Guilty (Musical) Pleasures

Recently, my office gave each of us $10 gift cards to iTunes, which was exceptionally cool of them. My little gift card sat in my Inbox gathering virtual dust for several weeks, which is QUITE an accomplishment for me, but I've finally renewed it.

So for those of my co-workers that actually read this thing (waddup peeps!), I share Beth's Guilty Pleasures Mix 2006:

1.) Mama Told Me Not to Come (Three Dog Night) - Mama knew what she was talking 'bout. I'm just sayin.

2.) Girls Just Want to Have Fun (Cyndi Lauper) - It's literally impossible not to grin and shake your groove thing while listening to this song. Viva Captain Lou!

3.) If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out (Cat Stevens) - For a suspected terrorist, this is a pretty warm and fuzzy song. For my high school peeps, I'd like to dedicate this song to Paaaaaaat and his pet rock.

4.) Annie's Song (John Denver) - As embarrassing as it is to admit, I tear up every time I hear this song. You can't fight the power of the cheeseball. I'd like toplay this song at my wedding while attendees pelt my new husband and I with corn-covered cheeseballs.

5.) Tangled Up In Blue (Bob Dylan) - Good stuff. A particularly ironic purchase since Dylan's all riled up about digital music.

6.) Standing Outside A Broken Phone Booth With Money In My Hand (Primitive Radio Gods) - I listened to this song overandoverandover while mending a broken heart. Good for driving in the rain while contemplating the sad state of your life.

7-9.) Colors, Arms of a Woman, and Keep it Loose, Keep it Tight (Amos Lee) - Props are due to my friend Katie who turned me on to Amos Lee. I like what I'm hearin'.

10.) The Passenger (Iggy Pop) - I've got particularly fond (and slightly dirty) memories of this song. Turn it up loud and sing along.

Standing on the street with my fists raised this morning

I’m just sayin’ I had to wear a sweater to work today for the first time in months. It’s officially the beginning of the end of summer. I will have none of this madness. YOU HEAR ME, AUTUMN? YOU HEAR THAT, PUNK?

Eat my dust, Michiko Kakutani

Since my blog promises to uncover “what I’m reading,” I feel I need to share a few recent discoveries that I’ve quite enjoyed over the past few weeks:

She Got Up Off The Couch, by Haven Kimmel. I freakin’ love Haven Kimmel. If you haven’t read anything by her yet, then close out of this window right now and haul ass to a bookstore. Seriously. Her quirky essays about growing up in Moorland, Indiana, are amazing and touching and hilarious. This particular book features one about her older brother Dan literally took my breath away. On a side note, Haven’s also friends with Augusten Burroughs, which frankly elevates her street cred in my mind Quite A Bit.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, by Jonathan Safran Foer. This guy’s previous book was all over the hipster bookstores in Seattle for a long-ass while, but I never really paid attention to him before this. I’m definitely paying attention now. Okay, so he’s like twelve and that's annoying, but I try not to think about it. This book is about the weeks/months after 9/11 written from the perspective of a nine-year-old trying to make sense of his father's death. He comes across as vaguely Owen Meany-esque, which is not a bad thing at all. Um, did I mention Foer’s kind of adorable for being twelve?

Little Earthquakes, by Jennifer Weiner. Once you stop giggling about her last name and wipe the tears from your eyes, this is a good book to pick up and read. It’s all about new moms and babies, a topic that I usually find incredibly boring, but this one is interesting even for the most die-hard singletons out there. I love Jennifer Weiner. I want to have coffee and doughnuts with her and be her BFF while we watch bad infomercials together in our stretchy black pants. Did I mention she has a nifty (albeit sometimes too blatently commercial) blog?

On Life Without Cable

I’ve been at my “new” place a month now and have yet to call Comcast to hook up my cable. Part of me enjoys this because it means I can be one of those smug bastards that say they “don’t watch television” and instead spend my evenings reading or knitting or having people over and being sociable. The other part of me (the larger, more dominant part) hates not having cable with every fiber of my being because it means the only channel I get clearly is the WB, a channel not really known for its, well, programming.

Last night, for example, I had to choose from a snow-filled episode of “Mama’s Family” and a repeat of “7th Heaven” that was so saccharin I almost spit up my frozen burrito. I chose instead to turn off the TV and cut the matted fur off of Mrs. Puff’s chest. This past weekend I had the choice of either a snow-filled televangelist barking at me, or an episode of “The Parkers” which was so dumb it actually made my brain cells seize up. As a side conversation, what is Blossom’s BFF Six doing on The Parkers??

I really need to take some action here so I can get caught up again with my friends at Animal Planet and the Food Network. Cesar Millan, what have you been up to?

What I have learned from self-help books about relationships/dating (see previous post on Drunk Shopping)

• Every single book about dating starts out with the disclaimer that it is “like, so totally different from ‘The Rules’.” Note that every single book about dating will then go on to offer a new set of complicated, and likely very offensive, rules for the reader to follow.

• The more blatantly ridiculous title your self-help book has, the more likely Drunk Beth is to pick it up and make loud comments about it in the bookstore. Special thanks go out to “If I’m so Wonderful, Why I Am Still Single?” (“Awwwwwwwwwwww. Oh dude, that is saaaaad”) and “Men are Like Fish: What Every Woman Needs to Know about Catching a Man” (“Holy, holy, holy, holy cow”).

• If you’re happy and you know it, go on a date. Clap your hands afterwards. Apparently the dating world prefers happy people to self-loathers who skulk around staring at the floor.

• The key to going on more dates is to actually leave your house/apartment/trailer/mountain shack and go on more dates.

A few questions for Frozen Burritos

1.) Frozen burritos, why do you taste so frickin’ amazing?
2.) Why are you so satisfying and so easy to prepare?
3.) Frozen burritos, do you have any idea how much I adore you?
4.) Frozen burritos, can you explain to me how a little spicy pocket from heaven such as yourself can have so much fat and sodium tucked inside of you? Where do you hide it, my friend?
5.) Really, frozen burrito? 370 calories? You are so small and tasty. I love you so much. Are you trying to break my heart?
6.) Frozen burritos, our relationship cannot last. I know this. I have pants I must fit into. Why must you taunt me from my grocer’s freezer aisle, calling to me like the sirens to Odysseus?
7.) Again I ask, frozen burrito, how and why must you pack so much deliciousness into your 5-ounce self?

More random gifts!

I’ve got to shout out to not just one but two loyal readers who recently bestowed fabulous gifties my way! Garsh, you guys……you done near outdid yerselves.

Now I can begin my Dirty Martini Fest 2006 in style, as well as procure some lovely home accents from my local Pier One. Niiiiiiiiiiice work, both of you.

Your Daily Dose of Oeniphilia

Okay folks, settle down. It means one who is freaky-deaky about wine.

I’m finding that one of the biggest perks to having a new apartment is that when people come over they usually bring wine. This is especially useful if you’re working to build up an addiction to alcohol. With my new place, rather than having to sit knee-to-knee in a cramped cell of a studio apartment, we’re now able to take said wine out to the patio and chat for hours and make fun of my neighbors while gulping down (okay, maybe more like sipping) wine and sinking into a happy, sloppy wino haze. My friends are classy like that.

Two individuals have now come totin’ offerings from Erath, which I felt compelled to research this evening. Methinks I sense a weekend trip in the making, hint hint hint.

On an sort of related note but not really, I also check out Purple this week and was quite, quite pleased with the floor-to-ceiling “fort” of wine. Yes, that was the word our waitress used. A fort of wine. Nice if you have disposable income pouring out of your pockets, but probably not a good option for those of us with, well, food and housing to think about.

Karma flicks its finger and whacks Beth sharply upside the head

Lesson learned by yours truly this week – when you mock someone about a task that you’re totally sure that you could have done a better job on (such as making a couple dozen mix CDs for a party), and then later on life actually gives you that specific task to complete, it’s pretty certain that you will manage to screw up that task way worse than the person you were mocking in the first place ever did or could.

So let’s just take a lesson and keep the mockery down a bit lest Karma come and kick your booty.

Cleanup in Aisle Five….

After dropping a bottle of red wine in the major thoroughfare at Costco yesterday, thereby spilling wine all over myself, my shoes, my fellow shoppers and the floor in front of the coffee grinders, I’ve decided to camp out at home today and spend the day with my head buried in my favorite cookbooks.

Oh how I’ve missed my BFF Mark Bittman and his “How To Cook Everything”! My Williams-Sonoma Soup book! Even my Better Homes and Gardens cookbook that features nothing but Midwestern comfort food. I’m getting incredibly motivated to throw more fabulous dinner parties since more than 2 visitors can be in my place at a time now. Stay tuned, world at large, while I contemplate the various themes I can offer….

The Buffet in Heaven

Special snaps and golf claps go out to my recent hostess with the mostess who, after taking a class in wine and cheese pairings (hello? why was I not informed of this??) decided to share her findings with a group of cheeseheads. I’ve determined that when you arrive in heaven you are promptly served a glass of chilled Prosecco, given a hunk of triple cream brie the size of your head, and asked to retire to the French Bread sofa right next to the bathtub of cheese fondue.

Oh, and for those of you who are not already acquainted with the Sofia mini cans of champagne, you may learn about them here. Beware the bendy straw. No good can come of alcohol with a bendy straw, let me assure you.

More pictures of Beth's Happy Places

Immediately upon typing that subject line, I became filled with regret, as that's not really a subject line one wants pasted all over the Internet.

Anyhoo, here are more of my smiley, giggly happy places in the new apartment. My plant-filled, Bay window-adorned reading nook, and of COURSE, the World's Best Washer and Dryer.

Behold the most charming place on earth

Um. Okay. I didn't really mean to post TWO pictures of my most-charming patio, but clearly Blogger feels the need to bring it to you all in Quaint Double Vision....Why is this damned program so easy about so many things, and then randomly difficult about others? Siiiiigh.

