Thursday, August 26, 2010

I've created a monster

I made the huge mistake of letting Elwin lick my Activia spoon one evening (After I was finished with it, OBVIOUSLY. I have boundaries. And I've seen what he does with that tongue. It's good to love your pets. Just don't LOVE your pets, you know?) and now, he's addicted to the stuff. You can hardly get one out of the fridge on account of his supersonic hearing. He will go absolutely apeshit. So I decided to document his Activia love, in two parts: The Stalking of the Prey and The Capture and Nom.

The reason it's in two parts at different times is because it didn't occur to me to put the carton down on the table and let him go at it while photographing The Stalking. So I was finding it near impossible to let him lick the carton I was holding in one hand while trying to take iPhone pictures with the other hand.

All dai I dreem of the bifidus regularis.

Oh hai. No mind me. I iz onlee seeking targit. Deelishus creemy targit.

Targit akwired.

Do I smellz de probiotics? Skuze me plz. Incumming.

What yoo have der, hooman? Iz the Activias? WANT. Wat flavur yoo got?



Very well. Ur foodz offring pleezes me.

Wat? No! Dis not skratching pad! Dis mai throne!

Plz to put some katnipz on mai throne?

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

A day of squee

I find myself, once again, with a major holiday hangover. A week at the beach is lovely. The first few days back in the real world after a week at the beach are...less so. But while I wait for a few more pics to trickle in from the the fam, let me share with you my squee-worthy moments from the Jimmy V Celebrity Golf Classic on Sunday. (You may recall me mooning over a few hockey players at last year's Classic.)

In addition to the regular 'Canes players in attendance, I was pretty excited when I saw some other familiar names on the celebrity roster. (Pretty excited = ZOMG!!!!1!!1!!!! SWOON.) So I put on my highest SPF and Sunday best (Sunday best in upper 90's temps = Old Navy cotton tank dress, baseball hat and Rainbows.) and we hit the links.

Our first order of business was to find the Hooters tent. Hooters has the BEST swag by far. It was like an oasis when we spotted it in the distance.

And on the way to the Hooters tent, we happened upon one of the people I was stalking. Chris "The Final Rose" Harrison! Squeeeeee! I had so many questions I wanted to ask. Is The Weatherman as dorky as he comes across on tv? Is Tenley really that innocent? Is Gia really that dumb? How about that Rozlyn? What a bitch, huh? Why does Ali wear so much yellow? Do you think Craig M is a sociopath? Jake turned out to be kind of an a-hole, didn't he? Was it hard to look directly at Vienna because of her crazy eye? Would you please say "If you didn't receive a rose, take a moment and say your goodbyes."?

And that just covers the last two seasons!

Unfortunately, there were a few other fangirls waiting for their turn with trash tv's favorite host so I settled for a quick photo. Though he did confirm what I had read when he mentioned that Chris Lambton and Jesse Beck were hanging around somewhere.

As we left, I said to Jason "Fifty bucks says Chris and Jesse are at the Hooters tent." And I was so right.

As we were approaching the area, Chris "The Bod of Cape Cod" Lambton spotted us and, as we were wearing our Sox hats, said "Do I see a couple of Red Sox fans headed this way? Nice!" While he and Jason exchanged the obligatory "What part of Mass are you from?" pleasantries, I stood there gaping and thinking "Ohmahgah. My husband and Chris Lambton are totally chatting it up. What are the chances they'll become BFFs and Chris will come over to drink Sam Adams and watch Sox games? Odds are probably not good considering I mentioned to Jason that I was in love with Chris. Wonder if I can convince him I was kidding?"

Jason did me proud when he told Chris that I had been pulling for him to end up with Ali. I said that I had made Jason watch a couple of episodes with me and Chris goes "I'm sorry, man."

At that point, my inner monologue went something like this: "Gah! Chris is totally joking around with Jason! He wants to be friends! I just know it! This could work! What will I wear when Chris comes over to drink Sam Adams and watch Sox games?!?"

And then Jason sabotaged me. He made me laugh while I was getting my photo with Chris so I look like a total goober in the picture. Well played, Jason. Well played.

After I recovered from having Chris' arm around me, I wanted to meet Jesse but I was too embarrassed to interrupt his cornhole game.

Later, we set up camp at one of the holes and watched a few groups come through. And we almost got hit by a golf ball belonging to none other than the recently-retired captain of the Hurricanes, Rod Brind'Amour! It landed mere inches from our feet. Exciting!

