Holiday Cheer & A Little More Work Shit Talkin'

First of all, whoever sent me this oven mitt here, is a genius. Could this be more perfect? I love it. When I opened it, I stared at it for a long time because 1). I have been on this girl's website before and I nearly bought something from her. In fact I had to think long and hard whether I had actually bought the mitt, like, a month or so ago and I was just receiving it? But I knew I hadn't. 2). It's so me. Thanks so much, Friend Sender. Reveal thyself!

Let's talk bikes for a second. I've been getting acquainted with Whitey Heidi. We're getting more and more comfortable with each other though it has certainly been a transition. That bike wants to fly. For all my friends who know that I'm old school, hell yes I'm wearing a helmet on Whitey. In fact, I get all geared up for her in fancy padded pants and snug long-sleeve jerseys. Oh and the clipped shoes. Every time I leave the house in my get-up I ask Husband, "Do I look like a total douche bag or just a little like one?" He says he thinks it's hot, but saying such things is in his marriage contract. Good on him. I've reported before that I don't feel vulnerable on Loops, my commute bike, but it's another story on Whitey. Cars notice you much less on a bike that cooks. You're more of a surprise, like, surprise! I'm going 20mph too! Also, the bike is so slight. That feels very vulnerable to me. I've been on the tentative side around a lot of cars, but in less busy areas I try to open her up and my heart rockets to my throat at what she can do. I realized I could climb a hill all day long, but I don't know how to go fast. I grew up commuting on bikes in cities my whole life and I've watched for doors, I've watched for eye contact with drivers, I've watched for cars backing up, pulling out, turning left, and I've watched my speed. Learning how to go fast on a quality bike will be my biggest learning curve.

I've been hit on a bike by cars twice in my life; once in junior high, once in high school. In junior high I was actually doored when a guy was peeping out a garage sale that he had parked for and he swung his door wide open right as I came by. The strain -- I let out a long, wind-sucking grunt -- kept me from flying over the door. I told the guy I was fine and shakily I went on my way as my front wheel wobbled around lopsidedly. In high school, a woman turned left into me as I rolled through the intersection. She braked pretty good almost in time and I was only knocked down. She was a mess. She threw my bike in the back of her convertible and frantically lectured me about how I needed to be aware for myself AND for drivers. She drove me the half mile more to school. I didn't tell her that she hadn't given me enough time to be aware for the both of us. I couldn't wait to get out of her car. My mother was pissed that I didn't get any money from her. So, yea, I'm more tentative on Whitey than I thought I'd be, but she and I are working that out.

The other thing I've learned on my rides is that the seat that came standard with Whitey is a motherfucker. Wow. I've unaffectionately named it the Pooty Killer. It ain't killing my booty. No. I think I've had bike booty for a long time, but the aggressive positioning of the road bike coupled with the steal rod they call a seat kills the pooty, y'all. Whoa. I just ordered the saddle pictured. The below photo will give you more indication why this should ease what ails me. Hello Female-Friendly Friend:

So, about work: Mitch and I do all the buying and selling for a huge account in Arizona. He works in-house at the client's office in AZ and I work the magic from Cali. Every year our Big Client holds a Holiday Cookie Off, and every year Mitch volunteers me to bake for it. He tells them, "Oh yea, we got this. We'll represent and kick all y'all's cookies' asses." And then he'll IM me on the side and say, "Right? Is that cool?" Hell yea, Mitch. We got this. This year I made some Rose Water Pistachio joints from Veganomicon and my own Gingerbread Creams. I tried to recreate a vegan oreo filling and sandwiched it with gingerbread cookies. To Die! I fed ex'ed them out on Tuesday and the Big Client's warehouse promptly lost the box on Wednesday. Sigh. I have visited the Big Client's warehouse before. It's 100,000 square feet. I'm not joking. They have programmed robot/tractor things to retrieve product from rows, off pallets. So, I guess cookies could get lost in there. I think the "ATTN: MITCH" part threw them off. Ooo, Mitch was hot over it. The running joke for the last few months has been the Big Client's warehouse. They lose our product all the time. They'll say, Nope, didn't get that order. And we'll say, Isn't that your signature on the fed ex website? Pissing match then ensues. But when they lost the cookies, that sent Mitch over the edge. It's one thing to lose the cables and screws and credit card swipers and other stupid shit we sell to them, but not the cookies. Come on, not the cookies, guys.

