I’m sorry, I know it’s been getting dusty and stale here lately but I’m just not feeling the bloggy mojo.  I’m not sure what to blame it on but I do have many logical-sounding excuses.  Want to hear them?

I have serious cabin fever and I have nothing to share but whiny complaints about winnnnter and all of this lousy snooooww. Who wants to hear that?

I’ve been turning off my computer when I leave for work each day to see if it will make any impact on my cripplingly high electric bill.  This means that in order to blog I have to boot up the computer and wait, and who has the patience for that?  Certainly not me.

I’ve been repainting, redecorating and/or rearranging every room in my house lately, and that’s been keeping me busy.

We bought a treadmill recently and threatened each other with harm if we didn’t use it regularly.  We’re now in a I’m-going-to-look-hotter-than-you competition where we’re trying to out-buff each other.  I think Luke’s going to win since he entered the competition with the ability to do more than ten girly push-ups at a time, but still, I’m not giving up.

Anyhow, whatever the reason, I thought I’d drop in today and say hello and apologize for being so quiet.  This weekend the weather is supposed to improve and that makes me feel hopeful.  Maybe I’ll be able to get outside and take some pictures and finally kick this winter funk.

So how are you?

Valentine’s Day seems to be about a hundred years ago, but since I’ve been MIA for so long, I have a lot of catching up to do.  I’d like to introduce you to Rex and Steggie, (or Kissasaurus and Huggasaurus Rex, as I called them when I delivered them), two felt dinos I made for Cameron and Alex for Valentine’s Day.  Back around Christmastime, Cameron saw me knitting and asked me to knit him a dinosaur.  I said “maybe” which he took to mean “absolutely, right this minute!” and from that day on, each time I saw him he asked if I’d gotten a chance to make him that dinosaur “like I promised”.

Valentine’s day seemed like a good excuse to fulfill my promise, but I decided that I had no hope of knitting them so I’d make the dinos out of felt.  I played around with some paper pattens and came up with Rex first.  He came out perfectly and I nearly sprained my arm from patting myself on the back.  I just sewed a toy!  Very exciting.  After Rex, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to make two of the same dinos to avoid the “I wanted that one” fights, but that seemed boring so I challenged myself to make a pattern for Steggie.  He was supposed to come out smaller than Rex but, sadly, things didn’t work out that way.  That left me with a dilemma.

Big brother, Cameron is on a kick now where he has to be the biggest, best, fastest, the one with the most guns, the most powers, etc. etc.  So… would he want the biggest felt dino, or the smaller T-Rex dino, since T-Rex was the king of the dinosaurs?  I couldn’t decide so I consulted my sister who said he’d want the biggest one.  I think I would have lost either way, but unfortunately when I delivered them on V-Day, Cameron complained that he didn’t get Rex until I told him that he was hurting my feelings.  The next night I watched the boys so my sister and her husband could go on their belated anniversary/Valentine’s Day date and both boys tucked their dinos into bed with them when they climbed under the covers so I think that everyone was happy in the end.

Yesterday, during the SNOWSTORM (that wasn’t), I had a lovely time working in my jammies, waiting for the snow, getting a kick out of the fact that no one was at work but everyone was on Facebook, etc. etc.  After Luke left for work, I cleaned up my work things, put dinner in the oven, and decided to further enjoy my peaceful day by taking a bath.  I brought my cell phone into the bathroom in case I got a call, and proceeded to read and relax and sighh…..

When the water cooled off and I was sufficiently pruny-fingered, I got out, pulled the shower curtain down from the loop it was in over the curtain rod, and knocked a reed diffuser full of Pier 1 citrus cilantro oil onto the floor.  Amazingly the glass container fell bottom side down right onto the bathroom scale, next to where my cell phone was sitting.  Some oil splashed out, I might have cursed a bit, but no big deal.  I wiped off my phone, cleaned up the spilled oil, and went about my evening.

Maybe an hour later I was talking to Luke on the phone, telling him about spilling the oil and how my phone now smells pretty, ha ha ha, and I was thinking that my phone was opening up wider than I remembered but I thought that maybe the oil just greased the hinge.  I had been sifting through a bowl of buttons when Luke called so when I saw bits of plastic on my lap, I figured they were broken buttons from the bowl.  Wrongo.  I got off the phone with Luke and realized that my phone was melting.  Like the Wicked Witch, it was meeellllllting!