Okay. I digress. Here are some sneak peeks at the new place. Doesn't this just invite you to soak in the charm, the adorability? Can't you just smell the lavendery goodness on that little side table while you sip from your icy beverage and relax with the latest US Weekly?

Consider the invitation now fully open for y'all to join me on the patio -- appointments are now being taken at Casa de Beth. Unless you happen to know Philip Seymour Hoffman or Hugh Grant and in that case we can rush you right to the top of the guest list. Stop on by!

A gift from the kitchen cabinet gods

Last night I was engaging in my new favorite pastime, which is going through my kitchen cabinets and reorganizing my crap. Seems that when Beth moved in, she sort of just haphazardly threw everything into drawers and cabinets just to hide them, but once you actually open the doors you will immediately discover what a disaster area they actually are.

I digress.

So there I am, sitting on the floor, organizing my cleaning supplies under my sink, and I find this little guy sitting there, being all adorable and cute and functional. Who doesn't need a little froggy sink stopper? Did you notice the little webbed feet scattered all around it? Siiiigh. Big, moist, amphibious thanks go out to the cabinet gods (or, more like, the previous tenant) that left behind a little goody for me.

Wendy McClure and Poundy

I have a new BFF.

Um, she doesn’t technically KNOW me or anything and might be a little creeped out if she knew I was referring to her like that, but I have to share that I am LOVING this book I’m reading by Wendy McClure. This gal is hilarious. She is, most definitely, my kind of people.

Extra snaps are owed her because she used to (still does?) write for Television Without Pity, which is one of my most favorite websites ever.

(Not Quite 15 Pieces of) Patio Flare

Who’s got a full-blown case of patio flare? Why, Beth does, that’s who!

I write to you, World at Large, as the proud owner of a now fully decked-out deck complete with two lounge chairs, window baskets, lovely flowers and herbs and even a little lavender plant to put on my side table for added aromatherapeutic patio flare. I braved Home Depot with the rest of the Sunday suburban sprawling Seattleites (i.e., the sworn enemy of any hipster urbanite worth their salt) and picked up enough charming goodies in the garden department to keep me happy for the rest of the summer. It even took a platform cart/palate jack type of contraption for me to wheel all my flare to the Flexcar.

Siiiiiigh. Did my previous post about retail therapy teach me nothing? Clearly not, because again, I’ve proven to myself how DELICIOUS it feels to go out and buy things. Retail Therapy, again I ask, can’t you learn anything from your cousin Alcoholic Black Out and make me forget how fantastic you make me feel?

Retail Therapy’s Downside

Damn you, Retail Therapy, why can’t you be like your older brother Co-Dependent Relationships, who never has anything good to offer?

You know what the problem with Retail Therapy is? It works. It works SO WELL. You go out, you buy things, you bring them home, you play with them. And you feel GOOD. They make you happier. They fulfill you. They make your problems seem so less troubling. Plus you end up with neat stuff, which is nice.

This is all backed by a ginormous purchase made at Half Price Books this afternoon – including several movies (Crash, Royal Tenenbaums, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, the TV series “Undeclared” and more) and several books (Joan Didion essays, John Irving, humorous travel essays and more….). I got my two jam-packed bags home and practically rolled around in all of my new possessions.

I love you, Retail Therapy. You are truly the best EVER.

To Whom It May Concern

For those loyal readers that simply cannot get enough of MY open letters to random persons or things, I humbly offer the McSweeney’s list of Open Letters to People or Entities Who Are Unlikely to Respond.

My favorites so far include An Open Letter to Penguins, an Open Letter to Low-Cut Pants, and an Open Letter to Umlaut. Anything that involves sending a letter to a smug seldom-used punctuation mark wins instant points with me.

Random gifts

Again I write about the joys of random gifts and how great they are. For the person who sent me a box of housewarming goodies, including some really scary/kinky looking Dryer Balls, I say THANKS AMIGA, YOU ROCK!

Way to help support my new fixation on doing laundry whenever possible!

A Lesson in Cheesecake

Someone recently asked me what the difference was between “normal” cheesecake and “New York style” cheesecake. Seriously, they really did. Behold the answer here!

You know what?

So, um, I was staring out the window? On my bus? And saw a sign in the Gap? That they are starting to roll out their Fall Preview line? And then? You know what? The same thing is happening at Nordstrom? Which means that Fall is starting to peek its brisk chilly little head out of the corner of summer? And? And you know what?

I AM NOT READY TO ACCEPT THAT AT ALL.

Fall better step the heck off or I am going to have a bust a cap in someone’s ass.

It's Done: Beth Is Moved!

Greetings to the World at Large from the new and improved Casa de Beth where I am (get this) listening to the sounds of my LAUNDRY BEING DONE right here in front of me. As i wrote to someone else earlier today, is it sad/wrong that I want to take a picture of this occasion?

Quick update since its been a few weeks....I am, for the most part, moved in. It's glorious -- the place is large enough to do cartwheels in (if a person so desired), with a patio for drinking wine on while doing some serious people watching. Not a single drunk/homeless ex-con in sight, which is more than I can say for my old neighborhood. Life, it would seem, is good.

So I'm headed off to San Diego tomorrow for a business trip (note to friends who live there...don't feel bad, I'm there for less than 24 hours....), and then home again where I can chill and get settled.

More later -- I know I have amusing stories to share but nothing's coming to mind. Better run and watch the dryer finish its load of towels. This might well beat TV for a few weeks.

History Lessons

By popular request, I've done some investigating and uncovered the history of Rachel the Pig, the mascot of the Pike Place Market:

"The unofficial mascot of the Pike Place Market is "Rachel," a bronze piggybank located below the Market clock. The piggybank is used to collect donations to the Market Foundation, which provides a variety of services for those in need. Installed in 1986, Rachel was named after a real pig-a neighbor of Georgia Gerber, the Whidbey Island sculptor who created the piggybank."

That's um, kind of boring, to be honest.

Also, I've looked into the history of Beef Wellington, so named "because in its larger version the finished product looks like a highly polished riding or Wellington boot."

That's um, kind of nasty, to be honest.

History -- proving once again to be sort of boring and nasty once you look further into it.

And what did YOU have for dinner?

Special thanks and elastic waist pants go out to the visiting Johnson Family - Rachel, Mike, Sophia, Tony, Sara, RadioShack, Muffin and Hairball - (and Gus, Bonnie and Charlotte!) that prepared a feast that will truly go down in history:

Tasty toasty triangles with your choice of caviar, foie gras, or pate with truffles and champagne
Fresh basil, tomato and mozzarella salads
Roasted butternut squash soup
Beef Wellington with collard greens
Seared pineapple and mango reduction with vanilla ice cream
Did I mention champagne and wine to wash it all down with?

As if a day of basking in the sun with the salmon weren't enough. A girl could get used to this.

Reflections Upon Packing

Well, I've officially begun to pack up my things for the move. Really this is just Phase One, an initial sweep through the things that I don't use on a daily basis. And now, as I sit surrounded by bare bookshelves and my floor becomes a maze of boxes, I'm waxing philosophical.

In theory, it seems perfectly logical to pack the "non-essential" items first so that you're not scrambling at the last minute to pack up random candles and napkins and bud vases. And yet, after just two hours of packing, I'm already feeling displaced. My home doesn't feel quite so....homey. I still have two weeks to go-- did I learn nothing from the last time I did this? I already miss the pictures of my friends and my magnet collection on the fridge.

Lesson learned (again)-- all of your possessions are essential. Even your grandma's teacups that sit on your top cabinet shelf and gather dust and the reminder near the door that "76.2 Percent Of People Leave Their Homes Every Day." It all adds up to create the place and the feeling of your unique home.

Grumble. I'll see them all soon enough, but still. Grrr.

And I wonder why the single, normal men avoid me

Did Beth really, honestly, truly, head to the Ballard Locks today for some sun and socialization, only to take along some KNITTING and a book about GRIEF*? (Note to self, can you become any more like a 70-year-old if you tried??)

And did she really, seriously, SNARL at the group of 30 first graders that came along to frolic on the grassy knoll she had parked herself?

Oh yes, my friends. She did indeed. Stay away from my grassy knoll when I'm knitting, kids.
She followed that up with a ginormous blue raspberry Slurpee at the 7-Eleven and all become right with the world.

*Joan Didion's "The Year of Magical Thinking" -- an absolutely heartbreaking read. Highly recommended, but perhaps not so much for sunny summer days.

Note to self

Hey Jackass,

For future reference, when you plan to move, you shouldn’t forget that your apartment will be shown by your landlord to future tenants.

So, given that, maybe its not such a swell idea to live in total filth for the week and leave the house when you still have laundry spilling out all over the entryway (even if it is clean) with dirty dishes piling in the sink and cat litter scattered around the floor and salt scrub coating your bathtub and used Kleenexes tossed casually around like confetti and last night’s dinner probably still on your living room floor and GOD ONLY KNOWS WHAT ELSE – dirty underwear? sad self-help books? that escort you hired from last week? - laying around for total strangers to see.

Cause, you know, your landlord might call while you’re at work to give you a heads-up that some possible tenants are on their way over in the next 15 minutes and you’ll just dive headlong into an anxiety attack about your filthy house. Just sayin’.

Keep on keepin’ on,
Beth

On the Subject of Drunk Shopping

It’s recently come to my attention that there are folks out there that don’t yet know about the wonders of Drunk Shopping, which is something that ranks fairly high in my Top Five Activities I Enjoy list. So, under the theory that if you give a man a fish….something something….but if you teach a man to get drunk and then go shopping for fish, he’ll come home with a lot more than he bargained for.

It’s really not that hard of a concept – everyone knows about drunk dialing, right? This is not that far removed. With drunk dialing, one makes the decision to “reconnect” with old friends/one-night-stands free from the constraints of restraining orders/dignity that cloud your normally sober mind. With drunk shopping – one makes the decision to, well, buy whatever the hell they want to at that very moment, free from the limitations of your décor/credit limit/dignity. In either case you are completely convinced that your decision is COMPLETELY RATIONAL AND SANE, whether it be regarding a purple ottoman or that ex that done you wrong. Go ahead – buy it! Call him up! You’re drunk – it’s all good!

