Love and Marriage

[While watching an episode of The Amazing Race, during which the teams went to Tanzania.]

Mandy: Oh, is this where The Lion King was filmed?

Matt: Yes.  The Lion King was filmed on location.

Green Thumb?

Okay, so I'm pretty excited right now, and not just because Big Love ended in the way that I both predicted and wanted, and not just because my birthday is fast approaching, and not just because I have a new ice cream scoop, and not just because I had a full weekend of [mostly] completing some house projects.

I'm excited because I'm taking on something new: plants.

See, I really don't understand plants.  Like I just don't get them.  I mean, I'm not a complete moron; I understand that they need water and sunlight, and I understand photosynthesis* and all.  But when it gets into all of this bull jive** about shade plants and sun plants and different kinds of dirt and pruning and bees and feeding and all of that--well, I just don't know anything. 

Last summer I planted some hydrangeas, and aside from my brief foray with hydroponics, it was a huge failure.  I kept forgetting to water the little bushes, and the hot Savannah sun just made the plants shrivel into little pitiful piles of wilted sadness.

But then I went outside the other day, and wouldn't you know it?  Those hydrangeas are some resilient little suckers.

So, inspired by my very, very slight success with the hydrangeas, and inspired by Cassie (who is basically a plant genius), I'm trying to find some actual success with plants this year.

But since I'm still a plant idiot, I got this little greenhouse thing from Target.  And it's kind of awesome--so far, at least.

Because, see, you start with these weird little pellets.

And then you pour warm water over them, and they grow BEFORE YOUR VERY EYES!

And then they kind of look like all kinds of things that you will want to make immature jokes about, but that you won't because you're about to turn 30 in a week.

And then you add some seeds.

And then you run out of seeds, but try to find some in the refrigerator.

Then you cover them with dirt (or so I remember from the third grade), and then you put in your little plant markers, and send out happy thoughts.

Wish us luck!

 These are for Caitie, who is newly obsessed with spaghetti squash.

And if this goes well, we'll tackle this next.  Eek!

Any plant tips you'd like to share, friends?


*When Matt and I first started dating, I wowed him while we were watching Jeopardy! by knowing what ATP stood for.  Adenosine triphosphate, for those of you who are wondering.  He was impressed, as he should have been.  I was impressed that that was actually the right answer. 


**My students taught me this term.  Also, it is awesome.

Even the Devil Disapproves.

There's a whole lot of handsome in this little clip.  Start watching it for the handsome; keep watching it for the laughs.


Also: Seth Meyers is the next big thing, saith the Mandy of 2003.

But My Lips Hurt Real Bad!

Definitely left work today (during my planning--not during class) to go home for Burt's Bees.

I thought about calling Matt and asking him to bring me some chap stick because my lips hurt real bad, but he worked like 13 hours yesterday and I didn't think he'd 1.) Think it was funny, or 2.) Bring me any Burt's Bees.



Idiot!

Bacon Jam: An Epic Fail

Remember how I was all jazzed up about bacon jam the other day? And how it was all I could think about and all I wanted to eat from then until the end of time?

Well, after eating all of Matt's sandwich (he preferred the Back in the Day rosemary chicken salad), I decided that I absolutely had to make my own bacon jam. And just how convenient was it that the latest issue of Martha Stewart's Everyday Food had a recipe for bacon jam? I fantasized that I would make bacon jam, and then I would eat bacon jam, and then I would share bacon jam with everyone I love (and maybe even people I didn't love, you know, just to show off my culinary prowess and make them feel inferior), and then I would be the most popular and happiest girl who'd ever lived.

So this weekend, I set out to the store to buy the ingredients, and spent about $20 on stuff to make a double batch of my new favorite food (Which is, by the way, a lot of money to make something that turns out awful.  I could've had the mega pack of Pilot Precise V Rolling Ball pens for that amount of money.). Once I got home, I was absolutely giddy. I was listening to "Hey Ya!" and I was dancing about the kitchen, confident that I was about to make something that would forever change my life.

In all of my excitement, however, I fell into an old trap: neglecting to follow directions. I was doing pretty well at the start. I cooked up my bacon and chopped onion and garlic and carefully measured (Matt would be so proud) the rest of the ingredients.

One of the ingredients was brewed coffee, and so I made coffee at home for the first time in my life (I've made it millions of times in restaurants, but just never at home.) Looking back on it, I realize that I probably should have measured the amount of coffee grounds that I added, because the coffee might have been a bit strong (but I really don't know, because I'm not a coffee drinker and Matt was off watching the Buffalo Bills lose to the purple team).

The recipe also called for the bacon jam to cook in a slow cooker on high for 3 1/2 to 4 hours. But I hate using the slow cooker (impatience plus possession of a Le Creuset dutch oven), so I decided that low heat in the dutch oven was the same as high on the slow cooker.

But apparently that's not how it works. When the bacon jam had been cooking for 2 1/2 hours (on low heat in the dutch oven), and the house smelled like heaven itself, I realized that I hadn't yet been to Target that day, so I ventured out for a quick trip. When I returned 30 minutes later, the whole house smelled like burnt coffee bacon disgustingness. I tried to salvage what I could of the bacon jam that wasn't a charred glob on the bottom of the pot, and jarred it.

