Notes from Tom

Background information:

1.  I am from Westminster, Maryland, which is about 40 minutes outside Baltimore, and is the town where the Ravens hold their training camp.  People in Westminster are VERY into the Ravens.  Many of these fans go bananas on Facebook griping about Shittsburg and giving the play by play of each game.  It gets pretty annoying.

2.  My brother is one of these fans.

3.  I like to torment my brother.  So does my sister.  We will, on occasion, bomb his Facebook page with tormenting comments, which usually elicit some response from him like, "Well, if it isn't my bitchy sisters."  He especially likes it when we call him Darryl, which is what he was almost named.

4.  I think Tom Brady is handsome.

5.  On Sunday, Jordan's Facebook status read, "Tom Brady's a punk!"  Today, after the Ravens lost to the Patriots, Jordan's Facebook status read, ". . .he's still a punk."

6.  The Super Bowl is on February 5, Jordan's birthday.

This afternoon seemed like the perfect time to bomb ol' Jordan's page again.  We took turns posting some handsome pictures of Mr. Brady to Jordan's page.*

I just love the internet.  Think about how long it would have taken to harass little Jordy-Pooh without the wonders of Google and the book of faces!

*Matt would like me to note that he had no part in this torment.

Less Than Gandhi.

Here's something you might not know: Matt is smart.  He's like sickeningly, ridiculously smart.  He reads like fifty books to my one, and he's rational and insightful and seems to know, well, everything.  And if he doesn't know it, he goes and reads a whole book about it and then knows it.  He can even do math!  I, on the other hand, fall asleep after reading one article in Entertainment Weekly, am occasionally lacking in the rational thinking department, and was told by my college advisor that my "math scores reflect the English major in [me]."  Shoot.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I'm thrilled to have a smart husband, and I really like it when I can just ask him about something (Arab Spring?) and he can explain it in a way that I can easily understand it (because he's basically Mama to my Forrest Gump).  But sometimes it's annoying to always be the dumb one, or to only be able to contribute to trivia contests if the category is 90210 or cities that have hosted the Olympics.

So Matt knows everything, which is simultaneously fantastic and annoying.  When he was a kid, though, he took an IQ test (which I may have already mentioned here at some point), but he never received a definitive score because while he was off the charts on everything linguistic and rational and whatnot, when it came to anything spatial he scored slightly lower than Mitch would.

Matt doesn't understand shapes.

Anyway, last night we were creepin' on Chloe's Facebook page--oh wait! Time for some awesome pictures lifted from her page--

Hufflepuff.

--and Matt saw an old status of hers that said, "i <3 gandhi."  Matt was confused.

Matt:  I less than three Gandhi?  Chloe is less than three Gandhis?

Idiot.

What Is Normal, Anyway?

Take a quick look at my brother's Facebook profile picture.

And at my sister's.

(She's the one on the left.)

And tell me I'm not the normal one.  Or at least the closest.

Happy weekending, y'all!

What Up?

Inspired by Color Me Katie, I had some fun tonight with my Facebook profile.

How fun is that? 

How to Avoid Grading Papers

School's back with a vengeance.  My eleventh graders, you see, will be taking the State of Georgia's writing test--the one they must pass to graduate--at the end of the month (Sept. 29th to be exact), so we begin the school year with intense focus on persuasive writing.  And, as you all know, writing takes practice and more practice and more practice, so I start the year by grading lots of big stacks of essays.  Since the stakes are so high, I know that I have to put everything (time and energy) into grading these essays, too; there's got to be good, thoughtful feedback if I want my students to be able to improve. 

But I didn't really feel like grading essays this weekend.

Initially, I thought that if I just sat down and did them Friday night, then I wouldn't have to worry about them for the rest of the weekend. 

Yeah, right. 

 Instead, I found ways to procrastinate. 

(It's really similar to when I was in college.  Back then, if I had a big paper to write, I'd find all manner of ways to occupy my time--anything, really, would be better than writing the paper.  It was during these times that my sock drawer would call out to me to be reorganized, that I'd decide to write a letter to that long lost friend.  Now I do the same thing, except that now I'm the teacher, and I'm supposed to be better than that.   I'm not.)

