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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Deep Thought: Inspired by my dinner

10 Nov

Marketing is what turned soybeans into edamame.


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I didn’t expect to leave part of myself in that room.

9 Nov

This year I set-up a healthcare Flex Spending Account. I didn’t put much in it, but still, it was a pretty healthy year for me so I have a balance of $300 that threatens to disappear come January if I don’t use it.

I tell you that by way of explaining why I was at a dermatologist’s office this afternoon for the first time in my adult life. Apparently it’s on the list of annual inspections that adults over 35 should do, and since I am just sitting on a pile of money I can’t touch, I figured a bit of preventative care would be a good start.

As I sat in the waiting room (for a full hour, which is a different story), I noticed something: every patient walking out of the treatment area had at least one (and as many as six) circular bandaids affixed to his/her face. The first one I saw, I thought, “Wonder what she had done?” The second one, I was like, “Mole, mole mole…” a la Austin Powers. But by the third one, I was thinking we had a scalpel-happy doctor waiting on the other side of the door.

Turns out I was right. After a head-to-toe inspection (including a glance at my bikini  line – REALLY? – do people even GET moles there?) the doctor uttered the words, “I just want to do a biopsy on this one…” and the next thing I knew, I was on my stomach having a small and flat (but apparently dark) mole completely sliced off my back.

Say what?! The doctor left and her assistant came in to dress the wound. He looked to be an African American guy in his early 40s and was very friendly. “All right! You’re not even bleeding. Good stuff!” he informed me, rubbing his hands together.

“Apparently I’m awesome,” I told him, eyeing the mole formerly known as “mine,” which was now suspended in a sealed container of liquid.

He stopped and looked at me. “Women ARE awesome. Seriously. It’s the men that are a pain, always wanting to know how much something is gonna hurt or passing out when they see the needle. Big babies.”

Right on. I should’ve asked for his name so I could quote him on that.

When I walked out through the waiting room, I could feel all eyes on me. I wasn’t sure if I should run around and high-five everyone since I didn’t sport a bandaid on my face, or if I should turn around and lift my shirt to show everyone the bandage on my back so they’d know I wasn’t a pharmaceutical rep.

I wish I had been more prepared. Next week my friend Margaret is going. I’m going to send some fancy kids’ bandaids with her and recommend that she stop in the bathroom and put at least ten on her face before walking through the waiting room. Because the only thing more terrifying than a doctor who’s a cutter, it’s a cutter who loves Hello Kitty.

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When technology is smarter than we are…

8 Nov

…there will be problems.

Sounds like we go to the same doctor.

My first auto-correct on the iPhone was when I texted my friend Liz with the intention of saying, “See you tonight” and instead said, “See you robot!” There have been others, but unfortunately, I didn’t have the presence of mind to take a screen capture.

Fortunately, other people did – and they started a whole website dedicated to capturing them: Damn You AutoCorrect.

Check it out during your next lunchbreak – assuming you aren’t feasting on a new treasure from your dick cookbook. <–That will make so much more sense if you actually check out the site.

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