Coming Clean

I've made my love for all things Sedaris no secret. After taking a creative non-fiction writing class, my adoration of his writing has only grown. His books are a collection of personal essays drawing from his bizarre childhood (Sedaris is OCD clean, gay, one of six children, Greek, and grew up in Raleigh, NC). During my creative non-fiction class, I wished that I had done a few drugs in college, or hitchhiked across the country, or had a dysfunctional family. I can't help but notice such stark contrasts between myself and my writing idol and wonder if I could ever have such a rich pool of experience and perspective to draw from. Is having an adventure strictly for the purpose of writing material too contrived? Hmmm. That's pretty much the definition of contrived, isn't it?

Speaking of OCD clean... I've mentioned before that I come from a long line of neat-freaks. I, however, did not inherit the genetic disposition for freakazoid cleanliness. Like most people, I enjoy clean houses and dirty ones disgust me, but I do not fancy myself an expert cleaner. Do I lose sleep when the toilet needs scrubbing? Sometimes. There was one instance that traumatized me for life.

My dearly departed grandmother was the queen of clean. A couple of years ago, we hosted an impromptu Thanksgiving lunch at my house, as we wanted to spend time with the grandparents since we'd planned to be out of town that year. Joe and I scrubbed the house till it sparkled but ran out of time before we cleaned our master bath. Honestly, we rarely use the master bath, especially the bathtub and foolishly didn't think anything of it.

When my grandfather locked himself in the guest bath for his half-hour ritual of manic hand-washing and nose-blowing, my grandmother asked if there was another bathroom she could use.

"Grandpa should be out any minute, shouldn't he?" I asked nervously remembering the sad state of my master bathroom. My grandmother just laughed. According to her calculations, he'd be in there for another half-hour. Grandma was bent and using a walker, and she needed assistance getting around. My sister, sensing my panic, offered to help Grandma the twenty or so steps to my bathroom. I darted off and took one look at my bathroom and wanted to lock myself in it. It was a mess.

The unused tub was covered in thick layers of dust, and the neglected toilet was also dusty with the addition of a ring of black mildew growing around the waterline. The horror! Luckily, I found a stash of Clorox spray and quickly disinfected the toilet and scrubbed away the mildew. Next I tried to rinse out the tub, but there was nothing I could use to really clean it. At that moment, I heard my grandmother and sister behind me. The bathroom was still unclean, even by my standards, and my grandmother must have been completely repulsed at its state I braced myself for their collective scream of horror. She did not say anything, of course. I hardly gave her a chance. I was apologizing profusely for not having a pristinely clean restroom for her.

That experience is probably in the top five most embarrassing moments of my life. I've become a little more paranoid about cleaning, especially when expecting company. Since then, I've found a cleaning product that I love. Yep. I love a cleaning product. It actually makes me happy to use it. Perhaps you've tried it? Lysol 4 in 1 cleaner does everything and leaves no residue, a complaint I've had about other antibacterial cleaners. My favorite feature is the lemony fresh smell. It just smells clean and it makes me feel like I've done a good job cleaning when the area not only looks clean, but smells clean, too. Is it a "green" product? Don't know, don't care. I'm not dumping it down the sink, so I'm not too concerned. Besides, any product that makes cleaning pleasurable is okay by me.

Thanks, Santy

My husband is not a theater-goer, but gave me Dallas Summer Musical season tickets this year. I talked him into accompanying me to Stomp, so maybe I'll make a musical man out of him yet. I'm very excited about the line up, especially West Side Story.

I'm gonna need dates, y'all...someone to shame me into not singing and dancing along.

We had a great year, and 2011 looks promising. Both Joe and I will graduate, (perhaps some celebratory travel in order?), and of course, I get to meet mycousinamanda's latest addition, Maia, coming February 8.

Just Call Me Fatty McGee

The bake-o-rama was a great success. The cinnamon roll dough didn't wreak havoc in the fridge overnight, and I ate my weight in sugary, buttery, yummy treats. Don't worry, I've already got my New Year's Resolution in place. It involves gettin' up in the gym and workin' on my fitness. We made cinnamon rolls, spiced pecans, candied pecans,oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, snicker doodles, and gingerbread men. Hopefully we can make this a tradition. It was a lot of fun.

Looking all domestic and stuff (minus hair and makeup).

The PW Cinnamon Rolls pre-icing.

