Snazzy Summer Quiche

I made a quiche.  It was bangin.  Everybody said so.  Here's how I did it.

1. Break 1/2 a loaf of stale bread into 1/2-inch chunks (3 or 4 cups' worth).
2. Chop 2 zucchini, 1/2 a medium onion, 2 cups tomatoes, 3 cloves garlic.
3. Mix bread and veggies, salt and pepper them, and dump them into two greased baking dishes (about 8-inch diameter/square).
4. Distribute 1 total cup of shredded sharp cheddar over the dishes (so 1/2 cup per dish).
5. In a bowl, whisk together 9 eggs, 2 cups milk or half & half, and 1/4-to-1/2 cup of herbed chevre (goat cheese) until there are no large lumps and eggs are combined.
6. Add salt and pepper, about 1/2 teaspoon each of dried thyme and dill, and two shakes of ground mustard, then whisk.
7. Pour the egg mixture over the dishes, trying to get all the ingredients moist (if you don't hit it all with the pour, then wash your hands, press those babies all up in your quiches until all of the bread is eggy, scrape the cheese off your hands, and wash again).
8. Bake at 350 degrees for about half an hour, or until the centers are set/firm.

HOLY COW.  Bangin, I say.

How to buy a house. Step-by-step.

1.  Be sad that your life is going nowhere.

2.  Love the people you know but not the place you live.

3.  Miss home and family a lot.

4.  Eat lots of CookOut.

5.  Pray.

6.  Cry.  Publicly.  In front of family and fellow restaurant patrons.

7.  Spend less time with friends and more time bemoaning lack of social life.

8.  Eat only at chain restaurants.  Feel wistful for small businesses.

9.  Realize that there are cities that have what you want.

10.  Pray....and realize God is telling you to move.

11.  Eat lots of CookOut.

12.  Start looking at apartments in a way cool city.

13.  Freak out because buying a house is both more economical and SUPER permanent.

14.  Choose a brand-new realtor and begin browsing houses online.

15.  Freak out about money.  Several times.  Often on the phone with your mother.

16.  Tell your close coworkers you're moving.

17.  Cry.

18.  Resign from your perfect job and feel like you've let down your boss and coworkers.

19.  Return to your classroom and cry.

20.  Visit houses in real life.

21.  Freak out...because of everything.

22.  Apply for teaching jobs in the new area.

23.  Go to Hawaii and forget about the whole job and house search.

24.  Freak out because you forgot about the whole job and house search.

25.  Visit more houses in real life.

26.  Visit schools and give resumés to principals.

27.  Send thank-you notes.

28.  Be sad because your social life is even more nonexistent.

29.  Become even better friends with your coworkers whom you are leaving.

30.  Eat lots of CookOut.

31.  Visit more houses in real life and narrow it down to two.

32.  Freak out.

33.  Freak out.

34.  Freak out.

35.  Submit an offer and freak out until it's turned down.

36.  Submit an offer on another house and freak out until it's accepted.

37.  Freak out because there's so much to do.

38.  Pray.

39.  Watch Field of Dreams and Bull Durham as many times as possible [I love you, Kevin Costner, no matter what they say.).

40.  Let your parents handle most of the scary house-buying stuff.

41.  Go to street fairs and festivals and eat two funnel cakes and some chocolate-dipped cheesecake.

42.  Pick out paint colors.

43.  Become even better friends with your coworkers whom you are leaving.

44.  Wish you could take people with you to your new city.

45.  Contemplate kidnapping schemes.

46.  Count down.

47.  Spend three days doing state testing with out-of-their-minds children.

48.  Speed through back roads.

49.  Wake up early for a walk-through.

50.  Sign your name seventy bajillion times.

51.  Scope out men at Lowe's while buying paint and light fixtures, but stealth-mode since your parents are with you.

52.  Put up light fixtures.  Really just hold them up as your dad installs them.

53.  Choke on paint fumes.

54.  Acclimate to the strange noises in your new house while you're alone in it for the first night.

55.  Wake up sore.

56.  Paint.  Paint.  Paint.

57.  Break fingernails.

58.  Laugh.

59.  Take pictures and sigh.

60.  Check your email for ANY sign of job prospects.

61.  Drive back to your apartment and miss your new house.

62.  Let one song trigger a roller coaster of emotions centered on all you'll be leaving behind when you move.

62.  Cry.

63.  Pray.

64.  Show off pictures.

65.  Gloss over "won't see you after two weeks" part.

66.  Go home and watch sad movies.

67.  Make an outlandishly long list vaguely detailing your life for the past year.

68.  Shower.

69.  Go to bed.

70.  There's no way I was going to end that list on 69.



That's how it's done, my friends.  Piece of cake.  Still looking for a job, fyi, you know, just in case you know somebody.  I've got mortgage payments to make.

Loner schmoner!!

Whoa buddy.  Do I ever love living alone.

So I wrote that post whenever ago listing the best things about living single.  I still love it (Living alone, that is...and the post I wrote.  It was genius.).  Waaaaaayyyy bigtime.  Here are some activities I want to add on to my previous list of solitary wonderment:

1. Recording songs.  No one wants to sit and listen to me sing the same thing over and over, trying out different harmonies and fixing mistakes.  I do, but you don't.  So don't live with me.

