The Hunger Games: A post about random food (wherein no children are killed)

Wheat Thins are my new favorite cookies. Salty, crunchy cookies that sit under my desk humming a soothing lullaby while I reformat that GPA spreadsheet again. Generally I like to suck on them one by one to get at that salt first and saving the mildly graham-cracker-esque crunchiness for last. Sometimes, when work is being particularly persnickety I eat two at once in angry defiance of the world and it's horrible denizens of annoyance and that-is-not-how-it-works-and-you-know-it-so-stop-pretending-you-were-ever-even-close-to-correct-ness. I also enjoy hyphens.

Do you remember those animal crackers with the frosting? Of course you do, because your parents love you. So you are aware that those things are amazing, in a slightly waxy way. A couple of weeks ago I found a bag of them in the CVS when I was looking for snacks to smuggle into the movie theater that night (not that I am the kind of person who smuggles stuff, of course. That would be wrong). And then I munched little sprinkle covered pink and white elephants and sheep all through The Hunger Games. It was bliss (What? Maybe Mr. Awesome smuggled them. You weren't there. You don't know!). Then, for Easter, I figured we'd fill in for the nasty-hollow-chocolate-bunny with some of those dream filled animal cookies. Except, they appear to have disappeared entirely (which is a lovely turn of phrase, is it not? Appear to have disappeared! I'm now going to use that all the time, particularly when it is totally out of context and unnecessary. It will be my new "literally"). I've checked Giant, Safeway, CVS, and RiteAid now. None of those fine establishments even has an empty shelf where the cookies ought to be. It is as though they have vanished into the mist of childhood nostalgia. It makes me sad. It makes me want to appear to disappear.

Lately I've been eating salad in a jar for lunch, and that has been quite refreshing actually. Packing a lunch to work is such a great idea, but if you cannot handle a sandwich for lunch everyday (Rotating cold-cut meats and pbj gets old after a while...and by a while, I mean two days.) it can be almost as difficult as appearing to disappear. Thank the gods of creativity and plagiarism for that bounteous harvest called Pinterest. (Oh do not even pretend you don't spend hours there planning dinner parties you will likely never throw or redecorating the den you do not even have. You know of what I speak.) Except, you know, where does one find a these mason jars everyone is using nowadays? They appear to be quite the hot new thang, but Harris Teeter most certainly does not stock them.

As I was going through the pantry, rotating the food storage (read: two bags of ramen and a can of beans which we will never eat) I came upon an unopened jar of cherry butter. If you do not realize that saying that is akin to saying "I randomly found a masseuses in my sock drawer, waiting to give me a free massage this evening" then you need to investigate the purchase of some cherry butter, stat. And re-evaluate your life, probably. Anyway, so I found this hitherto unseen bottle of instant euphoria and realized that I could therefore eat the last portion of the stuff I've had lingering in my fridge since last fall without freaking out about "I cannot go without cherry butter for five whole months until Cox farms starts selling it again! I cannot do it!" So I ate it. Alone. Standing in the kitchen with the light off. And then, as I was holding the empty jar in my hand contemplating the need to rinse it before adding it to the recycling pile, behold the heavens did open and mine eyes did see. I stood there in the kitchen reverently staring at the glass container in my hand and sighed "Oh, a mason jar!" with the wonder and awe you would imagine in that scenario. And then I appeared to disappear.

Anyway, thanks to that empty bottle of cherry butter, the salad-in-a-jar pin has come to vibrant life in my workweek. Yesterday I packed fresh Italian greens with sliced strawberries, poppy seed dressing, and pine nuts. Today I have only just finished the quinoa, fresh pineapple, poppy seed dressing, and baby spinach that I packed into that magical jar this morning. Am I detailing my salads so you will think I am possibly less of a junkfood eating gross person and more of a healthy produce-conscious winner? Dudes, the first two paragraphs are about sucking the salt off of crackers and binging on waxy animal cookies and the forth hinges on my late-night consumption of jam straight out of the jar. What do you think?

Cherry Blossominationatorium

There are times when I think about leaving DC. Cherry Blossom season is never one of them.

