~1~Overheard on the elevator at work (names changed to protect the clueless):
Dilbert: "Yea so I always seem to fail in the Christmas gift department with my wife so this year, I decided to think completely out of the box."Um. Good luck with that Richard Suave.
Sherman: "What did you get her?"
Dilbert: "A welder."
Dilbert: "Well she's always bringing home these random things made of metal to decorate the house with so I figured this way, she can just make her own. She's really creative like that."
~2~Wednesday was a proud day in the history of my motherland. The first woman president was elected into office! Now, as with all things related to politics, there are folks who celebrate and folks who prefer the taste of hater-ade. Not everyone reacted with such enthusiasm like the hair flag lady. Putting all the partisan/platform issues aside, I'm still marveling at the fact that a country where open-mouthed kissing just barely made its way onto network television within the last decade or so elected a woman into power. I'm not equating risque TV to gender equality. I'm simply pointing out how conservative Korean society has remained even well into the 21st century. It's quite miraculous that South Korea has trailblazed past 'Muricka in female political leadership. Deh-han-ming-guk! Hwy-ting! (I clearly need to download Korean characters because that just looks ridiculous.)
After years of desparately clutching to pre-written instructions, I've made some progress in the be-adventurous-when-cooking department and whipped up these turkey balls on the fly for dinner with not a Food Network recipe in sight! They came out browned, flavorful, and moist which is the trifecta of meatball cooking (according to Food Network). I threw them in some marinara then poured it over spaghetti squash and proceded to eat 3 servings. It's ok because the 'noodles' are actually veggies and turkey meat has no calories. The bread in the meatballs don't count as carbs because you can't see them.
|Top: Stage 1|
Bottom: Stage 2
These pictures show the tragic aftermath of Hurricane Post-Partum Hair Loss. A year has passed and hope has finally been restored. A world free of brillo-pad hairline is a reality, at least until the next post partum diaster. I have until next Thursday to decide if I want to better camoflauge the quasi-bangs with a more blunt variety.
It's the end of the Jorts era. As I was loading up bags of clothes/toys destined for St. Vincent de Paul, I noticed Matt had made a few contributions. Surprised, (since he's a clothes hoarder and would still have pants with leather pockets hanging in the closet if it wasn't (weren't?) for my obsessive auditing/purging of clothes), I took a closer look to make sure I wasn't mistaking a laundry pile as a donation pile. That's when I saw an all too familiar set of shorts with 'Sean John' embroidered on the side. I shed a tear and poured out a little coffee to show some respect.
H followed me into the water closet (yes, I could've just said 'bathroom' but I like to use overly-specific names for everyday things) to provide a soundtrack of "Gangnam Style" for me to go #1 to. He was in the middle of his rendition of the chorus when he made a revelation in human anatomy:
"Heeeeeeeeey, it's a ladle. Oh-oh-oh-oh, oppa...Mommy, where does your pee come out of? Your butt?"
You may have to worry about keeping up with the Jones' but for me, it's the Griswold's. When it comes to Christmas lights, these neighbors don't play around. Let me break it down: on the right is a life-sized gingerbread house with a life-sized Santa mannequin inside looking out at you. What nightmares are made of, I tell you. On the roof is a giant manger scene complete with every farm animal known to man. (Although they clearly didn't get the memo that you're not supposed to put baby Jesus out until after Christmas. Don't mind me, I'm just being a Christmas decoration etiquette nazi.) To top it off, the tree of lights on the left is set to blink in sync with Christmas music blaring through speakers, also on their roof, for all of Sun Groves to jam to.
On that note, I hope everyone has a vurry murry Chrimp-mus. Until next time. I'll try to keep it less than 4 months but I'm making no promises.