What I had for lunch: Thursday

Last night I stayed at a friend's place, so this morning I wasn't able to stock up on free goodies from the fridge. Today, I bought a lunch.

I went to this vegetarian place that offers take out. The first time I went was on my first day of work when I was just trying to fit in. The second I went was because other people suggested it and I didn't have a better idea. This time I went in hopes of procuring some interesting insight for a blog post.

The eat-in area wasn't even full of the zealous urban bohemian type like it usually is! (Denise calls Fresh "the place to see and be seen" if you're one of that type). I mean, there were enough of them that I could still glance around for some quick fun stats:

>30% dreadlocks
>70% female
>80% white (This isn't racist. It's an observation)
>98% talking about one of the following topics: the environment, indie music, yoga, current events, why it is bad for the environment to eat beef, how meat makes people smell bad and that's why they could never date a non-vegetarian, how meat doesn't even taste good anyway, how they don't miss meat at all, why showering is bad for the environment, their new bicycle (well, new to them: they got it at a garage sale!), how much they love to travel, the cleanse they're starting next week, and how they're thinking of giving up dairy.

The other 2% was somebody saying over and over again: "Are you suuuure I'll like tofu sour cream?" (Hint: It was me)

I ended up getting the black bean burrito, described on their menu as: spicy black bean filling with cilantro, avocado, tofu sour cream, tomato, lettuce, cucumber, red onion & alfalfa sprouts.

I've had it before, but I hadn't noticed the tofu sour cream bit. (Answer: yeah, that's because it's near tasteless.)

With tax the thing costs $9.04 and the receipt left a line for tip. Sorry, but leaving a tip for take out? Was I supposed to? Because I didn't. Because... come on, take out.

Final verdict: too much cilantro. I keep forgetting that I hate that stuff.

What I had for lunch: Wednesday

Remember lunch time in elementary school?

I lived right near the school so I normally walked home for lunch. When I had an intramural or when my mom was out for the day, I'd have to stay. So when 11:30 rolled around, all the kids trouped to the hallway to get their fashionable lunch bags with their cool lunch.

I never had a cool lunch.

(I rarely had a fashionable lunch bag, but one year I did. It was actually this plastic kids meal box from a weird restaurant in France, where we had traveled that summer. It lasted till about March until it broke.)

They'd unwrap huge kaiser bun sandwiches. They'd rip open their Dunkaroos. They'd slurp away at their delicious looking drinking boxes (juice boxes, okay?). Or lunchables. They'd eat lunchables.

And while I ate my plain pepperoni (I'm not complaining... I love pepperoni more than you can know) or PB and J sandwich, and chomped away around the bruises on my apple (now I'm complaining)... the thing I lusted over most were those darned lunchables.

Lunchables contain, in order of increasing non-edible suspiciousness, crackers, "meat", and ""cheese"". You'd layer the "meat" and ""cheese"" on the crackers... one level! two levels! three levels high! Does it still fit in your mouth? YES! What a pleasure it is to eat these! You'd make patterns! You'd pretend they're glasses! You'd play checkers on the desk! Cheddar vs Ham! Ham goes first! King me king me with a cracker! And then you'd eat the enclosed Kit Kat!

At the giant $1 sale on Sunday,a herd lead me to the lunchables section.

I hesitantly picked up a kielbasa lunchable (I swear I eat kielbasa like 3 times a year... you've just got a peak in at two of those times). It looked gross. The "meat" and ""cheese"" are obvi way processed. I hurriedly dropped it back into the bin.

Then I remembered my promise to blog about lunch every day this week, and I knew that, if nothing else, this lunchable would at least give me a day's worth of blog fodder. I dejectedly picked it back up and purchased it. You see what I do for you, freaders! I risk life and limb and taste buds and stomach lining or the sake of a blog post! "Make art, make art" the guy from Once said during his Oscar speech. Well, if a lunchable blog post isn't art... then what is it?

