Archive | August, 2009

Three Things Thursday #9

20 Aug

1 – Getting two Final Jeopardy questions right in a row, and three out of four this week.  So what if its the College Tournament?  And a repeat.

2 – Mad Men.  John Hamm.  Sigh.

3 – Vacation!

(No posts this week, sorry.  I prepped you for it this week by being a slacker.  I’ll be on the beach this week with my besties and too busy/drunk to post).

Three Things Thursday #8

14 Aug

(Yes, I know its Friday.  Sue me).

1 – Good friends, good food, and wine chosen via the Ouija method.

2 – When the MBTA wi-fi actually works.

3 – A husband who picks me up at 11:30 even though it means he’ll only get 4 hours sleep.

A Trip Down Memory Lane

10 Aug

(Credit to Becca, who had a similar post recently)

My little baby cousins are growing up.  One is going to college this year, two will follow shortly behind, and the last two are in middle school and probably no longer think boys have cooties.  Considering I changed all of their diapers, this is all hitting me particularly hard.

My oldest cousin is going to the school where my BFF teaches (professes?), which makes me happy because I can secretly spy on him.  The next one (who used to be “Robbie”, but is now apparently “Rob”) is full of, “I don’t know where I want to go” boy-ness, but has to decide this year.  He said he might like to check out St. Anselm, from where I happily graduated 9 years ago, and my brother followed two years later.  So, his mom made an appointment, I took the day off, and off we went, the Nana in tow.

I tried not to embarrass Robbie, er, Rob, too much buy taking pictures, so some are kind of blurry.  I also tried not to interject too many stupid comments about campus, but did fill him in on such wonders of Saint A’s like The Virgin Vault and the Slut Hut, neither of which are all that exciting unless you’re eighteen.  The Nana, however, spent the day reminiscing about the gingerbread house I made, and some restaurant that was so good, but she could never find it again.  I bet it was Applebees.

Here’s where I used to live, and where I met nine of my closest friends almost thirteen years ago.  Its two floors of girl’s quads in the back of the main building, Alumni Hall, and no one knows about them.  I panicked when I got my room assignment, because I couldn’t find my dorm anywhere on a map of campus.  I lived on Second Street (way cooler than Third Street), and my friends and I still call ourselves The Street Girls (again, not quite as cool as it sounded at eighteen).


Here’s Stoneface.  I had to look at him twice a week as I dragged myself into the theatre for Humanities lecture.  I don’t really know what he’s there for, aside from a meeting place.  Something about the Arts or other such silliness that didn’t involve boys or drinking.


Here’s the gym.  It has all new fancy pants equipment I’d like to think I’d use if I went there now.  I wouldn’t.  Right next to the gym is the post office where I worked for three years.  I wanted to take a picture of my mailbox, but thought that might embarrass Rob.


Here’s part of the quad.  The building in the back is where I had to go write papers and print out all the oh-so-funny e-mail chains I receieved from everybody I went to high school with.  In front of the building is the Rock of Love, and on the right is the boy’s dorm where I mastered window-climbing-in while wearing dresses.  (These stories were not shared with Robbie).  Did I mention the fact that Saint A’s doesn’t allow boys in girls dorms, and vice versa, aside from certain hours?  I swear no one told me that before I agreed to go there.


Leaving campus, we drove past the house where I lived Senior Year.  It looks mostly the same, as does the neighborhood.  We once had a pig’s head on that roof, and Port-A-Potties in the yard.  Again, things Rob can learn about for himself in college.


Overall, not much has changed since I left campus.  The main change was that the convent is now classrooms.  I wonder what happened to the nuns?  I hope they weren’t tossed out on to the street.  Oh, and the tour guide had a tee shirt on that said “Saint Anselm is my Homeboy.”  We didn’t have that in 2000.

Lastly, here we are, leaving campus.  Look, Rob is already a Hawk — he fits right in!  I wish I had the picture of us at Alumni Hall when he was six or so, but he probably wouldn’t like if I posted that one.


After a trip to the bookstore, TGIFridays, and the state of New Hampshire liquor store, I don’t really know if Rob has any idea where he wants to go for school next year.  Still, it was a great day to reminisce about the good old days of college.  I’m going to mix up some Jungle Juice and order a pizza at midnight to complete the trip down memory lane.

