called the store manager to see if this development merited a freak-out. Kickass Manager was peeved, but not freaked, and suggested that we should sweep and mop behind the counters more often than once a week (maybe) like it says on the list.

Well, being the daughter of Mum, a.k.a. "She who vacuums up lady bugs with extreme prejudice." I snatched up the broom, sent Depressive to fetch the mop, and attacked. Sadly, there were stupid ice cream customers and I couldn't pull out the far counter for a good ten minutes. When they finally went away I swept every inch of exposed floor and swabbed like a shanghaied cabin boy staring down the business end of a flintlock.

I want those ants DEAD! No way in Hell am I gonna be responsible for the mass poisoning of This Job customers. I may hate their greedy, self-absorbed asses, but I will not be the one to whom the CDC traces the epidemic.

Oh, yeah, I'm so about to become my coworkers' worst nightmare.

Ladies and Gentlemen: Your Cast!

2009-06-29T16:18:00.004-04:00

As promised, the cast list of my misadventures at This Job:

The Store Stock Players:

Aspiring Actor Lacking Work Ethic: Red-headed 21-year-old with a Captain America belt buckle and an aversion to doing his job.

Depressive-Depressive: Slow speaking high school student with a daily quota for suicidal/homicidal comments. Often expresses wishes to blow up the Earth. Has twice electrocuted himself.

Efficient Veteran: Bespectacled savior who works whenever school is out of session. The days when Veteran is away at college are the darkest days of my life.

Brudda-Brudda: Brother of Veteran, newest hire, very little is known of this employee.

DevilSpawn: Redheaded sixteen-year-old demon child, formerly the ice cream girl, currently the biggest pain in the ass ever to darken my shift. Aspiring Actor ignores his work, DevilSpawn resents hers, and will do anything, up to and including blatant refusal citing "hangover", to get out of doing it.

Kiddo: Current ice cream girl. Fifteen years old and carrying some odd form of hero admiration for me. Weird.

Lummox: Thick limbed employee currently doubling in the Deli section, notable as the only male on the Deli payrole. Has been at This Job for a few months less than I have, still seems to have no idea what they pay him for.

Chipper Manager: Rarely seen in the evening shift, exceptionally nosey about EVERYTHING in the employees' personal lives. Damn good worker.

Kickass Manager: Big boss who demands 100%. Also encourages lazing around and goofing off after the work is done. If executed properly, all work can be finished with time to spare. Kickass manager likes down time, and encourages workers to get shit done so they can goof off.

The Deli Divas:

The Paminator: Deli manager and single most effective employee in the store. Does part time duty in the store area, often finishes your job just as you've realized it has to be done. Comes early, stays late, saves everyone's sanity. No one dislikes the Paminator.

Cavalry: Deli veteran who was called in to resume her role after a series of hiring disasters left the deli short staffed. Damn good at her job, currently pulling double-duty in Deli and Store.

All Smiles: Relatively recent hire, never in a bad mood, efficient worker and a quick hand at dishes.

Drama Queen: Hired around the same time as All Smiles. Very poor at her job, finds insults wherever she can, constantly tries to stir up tension and loves to ask me whether or not I've slept with my boyfriend yet.*

Enigma: Works mornings, so I rarely see her. I know next to nothing about her.

So there you have it. My cast. Don't you wish you had my job?

*The answer, by the way, is nunya.

So That Worked...

2009-06-29T02:38:00.003-04:00

Apparently ya'll liked my blog about my inept coworkers. (And by "ya'll" I mean one person who was all agog.) So after I, y'know, sleep, I'll post a cast list, showing you all my coworkers in their moronic glory.

...okay that's not fair, some of them actually rock. Like The Paminator. But more on her later.

Also, from now on all This Job posts on this blog will be equipped with TJ-Stoopid tags for ease of access. See below.

That is all.

Reflections on This Job

2009-06-26T02:16:00.002-04:00

My headache, let me show it to you.

Okay, so the deal is this: there are certain co-workers at This Job who rock. Unfortunately, they are the minority. Tonight (actually last night, because my schedule is evil) I was working with...none of them. Not kick-ass manager, not chipper manager, not efficient veteran guy, none of them. I did have the one and only Paminator, also known as the savior of sanity, but she was busy commanding the troops in the deli section. On my side, I was stuck with depressive-depressive dude, and aspiring actor lacking work ethic. One day I might give these people better nicknames, but I doubt it.

See, depressive-depressive can't be trusted to do anything without constant supervision, because there's always the possibility he'll electrocute himself...again.

Aspiring actor lacking work ethic can't be trusted to do anything period. A surefire way to make sure something never gets done is to ask Aspiring Actor to do it. I dread the day a director has to work with this guy. If it weren't for the Deli Divas like Paminator, I'd never get anything done.

See, here's how it works. I get to work, and nothing is done. The list of tasks for the day is empty and there's a line of assho-I mean customers-extending a country mile. Both registers are occupied and there are, blessedly, no ice-cream morons at the window. I get to work, cleaning and stocking and trying to organize something approaching order in the store. I get stuff done as far ahead of time as I can, and then the rush starts.

The problem is, the rush is entirely unpredictable. Sometimes it coincides with rush hour, other times it's around 8, sometimes it's more like 7 or 6:30, and it SUCKS! Anything I don't get done before the rush hits doesn't get done at all. And the reason is this:

AA: Danielle!
DD: Danielle!
AA: Danielle, you've got register!
DD: Danielle, can you come here?

And on...and on...and on. If Aspiring Actor isn't disappearing into the back of the store, Deppressive-Depressive is spending his entire shift doing dishes. It's like working by myself! And the constant complaining and OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU STANDING AROUND BEHIND THE REGISTER WHEN THE COFFEE ISLAND NEEDS TO BE STOCKED RIGHT THE FUCK NOW?!?!?!

I am so sick of babysitting these guys. I feel bad for Veteran, 'cause he's closing with Aspiring Actor tomorrow and I'm out at 10:00. I can do my best to get as much done as possible before they have to close, but Friday night is Hell Shift and there'll be way too many customers wanting ice cream to get much accomplished.

I fucking hate retail.

Thank Lena

2009-06-25T00:23:00.003-04:00

My return to posting is all her fault.

That and the fact that I'm in a relationship now. Which makes me wax prosaic.

Anyway, the trip to OKC was great, and Neña is still awesome, and I kinda miss Braums. Alas, I must bid adieu to affordable, quality hamburgers.

But moving on, being back with boyshapedthing has made me go kinda wonky...again. He has that effect. And I tend to see things differently. I'm wondering if anyone else had this sort of revelation or whatever when they first started exploring the world of romance.

The thing is, I watch TV and movies differently. Love scenes, kissing scenes, even just moments where a couple is having a private conversation all feel different than they did before. This is...weird. And I'd kind of like it to stop because it's threatening to break the wall separating me from the program and I like that wall. That wall allows me to feel all superior and omniscient.