I knew I couldn't let anybody from work see what I was going to eat today. Since I couldn't store it in the office fridge, I kept it cold in my backpack with chilly diet coke. And even though it's -18C today... I walked to the local park to eat. I couldn't eat at my desk. It'd be social suicide.

Funny how the coolest lunch in school is now on the top 10 list of the most embarrassing foods I can think of.

When I peeled it seal open I was greeted with an overwhelming wave of swiss scent. The kielbasa actually didn't look that bad! I ended up eating all the crackers, 90% of the kielbasa, and <5% of the ""cheese""... one nibble told me that perhaps these were best used at giant board game pieces after all (backgammon for people with finger agility issues?). I then of course heartily enjoyed the Kit Kat. (No, I did not make glasses with the kielbasa... mainly because my hands were too cold. I should have though, really, I should have.)

Also for lunch today: an apple, an orange, 3 cookies, diet coke.

What I had for lunch: Tuesday

If I ever go somewhere with my mom and one or less sibling, she'll buy me a treat.

Just last weekend she bought me ice cream at the mall! Or Laura, remember that time 2 years ago that she bought us smoothies? Let's not forget the time she and I drove to New York for a weekend and ate lavishly (read: anything you want off the McDonald's value menu. ANYTHING!)

But, should more than 1 other sibling be around... there will be no treats. There will be efficiency and lots of keeping to the budget... but there will be no treats.

It's a fact of life that every parent only has X amount of love, Y amount of time, and Z amounts of money.

An only child's happiness = X + Y + Z.
My general happiness = X/9 + Y/9 + Z/9.

Here's the trick though. Convince your older siblings to move far away. Put your younger siblings to bed. And then? From 9-11pm... it's all yours.

I can only hope to find myself in the type of situation where my mom might buy me half off Christmas chocolate. I can only hope; I have no real control. But I can usually bank on securing attention for an hour or two at night.

At after-the-kids-are-in-bed o'clock, the party begins! We do wild things like heat up frozen pizzas! Drink diet coke! Eat date squares that were wrapped up nicely for lunches tomorrow! (actually, that's just my dad and me. Don't tell my mom) On occasion we will even go so nuts as to splash a little liquor in our diet coke! It's w-w-w-ild!

From 7am till 9pm I can say, "Hey, I planned which races I want to do this weekend. Who wants to hear it?" and my dad will answer, "Can you set the table" or my mom might say, "Was somebody supposed to pick Jack up from that birthday party or something?"

From 9pm till 11pm I can say, "Hey, I planned which races I want to do this weekend. Who wants to hear it?" and my dad will say, "I'm worried about that adventure race" and my mom will answer "I read an article about a triathlon guy."

SEE!? MORE RELATED!!

Last night we made a delicious rising crust pepperoni pizza.

Today for lunch I'm eating a left over slice!

(In addition: an apple, an orange, a cranberry square, only 3 cookies*, and this weird wannabe fruit rollup thing)

* Well, you'll only ever see 3 at onnnnccee **
** No really, only 3.

What I had for lunch: Monday

Stale Raisin Bran or non-delicious flavours of non-delicious instant oatmeal. Choose your breakfast.

I nicely suggested to my mom that we stock up our cereal cupboard a tad more. She gave me a harrumph and a "take it or leave it" and nicely suggested that I go buy my own cereal if I'm suddenly so picky.

I am much better at accepting other people's suggestions than my mom is, clearly, so yesterday while walking home from the gym I stopped at a local grocery store.

I could wax infinitely on the pleasures of grocery shopping in the suburbs. I love the wide aisles! The heaping bushels of fruit! The self check outs! (those are still fun) It seems in my pleasure of living at home and having somebody else do the cooking and shopping (Dear Mom. You're the Best. Love Lisa) I've forgotten about the pains of grocery shopping.

Namely: huge sales.