Bacon fat--not as pretty as it tastes

I ate one sandwich, and I don't even know if it was actually good or if I was just determined to think that it was good. The next day I went to heat up some more (which had congealed in that gross bacon fat way in the jars--definitely not going to be a gift to give to people) to give it another try, but then I forgot about that in the microwave and burned it again. So my kitchen smelled like doubly-burnt bacon jam, and I wanted to puke for the rest of the night.

The verdict?

Eat bacon jam at Back in the Day Bakery where it's the most delicious thing of all time. Do not eat bacon jam that comes from Mandy's kitchen. If you want to make your own bacon jam (that could very well be delicious), then be sure to follow the directions, because they're there for a reason.

Gross Stupidity

The other day I was having a conversation with a woman I know, but kind of wish that I didn't.  For privacy and professional reasons, I can't tell you too much about her.  This woman, though, will drone on for way too long about such topics as "I can't believe that Michael Jackson is dead" (Really?  I thought that one was pretty believable.) or "The Puritans were so religious"  (Oh, really?  I had no idea!).  

So the other day, this woman was trying to get me into one of those cliche "kids grow up so fast" kinds of conversations about her daughter.  She said, and I shit you not:

"She's just growin' up, looking so much more grown-up.  It's like that movie Benjamin Button, only the opposite."

Bull Ridin'

When I was younger, and I didn't have health insurance, I wanted to ride a mechanical bull.  I was afraid, however, that the ride would end with me requiring some sort of hospitalization, so I decided that I'd wait until I was older--and more mature and had health insurance--before riding the mechanical bull.

I'm now older--and more mature and a possessor of the health insurance--but I won't ride the mechanical bull.  And it's not because I'm less strong (thanks, elliptical machine!) or because I'm afraid (bring it!), but because of this commercial. (Forgive the quality of the video.)


What the fuck?  I--I don't even know what to say.

Please, Always people, never NEVER give me this image ever again.  You are now destroyers of dreams.

**By the way, this commercial aired during a Rachel Maddow segment about the how ridiculously stupid the current governor of Arizona is.  You should probably watch it, especially if you're in need of a self-esteem boost.  That woman's about as dumb as a human can get. 

***Matt was mad that I found the Always commerical more disturbing than the Governor's idiocy, so I thought I should mention it so that you can move to Arizona in time to register to vote so that you can vote for that handsome balding guy.

What a Wonderful World

A conversation between Matt and Mandy, as they cooked a fancy Friday night dinner (Shake-n-Bake chicken with canned corn).

Mandy [singing]:  . . ."The bright blessed day. . ."

Matt [singing]: . . ."The dark sacred night. . ."

Mandy: I just heard you say "The dark sacred night" and that makes so much sense.  I always thought it said "The dogs say goodnight."

Feelin' Teste.

The other day I was driving behind a minivan that caught my attention.  So I took a picture.

And then I got to thinking.  This man (I assume that it's a man, which could be a dangerous assumption) is really trying to prove something with his car accessory.  But what is he trying to prove?  That when he traded his testicles for the minivan the dealership did him a nice favor by dipping them in silver?

I just don't get it.  What kind of person drives a minivan adorned with silver testicles? 

This and That

1. How is it that I'm twenty-nine years old and still manage to get shampoo in my eye at least once a week?
2. Stefan is my favorite Jeopardy! contestant in eight years.  There's nothing like the Tournament of Champions to make me feel like a complete idiot.  (Except for, maybe, getting shampoo in my eye time and time again.) 
3. Went to the beach on Sunday.  Wore sunscreen.  Still managed to burn my ass.  Time to break out the satin pajama pants. (Landed a plane on the beach.  Oh, wait. That was someone else.)
4. Have been having intense hydrangea envy while taking Mitch for walks through the neighborhood.  Decided to take action by buying and planting my very own bushes.  I'm cautiously optimistic.  If this doesn't work, I'm getting a ski mask and skulking around the neighborhood at night cutting blooms.
5. I love thunderstorms.  So do my new hydrangeas.  Mitch, however. . .not so much.
6. Thirteen more days of school, but who's counting?  Me, that's who.
7. Went to Gap and bought two more cardigans.  That's five, for the high price of $15. 
8. Mitch, still the cutest and most snuggly dog on the planet.
9. AND. . .Lost.  What the hell?  Why did I just waste six years of my life?  To be fair, I didn't care all that much.  Once I found out what the numbers meant, I was good.  But it's probably good that I didn't care that much, because I might have been heartbroken.  Every time I think of the ending I want to vomit in my mouth and spit it at Kate.  Lame.

Birthday Bash

About half of the houses on our street are for sale or for rent (Yay for the housing crisis in the ghetto!), and we've grown accustomed to being neighborless.  It's kind of nice.  Quiet.  Calm.  We use their recycling bin when ours runneth over.  Nice.

But all good things must come to an end, and now a family has moved in two houses down from us.  They seem nice, actually, and they have two little girls who seem to be glued to their Big Wheels, but in a cute way.  They also have a dog, a furry cute black dog named Toby who is about Mitch's size. 