So I'm bringing back the old LadyG's Minion Q segment.

Minion Q: Did you notice any strange changes in yourself after entering your first relationship? A new worldview, suddenly getting jokes you never quite understood before, that kind of thing? I realize I may be asking some of you to dust off a few mental cobwebs, but go ahead and give it a shot.

LadyG's A: You pretty much got it from the post. The TV thing is odd. But I've also noticed an irritating tendency to reference my boyfriend way too often. For this, I sincerely apologize. Especially to Neña, who had to put up with it all last week. Trust me, everyone, I'm annoying myself just as much.

Reporting From the Trenches

2009-06-16T18:17:00.002-04:00

I've been in OKC for about three days now, and I've discovered a few things.

Like, for instance, a chain of burger joints which sells, entirely unironically, a "bag of burgers". Yeah. I thought so too.

But there are considerations I've been making about my future and whether or not I can live here. Such as:

-Oklahoma has no AIR. It's so sweltering hot here I can't breathe.

-Traffic here is insane. Every time N. merges I hear the Grim Reaper sharpening his scythe.

-People here use the phrase "Thank you kindly" and they aren't being sarcastic!

-It's flat here. There aren't a lot of gradients in the ground. I'm from hill country, I get nervous without inclines.

-It's bright. I'm used to living where streetlights dare not go, and in the city every night is a smorgasboard of ambient light.

Even aside from all that, being here has made me acutely aware of the distance between me an the people I love. So even though I'm having a good time, and even though I love Athena dearly, I'll be glad to go home and see my life again. And while I definitely intend to come back, I honestly don't think I could live here. I'm a New Yorker. It's who I am.

Shmegeggy!

2009-06-11T04:07:00.002-04:00

Holy crap! Blogger dashboard says I hit the 100 post mark 9 posts ago. How the hell didn't I notice?

Well, there's one milestone I'll never get back. Guh.

So my Oklahoma trip is currently barreling down on me at warp 9.98 (which, for non-Star Trek Fundamentalist translates to "really fucking fast...yo.") and I've found myself securely in freak-out mode. This isn't actually a bad thing since I used to spend so much time in freak-out mode that I decided to purchase a small yet tasteful bungalow there and have recently begun contemplating the possibility of new curtains in the den.

This is fortunate because OKT (that's Oklahoma Trip for anyone who doesn't love abbreviating as much as I do) arrives at precicely the same time as the most massive emotional upheval to hit my life in approximately a decade. I won't say too much in the interest of maintaining my rule against simpering relationship posts. Suffice to say my relationship with boyshapedthing is chock-full of firsts, only a few of which it turns out I was marginally prepared for. That is all.

So between panic attacks and random heart implosions I've managed to locate a familiar area of zen in which my mind busies itself with random minutia in the hopes of avoiding pesky disturbances like reality. Here's a look inside my head:

Brain: Twilight is terrible.
Writer Monkey: But it has potential!
B: Who the fuck are you?
WM: I'm the part of you that comes up with stuff to write!
B: And you're awake before 3:00 am?
WM: It's after 4:00.
B: Oh, would you look at that...
WM: But seriously! Just imagine where Twilight could've gone! Like, forget sparkly vampires, what if exposure to sunlight made their skin transluscent so you could see a network of black veins all over their faces?
B: ...that's actually pretty cool. But you came up with that just so you could use "transluscent" in a sentence, didn't you?
WM: ...maybe. Have you given any though to the possible symbology behind the cactus?*
B: *shakes head saddly* Such a missed opportunity.

Okay the above actually stems from a challenge M leveled at me to rewrite Twilight so it doesn't suck. Which I'll probably do, because as long as I don't sell it it's still fanfiction and probably no one but M will ever read it. Ever. Which is sad.

But seriously, I am still pissed at Twilight for taking everything that is good about vampire mythos and weeing all over it. Why in Hell would vampires sparkle? It makes no sense! And no fangs? Come on, there have to be fangs! Even Dracula had fangs and he was a total twat!** Either give your vamps fangs, or be as awesome as Darren Shan so you can get away with it!

But back to my life. I'm seeing Matt again on Friday, which I think may see the return of my suede split-fronts. I haven't worn them in ages ever since my mum mentioned that they didn't work with my height, but I distinctly remember being drop-dead gorgeous in them and I've got the kind of legs you want to show off, so bugger that!

*For those of you intelligent enough to avoid Twilight altogether, in the beginning of the first book the protagonist (Miss Blandina O'Blandypants) dug up a small cactus from her mother's property in Arizona before moving to the Pacific Northwest to get rained on all the time. Stephanie Mayer made a big fuss about the cactus when Blandina dug it up, but as soon as the sparkle clan showed up she forgot all about it. As a symbolism enthusiast, this pissed me off.

**...alright I'm being mean. Dracula is actually awesome in theory but the Bram Stoker novel made me lose the will to live after Van Helsing showed up and I don't think I can forgive that.

So Neña Was Right...ish

2009-06-09T00:10:00.005-04:00

So when do you have proof that you may be drifting toward domesticity?

When putting your last load of laundry in the washing machine makes you want to do your happy dance.

And yes, that totally just happened. (Shut up, Neña)

Okay, so I'm back and I've got a shitload to talk about, so we're gonna list this mofo as only LadyG knows how: in multiples of five. Because I'm OCD like that.

1: Relationship with boyshapedthing. Goin' strong, have gone past "fond" and am comfortably entrenched in "smitten". Emotionally, this is wonderful. Socially, it sucks. Why? Because nosy nellies like my mother and long-distance friend Neña to bandy the "L" word around like a frickin' shuttlecock. (Again, shut up Neña) And that's just awkward.

2. The Sister Thing. Going into as little squee as humanly possible: Thomas Joseph G----- born 11:27 a.m. on May 23rd, 6lbs 11 oz. Also? Easiest birth in our family's history. Her water broke, she went to the hospital, she was there for three hours, she pushed four times and done. Srsly. My sister don't dick around when it comes to getting that damned kid out of her.

3. Scholastic achievement. Yep it's that time of year again. Not the time of year when I go to school, but that time of year when Default Community College invites me to join their Honors Program. I swear, half the time I surfed the web and e-mailed my boyfriend all throughout class, and the lowest grade I got was a B- (don't tell my mom). I ignored most of my homework, barely got in my writing assignments and take-home quizzes, but I pick up on shit I've never seen before within minutes and I test well so I sort of skate through and make it look like I applied myself. So then I get offered honors status and you know what? No. I'm lazy and unmotivated and lack self-discipline. There's no way I can write a six-page paper when the rest of the class is doing two pages, tutor my classmates and take notes for the special needs students (they pay you for that shit, too.) I guess what I'm saying is, I need to get my ass in gear and I shouldn't be rewarded with top student status for essentially doing nothing.

