Monday, August 29, 2011

Cheddar Asian Tiger

It is a comfort food kind of day. But only since I couldn't go punch things.

I'm not currently beating the shit out of some padding at the moment because I am a klutz. Hurrying down the BART station steps in my excitement to be going home at an early time of day (I'd gone into work at way-too-early 6 a.m.), I stumbled down the last few, losing both my shoes, twisting and scraping up both my ankles, and slamming my heel bone down hard on the steel and concrete. Of course, I also looked like an ass in front of a few dozen commuters, but my bruised ego is the least of my worries.

So yes, comfort food. I'm making Alton Brown's Baked Macaroni and Cheese, only I'm using Quinoa Corn pasta, and I didn't have enough cheddar alone so I threw in a bunch of shredded 3-cheese blend that I happened to have on-hand. Topped with the rest of the sauteed onions from this weekend, and we have a dinner.

Fret not, friends: I am icing the bejeezus out of everything podiatral, and hopefully will be fine to work out tomorrow and beyond. Seriously, I need it, both to relieve some built up disappointment and also to get myself looking a bit more svelte for the upcoming NYC trip. (The dream: make the owner of the TARDIS bar fall madly in love with me, and never come back. The reality: just have more room in my pants for lots of eating and drinking.) I should be nothing but jazzed — almost everything is falling into place like a charm — but I'm starting to suspect that I can't go on a vacation these days without somehow incurring some sort of bodily injury to myself. It makes me a little afraid. Please, gods, leave my back out of this one.

Does wine count as comfort food, too? Signs point to Yes.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Urban Daring

I'm somewhat drunk, I'm happy, and I walked the last two blocks home barefoot. Oooh, yeah, I'm an exciting woman, am I.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Twelve. Reset the Counter.

I've felt cooler and sexier the past week than I think I've felt in a long time. An increase in alcoholic intake may or may not have something to do with it.

I will also blame an increase in time spent with friends — I saw both Jeremy and Laura during the week, though unfortunately not together (hopefully to be remedied this coming week?), as well as getting the chance to help Claire celebrate her American citizenship. And, more directly, I can attribute the feeling to seeing more live music this week than I have in a long time. I got to be a minor groupie Saturday afternoon/evening, and felt utterly awesome for it.

The groupie thing led to dinner, which led to drinking, which led to a discussion of a project that actually has my interest piqued. I hope it honestly had his piqued, too. We shall see, and at least it's something else to look forward to, on top of everything else September has in store for me.

At any rate, there was a column on the Huffington Post recently (someone on Facebook linked to it, I'm terribly not a regular Huff-Po reader my self) about the disappearance of the "tough girl". And of course, as a woman who knits, cooks and takes Krav Maga, I took a bit of offense (as did pretty much all the commenters). I do think that there has been a shift back towards the home in terms of redefining womanhood, but considering that the home is still the basic unit of what communities and nations are composed of, that's not necessarily a bad thing.

But on top of that, I think Ms. Aloi, the columnist, misses an important point: women (and we're talking about Western First World women, of course) aren't the only ones "losing their toughness", if they are even doing such a thing. In fact, they'd be losing it far less rapidly than their male counterparts. Men can cry now, and that's all dandy, but I get the impression more and more than it also gives men an incentive to keep feeling entitled to being taken care of by society and other people. He goes out to restaurants more because that means he doesn't have to learn how to cook for himself. He doesn't have to be macho anymore, which means he can let his beard grow out and develop the watery lank musculature of the walking-not-working man. He can have an entire wardrobe of t-shirts with 80s cartoon characters on them. Taking care of himself involves paying someone else to launder his Nordstrom Rack purchases, having a maid over to clean his apartment once a week, and keeping his mustache trimmed all by himself. Violence is a big no-no, and guns are scary and should be banned. Don't forget to admire the new electronic toy he just bought, it comes in pretty colors.

Yes, women are going along the same route. But why not talk about the supposedly-true toughies, the men, doing this, before we bemoan the death of G.I. Jane?

By the way, yes I know I'm criticizing really only one group of men. But Ms. Aloi's article seems to really only be criticizing that same group of women.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Like Tears in the Rain

The hormones are hitting me hard this month. It's been a roller coaster of a day, emotionally.

Protestors ruined my evening commute. (I hope every one of those fucknuts gets testicular cancer.) I couldn't even get home without either making the 50-minute walk to Castro station or crowd onto the F train with all the other people trying to get home, so I hopped on the 3 Jackson bus instead and went straight to my ceramics class in my work clothes (I fucking wanted to knife the guy sitting next to me, who obviously had testicles the size of a football seeing how wide he needed to keep his legs spread into my seat). I hate having to wear my work clothes to ceramics, and I hate even more not having my car with me to get me home afterwards on a convenient schedule, since we pretty much always go out to eat after class.

Bad enough that I agreed to work a later shift (by an hour) for the rest of the year's Mondays, so my entire eating and functioning schedule was throw off.

So I was feeling a little bit of anger today. There might have been some over-enthusiastic venting on my part about dickheads who think they're making a statement by ruining other people's routines. Eventually I calmed down enough to finish my latest monster (not sure on a name for him yet) and hold a normal, less angry conversation. I will say, though, it felt really good to hit up Roadside afterwards and tear my fangs into a few ribs. Really good.

