All Or Nothing

Pick Me!

Let's talk about basketball for a moment, shall we?

No, not because I want to brag about my NCAA tournament bracketeering skills.  When it comes to Fantasy sports, I have to say that I excel so mightily at Fantasy Football that it would appear I've sucked all sports knowledge available to me out of the atmosphere, leaving none for my hapless NCAA bracket.  Judging by the looks of that thing, I'm about as skilled at choosing winning basketball teams as Bennett Salvatore is at officiating for them. 

And goodness knows, that's nothing to brag about.

Plus, even though I went to Texas Tech, and was there during the whole Bobby Knight arrival and subsequent Knight mania, I'm just not that into college hoops.  We all gathered in the Tech stadium for a while, hoping to see a chair thrown, or at least to hear someone get seriously cussed, but once we realized Mr. Knight's halfhearted fury, we kind of petered out.  Some of us got our feelings hurt, too - it was like finally getting a date with the infamous but super hot star athlete, only to have him hand you a copy of He's Just Not That Into You.  Kind of anticlimactic.

So we're not gonna discuss the NCAA madness, or my days as a pseudo-basketball fan at Texas Tech.  Instead, allow me to introduce you to my true love: the Dallas Mavericks.  And before you get up on your high horse and accuse me of being a bandwagon fan, allow me to present you with this compelling piece of evidence:

Yeah, that's a Mavericks vs. Spurs playoff ticket from 2001.  When the Mavericks were still playing in Reunion Arena, that crappy stadium I still kind of love.  I moved to Dallas when I was an 18 year-old freshman in college, straight out of high school in a little town.  I had the whole city available to me, and as cute, young (but legal!) college girls, we pretty much did whatever we wanted.   And what we wanted was to go to the Mavericks games.

There's just something about the ambiance of the stadium - the smells, the sounds, the energy; it makes it impossible not to absolutely love being there.  You feel like you're right in the middle of something big, and it honestly doesn't matter if the Mavericks are playing someone awesome or someone awful.  Just being involved, you feel lucky.  The best way to explain it is to use another Texas Tech example.  Tech is in Lubbock, TX, for those of you who don't know.  And Lubbock is slap in the middle of the Texas panhandle; the only mecca of civilization within a hundred miles in any direction.  There are no hills, no trees, no refuge from the wind, and certainly no escape from the dirt the wind will blow all over you.  And the result of such lovely living conditions is that everyone who lives in Lubbock REALLY wants to be there.  Anyone else hightailed it out of there a long time ago.  And it's funny, being somewhere that everyone surrounding you loves, it kind of creates this massive sense of loyalty and devotion to the thing.  That's how a Dallas Mavericks game is.  That's how a Dallas Mavericks fan is, and a game is just a huge arena full of people who would just about kill in their unfailing devotion for the team.

So it should come as no surprise to you that in 1999, when we heard the Mavericks would be playing the Los Angeles Lakers at home, my college roommate and I decided that we honestly could not think of one thing that sounded better than getting dressed to the nines and trying to con our way into Mavericks floor seats, using our $18 nosebleed tickets as a starting point.

We made it, by the way.  And it only took us until the 3rd quarter to find ourselves sitting directly behind a very handsome Kobe Bryant, who was wearing a pinstripe suit and watching the game with his injured hand taped in what looked to be a very haphazard manner.  HDTV's got nothing on that kind of detail.

It should also come as no surprise to you that when I found myself on vacation in Orlando during the Mavericks 2006 playoff run, all I cared about was getting to the nearest sports bar so I could watch, in excruciating minutia, every heart-attack inducing second of the games.  And it should come as no surprise to you that when the Mavericks lost that year, in the finals, I felt cheated.  And I felt it, shall we say - STRONGLY.

And it should come as no surprise to you that even though my dad (and he certainly isn't alone in this theory) contends that the NBA is rigged, that the players have no heart, that there is no authenticity to the game, I still continue to watch.  Because it's impossible to watch Jason "The Jet" Terry hit a super clutch baseline jumper, to watch Avery Johnson scream until his voice goes out and then still find reserve energy to spur the team on, to watch Brandon Bass take the hardest hit you've ever seen outside of the NFL and still come away with the rebound, to hear that Dirk is planning to play THIS THURSDAY, even after his "lower leg injury" was widely speculated to be season-ending - it's impossible to watch all of that and not feel that the Mavericks are more than authentic. 

Because they're a lot more than merely genuine. They're the reason the NBA is still going strong.  You can feel the raw emotion in the air as soon as you enter the stadium.  They're the team with all the heart, and you can't fake that.

