The quilting makes it kind of look like Chanel, right?

I've been on a spring buying binge lately, from flip-flops to clothes to bags. Most of my online sprees are at cheap stores like Victoria's Secret (no, for the polos!) and Old Navy. My most recent ON order came this week, and now I can verify firsthand that this bag is actually really cute and not cheap looking. And it's only 16 bucks! The stitching is even and not frayed, and the constructions seems pretty sturdy. So get one of these, and then take the money you save and spend it on a ridiculously spendy bag. $300 for two handbags isn't so bad!

I do love the payola.

We get some awesome stuff in the food "department." (As in, the features editor and myself.) Today, I was gifted a self-published book, "Quick and Healthy Meals from Trader Joe's." Right up my alley! Now I can validate the trip that was otherwise going to be just for the wine.


Some other gifts:

• Yesterday, we got a can of Emerald Cocoa Roast Almonds. They weren't sweet, like chocolate-coated would be, but more rich, with a dark-chocolate powder on them. The first one was a little jarring because you expect it to be sugary, but they're strangely addictive. Until other people start putting their hands in the can.
• Earlier this week, we got some soft candy from Baskin Robbins. There were two flavors: mint chocolate and strawberry. Most people were just disappointed that the tiny foil bags didn't have ice cream in them. Um, think about it.
• Last week, we got a package from Miller Beer that held a bottle and a can of Chill, beer with lime and salt (which the PR people coined as "chelada-style"). It's still sitting on my desk as an example of how cool my job is.

Next I'll be trying their beef tartare.

OK, what I'm about to tell you will no doubt cause you to judge me, and probably ruin my reputation as someone who knows a little about quality foods. But I'm only human!

Enough drama.

Yesterday I was at Wal-Mart, my new favorite store in Stockton, and I was drawn to the sushi counter. Last time I'd seen this new addition I'd gagged a little and walked right by. I mean, sushi at Wal-Mart? It's raw fish, something you don't discount. But this time I looked closely, and my curiosity got the best of me. I figured I'd buy it and save it for dinner, so that if I got sick at least I wouldn't be in the middle of a newsroom. And I'd only eat a few pieces.

The package had 16 small roll pieces in four varieties: tuna, salmon, shrimp and eel. The shrimp and eel were cooked but the eel had a weird sauce, so I started with the shrimp. The pieces all looked good, without that squishy texture old sushi sometimes gets. It smelled fine, not super fishy, and actually tasted ... pretty good. I'm a sucker for salmon rolls, and while these were hardly the best I'd ever had, for $5, I'm totally going back. Eek. I know, I'm sorry. I should hate Wal-Mart for reasons that have nothing to do with food, but I just can't help but be drawn back time and again. I justify it by reasoning that if I have to work in Stockton, I might as well get some cheap crap to offset the gas prices.

"Do you want a Happy Meal after your wax?"

When I was a preteen, my biggest concern was how to sneak Oreos into my room. My, how things have changed.

Philadelphia magazine recently ran a story exploring the trend of young girls getting beauty treatments like waxing and highlights. It talks about the moms who bring their preteen daughters into salons for ... wait for it ... bikini waxes. Eight-year-olds. As the author points out, there ain't much to wax at that age. But the larger problem seems to be the values that these moms are passing on: "You aren't OK the way you are," "The most important thing is how you look," etc. Even though I would've killed for my mom to acknowledge that I might be interested in wearing makeup in middle school, part of me is appreciative that she let me make my own choices about stuff like that. She never mandated that I be thinner or straighten my hair (though if she could've steered me toward an iron it would've saved me a lot of agony) or told me I wasn't pretty enough, which is probably the subconscious message these girls are receiving.

Barbecue cookies

Last weekend I was feeling very Martha and was on a mission to bake something. Specifically, Mesquite Chocolate Chip Cookies that I'd read about on the food blog "101 Cookbooks." The description was intriguing: a specialty flour that was a "superfood" that smelled and tasted like nothing else.

Well, sign me up.

And since I'm lucky to live close to a culinary capital, San Francisco, this flour was accessible. Apparently it's not popular yet, so it's only in a few places, or online. But I found it at Rainbow Grocery, a natural foods store in S.F. (Yes, I drove to San Francisco on a Sunday morning for the sole purpose of buying flour. I'm a nerd.)

So I got the stuff and brought it home (along with unrefined sugar and whole wheat flour) and set about making the most delicious chocolate chip cookies ever. They taste like a clovey, cinnamony, chewy oatmeal cookie that's not too sweet. I bought enough flour to make a couple more batches, so if you ask nicely, I might send you some.





(The original site took down the recipe because she's writing a book, but this guy still has it.)

The amazing disappearing centipede!

Do you see it? It blends into the hardwood floor, which makes it even worse.

So on Saturday, the boy and I were hanging out with a couple friends and we ended up going swimming in the girl's pool. Boy took off his shirts (layers) and left them on the ground near the pool. After, we scoop up the wet clothes and put 'em in a bag and take them home.

The next day, I'm doing laundry and throw his shirts in the pile. I'm pulling them apart when I see this THING on top of the underneath shirt. It's totally close to my finger, so I throw the shirts away from me, not realizing that that's the best way to let the thing loose. So after I stop shivering I realize I need to find it. (Mind you, that morning I had a spider walking on my arm when I was in bed. Bad day.) I start looking on the floor and can't find him. Start to panic, but then he skittles just enough to create contrast. So the first thing I do isn't smoosh (I don't really like to do that anyway, more a catch-and-release program), but take photos. As evidence, because I want boy to feel really bad that I put myself in harm's way to wash his skanky shirt. So I take a couple shots and just as I'm putting the camera away it runs toward the wall and squishes through a gap between the floor and the baseboard (high-quality construction).

