*blue balls not included.
the week:
I never thought that we’d go back to Indiana, after our friends moved away from the dreadful state last year (visiting them in Charleston, SC is SO much better). But here it is: another year, another annual road trip to the Most Boring State on the Map. At least we can grab some Alpha King for our troubles…
My (upward) view from my patio: nice, eh?
Practice, practice, practice! Besides practices, the only eventful, “for fun” portion of my weekend was grabbing a quick beer at Penn Brewery AFTER practice on Thursday. While I sadly missed my friend performing, at least I got the chance to say “hello” and give him a sweaty hug. Heh.
weekend:
On the road to Indianapolis for derby. Oh, did I mention that? Stopping midway to visit friends in Columbus (you know, the couple who “saved” me from the douchebags, albeit for a few minutes), then onto The Battle Against Naptown.
Then, to Ohio for a mini-Easter. I’M COMING FOR ALL OF YOUR HRUDKA! And keep those damn pickled beets away from me.
seven things, seven days:
1. {energy} Sport Beans: better than your average jelly beans. And better than that funky Gatorade film on your teeth.
2. {sweets} But I’m pretty excited about the Jelly Belly beans that I’m about to get this weekend. Hopefully, I don’t eat one that tastes like puke again. Yes, PUKE.
3. {nom} Käse Kugel from Penn Brewery: my newest, favorite way to kill my caloric intake for the day
4. {tech & diet} Speaking of calorie tracking, the Lose It iPhone app’s barcode scan function has made me more diligent about tracking what I eat each day. And I love dissecting the nutrients feature to see where I can do a little better with my nutrition (um, definitely need to cut out some sugar).
5. {catz} Rudy picked this Cat Lounger out for his birthday. This new “toy” is going over VERY well in this household (maybe he can stop ripping apart my work papers and notebook now in the middle of the night)
6. {sports} Hooray for mlb.tv and being able to watch the Indians’ home opener yesterday!
7. {work} Grateful for client referrals.
Have a wonderful holiday weekend!
Eh, Valentine’s Day. RANT TIME.
I don’t celebrate it — and not because I’m some anti-establishment, anti-greeting card company or anti-lovey-dovey holidays… um, person — but I guess I just don’t GET it. What’s to celebrate? Date Night. Blow jobs. Maybe a vase of flowers. All the stuff you should be experiencing as one-half (or one-third, I don’t judge) of a couple on a regular basis. Not just because February 14th told you so. And if you don’t like blow jobs, well maybe then you should reconsider your relationship. THAT GOES FOR BOTH OF YOU.
You probably should start by holding hands once in a while.
And yes, you’re also probably doing it wrong.
In Ohio, I was “blessed” with having two of these romantical holidays — each anchored both ends of the calendar year. Sweetest Day made my eyes roll much more than V-Day (VD Day has probably been done before, no? Desperate Single Girls Celebration, FTW). Perhaps because of the stupidity of couples (or is it just women?) relying on false hope that limo rides to fancy restaurants in October equate love in the fullest, for all eternity and in times of ultimatums. I have mentioned before how important it is for Pennsylvanians NOT to take ownership of this inane celebration. I mean, it’s not even on the same DAY every year! Friends and coworkers, it’s even worse when a woman is not even in a relationship and her entire day of work is focused on the lasting merits of Relationship With Mystery Man X because OMG YOU WEREN’T DELIVERED 18 BALLOONS ALONG WITH A SINGING BANANA!
Because THAT GUY is a stalker. Not a boyfriend.
AB is on the same page with me, thankfully. At least about the holiday stuff. Oh, I wish I could get him on board with skipping Christmas… I’m probably not the most romantic person in the world. But this year, I might cook dinner and fuck it up JUST BECAUSE I CARE. Because when I dated a guy that EXPECTED me to gift him something just because HE did something “special” for me, well, that’s a sure way to guilt trip somebody into buying you a shit-ton of easter candy — that you will never eat — to make up for “that time” your girlfriend didn’t reciprocate a slippers-and-chocolate combo. Oh, how in the world did I stretch that relationship out as far as it did?! No blow jobs. That’s how.
