great minds

Jim and I apparently had very similar inspiration this year when shopping for Valentine's day cards.

it's because we're all senile now

So today I got a wall post on Facebook from my cousin Bram. That's him in that picture over there. I didn't include one that has his gorgeous wife Juliet in it, but that's only because I like how the stripes in his shirt in this one sort of play off the background. Also, I'm too lazy to find one of the two of them right now.

Bram, I should point out, is the only one of my ten first cousins who is younger than I am -- and not by much. I'm only ahead by seven months, give or take some days, and we were the same year in school for most of our lives; so, for all intents and purposes, we're the same age. However, he does get the benefit of being the baby of the family.

Unlike Baby Ed, who is seven months older than I, and only has the nickname because there were two cousins named Edward: Teddy, and Baby Ed. Really.

Never mind.

OK, so I get this wall post, to the effect of, "Did you get a text message from me last night, wishing you happy birthday?" And my response was basically, "No, and, um, what?!?" 

You know, given that my birthday was twenty days ago, and also, well really ... um, what?!?

So Bram wrote back, and given that this is absolutely the greatest story I've heard in a long long time, if not ever, I had to share it with everyone verbatim.

"Ok ... long story ... The funny part about all of this is your birthday is down as 1/22 in my computer for some reason. Not right obviously, so happy way belated birthday! Did I forget to email you? Probably ... I suck. (Ed.'s note: Bram doesn't suck.)

On with the story... So yesterday, I had every intention of calling you to wish you a happy birthday since I thought it was your birthday (wrong). But I had a hellish day. I didn't have a free moment until 6 pm, at which point I was in a cab on my way to a work dinner which I knew would last several hours. So there was a text message exchange that went something like this:

Me - Hey cuz, happy birthday!
Not You - Who is this?
Me - Your favorite younger cousin.
Not You - You have the wrong number.

Now the part that I don't get is why the person (not you) couldn't have saved us all a lot of time by saying it wasn't his/her birthday right off the bat. Why did he/she ask who I was when he/she knew it wasn't his/her birthday, and it was obviously a wrong number. Weird. Unless it actually was his/her birthday, which would have been an amazing coincidence, all things considered."

I started laughing so hard it hurt. Gosh I love my cousins. Thanks, Bram! Best birthday wish this year by far. 

my version of baby-picture christmas cards

In response to the adorable holiday cards/belated thank-you notes we have received, all fronted by the pictures of super-cute newborns*, I have decided to post a series of "Awww!"-inducing photos of dogs. 

*Happy holidays to Layla, Maggie and big sis Nina, Eliana, and Daniel and Sofia!

First, meet Hudson. Hudson is the resident dog at a new salon just up the street, SalonBlu. After walking by the shop several times as it was being built and after it opened, Jim decided he was going to give it a try. This was a big step. You see, Jim generally follows the following procedure** for choosing a stylist:

1. Find barber shop.

2. Determine if barber shop charges more than amount of cash currently in wallet.

3. If no, get hair cut.

In fact, I would venture to say that no one who has ever trimmed Jim's hair would, in fact, refer to himself as a stylist.

His last cut, however, was different from every single previous cut in that it was a little longer on the top than usual, and it was a good look for him. So recently, after letting his hair g

row (unintentionally) for way too long, Jim decided maybe he'd give a higher-priced salon (one clearly aiming for the gay clientiele, and specializing in actual, you know, styling of hair) a shot.

Bill, the owner, did a very nice job. It clearly earned Hudson's approval. And neither the stylist nor the dog attempted the hard sell of products. All in all, a good salon experience.

**I am told this is the most commonly-used procedure in the handbook of male grooming.

Next, we have Miss Ellie. Most of my readers are familiar with Ellie -- most of my readers, I think it's fair to say, are actually occupying the same house*** as Miss Ellie...when she lets them.

Ellie is a truly gorgeous, if somewhat insane, purebred Shih-Tzu. She has perfect posture, a perfect face, the perfect size -- the breeder visits and laments that she didn't show/breed this one, who, as the runt of the litter, was predicted to grow up too small to show. 

She is, however, wilful as all get-out, and apparently getting somewhat computer-savvy. If emails start arriving in my inbox with peculiar typos and/or lots of "grrrrrARFARFARF" in them, I'll know something is up.

***Mom, I think you should make sure she doesn't have online shopping access.

Oh, right, this little guy! I couldn't possibly leave Milo off the list! Jim and I are both a little sad that he'll be spending his first Christmas without us, but he will be well cared for by my coworker Beth and her family, which includes two little girls desperate for the promised new puppy coming sometime in the spring**** to their home. To make sure he is looking his best for his trip to stay with the Denton/Carrier family, he's going to get a holiday haircut tomorrow. 

And perhaps a Santa hat.

****No, "Beth" is not a pseudonym for Michelle Obama. Or is it??

culinaeria (borkborkbork)

As an anniversary gift, my adorable husband got me a gift certificate.

WAIT! This is a good thing. The gift certificate was for a cooking class at the just-opened, just-around-the-corner CulinAerie .

I took some time investigating the calendar, which, since they just opened, only runs until the beginning of February. Still, there are several classes that I've considered signing up for. Sadly, the "pizza" class was for teenagers.

Kidding! Well, no, it *is* for teens. But I did consider signing up until I realized that.