Here's what I did to avoid grading essays this weekend:

• I baked a cream cheese poundcake.

• I drank way too many glasses of wine.
• I talked to Matt for hours and hours.
• I wrote blog posts.
• I cleaned and reorganized the office (the room that had become a catch-all for garbage during the Lagoon and Deep End makeovers).
• I scrubbed every little nook and cranny in the bathroom.
• I arranged flowers.
• I went to Wiley's BBQ with Matt (and ended up having to share a table with two of the most irritating people on the planet--two irritating people who were on a first or second date--two people who said things like "Let's see if these collards are anything to write home about. . ." and "Sorry doesn't pay the bills."  We probably should have gotten takeout.)
• I wiped our walls with bleach (and made myself sick with the fumes--super smart).
• I went to Target (home away from home).
• I went to Kroger (I hate Kroger, but they have cake flour and Publix doesn't).
• I labeled and organized the paint that I've used in various rooms around the house. (Seriously.)

• I took pictures of Mitch.

• I made spinach dip.
• I talked on the phone.
• I looked through cookbooks to do meal planning for the next week or so (more on that later--it's super exciting).

• I got so hungry after looking through cookbooks that I ate a potato chip sandwich.  Judge away (but try it, too--jalapeno chips on wheat bread = delicious). 

• I checked Facebook 200 times.
• I read magazines that have been sitting around for a month. (Why is Garden & Gun so good?)
• I touched up the paint in the Deep End.
• I did all of the laundry (and, hell, one day I might even put it away).
• I went grocery shopping with Matt.
• I spent time with friends, and my favorite little girls in the world, Iris and Opal. (We made chocolate peanut butter ice cream.)
• I vacuumed.
• I dusted.
• I cleaned all of the fans in the house.
• I cleaned the globe on the light of our ceiling fan (and, at that point realized that I was running out of things to do.)
• I even--if you can believe it--got myself interested in Matt's fantasy football draft.  And it was then that I knew that there was nothing else for me to do than grade papers.  So I did them while he did his second draft (no bitterness here).  And then I was proud of myself. 

And I won't have another big stack of essays to grade until. . .oh crap--tomorrow.  Get here, September 29th.

Bienvenido a Miami

Today, after I took a 5-hour nap (fuck yeah!), and made banana pudding ice cream (double fuck yeah!), and cooked dinner with Matt (delicious cashew chicken made to perfection!), and watched Top Chef (go Alex!), I logged into Facebook [for the 30th time] and saw this recommendation.

Wow.  I mean, I was at first offended.  Do Will Smith and Barack Obama really have that much in common?  The Office and 30 Rock I get.  But Will Smith and Barack Obama?  I'm only really seeing one thing they have in common--being black.  Okay, two--being black and having awesome wives.  Okay, three--being black and having awesome wives and liking basketball (". . .shootin' some b-ball outside of the school. . .").  But that's where it ends.  Last I heard, President Obam' hadn't written what is possibly the best song in the history of music: "Miami." 

"Party in the city where the heat is on, all night on the beach 'til the break of dawn. . ."



Okay, Facebook.  Fine.  You were right.  I do love Will Smith.  Thanks for the recommendation.  But maybe try not to be so racist next time?

Green Velvet Cupcakes

It's St. Patrick's Day.  I don't care.  I might have cared more if the day fell on a Friday or Saturday, but since I have to work tomorrow, and since I have no interest in running into my students downtown while drunk off my ass, I've opted instead to sleep, shop, and bake.

In fact, it was last year's St. Patrick's Day when I first attempted to make a cake from scratch.  The cake wasn't so good, too vanilla-y, but it was enough to get me interested in baking from scratch, a hobby that's been great fun, but that's kept me hugely fat.  Oh well.  What can you do?

For today's baking adventure, I decided to make green velvet cupcakes, with some kind of cooked delicious icing. 

This is actually my first attempt at red velvet (green for today) cupcakes, for several reasons.

1. I'm not a huge chocolate eater.
2. I'm intimidated by chocolate desserts.
3. When I was a teenager one of my aunts became obsessed with red velvet cake for a few months, and told me that she'd eaten so much red velvet cake that she pooped red.  I thought that was gross, even though I'd experienced a similar fate when I ate an entire package of tongue splashers bubble gum.

