Spinster

It's a lot of whining so you're forced to click after the jump if you want to indulge.

Holidaze Travel

First an apology: this is getting up late, as I was busy with the holiday season. But you were similarly busy so you didn't really miss me, did you?

Oh man do I love Christmas time. I'm like the reverse Grinch. I hate everything else all the time but put some lights on a tree and I'm all big eyed wonder. And carols! And all the glittering everything! From wrapping paper to sequined tops! (How did we decide sequined clothing is appropriate for the holidays/New Year and then Easter is all pastels? Who made that a thing? Why can't I wear sequins to Easter brunch?) Christmas trees with ornaments! Puppies in windows for adoption! All the baked goods ever! Tidings of good cheer!

Regrets & Mardi Gras

(This post is weeks late because I'm a slacker. You forgive me.)

I don't regret much. As stubborn as I am, I stand by every mistake and just figure it got me to where I am and that mostly, usually, that place isn't half bad.

Today, feeling a little bit of regret.

Weirdness

Things got kind of weird today.

Valentine's Day Approaches

I told a friend about my plans to not drink until my D.C. trip. Her first response was, "That encompasses Valentine's Day. How can you not drink on Valentine's Day?!"

Seriously?

This was her concern?

I apparently missed the memo where I'm supposed to feel woeful about some dude not buying me crap on  a designated day in February, in which I'm then to reciprocate by wearing sexy lingerie, that I need to drown my sorrows in cheap pinot grigio and romcoms living up to every Hollywood cliche out there. This should go without saying but: Not. That. Girl.

Croutons

My family makes this ridiculous Caesar salad. It's family tradition. My dad and I have our own special wooden Caesar salad bowls that are used exclusively to make this divine concoction.

Part of what makes our Caesar better than average is that we make our croutons from scratch. In some cases, the croutons have become more popular than the salad. One time, when starving and impatient, I took the warm out of the oven croutons, put them in a bowl and shredded Parmesan cheese over them. They were divine. I then promised that should I ever open my own bar, that would be an available bar snack. I have had more than one friend sit in my kitchen and eat croutons as a snack as opposed to chips or something else. My favorite is when at 3 a.m. during the house party a few years ago, Chuck and the stepsis stood munching on handfuls of croutons, drunk, going "zooohmygod these are SO good nom nom nom." Croutons sort of make the perfect drunk food.

Since I have yet to open a bar with a crouton snack, I give away plastic jars or ziplock bags filled with croutons as gifts to my friends. And that's why I'm sharing this recipe with you now: if you need something a little different as a hostess gift this busy holiday season, might I recommend some homemade croutons? If you want extra bonus points, do that Martha Stewart thing and handwrite the recipe for the salad dressing on a card. Yeah. That's a bit much. But inventive, no? The recipe, as presented in the cookbook from which we derived it, is available here. That's the pared down version, obviously. The family version is as rambling as this post and I'm not ready to share it. Yet. Or likely ever. (Gotta have SOMETHING that makes me special, ya know?)

As with anything I've offered up a recipe to, these are stupid easy to make. The key is in the ingredients and patience.

What you need:

One loaf of sourdough bread

One head (bulb? I'm never sure on proper garlic terminology) of fresh garlic
One cup (or so) of olive oil

That's it. That's the entirety of making croutons.

Now: a diatribe about the bread. You need sourdough. And you need good quality, unsliced sourdough. For those of you not in the Bay Area, your average off the Walmart shelf sliced "sourdough" is not gonna cut it. Your Louisiana French bread is also not gonna work either, it's too airy. You need a dense, crusty sourdough. Seek out a bakery in your town and see what they have to offer.

I tend to use Acme Bread's sourdough batard. But their baguette is also great, as is the rustic sour. If you're in some remote area of the world where they don't make amazing sourdough, well, that sucks. But it's an environmental thing. Apparently the air in San Francisco, salty and damp and foggy, is what makes us have exceptional sourdough so it's understandable that you wouldn't have it available in other places. Boudin Bakery will deliver it to you direct from San Francisco. (Not to be confused with boudin, the Cajun sausage. Two very different things.) Yes, it's a bit pricey that way but worth it. Trust. This is not the place to skimp on bread since the entirety of this really IS the bread. (The La Madeleine's in Louisiana/elsewhere have decent bread if memory serves.)

Alright, you've got your amazing crusty sourdough. Preheat your oven to 200. Slice bread into about half an inch thick slices. Take the slices and cut them into cubes. (This is where the baguette is great, just cut into quarters and you're done. Everything else, you want bite size pieces. The large batard I cut each slice in half across and then in pieces.)

Put your cut up pieces of bread on a cookie sheet and place them in the oven. You want to lightly toast your bread first so that it doesn't absorb all the olive oil in the world. Leave them alone in the oven until they dry out and are firm to the touch. This can take as long as an hour. If you get impatient, turn up the oven to 225 or 250 but keep an eye out, you don't want to have your bread turn brown and crispy yet.

While the croutons are roasting away: pour your olive oil in the bottom of a large bowl. Ideally it is your wooden salad making bowl but I understand if you don't have one. Any large bowl will work. Now peel your entire head of garlic and mash all the little cloves with a garlic press into the olive oil. Let those two hang out together while the bread toasts. Have a glass of wine. Listen to some Sinatra. Dance around the kitchen.

