Grape Did It

Usually a B- for effort

I signed up for friendship on the internet. In a fit of tired of being lonely, I replied to a women's wine group on Craigslist and joined the Ladies Night Out here in Birmingham. Somewhere in both alcohol was mentioned, and I figured what have I got to lose? The least I can do is give them someone to make fun of later. She did what? How much wine did she DRINK? Except for, the few times I have used that phrase in my life, or some form of it, "What's the worst that could happen?" "What have I got to lose?" GOD ANSWERED ME.

Bud and I went running yesterday and during our heated debate of, should weekends be for doing? Or not doing? Bud mentioned that hey, maybe we could use some friends. Which was like saying maybe it would be nice if a job fell from the sky and hit you square on the head, Hope or, wouldn't it be nice if someone handed us an all inclusive vacation to a resort each year? Or maybe, MAYBE, a diet could consist of almost all french fries, with a salad thrown in just to keep you from binging on one later. I tried to whine that I have never made friends in group situations,  and even in my life as a whole, have not made true friends easily, but he said I was being defeatist. Either that or people don't gravitate to the girl in the corner rolling her eyes. So, California Pizza Kitchen next Friday, here I come! Maybe we can talk about what it's like to have children enrolled in rigorous soccer programs. 

The joy of joyousness

Across the street from our apartment is an old horse farm, no longer in use. Some sunny weekend days we take the dogs there and they act like Mexican Jumping Beans who were unknowingly given caffeinated coffee, when they were used to decaf. And in those cups of coffee someone also slipped some Prozac and heroin.

Watching them might be one of my favorite things to do as there is no pretense in their pleasure. They chase field mice, just run! for the fun of feeling their muscles work and splash through the creek. Below is a short video non-dog owners might react to by rolling their eyes, but I wanted to capture the sheer happiness of these little trips.

We aspire to be regulars

Last night Bud and I went to our favorite nearby bar because, well because I was ready to jump off of our three story balcony from being at home, trying to look for jobs and nursing the post-holiday blues. And I even hate it when people say things like, "the post holiday blues," (in a cute, sing-songy voice, the kind a soccer mom might use to describe how her husband acts when he is feeling amorous. That voice? Not cute, now hand me your purse so I can vomit in it.) By my second beer life seemed so so much better and people can say what they want about alcohol dependence, but it's either that or some overpriced medicine that includes side effects like, "loss of bladder control" so I'll stick with drinking and dry pants. Just honk and wave if you ever see me on the side of the road in layers of dirty clothes, holding a brown paper bag. After a basket of fried mushrooms I thought it couldn't get any better, but that was before I went into the bathroom and saw a fresh inscription on the wall, "Lespians, call: (phone number)". Those lespians. Good thing they're not allowed to marry or spelling in this country would go straight down the toilet.

Predictably, the band played some crappy music, Pink Floyd covers and other depressing, hippy, jammy type tunes. Last time we were there I yelled out, "Waylon Jennings!" over and over but all I got was a sympathetic nod from the bassist who yelled back he'd be happy to, but the rest of the band doesn't know any. I don't know if he really knows any either, or just wants to relate to me, he looks like he took one too many trips around the moon in his younger days, if you know what I'm saying.

This morning I woke up with the comforting smell of stale cigarette in my hair and a feeling of rejuvenation. I swear I am going to market a pill called the have a good time maybe regret it a little in the morning but at least we have something to laugh about now pill. It will be marketed as an anti-depressant and instead of those pesky side effects you might just end up, say, pregnant, but I will add a warning for that one.

What we ever did before a pizza stone

Sad, sad, Greek to me

I've spent most of my morning reading job descriptions and helping Georgia design a Save! The! Date! Save it. Just save it. Please, it's not like you have anything better to do nearly a YEAR from now. No? Fine, don't get drunk on my dime.

So, jobs? Yeah. Wait, let me find that one description I read earlier, and you tell me if you have any idea what they are advertising for.

Application Outsourcing (AO) incorporates skills which support the programming, management and maintenance services required to implement and support new installations or maintain and improve existing legacy systems for our clients.

I'm sure some of you know what they're asking for, those of you in the jobs that require interpretation of this kind of soul-sucking language. The kind I used to read at the university, the kind that made my eyes sparkle with tears but not because I was that happy or that sad but because I realized this? This is what it has come to. And it has come to sad, cubicle, pale-skin, sunken-eyed writing of job descriptions that really MAKE NO SENSE.

Another Christmas present. So now you know.

Skip this post if you are just hanging on to your last shred of self-control

My Christmas contribution was sausage cheese dip, a request made by my aunt, and if you thought you had a good recipe for over processed, under appreciated comfort food, BEHOLD THIS RECIPE:

Giant block Velveeta cheese
Two small cans Rotel (this is a staple of a southern pantry)
One tube breakfast sausage

No joke. Then you cook the sausage, cube the "cheese" and put it all in a crock pot to meld. Eat with tortilla chips. Feel regretful but also go back for seconds and thirds.

This is one recipe where I can safely say, YOU WILL REGRET THIS. But in that, shouldn't but couldn't help myself kind of way.

It's in the getting

A ruby necklace from Bud. The perfect look how good my husband is, gift.

Chocolate and light turquoise leather planner, also from Bud.          

This cutting board blew me away. Bud's mom had it made for us, oak for the trim, maple for the body and an inlaid S in the middle. Our wedding date is also burned  into the bottom. Priceless. And it is huge, for all those times I roast an entire pig.

Kind of glad Christmas is over, frankly, and we're home, no longer referred to as "that dog"

My eight year old cousin's impression of a chicken

If I owned this picture I would put it in an expensive frame and then glare at people when they laughed.