2. I get to make up my own blues lyrics.  From a Facebook post yesterday, so I don't have to retype it:

"Ohhhhh man, most fun thing I've done in a long time? So, I forgot I didn't cancel my 10:10 Saturday alarm (dude, woke up at 7:30), and in the very beginning of my shower today, its bluesy piano groove started going off ("Piano Riff" for you iPhone folks, the beginning of "Bad to the Bone" for everyone else). Instead of risking electrocution or phone ruinage, I let it go...and go and go...while I made up my own blues song for the remaining fourteen minutes of my shower. Y'all, I am a lyrical GENIUS. Who knew so much material could be created about forbidden love, knees, and birthday parties? (Note that I tried to stick to classic blues themes, but got off track. Figures.)"

3. No one else drinks my chocolate milk.  Back up off my Ovaltine, please.

4. No one knows what cheesy or dumb or fluffy novel I'm reading, or just how awful it really is.  I'm laughing out loud at someone who's just like me.  I don't need to tell you all the dumb things they do that remind me of me.  Nor do I need to tell you that they are a fourteen-year-old girl.

5. I can use garlic, cloves and cloves of it, in pretty much everything I cook for a week, and my coworkers are the only ones who can complain.  Thankfully, lots of the kids have hygiene issues, so they tend to mask me anyway.  YES.

6. There's no risk of others getting music overload from my 24/7 soundtrack to life.  It's a pretty sweet soundtrack, I must say, but I can see that it might get kind of old never having silence.  Ever.  Not even when showering or sleeping.

7. If I want to hang wrinkled clothes in the shower, I can.  Hasta la vista, iron.

8. I can have five jewelry stations.  One on the coffee table, one on the counter, one on my nightstand, one on my jewelry cabinet, and one on my dresser.  All with different purposes.

9. A recording of Hawaii Five-0 paused on Alex O'Laughlin's rugged, scruffy jawline does not incite arguments or switching of the channels.  I don't think I need to elaborate.  Actually, I do:

[source]

10. I have no ten.  Unless lying on the floor is something I can't do if I live with someone else, in which case Lying on the floor for who knows how long doing a whole lotta nada.  Bam.  Take that.  Nobody gets between me and my floor.

K thx byeee!

(That wasn't very grown of me, was it?  Sorry.  It was my inner dumb fourteen-year-old young adult novel protagonist speaking.)

Simple Gifts

I've lived away from home for the larger part of seven years now.  I spent summers home during college, including the jobless and scary summer after graduating college, and made infrequent visits during breaks.  I've grown very independent; it's often for the better, sometimes for the worse.

During all that time, my mom and I have had power struggles and conflicts common to most mother-daughter relationships.

Mom is very nurturing and motherly, likes to take care of others, likes to fix things, likes to solve problems, likes to please.  Is very relational and takes pride in her interactions with others.  Is intelligent and determined and goal-oriented, and works hard to continually improve herself and her surroundings, has fierce beliefs and wears her emotions no matter how she tries to hide them.  Thrives when giving and receiving affection, encouraging others, and spending time with those she loves.

I enjoy living alone.  I like to watch sad movies by myself and openly weep, but I lock away my emotions and refuse to cry in front of others.  I share feelings hesitantly, and I tend to think my opinions and ideas less valid.  I am egotistical, but I believe the world doesn't share my high opinion of myself, so I search for its approval while pretending it doesn't matter.  I yearn to hold and be held, touch and be touched; however, I stiffen and pull away quickly whenever it happens, for I feel it somehow means I'm weak and vulnerable.  I am silly and lazy and don't like to commit to things or make plans.

I've thought for some time that, as much as I adore my mom, we were very different.  Then I started noticing things.

There's this giggle that she has, this one that sounds like she's twelve all over again, high-pitched and cute and squealy.  She lets it go whenever she's especially pleased with something, usually something simple or mundane, and she often pairs it with a speedy monkey-with-cymbals clap.  I hear her in my own young giggle every day.

She has the warmest, most easy smile you'll ever see.  It's disarming, and it's gained her friends in unthinkable environments.  People naturally gravitate toward her, asking her advice, claiming her as a second mother, searching her out at events.  I find myself smiling and charming in the style of my mother, from the grocery store to the Sunday service meet-and-greet.  I'm not a natural master of interaction like she is, but I certainly gained her relational genes.  I even think through a WWMD (What Would Mom Do) in uncomfortable situations and do my best to mimic the gracious effervescence I've observed for years.

Mom has grown into an incredible advice-giver.  Many of our power struggles in the past had to do with her knowing what to do, and me wanting nothing to do with it.  She's developed this method, though, this way of letting me know what she thinks is best and why, without forcing anything or making me feel guilty for whatever I choose.  When giving advice to a dear friend the other day, I heard my mother's trademark phrases coming out of my mouth.  It shocked me.  And thrilled me.

So many of the decisions Mom (Dad, too) has made over the years have been tough ones borne on the shoulders of solid conviction and blind faith.  Not everything has made sense; not everything has been fully thought through; yet, everything has worked out.  I am beginning a new chapter of my own, as you well know, not having all the details worked out, but having the deepest sense of direction I've known in quite some time.  It is completely against my nature to do what I have planned for the next few months.  But how can I turn my back on that direction when I know from Mom's experience and now my own that a call is a call, and we have to trust and follow God when he beckons?

