Craving - an intense, urgent, or abnormal desire or longing

tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

What's happening? Do I need a cigarette? I feel like I do.

tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

I can't stop fidgeting or moving. I'll try something salty. Make popcorn. Doesn't help.

tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

I keep doing this to my chin, tapping my knuckle against it. I was fine a second ago...chocolate. I need chocolate. I feel stupid for falling into this girlie trope but maybe if I just get a little chocolate I'll calm down. One thing though. I despise chocolate therefore never keep any around the house. I check again and again, maybe I hid some somewhere for such emergencies. I zip in and out of the kitchen like a crack addict. I open the freezer and see a pint of something called buckeye blitz Nick's friend brought over during the Michigan game.

Me: Do you mind if I have a little bit of this? I feel like I might slit someones throat if I don't get chocolate.
Nick: Ummm...
Casey's eyes slightly widen but he keeps a level voice: I think you really only have one option here.
Nick: No, I kind of want to have fun with this.
Casey: I mean it comes down to either you or me.
Me to Nick: Yeah and you already wrote your rent check...

The two of them debate this for a bit longer while I in turn go for fuck it and take one scoop of the ice cream. Eating it is what I imagine great sex to be like. I feel bad. I try to keep 'girl crazy' to a minimum but tonight it boiled over.

Nick: I'm just worried because the last time you craved chocolate was when we were in Lima then the next day you were a total bitch and explained to me what was going on.
Me: No, it's too soon for that. (I mock whisper to Casey) I think I might be pregnant.

Later still I sit at the table with Nick-
Me: It can't be that time, right?
Nick exasperated: I don't keep track of your cycles.
We then both laugh until tears are in our eyes.

Replacement - The act or process of replacing or of being replaced; substitution.

In place of a real Thanksgiving I participated in Nick's second family one on Sunday. Walking on the wild side, I decided to take a crack at cooking something real and thanksgiving-y so I went for scalloped potatoes.

Now we must note that real cooking turned into me grabbing two boxes of dehydrated potatoes (because my mom told me I wouldn't have the patience to scallop real potatoes). However I defend that I actually did cook because I added butter, water, and milk...well almost.

After turning on the oven and pulling out the casserole dish I received last year in an assortment of cooking ware, (my exact thought: When the frak am I going to use this) I empty out the contents into a bowl and begin to boil water opting to do so in a sauce pan and not a microwave as I always seem to burn myself with boiled microwave water, it loves to bubble up and out over the Pyrex glass and make my skin bubble like the wafflecone irons did at the Cold Stone that served as my first job.

So I add the powder, dehydrated potatoes, and large slab of butter to a mixing bowl, then realize I should just start this off in the casserole dish cause the sauce might not transfer well. I transfer the dry contents over to the dish. After the water has come to a steady boil I slowly pour the contents into the dish. Next instruction: whisk. Okay, I can do that, it used to be one of my jobs in the kitchen when I was small. I still do it with eggs today.

Whisk whisk whisk until the butter is melted.

By this time the oven has started to heat up and I place the concoction on the rack.

The house stove and I have a love/hate relationship. I love it because it is gas and I haven't gotten to use a gas stove since I lived back home in San Diego. I am totally one of those snobs who thinks gas stoves cook better. I hate it because the internal thermometer in the oven does not regulate temperature therefore so it goes straight to broil no matter what temp you set it at. It leads to a complex dance of constantly checking temperature, turning the oven on and off, opening the door to let it cool off. Once I had to watch it for just five minutes while Casey ran to the store.

So I can't leave the kitchen, I decide to clean out the fridge which can accumulate a lot of crap with four people living here. During this time I throw away some old milk, a brown head of lettuce, bad dressing, and five jars of moldy pasta sauce. It clears out a lot of room in the fridge which is good as we'll surly be having some leftovers after tonight. As I'm consolidating I notice that I bought milk at the store this morning.

My internal monologue goes something like this:
'Milk? Why? I never drink it and usually just thieve some for the two drops I use when I have cereal once a month. Why would I buy-Ah CRAP!'

I check the back of the Betty Crocker box, just to be sure; add 2/3 cup of milk.
Piss and vinegar.
The stuff has already been in the oven for ten minutes, I pull it out and to my own astonishment blindly measure out a little over 1 1/3 cups of milk for the double recipe. Stir it in best I can and place it back into the oven. I hope this works...