And after...yum....

Making candied pecans.

Ho Cubed & Fear the Yeast ∞

Ok, so I don't know why the photo won't save with the rotation I edited in, but here's my mom's apron. Ho³! I figured my mom would get a kick out of it.

The bake-o-rama moved down to the Hart Ranch. The casa's kitchen, while decently equipped, is small. My mom built her kitchen and had the good sense to add another oven. (Note to self: must have two ovens in next home). The additional oven will be of great use for all of the yummy goodness we have planned.

Tonight I prepared the dough for some PW Cinnamon Rolls. It was my first time to bake with yeast, and I was am terri. fied. My fear was compounded by the "rapid rise" variety I picked up, unaware of any other yeast variety out there. As a result, I expected that my experience with baking with yeast would turn out a bit like an I Love Lucy episode. I should should probably go check on it to make sure it isn't oozing out of the stock pot. According to the directions, if it starts getting out of hand, I'm supposed to "punch it down" into submission. It's in the fridge, but it's risen quite a bit more...and it's not even morning yet. Eek!

It's indescribable, it's indestructible, nothing can stop it! If you never hear from me again, this is the culprit.

Off to watch the lunar eclipse!

Bake-O-Rama-Lama-Ding-Dong

This week, my mother, aunt, (and anyone else who wants to make Christmas treats) will converge at the casa de Arnold for the first annual baking extravaganza. Because I have a compulsion to sew and because I'm probably creeping out all of my friends with the miscellaneous kinder-kitsch I've created lately...I decided to bust out the ol' apron patterns and make some seasonal aprons. Might as well get my money's worth!

First, I made one for my aunt. After my first painstaking apron experience, I was feeling a little rebellious and didn't follow the directions exactly. I must admit this apron has a lot of imperfections. But I figure that it just needs to hold together for a few hours, and I can make her a new one next year.

The black jingle bobs, or whatever they're called, were a last minute addition to hide some of my flubs. I like jingle bobs. They remind me of the car from Cheech n Chong's Up in Smoke. Maybe I'll add some to the Acura. Perhaps one of those little chain link steering wheels, too.
Actually, jingle bobs are little dangly things that hang from fancy spurs and make them jingle with each boot-step. My dad is a collector of old spurs, and I think he told me that. But I could be making that up.

Next, I made my apron, which I should have done first to work out the kinks. I think it turned out pretty cute. Joe made the call to use brown bias tape instead of pink. Good call, Joe!

There are still lots of imperfections... mostly due to my inability to sew in a straight line and lack of desire to follow all the rules all of the time. In other words, don't look for my stuff on Etsy any time soon.

Tomorrow, I'll finish up my mom's apron and post pictures.

Now I'm off to read some Sedaris. I purchased three of his books this weekend and hope I can squeeze in a couple over the break.

Oh, and I know what I'm getting for Christmas...and I might need a date. I'll explain later.

Run Away!

Last weekend was a much needed retreat from the "real world." Friday morning I opened a ridiculously hateful email from a parent criticizing me for "correcting" her student's paper "incorrectly" (five weeks after the fact). It was seriously the most condescending, vitriol thing I've ever read in my entire professional teaching career (and I was once a cheerleading coach!). This self-professed queen of linguistics chastised me in an email containing multiple spelling and punctuation errors. The ultimate irony was that she misspelled her own first name. Needless to say, that dulled the sting a bit. If I were to write an email to my kid's teacher bashing the quality of English teachers at her school, then I would make sure my email was pristine. Just saying...

I know I went on and on about how awesome my outfit would be for the NBC Christmas party in my last post. Cut me some slack... I was excited! Well, I didn't bring a camera to actually get a decent picture of me in the dress. Doh! Luckily, there was a photo booth. My husband might be one of the lost Village People, but that's not a big surprise.


Joe and I brought the doggies and stayed the night at the Omni. Turns out I was mistaken, and the party was actually at the Omni Mandalay in Las Colinas. Oh well, I write creative non-fiction. It was nice, but it definitely was not as modern as the Omni in Ft. Worth. The first 'Frock siting occurred not long after I arrived at the party. He walked across the ballroom with a Shiner while Joe and I schmoozed with the other engineers. First impressions: omg...there he is! He's much shorter than I envisioned. He's probably my height (minus the heels). Joe was bound and determined to tell everyone at the party that I was a freak for Finfrock. I'm sure that sounds a little odd to someone who barely knows me. Let me make myself clear: I adore Finny in a strictly platonic fashion, nothing oogie. This year I was content to admire him from afar, and I kept scanning the ballroom for him the entire night. I'm such a nerd. Imagine my delight when the deejay put on the dance music and Finfrock boogied to Billie Jean, BEP, and Ke$ha. It was the highlight of my evening. Maybe next year I'll let Joe introduce me to him.

