I have gotten so bad at remembering to step out of the moment to take a picture! Click the image below for 130-ish photos taken over the course of the 4-day weekend, and a few very short video clips as well.
Monthly Archives: April 2011
I have a dozen tasks to accomplish before biting the bullet and PACKING* for Viva, like, immediamente, but instead I’m going to share with you this potentially horrifying recipe which I read last night in a 1956 issue of True Story.
No. 4, Ketchup in Dessert**
Heat oven to 350Â° F. (moderate). Place 4 cups sliced tart apples in buttered shallow baking dish. Combine 1/2 cup Heinz Ketchup and 2 tbs. lemon juice. Spoon over apples. Mix 3/4 cup sifted all-purpose flour, 3/4 cup sugar, 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon, 1/3 cup softened butter or margarine until crumbly. Spread over apples. Bake 40 min. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream. Serves 6 to 8.
I’m really, truly hoping that one of my readers (ahem, that’s you) decides to make this. I’m curious. Like the way you’d drive past a car accident, sick to your stomach but looking anyway. That kind of curious.
*My garment bag has been “packed” for weeks, although dresses keep getting cycled in/out. It’s the bulky stuff (shoes, handbags, HBA) that needs organizing. I’m rully-rully hoping to get it all into my Big Red Suitcase this year, instead of my Gigantic Orange Suitcase.
**This recipe was part of a “name the dish” contest, with a grand prize of $5,000. I’m curious as to what the winning entry wound up calling it!
Someone just drove by me in my identical (16 year old) car, down to the limited edition paint color. Even though I’d JUST stepped out of my own car, I caught myself looking at their license plate to be sure.
(Of course, their car hadn’t been repainted a random, newly-invented color by the shitheads at Maaco like mine was. Yes, I’m still bitter. And yes, I still mentally picture my own car in its original color. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been confused.)
(And holy smokes, I just realized that my car is old enough to get a drivers license. I mean, that is, well you know what I mean.)
I have been going mad looking for my “fancy” headphones. I have assorted sets of earbuds in different sizes/colors/ability to remain in my ears, but my headphones are FANCY. Wherein fancy=expensive. They’re noise-canceling, they’re comfortable, and they cost a small fortune. They’ve also been missing for entirely too long.
Now look, I know that my house appears, to the untrained eye, to be a mess. In fact, there are some areas that actually are in utter disarray, but I, me, I know where most stuff is. So to have anything go missing drives me bonkers. BONK. ERS. I was in tears when I couldn’t find my many-year-collection of patches, and overjoyed when they eventually turned up in the “wrong” place (where, for the record, I would swear I had looked previously. Because I was looking in all sorts of odd places for those). My pinstriped belt buckle wasn’t where it was supposed to be, but it was in one of the first places I looked when I finally realized that it wasn’t going to magically reappear in its proper spot. But these headphones. Ach, these headphones! For months, I’ve been looking. Months and months and months. And months. I mentioned their loss on Twitter, in a passive-aggressive attempt to see if perhaps I’d lent them to a friend who would reply with, “Hey! I have those! I’ll get them right back to you.” No such luck. Their recharging doohickey sits by my desk, not far from where the headphones are supposed to live, taunting me. Almost daily, it sticks out its imaginary tongue at me, with a rousing “nyah nyah.” And so I will frequently go into a flurry of searching, oh hell where ARE they?!
It finally reached the point where, in a desperate attempt to locate them, I sent a text to my ex asking if perhaps, maybe, I’d left them at his house. Which is unlikely, because although I always brought them with me when flying out to see him (noise-canceling, remember?), I would most likely remember a flight home without them (I hate-hate-hate airplane noise and remember not having them with me on one entire trip and vowing to never forget them again). But lo! He replied that he did have them! He had just seen them! He would send them back! Oh, I was overjoyed!
Have you figured out by now that he doesn’t actually have them? He confused his own similar-but-not-the-same headphones with mine. Granted, it was a pair that I’d given him, so I can understand his confusion. What it all boils down to is: still no headphones. WHERE THE EFFING EFF ARE MY HEADPHONES?!
On a totally unrelated tangent, I’m packing some dresses to take with me to a friend’s house. We’re doing a little pre-Viva wardrobe check. Who has what can borrow when goes with which? I grab my garment bag from the way-back of the closet, pick out some dresses, and head out the door. As I’m putting the bag in the car, realize that the outside pockets are unzipped. I run a hand in each before zipping them shut, and THERE ARE MY HEADPHONES! They’ve apparently been “missing” since VLV13 (last April, to the uninitiated)! I HAVE THEM BACK!
And you know what? They’re still holding a charge.