This is NOT a crafty mommy blog

However, when in the course of human events it becomes necessary to document the strange ways in which a newly married couple chooses to observe certain holidays, these things happen:

This year's flavors of Valentine's Day Truffles (Mr. Awesome prefers that his holiday traditions be food related. In fact, he prefers that most things be food related. Honestly? So do I.) From left to right: Milk Chocolate, Spicy Dark Chocolate, Lavendar Chocolate, White Chocolate Saffron, and Lime Sugar Chocolate.

Valentine's food revisited: We made mini-alfajores to take to his family get-together. Four of us have served in the same Argentine mission, so these sort of matched the empanadas and castellano theme of the day.

Also some of them are heart shaped, but that's mostly because I really wanted to use those cookie cutters.

Our take on "Easter Egg Baskets" this year. Do you get it, do you see what we did there?

Mr. Awesome has declared this "the coolest project we've done together yet". I'm dubious about that, but I'm glad he likes the result.

Oh, and Happy St. Patrick's Day to you! We had friends over for games and various green dips (Green Goddess Dip, Pesto, Bacon-Guacamole, and Key-Like Curd, oh my!). This was my last minute concession to Mr. Awesome's panic that "We haven't even decorated for St. Patrick's Day!" The fact that I just happened to have seven glass bottles lying around, though, is not something I can easily explain.

 And that, dear ones, is that.

Nothing tasts as good as...

It's a common enough sound in my office, that frustration filled sigh of longing and rage when one of my coworkers notices the box of cookies/candy/doughnuts/cake/sweet potato pie sitting in the kitchen. I've been hearing it once or twice a week since I started working here. The sweets come more often around the holidays, but they never really let up entirely. And no matter how firmly my coworkers avow they are "NOT eating ANY more SWEETS!" the goodies keep mysteriously appearing and disappearing in that kitchen day by day. Perhaps most confusing of all is that most often, the person who objects most vehemently to one tray of sugar and fat will be the person who brings in the next unhealthy but oh-so-alluring offering to the gods of growing waistlines. It is a conspiracy against the hard-working office chairs which must sustain our growing bulk, and we are all complicit in it.

Mmmm, stale fritters...

Meanwhile, on Pinterest:

"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels."

I'mma tell you straight up, the woman who posted that has never had a fresh Lemonberry Cupcake from Georgetown, my sister's hot breakfast casserole, or those cookies I ate in Glasgow. In fact, there are a great many things in life that woman cannot yet have tasted. Her life makes me sad. Her life makes me want to buy a dozen G-town cupcakes and then eat them in front of her.

Meanwhile, at home:

Me: "Hey Mr. Awesome, I'll make you a deal."

Him: "Okay."

Me: "Everyday after work I'll come home and tell you whether or not I ate any of the treats in the office. And if I didn't, you give me a back-rub and/or face massage. This is really a deal to benefit me, you don't actually get anything out of it."

Him: "Okay." (See that girls? Absolute agreement. And all it cost me was a remote control helicopter for Valentine's Day. Take notes!)

Meanwhile, back at the office:

I have yet to eat a single treat in the office since making that deal with Mr. Awesome about two weeks ago. Proving once and for all that the old saying holds true:

"Nothing your coworkers leave in the company kitchen because they don't want it at their house tastes as good as a nightly back rub."

You are so very welcome, my dears.

Blogging means never having to say you're sorry

Oh my loverlies, why do I even have a blog? It's been over a month since my last post, I'm woefully behind in the Istanbul recap-saga, and to top it all off I've been cheating on you all. My blogging sins are legion, my darlings. I'm not even going to insult you with an apology.

What to write, what to write... I think I've decided not to post that long blog I half-wrote about this years V-day truffle experience (also, V-day? Really? I'm using that now? Even though every time I see it I thing Venerial Disease Day? Yes, apparently so.) I'm doing my darndest not to talk about a certain conservative talk radio host who recently said some very stupid things that got him enough publicity to show up on my Google News feed, proving once again that he hates women and could probably make a second living as a stunt double for Jabba the Hut. (Woops, looks like I just blogged about him anyway). And I really don't think any of you would be all that interested in my latest craft project which involves egg-shells and hot air balloons (What's that? You are interested? Well suck it, monkeys, this ain't no crafty mommy blog... and I'm not posting about until I have pictures to show you).

