Eye Candy

Today was a spontaneous redecorating day in my cube, thanks to a visit from Kate in our UK office. She came bearing gifts. In the form of David Beckham. Okay, not him personally, but some posters. So I had to relocate the LPS4 poster to a new spot, making room for Becks in a place of honor. Or, to be specific, a spot which is in my range of vision all day. ALLLLLLL day.

Due to this shift, my good friend and cube neighbor, Gabe, now gets to ogle Kitty, Horse, and Cocker Spaniel whilst I feast my eyes on David.

Let's just say that he is not as pleased as I am.

Move over, LPS!


It's time for another view!

Let Them Eat Pie

It’s our annual pre-thanksgiving potluck at work today. Which means I spent last night in the kitchen baking. Really I could have gotten away with one pie. Or even (gasp) buying a pie … or something -- because let’s face it, I wouldn’t have purchased a store-made pie! But I was waffling between apple and pecan and so rather than make a decision I thought “why not both?”

Silly.

Here are a few reasons why not.

It takes about 20 minutes short of forever to peel all those apples. Which is why I then feel absolutely justified letting the cuisinart do the slicing. And then, come to think of it, why wouldn’t I make the crusts (for both pies) in there too? So I decided to do that. But the thing with that is that it’s very hard to tell what’s going on in there whilst mid-mix. And making a pie crust is more an art than a science. I mean, sure, you need to not overdo the flour or the water or the butter, so you kind of need to measure correctly which is more like science. But really, cutting in the shortening and then adding just the right amount of water, well, it all depends frankly. Sometimes I’ve had to add the entire suggested amount. Sometimes I add barely half of it. It really depends. And if it’s all happening outside your line of vision (i.e., shrouded in the damn cuisnart), it’s really anybody’s guess.

Apple-iciousness

But for some insanely stupid reason, I persevered with the cuisinart. Because in my head I KNEW it was “easier.” Ha! I needed essentially 3 crusts (2 for the apple, 1 for the pecan). Well, maybe I needed 3.5 or 4 (my pie plates are rather deep). But I must have made 10. Literally. So, no. I think I have now properly dispelled that misunderstanding. It is not easier.

Then when it came to pack up this morning I looked at both pies, pretty in their ceramic plates … and weighing in at about 8 lbs each. And I realized the problem with pies, is that you can’t exactly stack them. Or throw them in a big bag and go on your way. I have a proper carrier… but guess what. It’s meant for one pie. Because who in their right mind would make two that needed to be transported? No one. No one in their right mind.

Pecan Nom Nom

So I put one in the carrier and the other, foil-covered, I precariously ensconced in a thin paper shopping bag. Then I picked them both up, along with my coffee (it goes without saying that I desperately needed that coffee this morning after baking all night) and a tub of ice cream, and started the difficult journey from apartment to car to cube. And barely made it. But they’re here. Bon appétit!

Breaking up is hard to do

Over the Summer -- at least I think that's when it was -- I broke up with my hairdresser. We'd been together for a really long time, maybe 10 or 11 years. We'd been through a lot: she moved, twice. I moved, many times more than that and once, even, across the seas to England for a spell. But then this past Summer, the long distance relationship just became too much for me and I broke it off. I felt bad -- I mean, we'd been together longer than I had ever been together with any other hairdresser. But making the hour-plus drive each way was taking its toll to the point where I wasn't even looking forward to our time together. So... I called it quits.

But of course, since then, I've played around a bit. Tried out a couple of different stylists, all of course conveniently local. But none of it is has been ... you know, quality. I mean, the cuts and the color were fine, sure. But only that -- just fine. No sparkle, no sizzle ... no real chemistry I guess.

Consequently, unsurprisingly, my hair now looks mostly like crap. I've taken to impulsively snapping up box-o-color shades like "flame roasted coffee" (brown with a hint of red, obviously) and spending an unsatisfying, messy, tedious weekend morning battling the ever-resurgent not-quite brown strands that are adamant about showing through -- and then vainly attempting to blot said flaming java out of the rental carpet.

All of this leads me to admit that maybe I was too hasty. Maybe I didn't really understand what a good thing I had. Maybe I took my stylist for granted.

Because, seriously, it has been a long time since I had this good of an idea about what my "real" hair color is -- and, frankly, the truth is somewhat surprising. I'm sure it wasn't quite so much this color the last time we were chummy, back in say ... 2001. So on top of the melancholy regret at letting a good relationship go bad, I'm also not in love with my hair.

I wonder ... if she'd ... you know ... consider taking me back.

Ah, well, time again to don the plastic gloves and unleash the hue-spattering havoc.

It's Nice to Be Nice

Probably. For the most part anyway.

I didn’t always feel this way and, some days, I still don’t. Maybe it’s a function of getting older and mellowing the F out, and I’ve definitely found this easier to achieve after a nice relaxing holiday. But it’s really much less stressful to stave off the furies and try to be nice. I mean, I end up in a much better mood if…

…on the way to work I politely let someone who waited until the last minute squeeze in front of me right before the turn we both need to make rather than tailgating the car ahead as I do my damndest to keep them out.