Now come on. The store is already called "No Frills". This store's raison d'etre is to be inexpensive and yet, all too frequently if you ask me, it has these liquidation-reminiscent $1 blow out sales where they choose 20 random items and mark their price down by anywhere from 50 cents to two dollars so that shoppers can now fill their cart with limit-6-per-family one dollar items like Michaelina's or store brand cellophane.

With ridiculous sales comes giant crowds. With giant crowds comes screaming babies. With screaming babies comes people eager to get the heck out of here. With people eager to get the heck out of here comes pushing, line cutting, and disregard for the "8 items or less" sign at the express checkout.

A quick peak at the checkout lines told me I'd be waiting 20 minutes to pay anyway, so I might as well shop around for a bit and get more than just a box of Mini-Wheats (they have 24% of your daily fibre. Who knew?). I followed the crowds: a fervent huddle around the dairy pointed out a great yogurt sale. A spirited, bustling swarm in the cookie aisle directed me to my favorite cookies, half off (aptly named The Decadent). A trail of blood and the sound of dejected groans lead me to the frozen foods section.. but all the bagel bite mini pizzas where already gone.

I then marched to the express lane and pointedly remarked to nobody in particular that this was the EIGHT ITEMS OR LESS CHECKOUT AISLE and promptly three people ahead of me will full carts suddenly remembered that they forgot alleged green peppers for the alleged salad tonight, allegedly (there was much less sheepishness than I would have liked to see) and I zipped through the check out in no time at all. (Though I would like to point out that they accepted only Mastercard, not Visa. What? Who? Why? Nonsense.)

When I got home I talked a lot about how my bowels are distraught because I refuse to eat stale raisin bran, and oatmeal and next to no fibre. I loudly lamented my desire to increase my daily fibre consumption, and what a shame, shame, shame it is that I had to walk allll the way to the grocery store just to buy some Mini-Wheats (I did not mention that I was passing by on my way home from the gym).

Perhaps due to my lamenting, or maybe because she's just a nice mom after all, this morning I discovered she had made me a kielbasa sub for lunch today. So delicious.

I also will eat 9 cookies (3 and counting). I packed them in 3 separate Ziploc bags of 3 so the people I sit with wouldn't see the stack of 9 and be all "Lisa eats 9 cookies a day" but really I do. I considered bringing some yogurt but decided against it due to too much clean up. (Seriously, bringing a Tupperware all the way to work and all the way home? And carrying it all the way to the dishwasher? Good luck.)

So lunch today: kielbasa sub, 9 cookies (shut up. You would too if they were on sale), an apple and an orange.

Summer 2008 Race Schedule

I've just spent the past couple hours planning out my race schedule for this summer.

It's tricky business: navigating midterms, finals, my sister's wedding, potentially camp... but I think I've got it all sorted out.

I've included this year's (or 2007's, when 2008's was unavailable) souvenir t-shirt designs, because that's clearly the most important factor in the race decision process. Right?

May 10: Storm the Trent
An adventure race that I'm doing with my dad.
Mountain Bike 20km
Trail Run 6km
Paddle 9km

June 1: Milton Sprint Distance Tri
The women's series I did last year canceled their first race of the season. Silly. So I'm doing this one. It's nicely local.
750m Swim
30km Bike
7.5km Run

July 20: Niagara Sprint Distance Tri
700m Swim
25km Bike
7km Run

August 17: Toronto Island Sprint Distance Tri
This is a fun location. It's a bit further than regular sprint distances, which is cool. My exams end on the 16 and so I'm sort of wondering if this is that great of an idea. Will I be training the 2 weeks before? Well, not as hardcore. But you're supposed to take is easy the week before, right? Right? I haven't registered for this one yet... I might not. It's the most expensive one, too. So. We'll see. And I'm doing Wasaga like 2 weeks later.
750m Swim
30km Bike
7.5 Run

Sept 3: Wasaga Beach Olympic Distance TriI did this one last year, and they had to cancel the swim portion. That sucked. But I want to do an Olympic distance this year (my first!) and I think saving it until the end of the season is a smart move.
1500m Swim
40km Bike
10km Run

Sept 28: Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Half Marathon
I did this one last year, and it was pretty sweet.
Running 13.1 miles (21km)

Lunch Bunch. Lunch Grunch?