Toby's also pretty cute, but he whines a lot.  He's probably whining because he's aware of the fact that he now lives two houses away from the greatest dog on the planet, and he wants to play with Mitch.

Oh, we've also had the windows open a lot lately because it's been so nice outside.

So here's what happens:  windows are open, Toby is outside whining, Mitch hears Toby whining.  At this point Mitch will do one of two things.  He'll either beg to go outside, at which point he will then howl and howl and get Toby to howl along with him.  OR, he'll stay in the house and howl and howl and get Toby to howl along with him.  It's not annoying at all.

In an attempt to stop the insane howling, sometimes I just let Mitch go in the yard of the house between our two houses (nobody lives there, either) and run over to the fence to say  hi to Toby.  This solution has seemed to work a little. 

Until today.

Here's a view of our carport  (remember the Beeeestro?).  That gate that you see belongs to the next-door neighbor. 

And that pole to the right of the gate?  Well, that pole is really hard.  It's especially hard when you slam your own face against it.

I learned just how hard the pole was when, after allowing Mitch into the neighbor's yard, I went to bring him back in.  I'd neglected to bring a leash, and was just going to have him run back to our door, which he does ninety-nine percent of the time (it's that one percent when he chases a kid down the street and onto the hood of a car that's the problem).  And right as I opened the gate, I heard the little girls on their big wheels, and I didn't want Mitch to go apeshit and chase them (Kids and bicycles?  Well, that's an enemy on top of an even bigger enemy in Mitch's mind.). 

So I yelled out "to the house," pointed, and began to corral him toward the door.  And then, before I knew it, I'd slammed my eye against the pole.  F'ing wonderful.

So there's a good chance I'll be ringing  in year twenty-nine with a black eye.  (Apparently the universe mistook "shiny things" for "shiner.")  This is just like the time I was missing a toenail on my weddin' day! 

 Shit.

Such As. . .Oops!

Matt: [reading the previous post] Hey, Dummy, you didn't even get your teams right. You have father/daughter team, and triathalon Grandma is your backup.

He's right. I hate it when he's right. . .such as. . .well. . .like. . .such as. . .maps?

Does this make me just as dumb as the former Miss Teen South Carolina?

Um. . .Amazing Race. . .Such As. . .

Horray for a new season of The Amazing Race, and horray for picking teams! It should be said that this season's field is looking pretty weak.

This season Matt decided to change his strategy. Normally, he goes for those teams with intellectual prowess. But this year he went with the models and the cowboys.

The models, Brent and Caite, are going to be a lot of fun to watch, if only because of how much smarter I'll feel after watching them bumble about the world.

Does Caite look familiar to you? She's a former Miss Teen South Carolina . . .

. . .THIS former Miss Teen South Carolina. And Matt picked them. Says Matt: "Models get what they want, 'cause they're sooooo pretty."



And in keeping with his "let's not go for brains" strategy, he also selected Jet and Cord, rodeo brothers. I have a feeling that they will be rivaling Brent and Caite for the title of dumbest team this season.

I, on the other hand, selected some badass teams. I have triathlete Grandma Jody and Granddaughter Shannon, a.k.a., badasses.
And I got the brothers, Jordan and Dan, one gay and one straight. Catty and smart and hilarious.
Are you watching The Amazing Race this season? Who did you pick to win?

Ask M Cubed

Dear Mandy,

I was reading a blog, and the author decided to write an intimate note to his/her spouse ON THE BLOG!! I was quite nauseated. I do not believe it is the appropriate place to be writing your spouse a note, especially when it is a shared blog. Buy a Hallmark card. I was just wondering what your thoughts/feelings were on this. I believe they should be stripped of their blogging privileges.

Nauseated in Nashville

Dear Nauseated:

I'm a little torn here. On one hand, the blog entry you're referring to (and we all know people who are guilty of this) did make me want to throw up in my mouth and then spit it all over the author. On the other hand, I did elect to read the blog; nobody forced me.

I'm as sentimental as the next girl, yet in the time before I was in a relationship and the time since, I've often been annoyed by people who feel the need to broadcast their loving feelings toward their spouse. To me, it's comparable to couples who make out in public. I've never been a fan of PDA, and this just seems to be blogging PDA. It's also irritating because, in my experience, those couples who are determined to convince us that they're happy are often the ones with the most issues.

It also seems that pointing out a specific trait that you love in your spouse (i.e., "My husband's really thoughtful. He did ____________ for me today") is much less annoying than some cliche line like "________, I love you more today than I ever have." And if the gushing comes from someone who is a master of the English language (Shakespeare, Pioneer Woman, etc.) it's much less offensive. The blog you sent me also contained the line "Your an amazing father." I may be even more offended by the author's inablity to use the correct forms of "your and you're" than I am by the verbal makeout session.

There's a time and a place to subject others to the super mushy stuff. Weddings. That's it. Anything more than that is poor form.

Final verdict: yes, they're annoying. People should learn how to use the English language. However, if we really don't want to see it, we don't have to visit the blogs. (Even though they're like train wrecks, and they do provide a self-esteem boost.)

Hope this helps!