And where the fuck are those slipper socks? Because I’m going to burn them in my wood stove tonight in effigy…
Oooh, gifts. The secondary meaning of Christmas. The proof in the pudding of HOW WELL DOES MY SIGNIFICANT OTHER KNOW ME?!
I was happy that I had the opportunity to cuddle some kitties at the Humane Society prior to leaving for Ohio. Although it broke my heart every time I wished a cat a Merry Christmas. I hope they find warm, friendly homes this season. But I digress…
AB & I spent Christmas Eve with his family (cousins for an amazing themed French cuisine dinner), then drove up North to hang out with my dad’s side of the family (until way past our bed time). Christmas Day is always fun (to wake up to Mimosas) and just sit back and relax for the entire afternoon. We always finish off our giant meal of lamb and side of “Christmas rice” with games — this year’s picks: Left-Right-Center and Apples to Apples.
My “big gift” from the boyfriend was a sewing machine (mentioned in passing, which he remembered) that the sender almost ruined, shipping the giant box unwrapped to the house when I was home accepting packages. Thankfully (for AB’s surprise), I was heading out and UPS lifted the (heavy) box into the entryway for me. I barely glanced at it, since it was addressed to the Man of the House instead of me. And I was in a rush (as per usual).
Regardless, YAY SEWING MACHINE! I lost the last one in my divorce*, so I’m psyched to have my own again. I do not intend to have another year of half-assed, hand-sewn side seams to take in scrimmage t-shirts. Also: I’m going to start doing my own tailoring — which I know is quite a skill, but for serious, EVERYTHING I buy off-the-rack needs taken in/up in some way. That shit is expensive, yo. And I’m going to learn. At the very least I’d like to master hem lengths. Or how to put on buttons.
My Dad bought me a Kindle — not the fancy, schmancy colorful lets-fill-it-with-games version (I mean, that’s what my iPhone is for), but the plain ink print screen model (with keyboard), just as I hoped. I intend to cross off Bucket List Item #7 this year: Read 52 books in 52 weeks. Kindle should help me, especially when I’m traveling (also, super awesome that I can “rent” books through Carnegie Libraries!). My iPhone and I need a break. For serious.
The most fun is opening the small-but-sensible stocking items (so useful!). I’m now fully stocked on nail files, Wisps, toothbrushes, toothpaste, almonds, anti-bacterial gel and such until some time next year.
Some more fun stuff:
S’mores Grill Kit. NOM-tastic.
Sweater tights and new pajama pants. Warm & Cozy.
Workout gloves. The better to lift your weight with.
Brie baker with cheese board identifiers. Can’t wait to host you… with CHEESE!
Coasters from Paris that match my dining room artwork. Awesome.
A really cool coffee table book. LOVE.
Charger of barrel-aged 12 Dogs of Christmas. Cheers *clink*
Raspberry-flavored alcoholic whipped cream (a last-minute toss in). All Your Hot Chocolate Belongs to Us.
Personalized derby wear. Hella-fantastic.
Oh, and if you’re wondering what I bought AB for Christmas:
Chalkboard Keg Handle (which currently reads as “Empty 
” as he attempts to install his keg fridge in the kitchen cabinets — THAT’LL BE A POST!)
A ring that doubles as a bottle opener (he saw this on a friend while tailgating for a Pahr game, and wanted it; so, he got one. He got a ring last year too and rarely wore it. I sense a Christmas trend)
Set of copper Moscow Mule mugs
Leather Dop Kit Bag (stupid left his in the cabinet at the old apartment)
…And, I feel like there was something else, but my memories of Christmas already evade me.
Somehow in all my pre-season Grinchy-ness, I managed to enjoy a stress-free, somewhat-relaxing holiday (with a side of stomach uneasiness for a few hours on the holiday).