My Habits. Let Me Show You Them*

Well, that was embarrassing.  Honestly, I kind of thought if I threw my kitchen habits (or lack thereof) out there, everyone would be like, "you think that's bad? we eat off the floor, like pigs!" or "don't feel bad about not cooking, we switched to all Pop-Tarts all the time over here".  Instead, I found that you guys (with the exception of a few, who were probably just being sweet - love you!) are like, KITCHEN PROS.  With recipes, and fancy online grocery delivery and menus planned out each week.  And, you organized people aren't even OLD.  You're like, my age!  Or even younger.  So this is really a sad, sad state of affairs.

However, as a result of posting about my kitchen disarray, I received so many good tips and suggestions in the comments that now I can hardly help but become more of a kitchen success.  I mean, let's say I implement two suggestions (maybe RA's recipe binder and Deb's Amazon grocery-ordering) and with that I'm already halfway to victory.  So, with that in mind, I am pleased to formally announce that I am going to make the Kitchen Habits post part one of a whole series of posts about my incredible sense of disorganization.  Subjects to be covered will include but not be limited to: Laundry Habits, Sleep/Wake Habits, and House Cleaning Habits.  Suggestions for other topics?  Kindly leave them in the box or drop me an email.  Is there some habit in your life you're particularly guilt-ridden about?   Ask me to address it.  I can almost promise you'll feel positively giddy about your performance after you read through my dismal failure.

In other news, here are the noteworthy Decision Fights held in my life over the weekend:

Setting and keeping a 1:30am curfew so as to not be exhausted all day Saturday
vs.
Sitting on the back porch with friends late into the night laughing hysterically about the weirdest possible revenge tactics

Spray tan to look pretty (rather than ghostly) for fancy wedding Saturday night
vs.
Sleeping later on Saturday morning

Dressing like a respectable, clean human while out running errands before wedding
vs.
Staying in bed until five minutes before I have to leave the house and then grabbing whatever is balled up on the floor and wearing that

Buying shoes only for friend, as instructed, and wearing shoes I already own to wedding
vs.
Buying one pair of shoes for friend and one pair of shoes for self, because they were really cute and also on sale

Painting every toenail with dark polish in order to disguise horribly disfigured toenail
vs.
Playing Guitar Hero until it's time to leave

Getting up early enough for church Sunday morning to take a shower and wash hair and last night's makeup off
vs.
Sleeping later on Sunday morning and deciding that it's really a great time-saver to not have to re-apply makeup

As usual, my sense of responsibility, decorum, and aesthetic took a sound beating.  But I did have fun.

*Sorry, OPH, I totally and unabashedly stole that from you.  I hear imitation is the highest form of flattery though....right?  Right?

I Am Full Of The Truth

See?  Posting again already!  Look at me.  LOOK AT ME!  Don't look at all the losers and freaks, you look at ME!! (By the way, if any of you know where that lovely quote came from, I'll be impressed.  It cracks me up every time.)

So anyway, today I'd love to get your take on kitchen habits: what is normal, and what is not.  In order for us to have some frame of reference, allow me to present you with what I, for some reason, think "normal" kitchen habits should look like.

Somewhere between 4-6pm arrive home, pour a refreshing beverage and start pulling ingredients for dinner from your well-stocked fridge and pantry.  Of course you already have all the ingredients, because earlier in the week you sat down and planned out your week's meals and have already visited the grocery store for all needed items.

Cook dinner, pausing intermittently to kiss your spouse hello and maybe to shine your countertops.  Of course you are cleaning up as you cook.  Set the dining-room table.  Like, with napkins and placemats and everything.

Somewhere between 6-7pm sit down and eat your home-cooked meal.  Make pleasant conversation with your spouse and (if you've got 'em) kids.  Refill drinks as necessary.  Finish dinner and take all dishes back to the kitchen. 

Someone (preferably not the cook) has dishes detail, and rinses each dish and then places it into the dishwasher.  If the dishwasher is full of clean dishes at the start of this task, the dish detail person unloads the dishes, and then re-fills the dishwasher.

Someone else wipes down the kitchen countertops and cooking surfaces.  However, there's not much to clean, because you were cleaning as you cooked!