Finally, my favorite Hurricanes player of all time, Erik Cole, came though. We had a great chat with him last year and this year, he walked onto the green with a couple of little ones in tow - a cancer patient and his little brother. My heart melts a little more every time I hear a story about Erik's involvement in local charities or see something like this. Since he was with the kids, and very rightly focusing on them, I figured we wouldn't be able to say hi this year...and then we heard some thunder rolling in so we decided to pack up and head out.

We were walking along the cart path by the next hole when Erik's foursome pulled up to tee off so we stopped to watch. As soon as Erik pulled up in his cart, he jumped out and said "Sorry about that; I had a couple of buddies with me back there but I had to come say hi to the Red Sox fans." And he walked over and put his hand over the B on my hat, just like last year. He goes "I remember you guys."

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Erik Cole remembers us!!!! Gah! I almost started running around in circles until I slammed into a tree and knocked myself out, faceplanted in the grass with cartoon birds circling around my head. But I kept my cool and made convo like a normal person. However, you can tell by the huge cheese on my face that I'm squeeeeing on the inside.

See? Pure squee.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Jumbled notes on food and beverage

First up... Do I really have to say anything about this?

Jason made the horrible mistake of splitting up in the grocery store to make our shop quicker. He took fruit, veg, meat and dairy and gave me packaged goods. I hit the chip aisle and immediately threw the brakes on the cart. I sent Jason this photo in a text accompanied by nothing more than "O. M. G." Since our week-long beach holiday is approaching and I'm still carrying a little extra "Belgian Baggage" in my trunk (seriously people, dumps like a truck truck truck...but not in the complimentary way the great poet Sisqo meant) I didn't add this culinary delight to my cart. But you'd better believe I'm getting some to take with us. Them's the rules: Thou shalt abstain from the junk prior to the trip and eat nothing but the junk during the trip.

At the other end of the spectrum... As I was about to slice up this lovely Roma tomato a couple of nights ago, I noticed something on one of the stickers. Now, I'm all for buying organic fruit and veg. But I would like to know what in heaven's name is so special about this tomato that it's a...LIMITED EDITION.

F'realz??? Limited edition tomatoes??? Zac Posen for Target is a limited edition. Starbucks' summer blend coffee which is specially meant to be made into iced coffee is a limited edition. Marc Jacobs' commemorative Stephen Sprouse line for Louis Vuitton is a limited edition. Hell, for a while there, Cap'n Crunch Crunchberry: All Berries! was a limited edition. (Now they make it all the time. Which makes it far less appealing in my opinion.) Are Roma tomatoes an endangered species? Is there a finite number of Romas left in this cruel, cruel world? Do we not have enough problems without adding limited tomatoes to the list? Perish!

And finally... Jason and I recently found ourselves on the side of Raleigh where we used to live many moons ago. When we had less...ahem...liquid assets. Let's just say it's not the part of town in which I would choose to live now that we're more....ahem...liquid. I mean, it's not awful or scary or anything like that. For chrissakes, it has a Target afterall. But the Target sits on the main artery that locals like to call "Crapital Boulevard". (So clever! Just add an "r" to Capital and it becomes Crapital! Splendid!)

Anyway, we realized we were hungry (Who, me?!? Hungry?!? Well, I never...) and it was nearing supper time. So Jason threw out the idea of going to our old standby Mexican place. We used to eat here about once a week in the days of limited liquidity (and faster metabolism - ahh youth!) and it's a total dive. But in a good way. It's clean and all, but the decor is hilariously kitschy (think airbrushed wall murals) and it's all vinyl booths and laminate tables. And did I mention cheap?

Right away, Jason orders a jumbo margarita for us to go sharesies on. Because have you ever checked the calories in a margarita?!? Brace yourselves. It's not good you guys. Throw in the through-the-roof sodium content and I might as well walk around with ziplock baggies of this Mexican Miracle attached right to my thighs. So we were all "Uno glass and dos straws, por favor!"

And this moment simply could not pass without a photo.

As I mentioned earlier in the post, the Annual Sanger Family Beach Bonanza is upon us so for the next week I'll be living the oceanfront life here:

And sitting in this adirondack chair on one of those balconies looking at this:

And probably using our private direct-from-pool-or-house beach access to hang out here:

{All beach photos stolen from the property management's website. If you want to sue me, you obviously know where to find me.}

Think of me while I'm reapplying my SPF 1,000,000,000 every thirty minutes and scanning the water for ominous dorsal fins.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Aging beautifully

Last summer on our trip to NoCal, we signed up for a few wine clubs while in Sonoma. We recently received our latest shipment from Cline, which included a very nice 2007 zinfandel. Cline always sends tasting notes along with the wine. Hopefully you can read the last sentence, at which I've pointed a giant arrow and highlighted for your convenience. But in case you can't, it says "This wine will age beautifully over the next 5 to 7 years."