So I'd left it alone, even though it seems to be a favorite of everyone on earth.  But Bakerella's little green velvet cakes were pretty, and I had all of the ingredients on hand, so I went for it.

Mine were not as pretty, but they tasted pretty good, which was a relief to me because the recipe calls for a combination of oil and vinegar instead of butter, and I find any baking recipe that neglects to use butter, well, suspect. 

If this combination of liquid ingredients doesn't make you salivate, I don't know what will.

I also found some cute cupcake liners that seemed appropriate for the occasion while sheet shopping today at HomeGoods. 

My cupcakes were not nearly as pretty as Bakerella's (that bitch!), but at least they tasted good.

The icing was really good, but I did something wrong with it.  I messed it up by either using buttermilk instead of milk (need to get through my thick head that they are not interchangeable) or by mixing it too much in the mixer.  Tasted great, looked weird.  Not poisonous, I swear.

Then I talked to both Grandmas on the phone, and took a nap on the couch, which seems to be one of my body's only defense mechanisms against the uterine rebellion that's currently taking place.  Stupid womanhood, ruining my life.

Oh, and I went onto the Book of Faces and unfriended almost every single person I'm related to, with a few exceptions.  It seems that the mood swings brought on by the uterine rebellion gave me just enough nerve to do it.  At least there's a silver lining, right?

Idea?

Me: My new thing should be that I have to spend as much time ellipting as I do on Facebook.

Matt: You'd die from overexertion after three days.

Fictional Character Twin

Today one of my Facebook friends posted this as her status:

It's Fictional Character Week! Starting now, post a picture of someone fictional that you think best represents your personality. Be creative. Copy and paste this so we can all play along!>


I didn't want to play this game on Facebook, especially after getting hooked into the "what color is your bra" scheme. SO, I decided that I would instead post it here. Well, even though my ideal fictional-character-that-best-represents-my-personality is Scout Finch:



. . .it's fair to say that I'm less insightful and way too judgmental to be her. (And let's not even get started on The Bruce v. Atticus debate. . .)


Damn.


So, I'll settle with this character as my personality look-alike. I give you. . .


. . .Drumroll. . . .


. .. Darlene Conner.

>

Yeah, that seems more like it. Fortunately for me, Matt is way cooler than David (and, P.S., I'm cooler than Darlene--even if we do share character traits and a dry wit).

Dances with Pterodactyls

Yesterday I joined Matt and Collin for Movie Monday. We went to see Avatar. I was torn about whether or not I wanted to go because I've been feeling blah ever since I got that damned Swine Flu vaccine, because the movie is seven hours long, and because I thought I might rather spend the $13 on a sweater from Gap.

But, in a lapse of judgment, I went.

The best thing about Avatar was how it looked. It was gorgeous and shiny and bright. I can't wait to go on the ride at Universal Studios (would they have the rights to it?).

But the story was. . .lacking. Let me rephrase that. It was a good story, just one that's been done many times before. About halfway through, I started singing that song from Pocahontas (. . .have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon. . .can you paint with all the colors of the wind. . .) to myself. Avatar was all "love the earth," "be good to the earth," "love your fellow man," "don't be mean to the natives," "just because they have something you want doesn't mean they're your enemy." I get it. Good lessons, and all things I believe. A little subtlety would've been nice, though.

When I commented to Matt that we were watching "Pocahontas with computers," he one-upped me. "Dances with Wolves with computers," he said. Dammit! I hate it when Matt wins!

The movie-going experience got much worse when, about six hours in, during the most climactic part, I had to pee like a pregnant racehorse. This was the second time I'd had to pee during the film.

Note to self: don't drink the entire $32 five-gallon bucket of Diet Coke.

So I got up and began the trek down the stairs. I had my phone in my hand (maybe I had checked Facebook during the movie?) and was going to put it in my back pocket. But then I thought that I didn't want the phone to fall on the floor in the bathroom, so I decided to put it in my coat pocket. But I missed, and dropped my phone on the floor, and heard pieces go everywhere, namely, under the seat of a guy I didn't know.

So there I was, on my hands and knees, trying to reach under some random guy's chair for my phone during the film's climax. I found it only after a few humiliating minutes.