When your croutons are just firm to the touch, take the cookie sheet out of the oven and dump the bread cubes into the olive oil garlic mixture. Toss them to coat. Make sure they are coated evenly. You might need to add a bit more olive oil, as all my measurements are approximate.

Place your coated bread cubes back in the oven and let them chillax there for awhile. Have more wine. Listen to Dean Martin. Dance around the kitchen. You will know your bread cubes are done when your whole house smells like garlic toast. It's kinda awesome. Check on them. Are they brown and golden and crispy delicious looking? They are done. If they are still pale, close the oven, turn up the temp the tiniest bit, continue drinking wine, but be careful not to burn them. Burnt croutons decidedly suck. They should look like this when done:

Nom nom nom nom. Let them cool a bit, which you will be unable to do and will walk by and noisily crunch on them. I forgive you. Once cool, you can put them in a gift receptacle or keep them yourself and eat them drunk at 3 a.m. Whatevs. Enjoy!

12-0

We did it. We're 12-0. A perfect regular season. Easily the most dominant team in college football. We beat 7 ranked opponents on the way to that record, including #3 TWICE and #2. If we haven't earned a trip to the BCS title game, I don't know who has.

Unfortunately, it's not over. We have to make a trip to Atlanta next week to take on the University of Georgia Bulldogs (a mascot that I cannot add to my menu, unfortunately. Though, maybe hot dogs?) to play in the SEC Championship game. Win that game and we punch a ticket to New Orleans for the national title game. Lose that game...and there is still, according to those who know such things, a chance that we can make it to New Orleans. The National Title being held in New Orleans almost makes it a home game. We've won it the last two times it was held in New Orleans. Ticket prices go WAY up (those futures available on Gilt look like a steal now, but you surely know that at the beginning of the season my superstitious nature won't let me purchase them. That, and even at face value, I don't have the money).

Mashed Potatoes

I haven't posted anything food related on here in awhile and as I continue to avoid looking at my pathetic bank account, I figured I'd give you guys something to do on Thanksgiving that will make your parents proud of your ability to actually feed yourselves. Thus: Mashed Potatoes! I mean, how can you not love these? I am one of those people who takes potatoes over sweets 9 times out of 10 (with the body shape to prove it) so I might not be the best example but yeah, mashed potatoes are the best (well, next to french fries, and au gratin, and a loaded baked and scalloped...). It's fairly stupid easy but, well, I've had discussions with some of you about not owning the most rudimentary of kitchen utensils so we start with the basics.

And, in fact, for this being a stupid easy thing to make, potatoes surprisingly have a lot of their own tools. Just to get starches down our throat. I know, right? Also: if you are eating instant mashed potatoes, I don't want to talk to you. At all. Ever. It's an affront to the potato. And bad economics. A box of instant potatoes is, what, $3.99? A 10 lb bag of potatoes costs about that and yields way more. Don't EVER eat anything instant, do you hear me? There are just no excuses. If you're gonna kill yourself, if should be with real butter and cream and home cooked foods. /climbs off soap box  Minor exception: frozen veggies CAN be better than fresh, especially in the case of peas, but other than that: no.

(Oh! An aside! (you've missed these): When I moved from the all natural state of California to the deep fried state of Louisiana, getting used to their cooking habits took me a long time. And mostly I rebelled against them and tried to change their ways. Other than incorporating Tony's heavily into my repertoire, learning I would be looked at funny if I said "soda", and upping my spice tolerance, that is. Why in god's green earth does everyone in the south use freaking margarine? WHY?! It makes exactly zero sense. I'm pretty sure it's been proven to be worse for you than regular butter. My college roommate, smart, gorgeous, ridiculously popular, had it in our fridge when I moved into our room. "What in the hell is that?" I asked her. Seriously you guys, I'd never seen it before. Never. I'd also never heard the n word spoken out loud 'til I moved to Louisiana either, so, ya know, yay for being a sheltered Californian? I was unfamiliar with this weird tub of butter-like substance. It seemed, as I learned more about the South, to be a staple of every household. One that I to this day do not comprehend. If I'm going to kill myself, it is going to be with full fat, full flavored, full caloried butter. Not that imitation crap. So, just, yeah, BUTTER in your mashed potatoes.)

Utensils:
Large pot
Potato peeler
Strainer
Potato masher
Knife

Cooking items:
Salt
Stick o' butter
Russet potatoes, 4lbs-ish, but really you can do this with any amount
cream, about a half cup.

Rinse the potatoes. This makes them easier to peel. I don't know why, just trust me on this. Take your potato peeler and peel the potatoes. Don't have a potato peeler? I think you're lame and should go to the store and buy one because they cost about $3 but if you insist, a paring knife will do. Just be extra super careful. If you're using a peeler, it's pretty self explanatory, take it and peel off the skin. I make this a competition if someone is "helping" me do this. I can get through ten pounds of potatoes in less than 30 minutes. If ever in prison, this skill will likely come in handy. If you're using the knife, you're going to take thin ribbons of potato skin off. I like to make a game when using a knife of how much I can peel off without lifting the knife off the potato. Yes, I'm well aware that I might need something like a life.