I could go on, noting our shared love of art, nature, music and all things beautiful.  I could tell you how she's such a natural teacher in all areas, even when she thought she never could successfully teach anyone, and how I've seen her evolve into someone confident in that role.  I could mention her intrinsic leadership ability and her willingness to step up where things need to be done.  I could even say how I've come to enjoy the hugs that linger on or happen more often than "necessary" or how I've cried every time in the past year when I've been in the car pulling away from home, watching my parents wave and wave and wave, and blow three kisses, and hook 'em horns, and wait until I'm fully out of sight to turn away.

I could tell you that I miss my mom, and I love my mom, and I long to recapture all the time lost while I thought that we couldn't be more opposite.

I am my mother's cells, my mother's flesh and blood, her beliefs and thoughts, her advice and guidance and training, my mother's loveliness, her charm, her grace, her generosity, her care and concern, her affection and love, her legacy.

I am my mother's daughter; and though I endeavor to be my own person in all things, I swell at the thought that if I am to be like anyone, I am to be like her.  A beautiful, strong woman who touches the lives of others in all things.  Who touches my life like no other.

I love you, Mom.  So much.  Thank you for giving me the gift of you.

I know what love is.

I haven't blogged in a long time.  I'm sorry, but I'm only saying I'm sorry because that's what I do.  I'm unapologetic, in truth, because I've been terribly busy and preoccupied with moving.

I'm moving.

I close on my new house in two weeks, and I'll be full-time in my new place by the end of June.  That's 1.5 months, my friends.  Only 1.5 months until I'm gone.

Only 1.5 months until I begin a brand-new beautiful life in a wonderful city that is SO me, that has restaurants and concerts and bustle and farmers' markets and ballets and family and friends.

But...only 1.5 months until I have to leave behind my fiercely beloved coworkers and best friend and church family.

Owwww.  This hurts.

We're talking real pain here.

I don't even want to think about it.

And it's only getting worse as the end approaches.

Agent used to prevent or treat fever. Greek.

I was in a spelling bee tonight, not really by choice.  I was speaking to one of our assistant principals and she said I should do it--I said I'd think about it, and next thing I know, the principal is at the next staff meeting announcing me as part of the team.  Awesome, thanks.

I got there at six tonight and learned that the actual tournament started at 6:30, so we sat around for 45 minutes (school events never start on time).  Then the rules weren't exactly fair, but we only had to use three "buy-ins" (meaning we only got three words wrong) whereas some other teams had to keep giving them up.  I was ready to be recognized for our awesomeness and get home.

Anyway, to make a long story short, we were narrowed down to three teams with the word "succedanum" meaning, simply, substitute.  Knocked another team out with "recalcitrant" and were neck-and-neck with the last team, then finally got out on "antipyretic".  Second place.  Second place out of maybe fifty teams of teachers and county staff, but still.  Second place.

I won't lie and say that I wanted to be first, because I kind of like my runner-up streak.  :-D

Praying Knees

I'm not a prayerful person.  I'm a self-centered, independent person.  I wish God didn't have to use things to knock me back to my knees, but when you're like me, it takes a lot to turn my focus on something other than number one.

Hello, God.  It's me, Laura.  I got your messages.  Sorry it's taken so long to return them.

I don't mean to be cheesy, and I apologize if I just made you groan.  There's just so much that's going on right now that should have been making me pray.  I've totally blown all of it off.  This weekend, I've realized -- again -- that I'm pretty stupid for doing that.

There's been family drama, some very hurt feelings, loneliness, some expected (and some unexpected) changes and subsequent worrying.  Thank the Lord my mom and I communicate well, and we've been able to help each other through a lot of that.  Our family is still strong, my dears; no need for alarm.  It's just been especially tough for a few months here, and probably will be for another few.

Along with that, I suppose it's time for me to announce that I've decided to move.  For about five months now, I've been working toward heading back closer to home.  It was an easy and clear decision in the beginning.  I'd been unhappy in the town I've been living for quite some time, and I was starting to really miss being close to family.  I'd formed very close relationships with friends who'd become surrogate family here, but I found myself crying most every time I looked in the rearview at my parents' waves and blown kisses (but only after I was far enough that they couldn't see that I was doing it).

I notified my principal in November that I was planning on resigning, and I submitted my paperwork to the county three or four weeks ago.  Both were sad days.  When I told the principal, I was somber but okay.  I then returned to my room and fought tears, for I then knew I was actually leaving, that it was real.  Same sort of thing occurred the day I turned in my letter of resignation: he said he was disappointed I was leaving then patted me on the shoulder, stoic Army man that he is.  That broke my heart.

Same sort of thing when my best friend Brandi and I finally allowed ourselves to talk about the fact that yes, I am indeed moving for sure and no, she indeed is not.  I still don't think it's fully hit me that next year around this time, I won't have seen my best friend for several months.  In fact, I'd venture to say that it's hitting me right now as I type, which is why you don't want to see what I look like.  It's been such a blessing that she began dating Jeremy right around the time I made my decision.  It's difficult not hanging out as much, but I'm acutely aware that God has been preparing us for the long separation ahead.  Bittersweet realization, for sure.