I keep a close eye on the project and after 25 minutes hear the timer go off and pull my albeit slightly botched project out. Once I set it on the stove top I notice a black looking bubble of death has begun to form over the top of the casserole dish. It looks like a burnt marshmallow. I remember scalloped potatoes should be slightly golden brown but this just looks plain unnatural.
 I take a toothpick and pop it with much delight then drag it off the top. I cover it and crack open a beer to celebrate.
Peoples begin to arrive, Joanna cuts the turkey, Brandon shows up with a bota box of wine, and folks begin to eat. I take a tentative bite of the potatoes, they taste just fine. Just like when mom made them.

Later, Brandon, Casey, Casey's sister, and I sit picnic style in the kitchen drinking boxed wine and having thanksgiving. Casey and I discuss for maybe the millionth time how we need to talk to the landlord about getting our dryer and oven fixed. I love to bake and haven't done laundry in a few weeks, I'm inclined to agree.

Even later, whoever is left at the party has begun playing apples to apples. During the game our landlord magically appears with air filters. I, admittedly a bit wine drunk, approach him to inquire about the dryer and stove. He starts looking at it right then! Yayyy! About halfway through writing this blathering post I hear our landlord once again re-enter. He is installing a new stove as I type. Words cannot describe the feelings I'm experiencing. All five of my readers will have to come over for some baked goods. Even the ones in Denmark.

All in all, last night may have been one of the better, if not the best Thanksgiving I've ever been apart of.


Done - Finished

After two and a half days off from work, I am officially bored to an epic level.
I've tried playing Final Fantasy. I've tried cleaning. I've tried reading. Nothing is working.
I'm this close to summoning Jareth.


Squirming - Wriggle or twist the body from side to side

I won't go into the dirty details, suffice to say I had a rough night of work. A small intermission of happiness occurred when I had dinner with a friend who just passed the bar exam but afterwards I spent a half hour curled up in the corner of my truck cab talking with my boss on the phone and trying to keep it together.

Upon arriving in my room, having no computer, I decided sleeping ten hours might be a good choice and proceeded to do so. I awoke at seven am to two picture messages from my boss containing reviews that had arrived from other schools evaluating my programs. The messages read:
"The best presenter we have ever had."
"Perfect presenter for elementary kids."
Waking up to that kind of awesome forces me to take a whole new perspective on this situation, I need to look at this as a challenge, not a day to simply put up with.

Hence, this morning I figured out how to pump myself up:
1) Coffee
2) Repeating Jessica's Daily Affirmation to myself
3) Playing Mika way too loud
4) Listening to Patton Oswalt's D&D Drawf songs about zombies

"Zombie ***** are very cold and their ass is full of vermin, but they don't have to breath, so their ******** leave you squirming."

Today I found it takes very little to make me happy.


Thanksgiving - a public acknowledgment or celebration of divine goodness

Holidays are upon us. Mom told me, "It's okay if you don't come down for Thanksgiving," which in mom means, "I don't want to cook," which is fine. We see each other all the time. Though further thought makes me realize it will be my first time by myself. Hmm. I guess I'll do laundry.

Like everyone, there are things I dislike about the holidays:
Christmas music that plays before Thanksgiving day.
Decorations appearing before Halloween.
Thanksgiving not getting its due justice.

But one thing above all others I can love. One thing I wouldn't mind being around all year, and that's holiday cups. I'm thankful for holiday cups! They can brighten up even my dourest morning.


Shadowy - Full of shadows

*Note: This actually happened to my very good friend who recently moved to NYC.*
Me at Forbidden Planet today: "Look! Doctor Who stuff! Hey, they have sonic screwdrivers!"
My friend (who also likes sci-fi nerdy things but is more into Star Trek): "Why do they look different?"
Me: "They are from different Doctors. This one is the eleventh doctor's, and this one is the tenth doctor's, and this one is the third!"
My friend: *fierce judgment* "Umm... how do you know that?"
Me (defensively): "It's on the boxes!! It says it on the boxes! I didn't just *know* that!"
[awkward pause]
"Although I may have known that by looking if it didn't say, at least for eleven and ten."
My friend: *sad judgment*

It's been radio silence lately. My week has been decisively un-nerdy and stupidly busy. All I've done is worked then I've been so tired from said work when I get home I immediately sit on my couch and catch up on movies I've been missing out on. For quick reviews in ten words or less,
RED: Boring, though Helen Mirren is still smoking hot.
Social Network: Better than expected, excited to see Andrew Garfield as Spiderman.
Some Kind of Wonderful: Eric Stoltz is beautiful. Pretty in Pink with a better ending.
Toy Story 3: Still makes me miss my childhood. Monkeys are scary.