However, I'm not kidding about the fact that "Sauces" is a three-parter and I just can't commit to that at this point.

It came down to the "Tapas: Beyond Tortilla Espanola" class, and the "Breads for Beginners" class. And while I'm very interested in the tapas, I really want to go and have the space to mix, knead, and shape some sesame chapati, French pain au lait, Moroccan country bread, and banana walnut chocolate bread.

So, I'm going to attend that class on Sunday the 21st. Jim and I will definitely reap the benefits of what I bring home. Let's just hope I don't sign myself up as their fulltime assistant...I need the income from the other job I have, which I truly enjoy.

Even if it doesn't result in crumbs.

cruet to be kind

So a while back (I can't remember when), my mom gave me the spoon rest that she always had in our kitchen when I was growing up. She had the one from my grandma's kitchen, and thus it was something of a generational passing-along, if you will.

Of course, at some point, something fell out of a cabinet onto Jim as he was trying to get it, and the spoon rest shattered.  It wasn't a huge deal; sure, I didn't have anywhere to rest my dormant-but-in-use spoons, but really, a saucer stands in just fine.

Not terribly long thereafter, Jim was doing something else and broke one of the cruets -- I think the olive oil cruet broke first.*

Yes, I said "first." That's because another time, Jim** was doing something in the kitchen, and lo! The balsamic vinegar cruet also shattered into nothing.

Such is life. Those cruets were kind of blah anyway, and it isn't as though these substances don't come in perfectly handy bottles of their own. I just happen to like the decorative and easy-pour nature of countertop cruets.

Well, a while back, we bought an uber-cheap spoon rest at Bed Bath and Beyond. At the time, I had suggested we possibly splurge on the stainless steel version, but Mr. Maltese professed his adamant avowal that he would not break anything in the kitchen ever again, that he would pay attention to the placement of items, I agreed to go with the  black china spoon rest.

At the time, I noted it was about $3, so replacing it wouldn't be a big deal anyway. Jim shot daggers at me when I said as much -- after all, there was no way that thing was going down on his watch.

Over time, I also lamented the loss of the cruets, so my mom, masterful shopper that she is, found a wonderful set from Williams-Sonoma and gifted them to me. (I adore them; they are far more elegant and also utile than the el-cheapo set I had before.) 

Cut to today.

{Leigh's work phone rings; Jim's cell is caller ID.}

Me: "Hey?"

Jim: "Can I put stain stick on a sweater to get out balsamic vinegar?"

Me: "What is the sweater made of?"

Jim: "I don't know. Guess I should take it off."

{rustling}

Me: "What were you putting balsamic on?"

Jim: {beat}

Me: {knows what is coming}

Jim: "I wasn't. But I was reaching over the cruets to put away silverware and the balsamic went over, and in saving the cruet--"

Me: "You got your sweater."

Jim: "Yeah. And ... the spoon rest."

Me: "Oh, whatever. It only cost $3. What's the sweater made of?"

Jim: "It's beige, and, um, ... cotton."

Me: "Stain-stick it and throw it in. You're cool."

Jim: "Woo."

Me: "Next spoon rest? Stainless steel."

Jim: "... Definitely."

*Maybe the vinegar broke first. I really can't recall.

**I'm not ascribing blame, here. I think I was involved in one of the incidents. I'm not really sure, because I don't remember being there, but it's definitely possible I witnessed or participated tangentially in at least one of these events.

the fact that this posted on our anniversary is eerie...

...because this is totally us.




















Happy third anniversary, Jim!

turkey lurkey

So I just ordered my Thanksgiving turkey from Whole Foods. I realize -- having noted all the fresh and available turkeys still there the day before the holiday last year when I popped in for other supplies -- that pre-ordering was not absolutely necessary.

However, there are only five of us, so I really did not want to get stuck with an eighteen-pound turkey. Eight to ten pounds will be plenty, so that's what I set aside.

Even btter, though, is the promotion they are running to keep down crowds on Wednesday the 26th: Pick up your turkey between 10 and 11 p.m. on Tuesday the 25th, and get a free wheel of Brie.

{crickets}

OK, so you, personally, may not be excited. But let me repeat: Free. Wheel. Of. Brie.

Fine, you think, free cheese. Yes, milk and dairy prices have gone up in the past year or two, but really: Who cares that much about cheese?

And if you think that, you definitely have not spent enought time around me, and by "enough" I mean "any." Yes, I am likely to have fallen asleep already by ten in the evening, but I will wake myself up, get dressed, and drive to Whole Foods to pick up my turkey if it gets me free Brie!

I love cheese, and pretty much never turn down a double- or triple-crème. "Never look a gift cheese in the mold," I always say.* I don't currently plan any Thanksgiving dishes that would be enhanced by the addition of a very creamy cow's milk cheese, although if I put my mind to it I probably could come up with one. I'm sure it will be perfectly happy to find its way into the hors d'oeuvres, though, and the rest of it ... well, that can be my personal treat on Sunday night, when all is said and done, we've overdosed and leftovers, and I just don't want to think about cooking anything before the work week kicks in.

If it even makes it past the (four-minute) drive home, that is. Did I mention: free Brie?

Excuse me; I think the Manchego in the fridge is calling.

*I have never said this in my life, but now I kind of want to.