Next year: all I want to do is wake up in my new home on Christmas morning, snuggling cats** and my boyfriend. Then? I’m all yours.
Did you get anything great this year?
*that’s about the best way to describe this break-up; those who know me know I’ve never been married.
**and then there were THREE?! Heh.
I can’t tell you how pissed I was when I picked up a container of Dean’s eggnog and read “corn syrup” on the label. I used to make homemade eggnog (and have been advised against because of the potential issues with raw eggs). But I’m sure that simply pasteurizing a product does NOT mean adding CRAP “to make it taste better.” I make my best attempt to purchase grocery items that are as “real” and organic as/when possible. While I realize I cannot prevent this CRAP in everything, I feel that every little bit of concern helps. Yet, I remain hypocritical in my penchant for Honey Nut Cheerios (seriously, one of the worst and MOST sugary cereals on the market… ugh) and Moon Pies (is there anything NOT scientific on this label?).
Ho-hum.
I mean, have you read about the effects of high fructose corn syrup? Well, for one: IT’S MAKING YOU FAT. And the industry has coyly attempted to rename HFCS, corn sugar(s). I mean, we’re all adults here, you know high levels of sugar in your food is bad for you, right? RIGHT(s)?! It’s about balance. Consumer awareness. Sadly, three other containers in the dairy section had the same problem. WTF, Giant Eagle: on labels, you explicitly promote your chocolate milk as NOT having high fructose corn syrup — why not the eggnog?
And what the fuck were we talking about here? Oh yeah, MOTHER FUCKING EGGNOG FRENCH TOAST.
Thankfully, I found that Horizon Organic makes an eggnog. And then I realized that I probably COULD have made my own eggnog in this case, since I would be cooking the battered bread anyways. Gah!
The boyfriend and I both like our French toast to be made with white or Italian bread for some serious eggnog-dippy action, so I used that for our Sunday breakfast of champions.
Ingredients
2 eggs
2 1/2 cups of eggnog
1/2 T cinnamon
1/4 T pumpkin pie spice
(optional: rum flavoring)
REAL maple syrup and powdered sugar for topping (I’ve read about an apple-cranberry compote to complement the French toast, which I most definitely will make in the future)
Let’s Make Breakfast
Whisk everything in a bowl; dip bread; place on skillet, cooking each side until golden brown.
BREAKFAST IS SERVED! Else, it should be.
This is the part of the story where you should NOT follow my directions (and why you only get “before” pictures with this post). See, I’m still getting used to this gas stove and asked the boyfriend which pan and heat setting I should use — and I followed his recommendation, but I wanted to cook by myself. My first pair of toast stuck to the pan… which, typical. I intended to start over, but it happened JUST as the boyfriend entered the kitchen to “check in” on me.
THIS IS WHAT I HATE: he attempted to take over breakfast, instead of kindly helping by offering suggestions. He told me to use oil (on what I thought was a non-stick pan), which would have been nice to know beforehand, right? But because my mind was already “FUCK YOU! GET OUT! I CAN DO THIS” (as he grabbed the spatula from my hand), his typical laughter at my expense sent me into an emotional tailspin.
I would have tried again and eventually figured it out (with butter instead of oil… ew). But at that point, I was so indignant at his response — to my doing something nice — he was being completely and totally insensitive.
So, he made breakfast for himself. I grabbed a blueberry cereal bar and went skating. The end.
MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS!
Where my alcoholics at: Serve with a little rum in your coffee. Or an entire bottle of rum, in my case.