Out here in Cali, we had the company holiday lunch yesterday. The lunch was in lieu of the killer parties we've had in past years. It was still fun and a little wild. We just can't help ourselves because though the event was scaled down dramatically, they still opened the bar unlimitedly. That's all brokers need; a little gas for the tank. In fact, the filling up started at the office when one of the top sales guys gave the owners and other big shots each a bottle of Patron. After a couple shots at 10:30 in the morning, you couldn't keep one of the owners off the intercom. That's always fun. He sang a little, talked to individuals over the speakers, said some personal stuff about himself. Then called us all into the conference room. Lindz, Rob and I groaned. When we schlepped into the conference room, thirty paper cups were filled with two inches of Patron. The Intercom Owner handed me a cup and said, "Oh just drink up." I said, "Hell no." He laughed and gave me the smirk he always does. He loves my spunk, he's always telling me. I said, "Yea, spunk this." He laughed harder.

Margaritas were pounded at a record pace at the restaurant. Rob and I bet the over-under on how many drinks certain people would have at lunch. I bet over four, but four was the most consumed in the hour and a half. I hate losing a bet! One guy ordered a rum & coke and he was immediately interrogated as to why he didn't get a high-end Margarita. He said, "I'm just keeping it real," which is a ridiculous thing to hear from a 30 year old guy. Another broker yelled across the room, "Yea, real high school!" Oh we're a funny bunch. One sales guy asked a buyer what the word "arroz" was on the menu. He said, "What's this 'aarrr-zz'?" Oh my man, we fell over on that one. I said, "Hey, what do Spanish Pirates eat? AARRRR-zzz.!"

The drinks loosened the lips of many. The most damaging thing that was tossed out there like a moldy brick was the fact that one of the owner's hair-brained ideas was costing the company tons of money. One guy slurred to another, "Just take a guess at how much money we lost in this deal so far?" He was tapping the back of his hand on the other guy's arm, "JUST GUESS!" he yelled. I bet you didn't guess $800k. Because I surely didn't. Rob and I eyeballed each other from across the table and our lips curled up. "I didn't need to hear that," he said quietly. I said loud enough, "Well, that's where our party and bonus went. Great, thanks!" One of the guys involved in the deal yelled over, "Next year, we'll be taking you guys to Hawaii for Christmas! As soon as everything hits." "I've heard that before," I said. "Until then, you'll be riding on all of our backs as usual. Awesome!" They laughed. Oh, they love my spunk.

Then a flying napkin fight commenced which evolved into an intra-table sugar packet war. Good thing there was no music pumping over the speakers or table surfaces would've been cleared, and god knows what would've happened.

Sigh. I told Mitch this morning, as I tell Rob and Lindz all the time, I appreciate him and our partnership. The three of them are some of the finest folks I've ever worked with so that keeps me going. I also told Mitch that I've got nothing else on the horizon so I should just shut my damn mouth and remain thankful for what I have.

Happy Holidays almost!

Close to the Vest & Potato Jackets

Twenty years ago, a writer friend told me that she never talked about a story she was working on; not a hint of the story line, characters, nothing. It dissipates it, she said. It's a piece of advice that I most vividly remember adopting immediately. An idea is a ball of energy, right, that floats between your mind, your heart, your pen, or however you express it. And to talk about it pin pricks the ball. It slowly deflates. The energy escapes.

And sometimes I feel that way about the blog. Like, when I get all excited to, let's say, sew aprons for a living, I feel sometimes I prematurely barf it up on the blog and the energy of what seemed like such a good idea in my mind dissipates and slips passed my determination and drive. But maybe I just want to do too many things, maybe I'm "desirous of everything at the same time" as my new favorite quote goes, and my ideas blow in and out like seasonal winds.

Sigh.

In any event, I'm holding my ball of energy close right now. I'm rolling it around in my hands close to the vest, stoking it, keeping it mainly to myself, and when it erupts then I'll think to share. It's not anything big, really. This is more of an experiment if anything. It's the ol' Do-Don't-Tell technique. I'm new to this.

In the meantime -- because I miss you -- here are some pictures from Molly's 2nd Annual Potato Jacket Night. She came up with the brilliant idea to bake a good number of potatoes, make a good variety of toppings, lay them all out and let friends and neighbors create their own potato master piece. Very fun and super yummy.