Even the ride home wasn't as bad as I had expected. I made my transfer by two minutes, meaning I got home 20 minutes sooner than expected. Things were looking up.

Now I've got some important decisions coming up:

Do I want to spend the money to make a weekend trip to NYC next month, for Benny's birthday?

Do I want to spend a couple days working out of my company's NY office while I'm there?

What do I want to buy my nephew for his birthday?

And, more immediately, how do I want to reply to the message I just found in my inbox from my ex?

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Auntie: Up

Drinking Fountain Toilet
I was thirsty.

So, off a comment on a picture friend Buhler posted to Google Plus, I inspired myself into yanking some of my parents' backyard produce, and being productive with it.

Zucchini Bread

I have a lot of zucchini bread now. Most of it is in muffin format, bagged and tossed into the freezer for at least a month of future breakfasts. One giant zucchini produced two dozen muffins and a loaf. Not bad for elephantitis of summer squash.

Also gathered from Suburban Eden were some tomatoes
Tomato Sauce
and some peppers, which I combined with some thai peppers I'd bought from the Farmer's Market to make into "napalm" jam.
Thai Pepper Jam

Haven't figured out yet what to do with the eggplant. Maybe baba ganoush?

On top of all this kitcheny productivity, I also spent pretty much the entire weekend in the presence of small children. Yesterday I was Favorite Auntie Sarah to the World's Cutest Nephew, and together we learned how to lick Play-Doh and steal chocolate.


No, you cannot resist his cuteness. Don't even try to.

Today I was Favorite Auntie Eapa to my friend's son. The family invited me to join them at the Exploratorium. I haven't been there in probably fifteen years. And just goes to show how much of a geek I am in that I completely had a blast. And got a little thirsty, as you can tell from the picture up top.

Hadn't really thought about this until I was actually walking down the hill from where the 24 dumped me off, but it has been years and years since I was last in that part of town. I'd forgotten how beautiful the Palace of Fine Arts is.

Palace of Fine Arts

Palace of Fine Arts

Palace of Fine Arts

I'll have to revisit on a nicer day, such as when it isn't summer here in SF.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

August Tidbits

I came home today really grouchy. I wasn't that way when I left work, though maybe it has something to do with the fact that I didn't go to Krav today — my wrist has been feeling weak and a little sore lately, figured it would be good to give it a break — or I ate too many carbs at the afternoon crew birthday party. Usually I'm more or less zen about stupid people being assholes on public transit. Being a regular MUNI rider kind of requires it. But over the course of the commute home I felt more and more like knocking the shit out of the people around me. Especially the oblivious chubby teenager that couldn't stand still and kept swinging around so that his ginormous backpack kept nudging against my back and shoulder. Fucker.

When I'm home before 7 I try to pretend I'm going to be semi-productive. Maybe do a few dishes, wipe down the mess from making lunch in the morning. Instead today I just stripped down naked, hopped into bed and took a two-and-a-half-hour nap. Not sure yet if that soothed anything, since now I'm just fuzzy and dehydrated.

On the subject of grumpy (sort of): One of the bloggers I regularly read actually discussed OkCupid in one of her posts, and made a good point. "The guys prefer to make the first move. If the female makes first contact the female gets sent to the death star." Thinking back, I have to concede she is correct: in all the online dating I've done this year, not once have I actually gone on a date with a guy I contacted first. Not once. Usually I don't even get a response, or if I do it's pretty noncommittal and monosyllabic. Really, then, what's the point of my even trolling through the men and messaging them in the first place, if those end up being the ones that I definitely will not be seeing over drinks or coffee? Might as well just go to the bar every night (in my Other Purposes shoes?) and take my chances.

On the subject of going out: I was, for once, reminded in advance that the International Pop Overthrow comes to town once a year. I may try to attend one of the shows. Interestingly, I know two of the bands already (of course, they are playing on separate nights), both of which I saw with Sweetness back in 2004 just before he dumped me. Still, I like Hotel Utah, it's been a while since I was last there. Anyone want to join me? I'm thinking of hitting up the Thursday and Saturday shows.

Also on the subject of going out: Cute Guy™ mentioned going blues dancing of a Monday night. He promised that there were single men, which of course immediately caught my interest. It's late enough that I could do ceramics class and still make it. I am tempted, though it's been a long time since I did any type of partner-involved dancing. I will have to look up the two-step again, to remind myself how it goes.

Getting back to the subject of MUNI: I feel like the advertising on buses really shows how poorly most marketing types are at keeping up with modern casual conversation. But I have to wonder if anyone is socially awkward enough to actually look to bus ads as a guide for expected human interaction. For instance: GrubHub has an ad for their mobile app (so you can presumably order dinner on your commute home and get there as it arrives ... assuming that MUNI isn't having another meltdown), and the one character in the ad is announcing to the other that he has successfully ordered pizza, and adds "Up top!". Does anyone actually say that any more? That ad always just reminds me of the guy I made out with seven years ago who was a high-fiver. As in he would want to give a high five every time something happened or I said something that he deemed was awesome. I don't remember that guy's name, but I do remember his high fives. That's something, I suppose. Maybe he's saying "Up Top!" now instead of "High Five!" Maybe I should hope I've become choosier about the guys I make out with.

On the subject of awkward: Am I getting more so lately? Or was I always like this?

On the subject of like: The Creme Brulée Cart is my hero.