4. The M thing. M is still pregnant, and still keeping the baby. And I'm fine with it, largely because that tiny glimmer of hope I had back when this first became an issue seems to be growing into a torchlight. M is really getting her act together, and so is Shmuck (I can call him that now, because M knows it's more of a term of endearment than anything else.) But she's really stepping up, and she's turned her house (which was kind of scary) into a home, and the more I see what she and her family have done, the more hopeful I am that this is going to work out, and the baby is going to have a good life. And that's what I want more than anything: for Marisa and her baby to be happy and healthy.

5. Who the "F" is Neña? Neña has been mentioned before, both as Goddess and Thena. She's the new love of my life (in a heterosexual, platonic, lesbian-lover kind of way) and I talk to her almost as much as I talk to my boyfriend. Which is a lot. A freakin' lot. This is why I shelled out $320+ to fly to Oklahoma next week to visit her. So I'll be away, on my own, for the first time in my life. And if that doesn't say "growing up" I don't know what does.

6. What's New on the Net? Well, there's this (NSFW):

And this (also NSFW):

And The Cheeky Lotus is back so you should probably go check her out, like, now. Seriously. I'll wait.

7. In Cars. Still no license, but M is teaching me and I hope to have one before school starts again, because she may be too preggers to drive.

8 The Job Market. I've decided to take an interest in the FBI. After watching WAY too much "Criminal Minds", it occurred to me that I love Behavioral Sciences like Anthropology, Psychology and Sociology, and the FBI is a place that's willing to pay me over $63,000 in my first year to use them. I'm not sure if I'm definitely going to join the FBI, but it's a possibility I'm prepared to explore. Unfortunately/fortunately, it will most likely require me to get Lasik, which I desperately want, but is very expensive.

9. The Current Job. This Job still sucks, and now it sucks harder. Ice Cream season means we constantly get slammed by crouds of the pushiest assholes in the world, all of whom want frozen desserts. But I seem to be doing something right because my store manager has given me some more responsability. I am now responsible for the weekly gas inspection, which is a manager's job.

10. So, you're getting a raise, right? Nope. I calculated that I do approximately six jobs at This Job during every shift. That is, I do six completely different jobs which could theoretically be held by six individuals, but I do them all. But I still make fifteen cents over minimum wage, and until MW goes up, my paycheck will remain the same.

So that's my life at the moment. Comment if there's something you think I'm leaving out, something you want to know, or if you think I'm being a whiny bitch. I'll read them all, and unless it's spam or something totally asinine, I'll post them to the comments page.

Ciao bellas!

Meet Boyshapedthing

2009-05-06T09:47:00.003-04:00

Hi everybody!

You may be wondering where I've been for the past few decades (or weeks, I can't keep track).

It seems I have, quite inadvertently, been acquiring a boyfriend. Who'd have thunk?

This is Matt, also known as boyshapedthing:Cute, huh?

Okay, no, that's not him. That's just the guy he cosplays as.

Yep! I landed a cosplayer! And a damn good one, too. Kinda sort of famous (infamous) in the convention circuit. This is actual boyfriend:

Fiiiine, right?

Hee hee!

Okay, in the interest of maintaining professional anonymity I'm not going to show you his actual picture. I will, however, tell you that he exists on YouTube where he plays an eccentric, egomaniacal director named Victor Juliet, the face of Fiendish Films. If you're industrious, you can maybe find him and see my boyfriend's acting chops.

Why tell you this, O my minions, when for so long I have shunned personal details?

Two reasons:

1. I HAVE A BOYFRIEND! YAY YAY YAY!!!

2. I'll probably be referencing him at some point in the future, and I don't want a bunch of questions like "who the eff is boyshapedthing" and "...Matt? Who's Matt?"

Okay, there's a third one. I lied.

3. I don't blog much when I have a relationship, apparently. This is my crappy, cop-out reason for being invisable for so long. *ducks rotten fruit and vegetables* I sorry!

That is all.

Revitalized!

2009-04-20T15:20:00.002-04:00

I can't believe I left this blog so long! Gah! What must you think of me?

Well, a large part of it is probably the last entry. Yeah...that worked out well. Anyway, an update on the whole thing:

Yes, I apologized, yes M forgave me, and yes, the M-biased comments were mean and unnecessary and from people with exceedingly limited knowledge of the whole story. That aside, everything is cool now. (And no, Goddess, I didn't disregard the opinions of people who responded to FrienDilemma. I simply disregarded the mean-spirited tone of some of those comments. There is a difference. I.E.: I realize I was wrong to say what I said, but I also realize that one moment of poor judgement does not make me the single biggest super bitch ever to walk the Earth.) The comments from my actual Minions were balanced, and they favored M as well, and they were the reason why I decided to call mea culpa and apologize.

But you don't care about that! You care about this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUd1BhokZq4

Sorry I can't embed the video, but damn Internet Explorer keeps crashing if I try to paste anything!!!

Yeesh!

2009-03-25T10:08:00.002-04:00

Well, it would appear the votes are in, and the answer is "bitch".

Man, I finally get some commenters and they basically hate me. Although, I take it with a grain of salt because my biggest critics are all close friends of M with whom I have exceedingly little contact, and who are pretty blatantly biased.

It may also have something to do with my deliberate attempt to paint myself in the more negative light, since the alternative would entail a detailed description of why I think M is making a mistake, which would probably cause hate mail to rain down from the heavens.

Also, this blog is all about me, why should she have the spotlight?

And I figured if I painted myself as the bitch, it would take some of the sting out of what happened and make some headway into showing how I've decided to be supportive whether or not I agree with her. She's been my sista for the last 8 years and I figure I owe it to her to yank my foot out of my mouth and stand by her...even if I edge away a little.

And, yeah, the hate comments do kind of bother me, but I'm trying not to let it get to me too much because in the end? M has already forgiven me, and hers is the only opinion that matters.

Hello Life, I Missed You

2009-03-23T20:19:00.002-04:00

School started again today!

Ah, the sweet, sweet drag of exhaustion. I forgot how tired it's possible to be.

I remember now.

Ganesh, today was insane. I spent FOUR HOURS in the library doing homework, and thanks to my lame-ass schedule (available for snerking at here) I haven't really had much of an opportunity to chill all day. Hopefully this means I'll fall asleep at 11:00 pm sharp rather than tossing and turning like I did last night. That? Was not fun.

The inevitable has come to pass. My english class has reached Shakespeare. Now, I have no problem with Shakespeare. Actually, I kinda dig Shakespeare.

Okay, I have a dangerously intense, unyielding obsession with Shakespeare. This means that I? Am a fucking freak because no one in my peer group is expected to know the first thing about Shakespeare. Hell, I was the only one in my class who knew what the fuck the fourth wall is!* Much less what it has to do with asides.