In both cases, unfortunately you’ll likely be disappointed the morning after. At least with drunk shopping you might have a cute sweater or a pony or a flat-panel TV to enjoy the next day while you recover.

(*In the interest of full disclosure, I felt compelled to share that Drunk Beth’s favorite haunts for Drunk Shopping include the self-help/relationships section of any used book store, and her local Whole Foods store.)

Simple Joys

I just bought a basil plant from Trader Joes for $2.99. I could smell that thing all day long and never get sick of it.

Movin' On Up (but not to the East Side)

Alright, alright, ALRIGHT. I am back! Summer appears to be in full swing here in Seattle with our blazingly hot 60 degree days and gradual transformation from partly-cloudy to partly-sunny. I’ve even shaken off my heavy black cardigan and switched out to my light/medium weight cardigan to celebrate.

In the biggest news of the summer, it looks like Beth will be (DRUM ROLL PLEASE) moving in about a month! This is truly an exciting occasion – because it means that I have found a place that has met every single one of my requirements. Upgraded and significantly less sketchy location? Check. Balcony for evening wine drinking? Check. Located on the busline and nearby access to Flexcar? Oh yeah.

But the kicker of them all is the simple joy of a washer/dryer IN. MY. VERY. OWN. APARTMENT. Do you realize what this means, World at Large? No more running out for quarters at 10 p.m. – no more waiting for an open washer while someone else’s boxers are sitting in the machine I want to use – no more having to schlep 40 pounds of dirty-and-then-clean laundry up and down to the basement laundry room! I get a little teary-eyed just thinking about it. Its a beautiful thing.

I am thinking of hosting a laundry-themed housewarming party where people can bring laundry-themed gifts or even bring in their own laundry to do. Details to come shortly....

Update about my new boyfriend TiVo

He apparently thinks I’m five years old. My TiVo recommendations are all from Nickelodeon, including Dora the Explorer, Go, Diego, Go, and something called "Squirrel Boy."

Thanks a lot, Season Pass of “Family Guy” and “South Park." Way to confuse my new boyfriend.

It sure doesn’t seem that exciting when you commit it to paper

This Memorial Day weekend, I:

Watched two very good movies about mentally unstable people (Prozac Nation and Proof).
Ate asiago bread and spinach dip.
Hooked up with my new boyfriend TiVo and spend most of an afternoon snuggling with him.
Finally got my Smiths poster professionally framed.
Vowed to start knitting again and even braved a trip to Michael’s (which was terrifying) to buy yarn.
Bought a docking station for my iPod and updated my stereo system.

Trust your Instincts, Girlfriend

Let’s just say that maybe you find a bag of clothes hidden under your bed in a garbage bag. And you go through the bag, thinking, “Holy cow! That’s where my khaki pants went to….and that jean skirt! I wondered about that. Look at all this stuff – why is it hidden away like this?”

And then you try on the clothes that were hidden under your bed in a garbage bag and then you think “Sweet baby Jesus, I look like total crap in these! This skirt is awful. These khakis could cover a Winnebago – everything is awful!”

And then you might realize that maybe there was a REASON that you stuffed those items into a garbage bag and hid them from yourself.

Methinks its time to go to the Goodwill.

Your Suggestions Needed!

Okay kids, here’s the dealio. This Labor Day weekend marks the 10 year anniversary of Beth’s Journey To Seattle. TEN YEARS! I was but a wee little 22 year old fuzzy baby bunny when I hopped in my Honda Civic and left the Mile High City behind for good.

So I need suggestions for how I should celebrate this milestone – whether for that specific weekend or for the summer leading up to it. There are 14 weekends between now and Labor Day -- do you have a cool weekend trip I should take? A Seattle sight I need to see? Just a cool idea that you want to make me do?

Send ‘em my way….

I Heart my BFF Santino

Can I just put it out there for the record that I freakin’ LOVE Santino of Project Runway fame? Love. Him.

I have checked out his blog and am a wee bit miffed that I was not given a heads up about his visit to Seattle last month. Hello? A 7-foot bitchy gay man that impersonates Tim Gunn to a tee? AND he was at the Cha Cha, the War Room and the Bus Stop which are, I might add, literally just a few feet from my house.

Whatever, biotch. I’ll get over it. It’s nothing a dinner at the Red Lobster with Andrae can’t cure.

Open Letter to Ra the Sun God

All hail Ra,

First off, I’d like to open by saying thank you very much for your gift, the sun. Really nice work overall on your part here. We in Seattle don’t see a lot of the sun, but we sure do appreciate it when it makes an appearance.

Which brings to my reason for writing. I wanted to take a moment to apologize on behalf of my people, the Seattleites. As I mentioned, we’re sort of new to the concept of “the sun” and as such we tend to get a little overexcited when it appears. This week is a prime example. It’s been 80 degrees now for two days (again, great work!), but it seems that folks haven’t quite worked out how to dress in this warm climate.

On behalf of the pale, the flabby, the hairy, the pasty and the totally inappropriately underclad citizens of Seattle that have been prancing around our city this week, I apologize. Especially for the shirtless man with a paunch in cut-off hotpants that was riding the number 11 bus last night. Sorry ‘bout that. Seriously.

Anyway – I know you’re busy. Thanks again for the sun and the warmth thing that you’ve got going on. We’re looking forward to seeing more of it in the months ahead and I promise I’ll do what I can to throw a couple of cardigans around the biggest pasty and hairy offenders out there.

Keep on keepin’ on,
Beth

Letters, oh we get letters…

Mailbag from the World of Beth....

Q: Your blog claims to feature the musings of Mrs. Puff, but she’s awfully quiet. What’s her problem, anyway? Does she think she’s too good for the World of Beth?
A: Gentle readers, here’s the deal with Mrs. Puff. She’s old. She’s obese. She’s very cranky. She’s kind of smelly. Her postings would most likely be about how I cruelly abandon her every single day, forcing her to sleep for long periods of time in the sun surrounded by toys. It’s a very difficult life for Mrs. Puff and she really doesn’t like to talk about it. Okay?

Q: So, what’s the deal with Mr. Puff?
A: We don’t like to discuss Mr. Puff. It stirs up bad memories for Mrs. Puff.

Q: No, seriously. What’s the deal?
A: Okay. It goes like this. They married way too young. Just kittens, really. They lived in poverty and filth, under a crowded porch in Factoria surrounded by a dozen other cats. They had some Pufflets (who, by the way, never call her, even on Mother’s Day).

Mr. Puff had a catnip problem. He gambled. He pawned her wedding collar to pay off his bookie, Fluffy. He was away from home a lot, likely cavorting with thinner, sexier tabbies. The Pufflets grew up and left the porch. Eventually Mr. Puff left too, claiming to see a shiny object that needed investigation, and he was never heard from again.

Mrs. Puff comforted herself by gorging on liver and chicken snacks while watching soap operas. She ended up at the Bellevue Humane Society, sick with a foul, snotty head cold, after a bender on Cat Chow (eaten right out of the bag!), where I adopted her. She doesn’t like to talk about her past and I don’t press her for details.

Eau de Doh?

So, get this.

I'm sure most of you have seen the Demeter fragrance line, featuring unusual scents such as "Gin & Tonic," "Dirt," and "Sugar Cookie." I myself am partial to the "Laundromat" scent, but I've never taken the plunge and actually purchased it.

Now Demeter has introduced "Play-Doh" cologne that smells like....well....you know. I think perhaps the most disturbing part of this is not that people can walk around smelling like Play-Doh, but that it will cost them $20-$40 to do so.

SIFF-a-licious

Hey kids! The Seattle International Film Festival schedule is getting announced this week! You know that means, don't you? It means that Beth is going to be huddled over her kitchen table diligently studying and marking her target list of movies with a highlighter pen and a dayplanner while she maps out her life for the next months.

Unfortunately, as has been the tradition for the past five years or so, it also means that Beth will likely get really, really excited about this at the beginning, buy a dozen or so tickets and then end up going to only 2 or 3 movies at the most.

Will Beth buck the trend? Will she be able to either buy fewer tickets or somehow manage to go to more movies? Only time will tell.

A weekend with my Spice Girls

Yes, I'm back, loyal readers -- after yet ANOTHER weekend out of the house! Get me! This is a pretty remarkable trend in the World of Beth. I headed back down the old I-5 to Oregon once more, but this time to lovely and picturesque Cannon Beach. A few highlights and observations:

1.) We realized that if we were somehow to perform in a Spice Girls reunion band, we would refer to ourselves as Spinster Spice, Barren Spice, Bitter Spice and (for me) Cynical Spice (alternatively Cat Lady Spice). This pretty much set the tone for the weekend.

2.) After a pitcher of beer, we felt the bitter barren spinster thing was kind of negative, so we tried to come up with some imaginary lives for each of us. This is an EXCELLENT exercise to try -- I highly recommend it. I had suffered a nervous breakdown after accidentally falling off of a boat and splashing into an eel breeding area and was on a day pass that weekend from the hospital. My husband was a chain saw artist.

3.) The movie "Reality Bites" never, ever gets old, sugar boogers.

4.) Yahtzee is a pretty freakin' boring game, even when alcohol is involved.

5.) A dog running at full speed on the beach is a remarkably happy thing.

6.) Dolly Parton's "9 to 5" could well be one of the best songs ever written.

7.) The Tillamook Cheese factory -- which should be one of the happiest, most exciting places a girl could ever see (provided that girl is kind of freaky about cheese) -- is actually kind of lame and depressing.

After one too many not-so-beautiful days in the neighborhood....

....Beth is packing up and moving her ass to a better part of town.

Same general neighborhood, just a little on the safer/quieter/less drunk area. I have found a DELIGHTFUL little place that ideally I'll be moving up to at the end of June. It's really quite adorable with a rooftop patio that offers views of Mount Rainier and the entire city.