Alright, your potatoes are peeled. Rinse them again to get rid of the rest of the dirt. Cut them into 1 inch cubes (in half lengthwise, in half lengthwise again, run knife down to cut them into roughly uniform pieces). Throw potato cubes in a pot, add water to cover. Add a ton of salt. Place on stove on high heat. Wait for them to boil. Boil the bejeezus out of them. You should be able to stab them with a fork and not meet any resistance. I do want to caution against over boiling. You can leave them boiling forever, 'til they're falling apart and they'll still make a decent mash but they're much better, contain less water, if you make sure they retain their shape. So boil on high for about ten minutes and check them, then check them every five minutes until they're done. You are WAY better off overcooking than undercooking though. No one likes crunchy mashed potatoes. Err on the side of too much rather than not enough.

When fork tender, carefully remove pot from stove and strain potatoes.

Now, if you want to be fancy, you can combine the butter and cream over low heat in a sauce pot on the stove. All the chefs in the world would tell you to do this, but whatever, it's not necessary. Oh, and we're using cream. Yes, cream. It's actually called "Heavy Whipping Cream". It's Thanksgiving. Don't be the asshole who makes the healthy version of mashed potatoes with your 1% milk. Everyone will hate you. In particular me. Oh, and you can use more than just a stick of butter. Use all the butter you want. Pretend you're Paula Deen and butter those potatoes up. 1 cube was just a starting point. There's actually an inside joke in my family where we call mashed potatoes with equal parts potato to butter French mashed potatoes. This stems from when we were in France (pretentious anecdote alert) eating at Le Jules Verne. My entree came with a small copper pot on the side loaded with the most insanely decadent mashed potatoes ever. And whenever we eat at French restaurants, their butter/potato ratio still seems to be about equal. Thus: really buttery mashed potatoes are French mashed potatoes. Made funnier if my mom says it in an accent. (This is actually a restaurant trick for just about everything. Want to know why their food tastes better than yours? They've added butter all along the way, way more than you would ever dream of using at home, to make their food taste good.)

Once you have strained your potatoes, return them to the pot. Turn the heat back on low. You're essentially going to dry out your potatoes without cooking them. Do this for about five minutes, stirring them occasionally. (You are free to skip this step.)

Get out your masher. I recommend one that looks like this:

That's my preference. I like my mashed potatoes a little rustic and not perfect so that masher works for me. If you want super silky smooth mashed potatoes, run them through a food mill or a ricer. If you have to ask what a ricer is, get the thing pictured and don't be such a gunner, okay? For the love of god do not use a mixer. Whipping mashed potatoes makes them super extra starchy somehow and tasting like what I can only imagine cafeteria food tastes like so while that may seem like a reasonable short cut, it is not and the potato gods will know and smite you. Do. Not. Whip. Your. Mashed. Potatoes. Got that? This whole thing isn't taking you that long anyway, so deal with it. (The worst part is peeling. What can I say? Thousands of years of human evolution and a peeler or a knife is the best we can do. Yes, there is also the apple corer but it wastes a lot of the potato.)

Pour your melted butter/cream mixture over the potatoes and get to mashing. If you didn't melt those together, no worries. Just cube up your butter and toss it in the potatoes and pour the cream over the top. You might want more than my guess at an estimated amount of cream, depending on how loose you want your potatoes/how well they're holding up. You don't want them swimming in cream but you want the right consistency. As with the Supreme Court's ruling on pornograph: you'll know it when you see it.

Mashing them is very basic behavior. Just get in there and mash 'em up. Do it until you have the consistency you want. Like I said, I don't like mine perfectly smooth, a few lumps and a rough consistency is right for me. But it's up to you. You'll know. (I'm saying that a lot here, but just trust your instinct. You can always go in and mash more) Make sure you at least thoroughly incorporate the butter, cream, and potatoes.

You'll need to taste test along the way. Add more butter or cream as you see necessary. You might need to throw in a heavy pinch of salt. Because fun fact: potatoes don't really taste like anything. That's why you'll be covering these in turkey gravy later. So add more butter, cream, and salt until they taste perfect to you. Again: you'll just know when you got it right. This is a fairly un-fuck-up-able recipe. It may end up too salty, it may end up a little too creamy but they'll still be edible. 

You can make the mashed potatoes well ahead of dinner, just leave them in the pot and then reheat them on low heat while stirring. If you don't stir and use anything but low heat, you will burn the mashed potatoes and ruin Thanksgiving. Yes, ruin it. Don't do that.

If you want to be fancy, you can add sour cream for a little tang to your mashed potatoes. Cream cheese will add, well, creaminess. You can roast garlic (bulb of garlic, top sliced off, drizzle of olive oil, wrap in foil, place in oven for 1 hour at 375, smush out bulbs) and add it to your mashed potatoes. Fresh rosemary is nice, as well as other fresh herbs. You can do any or all of that if you want extra credit. But frankly? I'm a purist. Just the salt, butter, and cream for me. And then slathered in turkey gravy.

Can't wait for Thanksgiving...

Random Sh*t

I took the dog to puppy training class last night and it was one of the most traumatic experiences EVER.

