Recipe for a family.

One of the missions my brother charged me with while I'm up at mom's is to find our dad's chili recipe. This has been no easy task. Both yesterday and a good portion of today has been spent searching through cabinets, boxes, and trunks for old recipe books and boxes. And then proceeding to sift through these books page by page due to the fact that my family likes to simply stuff recipes into books just willy-nilly.

My mom and I were sitting at the dining room table earlier today doing just this when I commented on my own recipe organization. I print out recipes on their own 8 1/2" x 11" sheet of paper, insert it in a plastic sleeve and then keep these sleeves in 3-ring binders. I have different binders for different things. Sweets (which is my most full binder), entrees, specialty drinks, and so on. My mom seemed rather impressed by this.

"Well," she started, "since you're so organized with this is sounds like its time for you to start a family."

Ummm... What?!?!? So I pressed the issue. "Umm, how does me having good recipe organization equate to me needing to start a family?"

"Well, it just says that you're at a point in your life that you're ready for the next step."

"And the next step, of course, is for me to start a family?" I inquire.

"Yes," she said simply and continued sorting through recipe after recipe.

Ummm.... well.... ok...?

It's a good thing she's pretty.

My mom's cat is a bitch. A cute, loving, demanding little bitch.

When I arose this morning to make my mom her breakfast, it wasn't long until her loving little Hop-a-Long (the cat only has three legs) came to join me in the kitchen. At first she sat quietly by my feet as I cut up a cantaloupe. When I didn't realize that this meant she needed to be fed, she made her displeasure known rather loudly. Fine, alright. Cat's like to meow when they want something. No big deal.

After eating her fill (which was really only about two bites) she ran over to the basement door and started scratching to her hearts content. "I want to play in the basement," her eyes said to me. Fine. I'll open the basement door for you. She ran down the stairs and I could hear her just tearing around down there. For only having three legs, this little fireball sure does get around.

At some point, she quietly reentered the kitchen and went about trying to look out the floor length windows that overlooked the backyard. She was thwarted, however, by the fact that I had yet to raise the blinds. Determined, she let her intentions be known by pawing, head-butting, and then simply sticking her nose through the blinds. At first I was simply amused, but then the clanging of the blinds was too much. "Fine," I exclaimed. "I'll open the damn blinds."

Apparently this cat has a set routine and doesn't like for it to be changed.

Umm... did I just write a blog posting about a cat? Damn... I need to get home to Brit Boy soon.

You wanna put what where?

I'm at my mom's in Kansas City helping her recover from recent medical issues. This isn't the first time I've been to her house here (she only moved in a couple of years ago), but this is the first time I think I've really explored the place. It's funny the things you notice that would drive you absolutely crazy in the design and layout of an abode. I know I couldn't live here. Why?

The closets are WAY too small. I wouldn't even have room for my shoes!!

Some people really ought to know better!

While wandering near the UT campus this afternoon, I spotted a rather attractive, young undergrad striding toward me. From a distance he seemed like a nice candidate for some good eye candy. Tall. Short, dark hair. Broad shoulders. He even seemed to have a slight swagger to his walk. As he drew closer, however, I noticed that he was slouching. "No matter," I thought. "His backpack must be crammed full of books."

And then, just when he got close enough for me to determine whether he was a Monet or not, I noticed them. Those hideous... things... that so many people are wearing these days. Crocs. But not just any Crocs. Burnt Orange Crocs. With the Longhorn logo emblazened on the top of the "shoe."

Ugh...

So I had to come back to my office and find some real eye candy. Chad White.

Enjoy!!

I don't like being corrected.

I knew that when Brit Boy got here and we started getting settled as a couple there were definitely going to be some adjustments in how things functioned around the house. Compromises. Negotiations. When these things are being discussed, it is always important to approach it with care and sensitivity. It's important to be open to new ideas.

Well, Brit Boy stated that he thought it wise for us to reduce our electricity consumption by line-drying our laundry. "You see," he said, "In England, line-drying laundry is very common even though its raining three-fourths of the year. In Texas, with all the heat and sun you get, why don't you line-dry?"

"Ummm... well... uhhhh...." I stammered for a while as I tried to rationalize tumble-drying clothes for the past few decades. Cuz really, I have no excuse. It's a waste of energy to machine dry when we have the sun beating down on us so consistently. But I just like... um... *sigh*

He's totally right. I just hope he doesn't make a habit of this being right thing.

grumble, grumble... groan, grumble...

I'm at the office. It was a beautiful ride into work this morning with the sun rising slowly as I entered downtown. The kettle is on in preparation for my morning tea. I have "Addicted to Base" playing.

Yet, tired does not even begin to describe how I'm feeling this morning. I have to say, this early rising so that I can make it into the office at a decent hour is causing me to go to bed at a respectable time. I mean, I stayed up till 11pm to watch Project Runway (how the HELL did Kenley not go home last night?!?!?!?) and I'm paying the price for it now. Really? 11pm is too late for me?

*le sigh*

I have a decision to make.

I started a new job today. Yes, with less than one year in my last position, I was recruited to another legislative position as the legislative session begins to loom in the not-too-distant future. To answer the question in the back of your mind: Yes, I am that good.

So, as I left my last position, I had to turn in my Crack-berry. It was more challenging than I thought it was going to be. Even today, four days after turning it in, I find myself reaching for it to check my email. However, all may not be lost. I was informed today that if I wanted one, I could get a Crack-berry in my new position.

If I want one.

I feel myself about to cave into temptation. The desire to check for new email messages is strong. The want to play a game of Brickbreaker is overwhelming. The ability to surf the web on the tiny screen of the cute little PDA is so... compelling.

Help me Obi Wan Kenobi... you're my only hope!!

It wasn't my fault!

This morning... I spit on a woman. Well, almost.

I was on my way into the office after a trip to the dentist. I was sitting at a stop light, on my bike, just kinda looking around, poking at my novacaine-numb lip with my tongue. (Hey, y'all know you all do that!!) A woman entered the crosswalk in front of me. I grabbed my water bottle, took a big swig, and attempted to swallow.

Now, it didn't occur to me that I didn't really have full control of my lips as I attempted this tricky maneuver. As a result, I nice fountain of water spewed from my lips, arcing beautifully roughly two feet in front of the woman crossing the street.

She stopped dead in her tracks, whipped her head around to look at me with the nastiest look on her face. I thought she was gonna come over and whoop my ass.

"I dust hab denbil werk," I mutter roughly as I tried to express utmost shock and horror with my eyes and body language. She continued to look at me as if she was gonna pummel me into the ground. Then she just busted up laughing, started shaking her head, and walked on.

Oh, that's why!!!

Work. Ride bike to gym. Workout. Ride bike downtown. Meet friend for Happy Hour drinks. Roommate picks me up and brings me home.

Notice something missing? Oh yeah, dinner! Perhaps that's why only a couple of drinks made weeble and wobble.

I've become a surrogate

Tonight, I was asked to become a surrogate. "But Cary," you might say, "you're not able to carry a baby!" Well, I was not asked to become that kind of surrogate.

My straight boyfriend asked me to read a straight sex letter sent to him by his lover cuz he couldn't read her handwriting.