Plus. GET THIS. It features both a WASHER/DRYER and....AND.....a Garbage Disposal. My heart is literally fluttering at the idea of not having to put my fingers into a slimy kitchen sink again.

Stay tuned and I'll let you know how it goes. Wheeeee.

If Anna Nicole Smith can be thin again, then surely.....

I'm a little overwhelemed, World at Large.

The thing is that I'm sitting here in my kitchen, surrounded by what can only be described as a GINORMOUS pile of boxes/cartons/containers and tubs of food from Nutrisystem.

Yes, I've taken the plunge and decided to make my contribution to the billion-dollar diet industry. I figured last week that since I largely only eat prepared food ANYWAY I might as well try and lose weight while doing it..... I can't quite figure out how I feel about all of this.

Hmmm. This is a lot to handle. Stay tuned.

Weekend Update

I'm back from a lovely 2 and a half day trip to Portland where I got to spend some time chillin' with my old buddy and fellow only child Louanne.

To summarize the trip:

Half-price Lemon Drops and Buffalo Chicken Pizza +
Reminicing about both She-Ra and Jem and the Holograms (after half price Lemon Drops) + Kicking the day off with bagels and lox and coffee +
Manicures and haircuts and spa-filled fun +
Watching "Pretty In Pink" while eating Thai food +
Tax-free shopping at Kiehls and Lush and Powells bookstore +
Sunshine and the chance to meet Vince the Wonder Fish =

A very nice weekend indeed. Thanks to my hostess!

On the Topic of Carl the Panda

Several years ago, after a particularly soul-crushing day at work, my friend and I decided that our office needed a mascot.

A mascot, we thought, would cheer us up, create pep to motivate our myriad mundane tasks, offer comfort on our down days and serve as a much-needed distraction from our regularly scheduled abuse and mistreatment.

We debated several mascot options, including an imaginary fabulously flamboyant gay boy named Trey that would give us makeovers and share his collection of genuine Dolly Parton wigs with us. We imagined what it would be like to go clubbing with Trey and how fantastic it would be to go for drinks and dish about our co-workers' bad fashion choices.

But then we met Carl. (Or rather, imagined to meet Carl.) Carl was a panda that would work at our office providing basic administrative and emotional support. Carl could get you a cup of coffee while you were on a conference call, but he could also headbutt you and give you a snuggle after you got yelled at by your boss. Mostly, he was there to listen. He was the snuggliest and more adorable imaginary mascot EVER.

I mean, think about it. Imagine (if you can) that a live panda bear worked in your office/school/hospital/spaceship/whatever and was there to help you out in meetings, or just offer snuggles when you had a bad day. Would there be ANYTHING FINER THAN THAT, I ASK YOU?

Imagine the conversation taking place in this picture:

Office professional (and apparent Michigan alum): "Jesus, Carl, PowerPoint just drives me freakin' insane. I just couldn't get slide 34 to print in Notes View for that messaging meeting!"

Carl: I'm listening. Would it help if you rubbed my tiny furry ears? They're very soft.

The Piglet Slayer has a new book out!

You can bet your collective bippies that I’m all over this one.

Phrases I will likely never say in my lifetime

“Look, let’s just make things easy on everyone. We can take my minivan.”

“Who’s up for a trip to the eel farm?!”

“Why yes, I’d love more boiled celery, thanks!”

“The liberal media can complain all they want, but I have complete and utter faith that the Bush administration is doing the right thing."

"Pardon me, ma'am, is that your spleen on the floor?"

Janes, I'm giving up

You read it here, folks, I am officially giving up on Janes Austen and Eyre.

As I continue with my spring cleaning kick, I've been filtering out my excess books that really could make themselves more useful at the used book store a block away. Some of these are just lame books that I don't understand why I bought in the first place. Others are really great books that I genuinely enjoyed reading (Bel Canto, for example), but that I don't really need to keep in my library for the next twenty years.

And then. Then there are the heartbreakers -- the classics. A few years ago, I got on a kick to read many of the classic books that I never got around to reading in high school or college. These including Jane Eyre, Tess of the D'Urbervilles, Pride & Prejudice, Madame Bovary, etc. I ask you, have these books been touched since I brought them home? Have I read even one page of any of them? Have I taken them off the bookshelf even once and read so much as the back covers? Siiigh. You get the picture.

So as I was going through my bookshelves pruning out the titles that aren't going to make the cut in the long term, I struggled over Jane Eyre and other weighty titles for a long time. They got thrown into the "sell" pile, then got guiltily fished out, then got thrown back in again. Finally I've given up -- they are all staying in the sell pile. My AP English teacher may be clucking her tongue at me in disapproval somewhere in the Denver suburbs, but spring cleaning has never been for the faint hearted.

I've accepted my fate as a woman that will never be able to wow her collegues at a business dinner with a witty retort about Emma Bovary, nor will I apparently be able to decipher the inside joke when someone makes a joke about Mr. Darcy over cocktails.

And, okay, wisenheimers, I'll stop you right there because I know you're all sitting there in frotn of your computers thinking, "Um, who are these people making jokes about Mr. Darcy that she's all worried about? Does this actually happen in real life or is she confusing it with a scene in an Emma Thompson movie?"

But I swear to God, people, you just wait, you will be a dinner somewhere, sometime, someplace and something related to Jane Eyre WILL COME UP, and you will be proud and smug that you read that book in high school like the rest of us should have done in the first place.

Spring Cleaning

It's spring cleaning time in the World of Beth this week, so I need to keep this short.

After taking a microfiber cloth* to every surface in my apartment, I've also begun digging through my pantry and closets and bookshelves and resolved to Get Rid of Clutter. This is a difficult task because, as anyone who's ever been to my apartment can tell you, it's a waste land of books and candles and picture frames and girlie trinkets that sit on shelves gathering dust and cat hair. For example, I actually own a pink chocolate fondue pot.**

Sure its got its charm and a killer Space Needle view, but at only 500 square feet, my apartment is feeling a little overwhelmed by the "excess charm" packed so tightly onto every surface. So far I've wittled it down by three bags of trash, four bags of books I'm never going to read and about five pounds of dust, so progress is definintely being made.

*Can I take a moment and talk about microfiber clothes? I mean, people, have you USED THESE THINGS? SERIOUSLY? I've only recently discovered them thanks to Real Simple magazine's special issue on Spring Cleaning*** and they are sent directly from heaven. They pick up Puff hair, lint, dust - you name it - all without chemicals or cleaning agents. LOVE THEM.

** I'm not knocking the pink fondue pot, per se, it's cute as hell but I've owned it now for two years and have never, ever, not even once, made chocolate fondue in it. World at Large, would you like to come over for some chocolate fondue?

***Yes, I'm now officially old enough to actually choose to read a magazine devoted to Spring Cleaning. I'm as upset about it as you are, believe me.

Carnage in the Kitchen: Doorknobs Optional

This post is long overdue, and in fact I can’t believe I haven’t shared this with the World at Large because it’s really quite good.

So for my birthday, someone (hi there!) got me a DVD of the Best of Julia Child’s The French Chef. As many of you know, I freakin’ LOVE Julia Child. I mean, I LOVE her. SERIOUSLY. Well it took me a while to sit down and watch some of the episodes, but during my week off a while back, I made the time. I started with a swordfish episode that seemed innocent enough. Then I watched a roast goose. And then I selected the “Roast Suckling Pig” episode. Which was, my friends, one of the most horrific and traumatizing and terrifying and also hilarious things I have witnessed in my lifetime.

For one, it’s easy to forget the fact that a “suckling pig” is basically a baby piglet until you see it right there on screen with its baby pig ears and face and pink little tail and hooves and all of that. Ideally, Julia recommends that the pig should not yet be weaned from its mother’s milk; otherwise the flesh apparently takes on a whole different flavor. This gave me a bad case of the shivers, and not in a good way.

The hilarious part comes from the fact that 6 foot-2 Julia Child is patting a baby piglet’s behind and warbling in that trademark voice of hers about how to prepare a 12-pound suckling pig as though it were the most natural, normal thing in the world. She makes it sound not any different from mixing up a batch of Toll House cookies.

Next up, Julia advises, in her Julia Child voice, to start off by shaving any hairs off of the piglet’s face and snout. That’s right, you should SHAVE YOUR DINNER’S FACE. You should also take time to brush its teeth too. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP.

Then, after you get it oiled up and stuffed with veggies (a process that was so barbaric and hideous I can’t even talk about it)…..no. Wait. I have to talk about that step. Because when Julia Child stitches up the baby piglet’s belly (as you might, with a chicken, for example), she doesn’t just use a trussing needle and string. Oh no, friends. She uses 3-INCH METAL FINISHING NAILS, like the kind a carpenter (or an S & M dominatrix?) might have handy, to keep the baby piglet’s belly shut.

And the carnage isn’t done yet. Oh NO. The final step before roasting is to place an object into the piglet’s mouth during cooking so that it can stay open for the decorative apple that it customarily placed in its jaws. So what does she recommend? Not a potato (they get mushy). You could use a wadded up ball of aluminum foil, as Julia does there. Or, she advises, you could also use (a) a block of wood or (b) a doorknob, if you have one handy.

Let me repeat that. OR A DOORKNOB, if you have one handy. After you shave your baby piglet’s face, brush its teeth, stuff its belly and close it with metal nails, you should put a DOORKNOB in its jaws. I swear to God I was not on drugs when I watched this episode. In fact, several people watched it with me and none of THEM were on drugs. Instead there was a group of us, some of whom were total strangers, unable to turn away and writhing on the floor in horror and fascination and hilarity at the totally in-freakin’-sane dish that Julia was preparing. Which is more of a reaction that I can say I got the last time I made Toll House cookies.

Lesson learned: Julia Child kicks some major ass. You just have to have the stomach to watch her do it.

Domestic Lessons Learned

Apparently those folks on the Food Network know what they’re talking about.

