Wedding Wedding Wedding

Plans are still under way - we've hired a photographer and are looking at places to have our invitations printed, taking baby steps in picking registries, etc. "I WANT lime-green Le Creuset mini-casseroles, but don't want to seem greedy. Wusthoff or Henckel? That tacky china pattern is HOW MUCH??!!?" These are typical thoughts running through my head.

I looked at JaCiva's website and was pretty unimpressed (particularly because I spotted a glaring punctuation error on the "icings" section and that kind of thing just makes my skin crawl). Maybe I'll see if we can afford Pix. HA! Unlikely.

I really like the idea of a croquembouche, but that might just be crazy talk in this town. The thought of flowery fondant with a bride n' groom cake topper makes me want to blow my brains out, so any good baker that isn't trying to squeeze more blood from the stone that is the wedding racket would be appreciated. Scott's mom is making a black forest groom's cake (bless her fucking heart!), but I want something atypical, slightly show-stopping, yet somewhat minimalist for the main dessert. What's a Francophilic food snob to do?

The dress is gonna be amazing. Holly from Seaplane is a fucking genius. I'll be creeping out of the forest like some ethereal silver bird on My Special Day. Haven't decided if I want to walk to Polegnala e Todora (an ancient Bulgarian love song that makes me cry my eyes out every time I hear it, even after the nearly ten years it's been in my musical repertoire) tenderly rendered by the Bulgarian Women's Choir or the cinematic score from Wong Kar Wei's In the Mood for Love. Scott and I like the idea of having the theme from Ico play during the pre-Heather-on-the-catwalk part (precessional?). I can think of only about one guest who would get the reference, and it'd be kinda funny to hear Pete giggling "No way!!" while Scott waits at the altar.

The word 'altar' kinda freaks me out. Isn't that where animal and/or human sacrifices are made?

Anyway, as details get ironed out I'll be more mellow about it, but the date is actually approaching. I'm so excited!

My Bedazzled DS!

You can have my husband...

...but please don't mess with my man.

Today was my first day at the new job. It's good; I hit the ground running, and didn't feel like I had any catching up to do after six months off. My new supervisor plays World of Warcraft, and it gladdens my heart to no longer be the sole geek of the office. But the day got better: when I got home there were stargazer lilies and peche lambic waiting for me. That's because I have the best man in the world.

Christmas was a delight. Scott's mom stayed with us for a few days, most of which were spent in a debaucherous state of intoxication. One night we got home from the bar at 1:30, and I thought it'd be fun to listen to some Desmond Dekker and dance while the buzz was on. Linda (the mom-in-law) danced right along with me and then we moved the party to the front porch where we chain-smoked and consumed an additional three bottles of wine and I funked my ass off 'til four in the morning in front of god and everybody. I love that lady. Her son is rad.

I'm not a huge fan of the top 40-type hits

So why can't I stop listening to Gold Digger? Would Kanye West have even been on my radar if he hadn't made the most important political statement of the 21st century? Probably not. But he did, and in doing so earned a permanent soft spot in my heart. And his album is very good. Yes, this is a past-due assertion, but its truancy is not for lack of truth. The album is good.

Birds are so crazy!

Today when I was standing on the porch having a smoke I almost got beaned in the head by a ruby-throated hummingbird! Birds are so crazy!

Man I am in such a good mood today!

Last night I dreamt that I was roller skating in the children's section of the library and Scott had a little black kitten wearing one of those hats that French-Canadian lumberjacks wear sitting in his breast pocket. It was awesome. I giggled in my sleep so loud that I woke myself up!

Last night I made us a bunch of delicious ginger-pear vodka martinis. Scott is so cute when he's a little buzzed. Since we had two of 'em before we even ate dinner, we were both a little shwilly and got all snuggly on the couch and watched Primer after dinner. Films like Primer make me feel a little stupid, but I guess "the thinking man's art film" has confused quite a few people, so I don't really feel that bad.

It's a wonderful, sunny day, and it's Friday. I feel very happy today. Maybe tonight Scott and I will go on a dinner-and-a-movie date. That'd be fun.

Road Trip

Unfortunately, not the fun kind. Tomorrow Scott and I will be driving to Eureka, CA at breakneck speed to attend the memorial service of my Aunt Tammy (my mom's younger sister). We have to leave at around 5am to make it to the 1pm service.

She got diagnosed with leukemia about two weeks after my mom died. They found a tumor on her spine, and upon operation found a couple more embedded in the spinal cord. The first surgery left her paralyzed from the waist down, so they gave her radiation to kill the other two. But she went into kidney failure last Thursday and didn't make it. I can't imagine what my grandparents must be going through, having lost two daughters within six months.