I have to find a place to live.  I have to pack and move my belongings.  I have to apply and interview for a job.  I have to find a new church and new friends and figure out the inner workings of a new school and figure out where I fit in with new coworkers who aren't my beloved ones here.

A difficult conversation is going to have to happen soon, too, one that could ruin a friendship that has become very special to me.  I've been worrying about it for a month or so, but it's really come to a head here lately.  I haven't handled things as I ought to have, so I vacillate between guilt and denial.  It's got to stop.  We're talking imminent awkward conversation, tough things to say, choices that need to be made, holy-cow-I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-this kind of thing.  I've got knots in my stomach.  I really don't want to lose this person, but it might have to happen.  Ohhh dear.

People are dying all around.  In the past month or two, I feel like I've heard several heartbreaking stories of loss from people I know.  A student's dad died in a motorcycle wreck; a local father and kids died when their home caught fire, he got out, then died when he went back in to save them.  My friend's father-in-law passed after a battle with cancer and a very sudden turn for the worst; another friend's uncle passed while recovering from surgery, soon after the prognosis looked positive; another friend's sister passed in a car wreck on her way home.  The mother of an 8th-grade girl at school, a woman whom many coworkers and friends have known for years, a dear supporter of her daughter's friends, had to be taken off life support today after a very short and shocking battle with a disease that resulted in a stroke and eventual brain inactivity.  She was fine just weeks ago.  Her husband and kids are reeling, as is the community.  I don't even know her, but her story -- I can barely think on it.  I can't imagine.

And during all of this, all this serious, terrible, thought-consuming stuff, so often all I can think about is how much I want someone to love me, someone I can love.  It seems everyone is paired off, and I know that's not true, and I know it's not important.  So then I chastise myself for being focused on wanting a man when so much else ought to be demanding my attention, and I feel thoroughly guilty and weak for being so petty.  Then all I want is a good, long hug, but there's no man around to give one to me....

There haven't been many times in my life when I've consistently been aware of the effects of sin and death on the world.  I tell you what, though, it's really hit hard as of late.  I wish I weren't ashamed to tell you that I've cried more in the past six months than I had in the past six years.  It's true, though, and it's slapping me in the face, letting me know that there is no way I can get through this sharply painful life on my own.

You would think I would know this by now.

You would think God would start leaving fewer messages.

You would think I would listen to some of them.

You would think He would finally give up.

I guess when I'm the one doing all the thinking, I get things wrong.  It seems it's time to take a break and put things in the hands of One who actually has a clue what He's doing.

Pandora rocks my world.

Please tell me you've discovered Pandora.

It's pretty much the best thing in the whole entire world.  I'm not sure exactly how long I've had a free subscription -- maybe five or so years -- but it's opened a whole new world of music to me.  Which is probably why it's called Pandora.

Pandora allows you to have 40 free hours of listening per month if you're on the free plan.  That used to be enough for me, unless it was October through January (Christmas listening always sent me over the 40 limit).  I just planned accordingly and listened to a mixture of Pandora and my own music.  It worked okay, except for the commercials and having it stop every 90 minutes to make sure I was still listening.

This past Christmas, my dad got me just about the coolest gift I could've asked for -- a year's subscription to Pandora.  No commercials, unlimited listening, no 40-hour limit.  I get as much music as I want.  Let me tell you, y'all, I've listened to Pandora more since Christmas than I have probably in the last two years combined.  I've discovered some new artists, but I've really gotten more familiar with artists I knew only a little about.  Oh man.  And I've rediscovered some of my favorites from the past, including these two gems:





Awwwww yeeeahhhhhhhhh.  :-D  Thanks, Pandora.

Anyway, for those of you who aren't into Pandora yet, please get into it.  It's completely free if you are okay with all the stuff I described, and it's an excellent way to expand your music knowledge.  Be aware that you can't choose your own songs; you can only make a station based on a song or artist (and their genre stations are pretty good, too), and it will play similar songs.  You can choose anything from K-Ci & JoJo to Handel's Messiah, Whitesnake to The Avett Brothers.

It's a music lover's dream, folks.  LOVE IT.

Let me tell you

how I hate grading papers:

I really hate grading papers.

It makes me feel like I'm a bad teacher because I'm giving out 68 points here, 27 points there; then I see the problems kids are missing, and they're things that are EXPLICITLY spelled out in our notes, so they'd have gotten them right if only they'd studied the two rules at the bottom of our notes for 9.4...; then there are the ones who completely ignore all six points they're supposed to graph on a coordinate plane despite the presence of a big ol' graph on the answer sheet; others ignore the numbers that exist on said plane and draw in their own (unfortunately, they only drew in quadrant I's positive numbers, so the four points with negative coordinates are automatically wrong); I tell them to write the signs and the numbers, and they write out "positive" when the answer is -5.

Am I talking to myself when I teach?  And is it really helping when I send extra work home if these kids aren't even reading or listening to directions I give when we're in class?  If they don't see the four-square-inch graph on the answer sheet and the six sets of ordered pairs on the test sheet?  And will someone please provide them with pencils so I can stop wading through the scratched-out red and silver and green and pink pen on my tests?!