We've owned various dogs throughout my life. The last dog I remember going to any sort of training class was our husky that we got when I was 9. Most of our dogs were pretty good with the sit/stay/come. Our American Bulldog had dog aggression and was never off leash and all our other dogs have their own little personality traits. The husky would run away for days at a time, but always come back and liked to kill small woodland creatures (he was part wolf, allegedly). But mostly just really good dogs.

This dog is the smallest dog we have ever ever owned. By a lot. She's about ten pounds. The dog we got a year ago had been the smallest dog we'd ever owned and he's now 35 pounds. My tendency is to just pick her up a lot, which means she doesn't listen. She's also at least part terrier and terriers are a stubborn and willful breed. So she really doesn't listen. Mostly I just need her to learn to come back so I can let her off leash to play.

We went to the SPCA to get our learning on and about half way through I was ready to cry. She was tired of being on a leash, she'd been paying such good attention but then was just over it. You're in a room with ten other dogs and they can't even play! She did sit really good for awhile and has FINALLY started to look at me when I call her but I didn't bring nearly enough treats and even those weren't a big draw once she figured out that the treats meant doing shit.

Seriously, I have not been that exhausted after mental stimulation since taking the bar exam.

And the dog has never been so traumatized. At one point during training, as I'm squatting down near her because she's tiny and I don't want to pick her up, she buried her face between my arm and leg because she couldn't handle it anymore. I felt so bad! Related: never ever having children.

She's still traumatized today. Usually she wakes me up around 7:30 to go out and chows down her breakfast. I woke her up at 9 and she won't eat her food. She also won't leave my side. Stupid dog training.

In other news: It's Halloween weekend! That's a sarcastic exclamation point. I do not care about Halloween. I started dubbing it slut-o-ween a few years ago, a term that either I subconsciously picked up from the popular lexicon or I invented (the latter). One year I joked about taking a mishmash of slutty costumes and just going as a slutty slut. Like a nurses hat and fishnets and a firefighter jacket and a goalie shirt. Ya know, just an amalgamation of ridiculous crap that has been sexualized for Halloween because that's what the holiday has devolved into. But I'm not the type of girl who should be dressing up as slutty anything so...

I'm also incredibly uncreative and lazy when it comes to costumes. Every year when I was a kid we went to the Jessica McClintock outlet, got some oversized dress, cut the bottom off of it and I threw on a tiara. Insta-princess. My mom is not a sewer so no hand made costumes for us. In college I remember donning all black, putting on a choker, a pair of ears and using eyeliner to draw on whiskers. Insta-cat. The most recent time I dressed up was two years ago. I wore Levi's jeans, converse all-stars, a basic black top, a scarf, carried a Longchamp purse, threw a baguette in it sticking out of the top and joked about being bitchy and dismissive to everyone, which I am anyways. I was a French woman. Ta-da!

This year, I have no plans to go out. LSU has a bye week and I have taken to abstaining from alcohol during bye weeks, which is actually nice. Less regretful decisions made that way. I'm going to see Hair on Saturday night with Michael and Cheryl is out of town. So no Halloween debauchery for me, thanks.

However, my mom bought those fake sleeve tattoos and came up with the RIDICULOUS idea that I should wear those along with a Ben Davis shirt, a pair of Dickies, basic Pumas, a baseball hat low that covers my eyebrows, and carry around a can of Skoal and go as my brother. I was immediately and completely annoyed by this idea. I couldn't quite figure out why this bothered me so much though. It's kinda funny in theory. And when I told my brother's friends about it at the bar the other night they thought it was HYSTERICAL. So why was I so put off by it? Then it dawned on me: I have a hard enough time in San Francisco being taken seriously as ME, going as HIM would just compound the problem. I would be inextricably linked, more than I already am, as his sister and guys would be even MORE afraid to go within a hundred miles of me. Yeah, no.

(In fairness: one year for lazy Halloween, I stole his old Marine Corp camos that he'd abandoned at my moms, made them as sexy as I could (black tank top, shirt undone), wore the hat and everything and may have ended up late night making out with someone. So it's kinda possible, I suppose, to dress like him and not be considered just his sister. Still. I'd rather not risk it with a full on little brother homage outfit.)

And in the last of other news: the stepsis is keeping me sane with some serious emailing back and forth as I navigate getting to know someone new waters. Which I HATE. I mean, why isn't it all just easy and me being the sort of brutally forward person that I am is just cool? (It never ever is.) She's supposed to come up here to run the SF Marathon which I think is stupid and am trying to convince her to just come up that weekend to party and to watch the Bama game with me. Because I've decided I'm judging everyone by how much they care about me caring about LSU Bama. Watching it with me? Bonus points. Not even mentioning it? (Looking at you mom) Crappy Christmas presents (which they will be anyways cuz I still ain't got no job). So this is my public plea to convince everyone to convince Kathryn to come up here to watch LSU/Bama and cause the kind of trouble only her and I cause together. It's been too long! (since July).