We can no longer fight it — winter and its corresponding stream of holidays are upon us. To warm up (both my body temperature and my soul), I typically turn to drinking wines this time of year. There’s something especially cozy about having a red wine when hanging out in front of a fireplace. Having a partner certainly makes the cold nights a little more intimate… and the holidays a bit more tolerable
Since I’m a fun girl, I like to bring a fun bottle of wine to my events. And a bottle by the name of Vixen — not to mention one from a place called Naked Winery — makes for an ideal (and easy) hostess gift during these seasonal get-togethers: girls night, office holiday dinners, white elephant parties — or a thoughtful gift for the single person in your life. They need all the love and alcohol in the world this time of year. I’ve been there; I know.
Vixen is a “foxy wine… coy at first, then comes on strong with elements of blackberry and some cherry.” Characterized by a very dark color, Vixen is a big Syrah, with sensual aromas, and subtle tannins that bite with a smoky earthiness and hold on with a medium-long finish of toast and coffee bean. Rawr! I like a wine (and winery) with attitude.
Perhaps, you’ll grab another bottle to save for after you’ve both settled back at home after a long day of traveling. Oh, the mileage! The snowstorms! Share a bottle of Vixen Syrah (be sure to bring your inner vixen) with that new beau to make the first of (hopefully many) New Year resolutions together.
And you know I can’t have wine without a cheese plate! Naked Winery suggests a reserve white cheddar or parmigiano reggiano with slices of Italian salami to pair nicely with its Vixen Syrah.
Special Discount
Want to get Naked this holiday? (put your pants back on) Ahem… Naked Winery is offering an amazing 30% discount on all purchases of Vixen Syrah to all of my readers, fans and followers. Be sure to use discount code SINGLE at purchase.
Here’s to some holiday Cheers! My Christmas card says: From Mel, with love. Yours in pervertedness, forever. *clink*
Disclosure: Naked Winery is a site sponsor and have provided me a product sample and compensation for this post. Please see my Disclosure Policy for more information.
It was difficult not to buy all the Pittsburgh t-shirts and 83 key necklaces at last weekend’s Handmade Arcade. But we did get these awesome holiday card packs from local artist Noelle Griskey, of Pink Bathtub Designs. Her etsy shop is full of cute letterpress goods — good for you and for gifts.
YES, I’M SENDING OUT HOLIDAY CARDS THIS YEAR. But definitely not before Thanksgiving. Trying SO HARD to get into the spirit… by drinking Snow Melt and Christmas Ale, natch. But a beach vacation might help too.
THIS. SO MUCH.
Arsenal Cider House is one of my newfound faves of Pittsburgh. I’ll definitely be bringing a growler to share for Thanksgiving dinner.
1. itchy, ugly stitches in two parts of my body (removal next Monday)
2. series of rashes from covering said sutures with bandages (I’m allergic to adhesive)
3. open wound from third mole removal in my armpit that probably SHOULD have had a stitch or two
4. some sort of pulled/strained lower calf muscle on my left leg (NOT FROM ROLLER DERBY… grr!)
5. patchy, balding cat (vet visit tomorrow)
6. overly-tired body, psyche and absolute lack of motivation
7. car that needs its driver’s side fog lamp replaced (which was ordered over two weeks ago, but I haven’t had the time to go back to the repair place)
8. grossly neglected blog (the worst is behind you, I promise!)
I’m having a month, let me tell you! But I swear in between these incidents, there was fun… and a ton of driving.
How was your 4th of July holiday?
I hate when ideas for gifts hits you well after the buyer has asked.
Together, AB & I had a comprehensive list — mostly stuff for the kitchen — but then I realized this past weekend that our living space could use some new furniture pieces. For instance, a new TV stand, which I gather HE would never go for, but I hate having all glass matched with dark wood accent tables in the living room. Should I have added this to my HATE list from yesterday?
I also think we would have fared well with a furniture store gift card to purchase a new over-stuffed side chair and ottoman to match my sofa. I almost bought it once, but I knew I didn’t have the space for it in my condo. Now, we definitely do. And we DEFINITELY need a comfortable chair (especially when he passes out at 8pm on the couch, rendering my share of it futile).
