Sexy vs Snuggly for Halloween

Halloween is fast approaching, meaning the frenzied search for the perfectly costume is officially in full effect. As a girl in Oregon, this often means deciding between how comfortable you want to be versus how sexy you want to appear. It is no secret that a young woman’s Halloween is often nothing more than an excuse to wear 2 square inches of fabric as a costume, praying you stay warm while you simultaneously pretend to put out flames as a sexy fire firefighter. To quote Mean Girls, “Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and do other girls can say anything about it.”

This year, I plan to take a different approach. Perusing Halloween costume patters the other day, I came across the most amazing, ridiculous looking outfits for adults. Maybe it was the corny posing of the models, or perhaps my boyfriend’s shared exuberance to make fools of ourselves. It might even be the fact that I essentially get to wear pajamas to a party while everyone else is sporting the cheap, flimsy fabric you find in most costumes. Regardless, I am embarking on a sewing mission this afternoon to make these stupendous costumes a reality. Wish me luck!

     

The Little Things and Microwaves

Everyone always talks about the “little things” worth living for, the “little things” that make you happy. But what about the “little things” that just piss you the hell off? What about those seemingly insignificant moments, ticks, behaviors that, for some reason, just drive you up the wall? As amazing as it is what simple things can make people (myself included) happy, the most abstract occurrances can easily send them in the other direction. One of my top offenders: the microwave.

Now understand, I love microwaves. They heat up delicious Thanksgiving leftovers. They provide me a fast track to my hot cocoa fix. But, don’t push the reset button and it’s a whole different story. Ask anyone in my family and they will confirm that the microwave in my parent’s house almost always showed the correct time on its little digital clock. Why? Because after each person finished re-heating their respective food or drink, pulling the newly warmed delectable from the microwave with just a second left (let’s be honest, the beeping timer at the end gets real old, real fast) I would be there within the minute to make sure the reset button had been pushed to clear the leftover time. Maybe it would not have been such a big deal had there been another functioning clock in the room. Maybe I can just be a little anal, but nothing used to infuriate me more than looking at the microwave to see what time it was, only to be faced with a lone “1” in the digital window. It was like the appliance was flipping me off! I just could not stand it!

I realize this confession places me in the category of slightly insane, but truly, everyone has their own little tick. It all comes down to whether you are crazy enough to fess up to it (which clearly, I am). So what about you? Are you just crazy enough to tell me? What is your “little thing”?

Is this really better than Anthrax?

As I have mentioned before, I don’t exactly live or work in the nicest part of town. There are crazies on the MAX, homeless on the streets, and piss on the sidewalks. So it should come as no surprise that a certain individual near my office has taken it upon himself to add to the delirium

Perhaps he is unstable. Maybe it’s a fetish. There is also the slight chance that he simply hates the US postal service. Regardless of the reason, this particular creature decided to make a very public “genetic deposit” (as my coworker put it) into the curbside mailbox across the street from my work building. And the scary reality is, he can’t possibly be the ONLY one.

So now, my heart goes out, both to the postal workers who have to deal with this sort of craziness on a regular basis, as well as the two poor little curbside mailboxes in the area that had to be removed. All that remains are some sad little bolts on the sidewalk. And all I can think is: What is gonna happen next? Oh P-Town

 

Temperamental Tastebuds

I never really grew up as a picky eater. Sure, I, like most kids, fought with my parents when a few choice vegetable were placed on my place (still not a fan of green beans), but for the most part I was pretty good about clearing my place. Spinach: yum, steak: yes please, broccoli casserole: delicious, corn: haiyoooo! However, I now find myself dating someone who, while still not necessarily picky, has a few idiosyncrasies when it comes to food. This is my food challenge and I hope one day to ease him into a love of a few more tasty treats.

1. Cheese – He likes cheese only half the time. Bring him a plate of fine brie and gouda with crackers and wine to boot and he will assuredly decline. Heat that cheese up on a disk of dough with some pepperoni on top and it will be gone before you know it. The only exception to this rule, as far as I have found, is mozzarella. Ironically, you mostly find this cheese melted and gooey on top of a hot italian dish anyway.

2. Fish – Growing up in the Northwest I love, love, LOVE my fish. I have been eating more than my fair share of delicious chinook salmon since I was little, not to mention the occasional treat of backyard bbq oysters, a few rare meals of lobsters, and pretty much every other fish or shellfish I have been able to try. NOT from the Northwest, my significant other HATES seafood. I guess scarring childhood experiences have made him believe that all fish is inevitably gross and “fishy.”  “Not here!” I try to tell him. “We have wonderful seafood here!” But alas, I think I may be too late to help him understand the joys of a wonderfully made cioppino or delicious grilled clam.

3. Coffee – Now, this one really gets me as I was recently able to trick the BF into digesting a little coffee without his knowledge, and he LOVED it. I think what scared him the most is the bitterness of a dark bold roast, which is (of course) what I prefer. Being privy to such a flavor around me, he won’t even try the glorified, liquified desserts known as coffee drinks (caramel macchiato, anyone?), no matter now sweet I tell him they are. Then, the other day, I snuck a bit of coffee ground directly into a batch of chocolate chip cookies I was baking and let him try one, not telling him my secret ingredient. He thought they were amazing, said he couldn’t even taste the coffee (which I wonder about because I could). Nevertheless, it made me feel like I had at least made some headway on his unique pickiness.

Despite all his protests, I sometimes find myself thinking… maybe, someday, we will be able to sit down to a meal of smoked salmon and brie, followed by a lovely warm and foamy cappuccino the next morning…. maybe not.