Archive | December, 2010

I’ll take “Witch’s Tit” for $500, Alex.

7 Dec

After a gloriously warm fall, winter has finally arrived in DC. It’s COLD outside.

Walking to yoga last night, I found myself exclaiming, “It’s colder than a witch’s tit!” to pretty much everyone who made eye contact with me. Based on the looks I received, I’m going to stick with that greeting all year round. Seems like it could be a real conversation starter.

When Alan and I headed out to dinner, I told him I’d changed my Facebook status to “I’ll take ‘witch’s tit’ for $500, Alex.”

Instead of laughing, he just nodded and said, “Except it should’ve been titty. The phrase is colder than a witch’s titty.”

First: Not where I come from.

Second: Really? An entymological discussion of “witch’s titty?”

Naturally, I ignored his correction and continued, “I was a little disappointed. I thought people would post responses in the form of a question, like Jeopardy.”

In my world, acceptable responses would have been:

  • What phrase best describes the temperature in Washington right now?
  • Where might a topless bar run by wizards be called?
  • Where might one find a witch baby suckling?

Or, what is something I might tell you to suck if you refuse to play my reindeer games with me?

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Holiday shopping: Internet-Style

5 Dec

Yesterday I took advantage of my home-body tendencies and jumped into the holiday spirit – my way.

By which I mean: I glued my ass into my recliner, lit a fire, and – between bites of cheddar bacon mashed potatoes – knocked out my holiday shopping.

First, can I tell you how much I love Etsy? I lost myself there. For – no exaggeration – three hours. While it wouldn’t be my first stop for a family member, it’s a great place to shop for stocking stuffers, hostess favors or staff gifts. Or for me.

I was able to restrain myself, but here’s what I have in motion from Etsy:

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The best thing since sliced bread…

4 Dec

…would be a toaster that toasts sliced bread. Without burning it.

I just bought a toaster oven two weeks ago, making it the first toaster I’ve owned as an adult. You would think that if I managed without one for the 11 years I’ve lived alone, there would be no need to suddenly break down and join the toasting party.

You would be wrong.

There were two main drivers behind this purchase: 1) I feel guilty when I heat my entire oven to heat something for all of 8 minutes (like a frozen pizza), and 2) I have been craving cinnamon toast a lot lately. Because I have the palette of a ten year old.

I bought the smallest toaster oven I could find, hoping for something that didn’t chew up too much counter space. While I’m thrilled with the size of my model, I’m less thrilled with its temperament. It seems to have two settings: OFF and BURN.

In the two weeks I’ve owned it, I have ruined two frozen belgian waffles and a tray of spinach puff pastry hors d’ouvres. That might not sound like much, but it’s 50% of what I’ve attempted to heat.

And my place is permeated with a burning/charred smell to such and extent that it’s becoming my personal fragrance. I’m pretty sure that at yoga last weekend, shortly after I walked into the studio I heard someone say, “What’s that burning smell?”

If that happens today, I’m prepared: I’ll hand her a lifesaver and say, “I think it’s your breath.”

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