Archive | November, 2010

What goes, “Knock, knock, bang, bang?” My washer.

18 Nov

My mom has always sworn that you can fix almost anything with duct tape and a staple gun. I’m pretty sure I posted about “hemming” my pants with duct tape earlier this year (but can’t find it for the life of me), so it’s safe to assume I’m squarely in Mom’s camp on this one.

Today I solved YET ANOTHER household problem with duct tape.

Here’s the problem: two weeks ago, my washer started making horrific noises while on the spin cycle. When I say, horrific, I mean, it sounded like someone was driving a sledgehammer into the wall repeatedly. “I don’t remember it being THIS loud,” I thought to myself as it started. Then a few minutes later, as jugs of detergent came raining down off the top of my dryer, “Hell no, it hasn’t been this loud!”

I realized it was broken and did what most people do when faced with a potentially expensive problem: decided to ignore it. The week passed, my clothes piled up, and finally – this weekend – I decided to give it another go, thinking, “Who knows? Maybe it just needed a little time and has now healed itself?!”

It hadn’t. If anything, it had dug itself deeper into the ditch. Had it been a whale, it would’ve been heaving itself out of the ocean, making tragic noises while beaching itself to die. I was concerned that my neighbors might come pound on my door, so I decided to beat them to the punch, preparing handwritten notes to slide under their doors that said:

Hi! Something is wrong with my washer. It is thumping much louder than usual on the spin cycle. I’ll get it repaired this week, but in the meantime need to do two loads of laundry. I’ll wait until this afternoon when there’s the smallest chance of disturbing anyone, but if I pick a bad time (like when you’re napping) and you’d like me to hold off, please text me… Alison

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Otherwise unrelated: the smells of fall, the smell of danger, and cat piss.

18 Nov

One of the things I love about fall are the smells… pumpkin, mulling spices, smokey fires.

So to fully embrace the season, I’ve been doing a lot that involves those smells lately… mulling cider on the stove all afternoon, rubbing a roast down with cinnamon and cloves before baking it, etc. And you know what I’ve noticed?

My place has a weird smell footprint. (I just coined that term. Like it?) For whatever reason, the smell that is created in the kitchen or living room is most vividly detected… in the guest bathroom. What? I’m not running a vent fan or something that would naturally pull the smell in that direction, so it strikes me as odd.

You know what else is odd? That some women report a heightened sense of smell after childbirth. One of my friends from book club was talking about that this week – how more smells now “put her off” since she had a baby four months ago. Someone suggested that it’s a defense mechanism, that new moms have more acute smell so they can “smell danger.” I would say that quantifying the smell of danger seems a bit tough, but we’ve all crossed paths with a pervert who smells like he bathed in Drakar Noir. Definitely the smell of danger.

While my dad has never experienced childbirth (nor will he), his schnoz seems to work overtime as well. Growing up, it was not uncommon for him to pace around the house saying, “I smell cat piss!” and sniffing loudly, while my mom and sister looked at each other like, “What is he talking about?”  and I hustled our cat Chuck into hiding.

Speaking of cat pee, in college one of my boyfriend Brent’s roommate had a cat. One of his other roommates hated that cat and kept arguing to get rid of it – not least because he claimed it was peeing in his sock drawer at night. None of the other roommates had this problem, and Mike took increasingly complicated measures to secure his sock drawer so the cat couldn’t get into it. “I’ll show that f*cking cat…” he mumbled while securing the handles on the drawers with rubberbands.

Alas, one night we were all still up when Mike came home from the bar, went into his room (right off the living room) and passed out. And we were still sitting in the living room 30 minutes later when we heard the unmistakable sound of liquid spraying a sock drawer, so we raced into the room… to find Mike, in a drunken stupor, pissing in his own sock drawer.

 

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Kale, Gobstoppers and Gangstas: let’s just agree – it takes skill to weave those together.

15 Nov

I’m sitting in my living room, waiting for the kitchen timer to go off, signaling that my kale chips are ready.

That’s right, people, I said kale chips.