No One Cares What You Had For Lunch

WRONG. I CARE.

I recognize the merits of a book such as Maggie Mason's. I've read it. Cover to cover. It should be required reading before starting a blog, seriously. *

You're only allowed to break the rules once you know 'em, right? Well, it took me 301 posts, but I think I've finally learned the rules.

Well burn baby, burn, (break baby, break?) because next week all you're going to read/"mark as read" around this joint is what I had for lunch. Brianna and I are about to embark on a journey into the unknown. All week! Only lunch!

The lofty goal is undefined. Are we proving that interesting writing trumps interesting content? Are we proving that we are fantastic midday eaters? Are we just trying to stick it to the man? YOU DECIDE.

I'm quite frightened, really. My bag of tricks really is more like a mid-sized seasonal basket, enough to hold either a several Easter eggs and a chocolate bunny or a couple of sarcastic quips and a lexicon of sort of funny expressions and underused adverbs. Let's face it, if I'm not gushing about Jack, logging my triathlon progress, or complaining about school, I mostly resort to textually reenacting the chaotic and/or mis fortunate events in my life. You're also here for the over zealously conspicuous and arguably banal parallelism... am I right? Or am I right.

I'm nervous. A whole week? I've accepted that I might only churn out 2 or 3 posts instead of 5. That's cool; I've come to terms with that. I'm going to have to work hard to avoid the simple listing of my sandwich ingredients. I've decided that tangents are allowed as long as they are >90% related. I'll have to work hard to remember that added details != added interest. Ahh!

Can I really make my lunch interesting? Can Brianna? Can you?

(If you accept the challenge to blog about ONLY LUNCH all next week, tell me- I'll keep track of any participants here)

* Seriously, seriously. For actual. I wouldn't know up from down without that book. Go read it if you haven't already. This mission next week is in NO way meant to dis MightyGirl's book.

The Toronto Fire

6am this morning, a couple blocks away from my office:photo via tsaiwarephoto via aardvark

Crazy pictures of the flames here (rights to the images have been sold, so I can't post them directly on my blog)

Anyway. All day I smelled like chemically ashes and sort of had a headache. Nobody was majorly injured, so it's kind of cool, hey? In... retrospect?

Baby, remember my name

What's my deal with fame, seriously.

Oh, I'll tell you!

Fame is splendid. I want to be famous. I'm 90% sure that I eventually will be. For my voice, obvi, if not my lacrosse skills.

KIDDING. I'd be a famous actress. I have no doubt that even if I'm not Oscar material, I can definitely out-act the likes of Cameron Diaz or the girl who plays Ginny in Harry Potter (granted, I'm still giving her a chance to prove herself in book 6 when she finally gets her snog on with Harry).

On the weekend a semi-famous (I'm sure he's well known in small circles) person inquired after my relationship status via one of my friends while at a bar. This of course is exciting news. He's kind of got weird eyebrows and I've heard he's annoying... but hey! Some-what fame!

Today I just found out that I work fairly closely with the brother of a famous singer (hint: think Grammy level famous). I've known him for a while, but just discovered who is sibling is today. This is of course exciting news. I had to keep my cool when chatting with him during lunch today. Maybe eventually I'll bring up the fact that YOUR SISTER IS CURRENTLY ONE OF THE TOP 100 COOLEST HUMANS ALIVE when the moment is appropriate.

I'm pretty frequently criticized for my love of celebrity gossip. I mean I mostly love the public appearance pictures like red carpets or whatever, but you show me a picture of KBell playing with her dogs at the park and I will say "SHE'S EVEN COOLER THAN THE SISTER OF THE GUY I WORK WITH" and if you show me a picture of Lindsay Lohan I will say "LEGGINGS AGAIN, LINDSAY?" Yeah, I'll defend my love of celebrity gossip to the death.

