Drinking Water
This is a thing that you should do. 8 glasses a day or some such. Usually, I'm really good at this. I've got a lovely purple...thingy...that holds a litre of water, and I consistently drink 2 of those a day while I'm at work--one before lunch, and one after, while running to the bathroom every 45 minutes. On the weekends... well, then I just sort of drink whatever sounds good when I feel thirsty, or with a meal, because that's what you do. I certainly don't drink water, because I don't know if you know this, but Dallas water tastes like dirt. Really. Not exaggerating or being picky. It does. And Plano water tastes like algae all summer. So, I don't drink tap water, and while we have a Britta pitcher, it is insufficient to take the taste out of the water, so I mostly just drink milk like it was going out of style.
Only now, I'm thirstier than I ever remember being when indoors. So weekend drinking is a problem. I bought a Britta water bottle, thinking that would help, and I keep it next to my bed because when I wake up at 3am thirsty, I'm slightly less picky about the taste of my water, mostly because I'm trying to take a drink while still as asleep as possible. It turns out I'm trying to do lots of things while mostly asleep these days--walk to the bathroom, rearrange the cats, throw pillows towards the dog who is chasing something in his sleep, nudge my husband into a more comfortable (for me) position, steal his pillows, completely destroy the covers on the bed, rearrange some more cats, go to the bathroom again, and yes, take a drink from my purple Britta bottle.
The Problem With Merging
It's like a zipper people! Like a zipper!
My long-neglected 80s station
Oh Pandora! I think the answer to making a station good again is to ignore it for five to six months. Then it's so grateful to be played that it only plays the best and most awesome songs. So far, this theory is holding true.
Dreams I can't even begin (and won't try) to describe and their subsequent effects on my sanity:
Um... so, it seems that whatever I watch on television (read: Hulu, so my computer really) will get twisted and morphed into my dreams. This would be fine if I didn't tend towards sci-fi shows and murder mysteries. Hyper-realistic dreams with strange imagery that leave me confused about reality when I wake up? NO GOOD. Thankfully, my husband is the only one who has to endure the details on a daily basis. I shall spare you that much, I just wanted to say that I'm torn. I really want to keep watching Castle & Doctor Who, but... but... the dreams!
Is this the day?
I keep thinking that this is the day that I will stop being queasy. This is it! I feel great! I go about my day and then I make some simple mistake, like smelling something, or standing up too fast, or looking at the fridge, or thinking about food and then I'm squinting at everything and flapping my hands and talking to the cats about how this is totally sucky. I mean, I saw the cutest little bouncing fetus on that screen, so, you know... worth it in an abstract sense, but that doesn't stop me from wishing I was one of the lucky 25% of women who don't get all queasy at the very thought of food words. Also, I wish that my stomach were consistent in what it wanted/didn't want. Some days, the smell of sweet things sends me running. Other days, I just want to eat an entire bag of mini marshmallows. (I didn't... I ate it over the course of a weekend, which is remarkable restraint I think since it was the only thing in the whole house that didn't sound or smell terrible at the time.)
Also, when do I start glowing? I would like my glow now. What I've got instead is a flashback to 1995--pimply & awkward. I know I've got a while before I stop looking lumpy and start looking maternally round, and while I would like to get to that stage soon, I'm also liking still wearing (most of) my pants, especially since thus far there is no such thing as a pair of maternity pants that will fit my butt and still touch my feet. Too fat for tall pants, too tall for fat pants. I'm looking into Bella Bands and skirts for now. I mean, this struggle isn't exactly new to me. I've pretty much always been on the borderline between "misses" and "womens" sizes--which, anyone else find the naming annoying? Anyway, being a size 16/18 means you get equally dirty looks walking into Lane Bryant and...I was trying to think of some other regular store that I shop at, but, I'm a Target kind of girl, so, that doesn't really help my example any. I was going to say Ann Taylor, because I have braved their store sometimes. My top half is slightly more average than plus-sized--at least for now. I love my maternity tops because they are long, and on a tall lady, that's pretty flattering, so I wear those now to hide my hudge anyway. I am looking forward to having "the belly" though, even though I can't in any way, shape, or form imagine it. I see my friends growing and see their bellies getting bigger, but I look at me and think... nope, this is the same body I've always had...
Getting a shiner
No, not the beer, sadly. I seem to have lost the ability to put on purple eyeshadow without looking like I ran my face into a doorknob. This is sad for me on many levels. One, purple is my favoritest of all the colors, which anyone who's taken a peek at this site can tell. Two... um, I really like make-up and purple was always my go-to color. Supposedly it brings out the green in my sort-of-hazel-but-mostly-brown eyes, which is totally enough of an excuse for me to wear it. Only now--not it's not doing me any favors. Lucky for me, I don't actually bother with eyeshadow all that often, so I'm not terribly worried. I also have about a million colors to choose from at home, so I've got options.
