February 12, 2007 | Filed under: People I Like Even More Than My Job, The California Adventure

Sorry for my extended absence, I have just now awoken from the food coma I’ve been in for the last couple of weeks. All the eating out…ugh. Work people in town, friend people in town, me out of town, Super Bowl party… I’d like to say it’s over, but I’ve got dinner plans this week, too, in the relative seclusion of a-night-that-is-
not-Wednesday-and-does-not-feature-heart-shaped-anything-for-dessert.

The pièce de résistance of all this food was the Junior League Crab Feed, to which I dragged Tracy, because all the liquor in the world can’t make me show up for something like that alone. Now, I’ve been to all manner of food-related fundraisers — Pancake Breakfast, Spaghetti Dinner, Prime Rib Dinner, Friday Night Fish Fry (on second thought, I’ve been to all manner of Catholic School food-related fundraisers) — but the notion of a Crab Feed was new to me. They’re all the rage in Northern California, though, everyone from my neighborhood Catholic School to the Kiwanis Club to, apparently, the Junior League, hosts one in the late winter/early spring. I learned from my mistakes last year, and this time around, Tracy and I were prepared.

~ Appetizer ~Preparation is key. Use this time before dinner to channel MacGyver and rig up some contraption in which to melt butter. All you need is a ramekin, a wire stand, a tealight, a lighter, and, of course, your trusty Swiss Army knife.

Begin drinking the wine.

~ Soup ~

Your dinner ticket was paid for long ago. Go spend more money on any number of raffle prizes. It’s for charity! Pour a fresh glass and toast your winnings.

~ Salad ~

Dinner is served, in several rounds, beginning 23 minutes after the time printed on your ticket and in tonight’s program. Watch in horror as the couple across from you mangle the communal bread and somehow end up with a piece half on the bread plate, half on her plate and wonder what Miss Manners would recommend you do, now that someone is requesting the bread be passed to them. In the absence of a good answer, resort to drinking.

~ Sorbet ~

Silent auction bidding ends at 8:00 pm. Remember, it’s for charity!

~ Entrée ~

Enter the crab. And, exit the crab remains.

~ Amusements ~

Live auction of a gorgeous mink coat, beautifully modeled by a Junior Leaguer, but poorly moderated by the D.J. (a Junior Leaguer’s husband) who failed to recognize bids from anyone seated more than two tables away from the stage. Bidding started at $600, with reminders every $50 that “It’s for charity!” Lament the fact that you didn’t institute a shot-for-every-mention-of-charity-rule. Put this on the mental list for next year. Drink more wine to ease the pain of not owning a mink coat in the foreseeable future.

~ Dessert and Coffee ~

As the food is cleared away, so are some of the tables near the stage. The lights go down, the music is turned up and soon it’s a house party, Junior League Style! The fun only lasts until 10 pm, though…people’s babysitters need to get home.

January 18, 2007 | Filed under: Is She Still Talking?, People I Like Even More Than My Job

Alternate Title: Because Generating My Own Content Is So Hard!

Y’all, I am an idiot. Of course, you already knew that. But ARGH! It’s hard enough to cram five days’ worth of work into a four-day week, but then I go and volunteer to write an article (plus sidebar) for a newsletter and agree to an alumni board conference call, for which I have yet to prepare, and…the week just gets away from a girl and here it is Thursday and I haven’t regaled you with any exciting stories!

Today, though, we’re going to change things up a little. My very talented friend Neal Hutchko (see him here; read about his tendency to turn me into an alcoholic here) has gotten his own website up and running. While I normally update my sidebar with links to blogs I’m reading every month year, his site isn’t a blog so much as a virtual art gallery of paintings. Paintings he himself painted. I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around this one, as Neal is not the beret-wearing, pot-smoking, tortured artiste type, so much as the soccer-playing, beer-swilling guy who would drag me to Vegas for a weekend of drinking and gambling — quarterly, if I let him.

But his work is damn good.

(Boring legal reminder: All of Neal’s works are fully copyrighted and may not be reproduced or rebroadcast without express written consent of the artist or the National Football League. Which I have, so nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-na. Don’t try this at home.)

This painting, SG Part 2, is my favorite, though there were some other really strong contenders. I expect to see it hanging in my living room, just as soon as I have a living room where I’m allowed to put holes in the walls. Actually, if I had a living room, I’d take SG Part 2 and Squire’s Garden and hang them on the wall over the sofa, just like Martha says to.

My market research shows that you, my loyal readers, are highly educated, culturally-aware types with plenty of disposable income to spend on one-of-a-kind art, so go take a tour of the virtual gallery. Then come back and leave a note in the comments section telling us about your favorite. We’ll all be virtual art snobs together! Here, have some virtual port while you ponder the significance of that brushstroke.