She was only in her early 40s.

Finally!

That little cunt Jayla got eliminated last night. Hooray! Her gums were too big. Porn star in t-minus 10 seconds.

Thanksgiving redux

Yeah, so it's been a few days and the story has well-nigh rendered itself obsolete, but Thanksgiving was a far more depressing ordeal than imagined in my wildest dreams. You know how I thought it was gonna be awkward with my grandpa and dad in the same room, since they're all of a sudden estranged from one another? Well this is even better! My grandpa called my sister-in-law at the last minute and told her to tell me he wouldn't be coming. She asks him if he wants my number to tell me himself, and he says "no" and hangs up. I was actually relieved to hear this, since I don't really care for the old coot. I was just trying to make up for the fact that I never go visit him, even though he only lives about a mile away from me. An atheist can only so take so much sermon from an old man (particularly one who evidently thinks you're retarded and needs to explain everything he says) before an atheist wants to peel the skin off her face. So yay, no preachy old grandpa.

"How could Thankgiving have been worse, then, and not better?" you might be asking yourself. Well it could, and here's how: Remember how my mom died last April? Well this is the first (non-Hallmark-invented) holiday since her death, and my dad looked like he wanted to fucking blow his brains out. He felt like a fifth wheel (unsurprising, since it was Scott and me with my bro and his wife). I tried to distract him from his misery by asking how the job search is going. Yeah, he has no job. After the meal he just sat on the couch, his head hanging very low over his cup of coffee. After he left I talked to Jeremy and Sandy about things, and it doesn't sound so good.

After my mom died I knew my dad would be completely fucked, not just because he lost the only person in this universe who would tolerate him, but because theirs was a household absolutely dependent on two incomes. My family's broke, pretty much always has been. A month after mom died, the Blazer or Bronco or whatever got repossessed because he missed some payments. I ended up paying for her funeral and everything so he wouldn't hafta worry about it, but I knew he needed more help than that.

So I pressured Jeremy and Sandy into moving in with him. The house is plenty big enough, I figured, and the baby would lift his spirits a little bit. They'd pay a little less than what they were paying in rent for their apartment, and everyone wins, right? Not so much. My dad ended up quitting his job a couple of months ago and according to Jeremy he sleeps in 'til noon every day, drinks coffee for about three hours, goes out for awhile returning with a stack of DVDs that no one can figure out how he's affording, and hasn't been following up on job leads. He's not getting unemployment (since he quit), and even though I made him a resume and Jeremy faxes them off for him, he's not really trying to find a job. It sounds like he's just given up on life, and I'm worried that he's gonna end up homeless or something. The man is an island, and no one can seem to reach him. He needs to finish mourning so he can begin his life again, but he's just so miserable. Jeremy and Sandy are getting fed up with him jumping in on their arguments (they've only been married a year), and they don't have much privacy.

Anyway, after everyone left on Thursday Scott and I cleaned up, while I went through my usual mental broken record-loop, "what can I do to fix this? what can I do to fix this?" I know that I can't save my dad from himself. I just don't know how to make this better. I can't help feeling like I should take the situation into my own hands, because frankly, no one else will. But it's not my job to keep bailing my dad out, he's an adult. On the other hand, he's also a motherless child who's never not had a woman to tend to him. And at 53 years old, he just needs to grow up. I just hope things don't have to get any worse for him before he realizes that.

Dinner was good though. White bean turkey chili last night was even better.

Castlevania - Curse of Darkness

My review can be read here. A very fun game indeed.

Yay! Two days 'til Thanksgiving. I'm already getting my prep started: I have cranberries in tripel sec on the stove and stock fixings roasting in the oven.

This year will be interesting, as I've been informed that my father and grandpa aren't speaking to each other. Unfortunately, I'd invited my grandpa over weeks before the altercation. What happened is evidently my grandpa accused my dad of being "too angry." What next, is he gonna accuse the sky of being blue? Sheesh, old people. Nothing pisses off a dude with anger management issues worse than being told to calm down, so things have escalated much further than they should've. Oh well.

What'll probably happen is I'll stay busy in the kitchen to remain as oblivious to the rift as possible, while Scott insists on helping so he can stay the hell out of there too. My dad and grandpa will be silent to each other during the meal and then my grandpa will announce that it's time to go home 5 minutes after eating. I'll secretly wish that my dad would leave too, but will be a polite hostess. My dad will stay and rant about his father until he decides he's due for a bong hit, says he's "got to go take his pain medication" and wants to leave. Then Scott and I will breathe a sigh of relief, pour ourselves a couple of stiff ones, and sit on the porch chainsmoking while we decompress.