I still have no clue why the fuck The Tempest is considered a tragedy. Maybe I'm reading it wrong, but it seems to me like it has a happy ending, and I'm pretty sure no one meets a dismal fate after falling from a lofty position into the depths of human failure. And there's a fucking drunk butler trying to usurp an island from a fucking sorcerer! That's funny shit!

But then again I actually liked Matthew Lillard in Love's Labours Lost, so what do I know?

I kind of think my english prof. doesn't like me much. I think it's mainly because I actually, you know, know stuff. And I'm torn between wanting to participate in the discussion, and hating that look she gets on her face when I'm the only one with my hand up again. Annoying.

But hey, we're doing Hamlet in class and I love me some Horatio, so I guess it's not all bad.

*FYI, it's what allows Frankie Muniz to talk right to you during Malcolm in the Middle.

FrienDilemma

2009-03-22T01:50:00.001-04:00

M forgot me tonight.

Or, more accurately, M’s body placed me low on the list of priorities after gestate, secrete hormones, and sleep. Apparently, I didn’t quite make the list.

So somewhere around 12:25, with my manager sitting beside me at a picnic table next to This Job’s main building, I finally gave up on waiting for her and got a ride with said manager, who was reduced to a heap of explosive laughter and intermittent giggle-fits by my inability to give directions worth a damn.

Here’s the kicker. Even though M left me stranded at work at almost half past midnight, thus forcing me to beg a ride off of my boss, she’s pissed off at me.

She may have every right, of course, since I’m the judgmental bitch who can’t keep my mouth shut. Or she may just be a hormonal cocktail of crazy with a hair trigger. I don’t know, you decide.

See, M is pregnant and she’s decided to keep the baby.

I happen to think this is the biggest mistake of her life, and that she has suddenly achieved an MTV reality-show level of stupid. As you can imagine, we’re not exactly seeing eye-to-eye right now.

It just get’s worse and worse, because there are few conversations you can have with a pregnant person which don’t eventually come around to the pregnancy, and whenever we talk about the pregnancy, M starts gushing about all the baby-related freebies she’s getting from her previously pregnant friends and I start looking at her like she needs to be wearing a helmet and riding the short bus.

As you may have guessed, O Minions, I have a hard time keeping my thoughts to myself. If you think the shit I come up with here is bad, you should hear the stuff I don’t say. Or, erm, type. So, like an idiot with amnesia, I inevitably find myself voicing my opinions re: stupidity of keeping the kid, and am promptly treated to the slow freezing of expression which turns M’s easy-going smile into a spine-chilling death rictus. And I KNOW telling M how I feel is a stupid move, and I KNOW it’ll piss her off, and we’re both stuck squirming through a pretend-cheery conversation as M tries to shrug off my bitch-comment and I try to play the supportive friend with genuine yet misguided concerns.

I mean, this whole arrangement would go so much smoother if I just learn to shut the fuck up. *
But, naturally, being the verbose moron that I am, I just have to express my opinions such as:

How much I hate her boyfriend
How stupid it is to keep the baby
How dangerous Idiot Boyfriend is behind the wheel

And so forth…

Of course, there’s an element of selfishness at work here, too. M is my only means of transportation to and from school, and if I don’t have my own wheels by the time her baby gets here, I’ll be looking at a decline in dependability from an already not-all-that-dependable carpool, which would totally kill my efforts to get an education, not to mention my ability to work late nights at This Job.

Which brings us to tonight. Having completed an 8 hour shift, then being stranded outside a locked convenience store and escorted home by a boss who already thinks I’m a freak, I call M to tell her I got home okay and find out why she didn’t show.

Turns out IBF’s pre-existing two-year-old is a handful, and M passed out after a desperate attempt to get the tyke to finally go to sleep already! So M apologized, informing me how putting a two-year-old to bed is one of the more Herculean tasks in existence.

Now, Rational Me knows M is tired, and hormonal, and having one of the less pleasant first trimesters you can have (unlike my smooth-sailing sister, bane of preggos everywhere!), and probably needs support and comfort right now.

But Judgmental Bitch Me spies an opening to once more prove my point re: keeping baby is stupid-o! And reminds me none-to-gently that a screaming baby in the middle of the night is definitely not conducive to a successful carpool. Unfortunately, Judgmental Bitch Me moves a lot faster than Rational Me, especially after midnight, and I found myself saying, “And yet you still think it’s a good idea to keep the kid.”

To which M responded with a snap, “Shut the fu--”

And that’s where our connection crapped out.

So, what do you think Minions? Am I right to be concerned about my friend making what could be the most disastrous mistake of her entire life, or am I just a nosy, selfish asshole who loves the sound of my own voice a liiiitle too much?

Don’t be afraid to be brutal.**

*This phrase comes up later in the story. Go ahead and guess where.

**But if you don’t take my side, I am SO never making you cookies!

Hugh says hi.

2009-03-11T16:48:00.002-04:00

Wow! So this is what happens when you put off blogging about actual stuff for weeks on end, you end up with no idea how to fit it all in one post.

I guess we'll begin with the most recent Awesome:

BOB IS GONE!!!

Yes! My evil, sociopathic, schizophrenic laptop shall never again darken my sofa. In his place, I have an Acer Aspire, whom I have named Hugh, since naming him Bob would create too many bad associations. How can I give my new bestest buddy the same name as the machine I threatened to drop-kick on an almost daily basis?

Hugh is wonderful. He boots up fast, he shuts down fast. He's a bit slow on the uptake when I'm web surfing sometimes, but no where near as long as the ponderous, oft failed web page navigations of Bob. And for the most part he's very quick.

Sadly, he comes with McAfee, which I don't know how to get rid of. I WANT IT GONE! I am sick and tired of being prompted to restart my computer every single time I turn it on! I already have AVG, I just need to either figure out how to ditch McAfee, or else grit my teeth and bear it until the trial period runs out.

He also comes with a mic and a camera, which has AMAZING quality. God help YouTube if I ever figure out how to use it.

I think I'm in love with a hard drive.

...to be continued...

Credit Where it's Overdue

2009-03-04T13:37:00.003-05:00

Today I attended a seminar about credit cards. This was entirely accidental, and yet savvy, because I only really decided to sit in because there was free pizza and I didn't want to spend any money on lunch. I figure me plus financial literacy seminar equals smart.

This puts me in an awkward position, however, because I can no longer avoid the fact that I need to get myself a credit card. This may prove a problem because, well...

I am freaking terrified of credit cards!

Let me explain, because this is actually a totally rational fear. See, when she was younger my mom managed to accumulate 19 credit cards before filing for bankruptcy (sp?) and ever since then she's been on my ass about managing my money wisely (this is a bit counterproductive, however, when she urges me to totally blow $70 at Barnes and Noble because "I can afford it.") (Okay, to be fair I had just come into a pretty hefty amount of money for a 19 year old and I didn't have any obligations and mom believes in the cathardic benefits of treating oneself on occasion, which is actually a useful strategy for a working class shmo to alleviate stress. Provided you don't go overboard.)

