With Fresca

I think it is clear that I need to learn to manage stress better.

Yoga? Meditation? Acupuncture? Exercise? Communication? Fresh air?

No, in the immortal words of Bridget Jones, I choose vodka.

Turn Around, Bright Eyes

On the way to work today, the woman driving in front of me was really digging the song she was listening to. REALLY digging it. She was banging her head, singing out loud. She had the windows down on her car, and she was doing a full-on Stevie Nicks dance, arms flailing out the window, performing her own little concert.
I was at once both scornful and jealous. Part of me really wanted to, well, make fun of this lady. Who does she think she is, driving to work on a Wednesday, all together too happy with herself? We're stuck in a traffic jam on I-5 for God's sake. There's nothing to be that excited about already.
Alternately, I admire her. She is making the best of a bad situation. She's loving life and her music. Who knows? Maybe she got a little that morning before work, and she's just satisfied and happy.
I found myself laughing and smiling as she performed. I waved at her when I pulled off the interstate.

I wish I knew what song she was listening to. I'm imagining "Total Eclipse of the Heart". Definitely.

No Time For Losers

I made a discovery about myself this weekend. I am hyper-competitive, and it is not entirely attractive. I announced this to Tim and Abra, and they were not quite as surprised by my revelation as I. In fact, Tim nodded vigorously in agreement, and said, "Yeah, Babe, sometimes you can be scary." Ouch.

Without going into the unflattering details, my Soccer Mom level of competiveness reached new heights on Saturday during a particulary heated game of Flip Cup. Yes, a drinking game. Even as I was yelling at team members, verbally abusing the opposite team, and beating myself up over our loss, I could see that my behavior was, well, not good. And yet, I could not stop myself.

I know that competition is healthy, and even having a competitive spirit is a good thing. But there has got to be a limit. And so, no more yelling "You let the team down!" to my Euchre partners. No more throwing the Scrabble board across the room when Tim uses both the X and Z in a triple score word. No more trash talking during games or competitions of any sort. I will remain competitive, but in a healthy, fun-having, good sport sort of way.

All gloating and self-congratulation will, of course, continue to take place internally. I mean, a zebra can't totally change her stripes, right?

You are a lover of words. Someday you will write a book.

I've made two decisions regarding this blog.

1. Write more often. Pretty simple, and yet ultimately important.

2. Write more personal. I've discovered that's the key to entertaining and yet relevant blogs. They get down and dirty.

I would also like to apologize in advance to those I may upset in my quest to have an intensely personal and authentic blog. Names will be changed to protect the wicked. But most of you will know who they are anyway.

Snap Crackle Pop

I am finding it alternately upsetting and hilarious that I am currently reading a book about a woman my own age cooking her way through a famous French cookbook while I had a difficult time making Rice Krispie Treats. Culinary genius, I am not.

It's true. I attempted to make Rice Krispie Treats last night for our staff picnic. And although I do not normally bake, I figured I could whip up some mean Treats because, after all, I used to make these things when I was 8. Ha. Rice Krispies are flying out of the bowl. Marshmallow is stuck to the stove top, my face and my hair as well as to the 3 spoons I am using to try and stir the big goopy mess. Also, one would think that one could purchase the ingredients for the Treats without actually consulting a recipe. Well, one would be wrong. You are supposed to use a 10oz bag of the big marshmallows. I had the minis. A 16oz bag of the minis. I assumed (incorrectly) that 16oz of the minis would actually equal 10oz of the regulars, you know, since they're smaller. This is not good logic. In fact, it's just plain wrong. Thus, the excess of marshmallow. The Treats are actually basically white in color and not Rice Krispie colored because of the addition of 6 additional ounces of marshmallow. Perhaps they should be called Marshmallow Treats instead.

Incidentally, I did get a number of compliments on the marshmallow-lovers Treats today at the picnic.

Watch out, Julie and Julia. I'm coming for ya.