… I hold the elevator, smile, say good morning or have a nice day instead of attempting to make zero eye contact with anyone from car to cube.

… I laugh off the fact that someone want me to hunt through my inbox to find something because they haven’t bothered to keep track of it.

... I decide that my cube neighbors decision to have a loud and lengthy speakerphone conference call in her cube is a good reason to listen to music via headphones rather than grounds for a justifiable homicide.

… the Starbucks lady decides on a whim that I would much prefer to have a different coffee to what I ordered, and I sat to myself ‘oh, what the heck. Hazelnut can’t be that bad, can it?’ Actually this is an exception because it turns out that, yes, actually hazelnut can be that bad after about four sips.

So yes, there may still be a few exceptions to the “little things” (Hazelnut coffee, for instance) and certainly there are still loads of “big things” worth going stroppy over, but mostly life is better when we just laugh it off and let it go.

What “little things” can’t you let go of?

Love at First Sight

I know of two married couples who met via online dating. They’re both happily married, with offspring. But I have to say I have never had luck with that medium. Maybe I am too picky, but it seems to me that all of the guys fall into one of these not-too-flattering categories.

Guys in Spandex
They love their bicycles so much and they think they look good in tights. I probably don’t have to say this to most of the men I know, but just in case -- Note: Almost no one does. If you're not a world-famous dancer, give it a pass.

Guys in Cars
Hey look! Here’s me sitting in my car. Don’t you love me?

Note: There are two sub-types to this category:
A) You can’t see much of my car, but trust me it’s the awesomest.
B) You can’t see me, but you can see just how truly awesome my car is, and that’s enough, isn’t it?

Glaring Guys
If I look like I might be a sadistic serial killer on the lam, all the girls will want me.

Oblivious Guys
What? Really? I look unattractive in this photo where I am slumped over on the sofa with greasy hair and six chins? Really?

Self-Shot Guys
I am a complete hermit and social misfit. I have exactly 1 friend and he has no hands or feet and therefore cannot take a photo of me. If he had hands and feet, furthermore, he would probably not be my friend. But never mind that. I also don’t know how to work a camera timer or possibly don't even realize that cameras have them. So I took eighteen photos of myself with my arm extended in various spots around my place. I tried to crop out my extended arm though, so you can’t tell. Oh wait? You can? Really?

Over-Served Guys
Check me out in this photo that was taken 10 minutes before I totally blew chunks. I was soooo wasted! Cos I can totally party. I am that much fun. And loud. Your coworkers are going to LOVE me at the holiday party. Let's go out!

The "What Ex?" Guys
Take a look at all the photos of me where I am oh-so happy. They're a little off-center and oddly misshapen. Because, um, they were taken by my nephew and he's not so good with a camera. No... No of course that one of me in the tux isn't my wedding photo with my ex-wife cut out of it. How could you think that?

Period Guys
I might be caught in an era. But you can't be sure because my photos are all from that era. Maybe now I dress in more current styles. Maybe I don't. Regardless of that, without a doubt I am a good few pounds heavier and have a hell of a lot less hair. But damn! Look how good I looked in that blurry photo circa 1989-1991!

World Traveler Guys
Here's a shot of me in front of the pyramids. I'm that little speck to the left. No, not that speck, next to that speck. And here's another one that was taken when I was on safari. It's a little blurry because the jeep was going pretty fast because we were being chased by a pride of lions. I'm not actually in this photo. But I took it. When I was in Costa Rica. That's how cool I am. I've been outside the US. So I must be a total catch right?

Sweaty Guys
Hey look at me after I just ran a marathon/did a triathlon/mowed the lawn. You're helplessly attracted to me because I am active. And you can tell I am active because I posted this photo in which I am beet-red, sweaty and completely unattractive.

Professional Photo Guys
I had these head shots taken so that I could be guaranteed to show my best side. Sure it looks cheesy with my chin on my hand, but at least you can’t tell that I have no friends. Note: These guys all mostly live in Southern California.

The first rule of BOOK CLUB ...

I’ve gone and done it. No I haven’t cut all my hair off. Or gotten a tattoo god-knows-where. Or sold all of my worldly belongings to join a cult. But it is something that I have never done before and now I've gone and done it. I joined a book club. Really, I've joined the Book Club.

Anyone who knows me knows that I read a fair amount. And I am not really a book snob -- although I do draw the line at Romance, that genre just leaves me cold. Well, actually it's rather like porn-for-girls and in that regard actually quite steamy at times, but all that story stuff they put in between the sex scenes can be horrifically tiresome. I pretty much will read almost anything that isn't Romance (and, in hard times -- those being when I am out of materials, ahem, I have been known to dip into a Romance, but they're not my choice. Plenty of other books offer sex scenes without the tedious story lines). Anyway, I pretty much like most stuff (spy thrillers, murder mysteries, chick lit, etc. etc.). So I figure getting together with like-minded readers over a few bottles of wine to chat about books -- it's bound to be a win-win.

My introduction will be in a few weeks and we're reading The City and the City. I'll let you know how it goes. In the meantime, feel free to peruse Shelfari for my recent reads.