The Barefoot Contessa once explained, as she was making a cake (or something), that when it came time to crack the eggs into the batter, she actually cracked them first into a separate bowl rather than just throwing them directly into the mix. She explained that she did this as a precautionary measure so that if any of the eggs were bad, it wouldn’t ruin the whole mixture.

And this never occurred to me as being particularly brilliant or necessary until this weekend. When, as I was making pumpkin bread, I instantly ruined an entire batch of batter thanks to one nasty bad egg.

Siiiiiiiiigh.

Open Letter to the Music Store Employee That Bought Some Of My CD's This Morning And Mocked The Remainder

Dude.

Seriously, dude. That attitude is NOT COOL.

I do not at all appreciate your snarky tone and "I'm-like-so-more-ironic-than-thou" hipster judgment when looking over my CDs. I realize that some of the CDs I brought in were (gasp!) slightly uncool, but doesn't your hipster mind grasp that's why I was trying to unload them in the first place? Could you not have been slightly more accomodating to a customer looking to freshen up her music selection, rather than snickering over the CDs you clearly don't approve of or enjoy?

Whatever, man. I'm outta here.

Chillin' on a Friday Night

Yo, World at Large, waddup? It's a mellow Friday night, the Thievery Corporation is humming along in the other room and I'm surfing around catching up on a few of my neglected favorite blogs. All seems well in the world. A few quick items:

1.) I just re-read my post about the man-slash-fawn crush and it kind of creeps me out. Strike that, it REALLY SERIOUSLY MAJORLY creeps me out. I realize my dating record is a bit dusty, but it seems a bad sign when I'm turning to animal hybrid children's literary characters. Worst of all, I wasn't even remotely drunk when I typed the words "Mr. Yumnus" in public.

2.) I'm feeling smug because I recently picked up several non-fiction books and this always makes me feel like I'm smart. Whether I'll read them or not is another story, but for now I can at least pretend to know something about Freakonomics, Blink and The World Is Flat. Just don't ask me any detailed questions about anything besides the front covers.

3.) Props and snaps and high fives to my two amigas that are coming to visit me in Seattle this summer! I'm quite looking forward to showing y'all the Emerald City.

4.) Does it make me a complete and total dork that I'm a little sad I didn't get to go to CTIA this year? Yeah, I thought so.

Beth's Crush on a Man-Fawn

If you’re like me, then the entire time you were watching “Chronicles of Narnia” all you could think about how that Mr. Tumnus was one DAMNED ADORABLE man-slash-fawn wearing his twee little woolen scarf and prancing around his quaint meterosexual tree condo. How cute was he, I ask you? Mr. Tumnus? Hello, more like Mr. YUMNUS! Being all doe-eyed and preppy as though Bambi and Josh Charles of Sports Night/Dead Poet’s Society had spawned themslves one sweet, although slightly namby-pamby and morally questionable tea-drinking mythical man-slash-fawn.

Okay. Phew. I realize this is conversation heading into a strange and possibly bad place. My point, all animal/human hybridization proposals aside, is that James McAvoy, the Cutey McCuterson in Narnia is, well, um, awfully cute.

He’s also a fire eater. Yes. A fire eater. And he loves rugby. And Damian Rice. And the Goonies. Beth has officially found herself a new crush.

Adorable and yet seemingly unpopular names for kindergartners, kittens or elderly giant Galapagos Sea Turtles

Herman
Myrna
Lola
Franklin
Lucy
Betty
Wilma
Fred
Barney (unintentional pattern here, but they all work*)
Oscar
Stanley
Murphy
Carl
Gus

*interesting to note that George, Jane, Judy and Elroy are absolutely awful for kindergartner/kitten/giant sea turtle names

Interesting tidbit for the day

Thanks to Google, I’ve just learned there actually IS a drug called Cycolmen, sold in Canada to treat endometriosis. But this is not what I bought at Fred Meyer and have sitting on a side table in my apartment.

Vacation, all I ever wanted....

Evidently my enthusiasm for blogging and regular posting got tiresome, so I’m back to the monthly updates. Ah well. So what’s been up in the World of Beth? Here’s the lowdown:

I was off work for a week, with no plans whatsoever. Lesson learned from that? BETH NEEDS TO MAKE PLANS. Otherwise, she finds herself taking 2 naps a day, reading for hours at a time, eating cold cereal, shuffling into the shower around 6 p.m. and then staying up until the wee hours watching “What Not To Wear” and feeling superior because at least she doesn’t wear acid wash jeans or kitty sweatshirts. Repeat this activity for seven days and you get the idea.

I have been reading like a madwoman! Well, that’s not quite accurate. More just like a person that actually reads. In the past three weeks I’ve tackled In Cold Blood, Bel Canto, The Curious Incident of the Dog In the Night-time, Fraud AND the latest copies of US Weekly, InStyle and Real Simple. Get me!

I’ve become a houseplant whore. I get like this every spring. Four new additions to my household – including a cyclamen, which sounds to me more like an antibiotic than a plant name.

Old Versus Never Old: The Battle

Things That Never Get Old While You're On Vacation:

1.) Hearing your neighbors' front doors close at 7:30 while they're on their way to (hee hee) WORK and you're still snuggling in your warm bed.

2.) Spooning with Mrs. Puff

3.) That Dog Whisperer show with Ceser Millan on National Geographic.

Things That Get Old Really Quickly While You're On Vacation:

1.) Those blasted telemarketers that keep calling.

2.) Spooning with Mrs. Puff and not, say, Philip Seymour Hoffman or Luke Wilson or Heath Ledger or Jake Gyellenhaal.

3.) Dial-up Internet access.

Party up, Dudes, in Liechtenstein!

Okay, so maybe this news is three years old. Whatever. I never claimed this to be a breaking-news blog.

But an Alert Reader recently alerted me to the fact that you can -- hello! -- RENT OUT LIECHTENSTEIN. As in, rent it out. Yes. Just like you would the East Ballroom A at the local Westin. Or your local Elks Club lodge. Except, as I've stated, you'd be renting out the whole of Liechtenstein. How did I live this long without knowing this was an option available to me?

This news makes any upcoming wedding invitations seem rather anticlimactic when the knowledge is out there that the happy couple could be utilizing a wealthy European micro-country for a venue rather than...oh, say, anywhere else.

I'd be interested to know if this is actually still possible to do three years later and what types of corporations/gabillionaires have done this. Is there an event coordinator that puts these events together and if so, how many post-it notes does THAT person have to deal with?

Take a Wild Guess

It's Saturday afternoon/evening. The entire day has been gloriously sunny. I'm not sure it's warm out there, but it's sure pretty. What has Beth been doing all weekend so far? Here are your choices:

a.) Went for a early morning run, where I later met up with my co-ed intermural soccer league teammates for some training before the big game.
b.) Headed up to the mountains for some camping and a chance to break in my new boots from REI.
c.) Stayed home, drinking an entire pot of coffee while listening the Magnetic Fields and reading In Cold Blood. Napped intermittently and finally got around to Swiffering the floors.

Stumped? Give up? Whoo. That was fun. I'm still snorting and giggling over the idea of my wearing anything from REI. Let alone the idea of my running in public.

Stephen Merritt beckons me again.....

My Boyfriend Mark Bittman

I heart Mark Bittman, I really do.

I first became attracted to him when I picked up his amazing "How To Cook Everything." Because it really does, honestly, tell you how to cook everything. I mean, seriously, where do you go from there? After you've cooked everything?

I'll tell you where. You go around the damned world and cook everything, everywhere. Because you're Mark Bittman and you kick some major culinary booty.

And as one whose apartment now smells (okay, reeks is probably the better word) of ginger and tumeric and chilis, I have made a giant batch of Saag Paneer and am feeling pretty durned fancy and chef-like.

If a note goes around your classroom and asks you if you heart Mark Bittman, you'd be wise to check the box marked "YES."

Seriously, folks, no squealing

Um. Wow. It would be downright irresponsible of me if I did not share the following Websites with the World At Large as they never fail -- no, not even once -- to make me giddy even on my most angst-ridden of days.

Enter the world of CuteOverload.com, where you will be mercilessly subjected to baby bunnies, hamsters, kittens and even a newborn kiwi bird.

Need more cuteness? Think you can handle the cuteness? Get your daily panda fix at (appropriately enough) Panda Fix.com.

Just TRY and be in a bad mood after visiting these sites. I dare you. Double-dog-dare-you with a baby panda on top.

Beth's Incredibly Low Key Vacation To Come

For the first time in, um, ever, I’m going to be on vacation next week without a single thing planned. No trips, no planes/trains/automobiles, no major home-based projects, nada. Which I do realize is an obnoxious thing to be complaining about (but hey, I’ll do my best). Bring on a week of sleeping in, catching up on my Julia Child DVDs and reading trashy magazines.

I am a wee bit fearful that Reclusive, Asocial Beth will not take over and keep me locked inside my apartment alone for nine straight days with the Puff. I would prefer to be parked at my local hipster coffee shop with my journal catching up on my morning pages….or wandering through an art gallery…or making Saag Paneer....or tossing my beret up into the downtown skyline a la Mary Tyler Moore. My best guess is that it’ll be a combination of all of the above options.

Anybody out there got suggestions for what I could be doing in Seattle next week? Anybody got a beret they can lend me?

Warmth and Fuzziness

I’m feeling genuinely, 100 percent warm and fuzzy after going to a baby shower today for a good friend of mine. Normally – for a single militant non-parent like myself – these events are (let’s face it) not all that much fun since they always involve lots of stories about labor and (ugh) squatting and breastfeeding and things that I cannot in any way identify with. Usually I end up smiling politely and laughing at the right times (“….And I said to him, don’t tell me to push, buddy!” Ha ha ha….ugh) wondering when I can go back home to my apartment and order some Tandoori Chicken to eat during the Simpsons. But this time was different.

