sour

I don’t want to talk about how I got sour cream up my nose; let’s just accept it and move on, okay?

Admittedly, related.

made for each other

I turn on the TV. The actor onscreen is turned away from the camera, so we glimpse the merest flicker of face: the line of a jaw, the edge of nose. Instantly, we both blurt out “Is that The Gersh?”

That’s right:

A) We have a household nickname for Gina Gershon.

B) We can both recognize her in a split second, even when she’s got her back to the camera.

It’s nice we found each other.

hello, m’baby

Elsa, apropos of nothing: I sang the Michigan J. Frog song at the bar tonight.
The Fella:That sounds like you.

little things

I love:

-clementines. I love how easy they are to peel, how tiny they are, how each segment is just the right size to pop into my mouth.

- spinning kids around: grabbing a child by the wrists and twirl twirl twirl, that little face beaming and giggling up at you, until you both get wobbly-legged and dizzy. Yesterday I spun the smallest child at a family picnic; by the time I set him down, all the rest had lined up for a turn. When you spin more than a few children in a row, you can feel it the next day in your shoulders, arms, and back. It occurs to me that I would get more than enough exercise every day if I could just spin children for 30 minutes or so, including the breaks so I don’t whoops.

- clear wine bottles. I soak the bottle in cold water so the glue softens, the label peels off, and I can easily scrub the glass clean with a sponge. Wash well inside and out. I use clear bottles to store grains, to fill with fruit-infused liqueurs, or to serve chilled water.

twust

Trust is never having to say “Don’t tweet that.” #behindcloseddoors

gratitude

Some people for whom I am grateful this weekend:

- my Metafilter teammates at Health Month. Having the support and accountability of a team should help me stick to my modest goals: eat 6-10 servings of vegetables, 5+ days a week; walk, physical therapy, or comparable exercise 5+ days a week; perform a conscious, intentional act of self-care 7 days a week. (That last one is the crusher, it turns out.)

- The Fella. Last night, just as I was thinking “Heeeeeey, did I ever have dinner?,” The Fella showed up from work with some grocery bags, including a ready-to-eat chicken Caesar salad for me. He doesn’t eat chicken or salad, but intuitively knew that both might hit the spot for me on a hot night.

- The Fella again. His response to my chirpy “thank you, that will be my sixth serving of vegetables today!” was a blasé “You’re welcome, I help you reach your goals.” That offhand reiteration of support — especially the thoughtful, unfailing love that it signals — is new to me and always blindsides me with love and gratitude.

- Mom. When I called to ask if we could swing by to pick up some borrowed coolers for my birthday party, my mother offered — and insisted upon — dropping them off. This saved us (well, really, saved The Fella) about an hour round-trip.

- Mom again. When she dropped off the coolers, they were already washed and ready to use. That saved me having to balance, bend, and scrub on a day when my back is throbbing.

- the Wild Wheel that I spun during this morning’s Health Month check-in. Back spasms kept me from exercising Friday, but the whimsical wheel of fortune gave me half-credit anyhow. Phew!

edited to add:

- Oh, right: ME. I’ve been diligent in my HM goals, appreciative of the kindness of others, and I’ve been doing really well at the challenging goal of conscious, attentive self-care and affection. Go, me!

phantom pain

As I skulked around the unlit apartment, right hand clasping the hem of the blanket thrown around my shoulder ready to ward off any stray beam of sunlight, left hand clamped to my throbbing orbital socket covering my face from jawbone to hairline, I thought…

“Maybe the Phantom of the Opera just had migraines.”

spam, wonderful spam

spammer scammers, you are dumb. I suspect you could recruit more candidates for your scamtastic offers of degree completion and scholarships if you could teach your spambots that it’s not spelled univisertiy, uvernisity, or even uiniversity.

spammer scammers, you are geniuses. Today I received a scammy spam announcing an enormous cash compensation payable to previous victims of (unspecified) 419 scam, which presumably is designed to appeal to recipients who have already bitten a hook at least once. Phish in a barrel. GENIUS.

in the dark

You know the party is really rolling when the lights go out!

Thanks to an hours-long blackout in my neighborhood, I’ll be postponing my next Sandwich Party update ’til Monday… at least. See you when the lights go on!

signs of spring

Lately I’m seeing undeniable signs of spring. Oh, I’m not talking about daffodils, Easter bonnets, or robins trilling on a budding branch, though those are heartening, too. Here are a few reliable signs that spring has sprung:

- Various Peeps atrocities.

- Passover Coca Cola with the yellow cap. [Previously on macbebekin, though the images are stripped.]

- And, courtesy of Jagosaurus, a harbinger of spring in our nation’s capital: the appearance of the National Cherry Festival mascot… Paddles The Beaver. No, really: Paddles The Beaver.