(As a side note, let me do a poll: is it just as effective when I say “people” instead of “bitches” like that? Because I like throwing around the word “bitches” for emphasis like I’m gangsta, but I worry that my blog might become a bit too ghetto, and one of my friends’ parents would read it and say, “Why, that Alison has such a MOUTH on her… really, it’s quite unnecessary how much she swears…” without realizing I’m not actually swearing, but being hip and clever. Talk amongst yourselves and report back.)

So back to my kale chips. Let’s start by defining what they are NOT. They are NOT cow chips, wow chips, chocolate chips, or chipwiches. In fact, they don’t actually resemble potato chips.

Did I mention they’re made of kale? But because they have been spritzed with olive oil, generously doused in salt and spices, and baked until crispy, it turns out they make a fine substitute for potato chips. Except with slightly more nutritional value. Seriously, if you doubt me, you must try them… comment and I’ll post the simple/quick recipe.

The only downside is that after you eat them you definitely need to do a tooth-check before venturing out in public because you’ve essentially thrown black/green/purple confetti in your mouth.

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What the Groundhog is to spring, I am to winter.

15 Nov

I’ll admit, with global warming in full effect, it’s easy to lose track of the seasons. (Note: I did not say “loose.” For some reason, otherwise intelligent people are rampantly using “loose” instead of “lose.” Perhaps Facebook is making us dumber?)

Grammar done; now back to the weather: I see that friends in Chicago had 70 degree temperatures last week – normally unheard of for November.

Well, as a special service, I’ll share a tip that’s more useful than calendar or a thermometer if you want to know when we’ve officially left fall behind and shifted to winter: it’s my All-Fleece Uniform.

That’s right… just as a groundhog’s shadow might tell you that spring is quickly on its way, seeing me decked out in solid grey fleece from head to toe is a pretty good indication that warm days are behind us. I think even Sue Sylvester would admire the frequency with which I don this ensemble once cold weather strikes.

And in case you were wondering: yes, it IS the same top and bottom every day. What? Did you think I had seven of them folded in my drawer? Not *this* girl. I’m wearing the EXACT SAME fleece warm up suit every single day. Yep. There are only two words to describe it: pretty awesome.

(I do feel compelled to note that when the temperature dips, you can find me in the bathtub or shower 2-3 times/day in an attempt to warm up. So while I might be wearing the exact same clothes repeatedly, I’d like to think I’m still cleaner than the average person.)

Carry on. Next up: flannel sheets for my bed.

 

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An Ode to Fall: I’m ready to hibernate.

14 Nov

Alan’s in Michigan for the opening of rifle season, hoping to fill his freezer with venison for the next year.

Since I tend to be someone who gets energy from “alone time,” I’m using this week to recharge batteries through simple daily indulgences. This weekend, food has been the basis of some good exploration.

Friday night my friends Dan and Molly came over for wine and a simple spread of antipasti. (They brought the most amazing contribution – spicy meat and a meat/cheese-filled bread from Trinacria in Baltimore… check out the photo to the right if you’re drooling to get one yourself.)

Yesterday morning I hit the Farmer’s Market – hauling home sweet potatoes, broccoli, honeycrisp apples, spaghetti squash and a bag of purple kale – before walking into Georgetown to check out the Spice & Tea Exchange.

It was the kind of place where I wanted to go nuts and try everything, but at $4.89/oz, could easily go broke. Fortunately, I had a $20 credit (purchased for $9.60, courtesy of homerun.com), so I poked around and ended up leaving with four envelopes of spice blends –  Thai Coconut Rub, Autumn Blend, Tuscany Blend and Backwoods Hickory Rub. I’m testing out the Autumn Blend this morning on a pork roast, and my place smells awesome.

While it’s a bit pricey for my own daily consumption, the envelopes of tea, spices and flavored sugars would make excellent hostess gifts. In fact, I might be inspired to make some spice blends of my own at home and – with a few vials from the Container Store – have a little something extra that I slip in with a bottle of wine to take to this winter’s holiday parties.

Go ahead, steal my idea. Just make sure we don’t go to the same party. Or I will place this sticker on whatever you bring:

I’m sipping on a mug of freshly mulled cider as I write this, and I’ll be honest – the real reason I mulled the cider was because I wanted to make my place smell like fall. And you know what? My place DOES smell great now, and as opposed to burning a Yankee Candle, I can drink the finished product. Fall is the best season. Ever.

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