This time I couldn’t help but bask in the glow of my friend and her wee one. She was beautiful. And terrified. And excited. And overwhelmed. And so, so happy. And seeing her hold up a tiny pink velvety little footy pajama thing against her big belly just filled me with joy. I felt so proud and giddy and protective and happy for her and her husband and her little muffin-to-be. I just can’t wait to meet the little creature that’s going to be coming in a few weeks.

So. Huh. Yeah.

I realized about half way through the day that today is the 20th anniversary of the day that my dad moved out of our house. I’m not in meltdown phase at all (and I’m not saying that as I bravely bite my lip and hold back tears, either), it was just one of those “Oh. Yeah. Right….” moments that hit me suddenly. The 20th anniversary of anything in my life seems like a big deal. It definitely puts things in perspective. Well, in this case, sort-of perspective. I mean, it’s hard to compare my life at age 12 to now….or my parents’ lives then to how they are now…and make sense of it. I mean, whodathunk? Could I have envisioned then the way my life would be now? Did I see myself one day living in Seattle, working in high tech PR? Hell, no. I probably couldn’t have envisioned myself in high school yet, let alone 20 years down the road.

I don’t’ even remember much about that day. It wasn’t particularly dramatic for me. I got to stay home from school. My mom and I went to see “Pretty in Pink” at the mall while my dad packed up. (*Which means, as an aside, that that movie is also twenty years old, which is just too much for my little brain to comprehend today.) And so that was 20 years ago. Huh.

Sorry, not a very articulate posting here. Huh. That’s all I got, I guess.

Smelly Cat, What Are They Feeding You?

Thoreau’s little cabin in the woods has nothin’ on my eventful night. One has not fully lived until they have picked up their smelly, poopy 20-pound cat named Mrs. Puff, dropped her into the kitchen sink, and given her a bath. Until you have heard the low, guttural, Linda Blair-esque growling coming from said smelly cat, and the squirmy-ness of a furry, terrified miniature bear cub/house cat covered in Dove shampoo, it’s just not a complete life.

Reading Books With Pictures

Okay, I admit it. It’s a little unusual to be reading Strunk and White’s “The Elements of Style,” especially when not in the context of late-night term paper preparation. But have you people seen this illustrated version? I mean, come on, people. This is Grade A adorability and for language/grammar geeks like me, this is like buttah.

The book itself is gorgeous and colorful and amusing (I can’t say hilarious, exactly, but that’s probably not the goal anyway) and I can just imagine how exciting it was for the illustrator Maira Kalman to see her name on the book spine right alongside E.B. White and William Strunk. Nicely done, girlfriend.

Another Open Letter

Dear World At Large,

Um, how long have you been holding out on me, World At Large? You're telling me that they have brought back Jell-O Pudding Pops and no one alerted me to this? Where was the ticker-tape parade? Where was the Food Network Marathon?

It's not often that I am known to squeal in the frozen foods section of my local grocery store, but clearly this discovery merited a giddy little shriek.

Keep me posted if other major elements of my childhood come back into the mainstream. Oh wait, they already have.

Sigh.

Yours in 80's nostalgia,
Beth

Open Letter of Thanks

Open Letter to the Previous Driver of the Flexcar Which I Recently Used On Weekend Errands

Dear Sir/Madam,

In the one-in-a-billion chance that you actually should come across my blog, I wanted to take a moment and say thank you. While bopping around town in my Flexcar today, I noticed a CD hiding above the cup holder entitled, simply, "Car Mix." I popped it in. And it was SHEER BRILLIANCE.

Was it the opening remix of The Smiths' "How Soon is Now?" that made this such a fabulous, enjoyable CD? Was it the ABBA-infused Madonna song that I cannot get enough of? Was it that feel-good Natasha Bedingford song "These Words" that had me shouting "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou!" out loud while driving? It was the whole thing, my Flexcar amigo. Whether you left your mix in the car by accident, or whether you left in there to pop in the next time you needed to run some errands, this sampling of new songs and old favorites made a rather dull errand trip much more entertaining for this gal.

Come to think of it, the only way that they could make Flexcar any better is if all users, just like you did, started leaving little "gifts" behind for the next passenger to enjoy. Could be a refreshing bottle of water, a recipe for Scalloped Potatoes or a mix CD of your favorite songs. Just a thought. Thanks again for turning my temporary Honda Civic into a temporary dance hall/karaoke bar.

Yours in the spirit of Flexcar,
Beth

Reflections Upon My Kitchen Trash

This week while I was cleaning up my kitchen I accidentally dropped a coffee mug and broke it.
This bummed me out deeply.

For one, it was a damned nice mug on its own; but on a more sentimental note, it was a mug I had bought several years ago while staying up at Orcas Island on a 3-day getaway with my then-boyfriend, whom we'll just call Mr. Crazy. I picked it out at this fantastic pottery place that had its wares scattered all around a yard right along side the Sound, including inside of a raft that they had christened the "sale boat" (this dorky sense of humor appealed to me greatly). He bought a bowl there, I think. We went driving all around the island that day. We read. We listened to Van Morrison. We later argued because I burnt dinner to a charred crisp and there we were in the middle of (sort of) nowhere hungry and annoyed with each other. We made up. More Van Morrison was played.

So then, fast forwarding to five years later, I'm standing in my kitchen, looking down at the broken mug sitting in my trash, realizing it was one of the few tangible items I actually had from my time with Mr. Crazy and there it was...in the trash. Which made me very sad and sentimental about those years and that trip and that time in my life. I moped around for a while until common sense came back and Swiffered away the nostalgia and reminded me that Mr. Crazy was, well, crazy, and it was not a relationship that could have ever worked in the real world.

Still, I'll miss that mug.

Jennifah & the Baxter

I recently saw THE most adorable movie which I need to recommend to the World At Large, The Baxter. Great little indie flick by Michael Showalter of the comedy troup Stella and co-hort of Michael Ian Black, who is a snarky, slightly annoying/slightly humorous manchild. It's about a classically overly nice, well-intentioned guy (i.e., a "Baxter") and his adventures finding love.

Also featured in the film is my new favorite actress Michelle Williams of Dawson's Creek/Brokeback Mountain fame, and target of my Dawson's Creek drinking game involving taking a shot everytime Gram said "Jennifah!".

In other news, I recently found out that Michael Ian Black was the voice (and wrist) of the Pets.com sock puppet dog? Is it just me that was unaware of this, or have I been living in a cave since 1998?

Really? I mean, seriously?

Is it just coincidental that the same week that I suffer a four-pound setback in my fitness plan, we get Girl Scout cookies delivered to our office?

Are ya trying to KILL me here, people, by testing my already sensitive ability to restrain myself with Samoas?

FAQ on Girl Scout Cookies here. More questions out there than one would think about something as simple as cookies, but hey. I digress.

Back in the blogging saddle

After a spirited couple of days of chatting and researching and immersing myself into the world of peer media and blogging, I'm more motivated than ever to get back in the spirit of the blog. No more monthly postings! You hear that, world? Gear up for more frequent updates about Mrs. Puff, my impending travels and the various escapades of my relatively dull life.

I've also reopened the comments capabilities here at the World of Beth so CHIT CHAT away and let me know what you're thinking. We'll see how it goes -- thanks to one too many spam comments about hot tubs and winning lottery numbers, I got tired and discontinued them but evidently blogs are all about open dialogues and conversations and interaction and all...And here I thought you all just wanted to know what I was doing with my weekends.

Everybody Okay Here

From the crew that brought you Spitesgiving 2005, I'd like to wish my single readers a Happy "I"m-A-Okay-By-Myself-Tines Day."

Not because you're bitter. Not because you live alone with an obese cat. It's because you're A-OKAY by yourself. Yes you are. You are.

Have a good day with your A-Okay Single Selves, or with your Snuggly Wuggly Doodle Bears, whichever you prefer.

What's been up with Beth?

Evidently 2006 is not gearing up to be the year where Beth spends a great deal of time on her blog. Ah well. Here’s a quick update on my life and what adventures I’ve been up to. In the past month I’ve been:

Aging!
Another Beth-filled year on the planet. I rang it in with brie and olives and red wine and all was right with the world.

Organizing!
A while back, I found a picture of this bookstore in San Francisco that had rearranged all of its books by color and am pleased as punch to say that I have done the same with my home library. The idea started one day when I was sitting in bed reading, staring straight ahead at my bookshelves and wondering how I could make them a wee bit more visually appealing. Okay, so it’s only two bookshelves’ worth, but I’m mighty proud of my accomplishment. Pictures to come if I can figure out how to download from my digital camera.

Eating Organically!
In an attempt to eat better, I signed up for a grocery delivery service that brings fresh, local, seasonal organic produce every single week right to your doorstep. Love that! First box arrived today and I am a little thrown off by the leek hiding inside. Any good leek recipes out there? Anyone?

Armchair Traveling!
Must. Get. Out. Of. Seattle! Am thinking of Santa Fe, or someplace equally desert-y and hot where I can just bake in the sun and dry out from all of this damned rain. This place seems enticing. While I am intrigued by the idea of staying in a genuine Airstream trailer, but then am reminded that I already spend my days in a 500 square foot studio apartment, so why not get crazy and mix it up in, say, a real hotel room? Spa treatments and soaking pools…sign this girl up!

Losing things!
I lost my cell phone. Then I bought a new one to replace it. Then someone found my old cell phone on the street (of course). Then I couldn’t get in touch with them. Then they kept calling. And calling.

Drinking!
Equation for 2006 – Beth + Too Much Sofia Champagne = BAD TIMES. ‘Nuff said. But damn, that packaging is CUTE. How can one resist the power of the bendy straw?

Knock Knock!

Who's there?

Cool hipster stationary and hilarious products!

Cool hipster stationary and hilarious products who?

At Knock Knock.

Who's there?

Stop. Stop right now. Just go to the site and look at the witty, snarky products you can buy that crack me up. The "How To Find True Love" poster is beyond words.