Showing posts with label drinking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drinking. Show all posts
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Fruit of the Vine
Oops, I did it again! Tried to write a post in my sleep that is.
This time, though, I think I remember enough of what I wanted to talk about to just dive in and do it.
This time, I want to talk about booze. Margaritas and wine specifically. And I will mention the mighty Manhattan too. That should adequately cover all of my favorite libations. But it's not really the drinks I want to talk about, it's my friends.
A group of us came to dine, were seated, and when Rene asked my brother what he wanted to drink, my brother said, "I want a margarita as big as my head." Rene didn't even blink, took the rest of the orders and came back with the biggest margarita glass I'd ever seen outside of a cartoon. It was LITERALLY (not in the internet way, the real way) the size of my brother's whole head. That's why we like Rene. That, and the fact that 4 years later, I walk in and he still knows what I want (sour cream chicken enchiladas & a side of black beans).
Speaking of my brother, this is where I'll make a clumsy switch to talking about wine. My brother is the good kind of wine snob. He's turned his passion for wine into a hobby, and is now half-way to becoming a sommelier. Yeah, I know. It's awesome. But that's not the best part! Well, the best part is that he's my brother, so I get to use and abuse his extensive knowledge at every family gathering. But the other best part, is that he speaks my language when it comes to wine. Actually, he speaks lots of languages, or can at least imitate the accent, but that's not what I mean. I mean that I can tell him that what I'm drinking tastes blue, and he knows what I mean, and better yet, he remembers what I like enough to never let me drink stuff that will make my face pucker. While I can probably tell you the difference between a chardonnay and a Riesling in a blind taste test, he's so good that he can do that thing where he can tell you what kind of grapes were used, where they were grown and the names of the kids of the guys who picked the grapes. Or most of that information anyway. But it's really the best when he hands you a glass, tells you to sip and breathe and describe what you taste and smell. He doesn't giggle at me when I say it tastes like rocks and leather. Turns out, both of those things are on the tasting wheel. "Blue" and "fuzzy" aren't, but he can usually translate those into something useful.
Then, one day, he made me like gin. Pretty much just like that. I had always said that gin tasted like Pine-Sol, therefore I wasn't drinking it. Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, he & our friend Dan were concocting drinks. From a book, not just inventing things, although making stuff up by the seat of their pants is sort of a trademark of theirs, and they're pretty good at it. Dan & my brother are a lot like Josh & Sam from the West Wing, and if you don't know what I'm talking about, go watch that show, because Aaron Sorkin tells great stories. Anyway, back to the booze. Dan & Glenn (my brother, for those trying to keep up at home) like to explore stuff and learn stuff and discover stuff, especially when it comes to cooking or drinking or tiny metal sculptures of battle dudes and tank things... but this time, it was about old fashioned cocktails. Not the cocktail "Old Fashioned" although that's one of them. Classic cocktails. 60s type cocktails with sugar cubes and twists of lemon that require shakers and stuff. At first, it was a beautiful lavender concotion called a Blue Moon that Dan made for me. I liked it, but was convinced that it was a fluke. Gin was still an evil thing, and juniper berries should be left alone. Then I got curious about some of the names I was hearing. A Corpse Reviver? French 75? So, ok, I like gin cocktails.
Then I exercised the best rule of my brother's drinks--everything tastes better from his glass. I don't know why this is true, but it is. And usually he indulges me and lets me have a taste of whatever he's drinking. Which is how I fell in love with Manhattans. Now I have 3 different kinds of bitters at home and a very large jar of maraschino cherries in my fridge. Of course, my brother introduced me to the real thing, which is dark and sweet and rich, not like the bright red things we're used to, but I live with the bright red grocery store version for now. Someday I'll splurge and treat myself to a real kicker of a Manhattan. For now, I'll just sip them out of my brother's glass!
This time, though, I think I remember enough of what I wanted to talk about to just dive in and do it.