Alright, back to it.  Lord help me.

My very own Best-Of.

I've been reading my blog today.  I love reading my blog.  I love when other people read my blog.  I love thinking I'm witty and smart and insightful and talented.  I love all of it so much, I've compiled a Best of Bustin' Out just for you!  And for me.

We'll start with 2010:

1.  Good to know.
2.  How encouraging
3.  Fail.
4.  Fix-Her-Up-er
5.  My other true love.
6.  dinner disaster => dinner AWESOME
7.  Somebody's got a case of the Mondays...
8.  btw
9.  Sales are like those friends whom you love...
10.  Hunger Games Update 3
11.  fall in love.
12.  So Much
13.  My romantic history.
14.  I'm a natural-born killer.
15.  I'm a natural-born killer...part II.
16.  Quick kid-story...
17.  Top ten joys of living single.
18.  Ode to the Man
19.  THE MAN-POST
20.  the solution--

Be aware, some are quite short, and some are extremely long.  You may want to pick and choose.  Lists for 2011 and 2012 so far will be coming sometime soon, so be on the lookout for those.  Have fun!

To the only guy who's ever legitimately asked me out:

(The Marine whom I met through a friend and only ever talked to on the phone doesn't count.  Neither does that custodian.)

Today is the anniversary of the day I broke your heart on the dance floor at your frat cocktail.

I promise I didn't mean to do it.  I really was interested in you, and I really did love spending time with you, and I really did think of the possibility of dating you in the future.  I promise I considered your offer, and I meant it when I said maybe; I'm not the kind of girl who will say it just to disguise a no.

I tried to call you several times over the next few days.  If you had answered my calls, I would've told you that I was not ready to be your girlfriend yet, that we needed to spend some time together outside of work, away from all our friends, and really get to know each other.  I needed to know how we interacted when it was just you and me.  I would've told you that after a month or two of the casual stuff, I would probably be ready to make some kind of further commitment.  The kind of commitment you were asking for that evening, that I told you I would consider.

You must remember that we were just juniors in college, and as much as I play the part of a silly, boy-crazy girl, I take quite seriously the decisions I make regarding my heart and my future plans.  I know that every relationship ends with either marriage or a break-up.  I was not ready to make a decision like that on such short notice, and I wish you had realized that all I needed was time.

I know the probability of you reading this is negligible, considering you haven't spoken to me other than in necessary work conversation since that night, you deleted me from Facebook a couple years ago (yes, I noticed), and you're busy finishing up law school, probably in tip-top fashion.  I always loved how much you were able to connect your historical and political knowledge with the law.  I'm still writing this to you because I never got a chance to tell you any of it, and I am tired of feeling like I wronged you somehow.

I'm sorry I broke your heart.  I wish you had let me explain.  I wish it hadn't ended like it did.

I hope you're doing well.

Goodbye, my friend.

DOWNTON ABBEY...and weird dreams.

Remember how I said that I have imaginary friends and I pretend like they're real?


MY FAVORITE IMAGINARY FRIENDS LIVE AT DOWNTON ABBEY.

[photo credit]

There they all are, in their imposing British loverliness.  I can't get over how much I love this PBS miniseries, people.  I can't get enough of it.  I watched this week's episode tonight, and holy cow, I had to call Brandi ASAP to tell her how unbelievable it was.  She, of course, was like, "Calm down, Laura, it's not real life."

Oh, but it IS.

She asked me what storyline got me this time.  I said EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM THEY ARE ALL CRAZY AND THEY'RE ALL UP IN IT.

I've been eyeing my DVD of season 2 that just came in the mail today.  It's been calling to me, just begging me to open it up and watch the final episode of the season.  The Christmas special.  I LOVE Christmas.  How am I supposed to resist this?!

I just hope I can fall asleep tonight.  My sleep was fitful yesterday, which isn't surprising considering I dreamt I was a high-up person in a local yet large prostitution operation.  I wasn't one myself, but I was basically like a mob lieutenant in this human trafficking ring.  Not to mention that our operation was linked -- only circumstantially, thank goodness -- with several murders, so we were always trying to cover our tracks. I swear I wanted to get out of the business, in case you're worried my subconscious is trying to tell me to change careers.  They wouldn't let me, though.  Who's a lieutenant in a mob-run network of brothels and is connected to murders, then gets to just walk away?  NOBODY.  Phew.  What stress.

Clearly I have trouble separating fiction from reality.  Let's hope I don't ever get to the point where I think that dream could really be the truth....

PS I'm about to MURDER this stupid formatting.  Seriously.  Add this blog's formatting to the list of casualties, but it won't be circumstantial because I'm telling you now I'M GOING TO KILL THIS FORMAT.  The end.

I gots a big head.

This is Barry Bonds.  Sorry I don't know how to get the picture on the page.

He's a real live bobblehead doll, thanks partly to genetics and probably some to steroid usage, too (is it true that steroids make your head huge?).  I don't like him because he's a cheater, but that's beside the point.

I thought about including Kanye's song about having a big ego, too, but I thought that might be too risky for mass consumption.  Feel free to check it out on YouTube yourself if you're okay with gratuitous innuendo.