So there you go, that's what I envision "normal" kitchen habits looking like.  Why, I have no idea, except that it seems like it would be so nice and calm and organized.  However, let me present you with what our kitchen habits actually ARE like:

Arrive home anywhere between 6:30 and 7:30pm.  Tired.  Pour yourself a drink.  Open refrigerator and realize that no fairy elves have done your grocery shopping for you, and you still only have mustard, ketchup, and that same mold-cultivating tupperware container.  Go to pantry and see two boxes of microwave popcorn, three cans of Rotel, and a can of Healthy Choice soup that you've had since before you got married.  Slam the pantry door and yell to anyone who's listening that there's nothing to eat.

Repeat opening and closing both refrigerator and pantry doors several times, each time hoping that some stroke of genius will strike and you'll figure out something tasty and nutritious to make out of the popcorn and mustard you've got on hand.  Pour yourself another drink, and greet your spouse, who has just arrived home hungry and equally tired.  Give your spouse your drink in an atrocious attempt to appear like a decent homemaker.

Spouse observes that it is nothing less than ridiculous that there isn't a single PIECE of cheese in the house, because you can always make something out of nothing if you just have cheese.  Spouse also helpfully notes that the fact there are no eggs is just unbelievable.  Eggs are, as you know, about 88 cents a dozen.  These pearls of wisdom prove less helpful than you might think.

Discuss what sounds like the best option for obtaining food.  Obviously grocery store and subsequent cooking are out, because it's already hedging on 8pm and you're both starving.  Discuss going to a sit-down restaurant.  Decide that it's too pricey/you're too tired/none of them sound good/they failed the Restaurant Report on the evening news.  Discuss take-out options.

No one wants to get back into the car to pick up food.  One of you goes back to the pantry, finds some stale crackers, and starts spreading them with the same peanut butter you put in the dog's Kong toy.  Life has hit an all time low.  Finally, one of you decides that you'll go pick up food from Horribly Unhealthy Fast Food Restaurant.  Whoever is left at home sits on the couch, flipping channels, only to jump up upon hearing the garage door open and scramble to pull out some dinner plates (the good ones!) on which to place the food. 

Eat Horribly Unhealthy Fast Food, but on the nice dinner plates.  You put your plate in the dishwasher.  Your spouse puts theirs in the sink.  Why?  Because they NEVER PUT ANYTHING IN THE DISHWASHER.  Why would they, when the sink's right there?  And surely someone else (always you) will come by and put the plate into the dishwasher for them.  However, you can't really complain, since your best attempt at being any kind of a homemaker was serving french fries on a stoneware platter.

No one bothers cleaning the kitchen, because no one cooked anything.  The empty fast food bags are left strewn around the island.

Repeat the next evening, ad infinitum.

So, how does it work for you?  Surely there is a happy medium I can aspire to.  Help!

And It Will Be My Solemn Vow...

Solemn.  What a weird word.  And the title bar doesn't give me the spell-check red squiggly line, so I totally had to go out on a limb there and be really brave and just type it in.  I threw caution to the wind!  And then I started the actual post with the same word, just to make sure.  But for one additional word and two or three very tense seconds, I didn't know if I had misspelled MY TITLE.

Title is another word I have a small issue with.  You see, pronounced, "title" sounds just file.  Tie-Tuhl.  No problems there.  But written, that word always jumps off the page and into my brain and intermingles with the word "tittie".  Which is a word I genuinely and legitimately hate.  And I would think that just about everyone would hate that word, but it seems that lots and lots of people actually like it.  And they don't just passively like it, they like it enough to NAME THINGS AFTER THE WORD.  Like these sandals.  And my sister-in-law's cat.

However (and as you may have guessed), I am off topic.  My topic today is that I am vowing (solemnly!) to start posting more frequently and...well, that's really it.  Just more frequently.  And the only reason I am making this an announcement (in true narcissistic blogger fashion) is because I feel that if I put it out here and publish it, it will be better than when I just tell MYSELF that I will post more.  When it's all in my head, these grand plans to be more productive, I go a few days without writing and inevitably tell myself that it is okay that I didn't post today, or this week, or even last week.  I'm busy after all!  Who has the time for all this blogging?  Certainly not me!  And then I look at lolcats some more and pat myself on the back.  But now, with this announcement published ON THE INTERNET, I will no longer be able to sit smugly in my blog abandonment.  I will have to sit GUILTILY in my abandonment!  Yes!  And if I know anything, it's that guilt is a GREAT motivator.  And that I make healthy lifestyle choices.

Now, for a couple of unrelated things!