This time, I want to talk about booze. Margaritas and wine specifically. And I will mention the mighty Manhattan too. That should adequately cover all of my favorite libations. But it's not really the drinks I want to talk about, it's my friends.
 |
| Blackberry margarita? What was I thinking? |
 |
| Blood orange margarita... seemed like a good idea at the time? |
Ok, so, on my 21st birthday, I called my mother at noon to get her not-so-Super-Secret Margarita recipe. I wanted in on the family secret, and it's really quite simple, but makes fantastic frozen margaritas, which is funny, since Mom likes hers best on the rocks, but Dad likes them frozen, and it's just easier to blend up a pitcher of those anyway, so... yeah. I called at noon, and my mother (who was in California at the time, while I still lived in Nebraska) was a little shocked that I was calling for booze recipes before lunch, but then I reminded her of the time difference and promised not to consume them until a more reasonable hour. I think I waited until like... 2. Because I had to go buy supplies, or course! Now, in it's simplest form, I think a margarita is just lime & tequila (with simple syrup so it's not all bitter). I like my margaritas pretty simple, with just a splash of orange-flavored something in there. I don't care for flavored margaritas or funky recipes with sweet and sour mix or other nonsense. I've tried some. It never really ends well for me.
I am not a margarita aficionado. I leave that to my friend MB. She's a... bottomless well of information about tequila and margaritas. If you need to know where to get a good margarita in whatever town you're in, you call MB. Also, my first memory of my friend Amy is that she was the girl with the good tequila at my first social function in the greater Dallas area. She's my margarita buddy too. There's a fabulous restaurant along I-35 called Bienvenidos and we love it for lots of reasons, one of which is Rene, the best waiter in the history of the service industry, and the other is that this happened:
A group of us came to dine, were seated, and when Rene asked my brother what he wanted to drink, my brother said, "I want a margarita as big as my head." Rene didn't even blink, took the rest of the orders and came back with the biggest margarita glass I'd ever seen outside of a cartoon. It was LITERALLY (not in the internet way, the real way) the size of my brother's whole head. That's why we like Rene. That, and the fact that 4 years later, I walk in and he still knows what I want (sour cream chicken enchiladas & a side of black beans).
Speaking of my brother, this is where I'll make a clumsy switch to talking about wine. My brother is the good kind of wine snob. He's turned his passion for wine into a hobby, and is now half-way to becoming a sommelier. Yeah, I know. It's awesome. But that's not the best part! Well, the best part is that he's my brother, so I get to use and abuse his extensive knowledge at every family gathering. But the other best part, is that he speaks my language when it comes to wine. Actually, he speaks lots of languages, or can at least imitate the accent, but that's not what I mean. I mean that I can tell him that what I'm drinking tastes blue, and he knows what I mean, and better yet, he remembers what I like enough to never let me drink stuff that will make my face pucker. While I can probably tell you the difference between a chardonnay and a Riesling in a blind taste test, he's so good that he can do that thing where he can tell you what kind of grapes were used, where they were grown and the names of the kids of the guys who picked the grapes. Or most of that information anyway. But it's really the best when he hands you a glass, tells you to sip and breathe and describe what you taste and smell. He doesn't giggle at me when I say it tastes like rocks and leather. Turns out, both of those things are on the tasting wheel. "Blue" and "fuzzy" aren't, but he can usually translate those into something useful.
Then, one day, he made me like gin. Pretty much just like that. I had always said that gin tasted like Pine-Sol, therefore I wasn't drinking it. Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, he & our friend Dan were concocting drinks. From a book, not just inventing things, although making stuff up by the seat of their pants is sort of a trademark of theirs, and they're pretty good at it. Dan & my brother are a lot like Josh & Sam from the West Wing, and if you don't know what I'm talking about, go watch that show, because Aaron Sorkin tells great stories. Anyway, back to the booze. Dan & Glenn (my brother, for those trying to keep up at home) like to explore stuff and learn stuff and discover stuff, especially when it comes to cooking or drinking or tiny metal sculptures of battle dudes and tank things... but this time, it was about old fashioned cocktails. Not the cocktail "Old Fashioned" although that's one of them. Classic cocktails. 60s type cocktails with sugar cubes and twists of lemon that require shakers and stuff. At first, it was a beautiful lavender concotion called a Blue Moon that Dan made for me. I liked it, but was convinced that it was a fluke. Gin was still an evil thing, and juniper berries should be left alone. Then I got curious about some of the names I was hearing. A Corpse Reviver? French 75? So, ok, I like gin cocktails.
Then I exercised the best rule of my brother's drinks--everything tastes better from his glass. I don't know why this is true, but it is. And usually he indulges me and lets me have a taste of whatever he's drinking. Which is how I fell in love with Manhattans. Now I have 3 different kinds of bitters at home and a very large jar of maraschino cherries in my fridge. Of course, my brother introduced me to the real thing, which is dark and sweet and rich, not like the bright red things we're used to, but I live with the bright red grocery store version for now. Someday I'll splurge and treat myself to a real kicker of a Manhattan. For now, I'll just sip them out of my brother's glass!
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