Did I mention you’re smokin’ hot? Well, you are. Now go!

April 29, 2006 | Filed under: Because They Pay Me, Boys Are Dumb, DC! DC! DC!, People I Like Even More Than My Job, The Fam

I don’t know whose, plan, because it’s sure not mine!

I’m in South Bend/Chicago this weekend, and then it’s off to DC on Monday for the week. Just about every detail of these trips has changed, other than that Caron and John are, in fact, getting married in a few hours.

[Hi, DC people! Let's pretend that I have my shit together and I totally sent you an e-vite for happy hour like two weeks ago, ok? So...it'll be Thursday. Um, somewhere. Around happy hour time. Hope you can make it!]

A voice mail message I left for Steve earlier this week, regarding our Sunday afternoon/evening plans sounded like this:

Hi, it’s me. Just calling to remind you I’ll be in town this weekend. Still don’t know what our Sunday afternoon looks like, and Traveling Companion isn’t sure he can make it, so maybe I’ll be free for the afternoon and maybe it’ll just be dinner. So, basically, I have no information for you. Don’t call me back because I won’t be able to deal with this until Friday. I’ll call you from the airport or something.

At the airport yesterday morning, I changed my flight from Chicago to DC, my flight from DC back to Sacramento, and attempted to cancel my flight from Chicago to Sacramento, but the nice woman from Northwest Airlines told me they couldn’t leave it open as a one-way trip, so unless I was canceling the entire trip (no! please no! I’m sitting at the gate waiting for my plane to Chicago!) I’d need to call back after I got to Chicago.

When I got to Minneapolis, (my layover on the way to Chicago) Traveling Companion officially bailed on the trip. Bah. Oh well, not having to entertain someone for the weekend leaves more time for my two favorite pastimes — working and working out, both of which I’ll be able to do at the hotel.

Since there was no longer a need to coordinate schedules, I set off to get on an earlier flight into Chicago. Success! I love the people at Northwest — I believe that’s the first time standby has ever worked out for me. (Oddly enough, I think I read that they were rated one of the worst airlines to fly, but I’ve had relatively few problems with them.) I got to Chicago and had to change my rental car reservation to accommodate all those other schedule changes, but at last I was on my way to South Bend.

Even my body is messing with my plans. Headed to Chicago, I fell asleep while the plane was still sitting at the gate, as usual, but woke up for no apparent reason, before the flight attendant even told us we could use our portable electronic devices. I believe my body was trying to tell me something. Namely, “Woman, you have already slept for three hours today! Don’t you realize you’ve filled your sleeping quota? How can you expect me to sleep more?!?!?!”

Steve and I caught up with each other to pin down those elusive Sunday plans. He’s now booked for the afternoon, as am I.* But the requisite dinner-paid-for-by-your-big-sister-when-she’s-in-town is on.

*In Minneapolis I discovered I’d won a deadline of Tuesday (preferably morning) for a work project that just hasn’t gotten the attention it needs from me. Given that I’m spending most of Monday on a plane and in meetings, this attention-getting will have to occur Sunday.

[To the work people who know about this blog and read it, Hi! Yes, I’ve worked for an entire week straight, barely stopping to sleep, and yes, it’s my weekend away, and yet -- look at that -- I’m still working! Anyone want to trade jobs??? Too bad my bosses don’t know about this blog. I think they’re catching on to the all-work-all-the-time nature of my life, though.]

I hear there’s some college or something in South Bend…maybe I’ll go crash the library there to get my work done.

But for now, I’m off to a wedding. Caron and John have been together for almost five years, and will now commit to seventy-five more. At least some things stay the same.

April 7, 2006 | Filed under: People I Like Even More Than My Job

From an actual conversation:

Are you going?

I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.

I thought I’d go, but haven’t made any plans. You’re going, though, right? Because I’m not going if you’re not going!

Well, that’s why I’m asking — I’m not going if you’re not going!

Ok, well let’s plan on going.

Sounds an awful lot like high school to me! Can you believe they graduated a decade ago?

March 10, 2006 | Filed under: I Run Therefore I Am, It's Called "Having a Life." You Should Try It., People I Like Even More Than My Job, The California Adventure

I’ve actually written the Official Ski Trip recap! And it only took three weeks!

So, for starters, let me state the obvious: I did not meet my death on the side of a mountain. And for that we should all be grateful.

We spent two days at Sierra at Tahoe, on the southwest side of Lake Tahoe.

Day 1 started out lovely. The weather was beautiful, the ski hill wasn’t too crowded, we got there right around opening and headed off to our much-needed lesson. (Or my much-needed lesson. I won’t speak for Danielle here; she’s much more accomplished than me.)

