Just a girl

Does anyone else wonder how Gwen Stefani is keeping her hair platinum during her pregnancy? I thought you weren’t supposed to dye your hair. Maybe straight peroxide is safe.

Does anyone else think Michelle Rodriguez is a jerk for choosing jail time over 240 hours of community service for her drunk driving arrest in Hawaii? (I don’t care if she was killed off of Lost and isn’t going to be living there anymore.)

Honeydew melon: the filler fruit

Will someone tell me why it’s easier to spend $12.50 a week on fruit cups than it is to buy a whole cantelope or pineapple and slice it?

A few weeks ago, I decided to eat better and have more fresh food at home. Two days ago I threw out the leftover black beans, corn and romaine lettuce that I couldn’t manage to finish before they started stinking up the fridge. (I like to blame the smell on Rob’s penchant for bringing home leftovers that he never eats, but this time it was primarily the fault of half a zucchini, purchased for Emerald, which had grown a nice furry white coat since the last time I looked in the crisper drawer.)

So it was established that I could not eat a single can of black beans or corn, or a bag of prewashed romaine, before the contents spoil.

I’ve been buying a seasonal fruit cup almost every day, and I always have to search for the one with a higher proportion of cantelope and pineapple to honeydew and grapes. It would make sense for me to buy my own fruit, wouldn’t it? It would be cheaper even to buy presliced fruit at the store. Maybe I’ll start doing that next week.

On the down low

What I did not widely publicize when I took my current job, is that it is not permanent. I was banking on them loving me so much that they would keep me beyond my original assignment. Which seems to be the case.

I love my job, but the process that needs to be completed before the process can begin that will secure my future is moving very slowly indeed. And there’s no guarantee the outcome will serve my purposes. So I interviewed today for another, sort of related position, that I don’t actually want because I want the job I’ve got. See? But I would take the new job rather than be unemployed. See?

And said new job, being permanent, would enable me to move ahead with my next Life Step: Buying a House. Plus, both jobs, if permanent, offer five weeks of vacation. I might as well be European.

How do you measure the last Night of the Iguana?

In daylight, in darkness, in zucchini and calcium shots…

A couple of weeks went by after I got the condolence card from the vet. I thought maybe they won’t even charge me!

But I got the bill yesterday.

$215.

$85 for the office visit, various charges for whatever they did for him during the night.
$45 for disposition.

‘Course if I had it to do over again, I’da paid more to take him to the vet regularly.

Will power like you’ve never seen

I made a conscious decision not to eat the leftover chocolate cupcakes with white frosting in the conference room. I had one yesterday; they couldn’t possibly taste better today.

I congratulated myself while walking in the rain to my 3 p.m. meeting, thinking I would blog about how strong I was. I got to my meeting, only to discover that it was catered. With brownies, lemon bars, fruit and cheese. I didn’t eat a thing, even though I had one of those brownies at an event two weeks ago, and it was magnificent.

Would have been a little embarrassing if I had loaded up a plate, as it turned out, because although I was invited, the meeting was, unbeknownst to me, a “Staff Appreciation” gathering for another department’s staff.

Am celebrating with a sugar-free pudding cup. 60 calories.

Something so random

As I was reading various Harvard Crimson and New York Times stories to find one to link to, regarding the young novelist who “internalized” another young-adult novelist’s phrasology, I wondered, “Has everything orginal been done? Is it impossible to write a teen novel without recycling passages?”

But reading further, I think the answer is No. It’s just that some schlocky book packager types have limited imaginations.

The Harvard Independent article has me believing that this young woman isn’t the young adult novel “type,” but she let the packaging company put her name and ethnic spin on a generic teen novel. (Unless she was too embarrassed to admit earlier that Megan McCafferty’s books “spoke to her.” Digression, but I received great praise for my honesty when I was on a panel in junior high and I admitted to liking Sweet Valley High books, because the younger kids seemed coached to brag about their sophisticated tastes.)

Question is, was she happy with the finished product? Had this fan of Austen, Bronte and Atwood been proud to say she authored, “How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life”?

I’m already torn

Last weekend, when I was trying to cure Emerald, I discovered an iguana adoption website. On Tuesday, after he died, I found myself on the site again, feeling guilty, but thinking it would ease the pain if I had another iguana to care for.

Just looking at pictures of other people’s iguanas made me feel better, while at the same time making me jealous.

I saw a listing for a male iguana right here in my own city, and I applied for it. Not the very same day, but the next one.

I haven’t heard back from that owner, so maybe the iguana already found a home. I’ve surfed a few other adoption sites, and haven’t found any other “perfect” iguanas. And this weekend, reading about the available iguanas made me really sad. Apparently they’re given away as carnival prizes on the east coast. And one family bought an iguana at a garage sale!

I hated being in the apartment alone, without Emerald, while Rob was at work. But today, when I looked at a couple of iguanas that are available in B.C., I wasn’t sure I could ever love another iguana.

Maybe I should get a ferret. Or a beagle.

I’ll be out of town for the next couple of weekends, so I guess we’ll see how I feel the next time I have 12 hours to kill on a weekend. If I want to drive across the border and smuggle an iguana back.

S’what I’m talking about!

“It should be observed that the Internet has become the modern equivalent of a telephone or a daily newspaper, providing a combination of communication and information that most employees use as frequently in their personal lives as for their work,” wrote Judge John Spooner.

“For this reason, city agencies permit workers to use a telephone for personal calls, so long as this does not interfere with their overall work performance. Many agencies apply the same standard to the use of the Internet for personal purposes.”

Suri with the spines on top

Do you suppose Emerald could have been reborn as Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes’ baby?

Actually, I’d prefer if he were born to Brooke Shields. At least that kid will be properly medicated.

T’oh!

Think I sprained my big toe last night in class. Kicking a dude. Barefoot. Nice way to end a swell week.

Looks like everyone’s having troubles. Dooce has concocted a culinary cure: the chocolate chip cookie peanut butter and nutella sandwich, topped with cookies and cream ice cream, M&Ms and caramel syrup. Nothing wrong with that.

Not that I condone drowning one’s troubles in food. Although I did eat a whole bunch of ice cream before class last night, and today used the 1/2 price off excuse to eat two Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs.

At the non-franchised eating place, I had to wait while my veggie burger was grilled. Another woman asked for one and the dude said they’re not making them in advance (like the meat burgers and fries that languish under the heat lamp) because not enough people buy them.

See if I care, buddy. Tastes better fresh anyway.

Waiting gave me a chance to observe some more strange dining habits of college students. (I’ve mentioned the breadsticks thing before).

One guy had a soft pretzel with cheese, and came over to the grill to get a side of fries with that.

Another dude asked if they had onion rings. (No.) Waffle fries? (No.) Guess regular fries don’t cut it for him. He got a side of chicken strips to go with his slice of pizza.