Anyway, both of these guys are analogues of myself today.  One has a big head in the literal (well, and figurative) sense, and the other has a figurative big head (his literal head is in reality quite proportional and quite attractive, no matter what nonsensical ridiculous mess comes out of it).  My literal head size is debatable if not on the large side, but my figurative head size is undoubtedly ENORMOUS.

I've got a big ego.

My friend Melissa always says how I'm my own biggest fan (Have I blogged about this before?  If I have, I'm sure it's worthy of double coverage.  Hello, it's ME.).  I'm always commenting on how much I love my outfit, or how hilarious I am, or how neat it is that I know so many exciting and interesting facts (which I've learned is yet another debatable subject, at least in others' eyes).  I was just reading one of my Facebook statuses, and I began giggling to myself.  I thought, "I'm so cool!  I want to be my best friend!"  And then I giggled some more, because I'm just so darn funny.

I don't mean to make this a post all about how amazing I am, I swear.  I honestly do try to tone it down as a rule, for I know that it can be pretty obnoxious to be around someone who thinks they're so great.  I just thought, though, maybe I could share a couple things that have helped me out over the years.  I haven't always been a conceited egomaniacal narcissist, you know (how's that for redundancy?).

When I was about thirteen or so, I was feeling pretty awful about who I was.  I started to make a list of all the things that were wrong with me -- frizzy hair, crooked teeth, not athletic, never had a boyfriend, overweight, a serious procrastinator, unreliable -- the list went on for all thirty-two or so lines on the notebook page.  There were some pretty good ones on there, too, if the aforementioned list doesn't convince you.  It's not a fun way to see yourself, reduced to a list of all your negative qualities.

Here's what I did after that, though: on the opposite page, I took every single negative and turned it into a positive.  Frizzy hair?  Well, I can straighten it, put it up, or scrunch it, and the little face-framing curls can be cute sometimes.  Crooked teeth?  I've got a date with the orthodontist someday; and if not, crooked teeth aren't the end of the world.  If it's that big a deal, I'll smile with my lips together.  Not athletic?  Is it a requirement to play sports?  Nope.  You have plenty of other strengths.  Never had a boyfriend?  YOU'RE THIRTEEN.  **Note: Now, keeping that one on the list as a however-old-I-am lady (I know you're shocked that someone incredibly magnificent like me is still un-dated), I can look back on all the dear friendships I've had, and still have, and know that's enough.**

I won't continue with all that, because I hope you get the picture.  If it's something that can't be changed, know that it's not a big deal in the grand scheme of YOU.  If it's something that can be changed -- and is REASONABLE to need to change, not something like "I'm not a blonde :((( " -- then fix it.  If you have no friends, maybe it's because you're either too shy or you're a party pooper.  Put yourself out there a little bit, even if it's smiling at somebody, and stop pooping on people's parties.

Maybe you think you have no talents, nothing to bring to the table.  First of all, if that's the case, go ahead and add IDIOT to your list.  Everyone has something to bring to the table.  You might have an infectious laugh.  You might have really good fingernails (again, probably something you can change if that's not the case).  You might be great at making someone's day with a well-placed compliment or bit of encouragement (ALWAYS a good thing to add to your repertoire!!!).  Your momma might love you, or the creepy neighbor down the street might be obsessed with you.  Seriously, there's a positive side of everything.

I have to say it, friends: the biggest thing is the Golden Rule.  If you're kind, and if you're welcoming, and if you're complimentary and helpful and good, then you've got all KINDS of positives on your side.  It's amazing what a little bit of sweetness will do for you.  You don't have to be sweet all the time.  Just be sweet some of the time, and don't be a jerk for the rest of the time.  AND for those of you who think sarcasm is awesome and funny, I'm with you on that one.  I love sarcasm.  Just DO NOT USE IT AT OTHERS' EXPENSE.  That would put you in the jerk category.  Nobody likes a jerk, no matter what other superlative qualities you have on your side.

There you have it.  I think that pretty much covers the Laura Strategy for Thinking You're the Best.  It helps if you are crazy smart and pretty and interesting and funny and talented and sweet and all of that (sorry, did I overdo it?), but really, anybody can think they're awesome.

True story, kids.  Try it.  Then tell me how fantastic I am for thinking of it.

Bad Potato, Bad Potato

First of all, this is what has been going through my head now for the past ten minutes:

Second (and those of you who are my friends on Facebook will quite possibly have already read this), here are eight lessons I've learned in the past few minutes.

1.  If something smells funny in your house, don't ignore it.
2.  If you think a funny smell is your washing machine, but washers don't usually (or...really don't ever) smell like that, don't assume it's still your washer.
3.  Potatoes don't like it when you put a warm towel straight out of the dryer on top of them.
4.  Correction: most potatoes DO like warm towels.  Bad potatoes DO NOT.
5.  Bad potatoes make your hands smell TERRIBLE no matter how much you wash them -- your hands -- with lemony antibacterial soap from Bath and Body Works.
6.  A rotten potato turns mushy, not green or anything.  Who knew.
7.  Other potatoes aren't really affected by rotten ones.  They just keep on being happy and growing eyes until you use them.
8.  Put away your clothes and towels when you take them out of the dryer.  Especially if you're tempted to put them on bags of food.