It started snowing five minutes after the lesson ended, and kept up the rest of the day. This meant everything on the mountain was quiet and beautiful and scenic. And, best of all, fresh powder every time down the mountain!!! (My god, I sound like an actual skier.)

By the end of the day, we were exhausted. (No, Bode Miller, you aren’t the only one who thinks beer goes well with skiing.)

The drive back was relatively uneventful, after we cleaned six inches of snow off the car and installed the highly sought-after (and now required by the California Highway Patrol) chains.

(Look at me putting chains on the tires! Yes, this is exactly how the guy showed me to put them on, I swear!)

Before leaving the parking lot, I did a quick brake-check, just to make sure the car would respond how I expected it to. The numerous Wisconsin winters I suffered through taught me something useful!

So, we hit the road, and slowly made our way home. It was snowing, chains were required, and our maximum speed was about 35 mph. I was a little wary about this whole chain thing, so Danielle and I were vigilant about noting any change in the feel of the car, any funny noises coming from the tires, etc. We drove through the mountain pass at Echo Summit and got back to the house. Where I promptly discovered there were no chains on my tires. Let me repeat that: there were no chains on my tires. The whole drive there were no changes in the sound or feel of the tires, which means that the chains were probably left behind in the parking lot, right at the spot where I did the brake check. (This would also be one of those Things We Are Not Telling My Mother. And we are especially not telling my father, who would know exactly how dangerous a proposition driving over a mountain in the snow without chains is, and from whom I would get quite a stern lecture and then be grounded.)

But I do have to say, Yay, Adele! What a good car you are! I drove my little four-cylinder Corolla 7382 vertical feet, over a mountain, through the snow, without chains! (Also, Liz, I’m still upset that you named my car. I mean, really, who names someone else’s car??? Yes, theoretically I could have renamed her, but Adele just stuck. Damn you.)

Once home, I started calling around in search of chains for the car. You know, because it was just so much fun the first time. Luckily it only took waiting on hold for ten minutes, having Mario tell me he’d call me back, and then getting that call an hour later and four blocks away from the auto parts store for me to track them down. But, Mario hooked us up with chains, tensioners (designed to help the chains stay on the tires. What a concept.) and even some de-icer. [Confidential to those in Sacramento County: Contraband de-icer. Mint condition. $10 or best offer. Will deliver for a fee.]

At the end of the night, Danielle and I again put chains on the car. This time, though, they worked! And, judging by the sound the chains make between the tire and road…yeah, the chains hadn’t been on at all that afternoon.

We did other fun things with Adele, such as replacing the windshield wipers and discovering a crack in the windshield so ginormous that the whole thing will have to be replaced.

Me: Stupid motherfucker, there’s a crack in my windshield. Gah!
Danielle: Eh, these things happen.
Me: No, but look at it! It’s huge! These things aren’t supposed to happen! It’s a half-inch thick tempered glass windshield, not a $5 wine glass!
Danielle: No, really, it’s fine. When you get home, you’ll call someone and have your windshield replaced.
Me: But I don’t want to replace my windshield! *Sob.* And I’m busy Monday. I don’t have time for this crap.
Danielle: You don’t have to take care of it this week, just, you know, sometime.

(Can you guess which of us is the laid back one?)

Day 2 was less exciting, on the vehicle front. The skiing was about the same: exhausting. We opted for a different run Saturday, so we took the chair lift to the top of Huckleberry Mountain, elevation 8852 feet, and skied down the longest run, 2.5 miles. (I knew it was long, but, my god, two and a half miles?!?! I was surprised to discover this fact on the trail map. Today.)

Here’s me and Danielle at the summit. (Holy crap, I’m on the top of an 8800 foot mountain!)

Clearly Danielle is the better photographer of the two of us. I feel bad, because she set up this beautiful shot and all I had to do was keep my fingers out of the way and push the button. Ahem. I was so careful to keep the camera steady and keep my fingers out of the way of the view window thing, but apparently failed to keep them clear of the lens. Oops.

An action shot, courtesy of Danielle. No really, I’m moving! Yes, it’s at a glacial pace, but still…skiing!

Despite this overwhelming success, there are still a number of things about skiing that scare the crap out of me. Namely:

• getting on the chair lift
• riding the chair lift
• getting off the chair lift
• anyone skiing/snowboarding within twenty feet of me
• anyone skiing/snowboarding at a speed more than twice mine
• anyone skiing/snowboarding under the age of twelve
• travelling downhill faster than I could walk it
• the prospect of going down a run I’ve never attempted before
• places where my very easy trail crosses someone else’s not-so-easy trail
• the thought of accidentally ending up on a run for which I am entirely unqualified. You know, like anything not labeled “E-Z way down.”

So, yeah, pretty much everything.

But now that I know I won’t die in my attempt at skiing, I’ll go more often…maybe even graduating to the more challenging green runs!