I was listening to an audiobook called Rocket Men, about Apollo 11’s Moon Landing, as I walked to work. The author was spending a fair amount of time talking about weightlessness compared the pull of gravity on earth.
And then I had an odd realization: when you think about the Earth pulling on you, it actually makes walking a lot harder. Think about it.
Oh sure, walking is easy for YOU.
Image Source: http://www.wearitoutloud.org
As I get older, I find I’m less spontaneous than I used to be. Mainly because I’m generally exhausted, but also because I no longer have spontaneous friends who call and propose something fun, last-minute.
So I’m pretty proud that this week I seized on two different opportunities — one was a last-minute dinner at Indique with my friend Betsy, who texted me on her bus ride home, proposing dinner. Awesome. The other was last night… as I was leaving yoga at 7pm my friend Seth texted. I called him and we agreed to meet up an hour later for dinner at my place. Double awesome.
Since I’d just exited yoga, it was a bit of a whirlwind — I walked to Homemade Pizza to pick up a pizza and salad, getting home all of 20 minutes before Seth and Johnny were slated to arrive. I did a quick clean-up of my place, tossed a bottle of bubbles in the fridge, then changed clothes and put on a touch of make-up so I wouldn’t frighten them.
Up until this point, you’re probably pretty impressed with my ability to host on a moment’s notice. I know I was. Where I think I need some help is what to do when my guests arrive. Because while we had a great time catching up, I’m going to guess there are a few parts of the evening that the boys would rather not repeat.
Just finished making dinner. Despite the fact that I like to cook, tonight’s meal is Ramen Noodles. That’s right – 33¢ per pack, friends. A staple of college students everywhere. And me. Because I love them. They’re a Friday Night Guilty Pleasure if ever I’ve had one.
Creamy Chicken is my favorite, but most DC stores don’t sell that, so I settle for the shy half-sister, straight-up Chicken flavor. And don’t even get me started on the noodles I remember from my childhood… there were Ramen that were 2-3 times as wide as these, and a bit firmer. They were (sigh) awesome. And are now utterly discontinued. (Double sigh.)
And as one further side note, let’s all send a mental “thank you” to my mother, who taught me that the key to awesome Ramen is to drain off the water and eat them as seasoned noodles rather than soup. For a woman whose other speciality is fried okra, that is what we call VERSATILITY.
So I’m making them (by which I mean BOILING them) with the timer set for three minutes. I know: when something only needs to cook for three minutes, I probably shouldn’t set the timer and go back into the living room to read. I should stand over the stove and wait. Or wash a dish or something while I wait. But I’m OCD so my kitchen is already spotless, and I’m uber-efficient so just standing there seems like a waste of time.
The point is, I set the timer and sat down. And then it beeped. Fair enough. Time to get the noodles. But I wanted to finish the paragraph I was on, and Ramen noodles really aren’t at risk for OVER cooking. Not like you can spoil a 33¢ meal.
But the timer just kept beeping. And beeping. It reminded me of the scene from “Three Amigos” where Steve Martin was trying to discreetly get Martin Short and Chevy’ Chase’s attention by whistling, “Look up here!” repeatedly, as if he were a bird. (No clue what I’m referencing? Check out this video:)
Hey Mr. Engineer: Not Helpful. Let me guess, your mom was something of a nag? She wouldn’t leave you alone until whatever it was that was on her mind was addressed?
Well guess what? The rest of the world doesn’t function that way. Tell me once that my noodles are ready, then let me be a big girl. If I want to wait until the water has evaporated and they’re stuck to the bottom of the pan, then so be it. Much more preferable than listening to you chirp away harassing me.
On the fourth set of chirps, I finally responded, stomping into my kitchen ready to stab the timer button with one of my new Shun knives and leave it completely immobilized. But guess what? There, in my kitchen, stood Steve Martin, holding a plate of perfectly cooked Ramen for my dinner and glaring at me for not realizing they were waiting.
So I let it slide. Just this once.
Tonight, while stewing in annoyance (the most bitter spice), I realized I need to start a blog to vent about it.
My new blog will be TOTALLY anonymous (unlike this one, which is pseudo-anonymous) and it will be called “Don’t Get Me Started.”
Oh wait. I just checked for that domain, and someone already owns it. But isn’t doing shit with it, as evidenced by the “Under Construction” landing page.
Don’t get me started. People who buy up domain names then camp on them, hoping someone somewhere will invent something requiring their name so they can profit? Totally lame.
[Side note: Out of curiosity I just googled “expensive domain names.” As of 2010, the most expensive domain in the world was Insure.com, for which cost some company I’ve never heard of $16m to buy. To the donkey dick who first called dibs on insure.com: I could say “well played” or reference the irony of your domain choice, but — don’t get me started.]
[Second side note: Any guesses on the other nine most expensive domains? Two are general business words (funds, business); two others are direct goods (diamonds, toys) and four of them – not surprising – are vices (sex, porn, beer, casino). The wildcard in the Top Ten? Israel. Anyone think a wealthy Palestinian with a sense of humor is responsible for that?]
Revised new domain idea: pissandvinegar.fml
There are some foods I love because of their texture: Tic Tacs would be one, banana chips another. I don’t even like bananas, but I love banana chips. Go figure.
One thing I like to do with banana chips is to put one in my mouth and wedge it between my upper teeth so it fits there snugly for a moment before I tap it with my tongue, breaking it in half and relieving the tension. (I know – this is vaguely pathetic. I can’t even believe I’m admitting this.)
Since you’re already cringing in horror at my revelation, I’ll take it one step further down the path of shame.
About a minute ago, I performed “Operation Wedge” and got a banana chip stuck in the roof of my mouth. Except, when I went to “tap and relieve” it, it wouldn’t break.
There is a fine line between enjoying a texture and imposing some odd tension on your palette, and freaking out because you think you’re going to need to have a banana chip surgically removed from your upper cleft.
pithypants 