What's YOUR deal with fame?

Family Day!

Oh hi,

If you were wondering what the best ever long weekend includes, the answer is skating with friends, then cooking delicious dinner all together and drinking red wine at one of their houses that is so cozy and homey that much to your own semi-embarrassment, you make grand exclamations like, "I suddenly want to be pregnant!" and then the next day you should all meet up and go to a really good improv show and your school friends meet your improv friends, and then you should go have a slumber party where you play Truth or Dare and Never Have I Ever while eating excessive amounts of chips and drinking Coke Zero even though it isn't that delicious, it tastes more like regular Coke than Diet Coke- and who is interested in that?- and lose track of time and stay up until past 5am then sleep way in then wake up and finish the chips and the Coke Zero and eat mangoes and grapes and crepes and waffles.

Yes, that is what the best ever long weekend includes. You know, in case you were curious.image via Dave Schulz

How to win me over

Send me this. That is all.(From Jacks of Science)

Chairlift memories

It's no secret that sometimes I'm the ringleader of the immature parade.

I'm a very fun person to ride with on the chairlift. As a youngster, my dad taught me how to clank my skis together at exactly the right moment as to dump snow down the neck of some innocent bystander below. We also used to play a game where, when we saw somebody that looked like they were about to fall, we'd make gun hands and pow pow* noises and if/when they'd eventually fall, we'd high five about it.

*Be careful not to get too slobbery in your sound effects. You are, after all, in freezing weather. Lesson learned.

Last weekend I went snowboarding with my family. As to be expected, we eventually split up into groups. At this point in the night, Rob and I were together; the chairlifts are for four people, so we joined up with another twosome.

Matt and Kieran were their names, it turns out. They were probably the most talkative people I have ever met. They, like Rob, were third graders.

"What grade are you in?" they asked me.

"Eight," I said. Then, "not really. I'm not in a grade. I'm old"

"Oh." they sighed.

"I have slime in my pocket. Want to see it?" asked Matt

They showed it too me and I said it was really cool. They told me about how they added smell powder to the first batch but it stunk up their dad's car, so they had to throw it out. I asked where they got it.

"The book order," explained Kieran

"Scholastic?" I queried. (Note how cool I am: I know about book orders)

"YES!" they enthused.

"For $20!" furthered Matt

"$19.99, Matt," corrected Kieran

"Yeah Matt, I think you mean $19.99" I chirped.

At one point the chairlift passes over the starting point of the only double black diamond slope. It's called Nosedive and Laura can tell you a story of a wipe out so bad that she not only got both skis knocked off, but her gloves, too. I think her coat somehow got unzipped and I know for certain that her ponytail elastic somehow came out. It was quite a wipe out.

I told the tale to Matt and Kieran and my cool status was upped even more. The hill that leads to Nosedive also leads to an easier, blue square run called Boomerang. Matt and Kieran told me they usually boo the people who go down Boomerang, and tell them to go down Nosedive. I liked this idea, and together we booed a small seven year old who was headed to Boomerang.

"YOU WIMP" shouted Matt.

"BOOOOOOOOO" booed Kieran.

"LIVE A LITTLE" I added.

Robbie giggled. He's so shy; it was the only sound he made during the whole ride. Other than, me: "My brother Rob is in grade 3, too!" them: "are you!?" Rob: "yeah."

We booed some more and then I taught them my gun trick. They liked it.

Just as we were about to get off ("Rob, Rob, is it tips up or down? I can't remember! Quick, tips up or down?" "Lisa. That's not funny anymore. It only makes Jack laugh") (It does make Jack laugh. It sends him into hysterics and I almost have to carry him off the lift.) the chair lift stopped.

At my suggestion, we all booed the old man in the chairlift operation hut, and gave him thumbs down. Even Rob.

I'm a wonderful role model- don't ever forget that.