Now, I'm off to wash and scrub and cube the good potatoes, and hope that they don't make my beef stew smell like teenaged boy feet.  If so...there will be a lesson #9.

Then ya really might know what it's like.

There was a song by Everclear...wait no, Everlast...back in the day all about the unfairness of judging others by appearances and stereotypes.  There were lots of bad words in it, so at certain points it was kind of like listening to a pinball machine, or really just a DJ who's a little too exuberant with his scratching.  It was like my favorite song ever even though I only figured out what the wiki-wikied words were maybe a month ago.  It's still really good.  Wanna watch?  Me too.  But maybe don't if you like to judge people, because then you might feel bad.

Alright, well I know Valentine's Day is way far away, and I'm sure I've posted about this who knows how many times before, but I figure I'll tell you again what it's like to be THIS single for THIS long.  We all know that I love not being tied down

which also means that I can end this blog post because my dryer just buzzed and I'm late for a date with my bff, CookOut chili-cheese fries, and some movies.  Later frizzendz.

What piece-of-junk timing.

Why did I have to make up my stupid diet rules right before a super-stressful week?  Thank GOODNESS I haven't used any of my alcoholic beverages yet, but I tell ya, I want some sausage dip right now.  And I want my sausage dip to be paired with buttered grits, topped off with the rest of my Reese's milkshake from yesterday.  I want to break all my rules, then go to bed by 8:30 (which clearly didn't happen, but I can pretend).  Iss thaaaat baaaadddd?

Don't worry, I'll only eat half the bowl of sausage dip.  It's not like I banned it from my diet forever.  Plus I have to have some for my next craving.

Something for you to enjoy as I go get my milkshake from the freezer --

Bustin' through.

My diet and the buttons on my pants, that is.

I'm a stress-eater.  Today was a really bad day.  I mean, not a really really bad day, but a not-so-good day for sure.  I felt unprepared a few times, I felt disrespected a whooooole heck of a lot, I got tired of kids with zero impulse control, I briefly yelled at an out-of-control class (then struggled to hold in my giggles when I saw their shocked faces), I got off topic a lot, forgot to do what my assistant principal asked, had to call two parents and forgot to call a third, stayed until six with a kid who was supposed to be gone at four-thirty, and got yet ANOTHER collections call from Time Warner (even though I've already paid the money [twice] AND the outstanding balance was their fault anyway).

I've already finished my chili-cheese fries and my chicken quesadilla, I've got my burger unwrapped and ready to be demolished, and the Reese's shake is currently defrosting a bit.

I'm sorry, cute dress, but today you are simply not that important.  So back off.

Le shopping bug is BACK!!

I don't know if it's the imminent change in seasons (yes), the decreased rate of shopping I've done over the past few months (yes), the upcoming trip to Hawaii (awwww yeeeeahhhhh), or the fact that I'm trying to save up money (ugh) that's making me feel like I have to shop.  I tell you what, though, I feel like if I don't drop a couple hundred bucks on some quality items within the next few days, I just might...not explode, but be really sad and anxious, and probably discombobulated.  It's like a vegetable-less diet for my psyche--it leaves me feeling mentally bloaty.  Nice picture, right?

ModCloth was/is/idk having a 70% off sale, so you know I had to take advantage of that yesterday.  I bought two cheap funky necklaces and a SWEET lightweight white jacket with black embroidery on it.  The embroidery looks like constellations.  That, or an epidemiology map.  It was originally $173.99 and I definitely got it for $51.99.  I think that's worth being infected by whatever contagion is diagrammed on it.

I spent hours on Lands' End's overstocks section today.  I had three coats/jackets in my shopping cart (Did I make it up that one of my distant cousins invented online shopping carts?  I might've made that up.) after doing super-sleuthing through sizes and styles and Not-Quite-Perfect offerings.  Unfortunately, after I did some account-checking (ya gots to have the monay to buy 'em), two of the three were out of stock.  Shimmenyboogers.  And they were my number-one and -two choices.

Now that that purchase has been frustrated and aborted, I've still got the itch.  I'm wrestling with God on this one, I think -- it was probably His doing to make my coats go away, you know, to save me money -- and I feel guilty for wanting to buy anything else.  But buddy.  I am dying to buy stuff.

Mom sent me an article a month or so ago about compulsive shopping, its tells, treatments and t-somethings (I had to do three things, and they all had to start with T!); I didn't think it was me at all, even though it said that many teachers and others in caregiving roles are often...victims?  Sufferers?  Sad faces?  Anyway, it also said that many compulsive shoppers have issues with eating (psh SO not me...and please ignore my last post) and get an adrenaline rush from the shopping (uhhh...).  It also said that many suffer from depression, and I'm not depressed, so I'm good.

That still doesn't explain why I feel this need, this craving, this strong pulling desire to shop.  Maybe it is God, just in a different way than I'd thought.

Ooh, or maybe it's de debil.  Yikes.  Never mind, no shopping for me!!!

Next I need to tell you about food.

Remember way back in the day when I lost like twenty-five pounds on Weight Watchers Online?  Yeah, those days are over.  And just about every one of those pounds is back.

Related news:  I have a very cute dress that I ordered from ModCloth.com that does not fit.  It said size down, I sized down, I failed.  They no longer have the normal size, so I can either part with this gorgeous dress, or I can part with my lipid collection.  Tough choice.