Birthday Shout Out

Once again it's time to give a special birthday shout out to my co-hort at KSIS-radio, who celebrated her 32nd birthday today. Ma-nah-ma-nuh!

Here's hoping you put on your fancy Christmas dress, slick on some Dr. Pepper lipgloss and dance around like a rockstar. Have a fabulous day, old friend.

Best. Quote. Ever.

I got together with a friend for a poetry reading last night who I had not seen since waaaaay back during the summer. As we sat sipping coffee and catching up on our adventures, I found myself babbling in that nervous way I do where I do nothing but mock and make fun of myself in an attempt to set the other party at ease. It's self-deprication in its most extreme form. I think I'm trying to be funny? Maybe? Sort of?

So anyway, my friend kept listening to me rambling on about how many classes I should be taking and how much more I should be travelling and all of the things I wanted to be doing this year but hadn't gotten around to, and she interrupted me and said, gently, "Stop. You're should-ing all over yourself."

What a wonderful thing to say. I felt instantly at ease, like I could exhale and relax all of my muscles. It was a nice reminder for me to be a little more forgiving and kind with myself. Nice lesson learned. Stop should-ing.

Thanks.

Beth's OTHER new boyfriend, Dell

Move over, iPod mini....it's time to meet the newest addition to Beth's technology roster, Mr. Brand New Dell Laptop. Sigh. It's true. I'm in love. He's dreamy and shiny and fast and really, really smart.

Although he has yet to find his way into my apartment, my Shiny New Smart Laptop should be arriving in a week or so and I could not be more excited. My current laptop is from 1998 (yes, that's eight years ago), which essentially makes it a 20-pound rock powered by an elderly gerbil and a ball of twine. This laptop has been with me since my receptionist days -- before public relations, before Y2K, before the dot-com bubble both ballooned and then burst, before Mrs. Puff, before the dawn of time itself, apparently. Now the thing gets cranky if I want to have more than one application open at a time.

Imagine -- a world of multiple applications. I shudder at the thought of it. CD and DVD burning have nothing on the concept of my being able to surf AND work on a Word document at the same time. I need to tread cautiously with the new power I will soon possess....it boggles my low-tech brain.

STEVE-worthy reading

Third consecutive entry about reading and books. Perhaps 2006 will be the year of reading and not-so-much with the mythical activity/fitness/social interaction scene I keep hearing so much about?

After a year of sitting on my IKEA Billy bookshelf, I’ve finally started reading The Know It All, a great read for those members of STEVE, which is (duh) the Smarter Than Everybody Else Club. A guy reads his way through the entire Encyclopedia Britannica. The whole thing. A-Z. He’s unabashedly proud of being smarter than everyone else. Godspeed, A.J. Jacobs, Godspeed.

I especially enjoy the fact that one of Jacobs’ main motivators for this project came from the fact that he felt himself getting progressively dumber the longer he was away from school, a topic I can relate to all-too well. He’s got a great essay on Powell’s site here.

Two weekends into 2006 and I am still not entirely transformed

So last year at this time I was all gung-ho into fitness and exercise and transformation and becoming the Newer, Fitter Beth. Apparently that’s not happening in 2006 because for the second weekend in a row I have spent WAY too much time napping, reading or on my couch watching "Scrubs" on DVD. I may heart Zach Braff (Zach, call me!), but this does not make for a Fitter Beth.

In a new low, I overdosed today on Sudafed thanks for an allergy attack and spent the majority of the day literally staring at the ceiling which my mouth open. I felt like I was re-enacting the scene in "Sid & Nancy" where they set the apartment on fire during an overdose and just have to stare slack-jawed as the flames engulf the place because they’re too stoned to move. Yup. Not my finest moment.

Here’s hoping the third weekend’s going to be a more active charmer. Unless I find myself sprawled on my bathroom floor in a Nyquil-induced haze, I’m not sure how it couldn’t be an improvement.

2006: The Year of Domestic Beth?

Hmm. As I read that subject line, I think it’s probably a little unlikely that I’ll become super-domestic this year, but that certainly won’t stop me from tryin’. Thanks to a Christmas gift card to Borders, I’ve purchased not one, not two, but THREE massive cookbooks as well as a McSweeney’s anthology of snarky hipster lit. The Puffster’s kitchen will hopefully soon smell of homemade soups, a la the Williams-Sonoma Soup edition; healthier traditional food a la A New Way to Cook; and shi-shi schmancy food a la the Dean and Deluca Cookbook.

Did I mention Mark Bittman also has a new cookbook out? A girl could go culinarily out of her goard if she wasn't careful.

This could be all motivated by another gift I received recently, a book called Julie and Julia, by Julie Powell. The woman gets it in her head to cook every single one of the recipes in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. It’s hilarious. It has reignited my love for Julia Child. There’s something very endearing to me about a six-foot-two former spy with a passion for life and a foul mouth and a love of brie and butter. Her kitchen was custom-built for her frame, two inches higher than a “normal” kitchen so that she wouldn’t have to stoop her gigantic self over the sink and counters. I mean, how does that fact not make you smile? Did I mention you can get DVDs of Julia Child’s old shows? How does THAT fact not make you smile?

What's Up With Beth, You Might Ask?

Realizing it had been almost a month since last Beth blogged, she stumbled out of her stupor, brushed the sleep crusties out of her eyes and sat down to inform the world about her activities. Since you last heard from me, I’ve been:

Reuniting With Old Friends. After a 13-year gap, I had a lovely day in Seattle with my old friend David Bede. Yes, we met at a summer creative writing camp in high school. Yes, we really WERE that cool. You got a problem with that? The important thing to focus on here is that we’ve managed to keep in touch all of these years after going through the experience of writing and sharing angst-ridden, overly serious, really, really deep short stories written by our 15-year-old selves.

Meeting The Mythical Lurpy Lurperson. Okay, so I haven’t written about Lurpy just yet. Here’s the scoopage. The house behind my mom’s house in Denver has this dog that we’ve been obsessed with for years. It’s a cross between a Pooh bear and a Shar-pei. Yup. Seriously. It never barks and its snugglier than snuggly. We LOVE this dog. Thanks for a winter wind storm, my mom’s back fence caved in allowing – you guessed it – Lurpy the Wonder Dog to wander into our yard and snuggle with us. Think Diane Fossey was excited when she got to meet the mountain gorillas for the first time? She ain’t got nothing on how amped I was to meet the Lurpy dog for the first time.

Reveling in Holiday Merriment. Holidays happened. My family’s still crazy. Santa was very good to me this year. High Five, Santa!

Ringing in The Year of the Buck. We have christened 2006 “The Year of the Buck” since it’s going to “buck the trend” of crappy years that have been taking place recently. Did you hear that? 2006 is going to ROCK THE HOUSE. It’s going to be awesome. Seriously. Really. It will. We are all going to be thin and rich and fabulous and successful. Beth toasted in the New Year in Portland, while starting a new tradition of shopping tax free, eating 12 grapes and eating long noodles at midnight.

Holiday Gift Guide

If you find yourselves running low on gift ideas this holiday season and are looking for the perfect idea for that special someone, might I recommend pee and poo?

Forget visions of sugarplums dancing through your head, man.

Taking Craftiness to a Whole New Level

Let's just say that Beth tried stamping for the first time last night and I'm not afraid to say out loud that I kind of-sort-of really, really liked it. The idea of making adorable homemade cards with cute trim and backgrounds and papers and flare seems durned fun.

Oh yes. You heard me.

Mrs. Puff Gets A Brazilian, or How Beth Spent the Holidays

Oh friends. FRIENDS! So much to report! I realize it's been for-danged-ever since last I updated the blog, so I'm trying to get caught up before the full holiday madness kicks in.

Let's start with Mrs. Puff and her Thanksgiving Of No Dignity Whatsoever. For the turkey day holiday, the kitty got boarded at the vet's for a week, which is good since she can get checked out and get her shots, etc. I tried to convince her it would be like going to a health spa.

Except. When the vet weighed the giant furball it turns out that the kitty has put on eight (8) (that's EIGHT) pounds in just the year since she was there last and that puts her total weight now at twenty-four (24) (JEEBUS) pounds total. You do realize that's like the human equivilant of gaining 50-80 pounds in a year, don't you? You do realize this made me tremendously embarrassed and ashamed of how morbidly obese my cat is, don't you?

The worst part of all of this is that being as fat as she is (really, in human terms she would need a scooter to get around, let's face it), our little Puff can't, well, um, groom herself in all of her secret places. If you know what I mean. And I hope you do. So the vet had to....well, um, well, shave Mrs. Puff's naughty bits. If you know what I mean. The whole thing just makes me blush and want to take her out for long walks so she can lose weight and get to grooming herself like a normal cat.

Let's just say the Puff has not quite forgiven me for putting her through that week-long experience and I can't really blame her for that.

And what did YOU do for the Thanksgiving holiday?

Down With Fat Suits

Is it just me, or is the rest of the free world getting a wee bit tired of “investigative reports” about skinny reporters/supermodels who don fat suits and then talk about how “horrifying” it is to be fat? In the past few months not only has Tyra Banks done a show about this, but now the Today Show and Entertainment Tonight have both put on “Special Reports” involving thin reporters strapping on fat suits and walking around Manhattan to get reactions from the general public.

Apparently – news flash – people aren’t real forgiving to the morbidly obese and it seems that men aren’t as helpful to 350-pound women as they are to supermodels. Also – again, news flash – it’s apparently harder to get around when you’re wearing a 350-pound fat suit than it is when you’re in your normal 120-pound body. This is news? This is something that required “investigating?”

Grrrrr. Add this to my list for next year's Spitesgiving.

Let Us Bow Our Heads and Give Spite...

In what I can only hope will be an annual, if not semi-annual event, Beth and her crew of cynics put on a killer Spitesgiving feast as an antidote to the goodwill-towards-men-spirit soon to be floating around this holiday season.