I’m not sure if you can really make it out in the pictures, but everywhere the oil traveled, the plastic on the phone started to buckle and blister and then completely crumble and fall apart.  The only thing holding both halves of my phone together right now is hope.  Surprisingly, it still works, but I’m not too thrilled to be putting it up to my face right now.  If that oil can melt plastic, what is it doing to my face?  I’m still in shock and I’m incredibly pissed.  I’m not sure if I should be mad at myself for being clumsy or LG for making a phone out of wimpy plastic, or Pier 1 for selling battery acid as a air freshener.  I’m headed to the Sprint store later today to see if  I can replace this biohazard.  I really loved my phone, they better still have them in stock.

So beware! Achtung! Keep your reed diffusers and their scented oil away from everything.  They’re not kidding when they warn you that the oil can cause damage to surfaces.  It can eat your cell phone, too.

I went, I searched, I received:

“One of the most popular names for a newborn girl in 1970. Most Lisas are hot.”

Nice. I do like where that one is going, but as I went further down the page, they got even better.

“An intelligent and sexy female with LUSCIOUS physical features. Usually attracts weird guys named David who do absolutely NOTHING for her, but she still remains independent.”

LUSCIOUS, huh?  That’s new.  And I’ve never even been hit on by anyone named David.  Weird.

“A freakin AMAZING chica…anything but unattractive. Hell she is totally far from that. Can we say delelctible….Loves Chinese food and tattoos. Loves moths doing there own kamakaze suicide attempts into flames. Usually a very good speller. And loves her little, should be, foreign car. And is always ready for a fun time.”

(I corrected some of the spelling errors because, ironically, as the author put it, a Lisa is “Usually a very good speller.”)  This definition is mostly true.  I do love Chinese food, tattoos, my little foreign car, and fun!  The moth thing, though… that’s just creepy.

This next one is that one I most wish was true:

“An extremely smart and sexy female with great hair and a great face. Nice, sweet and generous are words that go along with Lisa. She is funny and giving. Not a slut by any means but does like to have a good time. Always ready to party and her phone is always ringing. She will even fly to another state for a house party. She is self confident and blessed with good genes. She just has it all; all other girls are extremely jealous of her.”

Don’t be jealous.  I’ve never even been invited to a house party in MY state.

Lastly, this is the sweetest one:

“Someone who has a great zest for life, always remain[ing] calm and collected and able to be in control of situations. Has an unprecedented sense of humor. It is rare to cheer everybody up in different situations, yet she always manages to do it. Moreover, she is the life and soul of a party, which makes her extremely sociable. She is not quick-tempered, in fact deep down, she is really an amiable person. Lisa has a very unpredictable lifestyle, for this reason she spends a lot of time exercising. Intelligent and very focused. Strong set of character, which makes her stand out from the rest. Never one who gives up. Extremely beautiful. Great lover.”

Which reminds me I should head to the gym. Also where are all of these parties I’m not being invited to? Don’t they know I’m the life and soul of the party?

So tell me, what does Urban Dictionary know about you?

If you visit any cooking websites, you’ve undoubtedly heard of the French macaron. It appears to be quite the fad in the cooking world these days.  A quick search on Foodgawker brings up six pages of recipes in every color and flavor combination.  I really didn’t know what the allure was, I had never in my life tasted a macaron, but seeing them all over the internet, and then seeing my favorite Thursday Night Smackdown try (and fail) three times to make them, it made me want to give them a try.

The word on the street is that macarons are hard to make.  Even Wikipedia says, “Making macarons requires a great deal of discipline and is a process that is highly dependent on exactitude, technique, and proper equipment. For this reason it is a notoriously difficult recipe to master and a frustrating endeavor for the amateur baker.”  I laugh in Wikipedia’s face because, guess what?  This amateur baker got them right on the first try.