Blogging from the Backyard!

8 Aug

Just so you know, I’m posting this from my yard while eating a mango and drinking sweet tea vodka & lemonade.  Life rocks some days.

I planted these at the beginning of the summer, and forgot about them.  I don’t know what they are, but they like the spot where I planted them.  They’re a little out of control at the moment, but I made sure to take the picture after I plucked off the deadheads.  A few flowers broke off, so they now reside on my kitchen table.


I have a red tomato!  Yay!  And some baby peppers!

In a bit of sad news, Fern isn’t looking too good.  We bought Fern last summer, along with our deck set, and could barely fit it all in the Civic (sniff).  Here’s me with Fern on my lap, and Fern today.

Oh well, you can’t win them all.  RIP Fern. Continue reading

Three Things Thursday #7

6 Aug

1 — Hot Wieners.  Another fine RI tradition.

2 — Possibly finding a car (finally!) for $1,200.  And hoping my dad isn’t too hard of a negotiator on my behalf.

3 — Mango salsa.

In Defense of Food

4 Aug

(title ripped off from Michael Pollan, who I reviewed here)

When I started this blog, I made a conscious decision not to turn it into a weight loss blog, even though its something I struggle with on a daily basis.  I did this on purpose – I didn’t want to be one of “those” people who talked about food and calories all the time.  In reality, I didn’t want to think about it any more than I already do.

If you know me in real life, or from the Interwebs (which I’m sure 90% of you do), you know that in 2003, at 5’0” and 172 pounds, I joined Weight Watchers.  You know this because I met many of you through  In two-ish years, I lost 64 pounds, making me a Weight Watchers Success Story and earning me an all expense paid trip to the big NYC for Lychee Martinis (not expenses paid) and a day at a photo shoot eating Cosi and chatting about points.

From the day I joined Weight Watchers, I became an obsessed woman.  Every thought I had was about food, points, and healthy guidelines.  Even now, having slipped back up a few, er fifteen, pounds, I still obsess.  I can just push the bad obsesses into to the dark recesses of my mind a bit better than I did before.

The reason I bring this up now is because J & I spent the day at the beach and a cookout together this weekend, and had an hour, semi-buzzed (me, not my DD, J) ride home.  We started talking about people and food, and I categorized the entire population of regular-meal-eating people into three categories:

1 – People who eat whatever they want and are truly happy.  These people can weigh 100 pounds or 400 pounds, but their one common thread is that they are happy.  They can not eat for four days or stuff themselves silly at Old Country Buffet and still love themselves.

2 – The obsessives.  People who count calories, points, carbs, etc, to be in control and to (hopefully) keep their weight in control.

3 – Everyone else.  These are the majority of the world’s food eating population.   These are the people who inhale an order of nachos and four beers, followed by a Quarter Pounder, and stay up all night feeling guilty and plotting ways to work it off, or make it up to themselves.  They get up the next morning, run 3 miles, drink coffee for breakfast, have the Taco Salad Bar with all the fixins for lunch, say eff it, and start all over again.

How do I know #3 so well?   That’s me to a T.  In fact, I’m writing this after 4 beers and a half-ish order of nachos.  The Quarter Pounder depends on how much J loves me when he gets me at the train station in an hour.  I know 1 & 2 well because I’ve been all three.  I was the fat kid who would eat what the other side of #1 ate, but gain weight while they stayed trim.  I was #2 on Weight Watchers, and still revert back to that at times.

But you know what?  I like #3.  I like food.  I love food.  And I love unhealthy food.  I do love me some fresh mango and a giant salad bar, don’t get me wrong.  But what I really love is pizza.  And nachos.  And beer.

There are people who stress eat. They have a bad day at the office and gobble up a whole pizza when they get home.  I had a piss-poor, miserably depressing work September (thank you Lehman Brothers).  I didn’t eat for 10 hours, then hit Cosi with a vengeance.  People emotional eat.  I had a really bad breakup Senior year of college.  I cried for hours, and refused to eat: until 4 pm the next day (about 20 hours after the breakup), when a roommate and I went through the drive in at Wendy’s and ordered one of everything on the menu.  She apologetically explained to the cashier “We’ve had a break-up,” and I screeched “We’re on a break!” and drowned my sorrows in Frosty.