Where was I? Oh, yeah, so as the day drew closer when I would have to take financial responsability for myself, the idea of a credit card got scarier and scarier. Debt consolidation commercials were EVERYWHERE, and something about vikings, and people were swiping cards left and right while NO ONE CHECKED TO MAKE SURE THE CARDS WERE THEIRS!!!

*Hyperventilates*

I'm okay. Anyway, eventually I discovered the wonders of a bank card. No muss! No fuss! Swipe the card, sign your name and the money comes right out of your checking account! No bills! No interest rate! No chance of a late payment! And, since I watch my checking account like a hawk, no chance of my account being overdrawn! Yay!

Unfortunately, a bank cards builds no credit, so I have to get one. This scares the living shit out of me, because I? Am so not about the self-discipline. Seriously, I just gave up doughnuts, and I literally get jitters whenever I see the doughnut display at work. I've tried cutting back on soda, and ended up chugging down a couple 20 oz. bottles per day. I mean, I can control myself, but I'm just so damn good at being persuasive that I can talk myself into anything. My power to rationalize amazes and astounds (me, anyway). And if there's cake on the counter? Well, it won't be there much longer.

Part of it, I guess, is because it's naughty. My mom explodes if I have an extra piece of cake. She just lost 50 lbs and for the YEARS she's been struggling with her weight she's been laying on the guilt trips if I so much as look at a bag of sun chips too intently. So, forbidden fruit, I snag an extra treat whenever I can. I don't particularly want to eat myself into a sugar coma, but there's something so delicious about sneaking around. It's pretty disturbing actually, and not my best feature. (That would so be my legs.)

Another part of it is sort of like taking a starving man and slapping him in an all-you-can-eat buffet. There's a sense of something once denied being right there and you don't know if you'll ever see it again! When I was little, we used to have treats all the time. I never really splurged because I knew there would be cookies tomorrow. Then around adolescence the money stopped and the diets started and suddenly there were no cookies EVER! So on the rare, rare, rare occasions when I actually got something sweet and decadent, I tried to get as much as I could because it could be gone any minute and I never knew when or if I'd see anything like it again.

That's not really true anymore now that I have my own cashflow, but the mentality is hard to shake. I treat myself to bad foods that taste good way more than I should, and that brings me back to my original point: I spend money.

Most of it goes to food. It adds up pretty damn fast, especially when you're buying your lunch in the DCC cafeteria. Shit here is expensive! I've pretty much nailed the cheapest satisfying combo (Rubber Cheese Pizza and Large Watery Fountain Soda, $3.33) but we've got little snack kiosks around, and it's really hard to pass them by without dropping a good $5.00 on candy and soda. However, lately I've had a small health epiphany, which is why I gave up donuts and am escewing Skittles and chocolate bars until further notice. (Pop-Tarts and I broke up years ago.) On the one hand, I feel pretty superior right now. On the other, it's sad that a couple disturbing heart palpitations are what it took to convince me I was headed down Bad Idea Street in a Ferarri.

So, give me a credit card and I'm not entirely positive I'll use it wisely. I'm sort of hoping my paralyzing fear of huge interest rates and viscious collectors on the phone will keep the damn thing in my freaking wallet and FAR AWAY from anything even remotely resembling a scanner. On the other hand, when I'm busting the damn thing out once a month to pay for a turkey sub, it'll be interesting to see the funny looks people will give me because seriously? You're going to pay for $3.97 worth of sandwich with a credit card?

Well, if I can't pay that bill on time, then I don't deserve plastic in the first place.

Pick a card, any card. Then, for the love of God, PUT IT BACK!

Relationship Advice from a Nerd(Fighter)

2009-02-25T19:16:00.002-05:00

I've been a bit Hank-heavy lately. So I thought I'd give you a John vid, so you guys know who the heck Hank is talking to when he says "good morning, John."

In LadyG news, I've been invited to join Phi Theta Kappa, DCC's honor society. Like all annoying, tedius and potentially expensive things, this claims to "look good on my resumé". They want $53 to join, and my mom's practically chomping at the bit to pay them.

That being said, here's John:

The Saga of the Boobs Continued

2009-02-22T23:45:00.002-05:00

I'm not exactly sure how to start this update, since it kind of has roots in a lot of random life-of-LadyG moments. So we're gonna start with something called The Tiara Society.

The Tiara Society is a CNY-based group which, once a year, gets all dressed up and goes to the opera. I am friends with a memeber, ergo I get to go see Roméo et Juliette at the Opera (note the capital "O"). So I needed a dress.

Dresses are notoriously choosy about the underwear department.

So I needed a bra.

Those of you who remember the initial Saga of the Boobs know that I hate, Hate, MOTHERFUCKING HATE my breasts. Like, I would hack them off with a band saw if I could. Nipples, mammary ducts be damned, I WANT THEM GONE. And I figured that at 42 DDD, they had pretty much done all they could to make my life a living hell.

I was wrong.

Minions, I am now officially a 42 F!!!!! F people! My boobs have hit the "Fail" mark. (In case your wondering, boobage is just like a high school essay in that it goes various degrees of A, B, C, and D, before skipping nice, friendly E altogether and slapping you with an accusing, asshat-ish F. Stoopid boobs.)

Now I'm strapped (literally) with massive 42 F-cup bras with underwires (read: Torture Devices) to provide the requisite support for my twenty-plus-pounds of unwanted flesh, so my ribcage is continually under torment, my abdomen is bound to suffer continual bruising and I haven't even gained any fucking weight! Jeeze, if anything I've lost a few pounds. Only you wouldn't know it, because my fucking boobs tip the scale at over twendy pounds!

I give up. I fucking give up.

Enjoy this video while I go look for a nice, sharp steak knife.

Life Lessons from an Anglerfish

2009-02-18T14:42:00.002-05:00

Presenting:

The Anglerfish Song Regarding the Human Mentality in Respect to how to Interpret Perpetually Felt Emotions While Educating You On the Subject of Anglerfish

Or The Anglerfish Song, for short.

Rites of Succession

2009-02-18T13:51:00.002-05:00

Yeah we're going to get a little serious here. I know, I know, it isn't fair. You're all, "Where's the funny LadyG? You disappear from the internets for EVER and when you come back you don't even bother to make with the giggles?"

I'm sorry. I fail.

But I'm a college student, people! What do you want from me! I've got new informations pinging around my head like a hyped up Pong blip.

(Yep, that's me, hitting you upside the head with a video game reference dating back to Atari. Pwn.)