Instead of going around and saying what we were thankful for, we chose instead to say what we were most spiteful/bitter about. Some of the responses were lighthearted, others were more serious and they all made for a nice cathartic way to reflect on the past year and grumble collectively. Everyone should go through this process before having to slap on those polite smiles and gather with family over the holidays. The fact that you can celebrate Spitesgiving while eating turkey, dressing, mashed potaters and cranberries (motto: “the bitterest fruit EVER”) surrounded by good friends makes it all the better.

Think of it as a way to confess your regrets and disgruntlement for the year and then move on into the new year and new beginnings. Sage burning optional. What are you most spiteful for this year? What could you do to change that next year?

As an added bonus, you should check out the Jones Soda Holiday Pack and sample them during Spitesgiving. If the brussel sprout and pumpkin pie-flavored soda doesn't make you spiteful, then nothing will.

So what made my spiteful list? People with soulmates, folding fitted sheets, President Bush, the phrase “hella,” people who require size “extra small,” the combination of fruit and meat, celery, and, of course (never to be forgotten) EELS.

So Much For The Banana Stand

Sad days, my friends, sad days. And I am NOT talking about "7th Heaven..."

Comments

Um, dudes, what’s up with the spam in the comments section? I don’t want to have to get snarly and bust a cap over this.

Capote

Having just seen this brilliant film, I have to ask, is there any role where Philip Seymour Hoffman is NOT totally creepy? Could the man just do one lighthearted romantic comedy or something so that he’s not always associated with spine-chilling and heeby-jeeby-inducing freaks?

Detox diet

Beth went on a shopping binge at Half Price Books earlier this week, which makes for one happy little camper here in Seattle. One of my finds was the Great American Detox Diet, written by the semi-famous girlfriend of documentarian Morgan Spurlock, who spent a wee too much time in McDonald’s a white ago and, well, nearly died. She’s a vegan who is also a personal chef and basically nursed Morgan back to life as he,well, nearly died and all.

It gets a shoulder shrug and an “Engh” from me in terms of a review. Apparently you should drink more water. And eat less sugar. And eat more quinoa and locally-grown organic bok choy. Unfortunately, I already know this. Well, YES, you should do all of those things. Of COURSE you should. I have no doubts that we would all feel better and healthier and more vibrant and alive if we prepared homemade meals every single day of fresh whole foods bought from a local farmer’s market.

Clearly I read with a high degree of snarkiness. Nothing particularly illuminating, except for still good suggestions that anyone with a nagging mother has already heard before.

Smuggy McSmuggerson

If I haven’t grabbed you by your lapels and shouted into your face lately, let me reiterate how much I freakin’ LOVE FLEXCAR. I mean, I LUUUUURRVE Flexcar. If I could date Flexcar and have its babies, I totally would, which is not something I say all that often except when I am talking about Mark Ruffalo.

Case in point: today on an errand I got to drive around town in a sporty, brand-spankin’ new Honda Civic Hybrid that had 422 miles on it. I have never in my life been in a car that new. It still had new-car smell. It was divine. For non car geeks like me, this was the equivalent of driving in a Ferrari or a BMW 20AZ-J model or whatever you car enthusiasts get all excited about. It was a car I could see myself purchasing someday.

Except, with the joy of Flexcar, I don’t have to (a) actually purchase the car (b) pay for the gas to feed the car (c) pay for the car insurance to protect the car and, best of all, (d) I get to radiate in the arrogant smugness that comes from driving an environmentally responsible hybrid car.

Neener-neener to you suckers not enjoying the thrill and convenience of Flexcar.

Knitting Bitterly

I am having a vague memory that in high school – just to prove how cutting edge, rock star COOL my group of friends was –when one of us was in a pissy mood (i.e., often – it was high school, after all) we would mock that person incessantly by referring to them as a “bitter knitter.”

Yes. We were THAT COOL. What the hell did that mean? Where did that come from? I don’t know, it was a different time back in the early nineties, kids.

At any rate, to prove that my coolness has continued over the past fifteen years, I’m getting together tonight with some friends for a knitting group that will be called, you guessed it, the Bitter Knitters. The bitter knitting has indeed come full circle.

We’re open to suggestions at this point for logos, designs for satin jackets, coffee mugs, pot holders etc. to celebrate the Bitter Knitters.

New Family Member

I am bursting at the seams with joy. Proud to announced the latest family member into Beth’s life.

It’s shiny.

It’s pink.

It’s my new iPod mini.

I love it so unbearably much. I promise to feed it and water it and play with it and take it for walks and name it George.

Personal Update

Again with the sharing of overly personal information in a public forum! Yahoo! I wanted to provide an update about Beth’s Antidepressant Adventure since it’s been almost two months and many of you have been kind enough to ask how things are going with me.

First of all, thank you, friends. Thank you for the terrific emails and phone calls and chats over coffee to check in with me. I was a little tentative to go public about this whole experience, but it’s ultimately made it a billion times easier for me to get through the whole process. Hearing people’s stories about their own personal struggles and dealings has been enormously comforting, and the support I’ve felt lately has just been so inspiring and touching. So thanks.

Second of all, thank YOU, antidepressants! Thank YOU, scientists and drug companies that make antidepressants! Thanks to my sweet pharmacist at the downtown drug store! After finally getting my dosage upped to the right level, can I just say what a wonderful addition to my life you all have been? You. Are. So. Great. Seriously. I feel so much better! I have energy and interest in things again. This was the first weekend where I actually DID NOT want to sit around the house doing nothing for two straight days. I can concentrate and focus and feel things again. It really has been a huge transformation and I’m very happy that I finally took some action and got some help.

Sigh. Life is good again. It’s amazing, like being shown the proverbial light at the end of a dark, cramped tunnel. I wish I could come up with a better analogy than that, but it's apt. And it's great to be on the outside again.

National Puff Day

Hereby solidifying my status as a crazy cat lady, I report to the world that today is the One Year Anniversary of Mrs. Puff’s Life With Beth. It was one year ago today where I ran frantically into the Bellevue Humane Society and screeched to whomever would listen that I needed to immediately rescue the giant grey cat I saw on the Internet (formerly known as Teddy Bear).

The old girl was hidden away in the quarantine section, asleep in her food dish, her face caked with food, coughing and wheezing with a respiratory infection, suffering from an irritated eye. It was Not Pretty. Pleased to say that she’s all recovered, now snugglier than ever, more obese than ever, and happier than I think she’s been in a long time.

Everyone please shout out “MURF” and roll over to expose your giant bellies to celebrate National Puff Day.

For all you art geek types

Having just finished The Passion of Artemisia, I am all hopped up to head out to Florence and wander the cobblestone pathways looking at art while baking in the Italian sun. It was one of those books that had sat on my shelves for literally YEARS before I finally dug it out and decided to check it out – well worth the time!

If you’re interested in learning more about the actual artist Artemisia Gentileschi and would like to check out some of her paintings that are referenced in the book (c’mon, you know you do…), you can check them out here, and here and here.

On the road again…..

Forget whiskers on kittens and warm woolen mittens – this weekend was all about indulging in my favorite things in Vancouver. I’m feeling all warm and snuggly after a weekend getaway to Canada where I got to enjoy my usual routine of Robson Street goodness. Anyone who’s been to Vancouver with me can attest to the fact that I have the Exact. Same. Routine. Every. Single. Time I go there. Even the bathroom stop/coffee pickup at the Haggen’s in Bellingham – it’s the same trip every time and that’s just fine by this girl.

Beth’s Consistent Vancouver Routine kicks off at the Sheraton Wall Centre (really, the best hotel in all of Canada, it never fails to exceed my needs), where I comment extensively on the softness of the bedding. This may or may not involve my petting the throw pillows and saying “DAMMIT THESE ARE SO FRICKIN’ SOFT!!” many, many times.

Next up is Hon’s for some dim sum and wonton soup. The wonton soup there is seriously amazing – a hint of sesame oil in the broth just makes it all go down the right way. This time it was packed with ramen noodles. Niiice.

After that the tour takes you to Lush and Kiehl’s, and then down the street to Chapters to check out the trashy British chick-lit novels that aren’t yet available in the States. Sometimes there’s spa activity involved at Skoah, sometimes not. Usually there is sushi at Tsunami Sushi, where I marvel at conveyor belt sushi and drink too much sake and say “DAMMIT EVERY RESTAURANT IN THE WORLD SHOULD SERVE FOOD ON FRICKIN’ CONVEYOR BELTS!”

And then it’s back to the States, where I wait for the next time I need to leave the country for some predictable Canadian enjoyment.

Open letter to the kid across from my on the bus, talking to his brother on his cell phone:

Dude. Seriously. I know you’ve got a rough day ahead of you, but can I offer a tidbit of advice? When you’re on a crowded bus during the morning rush hour, it’s best NOT to throw phrases like these around loudly:

“Yeah, I’m going off to court this morning…”
“….yeah, I guess he’s pretty strict…”
“….Mom? Yeah, I called her already…”
“….so yeah, if I call you this afternoon it means it went well I guess…”
“….yeah, I mean, if you don’t hear from me, that means….yeah.”
“….that would just suck, dude, because I like having my freedom, you know?”

Thanks and good luck today,
Concerned Passenger on the Number 10 Bus

Sunday evening

Has it really been a month since last I blogged? I guess so. Yeesh. How's life been with y'all? It's been a bunch of different emotions these last few weeks:

Domestic and nesty. I made my annual batches of pickles and blueberry jam over Labor Day weekend. I never thought I'd be the type of person that made jam on an annual basis, but hey, it works. Tonight I made lemon bread -- that Better Homes and Gardens cookbook has surprisingly come in handy lately. With fall comes a desire to nest and buy scented candles and decorative throw pillows.

Exhausted. Work has been crazy busy lately. Craaaazy busy.

Thankful. And yet, despite the crazy work-related business mentioned above, I still find myself loving my workplace and feeling so blessed to have found an environment that nutures and cares about me. I really can't see myself working anywhere else.

Frustrated, cranky and irritated. Cause, you know. I just am, okay?