Oh wait! One last thing: I went to high school with these guys and they were just these TOTAL surfer dudes. Then when we were college aged they were the guys who worked some crap job and then took their money to go surf Indo for a month, came back, lather, rinse, repeat. The one guy, Marty, was one of those high school guys who did not appreciate my mouthy nature back then, but he turned out to be pretty chill (his brother is SO HOT, you guys). Then they started this clothing company and it's actually taken off, which is super cool for them even if I'm left scratching my head going "Those surfer slackers, wha?" Anyway, Marty lives around the corner from my dad and every single damn time I drive around the block to get somewhere, this hot blonde guy will waive at me and smile and I'll think, "Oh! Me?!" before it takes me fifteen seconds to process, "Oh. It's Marty being nice. Never mind."

That's all a really long way of saying: SF is getting the Rip Curl Pro this fall, which I guess is a big freaking surf deal? (It's been since high school since I paid attention to surfing. Not much need for it in South Louisiana. Yes, I had Kelly Slater and Laird Hamilton pictures on my bedroom wall in high school, what of it?) And Marty and Andy were called in to narrate the epic awesomeness that is Ocean Beach to get people prepped for the Pro. And now I'm gonna ponder SO MANY SURFERS across the street from the beach house. Suuhhweeet. (Brushes up on her surfer speak by watching Blue Crush.)

Later, bitches!

Irish Joke

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, I'm telling my grandfather's favorite joke. I have no idea how I know this was his joke or when he told it or when I understood it, as he died when I was ten years old, but I know it was his. The man was larger than life, joked with everyone, had these ridiculous bushy eyebrows, was always warm and effusive with us grandkids.

He would have these HUGE St. Patrick's Day parties where he would invite over all these clients and stuff and all the furniture would be cleared out of the living room and they'd rent party tables and chairs. I don't know how we managed to fit all those people in their house, but we did. My grandmother would slave over giant pots of corned beef all day, pulling out portable hot plates for all the pots of boiling water, which is HYSTERICAL when you know that she wasn't even Irish, she was French, German and English from upstate New York. But she'd married an Irishman and that's the way things went. My grandfather was actually born and raised in San Francisco (hence me being 3rd gen native), but HIS parents were fresh off the boat Irish and it's pretty in your roots when you're that Irish.

Now, he told lot's of jokes. Silly ridiculous phrases. "What a life without a wife but ten times worse with her!" In the eulogy I gave for my grandmother I mentioned how every single time they went over the Golden Gate Bridge he'd say, "Better go through the wide lane! Mother's in the car!" I'm sure there are other jokes and phrases trapped in the far corners of my brain if I thought about it. But this one? It's my favorite:

An Irishman is stranded on a desert island. He's been there for days, weeks even, roaming around by himself, when on the beach he comes upon a lamp. As anyone who has ever found a lamp knows, he picks it up and rubs it. And sure enough! Out comes a genie.

The genie says to the Irishman, "I will grant you two wishes, but only two! Use them wisely. What would you like for your first wish?"

The Irishman thinks about it for a minute and he says, "Ye know, I'm quite parched. I would just about kill for a bottle of fine Irish whiskey."

The genie says, "Your wish is my command." In the Irishman's hand appears a bottle of fine Irish whiskey. He is so grateful to for it, having not had a drop of alcohol in several weeks, that he gulps the whole bottle down as quickly as possible. "Ahhh! That was just fine!" he exclaims to the genie upon finishin. He looks down and finds that the bottle has refilled. "What's this!?" he asks the genie.

The genie responds, "Your wish for a bottle of whiskey was so modest, I made it a refilling bottle of whiskey. So long as you possess that bottle, it will never be empty."

The Irishman thanks the genie and says, "Well that's fucking grand!"

The genie then asks the Irishman, "What would you like for your second wish?"

Without missing a beat the Irishman says, "I'll have another bottle of whiskey!"

(For the record: I am at home this St. Patrick's Day, about to nap for a few minutes and then convince myself to go to the gym. I'm conflicted (as with much else these days) about how I feel about this. But it dawned on me earlier that my last St. Pat's Day was an epic night in Baton Rouge after a baseball game and trying to break into the football stadium at 3 a.m., and the year before that involved green jello shots at Dos Gringos in Scottsdale, AZ while I was there for spring training. So, I guess I'm okay with being home and not making an ass out of myself. Mostly.)

New Years Eve

I don't have even a whiff of a plan for NYE. All my favorite people are out of town/working. And by favorite I mean the tiny collection of friends I have that make up the people in this universe that I can stand. And a few family members.

Usually I am fine with no NYE plans. I hate NYE for the following reasons:

1. It is amateur night. Every one who just turned 21, and those who aren't even 21, feel compelled to go out. And they are usually from San Anselmo or San Ramon or some other awful suburb and do not fucking know how to act when in zomg a big city. 
2. Which means they are all shit faced blotto by 10 p.m., even though the bar will stay open, as is customary EVERY night, 'til 2 a.m.
3. Them being blotto early means that drunk, emotional girls have turned the bathroom into an uninhabitable train wreck by 11 p.m. and are likely to spill cheap champagne/step on you. Constantly. Repeatedly. I like a clean bathroom, thanks. 
4. And bars be expensive. $80 to go sit in some crowded place you can't leave because the next bar is just as expensive? Yeah. No. You could do that whole table service thing but that requires a collection of people and...we're back to the original problem. 
5. Cabs. Don't even think about getting a cab. Considering I live in, as Chuck calls it, The Boonies (near West Portal), any bar I might be inclined to get gussied up to go to is nowhere near me, this becomes problematic. Sure sure, public transport. Um, really? The 48 at 2 a.m.? I'll pass. 
6. Since, as Kent said last night, "70% of your family is SFPD", they all end up working NYE. Which means I run into them. Which means they know what I'm up to. Which means making out on the street with some random stranger, as is my m.o, becomes slightly awkward. 