So, I guess that leaves Istanbul. Here we go...

Just kidding. I have access to neither the photos not the motivation required to travel blog right now.

I suppose that leaves nothing more than to promise you I'll blog more often. Granted, I have no intention of holding myself to that promise. It's a silly promise anyway. Like promising your husband you'll stop blaming him for everything any conservative pundit says. You both know how that will turn out.

The Love Letter

I found it in a second hand accounting textbook. Stuck in the pages of the 17th chapter somewhere between "reading a balance sheet" and "interpreting an income statement".

He writes on simple notebook paper with scrawling, sloppy handwriting interspersed with misspellings and "lols". Two letters in one envelope, since he didn't mail the first before he wrote the second. He's been there about three weeks and only just got his dogtags and glasses. He's getting used to things now, and they've stopped fighting as much among themselves.

He thinks about that date he took her on just before he left. He wishes he could talk to her, see her face. He really, really likes her, and calls her Morgan-beautiful. Both letters end with the same post-script: "PS. Your amazing and beautiful."

He only just got her card, and he can't wait to get her next letter. He thinks she's someone special.

He hopes she feels the same way about him.
 
Does she? The envelope is torn from where she opened it, perhaps in a hurry, obscuring his full name and return address. The paper is still fairly crisp, the folds cleanly creased and not fraying from ill use or much handling. Did she read the letter once and forget about it, stuffing it absentmindedly into her book as she prepared for finals? Did she hide it there quickly, guiltily before some other boy found the evidence of this mystery admirer? Or was she saving it there, to keep her company as she studied for a test and dreamed of the boy who took her on a date once before he left to join the airforce?

Her address, at least, is still clearly written in his untidy hand on the envelope. Should I return it to her? Pack it up in a plain white envelope with a return address she's never heard of? I think I will, if only because I cannot keep it and hate to throw such earnest hopefulness away. 

On Bunnies, and other Quandries

I have this thing going on right now that I actually hate to talk about. I'm applying to graduate school, and it depresses me so much I have to block it out of my head when not actively engaged in the process. It's not that I don't like the idea of going back to school, or because I don't want to study anymore. It is depressing because I really, really want it and I'm 99% positive I can't have it.

In other news, I am not a graphic designer. I feel this is an important bit of trivia to share, because there are several people in my life (read: coworkers and bosses and such) who do not seem to believe me when I say this. They are so far convinced, in fact, that they expect me to pump out brochures that we then have professionally printed in mass quanity, design entire websites (we're talked 60 page websites here, folks, not some blog like...this one) which then get so many hits the server slows down and almost (but not quite) crashes, and create ad campaigns that we will pay thousands of dollars to run on EdWeek's website. So, just to reiterate: I am not a graphic designer. (I may have somehow accomplished all of the above including animated gifs for the ad campaign, but I stand by my original thesis).

Tidbit: the previous two paragraphs are actually related. Here's how: Last night as I sat with my favorite flavor of Awesomeness discussing the nature of the world and other weighty matters, I found myself saying the following:

"I'm really not sure how to convince you of this but the truth is there is a much better chance that I will not get into one of those two grad programs than that either program will accept me. Let alone both. But the thing is, when those rejections come, I want to have a plan."

And in that moment something remarkable happened. A practical boy gave an emotional girl a solution to her problem (rather than just listening and commiserating, which is generally the favored response) and she liked the solution! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a Christmas Miracle (Well, our tree is still up so, this season is still holly-jollying the crap out of my life at least). If I don't...no...when I don't get into graduate school, I will take classes and such and attempt to amend my non-graphic designer state. And then I will make websites about bunnies (because cats have so been done).

(Random, unnecessary parenthetical because that appears to be the dominant theme in this blog post).

Fin.