March 14, 2007 | Filed under: People I Like Even More Than My Job, The California Adventure

Oh, Internet! I have so much to say! But it’s late and I’m a huge ball of stress and words aren’t really going to work out so well, unless you like half-sentences and totally made-up words and lame, lame titles like the one above.

Instead, have some pretty pictures I took this weekend while galavanting around Northern California with Ms. Horrible Warning.

(See how lazy I am today? Didn’t even center things for you. I should be fired.)

Point Reyes National Seashore

Uh, the seashore. Duh.

Lighthouse at the Point. I hear there’s a spectacular view of the Pacific from here. I’ll just take their word for it.

Three hundred steps to get there? Bah — that’s child’s play!

This is what I imagine the moors of England look like. Heathcliiiiiifffffff…

All right, off to bed. View the whole set here.

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.

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!

February 17, 2006 | Filed under: Is She Still Talking?, The California Adventure

If you thought I dialed it in yesterday, just wait til you read this collection of random crap. I’m killin’ time here, until Danielle arrives and we get this show on the road. And, I know how sad you’d be if you didn’t have anything to entertain you on a Friday. Today it’s about quantity, not quality, and I’m OK with that.

First, another installment in The Evil Safeway series. My god, how much do I hate your Muzak? The sad part is, I know the lyrics to every damn song you play and find myself singing along (sometimes audibly) while wandering the aisles. Bad! And what is up with the cheap-o, knock-off version of “Can You Feel the Love Tonight?” Was the original Elton John version not Muzak-y enough for you? You had to go get some woman to sing it veeeeery slowly with lots of echo-y flourishes from the background vocals? I had pretty much convinced myself this was the case, but lo and behold, the very next song was “Why Can’t This Be Love?” by Van Halen. Van Halen! And Elton John was too rockin’??? But you just haven’t lived until your average 350-pound high school checkout boy starts belting out - tunelessly and not keeping time with the Muzak - Toni Braxton’s “You Mean the World to Me.” Which is now stuck in my head. Thank you, oh so much, Safeway.

Official Ski Trip Update: I have chains! It took stops at three auto parts stores, but they are now safely thrown somewhere in the trunk of my car. And it was quite the experience.

Auto Part Store #1: Closed. I could tell this without even pulling into the parking lot. Almost broke down in tears due to working in crappy small town suburb where nothing is open past 5:00 p.m. and haven’t we already covered the fact that I DO NOT leave work before 5:00 p.m. and WOULD A STUPID SET OF CHAINS BE TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR??? I am going to drive into snow-covered mountains and meet my snow-covered death, all because I actually go to work during the day.

Auto Part Store #2: Open, yay! I put on my I’m-just-a-pathetic-girl-please-help-me face, which works like a charm. (And wasn’t much of a stretch considering the near-breakdown I’d just had.) Michael (yes, we’re on a first-name basis) asks what size tires I have. Right. See, I knew that was a critical piece of information, but when Adam (helper guy from last night) looked at my tires, he committed the size to memory without telling me. So…? Does knowing that it’s a Corolla help? Michael and I go out to inspect my tires. They are 175/65/14, in case you were wondering, and I will be writing that information someplace not lose-able, like on my registration form, since I am tired of not being able to answer that question. Michael finds the appropriate chains in their inventory catalog, but does not have them in his store. Apparently I have unusually small tires. Or unusually small tires for one who is going to drive up a mountain. Again with the snow-covered death pictures flashing through my head. But! Michael’s handy dandy computer tells him that another store in the area has them in stock. Jackpot.

[Danielle just arrived and can't wait to get back in the car, so I will finish this very hilarious story later. If I do not meet my death on the side of a mountain.]

Auto Part Store #3: Also open, yay! Following Michael’s instructions, I go find Chris who will hook me up with some chain love. (That sounds way kinkier than it is. Contain yourselves.) Chris, on notice from Michael that a young woman in search of chains will be stopping by, takes one look at me and goes off to get the chains. When he returns, chains in hand, I inquire about windshield wiper fluid. I spotted some in Auto Part Store #2 and thought, I haven’t put wiper fluid in the car since moving to California a year ago, so I’ll bet it’s time to start worrying about that. Chris suggests that I get a de-icer instead of regular old wiper fluid. I thank him for the thought, but no, really, I just want wiper fluid. No, he insists that I will be sad, and may possibly die a snow-covered death on the side of a mountain, without the de-icer. Ok, fine, give me the de-icer.