I have put a stand-still on acquiring any and all glassware, but the gadgets, hoo-diddies and thingamajigs we asked for together will put our kitchen AT CAPACITY upon the new year. I intend for this to make me crazy when my cabinet organization system self destructs.
You know, I have NO CLUE what he’s getting me for the holiday — he’s compiled gift options for me since my birthday, tracking on his iPhone, which I do not look at (*wink* at you Allison). “It” came in an envelope. A FLAT envelope. And I think a book was delivered a day or two after that. Well, I only have, like, a week to wait. I’m intrigued, that’s for sure.
What’s on your Christmas list this year?
Independent survey results show: ‘Burghers do not celebrate Sweetest Day (including one, “What the frick is Sweetest Day?” Best answer I could receive).
Hopefully these needless card company-created holidays — apparently designed for Ohio and popular for Chicago residents, which is technically a bunch of ex-pat Ohioans anyway — will not cross outside the state border to its east.
East. It’s so freaking weird living east of from where I lived my entire life. I still haven’t quite adjusted to that.
Moving on. AB’s birthday is already competing with this — and Halloween — so I’d rather just select one occasion, celebrate with some beers and maybe a can of whipped cream, and call it a weekend. But I will not let him win at drunk Scrabble.
Most lovey-dovey holiday moments are lame — up to, and including Valentine’s Day, kisses at midnight on New Year’s Eve, monthly anniversaries and spending Thanksgiving with the in-laws pretending ONCE AGAIN to like beets… AND sweet potatoes. And seriously, the Day of Sweets really only meant something if all the cheerleaders in the school and the guy you were taking to Homecoming sent you a Cookie Gram to homeroom, for you to show off like some sort of Pride of Ashtabula High School award. That glitters. And has bubble letters. *puke*
The DATE means absolutely nothing — well, it SHOULD not — to grown adults. And for shame on those who even EXPECT something to be bought/gifted/or shown off to co-workers on that day. If we NEED to absolutely celebrate romanticism (and all of your stupid baby talk), why not choose a completely arbitrary date and go balls out? Oh, there’s an event for that? But you will never take away the St. Patrick’s Day party from these two Irish drunks!
Better yet, use Sweetest Day for its intended meaning — to genuinely spread a little love or joy to those NOT so fortunate.
Like, your single friends.
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For those still curious (‘Burghers and otherwise), or whom need to feel enlightened on the origins of Sweetest Day and all its inanity, there’s this info.
How was your Easter? I am seriously on carb overload. But YAY for Spring dresses this year and mojitos. And… that gorgeous bruise on my hand.
Speaking of cheese, the Cheese Club at West Point Market in Akron is amazing. As such, their selection is equally as awesome. We came home with a honey nut gouda, aged habernero cheddar, and an never-before-heard and deliciously-buttery Bruges.
Friday, I spent with the NEO roller derby gals in a skate class. I now know the inner workings of trucks, wheels and bearings.
Afterward, AB & I loaded up on beers at Riverside in Kent, and enjoyed the outdoor patio for a bit.
Saturday, aforementioned cheeses and lunch at A&W. Two Yums for root beer floats for lunch (and a coney dog and mozzarella sticks). What? It’s a holiday. And I start running on Monday.
For dinner, we had kitchen-bar seats at Russo’s. I was a bit nervous at the menu offerings, where with a seafood allergy — IT’S CAJUN, CREOLE, NEW ORLEANS-infused, which means um, tread carefully. The grilled chicken livers were delicious. Seriously, each restaurant has its own spin on offal, and I can’t get enough. For entree, I ordered the jambalaya which contained sausage, chicken and ham, but couldn’t have the creole sauce since it’s made with a crab base. DAMN. Thankfully, it still contained a bit of spicy bite. (And thankfully I asked for their “replacement” sauce of marinara on the side. Kinda ew, right?). Highly disappointed in the house salad served with the entrees. I mean, can a girl get a shredded carrot or grape tomato or something? IT WAS ONLY LETTUCE. And it was weird to me. I LOVED my Sazarac drink, even if the waitress second-guessed my penchant for rye whiskey.