Yeah right.

Not in this house it won't.

Here is what the very nice 20o7 zinfandel looked like by bedtime. Again, for your convenience, I've used large arrows to indicate the level of wine left in the bottle.

It would have been lucky to age 5 to 7 hours.

Monday, August 09, 2010

Rebellion, Part the 2nd

Phase II of Project Rebellion coincided with a visit from a dear old friend. Smellanie was making her annual pilgrimage from Denver to North Carolina and if there's one thing Fellanie knows how to do, it's drank. I can't even come close to keeping up with her but dang if I didn't try my hardest.

Unfortunately, Hellanie spent much of her first night in town trying to get this dude and his similarly elderly friends to leave us alone. Though you can hardly blame him. We are an awfully good-looking group of gals. I have a pretty awesome HD video (thanks iPhone 4!) of her perched on the bar singing along to Piano Man and maybe (definitely) dribbling (pouring) just a little bit (about half a pint) of her beer onto his head when he joined in.

Another night, same game. Now, if you'll think back to my last post and how I hinted at things to come, you'll see that this picture was taken sometime right after beer tequila tequila and perhaps right between vodka and vodka. Olivia and I thought it was a great idea to give this ATM a lap dance. I'm not even ashamed.

If memory serves (And why wouldn't it after rum vodka vodka wine beer tequila tequila vodka vodka beer?) this was right before taxi hot dogs faceplant. You know it's serious business when the hair goes up into a ponytail.

I recall looking at Jason shortly after this pic and saying "I'm outskies. Yep. Done. Home. Now." Then there was a cab and hotdogs and what felt like the longest elevator ride EVER up to our apartment. The end.

The moral? Going on a bender will, unfortunately, not get back the job that went to someone else. But it will absolutely make you forget all about it for several hours. And that was enough for me.

Thursday, August 05, 2010


Excuse me while I sweep up the cobwebs and blow the dust off the ol' Nutshell...

That's better. Let's just jump right in.

I did not get the dream job I wrote about several weeks ago.

There. I said it.

Now, excuse me for a minute while I repeatedly smack my head onto my granite countertop.

That's better. Dull the pain with more pain.

To be honest, I was pretty devastated. The afternoon I found out, I called Jason at his office and just howled into the phone. I was a mess. I was crying so hard I couldn't catch my breath. So, after all the "Oh honey, I'm so sorry..." business, Jason did what any good husband would do:

"Okay. I'm coming home right now. We can do whatever you want this weekend. We'll go to all your favorite restaurants. We can go see whatever movie you want to see. I'll even take you to see your Edward movie again. We'll go shopping. I'll open the really good champagne."

My response?

"You don't have to watch Eclipse. Candice hasn't seen it and we're going to go together."

Recommence howling.

I'm sure Jason was thinking, "After all I, champagne, shopping...that's her takeaway from the conversation?"

But Jason came home and found me laying on the couch, having cried myself to sleep. The previous evening's episode of So You Think You Can Dance was playing on the DVR. (Therapy through reality tv. Don't knock it 'till you've tried it.) He let me wallow in my misery a little longer and then I got up, washed my face and we went to the mall. After that, I felt a little better and decided I was up to going to the Durham Bulls game that night. Mainly because I really wanted a Dillard's BBQ sandwich from the concession stand, but whatever. And being at the game made me forget about my personal tragedies for a while.

But then I woke up on Saturday morning and the pain was fresh again. So we had a lazy morning and then went to The Diner for lunch. A shrimp po' boy sandwich, some onion rings and a Dark n' Stormy cocktail (Those who know the organization that rejected me will understand what an appropriate choice that drink was. And perhaps the rest of you can figure it out now...) went a long way in the healing process.

It was at lunch that we discussed what to do with the rest of our afternoon. I mentioned that I needed a fresh pedicure. My Chanel Miami Peach polish was fading something serious. And then a thought struck me. "Umm, do you want to come with me? Those machetes growing out of your toes are starting to make me reconsider our bedtime cuddle situation."

So Jason took it like a man. Well, sort of...

And I, having spent weeks getting rather conservative colors on my toes in case I happened to...oh, I don't know...have a JOB INTERVIEW or something to which I might wear my very nice peep-toe heels, decided it was time for a statement. And I was making that statement with my toes:

In case you can't tell, that's blue. Here's a picture I stole online to show you just how very blue it is.

See? A very vibrant blue. A blue that says "I ain't got no job interviews so eff off, world!" (That's what it said to me anyway.) OPI calls this color "Dating a Royal" but I'm calling it "Rebellion".

The recovery process will continue in my next post. But here's a hint:
Snoopy's hot dogs
epic hangover