So usually I try to do something quiet and close to home. One year, when with the ex, who had a friend named PJ, we had a PJ party at PJ's. Last year we did a nice dinner at my Dad's house. That was all well and good until the point where it was 4 couples and me at midnight (fucking being single. grumble). So I didn't want a repeat of that nonsense this year. Which, dad has to work, problem solved. Michael invited me down to Palm Springs...and while momentarily tempted by that, I realized I'm a) broke and b) that being the straight girl with a group of gay guys was perhaps more depressing than being the straight girl with the couples.

Like I said, usually fine with no plans, but I've lost a modicum of weight, found a pair of knee high boots that actually fit over my extra large calves and own a dress that I can't return because I already ripped the tags off it. My life is about to get exponentially more frustrating with YAY BAR STUDY so I'd like to do something, have some fun before that begins...but I got nada.

So I guess I need to be content with a bottle of Bailey's and romcoms for me to curse at/wish were my life as I sit on the downstairs couch with the dog after my parents go to bed at like 9:30.

I'll party on Jan 7th when LSU plays TAMU in a bowl game, I guess.

Anyone got anything more exciting planned?

Holidaze

I hate the day after Christmas. Everyone is all good cheer and Christmas carols and present wrapping for a month. The sun rises on December 26th and pfftt that is all over. The light rock station is light rock again and not a marshmallow world in the winter. There are no presents under the tree. There is no good cheer left and nothing to look forward to. (Except for a bowl game on January 7th.)

This year, then, I suppose the fact that I was extremely hungover on December 26th was a good thing. Or at least had an upside. I barely left my bed. My mom came in my room at 3 p.m., after I'd been in and out of dozing all day and said, "It smells like drunk people in here." "Yeahhh...I'll take a shower." And that was pretty much all I accomplished yesterday. Apparently I was way into the holiday spirits the previous night.

Bake-A-Thon

When the holidays roll around, I use it as an excuse to bake like a fiend. I've gone through 7 pounds of flour, four pounds of butter, at least a dozen eggs...and I'm nowhere near done.

So far I've made:
2 batches of polk-a-dot cookies (chocolate cookies with bright green mint chips)
2 batches of white chocolate, macadamia, cranberry cookies
2 batches of peanut butter cookies (I'm not particularly enamored with these and they may be moved out of the rotation)
1 batch regular old chocolate chip
1 batch of mexican butter cookies with sprinkles
2 cheesecakes


All of this while battling my sinuses which are driving me BANANAS and my family, who are mercifully all at work this morning, but also driving me bananas. I am just in NO mood, folks.

That is until I turn on the Christmas carols and zone out stirring, mixing, folding. Michael asked me last night why I go all crazy with the baking. Frankly, I find it relaxing. It's sort of zen. It doesn't require heavy thought. I think all of what I make is really good, but it's not original. I'm following a recipe, someone else's directions. Sure, I add and subtract and change minor things but essentially, someone else has made sure the things work. And cookies make people happy. It's an easy gift. Giving my trainer a cheesecake every year is a seriously simple thing I can do to make someone happy. I jokingly threw in a plastic fork and knife to the box I put his cheesecake in this year. I get a text that he's on BART eating it. I mean that just makes my day.

In quasi-related news: I started a "Look, I'm a fatass!" blog. It's tedious and boring and more for me than you (insert usual self deprecating joke here). Even the title refers to how boring dieting is and talking about dieting is and actually dieting is. But. If you felt compelled, there it is. Don't worry, faithful few, any inspired content will be reserved for here.

Lots of non-sequiturs tonight so: Despite last week's horoscope telling me to go out and have some damn fun, I've been hiding in the house with my baking. I just can't muster it. It's cold. I actually like not drinking and waking up with bad decisions lingering in brain. But: I'm dragging myself out tonight. I need to talk to people not related to me so I can stop talking to myself. Out loud. In public. Which I have caught myself doing a frightening number of times lately. I am headed to meet Cheryl in her neighborhood. Which is of course the Marina. I'm sort of determined to stay away from my brother's bars so we'll see how that goes... (Probably impossible since they are ALL "his" bars. I would have liked to stick to Sunset/Richmond Irish bars [something about the holidays makes me nostalgic] but Cheryl is Asian and thus can consume 2 drinks before drunk so it's safer in her 'hood.)

In more other news: I saw Forever Tango with my mother today. It was meh. Not as good as Burn the Floor. Favorite moments though: 1. Me saying, after the 45 minute show, "That's it? That's a lot of money for 45 minutes." Mom, "Didn't you read the program? Or wonder why no one was leaving? It's intermission!" Me, "Oooohhhh." 2. Mom, "I thought this would be more exciting. More flamenco-y." Me, "Um, then that would be flamenco, and not tango. It's called forever TANGO." Mom, "Oooohhh." Apparently there's some holiday fatigue setting in. We're not usually this retarded.