This is literally the only cool thing that happened to me this week. Here I am, driving home from work, talking to Joe on the phone. I need to change lanes, I put my signal on and check my blind spot. Oh wait, where did that car come from? Why is it purple? In my blind spot is an 80's PURPLE Lincoln, just like in the Batman movie circa 1989 Tim Burton version!

I have this feeling of unease. I keep seeing things in my periphery that aren't really there. Driving has become erratic. Conversations I'm convinced happened turn out to be an invention of my dreams. Unnerving. Days past I would have fancied myself at the start of my own personal adventure story, playing the main character who is in a slight rut but mostly happy, then my world is turned upside down by a shadowy figure. That delusion is almost preferable to this anxiety.



"Alright, another example of a contact force is friction. In order to show you this I want everyone to take there hands and clasp them together like this. Now I want you to rub your hands back and forth like a mad scientist. Muahahaha!"

I awoke at six am today for a show at seven, so obviously my insomnia decided to make a full comeback last night. My brain and body do the most absurd things during this time. As I am about to fall back to sleep I suddenly get an itch on the crown of my head or my knuckles need to be cracked. At the exact moment between sleep and wakefulness I get hypnic jerks in my legs or arms and think I'm about to fall off my bed. This time my brain decided to randomly go over the chronology of various Jackass shows and what order they aired in. It's 2:48am, I know if I turn on a light to read I'm doomed. So my mind remains in this insipid place; thinking about Johnny Knoxville.


I feel like a star should shoot over my head

Toward the end of the day a kid approaches me. He is somehow short yet incredibly lanky at the same time; he wears a green striped zip up and black jeans which would be an excellent outfit if he were only allowed to wear a newsboy hat with it. But alas, that don't allow hats in school anymore.

He asks me, "Do I have to make slime?"
"You don't want to?"
"Not really, I mean I know I should want to cause everyone else wants to, but I'd rather just spend more time at the other tables."
"That's fine. I just want to make sure everyone gets a chance, you don't have to if you don't want to."
"You're not going to make me?"
"No way dude, just cause everyone else wants to do something doesn't mean you have to too. That's your prerogative."
"Oh. Okay."
"Cool. Up top!"
We high five. He runs off. I wash my hands.



*While waiting for The Soup to start and watching a commercial for Kendra*
Kyle: You know Kendra was two years ahead of me in high school? She went to Clairemont; my 'rival' high school..
Nick: How are you not a whore?
Kyle: I'm in it to win it!
Nick: Which shows why you are drinking in your house with a gay man on a Friday night.
*cue the trumpet*

Arts & Crafts

My job is a lonely life. When I’m on the road I usually go restaurants and turn into those business people eating alone I used to feel sorry for. Last night though, I was able to eat dinner with Joe whom was in the same area as me.

We went to a steakhouse nearby holding a shiny coupon from my hotel that entitled us to a free appetizer. As we sit down and unroll our napkins I notice the silverware. “Fun fact, this silverware is designed in the style of Arts & Crafts. The little pings and imperfections on the handles were kept as a way to show the craftsmanship as a counter movement to assembly line furniture at the turn of the 20th century.”

Joe just stares at me.



I awake this morning with blood coming out of my nose and just know it’s going to be a great day. I’ve lived in Ohio for five years now and haven’t had bloody noses since high school. Why now? I’ve grown accustomed to living a normal nose bleed free life. After twenty minutes trying to stop the bleed I brush my teeth and suddenly feel a cough coming on, in place of what I expect I get a sizeable clot of blood. It’s going to be a fantastic day.

I’m going to need some coffee. Hotel coffee: no good. Once I’ve finished packing up I exit the hotel and hop into my truck, turn on my GPS and glance at my arrival time. 8:45. Fantastic, I have plenty of time to get coffee. The closest place is a Starbucks inside of a Target to which I venture.

