First off, I got through teaching that pastry class. Somehow I managed to emerge from three weeks of cake/custard/chocolate/buttercream-infused days with my ass intact and not threatening to need it's own zip code, thanks to lovely weather and Dirk, my bike.
Dirk and I have grown a lot closer these days, what with his nose being wedged between my buttcheeks & lady bits for an hour or so every day- hell, if he were a man I'd not only marry him, but I'd probably keep him locked in the bedroom 24/7. I looooove you, Dirk.
I've pimped Dirk out (as he so richly deserves to be) with a saddlebag basket and lights. The other night, when I was leaving work, I thought I ran over something on the road. Turns out, the thing I ran over was part of my headlight.
But as you can see, I- Whiskeymarie VonPartypants, mechanical engineer extrordinaire, used my mad skillz to make it look as good as new:
I double-dog dare any of you to find the differences between this and a new light. I know- even I have a hard time believing NASA hasn't called. The BIG news (for me, anyways) of the last week is that I got a NEW (to me, anyways) CAR!!!
We have been debating this purchase for a while now- Me pulling for a hover car, the Mr. wanting to buy a rusty El Camino- and the time finally came to poo or get off the loo, so to speak. I was looking at buying a brand-new Toyota Rav-4, originally. Lord knows, I love excitement- I haven't risked my life in at least 4-6 weeks, and a tough broad like me isn't going to be deterred by little things like "rapid, uncontrollable accelleration" and "faulty brake lines".
I eat massive recalls for breakfast, bitch.
No, the thing that stopped me from plopping my ass in a spanking-new death wish vehicle wasn't so much the uneasiness about losing the use of my arms, bowels, and legs as it was about buying a NEW car. Sure, I've owned new cars in the past, but it never seemed quite right for me. I like vintage clothes, all my pets were rescues, I live in an old house, and I buy my underpants from the "only slightly used" rack at the Wal-mart. Buying something so untested and previously unloved seemed like all sorts of wrong for me. Well, that and the whole "It will lose a huge chunk of it's value the minute you drive off the lot and welcome to years of stupid car payments, stupid" thing. We can afford it, but I am nothing if not frugal and occasionally practical, and I thought my ve-hi-cle should reflect that. Plus, the thought of spending more on a car than I've spent on my entire post-secondary education pretty much made me sweat from places I didn't know had sweat glands. Sweaty ovaries and toenails are not an acceptable price to pay for newness. Not having a car payment at all for 4-5 years will do that to a person.
So...I ditched the "new" car idea and went with my gut. Say hello to "Ninjacar" (one word, say it really fast)!!:
A VW Rabbit! Aught-eight, to be exact. Did you know they were still making these things? Neither did I! Well, not until I saw one on the lot. Love. Deep, deep love. Super-fun to drive, and it's stealth capabilities make it easier for me to drive in the nude unnoticed. Is it wrong that I was most excited about my new keychain?
The shoes I was wearing when I took ownership of my sweet new ride, in case you were wondering:
I've been cooking as well, though not obsessively documenting it the way I normally do. One of the most interesting things I've made lately was a sauce for roast pork tenderloin, only sort of following this recipe as my cooking arrogance makes me incapable of following recipes as written. This is almost always a successful approach for me. Almost. But this time, it actually was:
It was really good, and kind of strange. Sweet, spicy, creamy and complex. I loved it, the Mr. was more "I like it, but it is kind of weird" about it. I'd totally make it again.Oh! Hey! I went roller-skating this weekend!
Saturday, I met up at Wisconsin's finest sort-of "Star Wars"-themed roller rink, the World of Wheels (seriously look at the link- you spelling geeks will love/hate it- look at the directions link). I've been here a few times in the last 10 or so years, and back in junior high I considered myself a medium-awesome skater: good at the turns, not so good at skating backwards or getting cute boys to notice me in my rainbow top and yellow harem pants and getting them to ask me to skate when Richard Marx came on.
Here I am, doing my best "lady robot roller-skater" impression:
It was fun, but in my old age I'm kind of scared of strapping heavy wheels to my feet and setting out on a shiny, slippery floor with clusters of small children whirling around me, threatening probable severe facial disfiguration for one or both of us. I didn't fall down or run into a wall the way I did last time, but I'm pretty sure several glasses of wine and knee pads are in order before I try this again. Come to think of it, I would probably need the same things to do lots of things again- my stint as an Aerosmith groupie comes to mind...Oh- and my sister had a baby! A child to corrupt! Yay!!
Well, if I don't end up eating him first:
As Gwen can attest to, babies are delicate, soft, and delicious. Not as good as sausage, maybe, but with a nice hollandaise and a side of asparagus they can be quite tasty. So that's what I've been up to: restrained consumerism, non-motorized and motorized modes of transportation, throwing shit in the blender, and eating babies.
Happy Monday, my baby-scented roller bitches. Happy Monday.
XO