So those are the current goings on. Hopefully more to report tomorrow...

It's in the stars...

It's rainy in San Francisco. Like really really rainy. Like we're supposed to get 5" by Sunday (that's what she said. [Sorry, that felt necessary]). Which is kinda nice. It makes my staying in the house that much more acceptable. It makes dragging my ass to the gym that much more difficult. My plan is to bake. A lot. So if you would like some cookies, hit me up.


However, I'm getting that BNBD itch. It's been a whopping two weeks plus (since Thanksgiving)! That's some sort of record, isn't it? Besides, I need to get this out of my system before the end of the year! The new year brings resolutions and bar study. Wheee!

My horoscope, which I read weekly, seems to concur with the going out thing:

In the TV comedy series "Arrested Development," Buster Bluth was an adult character who was a bit over-attached to his mother. It seemed to have to do with the fact that he lingered in her womb for 11 months before agreeing to be born. The obstetrician claimed "there were claw marks on her uterus." I want to be sure you don't make a comparable misstep in the coming weeks, Cancerian. It really is time for you to come out and play. Ready or not, leave your protective sanctuary and leap into the jangly, enchanting tumult.


How awesome is that horoscope? An Arrested Development reference? Pretty awesome.


But I decided to "displace" my BNBD urges and have been just killing it at the gym instead. I'm resisting because, well, I'm broke and tired of waking up with a remorse. Stupid sinus issues and all, I go to the gym. It feels good. I just wish change were more immediate. I am not a patient person. However, I will try to embrace that sentiment and maybe get out and do some stuff that ISN'T all BNBD.


Anyway, some house keeping stuff: the blog is about to get REALLY boring. Today in the mail I got both my admission ticket for the February bar and my returned blue books from failing the July bar. WHEEEEE! SO MUCH FUN! (I also got a Christmas card from my ex's parents. It was a banner day for the mail.) As such, I am not going to have much to say as I go down the rabbit hole of suckitude that is re-learning 16 areas of law. SO EXCITED! HAPPY FACE! DANCE DANCE!


But I had a thought: I have a defunct blog with some pretty good writing on it. Imma repost some of my favorites over here to keep you, all six of you or whatever, entertained. Starting with a Christmas post. They will also be updated and slightly altered but unless you read my old blog, you won't know that. Everything old is new again!


A list of my all time favorite Christmas movies/shows:






1. A Charlie Brown Christmas. It's genius. With genius music. Who among us hasn't at some point lost a little of the Christmas spirit due to crass commercialism and forgetting that on this day a star guided the way for a family to Bethlehem? Fine, Big Bang Theory will tell you about how Christians reinterpreted pagan holidays (true), but mangers and sheep and three kings still are an important part of the mythos. (Even if as a lapsed Catholic I haven't been to church in forever.) And it has Snoopy dancing. True story: once upon a time I thought about getting a tattoo of Snoopy dancing. You know: this. Why? Because as someone who can often be morose, no matter what mood I'm in the sight of Snoopy dancing makes me crack a smile. It's just so ridiculously goofy! So I thought: If I get a tattoo of that and I'm in a crappy mood, I need only look at my tattoo. Obviously I didn't do this, it's ridiculous. And cartoon character tattoos are only slightly below sports logo tattoos, of which I already have one. But seriously, watch this and try not to giggle. It's impossible.






2. Have you ever watched all of It's a Wonderful Life? Like really watched it? It's actually not a Christmas movie. It's a commentary on the average man and hopelessness but somehow got turned into a Christmas movie. It's existential crisis. And it is amazing.






I had a class in high school called Fiction to Film. And it was a hard class. (Seriously, I can't tell you how much more difficult high school was than undergrad.) But I rocked it because I love movies. I mean, I saw Citizen Kane when I was ten. I hate Citizen Kane. I get it, top 100 movie and all, great editing and montages, etc. blah blah blah. But at 10, when you find out what Rosebud is? You are bitterly disappointed.






Anyway, in my high school class we had to write a paper on the directorial style of a particular director. I chose Billy Wilder. We actually watched It's a Wonderful Life in class and analyzed it (hey, it was hard! I didn't say it wasn't fun too.) I watched a ton of Wilder films and now know them as soon as I see them even if I don't already know he directed them (Sabrina). I wish I still had that paper, I bet it was good. (Re-reading this I realize it is an irrelevant reference because the movie was directed by Capra, not Wilder. I don't know how I could have gotten this confused.)






Point being: It's a Wonderful Life is a hugely touching, well directed, well acted movie that will, undoubtably, remind you of what is important in life. Watch it. All of it. Oh, and for those of you of the Sesame Street generation (all of us), the film gave us the characters Burt and Ernie. For serious.