I'm gonna be such an awesome mother

I'm clacking away at the keys, when I smell something. It's that familiar smell that something terrible has happened. It's so strong that I check the floors, assuming it's coming from the room I'm sitting in. Nothing. I go to the living room and the stench could peel the fucking paint off the walls. There, on the freshly shampooed area rug, is a steaming pile of cat shit. But this time, unlike as it's been for the last week or so, it's not just a mound of cute little tootsie-rolls. This time it comes with gravy.

"Awesome!" I think to myself. Today, instead of merely sopping up vomit from the rug, as is my seemingly daily chore, or waiting for shit to cool down from that 105-degree cat-intestine temperature, I have the joy of both plucking turds and trying to blot special sauce from the carpet. I go to the under-the-kitchen-sink cabinet where cleaning products are kept, and discover that we are out of Kids 'n Pets. Awesome. I dump half a bottle of Resolve carpet cleaner on the mess, spray the entire house with orange spray and return to the computer.

I just know that I'll be an awesome mother because I, with a saint's restraint, calmly resisted the urge to grab the crow bar from the coat closet and bludgeon Caesar to a bloody pulp. I mean, that's just good parenting. Besides, if you think diarrhea is hard to get out of a carpet, well, you've never eviscerated a cat in your living room.

(Edit: it should be noted that I did clean up the shit before dumping carpet cleaner on the spot. I didn't just pour a bunch of cleaner on top of a pile of shit and wish it well.)

More adventures in my nether regions

I'm hungry. But it's not my stomach that's growling, it's my right ovary. Huh.

It's already November?

What the fuck? Time flies when you're having fun (or are an unemployed board whore that plays too many video games). This year we're doing Thanksgiving at our house again. What with my mom being in an ash can and my new sister-in-law being inept in the kitchen, how else will my dad get to eat turkey? I really want to do a southwest-themed dinner, but sadly, my dad has the palate of a five-year old. If I were gonna do it, this is what I'd make:

Roasted turkey with sweet orange-tequila glaze
Cornbread-jalapeno stuffing
Chipotle-sweet potato souffle, topped with sharp cheddar
Roasted corn and red bell pepper risotto
Warm carrot and red onion salad with escabeche chiffonade for kick
Mole negro with roasted pumpkin seeds (instead of gravy)
Fluffy, soft flour tortillas (instead of dinner rolls or brioche)
Espresso flan with Dagoba Xocolatl ganache for dessert

Sigh. It would be so good! And I've been saving my cornbread scraps in the freezer for months! Oh, well. I'll just make this stuff for a dinner party sometime.

I like cake!

My review of Hello Kitty Roller Rescue got published on f13.net. Here it is for your viewing plezh.

I also have an awesome head cold that has me pretty incapacitated. I'm gonna eat some baked beans and watch I Love the 80s 3D.

2, 4, 6, 8, 10!

Last night was so much fun! The Go! Team fucking rocked. I haven't shaken my ass that hard since I was like, 18.

Here I am looking retarded next to Ninja. I swear I'm not fat in real life.

The pictures with the guitarists didn't come out that great. Oh wells.

You may be asking yourself, "since when is Heather such a huge starfucker?" To which I'd reply: "One doesn't have many opportunities to be a rabid fangirl in Portland, so when one does, one must strike while the iron is hot." And I've learned that if you ask nicely, you can get almost anything you want. And I never forget to say thank you.

Today is the day after, and I'm not sore yet. That little delight is usually saved for the second day after. I think I may have overdone it in kickboxing last night. I know I overdid it at the show, jumping up and down like a 16 year old black cheerleader from the Bronx for two hours. My ankles hurt a little and my ears are still pretty fuzzy. What'll inevitably happen is I'll wake up for my job interview tomorrow and be completely fucking hobbled and they'll think they hafta hire me because they don't have any disabled people in the office.

Oh, if you haven't listened to the Go! Team yet, do. They sound like what little black girls are singing when they double-dutch.

Alton Brown Has a Very Hairy Chest

Noticeably so.

Scott and I met him yesterday at Wild About Game, a food event that included a wild game cookoff of which Mr. Brown was a judge. I kept asking people working the event, "when do we get to meet Alton Brown?" And since no one knew, I just followed a waiter to the judges' room and peeked in. There he was! He had a shitload of food to taste, so Scott and I took off for awhile and got back just when the last dish was being presented. We waited outside the room and when he stood up I ran over to the door and pounced on him! He was visibly startled by my sudden presence.