Baked potatoes and shredded rice cheese.Toppings, salad and sweet potato pie.Molly makes toppings.I made sweet potato pie. The nut topping made of walnuts, almonds and hazelnuts was outrageous.

Dreams & Halloween

Last night I dreamed that I was at a film documentary premier about a group of men who herded marlins in the ocean with chainsaws. The marlins had been attacking boats near a particular harbor and the group was hired to steer them clear of the boats, not in a general way, but just as they were attacking the boats. We watched footage of a great-sized marlin trying to overtake a small boat and then suddenly a wild-looking man was along side the huge fish with an arm over it, forcefully guiding it away with the buzz of the chainsaw. Most remarkably was that the man was nearly the size of the marlin. I was horrified at first because I thought they carved into the fish with the saw, but then I learned that it was just the sound and vibration of the chainsaw that did the trick. In the dream, I then had no opinion about it whatsoever. I went to the theater lobby to get refreshments. Husband had told me to buy five espressos. In the lobby, there was a model of a chainsaw that the herding crew used and I held it, noting that there was no handle; the men could only grip the thing from underneath. At the concession stand, Barack Obama was working behind the counter. We knew who he was. We were humbled and nervous about asking him for service. We did know though that he was a skilled barista; we knew he was known for whipping up a mean coffee. People ahead of me in line would say things like, "I hope this is the last time I'll ask you for a soda." "After this weekend, we never want to see you working at this stand again!" And I was thinking the same things. He would smile, but not acknowledge any talk of the pending presidency. He was only concentrating and working hard at the task at hand. As we stood in line, we ogled him with such reverence, praying we'd never seem working anything but as a president after this. When it was my turn, I said self consciously, "Five espressos, please." He brightened up, "Ah, yes, great choice." He asked me what great espresso I had had before. And I said, "I had some with an Italian family I know. And I have Turkish friends." It was a lie because I didn't want to disappoint him. And then he went about brewing up a special batch for my five espressos. He gave me the drinks and said, "Have a great weekend." And I said in a you-know-what-I-mean way, "No, YOU please have a great weekend." So, now that I've met him, kind of, I'll feel that much more devastated if he doesn't win. But I'll believe what Rebel Girl says: He WILL win. We WILL celebrate, Tuesday and beyond. Just one more thing about Barack and them . . .on Halloween night, our cool downstairs neighbors Travis & Nikki had a party. Halloween is Travis' birthday, which how cool is that? I baked some Dia del los Muertos treats -- you'll see below -- but for his birthday, I made these cupcakes we can believe in, cupcakes for change. I was channeling some democratic spirit carving out the fondant tops. It was trance-like. Here was the tiny-skulled apple pie. What I don't reveal in the photos is that when I was taking the pie out of the oven, I scraped part of the upper crust on the top rack as I pulled it out. My kitchen is so small that my oven door doesn't open all the way and I have to angle the baking pan up and out to free the pie and I miscalculated the space this time. It crushed me. For a second. Then I was over it, kinda. What am I gonna do? It was still delicious and the scrape hardly went noticed, though you know I was eyeballing that shit at the party most of the night. Until a slice with the scrape was eaten, and the evidence was gone. Here's this year's Picado Pumpkin Pie. This is always fun to make.Maya's BD and Sanne drove in from Vegas to join us for trick o' treating. It's now almost a tradition that they come every other year. This is the second time and it was lots of fun. It's great having them around and Maya & Mina love to fawn over the two baby girls, RaeRae who is three and the new addition Gabriella, three months. Here they are as a 90's dead prom couple. Goth Fairy Maya and Dead Daddy. Here's BD and Gabriella. Trick o' Treaters, Witch Mina & Princess RaeRae.  Trick o' Treaters, Grandma Annie & Goth Maya. When a camera was around Maya was never out of character. It was awesome. Papi and Witch Mina.After Trick O' Treating, we went down to Travis' party and had a blast, all of us. The kids and the adults, we held it down. We took over the dance floor, laughed hard. We tried on other people's wigs and hats. I was the Mama Witch and here's Molly the Martian. Great paint job! At the end of the night the wig/hat came off and Husband was wearing Travis' meathead hat. This was taken just after someone had handed me a shot of Jagermeister (jesus) and I had flung the liquid over my shoulder into the outside patio as everyone watched while chanting drink, drink, drink. I say Hell No to shots. I don't succumb to pressure .