Final verdict: pretty but too didactic. Seen that story before. Should've gone to Gap.

Post Office Crush

The only thing I had to do yesterday was to go to the post office. That was the ONLY THING. (Of course, I created additional tasks for myself, one of which was to bake cream cheese blondies.) But the post office was closed. Veterans Day.

The closure of the post office was disappointing partly because I couldn't cross anything off of my to-do list, but it was really disappointing because I felt that I'd been denied the opportunity to rendezvous with my post office crush, Byron. I love Byron, and I have for years.

I even snapped a picture of him today.

Byron is the opposite of the post office stereotype. He's happy, friendly, unarmed. He also flirts with me (or so I tell myself), which is disarming. "Mailing a package to Virginia, are we?" and "Anything perishable in here?" (I guess you had to be there--these were said in a decidedly flirty manner.) I just giggle and look away, coy girl that I am.

The first time I saw my post office crush I knew we had a special connection. You know how you can tell, what with the eye contact and the smiles and the great customer service. The second time I saw him I was with Matt, and I told Matt that I had a crush on one of the workers. Matt knew immediately which one had caught my fancy--Byron, tall, handsome, witty, a winning smile. But, because Byron is about 50 and about as unattainable as they come, Matt didn't feel threatened. And knowing my track record on crushes, I must acknowledge that there's about a 90% chance that Byron is gay.

But I hope not.

What would be a menial task is now fun with a chance of romance. I stand there in line, with two grouchy women and the shining light of Byron taking customers. The entire time I stand in line I try to manipulate the situation so that I can go to Byron's line. "Hey, old lady, do you need to go ahead of me?" "Move it, kid, I was here first!"

And then Byron and I share a moment, and I look at his name tag, learn his last name, and try to decide if it'd be creepy if I tried to friend him on Facebook.

Yes, it would pretty much be the creepiest thing that ever happened.

Reasons Not To Divorce

I think that Matt and I have a pretty good, healthy marriage. We rarely fight, and when we do it's over pretty quickly. We're considerate of one another, and we're nice to one another, and we genuinely like each other. I think we're in good shape (marriage-wise, of course. It's clear to anyone who knows us that we're not in good shape physically).

We don't get sick of each other, which is remarkable considering how much of an irritating misanthrope I am. How Matt has put up with me for so many years is sometimes baffling (but I think it has something to do with my learning how to cook).

My point is, I don't anticipate divorce for obvious reasons. But there are more reasons that we discuss, reasons that we wouldn't divorce each other even if we wanted to.

1. Mitch.
2. We don't want to date. It looks positively awful.
3. We have a great bed.
4. We have a nice tv.
5. We would have to change the name of the blog.
6. We would have to change our Facebook relationship status.

Yesterday I logged on to Facebook and saw this:

And it really made me think. My first thought was, "Wow, from 'married' to 'single' to 'in an open relationship,' all in the same day!" But my second thought was about how weird and uncomfortable the Facebook relationship status is.

It's all good when we get to announce our relationships, right? In a relationship with ______! Engaged! Married! Horray!

But what happens if things go south? Then, not only do we have to suffer through the pain of relationship problems, but we must also announce said problems to the world wide web? That sucks. Bad.

And what is the appropriate action to take when an acquaintance must so publicly announce the end of a relationship? An "I'm so sorry" tree for their Farmtown farm? A bumper sticker? Perhaps Facebook really should add that "dislike" button?

Now I'm kicking myself because I told Facebook that I am married to Matt, and for some twisted reason I feel like that announcement was as much of a commitment as the marriage itself.

I guess we better keep being nice, because I'm not changing that status for anything. And I'm sure as hell not separating myself from Mitch!

Does Facebook Know Something I Don't?

Tonight I logged into Facebook (imagine how productive I would be if I didn't have Facebook!), and I saw this.

I know it's kind of hard for you to see, so here's the offensive part a little closer.
What is Facebook trying to say? I mean, has Matt been saying stuff to Facebook? Is Facebook trying to bring my husband and me back together? Were we apart? Is he estranged and I didn't even know it?

Hey, Facebook. I live with him. I don't need to reconnect through you! We're plenty connected. Get off my back!