3. Serendipity. This movie is probably why the only times I have ever been to NYC are around the holidays and why I love the hell out of that city at that time of year. Again, not a holiday movie per se, but just a sweet romance. Probably my most surprising memory of this movie is we were discussing it recently and my brother said, "I love that movie." I thought he was being sarcastic and mocking me. (He does that. All. The. Time.) I was all, "Yeah, sure, whatever. No one is going to make you like romances." And he got all defensive. "No! Really! I like it!" I was shocked. The neanderthal likes the light hearted holiday romance? Hmm. Who knew? It actually got brought up again last night, my parents were watching it on TV, and my mom again mentioned her surprise that Doug likes that movie. It just doesn't fit with what we generally know about my brother. I am also a fan of going to Serendipity 3 in NYC. It's ridiculous and touristy and wonderful. Right near Bloomingdales. Sigh. I miss you NYC!






4. Home for the Holidays. Ever been tortured by your family and had a series of not funny mishaps while at home? You've lived this movie. Probably more than once. Repressed, uptight, martyr of a sister? Check. Crazy free wheeling brother? Check. Whacky aunt? Check. Mother who doesn't understand you at all? CHECK! I maintain that the mother/daughter relationship, for whatever reason and I have no idea why, is the most complicated relationship in the universe. I guarantee more hours have been spent in therapy all over the world figuring out this one than any other thing in people's lives. This somehow becomes exponential at the holidays. The texts from Sarah and my own increasing frustrations right now seem to confirm my hypothesis.






Sorry, total digression. Point is: I love this movie, it makes me laugh, in that totally uncomfortable way you laugh at, say, The Office.






5. Mixed Nuts. I haven't seen this movie in forever. It's ridiculous farce and I am a fan of the run all over the place ridiculous farce. And a fan of Steve Martin who used to be on my older hot guy list because he makes me laugh (pre-too much face work). And has a degree in philosophy, being quite possibly the only person to ever get rich with a philosophy degree.






6. After the Thin Man. It's my list so I can stretch it. If you haven't seen any of the Thin Man movies, you are sorely missing out. Giving you the names Nick and Nora, later stolen by a pajama company and a crappy teen movie, these crime movies are full of the witty banter and bon mots that were parlayed into The Gilmore Girls. You think we talk fast now? Watch a movie from 40 years ago and try and keep up. (Same goes for Arsenic and Old Lace and Harvey, two other movies I adore.) Nick and Nora Charles are in SF trying to solve a New Years Eve murder which is sorely interrupting former police detective Nick's plans to drink as many martinis as humanly possible. It's clever and funny and set in old school SF. This film is also responsible for my desire to make my next dog a Wire Haired Fox Terrier and name it Asta. I still might keep the name because we probably won't be getting a fox terrier, I like it.






7. White Christmas. A remake of a movie Bing Crosby made only a few years prior called Holiday Inn. (Me: full of the useless information. Not wikiing either, just know this shit. Too many nights spent watching AMC while in high school while everyone else was at kegs in The Grove) Dancing, singing, overwrought patriotism. George Clooney's aunt Rosemary singing Count Your Blessings, which is a phenomenal song. What's not to love? Those outfits too!






8. A Miracle on 34th Street. Once again NYC is one of the stars. Starting with the Thanksgiving Day Parade, a child (played by Natalie Wood) too young to already be jaded doesn't believe in Santa Clause because of her bitter, divorced, working mother (shocker. Played by Maureen O'Hara who I adore) has her world rocked by meeting Kris Kringle (the wonderful Edmund Gwenn). And Kris teaches us the real meaning of Christmas by offering up truth and hope against commercialism at Macy's. He helps Maureen find love and Natalie a family. And at the end, everyone believes again! It warms the cold cockles of my hardened lawyer heart. Do not watch it in color and do not watch the remake.






9. Elf. I hate Will Ferrell. I do. I don't find him funny at all. But when directed by Jon Favreau (not the president's speech writer, the other one) in a holiday vehicle? He's awesome. His childlike infectiousness actually has a purpose. The adorable Zooey Deschanel, a crumudgeounly James Caan, and an awesome Ed Asner and Bob Newhart? Sing loud for all to hear!






10. TNT in an inspiration of marketing genius and to fill boring holiday air time when people aren't in front of a TV decided to air 24 hours of A Christmas Story. I have no recall of this movie coming out or being in theaters but I think every last one of us knows this movie by heart at this point. It is poignant and holds a lot of truisms and has offered up some great lines. Forget "You'll shoot your eye out!" Give me, "Fa ra ra ra ra!" and "Fragggeeeelllleeee. It must be Italian!" And at some point, with it on in the background, I will see the whole movie. Not necessarily in it's intended order.






11. New for 2010: I mentioned the other day that for whatever reason, that the Yes, Virginia there is a Santa Claus letter makes me bawl like a baby. I watched the cartoon version the other night. And I bawled like a baby. (Yeah yeah yeah, I'm not the bad ass I'd like to be seen as. I know.) In analyzing this I would say being reminded of innocence and joy and hope because I can be so very very cynical. I guess. I dunno. Open to other interpretations...






Honorable mentions:


The original Home Alone. The aftershave scene alone is worth the price of admission.


Mickey Mouse's A Christmas Carol. What do you mean it's a Dickens novel? I had no idea of this until I was in high school.


Every single last Hallmark Channel or Lifetime cheesy ass holiday movie I've watched this season.






And now I am off to finish making my deviled eggs so I can park myself in front of the TV and watch some of these classics. (From last year. Reapply this year. Holiday bake-a-thon 2010 is about to get under way!)