Anyway, this semester I'm taking an Anthropology of Marriage and Family class. We're gonna call it Crazy Uncles 101. Until I think of something else to call it which makes me chuckle. Anyway, it's got me thinking about my own family, and seeing things which I might otherwise have missed if I didn't know to look for them.

I've always known my family was matrifocal (though, I didn't know the word until about two hours ago when Prof. Français told me), but lately there's been...a development.

Okay, let me explain. Like most Euro-American families, I'm from a bilateral family. That means I recognize relatives on both my mother's and my father's sides of the family tree (which for me is more like a thicket), however, in my family the balance of power is pretty one-sided. Namely, my mother's side is dominant. While I know my father's relatives, and acknowledge them as family, I haven't really had anything at all to do with them in longer than I can recall. In fact, the only member of my father's family I or my immediate relatives ever deal with is, well, my father.

Conversely, I still maintain at least functional ties to my mother's relatives. My two uncles, their kids, and even to a limited extent my almost-disowned aunt (the one who married her cousin and failed her daughter and is regularly referred to in terms of "before she lost her mind" and "until she lost her mind"). That's a long story.

But the emphasis goes farther than that. My mother's mother, known as "Grambutter" to all of us, holds the most power in the family. She's the undisputed matriarch to whom we give the most respect and deference. Now, considering how disrespectful my relatives and I tend to be, that's saying something. When Butter talks, you listen. Usually.

But Grambutter is getting old, and I've been forced to acknowledge the effects of her advancing age and the unavoidable fact that she's not going to live forever. She's getting weaker, which is terrifying because my Grambutter is the kind of tough-as-nails capital-W Woman you only get in working class America. Until recently, I couldn't fathom anything that'd make her lose a step.

Today she did. In a big way. Mom was just on the phone with my uncle Frankie, trying to figure out a shedule for her and her brothers to check in on Grambutter from time to time, because apparently today she fell and didn't have the strength to pick herself up. This is scary. Grambutter has always been fiercely independant, to the extent that her decades-long relationship with her boyfriend remains solid even though he lives full time in Florida.

So it occurs to me that someday, and sooner than I'd like to acknowledge, the matriarch of our family will die. I hate knowing that. I hate thinking that. I hate that the possiblity has evolved into a certainty and I can't avoid knowing it anymore. And until recently I wondered what would happen when she did die. I mean, who would inherit the power and be the new matriarch?

Now I know. See, logically, it should be my Aunt Mea, and that would've been feasible (before she lost her mind). She is the eldest, and like her mother and indeed all women of our bloodline, she's a dominant and controlling personality. However, she's also more intellectual and less practical, and since she went crazy she's only tenuously included in the family anymore. She's essentially a pariah, since we hardly talk about her, but the Maternals have a fierce familial loyalty which forbids us to turn a blind eye to her when she needs a favor or wants to talk. (The Paternals, on the other hand, are continually engaged in in-fighting, feuding, and regularly ostrasize their members for varying periods of time.) My uncles, both junior memebers of the generation before mine, are out of the question. Men have never played an active part in the Maternal family governance, and are considered on an informbal (albeit very vocal) level to be less capable of managing the extended family than women, who are held in my family to be superior on most intellectual and emotional levels, and equal on most physical ones.

That leaves my mother. And I know this with a certainty, having just witnessed her shouting at her younger brothers about the above falling incident, which is tantamount to treason. As I said, Grambutter is fiercely independant. Mom going behind her back, informing her sons that she's in failing health, undermines her image and proves she's losing her grasp on authority. Mom wouldn't dare do that if she didn't already wield a considerable amount of respect and authority among her siblings. If one of them had tried it, they'd have faced harsh retribution. I now know without doubt that my mom (flawed as she is) is the only logical successor to Grambutter.

And I suppose I've always known. A few years back, Grambutter gave mom The Breadbowl, a cast-iron bowl as wide around as a tree-trunk which has been in the family for about 70 or 80 years. It's almost sacred, and all of her children were vying for it, particularly my mom and Uncle David. When mom got it, it was almost a passing of the torch.

My mom has always been very active in managing the family. She's hosted almost all of our holiday gatherings, organized most of our reunions, moderated the majority of feuds and squabbles, and organized virtually all of the familial efforts such as Grambutter's new glasses, this latest health-monitoring schedule, and myriad other incidents in which the ties that bind needed a bit of patching up.

She's followed in Grambutters steps for years, including her inate ability to provide food for huge quantities of people on a semi-regular basis while maintaining a tight budget. She's even mirroring Grambutter's relationships, to the point where she divorced her first husband only to enter into a long-term comitted relationship with a man she has no intention to marry.

Grambutter won't be around forever, and as I write this her grip on her family is slipping. But there can be almost no doubt as to who will take her place.

And on that day, a long, long time from now when it's time for mom to pass the torch? Well, let's just say my sister was pretty much born with the patented Maternal Shouty Voice of Doom.

I'm just sayin'.

Pre-Pre Dawn Jitters

2009-01-25T21:50:00.001-05:00

So you wanna know how I know I’m excited and nervous about school starting back up tomorrow? It’s ‘cause I’m totally calm and collected, I suddenly look stunning in the mirror, and I gargled.

It’s weird, but whenever I’m about to do something scary and thrilling that has me all a-twitter, I suddenly drop into Ellie Mode. I’m 100% in control, and yet I find myself doing things I’d never do ordinarily.

Like gargling. My hygiene regimen is…rudimentary at best. I tend to skip showers when I know I’m not going anywhere for a while. Brushing my teeth, not high on the priority list. Miles below, say, watching a Burn Notice marathon until my eyes crack. I know, I know, it’s horrible and I should really take better care of myself, but it’s just so easy to forget and by the time you remember, the key has been in the ignition for a good quarter hour. But tonight I actually gargled. With mouthwash. For the first time in my life.

There are many reasons why I’ve refused the wash before now. It tastes disgusting, it’s a hassle and it fucking burns (I experimented a bit in my youth). But chief among them is the unfortunate fact that I’m allergic to, of all things, Fluoride. (Dude, I totally butchered the spelling there. Thank you Spell Check.) Toothpaste is fine, but the concentrated stuff you get at the dentist’s office or, say, in a gulp of mouthwash, makes me incredibly nauseated and dizzy. Not fun.

But tonight I brushed my teeth, took in my (for once) well-behaved hair, and caught a glimpse of pro-health formula and teeth-whitening rinse and I thought what the hell? So I gargled first with the pro-health (yucky, burny) for 30 seconds and then the whitening rinse (yucky, burny, greasy) for a full 60. I had to immediately gargle some water after each rinse to keep from getting queasy. It seems to have worked but I’m still waiting on the fallout.