All in all, this ranks as probably my favourite chairlift trip ever (runner up: my almost first kiss with my snowboard instructor. As with seemingly all my grade eleven memories, Britney's "Toxic" played in the background. I had just told him all about improv and he said that was really cool. He had just told me about how his friend almost got into a car crash and I said that sounded dangerous. Then he was helping me fix my binding. I felt pretty cool. But then the lift jerked to a stop and below us, one of his friends yelled out "HEY SAM!" and so Sam had a shouting conversation for a minute with his friend below. Then the chairlift restarted and the moment was gone. Alas.)

Big City Guilt

Every morning I pass the same homeless guy. He's always there.

He's usually sprawled out, only half huddled in his sleeping bag, near the Scotiabank on Queen. I think it's a good place to block wind.

Yesterday morning it was -30C with the windchill (-22F!) and I kept having to stand in an alley for a second to take a break from the wind. It was SO. COLD.

Homeless guy was there, as usual, but this time without his sleeping bag. He had no gloves, or hat, or shoes (only holey socks). As I passed him I thought, "There is no way that man is not dead."

Then I realized, "no, wait, actually. If he's not dead, he must be dying!" and I panicked! I didn't know what to do or who to call! I feel really bad for admitting this, but I'm kind of afraid of homeless people. This guy had a broken bottle near him of what looked like rum. Drunk homeless people terrify me. But can I make an exception for a drunk homeless probably dying guy?

I couldn't. I walked by. I considered calling somebody for help- but who? 911? I didn't know! I still don't know!

I was wracked with guilt yesterday morning until Leah convinced me that there was honestly nothing I could have done. Because seriously! What? Right?

He's always, always, always there.

This morning he wasn't.

Who? Oh her. She's dull.

What is the worst thing in the world to be known as?

When a friend (hi, Chris!) and I started to have this conversation, I immediately was thinking titles like "bitch" "asshole" "total jerk" and the like.

But bitches get what they want! Often people are jealous of bitches. Bitches are usually hot (exception: fat bitches. But they are often the bitter bitches, and therefore are in a title of their own.) And even if you're an asshole it means you make people care enough to get angry; you have enough influence to rile somebody up.

Okay, so, "ugly". Nobody wants to be called ugly.

But ugly is an opinion, surely not EVERYBODY agrees. Plus how many ugly people are funny and smart? Ugly people are loved, too!

Okay, so stupid. A moron. Clueless.

'Tevs, soooooo many people are stupid. It would suck to actually BE stupid, but to be KNOWN as stupid isn't such a big deal.

When I posed the question to another friend (hi, Shauna Jean!), she said "unreliable"

But unreliable isn't so bad. It's an action, right? You're unreliable because of something you do (or fail to do). You can change that. It'd be a sucky reputation to have, but you can fix it. Or just move and get new friends.

Chris suggested that the worst thing to be called is "dull".

I fully agree. Dull? Nobody likes a dull person. Nobody wants to hang around a dull person. Nobody even notices a dull person. Dull is the worst thing to be.

What would you never want to be known as?

I'm lovin' it

McDonalds.

Soooo tasty. I could probably eat 10 of the kids meal hamburgers, no problem. When the meat is burning hot and even the bun is warm? With pickles. Mmm. Or how about their fries? So much tastier than Wendy's (sorry, girl.) Spicy McChicken=near divine. And their Southwest Salad? HELLO!

We all like McDonalds. Don't EVEN try to deny it. You like it. You LOVE it. YOU LOVE MCDONALDS.

I certainly love McDonalds.

Here's the thing though- I go very rarely. I'd rather hit up a Wendy's or a Pizza Pizza (I think they're only in Ontario. Original name, hey?) before I go to a McDonalds. I have no problem with their hardly-beef beef. I've heard the dead rat stories, and I am unfazed.

The reason I don't go to McDonalds is because McDonalds is for fat, stupid, and poor people. I don't want people to see me eating McDonalds.