I tried to be as discreet and non-stalkerish as possible and snap a pic with my iPhone, but we all know that the iPhone 3Gs cameras suck. Here he is at the edge of the dance floor...I promise it's him. LOL

Anyway, the weekend was a nice break from work and school. Joe and I had a chance to hang out and really talk, something that we do not have a chance to do very often with our hectic schedules. We all need that break from the "real world" some time.

Poppin' Bottles

When Joe took his NBC job in August of 08, I was super excited about the Christmas parties that awaited me. Let's face it, faculty Christmas parties lack a certain je ne sais quoi. Oh wait, I know. Alcohol. That's what they lack. So when Joe was hired at a television studio, my eyes glazed over at the promise of glitzy holiday parties. Ones held in luxurious hotels where the alcohol flowed freely, ones in which I would don fabulous dresses, mingle with television personalities, maybe even see Finfrock breakin' it down on the dance floor. Well, as luck would have it, the economy tanked about a month after he took the job and when Christmas rolled around, a big over-the-top Christmas soiree wasn't in NBC's budget. They held a Christmas employee-lunch at the studio instead, and I sulked alone but dressed up anyways and drank a whole bottle of champagne at my house. I turned on NBC 5 to make it a little more as I had envisioned. 2009 was a repeat. Le sigh.

Fast forward to two weeks ago. Joe called and asked if I wanted to go to the NBC Christmas party while I was in Banana Republic trying on all the shimmery holiday stuff, wishing I had some place fancy to go.

"Will there be booze?" I inquired.

"Yes, and it will be at the Omni Hotel in Ft. Worth."

"Will David Finfrock be there?" I asked, eyeing myself in a silk navy dress.

"I dunno... What's your obsession with him anyways?"

"Hmmm."

"The Telemundo people will be there..."

"Oh good! At least someone will be dancing!"

I took a picture of the dress I had tried on and loved, and went home and sat in front of my computer and waited for 11:00 ET to log on to bananarepublic.com to buy my dress 40% off on Black Friday. I saved $60! Plus I had a gift card from my birthday, so I ended up paying less for the dress than any other piece of my ensemble. Holla!

While I waited, I shopped for accessories, oh and wrote my supermassive paper on supermassive black holes. I needed to rest my brain. Ebay always does the trick. I found this super dangly, sparkly Betsey Johnson necklace. Sigh. Have I ever told you how much I lurve Betsey Johnson? My first daughter will be named Betsey...or next pet, or whatever inanimate object captures my affection next. I've decided it must be so. Anyways, picked the necklace because A: it is a statement piece, and B: I've been waiting to make a statement for two years.

Plus, it's silver and gold and a little edgy. I like being a little edgy. Not too much though. I don't think I could pull off totally edgy.

Then I went to North Park and bought my first pair of Christian Louboutin pumps at Barney's, and at the Christmas party, Meredith Viera complimented me on them, and I said something like, "Thanks Mear."

And then I woke up and remembered I don't own any Christian Louboutins, much less black heels that aren't open-toe, badly scuffed, or worn down to a nub. Naturally, I logged back on Ebay and looked for Christian Louboutins. No such luck finding a bargain. I did, however, discover Khloe Kardashian and I both wear the same size in Louboutins. She was auctioning off a pair for charity, but Khloe is hard on her shoes. They were pretty janky looking. That's something else we have in common, janky shoes. My life is much more meaningful now that I know this. I'm sure you feel the same.

Anyways, once it sank in that I would either need to win the lottery or cash in Joe's life insurance policy to buy a pair of Louboutins, I came to my senses and bought a pair of Nine West patent pumps. They'll do and I won't curl up in a fetal position and cry if I break a heel.

Here's what I'm going to look like. Just chop off about 6 inches of hair, add about 50 pounds and a bitch'n necklace.

Why, hello, Mr. Finfrock. Of course, I would love a glass of champagne.