You know we love our kitties, and they are our furry kids, and I worry about them way too much, so I got the brilliant idea to cook our green parsley topped pot roast in the crockpot overnight while we slept so that we didn’t have to cook it while we were away from home for 12 hours today. That way if the apartment burned down we either rescued everyone or all went together. Morbid, but it makes me feel better to be around just in case. The bonus: We woke up to an amazing roast aroma. Extra bonus: Because I needed to hurry up and reheat it, I sliced the roast into pieces, then “boiled” them in their own gravy. Amaaaaaaaazing. We had Yukon mashed potatoes (from a box) and Pillsbury garlic butter crescent rolls (totally worth the garlic breath) with it.
Oh my goodness. To stop the rumor mill ahead of the rumor, I’m not preggers, with child, cooking a bun in my oven. I am lactose intolerant. I tend to eat a lot of fat free dairy and super aged cheese so that the lactose is lessened or completely void. Yesterday I had half and half, cottage cheese, fresh ricotta, fresh mozzarella, and ice cream. All in the same day. I spent all morning wishing I was knocked unconscious while the bad stuff oozed out of me and a nursemaid cleaned my bum.
Yup. I said it.
The best part was that I had to go to work today. And not only did I have to work my job, but I actually had to be the star of a video. Yes, my job lends itself to the occasional creative moment. I get to write fun content, I get to be in videos. I get to stand up in front of entire audiences and make bold but friendly statements. So, I was feeling extremely green but had to smile for the camera, so I had some crackers for lunch and then didn’t eat anything more all day. And I wore a headband. Can’t wait to see that video when it’s edited. (I’m not the one editing it. wah.)
I took the step to text my friend from my last job to ask what our St. Patrick’s Day plans are going to be. (Suggestion: Don’t go drinking with your new work buddies while you’re still on probation at your job. Another suggestion: Don’t call it probation like I’m a fucking criminal. One of those two things is in my control, the other isn’t.) She told me to come show up to their neck of the woods and she’d make sure something happened. This Thursday I fully expect to have my first green beer ever. And since Dawg will be on the isle of Man with me, working an event, I’ve asked him to drive me home if I don’t think I should go there myself. I’m old, I can handle approximately 3 beers and then it’s seriously bedtime, so I’m hoping not to be slipped secret vodka in my beers when I visit the ladies’ room.
Coffee in my bed clothes.
Meeting Bella‘s neighbors.
Meeting Bella’s mom.
Blue Moon, onion rings, and chicken quesadilla in mah belleh.
Tanger Skechy scents.
Walking in sunshine. As opposed to on it.
MACHETE!! (“Lo siento.” *bang bang*)
No high fructose corn syrup here! Except in the Guinness cheese.
Tip-toe through the handcuffs.
JFK exit 20 instead of exit 19 in 0.1 miles = 20 minutes less driving.
In other words: A great day with one of my BFFs. Thank you, lady.
We find inspiration in random places sometimes. Yesterday I was greedily looking through my Facebook statuses for more FarmVille gifts (please don’t judge me for this, I used to hardcore garden in Vermont, and I cannot do so here really, so virtual is all I’ve got) and noticed my previous-blogger-but-now-Twitter-and-FB pal to the East, Frankie, posted the following status:
There’s no such thing as “impossible”. The word itself says “I’m Possible”.
Today I found this video on rickey.org of what was described as Indian pole gymnastics, correctly termed in the video as Mallakhamb:
Physics seems defied. I am astounded by the agility of men of differing shapes and sizes, and the complete abandon of laws of gravity by the boy at the end.
The next time you tell yourself something is “impossible” remember to change it to “I’m Possible”.
Which is to say: I know you can do it, just make sure to let yourself know too.
I’m not even kidding. I love that man. If he created an official religion I’d be a part of it. (Did he do that? Crap.)
In addition to explaining his philosophy on Possession he also invited me to a party where I learned to love roller coasters. The man’s a genius. Seriously. And I cannot even explain to you all that I learned from this trip. But I can tell you there’s no one else I would have rather gone to SWCV with than Dawg. That was, hands down, the best vacation ever.
I wish I could pick the best out of the 641 photos I took so you wouldn’t have to look through them all to see what I saw, but I cannot do that. You need to go look at them all. So, here they are.
I’m leaving Wednesday for sunny Orlando where I will attend Star Wars Celebration V and see the (I forget their new name now that the word “mafia” isn’t in it, but I mean my friends). I am leaving my home with a gaping hole in the living room wall and no pipe connected to the toilet. There’s also a drop cloth, an emptied water bottle, and wall shit. When I come back it all better be like nothing ever happened in that corner or else I know who I’m visiting first thing Monday morning with my Dark Lords Rule commemorative baseball bat.
I just want to squee a little tiny bit more that during this trip I will be meeting many of my friends’ children for the first or second time. I love kids, so I’m excited to see them all and see what damage we can cause when we’re all together in one group.
See you on the flip, I don’t plan to blog while there. I do plan to tweet, though. TWEET!
And don’t worry, Mama Dawg is taking good care of the girls, cuz I’m dragging Dawg‘s ass with me to the conference. Also, I have a 3-day crop going in FarmVille, and 1 bottle of unwither in case it decides to croak on the 4th day instead of the 6th.
The scene:Dawg and I are watching Friday Night Smackdown. Jack Swagger, one of the wrestlers I hate theeeeeee moooooooooost in the world, is talking on and on and on for a solid 15 minutes. He is telling the Buffalo, New York crowd about his lifetime achievements. Why? We do not know. Nor do we fucking care. And yet he continues. He whips out his National Scrabble Championship trophy, which is fake, but the following conversation is not.
Dawg: You know that’s real. Poppy: What? That championship? Or Swagger winning it. Dawg: The championship. Poppy: I know! I!!!… Dawg: They have groups all across the country. I read a biography about it! Poppy: I watched a documentary about it!!! One of the guys goes to Mexico and has sex with prostitutes before his matches! Dawg: He was in the biography. Poppy: Are you that guy from the documentary?! Dawg: (pause) No, I don’t play Scrabble. Poppy: Because THAT’S the more important part to clear up! Dawg: I don’t go to Mexico and have sex with prostitutes. I don’t have sex with prostitutes, period! Poppy: *giggle* Dawg: But you have to admit that was really funny. Poppy and Dawg: *high five* Dawg: You should blog this. I’m a treasure trove. I’m full of gold.
I wish my brother dared set foot in New York City, because then we could sing Daft Punk songs together when we get drunk on beer at:
2nd annual BeerHer
SATURDAY, APRIL 24, 2010
THE GINGER MAN
11 East 36th Street
Neighborhood: Murray Hill
NY, NY 10016
Bring extra monies, these guys even have beer to go.
I told everyone the favor of your yes reply was requested by this past Friday at 11:59pm Eastern, but if you still wanna show up and haven’t mentioned it yet lemme know in a comment here or on twitter or facebook or email or txt before the day. At this point I think it’s staying small enough so we can just appear and hang out and drink and have fun without drama and without a reservation.
And to those who are having TequilaCon, SillyBring, or another event on the same day at the same time: CHEERS!