Tomorrow I hope to get up early enough for a serious scrubbing with my exfoliating soap from Villainess.org. Maybe I can even have some fun with my hair, if it’s still feeling cooperative after a good night’s sleep. I’m pretty sure that if I were to be interrogated by the FBI, I’d pause and use the two-way mirror to check my lip gloss. It’s like a kind of security blanket. Like, I can’t control anything that’s about to happen, but at least I can control how I look and smell and carry myself. Every ablution suddenly teems with ritual, and even my breasts seem okay with me. (Right now I have some killer cleavage and it’s not even chafing…for now…I got my eye on you, you ta-tas.)

Oh! In stuff that actually kinda matters, my straight A’s got me on the President’s list (Yay! Presidential!) and some lady wants to talk to me about joining the Honor Society. I’m a bit leery about that, because the Honor Society tends to want you to sell crappy candy bars and pay them money for…not much of anything really. We shall see about this.

Oh, and it’s taken my 25 days but I’ve come up with a resolution. My goal is to be out of the house before snow flies again. That means car, license, new job close to school, roommates. In that order…I think.

Well, best be getting some shut-eye before l’italiano cento-due con la mia Professoressa Pallotta.

Ciao, i miei amici!

Genius Crossing

2008-12-24T23:44:00.000-05:00

First Semester grades are in.

I got straight A's.

You may now worship me.

That is all.

LadyG's Top 10

2008-12-11T10:33:00.004-05:00

Reasons why Potheads annoy the shit out of me:

10. They're useless. The pot doesn't calm them down or make them easier to talk to or ANYTHING. It just makes them sound really dumb when they talk. Really, really dumb. Like, "you were in the special class, weren't you?" kind of dumb.

9. They are perpetually shocked and dismayed to hear that someone, somewhere, might disapprove of their drug.

8. "Mind-Expanding". What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You really expect me to believe that a little weed inflicting the same amount of damage on my neural cell tissue as an entire night of drinking is going to make me more intellectual? See, now we're back to the short bus.

7. The arguments are ridiculous. I mean, seriously, it's ALWAYS THE SAME SHIT! "You'd have to inject youself with pot for it to kill you, which is impossible." "It's harmless." "It's only illegal because they can't tax it." Blah, blah, blah! You still sound like an idiot, and you're still about as trustworthy as a three-year-old around cutlery.

6. Stop eating already! What is the point of smoking something wich, besides costing a mint in extra-legal transactions, requires you to restock your kitchen every two days?

5. Brownies are sacred. Thou shalt not profane the brownies.

4. Yes, it is natural. You know what? So is arsenic. Natural does not always equal "good". But if you're gonna keep this up, how about I introduce you to some curare? At least your mouth will be too paralyzed to talk to me.

3. No, you don't need it. Seriously, you don't. I don't care if it makes you calmer, or nicer, or better behaved. Millions of people manage not to be jackasses without any chemical assistance whatsoever. Give yourself an attitude check and put down the joint.

2. Wow, so...that's deep, huh? Look, whatever universal truth you discover from deep within that smoke-screened brain of yours, why don't you just keep it to yourself? You have not just decyphered the meaning of life by looking at a spoon for six hours. Shut up, and play with building blocks.

1. No, I don't want any. Seriously, I'm fine. No, I mean it, I don't want any. OH MY GOD WOULD YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET THAT SHIT OUT OF MY FACE! For crying out loud, and I thought Jehovah's Witnesses were annoying! I kinda hate what you do, and I really don't relish the idea of joining in. If you don't want my high-heeled shoe geting up-close and personal with your face, I fervently suggest you back off.

End!

Clarification

2008-12-09T19:10:00.004-05:00

So I got a comment from my PiC, and I realized I may have given you Minions a false impression of my culinary skillz.

Namely, that I have them.

I am SO sorry if I ever gave you that impression. The truth is, I cannot cook to save my ass. Seriously, if you can't microwave it, I'm lost.

Well, okay, I can bust out a mean shrimp and spaghetti when the mood takes me, and there's not a soul on this Earth who can best me in scrambled eggs (well, okay, maybe a few souls). But for some reason, during Christmas time, my brain forgets that and suddenly I'm Susan Homemaker (call me Suzie and you die). I don't know what it is, but something about the simple, matter-of-fact proceedure of baking comes naturally to me. Scottish Shortbread? Bring it on! Chocolate Chip Cookies? No problemo! White Chocolate/Peppermint pseudo brittle, also known as "Christmas Tree Bark"? Okay, now you're just insulting my intelligence.

I dunno, I guess it's because it's one of the few things mom and I can bond over. It's not as much fun now, though, since neither of us has oodles of time and we're the only ones left now that Sister is AWOL.

Alright, tis the season. Time for a LadyG holiday recipe!

For a quick, delicious treat that'll have your F'n'F drooling in anticipation, try this stupidly easy Christmas Tree Bark.

Ingredients:

1: White Chocolate Chips
2: Peppermint candy canes (red is favourite, but any other color sheme will do AS LONG AS IT'S PEPPERMINT!)

Materials:

1: Wax Paper
2: Melting Pan (now, for this you can use a teeny tiny crock pot like we did for the Cherries, or you can go the traditional route and use two saucepans, one with water and a slightly smaller one for the chips. DO NOT LET THE WATER AND THE CHOCOLATE MIX! THIS IS VERY VERY VERY IMPORTANT!)
3: Spatula
4: Hammer and plastic baggie (hammer optional)
5: Cookie Sheet

Now, I'm not going to tell you how to melt the chocolate. One, because mom always handles that, and two, because the process is different depending on which chocolate you use. So I'm gonna suggest doing a bit of extra research on this one. Some chocolate requires butter, some doesn't. I've even seen a special chocolate melt which required water, and boy did THAT freak me out.

Step one: Melt the chocolate.
Don't fill the pan all the way with your white chocolate (yes, I know it's actually cocoa butter. stay with me.) Leave enough room for some vigerous stirring without slopping all over the stove. Just pour in however much chocolate you think you'll need and begin melting it according to the needs of your particular chocolate. We use baggies of chips like you'd put in cookies, and as far as I can see that just involves a bit of butter and a LOT of patience.

Step two: Have some fun!
Melting doesn't take all day, but it takes a while. At first, those stubborn little off-white confections will just refuse to liquefy! You do have to keep stirring now and then to stave off burning, but in between stirs you should have ample time to ready your candy canes! This is where the hammer comes in. Essentially, you want to put a bunch of candy canes (or a couple really big ones, like we have) in a plastic baggie and crush them into tiny pieces by any means necessary. Then, either keep them in the bag, or pour the chunks of peppermint into a bowl for easy mixing.

REMEMBER! Keep an eye on your chocolate as you do this. Burns can happen in seconds, so remember to keep stirring every few seconds or so, depending on how the melting is going. This might be a trial-and-error kind of thing, but practice makes perfect.

Step Three: Mix it Up!

Once your chocolate is smoothe and creamy, pour the crushed candy canes into the pan and fold them into the chocolate. Stir it well, you want to get as much peppermint into every inch of chocolate as possible.