End note: Bread pudding with a bourbon cream sauce. Om nom nom nom. I was more full than I would be on Easter.
I need a massage. Badly. I don’t know if it’s either my sleeping patterns (or bed un-selection) or combined with the fact I work from slumpy couches and dining room tables. We should be able to dispel the latter with our purchase on an actual DESK (from the Wayside folks). Being delivered next week. It’s time to rearrange the apartment and create an actual “office” within our living space. Next up: a new computer chair.
Be that as it may… a big hooray as well for repeat holidays. I broke the spell of AB’s attention span or something apparently, since he’s never had a girl long enough to repeat holidays. Now, I wish he wasn’t such a traveling businessman. I want him here. Needy, I know.
While I’m working on my tan in Florida and Mexico for seven days, I’m passing the blogging reigns to my friends and the bloggers whom I stalk. Religiously.
I don’t know another way to pray.
Today’s guest post comes from my dear friend, Carley. She was my graphic designer professor (we were the same age) many moons and martinis ago, and we immediately connected. We would frequent the now-defunct ZaZa in Cleveland Heights after night class — many, many relationship mishaps were discussed over Herb Scores (my favorite martini on the list). Be that as it may, she moved out of state for her career, but we remained friends. She is the most awesome. And she married a Czech, which gives us lots of conversation about traveling, Absinthe and Becherovka.
If you like what you read, perhaps you can request she add you on her totally private blog. Keeping with the topic of vacation, here is a (drunken, I’m sure) recap of her recent Christmas spent in the Czech Republic.
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I traveled to Czech Republic for Christmas with my husband. He was born there, and his entire family still lives in this tiny town, Karvina, on the other side of the country from Prague. It was his first time home for the Holidays in about 12 years. So this was a pretty special event.
The flight was miserable, long, and 3 fucking connections of hell. Never mind the 6-hour time change, and being awake for 23 hours. We hit the bars as soon as we got our suitcases to mom’s flat! Oh dear god, a premise for the rest of the week. Have a beer, and a wine. The beer is your water. The wine is to chase your shot. Oh, I’m fucked. Are you kidding me. My tolerance is about 2 dirty martinis. And that’s after a big meal! Excellent night!
If you want to travel to a country where people are kind, and will take you into their home. Visit! I don’t think the place has an exceptional tourist rap, but who gives a shit. The food is heavy, rich, and deep fried goodness. Everything is home-made. Families and friends are so warm. They welcome me with open arms, and I can’t even speak the language beyond pivo, víno, káva, sýr, prosím, děkuji. (beer, wine, coffee, cheese, please, thank you.)
Here is the kicker. When you visit. These tiny and totally adorable little shot glasses are place in front of everyone. HARMLESS! Baaah! I can take 20 of those little babies, and walk a straight line. Wait? What is that? Moonshine? You guys make your own booze….um? wow. Impressive, and terrifying. Is this legal? Yes? Oh…. so… it’s like vodka, right? Sort of, what does “sort of” mean?
Let me tell you what “sort of” fucking means. It means 50%-60% spirits stilled from plums. You can’t even get anything over 50% in the states. Real Absinthe is 70-73%. Our vodkas run about 30% in the States. Ahhhh Slivo.
When we visit friends here you get a coffee, water, maybe a beer. In CZ it’s a shot for hello. A shot because you choked on the first shot. A third shot because you are starting to feel pretty tough. Not noticing that you are the only one with slurred speech. By the 5th shot, it’s been a couple hours of poorly spoken Check-lish. And it’s time to visit another Aunt and Uncle! They are waiting! Let us go say hi, just for a minute….
Shit, they have the shot glasses out and filled as we walk in the door…2 more cousins to visit tonight!
Hull-ov-a Vacation!
This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