Cheesy-licious!

We finally had a wet and dreary day, so I decided to make a baked Macaroni and Cheese. It was a jiff to whip up ... but then, I did kind of cheat. I didn't have enough cheese on hand, so I halved the recipe. And I'm not overly keen on onion, so I opted out of that. It also turned out that there were no bay leaves and no powdered mustard in the house. So I 86'ed the bay leaf idea completely -- and the egg (I was going to attempt to throw in roughly half an egg, but then I saw that I was supposed to "temper" it in and, as I had exactly zero idea as to what that meant, it went too. (I have made plenty of cheese sauces sans egg, so I figured it wasn't going to ruin it). I also neglected to measure the paprika and the salt, I just threw it what looked "about right." When the sauce was basically all compiled, I squirted in some nice old English mustard.

Other than that, I pretty much followed this exactly and, in the end, I think mine looked remarkably like Alton's (for all my waywardness and the fact that it was a bit shorter given the halving and the lack of a smaller pan to cook it in) -- and I am sure it was just as tasty. Yum!

Wait. Really?

My last post was in April? Seriously?

Oops. More later. Later as in soon though, not later as in someday maybe.

I Suffered -- and How!

You may have heard about a certain ashy volcano in Iceland that contrived to shut down European airspace for several days. Millions were stranded. Some were forced to take trains (gasp). I happened to be in England on a business trip at just that time.
Okay, so I wasn’t stuck at the airport for five days straight. And I didn’t have to spend thousands of my own dollars on either a hotel room, food, or a new flight. But that isn’t to say I didn’t suffer. Let us count the ways.

1. The bed in my room at the Park Plaza County Hall (my third hotel of the trip) had only two pillows. Two! So obviously there was some kind of pillow drought. What with all of the flights being grounded, apparently they couldn’t fly in any new down from … wherever all those plucked geese are kept.

2. The room service menu (also at PPCH) had a really rubbish dessert offering. Which did not even include Banoffee Pie. Consequently I ordered dessert once, ate one bite of it, and never ordered another again. Seriously.

3. I didn’t manage to get any Pimms. In spite of the purported ash cloud, every day was a bright sunny day, without a cloud (or aeroplane trail) in the sky. And yet I never got to sip Pimms riverside. Clearly, this is partly my fault. I should have made that happen. But whosever fault it was, clearly I was hard done by to spend an entire two weeks Pimms-less while the sun shone.

4. Eurostar travel was so chock-a-block with stranded fliers that I couldn't even use the bonus time for a cheeky trip to Paris. Which left me, indeed, "stuck" in London. I can imagine worse fates!

So that’s that, then.

Job done.

Curry. Check.

Yummy chicken korma. Followed this up with chicken tikka masala a few nights later (thanks, Dave for helping me with the tough decisions!). I have only a day and a half left now. Wonder if I can fit in a few more…

Cheese & Pickle Sandwich…es. Check.

Thanks to Jo for making some lovely ones and bringing them along to the sunny picnic in Wisley. And to John & Nat for taking me to Pret for a posh cheddar and pickle encore.

Full English. Check. Check. Check…

When didn’t I have it (that might be easier)? OK, there were a few days here and there where I opted for continental so that I could have pain au chocolat (since it’s all rubbish in the US). Wonder if I can bring some home…

Afternoon tea. Check.

It wasn’t quite right sadly. Cole and I took tea at our first hotel (oops, our second, actually. you know your stay has run over when you have more than one hotel), but the chef must have been French or something. It was tasty, but a bit over the top on the chocolate. It was chocolate everything. Who am I to complain about chocolate? And I am sure you’re thinking that there is no such thing as too much chocolate. Sadly that proved to be untrue. The scones had chocolate chips in them. (what?!) and they were served with (what else?) chocolate ganache (WHAT?!). Oh, don’t get me wrong, there was a tiny little offering of clotted cream as well, but it seemed more like an afterthought or a precursory nod toward the convention. Most disappointing. And… more chocolate: éclairs, mousse, cakes. No lemon curd even. Ah, well. The tea itself was of course very nice.

Not quite right tea treats

Banoffee Pie. Check.

Frankly, I haven’t had enough of this. I’ve only had it once. Probably only because it wasn’t offered at most of the restaurants I visited. Clearly I am hanging out in the wrong places! The one I did have (coincidentally at the hotel that served the not-right afternoon tea) was bliss.

Absolutely perfect.

Prawn Mayonnaise Sandwich. Check.

Steak and ale pie. Check.

Walkers Sensations Thai Sweet Chili crisps. Check. A whole bag. At midnight. After having afternoon tea and then skipping dinner.

Flapjack. Check, sort of.

I had some nice little mini bites from M&S – and they were tasty, but not the same thing as something freshly baked. May need to revisit this.

Visits: Jo & Tom. Sus & family. Pete & Cat. Brian. John, John, Nat, Natalia, Nicola, Ali, Karin, Greg, Andy, and Justin. Check.

5 Lbs gained. Check.

Oh, and … Work stuff done. Check.