I was at the zoo yesterday with my friend Jenn and her three year-old daughter, Maddie.  It was an absolutely beautiful day, about 68 degrees and not a cloud in the sky, and since everyone else was in school, we had the zoo almost to ourselves.  About an hour in, we found ourselves at the penguin exhibit and as we walked around, we saw a sign telling us that a penguin feeding would be going on in about 20 minutes.  So we decided to wait.  In the meantime, we looked at a bunch of fish and turtles and birds, all inhabitants of this same exhibit.  Between explaining to Maddie why she couldn't get in the fish tank and swim, even if she REALLY REALLY wanted to (this was her last and most persuasive argument for why she should be allowed), we realized that there was a separate cubby where only two penguins sat, looking lonely.  Jenn went over to the penguin cubby to get a closer look, and came back with the observation that the two penguins inside seemed to be molting.  Neither of us had ever heard of penguins molting (well, maybe Jenn had because she is a teacher and knows things like this) but I had no idea.  So I read the penguin sign and sure enough, they molt.  I, being inexperienced not only in the shedding and renewal of feathers in water-birds, decided to ask Maddie if she wanted to go look at the penguins who were molting.  She jumped back from me like I had asked her whether or not she wanted to watch someone put Princess Jasmine on the guillotine.

Maddie, wide eyed and terrified: Does it...is it SCARY?

Me:  No!  Scary?  No!  Not at all.  It's just like a...haircut.

Maddie:  .....

Me:  It's just what all the penguins do, they lose their feathers and grow brand new ones.

Maddie, looking like she might cry for the plight of the penguin:  But does it....hurt them?  Are they hurt?

Me: No, they are fine!  They like it!  Penguins LOVE molting!

Needless to say, we didn't go look at the molting penguins.  And as soon as we left that exhibit, Maddie wanted to go see all the snakes and spiders and wasn't scared of any of them, even when I nearly had a heart attack after the Brown Recluse spider (which is WAY smaller than I imagined) crawled right up the branch at the front of the cage with my face about a centimeter away (I couldn't see it! I thought it would be big!).  So, in conclusion: Poisonous spiders and snakes = fun.  Molting penguins = scary.

Now, look at the print Cody and I bought last weekend at the Tyler Art Fair.

Isn't that great?  You know you want one.

And The Abandonment Continues

I did actually write today, just not here.  I'm over at Aly's site today, as she's on vacation in PARIS.  And needed fill-in writers.

Don't you feel so sorry for her?

Anyway, check out the post!  It's an ode to Paris, of sorts :)

Oh, I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

Every once in a while, the clouds part, the sun shines down on you, and you open the cabinet doors in your bathroom to find that you have almost an entire 18 pack of toilet paper just waiting to be used.

Even better, you find that you've got someone waiting on you outside the bathroom doors, someone who is going to be at least as excited as you are to have reams of the white stuff at your disposal.

Double bonus if the "someone" is actually "several someones".  And triple bonus if the someones, after hearing your retelling of the infamous Neighbor Letter incident, decide that the ONLY appropriate rebuttal is to wrap the offending neighbors' house.  At 4am.

And this, my friends, is how you find yourself sprinting frantically down your street, giggling manically, trailing toilet paper, and leaving a decidedly UN-subtle trail of footprints in the flour you accidentally dumped all over the sidewalk.

It's how you find yourself hosting spontaneous dance competitions, recorded for all of posterity on video camera and set to an all-80's music theme.

It's how you find yourself one of three girls, sitting shoulder to shoulder in an empty bathtub, talking about (EARMUFFS, family members) sex after marriage.  And forgetting that the whole reason you went into the bathroom in the first place was to try and remove an errant thorn, stuck in the foot of one of these girls when she dashed across the street to ring the doorbell of your (fun, not evil) neighbors eight or nine times.  Just to see what would happen.

It's how you find yourself bundled up in blankets on a pallet on the floor, watching a string of bad movies on a Friday-night lay-in.  And then covering your faces with a blanket and screaming that the last and worst of the spectacularly bad movies (Mysterious Skin, by the way - HOW IS THIS MOVIE NOT BREAKING EVERY CHILD PORNOGRAPHY LAW OUT THERE? have any of you seen this??) be turned off immediately before the images broke our brains forever.  And then laughing hysterically at the horribleless of all three movies whilst retreating to the back porch to sit, still bundled in our blankets, and talk about whatever happens to cross our minds.

It's how a catch phrase of "don't judge me, but..." can become both a joke and an avenue to talk about any and everything.

And it all started with a common dislike of personal hygiene.  If that isn't a recipe for friendship success, then I don't want to know what is.

Tell me, what crazy things brought you together with your friends?