The past year and a half or so, I’ve tried to get my weight down to where it was before.  J claims that was too skinny, yet I know I wasn’t comfortable then in a bikini, so it was not skinny enough (my warped self image may be discussed in later blogs, or in the privacy of therapy).  My biggest problem is the one I discussed above:  I love food.  Good, bad, greasy, gross, cheap, expensive – I love it.  There is nothing too gross for me.  Ponderosa buffet?  My idea of a dream date.  Bacon explosion?  Heaven.  I love sitting with J on the deck with a glass of wine and a pile of cheese and crackers.  I love cheezits, calzones and beer on the beach with my BFFs.  Going out to dinner on my parents?  Score!  Bring on the calamari.  Kettle Corn and Sixteen and Pregnant?  Yes, please!

Which brings me to the the social aspect of food.  Sure, you can bring cherries to the beach while everyone works their way through three pounds of Cheezits, but when group grocery shopping for cookout fare, so you really want to be the one sneaking carrots in the cart instead of chips?  Maybe you do, and, if so, the more power to you.  You’re probably the skinny side of #1, the one who craves salad and poached fish.  The one who says “That’s too rich/salty/creamy/fatty/delicious for me.”

To that I say — Good for you.  I aim to be there in life one day.  Until I can figure out how to get there, I’ll be at the Taco Bell drive thru.  Don’t worry, I’ll run the Double Decker supreme off in the morning.  Three miles should cover it.  It will be okay, there’s lettuce on it.

Highlights from July

2 Aug

Since I never want to post these little things that don’t seem blog worthy enough on their own, I thought I’d put them all together for your viewing enjoyment!  Here are my favorite July moments:

I joined NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) but didn’t follow through.  August is out, since I’ll be away for a week, but September has promise!  I did enjoy reading Mel’s posts, though!

It stopped raining in MA…kind of.  At least it got warm.  And muggy.  We New Englanders are truly never happy with the weather.

I got a raise at work.  It was little, but it was a raise, so I’ll take it.  Never say no to money, or men with money, for that matter.

I ran a 10K in Maine, by myself.  I survived, despite the fact I was out with friends until 2 am the morning of, and had to get up at 6 for the race.  What were we doing in Freeport, ME at 2am?  Why, helping Turkish men carry feta into their closed restaurant for some free drinks, of course!  What else would we have been doing?

I went to my brother’s annual Seafood Fest.  The menu, for your pleasure: Salmon dip, shrimp cocktail, scallops wrapped in bacon, Stuffies (that’s stuffed quahogs for you non RIers), grilled pizza with scrimp, crabcakes, steamers, and blueberry peach crumble.  All for $25.  Best deal in RI.

Tailgated for the first time, at Billy Joel and Elton John, Face 2 Face.  I knew all the words to 98% of the Billy Joel songs (Zanzibar?  Really, where did he pull that one from from?) and hardly any to the Elton John songs.  Then again, I don’t think Elton did either.  I’m pretty sure the official words to Philadelphia Freedom are “Blahblahblah Philadelphia Freedom! Blah.”

I ruined my cell phone and my iPod Touch within a week of each other.  The phone I was fine without.  I literally almost died along with my iPod.  And the “Genius” didn’t believe that I only got a drop of water on it.  Technically, I did knock over my entire Sigg bottle when my coworker kindly noted that my laptop wasn’t locked, but not much water actually got on the Touch.  It was really all very sad.

Spent a few days drinking beer on the beach.  What  is it about beer outside that makes it so good?

Hit up Providence Restaurant Week at two restaurants not in Providence – Lofts at NYLO in Warwick (very cool, great food) and the Post Office Café in East Greenwich (a little boring, but good).

Tried to get Tagalong Blizzard at Dairy Queen.  They were out of Tagalongs.  Pouted and vowed never to go back to Dairy Queen.

Discovered my new favorite summer drink: Sweet Tea Vodka with Lemonade, preferably Dels.  Sooo good.

Spent ten minutes staring at a blinking light in my bedroom and trying to figure out where it came from.  Finally touched it – Lightning bug.  Gross, but I checked it out after I squished it to see if it was still flashing.