I sincerely hope the people who do marketing for McDonalds somehow read this post because they need to know that no amount of "now serving apple slices!" advertisements are going to change the stigma. I can't name directly what it is that gives Micky Dee's such a bad name. It's not the fast food industry as a whole because clearly we all openly eat fast food sometimes.

Yesterday after work I needed to grab some dinner before improv. There's all sorts of places around my work. Subway? No. Burrito place? No. Fresh, the healthy, vegetarian and also delicious place down the street? No. ONLY MCDONALDS.

I skulked in and purchased my honey mustard crispy chicken snack wrap (hint: don't get grilled, it has a rubbery texture. Crispy=the way to go). Of course, true to my stereotype, the rest of the McDonalds crowd (in a rather affluent part of town, even) was hugely overweight, moderately homeless looking, or both. I then jumped on the streetcar and ran into a co-worker. Rats! I surreptitiously tucked my McDonalds bag into my backpack. Close one! I need to be perceived as healthy and intelligent!

So which is it:
1. Lisa, you are crazy for liking McDonalds. Seriously: the rat story.
2. You are crazy for hating on McDonalds. That place is a classy establishment!
3. Well done with the clandestine concealment. And honey mustard you say? I'll sneak one tonight!

Jack cares about dad

My dad has jet-setted off to Peru for the week, and Jack is missing him terribly.

I mean, before my dad had even left the house Jack was crying, and asking "when is dad coming home?" in a tone not entirely pleasant.

A couple of weekends ago I went skating with my dad, Jack, and a couple of the other kiddies. We drove to an outdoor rink, aware that it might be closed. My dad got out of the car to go check out the rink status (the rest of us stayed warm in the car).

As he was heading back, I thought it would be hilarious if I took the driver's seat and starting driving out of the parking lot. It WAS hilarious, and all the other kids started cracking up as my dad start fake panicking. "Go faster!" they giggled.

But not Jack. Jack started crying, and tried to take over the wheel, shouting "I CARE ABOUT HIM!" Now for every misfortune my dad suffers (like getting the smallest brownie for dessert) he sighs and says "at least Jack cares about me."

For Christmas I got my dad a navy blue Henley. He loves the thing. Usually for Christmas he doesn't asking for anything or, when particularly avaricious, for a hug or a high five. So both the frequency of wearing and the attention paid on Christmas morning make this article of clothing particularly characterizing. If I were to draw a picture of him, he'd be wearing this navy item.

Jack also has a navy Henley. He's grown out of it, and it's stained, and there are some little holes in some places, but yesterday he wore it today out of solidarity.

As I tucked him into bed last night (remember, my dad only left that morning) Jack asked, "Do you think dad is every going to come home?"

Jack is very easy to tease. The old most efficient way to make him cry was to tell him he was adopted and that his real name is Gustav. Now it's to tell him that dad is living in Peru forever.

I'm a terrible sister, really.

Hooray!

Check this out!Bitchin'

A Memo

Subject: Don't be gross

To: Every male in the universe
Cc: Not going to rain readers

Oh hi!

I know we're approaching our first quarterly meeting (you've been emailed about this before, but topics include: why to never break up with somebody over email, how to conform to my expectations, why you should all be totally in love with me, and how to be less ignorant in general) but I thought I'd send out a quick memo.

What is with the long finger nails, guys?

It is so unattractive. Especially when they're filed into nice shapes. There is no excuse for this.

And there's a difference between the "Whoa they grow fast! I'll clip these babies tonight!" length and the have-to-change-the-way-you-type length. A clear difference. OH and if you drum you nails on a table top, I WILL have trouble respecting you. I've killed people for less.

A quick test: point your fingers downwards, perpendicularly towards a smooth flat surface. If the tip of your finger cannot reach the surface then you are nasty.

If necessary we will splurge from the social budget and put some nail clippers in the mail room to properly equip you, and to remove any excuse you might create.

See you at the quarterly meeting!

-Lisa