And the flavor is…

Tart.

I’m a real Northwesterner now. I’ve had my first taste of rhubarb pie (that I can recall).

I liked it.

My coworkers were surprised I’d never had it, and I wondered what made them such aficionados.

The answer, according to google, is that Washington is the leading producer of the plant.

Gwen Stefani, you like me?

If the blue and green in my socks matches the trim on my sweater, do they go together, even if the socks are argyle and the sweater zebra-striped?

Because I seemed to think so when I got dressed this morning.

OCD

You’d think, that by age 30, I would have developed all the bad/weird habits that I was going to get. But not only have I developed a new one, I seemed to have resumed an old habit (circa 1989) now that my hair has gotten longer.

Like, all of a sudden, it seems. Within the last few weeks I’ve thought, “My hair is really long.” (Mind you, I look back at pictures of me in college and am surprised that it nearly reaches my waist. It’s not that long yet — maybe low shoulder blade.) I’m obsessed with keeping it looking healthy, so I touch it. And think, “My, isn’t that silky?”

Here’s the new habit. I’m actually twirling it. With my left hand. While I work. Girlish, huh?

For the past five years, I have somewhat compulsively tweezed grays from my head. Usually I spot these in fluorescently lit ladies rooms, and have to yank them with my bare hands.

But now, while sitting at my desk, I can actually see the ends of my hair, which contain a smattering of split ends. This does not jibe with my healthy-haired aspirations. And since the giant shear-like company-issued scissors don’t make a clean cut, I actually brought my own split-end trimming scissors to work today.

This is not an attractive habit.

Terms I wish I’d coined

  • Regurgimailer: people who forward to everyone they know everything that lands in their in-boxes. Warnings about techniques that rapists use in parking lots; photos of adorable missing children; heart-warming lists of why women and their friendships are so wonderful; jokes about, well, everything. The fact that most of the items either have been traveling the Internet for years or turn out not to be true, or both, does not stop them. A word to regurgimailers — check Snopes.com before you forward, please.
  • Reverberon: the kind of e-mail described above, which has been forwarded endlessly and everywhere.
  • Logonorrhea: condition that renders you unable to use certain online accounts because you can remember neither your screen name nor your password.

source: Lisa Belkin, New York Times

Home Alone

Rob’s working overnight, which I don’t think he has done since my first week living with him. He worked 6-10 a.m. this morning, and went back to work at 6 p.m. tonight. He’ll return at 6 a.m. tomorrow.

All because I told him I would leave him if he didn’t come with me to the wedding in San Diego this month. Are you reading, Grandma? It’s all so he can meet you!

I’ve been sitting in silence, doing some of my creative writing homework. The pipes seem to be clanking more, and the traffic outside seems louder than when there’s another person around. Especially since that person likes to blast Tupac.

‘Course it’s 11 minutes to 24.

Domesticity

I drove through Arby’s last night after class. Although I recently have cleaned the kitchen to the point that the previous night, Rob and I ate at the kitchen table, we decided last night to eat our dinner in bed and watch the Real World.

While waiting for Rob to finish e-mailing or illegally copying a DVD, I put sour cream on my baked potato and thought, “What a mess this would be if it spilled. This is why my dad would never allow food to be eaten on his bed.” I made an adjustment with my ice pack and my hot diggity dog — because I need to heat my neck and ice my lower back — and the fork fell out of the plastic potato holder. I thought, “Yup, I was asking for that to happen.”

As I reached for the fork, I bumped the plastic dish with my knee, or something, and that darned potato went flying off of my lap and landed face down on the comforter. And I’m not even embarrassed to admit that, not unlike Joey Tribbiani, I considered this potato still completely edible. I scooped up most of it, wet a towel, and cleaned up the sour cream.

So…that’s fascinating…

I had a couple of days last week where I was too busy to read all the websites I routinely peruse. But now I’m back to having blocks of time where I’ve got nothing to do but wait for people to respond to my e-mails.

It’s springtime around here for sure. To paraphrase Dorothy Parker, “Every year, back comes spring, with college students playing Frisbee on the grass, shrieking their fool heads off.”

Even with the sun out, it’s still chilly enough to warrant a sweater and a coat, but I’ve at least retired the wool coat for the season.

…oh here’s another really interesting train of thought. And you don’t have to stop reading if you don’t watch America’s Next Top Model. I mean, you can if you want.

Last night a girl named Mollie Sue was eliminated. She had the same problem as Nik from last season, Christina from two seasons ago and Nicole the season before that. Judges think she has no personality. She literally sounded like a robot during her audition.

On last night’s episode, Mollie Sue did well at Improv comedy and it was noted that she really has quite a big personality, but she’s not bringing it with her to the judging room. They shot a CoverGirl commercial and again, when she addressed the camera, she came off as flat and robotic and a little mean.

I blame self-consciousness and I think that’s why I wouldn’t have been a very good actress. Oh sure, I can be wild and crazy in social situations. But once I’m on camera, I freeze a little. As recently as last summer, a video camera was put in my face at a bridal shower, and I was like, “Uh. Congratulations and stuff.”

Last century, a friend of the family got me into an audition at a commercial agency. And c’mon, who doesn’t think I’d be great in a commercial? I even worked with a commercial acting coach before I went in. I practiced the Burger King commercial out in the hall and was sure I’d nail it. (Wow, two fast-food mentions in one post. Both offer vegetarian fare, I must point out.)

And I completely blew it. I don’t remember what the lines were, but I remember, as I was doing it, knowing that I wasn’t doing it right. Not how I practiced.

‘Course now I’m perfectly comfortable being me when I feel like being me, without the pressures of being a “type” or performing on cue. So it’s a nice compliment when someone tells me I have an expressive face and that they think I would have been good at acting.

Although I did screw up some stills Rob took a ways back. His sister took some live action shots during a knife defense class and some posed shots. I look clinically depressed in all of them! I knew we were being photographed for the website, and I was enjoying myself, so how come it didn’t show on my face?

Days off

Every Friday (and sometimes Thursdays and Wednesdays), I look forward to the weekend. It’s a mixed blessing though, because I don’t like waking up on Saturdays and Sundays. It’s a little tough to drag myself out of bed to get to work at 8. But on Saturdays and Sundays, when Rob’s already left for work, I find myself sleeping til 8:30, 9 or later. And feeling lazy about it.

Then I watch TiVo for a bit. And feel guilty because I’m not on the treadmill. If I could leap out of bed at 7 or even 8:30, and hop on the treadmill, I’d feel great the rest of the day. But for some reason, my body thinks that will hurt. It convinces me that it will feel good to lie there for a few more hours, which leaves me feeling sluggish.

It helps that usually, at least one of the days, I can get myself on the treadmill by noon…

Humpday

Cold and windy today. Slow week. Particularly slow morning, but I’m pepped up now that I have a veggie burger and Diet Pepsi in me.

My Secret? (she asks, not unlike the deodorant commercial the girls did during the last cycle of Top Model.) I add a splash of Cherry Pepsi to the diet drink.

If you need me, I’ll just be here, listening to classic rock and trimming split ends with an enormous pair of scissors.

Ooh, classic rock, that reminds me. While we were waiting in line to watch Frank Shamrock knock out Cesar Gracie in 21 seconds, we listened to music from a radio station van for a classic rock station called “The Bone.”

They played Pearl Jam’s “Black,” and that Stone Temple Pilots song about a conscience laden dizzy head (“Big Empty,” I just looked it up).

Classic. Rock.

According to Wikipedia, the STP song came out in 1994. I was in like, college.