Step Four: Pour it Out.

This is where the wax paper comes in. Just greasing the cookie sheet won't do it. If your pan doesn't have a good handle, or even if it does, I suggest an oven mit because that mix you just made is HOT.

With the wax paper covering the cookie sheet, pour the mix out of the pan as smoothely as you can. Don't worry about making it even, that's what the spatula's for. Just avoid splashing. Then, use the spatula to smoothe the mix across the wax paper until it's as even as you can get it. Don't make it too thin, but try not to make big honkin' bricks either. DO NOT TRY TO COVER THE TRAY. Trust me, no one cares if your edges are straight and neat.

Step Five: Solid!

Once you've got the mix spread out on the tray, pop it in the fridge for a good half hour to an hour. Or the freezer, if you're impatient, but I'm not sure how well that'll work. Once the chocolate is hard and stiff, and the peppermint ain't going nowhere, take the tray out of the fridge. Now, use the wax paper to help you break the sheet of chocolate into small chunks. It's better if these look rough rather than neat, because it's like peanut brittle.

Step Six: Bask

Now just hand out chunks of Christmas Tree Bark to people you don't hate and watch them worship you. Oh, and save a few for yourself. If you want to go the extra mile, wrap a few pieces in celophane and tie it with a shiny twist-tie or a pretty ribbon. It only takes a few seconds, and your F'n'F will really appreciate the thought.

Happy Hogswatch!

If you're confused by any part of this recipe, or have any questions about other cookies/treats, or you want advice from someone who actually knows what they're talking about (namely, my mom), then just email me at LotCblog AT gmail DOT com or leave a comment and I'll get back to you.

Christmas Neurosis

2008-12-08T14:18:00.003-05:00

Or:

How my mother takes Christmas just a leeeetle too far.

I can't remember if I've already mentioned this, but my mom is slightly crazy for Christmas. I'm not sure when I first came to understand this. It might have been when she started playing Christmas carols in the beginning of November. It might have been how the first snowfall of the year coincided with the installation of colorful, twinkly lights along our porch roof. But I'm fairly sure it has something to do with the Cherries.

Capital C.

Okay, here's the deal. Every year my mom makes cookies. But we're not talking about those simpering little sugar cookies in various holiday shapes which get slathered with frosting and look, lets face it, homespun. No, my mother is a true cookie gormet. Her Cookie Platters, famed across at least two counties, consist of holiday confections like maple walnut fudge, church windows, rum fudge balls, peanut butter popcorn balls, bitter chocolate truffles and, of course, The Cherry Cordials.

The Cherry Cordials were added a few years ago on a whim. Mom saw the recipe in one of her massive confection tomes and figured it might be a good addition to that year's selection. She anticipated, logically, that the Cherries would simply enter into the arrangement for one year, make their splash across the tastebuds of our friends, family and co-workers, then retire from the menu, secure in their contribution to holiday mirth.

No. Such. Luck.

The Cherries were HUGE!!! People wouldn't shut up about them! They easily became a huge hit, and mom could no more retire them than stop whipping out tray after tray of artfully crafted spritz cookies (btw, if you ever want to appear like the world's most awesome cookie-maker? Go with spritz. The dough is laughably easy to make, and with a decent extruder gun, you can whip out over two dozen in less than five minutes. Then ten minutes in the oven and BAM. Instant familial worship).

Strictly speaking, the Cherries are simple to make. Simple, but not easy. Let me explain. While the actual process of making a Cherry Cordial is exceedingly simple, it's also very time consuming and demanding. There are a lot of steps which could make or break the final product depending on how you do them. The most annoying of these steps? The rolling.

That's where I come in. Many have tried, most have failed. The sad truth is, rolling cherries is an artform, and some people just aren't cut out for it. So far, it appears that only LandLady and myself are worthy.

The process basically is this: You have cherries. You also have a bowl of wrapping, which is a mixture of butter, confectioner's sugar and milk, stirred until stiff. Your most invaluable tools are your hands and the bowl of confectioner's sugar nearby. The relatively easy part is taking a carefully measured pinch of wrap and molding it around the cherry. A monkey could do that part, if it was a patient monkey and if it had remembered to coat its hands in powdered sugar to keep the stickiness at bay (it's like flour when you're handling bread dough). The hard part is rolling the wrap smoothely so that the result is an almost perfectly round white sphere with a red stem.

Unfortunately, we've only found two people capable of doing this. Most of our "helpers" try to use their fingers to shape the wrap. This simply does not work. Fingers make the wrap lumpy and unappealing. The secret is all in the palms. LandLady and I know how to roll the white coating in the concave part of our palms, smoothing out all the rough edges and producing a clean, elegant product ready for dipping.

That's the penultimate part of Cherry construction. Once the wrapped Cherries have set in the freezer for fifteen minutes, they get taken out and submerged in melted milk chocolate. This part is easy, anyone can do it. But it's also messy as hell and takes forever. While not as taxing as the rolling process, by this point any helpers on hand are fed up with the whole thing and just want to chill out on the couch for an hour.

Nevertheless, The Cherries have become an irrevokable part of the Christmas Season, and their production has come to definitively usher in the Christmas Baking Season. Once they're out of the way we can focus on fuddlesnix (a variation of the spritz cookie my mom and I invented, a huge favorite at social gatherings), surprise package cookies (shortbread surrounding an Andes mint chocolate and drizzled in melted Andes pieces), or whatever new and innovative cookie recipe mom decides to try out this year.

Oh! One final thing about the Cherries, in case any of you are crazy enough to try them out. Once they've been dipped in the chocolate and placed on cookie trays (wax paper is a MUST for EVERY STEP of the process), you have to keep them refrigerated until you're ready to serve them. This is IMPORTANT because the longer they sit in the refrigerator, the more the juices from the cherries will mix with the sugary wrap. Eventually, the wrap will semi-liquify and the flavors of the wrap and the cherry will combine, creating the distinct flavor of the Cordials. This, however, is dangerous. There are relatively few ways to hide a large tray of sugary treats in a refrigerator, and friends and relatives are bound to stumble across them. At this point, surreptitious "tasting" is likely to result in the decimation of your entire batch. One year we ended up with half of our initial total because my Uncle David saw them in the fridge and started snacking secretly while the rest of us were unawares.

Generally we try to keep them refrigerated for two weeks or so, that seems to be the magical time frame for maximum Cherry-ocity.

If you're interested in this, or another recipe, leave a comment or drop me an e-mail at LotCblog AT gmail DOT com and I'll get back to you with some of my mom's Christmas wisdom. Also, if you'd like me to put up some of our most popular recipes on this blog, tell me in the Comments. The truth is, most of our most successful cookies are actually pretty easy to make, and they'll turn you into a saint among your friends and family, not to mention the folks at work.