Do you SEE how cute this thing is?!

Anyway, I've decided that I'm setting a goal and making some rules.  My goal is to fit into this dress by spring break, which is in March or April, hopefully April.  Hopefully March for sanity's sake, hopefully April for my waistline's sake.  If that ends up not being realistic, my goal is to fit into it by summertime.  That should be extremely attainable.

Here are my rules:

No drinks other than milk, water, tea, coffee, and anything diet/unsweetened.  So basically no sugary drinks.

No dessert.  If I crave chocolate at school, I need to man up.  And I need Traci or Melissa or Shari to punch me in the jaw so I can't eat it anyway.

No creamer in my coffee.  Maybe.  Ohhhhh geez, I might not be able to do this one.  Not since I bought my favorite creamer for school.

Seconds only for vegetables.  Which means I might ought to start cooking some vegetables in the first place.

I can't eat after 9pm unless I'm actually starving, in which case I can only have cereal.  Only one bowl.  And not an overflowing bowl that spills over so I eat loads of cereal off the counter.

No mindless snacking, but if I'm really hungry, Reduced Fat Ritzes are the best.  Otherwise, drink something instead.

Only two alcoholic beverages per week (this shouldn't be too hard, since I don't often drink; however, on a bad week, you better BELIEVE I'm gonna be hating this one).

Sausage dip is no longer a viable meal.

When I eat out, if it's something that I can eat later, I need to save some of it for later.  Like an actual almost-meal's worth.

I might also need to abstain from bolding only mildly-key phrases.  That can be my exercise.

Sigh.  This dress had better get me a hot date or something.  Otherwise, I'm going to be really mad about all the sausage dip and bad-day alcohol I'll be missing out on.

First I need to tell you about food.

Last weekend, I was a cooking machine.  I'm not really sure what got into me -- actually, I'm pretty sure it was just the combo of a clean kitchen and a freshly-stocked pantry -- but I ended up making all KINDS of food.  I thought I'd give you a quick recap of the stuff I made, along with semi-complete instructions.

Moroccan Couscous
I stole this idea from Mediterranean Deli in Chapel Hill.  Sauté some onions in a pot, add water and chicken bullion, add raisins, roasted red pepper (you can sauté red pepper with the onions if you'd rather not roast them), lots of curry, and garbanzo beans if you want them.  I decided I won't be using the garbanzos next time.  Stir it up, bring it to a boil, add your couscous and cook according to package.  Stir eat enjoy.

Spicy Sausage Dip (Dippity Do-Da, as Shari calls it)
This one came from a friend at school.  Simply cook up some hot country sausage (the ground kind), add in two cans original Rotel, and two packs cream cheese.  Feel free to add milk if it's too thick, more cheese if it's too chunky, or less Rotel/mild sausage if it's too hot, red pepper flakes if you want it hotter.  SO GOOD.

Spanish Rice
Not really sure if it's legitimately Spanish, but I'm pretending like it is.  Cook up some rice with a packet of saffron (I use Goya saffron) and some garlic, add in black beans and Rotel.  That's it.  Add onions if you want (I ALWAYS want) and that's good too.  This with some garlic-y chicken, SON.

Apple-Baked Pork
I made this up.  I win.  Mix up some cracked black pepper, the coarser the better in my opinion, with a fair amount of ground mustard, dried rosemary, salt, and a little bit of apple cider vinegar.  When that's had time to get all happy and matrimonious, rub a little olive oil on your pork chops, then rub the rub into them.  Let them sit while you cut up some apples (I used ones well past their peak so as not to waste them, and it was a success).  Dump the apples in a baking dish or dutch oven.  Brown your pork on both sides, not cooking through (it's not necessary), then put them in the dutch oven, too, mixing them in among the apples.  Bake half an hour at 350, or really whatever time and temp you want, as long as the pork cooks through.  Eat it up and lick the dish, no lie.

Vegetable Soup
Mom's invention.  Get a bag of frozen veggies (I got the California blend, but basically anything with broccoli or cauliflower or carrots or squash will be fine), cover them with water in a big pot, and boil them with a couple doses of chicken or veggie bullion in there.  I happen to use both bullion types.  When they're well done, blend the mixture (immersion blenders are the BIZNAZ) and add two cans of fat-free evaporated milk, and I add a liberal amount of cracked pepper as well.  Party in my mouuuuuth.  If you prefer not to feel like you're in a home for those with soft minds and plenteous gingiva, you can chop your veggies ahead of time and not blend anything.  By the way, cheese with this will blow your mind.

Berry Smoothie
This is not for the faint of texture.  I start my smoothies normally -- yogurt, frozen raspberries and blueberries, milk -- but then I add oatmeal.  Uncooked quick oats, to be exact.  I think it's the best thing in the whole entire world; however, there are those out there who think it looks gross and the oatmeal gives it a strange raw-almond taste.  Which I LOVE.  Note:  if you don't like super-thick smoothies, this one gets thicker with time.  You might want to add more milk later.  Also, if it's not sweet enough for you, honey is a great combo with this!

There you have it.  Six things in one weekend, enough to share, and freeze some as well.  I am one happy camper.