Once inside I stand behind a balding man with a golf windbreaker and an older woman holding a humidifier. The barista, an impossibly skinny boy named Clayton, is having some trouble with the regular coffee dispenser and spends some time fiddling with that. No matter to me, I have all the time in the world. After the meek looking teen gets the man his coffee and latte I assume the two will move on and enjoy their coffee elsewhere. Oh not so quick, it seems this man forgot to order two more large black coffees. The boy interjects, “You mean Venti’s?” Oh Christ, this fucking argument. Just get the stupid twit his coffee so I can get mine, but no these two spend the next 48 seconds back and forth on coffee sizes. This argument has been played out; it’s been played out since 2002. Stop it. Finally the man pays and grabs his tray looks to his lady friends and states, “It was nice to meet you.” What? You’re not together? Why were you standing that close to each others personal bubbles? “I’ll have two tall vanilla lattes.” At least this woman isn’t trying to fight the sad fight against Starbucks sizing. Referring to her humidifier, “And I’ll be taking this out to my car, I’ll be right back to get my coffees.”

Finally it’s my turn to order, I rattle it off quickly and efficiently, have my card ready. I’ll be out of here soon. I turn around to find in this space of time four other people have accumulated behind me. This poor lone barista, shouldn’t you be in high school learning about hormones?

Another man approaches simultaneously talking in his blue tooth while ordering. I hate people who stay on the phone at registers, I disliked it when I worked a register, I still do. He orders a beverage the barista has obviously never heard of and the man makes an annoyed grunt slash sigh as he explains it. “It’s steamed milk, with caramel mixed it.”


After this exchange I expect him to get to my drink, but no, he hasn’t even made the lady’s vanilla lattes yet. He is so flustered, so very poor at multitasking. He steams the milk for each drink separately and is oh so meticulous about how he puts lids on while asking if the lady needs holders or plugs. This poor kid is trying so hard to be good and these people are giving him mean looks and huffing, leaving the line and coming back. I want to give this kid a hug. A hug and some help.

Meanwhile 15 minutes have gone by since I first stepped foot in this Target. In my mind’s eye I see the arrival time on my GPS ticking up and up…losing time and making me later and later. It’s so stressful to be told exactly when you will arrive somewhere; I know I will be late even before I try.

At last a lady arrives to help this child with his register so he can make drinks. However he has now lost his place and must read each of his individual chicken scratches to figure out what to make next. I now begin to believe I may never get my precious caffeine and that I will die in this line, just waste away to nothing while I wait. By the time they call my drink I will no longer be here, I will just be a pile of dust and rat droppings, having died with no caffeine in my system and the last thing I tasted will be a glob of blood.

Suddenly I get pulled out of my dark fantasy as my drink is called, 'I will be nice to this boy', I think to myself. “Thanks so much, have a great day!” I grab it and flee to the truck.


Dreams and Extremes

I'm photographing a children's race when suddenly a class of five year olds burst in the room chased by a flock of penguins. They proceeded to rehearse a choreographed dance then played patty cake and built castles with play doh.

I also have a waking dream (where I'm awake but not quite all the way) where an extension cord transforms into a sixteen foot snake and chases me. Later that day while watching The Walking Dead there is a commercial with a large reticulated python slithering all over a woman trying to sell juice, it is the only point during the night I close my eyes.

Amongst a leftover feast my mom and Rachel's mom place out I take a scoop of potato salad and place it on my plate. My mothers eyes turn into little black beads her brow raises quizzically and she says, "Wait, you hate mayonnaise. Since when have you eaten potato salad?" I look at her and quietly take a bite of the concoction, her head proceeds to explode and little bits of her brain land on my plate. Well I DID like potato salad (I bet you did too).

While Rachel's fiancee Steve plays a Wii hunting game I say: "Where is the sport in hunting a squirrel? That's like a senior in high school beating up someone in kindergarten."

Me (in basement): MOM! Do you know where my Dragonlance books went?
Steve: WHAT? Kyle next you'll be looking for your Magic cards.
Me (still in basement): No, I already looked for those. Can't find them anywhere-

Rachel: What was it I said to you at City Walk?
Me: "You're going to need to learn to tolerate men if you ever want to get one?"
Rachel: Yeah! Because this guy comes over to us; and Kyle can never hide her judgement on her face.
Me: That guy called me a triple lesbian.
Rachel: She looks over her glasses at people, yeah, like she's doing to me right now, she raises her eyebrow and looks at people like that.
Okay maybe a little.. but that guy was a drunky drunk drunk.
And all he talked about was how he was in a band and was going to be drummer for The Black Keys and how he was from Massachusetts. For an hour. Over and over and over again.