The only reason I can think of that I managed to make them right on the first try is that I read about forty recipes before trying to make them, and I heeded all of the warnings.  Each recipe, no matter how different the technique, said two things: age your egg whites (that means leave them on the counter overnight – gross, I know), and weigh your ingredients.  Now you my dislike for following recipes.  I hate to measure, but apparently I love to weigh.  It makes me feel fancy, like an olde timey apothecary.  100 grams of this, 25 grams of that, I loved it!  I even weighed the ingredients for the filling even thought it was essentially peanut butter buttercream and, really, you can make that without measuring at all.

I aged my eggs, I ground my almonds, I measured my ingredients, I let them sit for an hour before I baked them so they could form a crust and… voila! A few macarons cracked but they didn’t deflate so I consider that a success!  I let them sit in the refrigerator overnight before filling them with the peanut butter buttercream and, holy cow.  Now I know what all the fuss was about.  They’re light and crispy, then rich and chewy and the dark chocolate with the salty peanut butter, mmm… they’re perfect.

I wish I could link you to a recipe but I sort of blended a few recipes together.  I followed Tartlette’s instructions (about halfway down the page there’s a link to a PDF of her “tried and true recipe” which I followed, mostly) and My Madison Bistro is where I got the recipe for the filling.  I also read Serious Eats, David Lebovitz, and Bakerella before embarking on my own macaron journey – which I highly recommend.

And just so you don’t think I’m bragging about making macarons right on the first try, I have to tell you.  After filling the macarons and taking pictures of how pretty they were, I put them safely in the fridge, feeling pretty good about myself, and then burned an entire pan of brownies to a smoking crisp. You can’t win every time.

My lovely friend Beth is having a baby in a few short weeks and her friends were sweet enough to invite me to her baby shower last weekend.  I’ve had an aversion to registries for as long as I can remember, so I decided to make something for mom and baby instead of buying off the registry.  Enter the crazy what-was-I-thinking moment that brought me much dread and anxiety: I bought a sewing pattern.

You know me.  I can’t follow recipes and I hate to follow sewing patterns.  They confound me and frustrate me, and yet, I bought this one.  This pattern is Butterick 4560 (and despite all of my whining, it was actually fairly easy to follow).  I bought the pattern and the fabric and sat and stared at it for about two weeks, dreading the task.  I finally decided to suck it up and start cutting. And several (many) hours later, I had this!

Cute, right?  The fabric on the inside is “Baby Story” from Heidi Grace.  It has little doodles and words all over and says “A tall bird came and brought me a gift… of all the gifts I have ever received, this was my favorite — the gift was you.”  I’m not sure who to credit for the outer fabric but it was from Jo-Ann, Etc.

I made some changes to the pattern (shocker, I know) like this antique button closure on the side pocket.  It was supposed to be Velcro, as was the closure on the main flap.  I have a weird tactile issue with Velcro and decided instead to use this cute button on the side and a small magnetic snap on the main flap.  I also didn’t make the weird strap pad you see in the pattern pictures, it seemed unnecessary.  And I didn’t make the tab on the inside that would have had a clip for your keys.  That also seemed fussy.  I did add in all of the elastic pockets and pouches and, despite the I spent about 28 hours making it, I’m pretty darn proud of myself for making this bag and for (mostly) following the pattern.  I may even attempt another one for another pregnant friend of mine.  We’ll see.

(Click the image to go to Vimeo and play the video, or just click here: http://www.vimeo.com/8822137)

Remember this print? One of the two gorgeous prints I won from the Roosevelvet Etsy shop? I wanted to show it to you in its new natural habitat. I framed it in dark maple and hung it on my new grass green walls and yes, it is hanging in my bathroom, but I heard that it was a compliment to hang someone’s art in the bathroom because of all the time we spend in that particular room. Not me, of course, just the collective “we,” anyhow, moving on…

Look at this new beauty that arrived from Crankbunny’s Etsy shop this week.  You need to go visit this shop right now. I bought her Secret Decoder Card for Cameron for Christmas and was blown away when it arrived by the quality and by how lush it was. It was amazing. I happened to see the Lady Fish Paper Puppet when I was browsing around the shop the other day and knew I had to have her.

I had a couple of lovely shadow box frames hanging around, waiting for the perfect inspiration and the Lady Fish was just what I didn’t realize I was looking for.  First off, it’s just a gorgeous piece of artwork. Second, it’s huge – about 15-inches the way I have her in the frame. And third, she came wrapped in purple ribbons in a box with purple duct tape. Everything was just perfect.