Chris: I’d love to, but actually we’re not allowed to sell de-icer in Sacramento County.
Me: blank stare
Chris: I know.
Me: Huh?
Chris: Just stop someplace on your way up the mountain, like in Placerville, they can sell it to you.
Me: Are you kidding? Why? No, wait, don’t. I don’t want to know. I will just add this to my list of Things about California That Make Absolutely No Sense Whatsoever.

Hello, California legislators? Sacramento County board? Have you run out of ideas on what to make laws about? Is this what it’s come to? De-icer regulations??? Have we already solved those other problems like poverty and child abuse and lackluster educational achievement? Are you worried that I will inappropriately use my de-icer on a frigid 50-degree winter day? De-icer???

Anyway, we are here now, having safely navigated the mountainous terrain without needing chains or de-icer (which is good, because we didn’t stop for any). Hopefully the skiing goes just as smoothly!

February 10, 2006 | Filed under: I'm a Dork, The California Adventure

I love my house. Really, I do. It’s super cute, with its high ceilings and hardwood floors and built-in china cabinet thing. Nice neighborhood, wonderful neighbors, etc. It’s plenty spacious – 1000 square feet. A Thousand Square Feet! One. Thou. Sand. I’ll never be able to afford that much space in DC! My best shot will be to win that contest they have every four years to see who gets to live in the pretty white mansion on Pennsylvania Ave. (I think it’s put on by the people at Publisher’s Clearinghouse, but I’ll have to get back to you on that.) At any rate, my house is lovely. But, much of the loveliness is due to the fact that it was built in the 1940s, back in the days before “double-paned windows” and “insulation” were invented. Thus, my abode has the heat retention properties of mosquito netting.

Despite all the TV news reports about increased energy costs this winter and don’t use your oven to heat the house and blah, blah, blah, that January natural gas bill came as quite a surprise. $589,236.74 and my firstborn child? What, are you going to have him shoveling coal into the furnace? Are children the alternative fuel of the future?

Being the control freak that I am, I decided to take matters into my own hands. First, I turned down the thermostat, which had previously been set at a very tropical 64 degrees. Then, I went to Lowe’s in search of this plastic wrap for one’s windows that my grandma used to have. Like in 1987. (Yes, I know. I’ve skipped becoming my mother and turned directly into my grandmother. Scary indeed.) Did anyone offer me assistance? No. Because I am a girl in a hardware store, so clearly I am just looking for my husband who is busy picking out whatever home improvement things we need. (Husband? Hah! Owning a home? Double hah!)

As it turns out, they still make this plastic window sheeting stuff. (It is located at the end of the insulation aisle, should you be wondering.) And all you need to install it is a hairdryer, along with the plastic sheeting and special tape that comes in the little box. I can totally handle home improvement projects whose entire tool needs are a hairdryer! And the package promises to increase the R-rating of my windows by up to 90%. Which, according to my calculations, is better than zero. I thought about purchasing every package in the display, but decided that six would do – I’ve got to leave a couple packages for the rest of the Northern California customers taking it up the arse from PG&E.

So, to re-cap, all by myself I (a) found the plastic window sheeting, (b) purchased said plastic window sheeting at the little “Self-Check” station, which I was going to bypass, but the lone checker appeared to be in over his head with this couple and their truckload of 2×4s, so I decided to do the dirty work by my damn self, despite the fact that I know this plastic window sheeting is marked up to cover the cost of Lowe’s labor, of which I have made zero use and (c) installed said plastic window sheeting.

And the February natural gas bill? $50 cheaper, thanks to my $12 trip to Lowe’s. See? I don’t need you, PG&E. I don’t need you, Lowe’s checker-outer-boy and other non-speaking staff members. I don’t need you, friends/family/Internet strangers. I don’t need any of you. (Only I really do. Need each and every one of you in such a deep and profound way that it scares the crap out of me to think about it, so I just don’t.)

(Wow, I can’t believe I just said that out loud. My mom would pay good money to hear me say that. As would my therapist. Wait, maybe Mom can pay the therapist… No, I don’t really have a therapist. But I probably should. But why bother, when I can prattle on about my issues to the whole Internet for free?)

(And seriously? I typed that Very Scary Sentence with my eyes squeezed shut and my head turned away from the monitor, cuz just reading the words freaks me out, so I hope there aren’t any major typos.)

Anyway, back to my normal level of lunacy. According to the additional information from PG&E, my February bill would have been significantly higher than January because rates went up and the weather was colder. So, really, I have only me and my plastic window sheeting to thank. Oh, joyous day of reduced energy costs! I feel warm all over! Though it’s probably because I’ve got six sweaters on under this sweatshirt. And I may very well blow that $50 on a new pair of shoes. But no matter, it’ll keep me from noticing how blue my toes are.