After getting home from moms, all I want to do is put on flannels but Casey tempts me out with The Walking Dead on a movie screen. As we enter and sit:
Patrick: Everyone, fellow nerds Casey and Kyle.
Casey: Wow. You just came out and said it.
Patrick: What, did you think you were fooling anyone when you walked in here?

During the second commercial break a Dr. Joyce Brothers commercial for life alert comes on and Casey shouts: "AIM FOR THE HEAD!" I silently giggle throughout the rest of the episode.

To be fair, she does look terrifying.


Current temp: 33°F

"I was suprised you did so well, Mills and I thought you would blow long before that. You like your alone time, you're not a super girly girl, if you're not in the mood to do something or don't like something you can't put a fake smile on your face and bare it. That's just who you are."

Even after almost a year apart, my cousin can still summize my character in a few sentences.

In other news, it's freezing here.


No blue Monday in your Sunday clothes

If I could pull it off I would wear dresses and stockings everyday. I love dressing up for work, heck I like dressing nicely in general. I wish it was a requirement that every month the general populous had to be classy and dress in period clothing. The period would change every month. Empire one month, Edwardian another, but nothing past the 1940's. I wish guys still wore bowlers everyday, that and three piece suits.
Pajama pants are almost considered acceptable outerwear nowadays yet it's almost impossible for me to find a decent vest. Does that seem right to you?


I knew there was a reason I couldn't do this today!

This is also what I do with a whole day off. That is, watching the first three discs of Community with commentary.


Fellow co-worker and nerd Elaine is getting married this weekend. This means people are coming to town which means I'll have four people staying in my house this weekend and that means: CLEAN THE HOUSE.
I love hardwood floors. Something about them makes me feel classy and old timey. Also the creaky floors make it easy for me to know where people are at all times which pleases my creepy dark side.

One downfall of hardwood, the dust and hair that accumulates overtime, not even overtime, over one frakkin day. This is just from the stairs. Gross.

I used to hate cleaning. Now its something that I do to almost relieve stress or something to do when I'm bored or need to occupy my hands. It has results you can really see. It may have something to do with the fact that around wintertime every year I hate going outside and this deep seeded desire to become a housewife emerges out of me, where I get to wear 50's inspired dresses and yellow cleaning gloves and vacuum with high heels on. The small iota of feminist that resides somewhere inside screams but I secretly love the idea. The idea of baking and knitting all day turns me on a little. Getting a part time job in a small coffee/bookshop.

Though I know if it was really like that for me, I'd hate it.


Pot have you met Kettle?

Setting up for a Science of Harry Potter program this morning, two guys, and me:

Me: Oh what, did Nick tell you how we got the piss scared out of us at 2am this morning?
J: No, he did tell me you called him a nerd for starting to watch Doctor Who then went into the kitchen to play Dungeons and Dragons.
Me: It's D&D Gamma World. Get it right.

Some people say I've done alright for a girl

My memory has been very touch and go lately.

Today I forgot how to spell the name of a childhood friend. She had an uncommon name, like me, though this is not why we became friends. The first day of pre school being cripplingly terrifying, like most children left alone for the first time, I cry. She approaches, we become best friends, we stay that way until I move away. End of story. It made me very sad to forget her name. I tried google stalking her but to no avail, my internet stalking talent only extends to the walls of the facebook kingdom. I wonder if we'd be friends if we met today and not our first day of preschool. I want to know if her grandma is still alive.

In spite of this lapse I can still recite nearly every line from 30 Rock and Community episodes. I can remember obscure facts about costume and architectural periods. I remember tons of random phone numbers but can't recall who they call. I know songs but can never identify the artist who sings it.

I do remember when we were little, we'd play in her front yard. Pretend to be in what was probably a 19th century London workhouse with a cruel overseer. We'd spend our time escaping work and instead would save snails from the overseer by throwing them over her fence. I was a strange child. Still am.


Nothing like getting the old blood pumping round 2 in the morning. I feel how my mom must have felt awaking to every early morn asthma attack.