I cut some squares of illustration board to use to prop her up from the background, I positioned her perfectly and glued her in place.  Now she’s hanging next to my front door in place of the $2.50 Salvation Army Bob Dillon painting that Luke hated. A welcome change, I would have to say.

• 1 pint equals 16 ounces
• Guinness generally most commonly comes one of two ways at a bar: from the tap or out of a can (sometimes from a bottle, but we’re not going to mention that for this story)
• A can of Guinness contains 14.9 ounces
• Guinness (the company) has two versions of their Guinness glasses that they give to bars: the 15-ounce glass for the establishments that serve Guinness from cans, and the 16-ounce glass for those who serve it on tap.

OK, got that?  Now we’re ready for the story to begin.

Last weekend Luke and I visited our favorite restaurant in the next town over for lunch.  We ordered beers, Luke’s was on tap, my Guinness was in a can.  The waitress, as she should, gave me the can and a glass into which I poured my beer and noticed that the “pint” glasses she gave to both of us didn’t even hold a whole can of Guinness. A 14.9-ounce can.  I didn’t have my handy measuring cups with me at the time, but it looked to me like these “pint” glasses held about 12 ounces.  Now, as wrong as this is, it doesn’t come as a huge shock to me.  Despite prices staying the same, everything has gotten smaller, from the boxes cereal comes in to the half gallon of ice cream which is now 1.5 quarts. The thing about that is the ice cream containers actually say “1.5 quarts”.  Because that’s what they hold.  But the menus at restaurants say that beer is served in pints or pitchers when in actuality you’re getting 12-14 ounces, not 16.

Now as annoying and wrong as this is to me, it was all made worse the day after we were served our 12-ounce “pints” when we stopped into the same restaurant for a quick bite and a different waitress took the 12-ounce “pint” glass and poured 12 ounces of my Guinness into it, then threw away the beer that was left in the can.  I saw red.  But because I am not the mean and terrible person I wish I sometimes was, I let it go without saying anything to her.  I said a lot about it to Luke and to our friends afterward and to the whole Internet now.  THAT WAS SO WRONG.  And it needs to stop.

I joked that Luke and I should come in next weekend with fake Department of Weights and Measures badges to audit the “pints” that they’re selling.  Luke thought we should bring our pint glasses in from home and demand to be served beer in those.  It really just irks me that the menu claims that you’re getting a pint when you are not.  If they changed the menu to say that beer comes in “glasses or pitchers”, now that would be fine.  It’s the specification that you’re getting a pint when you’re actually getting 12 ounces that really drives me crazy.

And one last story of Guinness injustice to make you really think I’m annoying and trivial.  Remember the factoid at the beginning about the two sizes of Guinness glasses?  Another restaurant we go to on occasion serves Guinness “pints” from the tap, yet serves them in the 15-ounce glasses designed for bars serving beer in cans. I realized as soon as the waitress put my glass down next to Luke’s that my glass was smaller.  This really annoys me.

And so, to close out this picky and pointless rant, I would just like to say this, restaurants: Please DO NOT claim to serve PINTS when you’re only serving 3/4 OF A PINT. It is so very wrong.

Don’t make me get my badge and measuring cups out.

Sometimes it’s really hard to remember who I told what and where I updated and did I mention this on Twitter already or was it Facebook? Case in point: my 2009 in Pictures video. I forgot I put in on Facebook and linked to it on Twitter but didn’t write about it here.

I FINALLY, finished it yesterday. I spent two hours whittling down my selection of pictures to a reasonable number, and an hour, alone, trying to pick the right song for it. I needed a long song and all of the 6-minute songs I have in iTunes are songs with titles like “So Long Sweet Misery” or songs by Pantera. Not the sappy, year-in-pictures type songs I was looking for.  I settled on a song about a troubled relationship on the brink of a breakup, but hey, it has the right feeling to it when you watch the slide show.

I’m still mad at WordPress for not allowing me to embed videos unless I pay them $60 per year for the privilege, so you’ll have to choose a link to follow in order to watch.  Sorry about that.

Here it is on Vimeo: 2009 in Pictures

Or on Facebook: 2009 in Pictures

Thanks to everyone for making it an amazing year!