I nervously asked, "would it be totally inappropriate if I asked you to sign this?" and presented my old copy of On Food and Cooking, an early food science tome by Harold McGee. He looked at the book, looked at me, and said, "You want me to sign this? Are you sure?" He sort of oohed and aahed over it for a minute, and I joked he could sign it "McGee" if he wanted. He sat down and started writing:

Then he glanced at my tattoo and said he'd never seen a girl with DNA on her arm before. I was really nervous and shaky, which is strange because he seems pretty normal. I felt that I'd already bugged him enough so I didn't bother asking for a picture with him. Then I thanked him, shook his hand and giddily ran back to my table. Yay!

I wanted to send him another thank you, but it seems that people have been sending him rude things on his site, so he's disabled the contact part of his page. Oh, well.

Now I just have a figure out a way to meet Tony Bourdain....

Disaster averted!

This morning in pilates we were doing some move where you're on your back, kinda on your shoulders, and with your legs slightly spread and your arms on the floor, you lift your legs up so they're pointing up in the air. When I did this I sucked so much air into my vagina that I knew, I just *knew* I would have the hugest pussy-fart if I tried the rest of the move. I quickly got up and ran to the bathroom where I swear I queefed for like, 5 minutes.

Oh, don't look at me like that. You know you've been there.

I love on some buffalo wings, all dressed in delectable sauce.

Well said, Roast Beef. Well said.

A Letter to the Fiery Furnaces

Dear Fiery Furnaces,
How are you? You guys rocked last night. I appreciate the artistry and showmanship of playing your old stuff totally different. Eleanor seems to have lost some weight and now resembles a young Patti Smith with a cuter face. Love the haircut. Did you notice the dude in front? He looked like he learned to dance by playing DDR. Way to live up to white stereotypes, Acid Trip! And then that Ally McBeal girl who was doing the generic 80s thrash-the-shoulders-shake-the-head-back-and-forth dance threw a flower onstage, clearly wishing for validation from Eleanor. But Eleanor was enamored of Go-Go Boots, the hopeless fangirl who impressed the band with her knowledge of every song lyric (as evidenced by her singing along to every tune). She was to you what Houx is to Metric. Lucky girl got the playlist and props from Eleanor, but if Houx had been there, an onstage hug would surely have ensued.

Oh, hey, do you know who else was at your show last night? The fucking SHINS! That's who! Scott and I bumped into them outside, casually talking amongst themselves. Actually, Scott recognized them and I sauntered up and asked them if I could please have my picture taken with them. They said yes and I, embarassed that I had interrupted and possibly outed them, said thanks and strolled away quickly. Unfortunately, every time I try to post that picture I get an error message from blogger. Oh wells. I'll try again later.

So, in addition to seeing a stellar show in a venue small enough to accomodate my need to be 5 feet from the stage, I got to say "sup" to my favorite band. Yay.

Your friend,
Heather

Shadowgate Kicks So Much Ass

Remember that game? I was in 10th grade the first time I played it. Although it'd been out for awhile at that point, my parents finally got me that NES that I'd wanted since 6th grade for Christmas when I was in high school. By that time SNES was already out, so "a day late and a dollar short, Mom and Dad!" But it was all I had, and I was thankful, dammit!

Scott and I were extremely bored the other day, so we strolled on down the CD and Game Exchange down the street and for $50 we picked up Shadowgate (for the Gameboy; luckily the GBA is backwards-compatible), Banjo Kazooie, Paper Mario and Jet Force Gemini for the N64 and another copy of Eternal Darkness for the Cube. I've played them all many times over, but seeing as Scott has always primarily been a PC/PS guy, he hadn't ever really dicked around with the cool N64 games that Rare made in their glory days, and had only fiddled with Eternal Darkness once when we rented it before we moved in together. He has clearly been missing out, and thank goodness we can still find all that shit for 5 or 10 bucks each.

Anyway, I forgot how complex Shadowgate was. The puzzles and adventure aspects of the game are still light years beyond what's coming out these days, despite that fact that the "adventure" takes place within a text box that is your DM's wet dream. I don't miss the shiny at all. It's just so much fun to fuck around with something so delightfully old school and not be able to use my years of adventure/puzzle gaming experience to fly through it. It's nice to revisit something and still get the same enjoyment out of it as I did when I was a kid, and it's even nicer to know that I haven't become jaded by the ocular masturbation that is modern gaming.

Now if I can just figure out what the fuck I'm s'post to do in that room after the gargoyles...