Dammit.

So now I have no idea where he is, and I have to wear shoes in my apartment because if I crunch on anything in bare feet ... good lord.

Tread carefully.

When I went to get my tire fixed yesterday, it turned out the puncture was too close to the edge to be repaired, so it had to be replaced. I got the tires a while ago but they were under warranty, so it was free. And it occurred to me, why don't I just go stick a nail in my tire whenever it gets worn? I'm sure they'd catch on after a couple of times, but spread out over a few years ...

Did I run over a puppy and not notice?

I was having some bad luck yesterday. First, I noticed my tire was going flat when I was going to lunch. So I went to Wal-Mart to get it fixed (I know, duh). So I left it there and did some shopping while I waited. When I finished, I was walking up to the self-checkout line when some janky bitch walked RIGHT IN FRONT of me. Like, I was putting my stuff on the belt, and she stepped in and just scanned her Blow-Pops. I've learned better than to call people out in Stockton, especially at Wal-Mart, but seriously? And she didn't even look at me, say, "It'll just take me 2 seconds," nothing. But as irritated as I was, I really wasn't too surprised. And then she tries to pay with this torn-up $5 bill. Like, literally, it's in half, and she wonders why the machine won't take it. It's about a full minute before she sighs and grabs her f-ing suckers and walks away. And then the register is stuck because it wants its money. So I go to another line, and then the guy charging his stuff there can't figure out how to use a credit card! Seriously?!

But then I went to get the car, and it turns out the tire couldn't be fixed, so I had to go to Firestone and replace it. And the guy there was hot. So all's well that ends well.

My boobs are all in a knot.

Men, like giving birth and bikini waxing, this is one pain you will never understand:

I thought "You're such a bitch!" was the worst teacher abuse.

A story broke today that three third-graders had plotted to attack their teacher. They brought handcuffs, a knife and duct tape to class, and certain kids were appointed tasks, such as covering the windows and cleaning up afterward. These are 8-year-olds!! I was so fearful of authority at that age that I can't even imagine I would have yelled at a teacher, much less stabbed one. The plan was to knock the teacher unconscious with a paperweight, then tie her up and stab her.

Is it safe to even be at a school anymore? If you're a student, you can get shot in your dorm room or lecture hall. If you're a teacher, you better not piss off any kids, because they could totally take you out. That's insanity. The worst I had to fear was the little bitch who kept biting me.

When I was in elementary school, I did do something kind of bad. It wasn't violent, but for me and the other girls, it was WAY beyond the normal. We were coming back from our special gifted class (ironic) and someone decided to go graffiti in the bathroom. Stupid stuff about who's an ugly bitch and the like. Then someone was like, "Write 'shit here' above the toilet and put an arrow!'"

And I did. Shameful! I don't think I really ever even said "shit" back then. But at the time, it seemed so hilarious. I think we got caught like an hour later, when one of the girls cracked and we all got called into the principal's office. And the awesome thing is, my mom came to pick me up, and she just thought it was funny. I guess if that was the worst thing I did, as opposed to plotting to stab my teacher, I can see how she wouldn't freak.

"What does a green line mean? Sort of pregnant?"

I went to the Dollar Tree today to research a story on grocery shopping at discount stores. (Unfortunately, it wasn't my idea, I saw a wire story about the same thing, but I'm localizing it and the guy's in Kansas, so I figure it's kosher.) Anyway, they have some great stuff there! Lots of cleaning products and shampoo, not to mention the candy. And they had oyster crackers! My all time favorite snack. So I had to buy a bag.

Standing in the checkout line, I was looking around at the impulse purchases hanging by the register. Gum, batteries, disposable razors ... pregnancy test.

Right. That's a good idea. The ONE time you don't want to bargain shop, I'd say. The result's probably in Chinese characters.

Sometimes my life feels like an April Fool's joke.

My friend Aaron's birthday is April 1, which is funny but not super fitting. He's a super laid back guy, but not a big joker. I think he'd be too afraid of hurting someone's feelings. But I think it's cool, because it's a holiday. And not a huge one where all the stores are closed, just a day where people don't forget it.

I remembered this because at work we were talking about April Fool's Day jokes we could play through the paper. In college we printed really random, totally fake stories, but in a professional place that's probably not a great idea. Old people would be even more confused than usual.

My friend Ann, who works on the desk with me, told us about a joke her old paper played. They ran a big story about this new technology that made ink smell like what the picture was. So all day, people were smelling their papers, wondering why they couldn't smell it. Genius. We're trying to figure out a spin on that, but we don't want to steal their idea. Any thoughts?

Don't answer that.

I work at a newspaper (assuming you're just tuning in) and we get the weirdest phone calls. I get a lot from people who need to know what channel a show is on, since my desk is in charge of the TV page. Most of the time it's a senior who doesn't know how to use them Internets. So I Google a bit, and we're good. But the news assistants and reporters are always getting either angry people or misguided questions. One time, someone called a features reporter and yelled at her about advocating drunken driving because a story she wrote mentioned there was beer at more than one restaurant.

Today, a guy called asking for weather information. He wanted to know where lightning comes from, because he was having a debate with his friend, who said it came from the ground. (??) So he wanted us to tell him who to call. What the hell? We're a paper - figure it out for yourself! Just because there's a weather page in the paper doesn't necessarily mean that we have someone in the building who knows all that stuff. But you know, I guess if I didn't work there I'd be confused about what goes on, too. I hope I'm not crazy when I'm old.

I doubt the L.A. Times food writer makes bunny cakes.

As the token food writer at the paper (I still feel like an impostor), people approach me with wacky ideas all the time. ("You should write about what to do with leftovers." "As in, more than 'reheat and eat'?") My most recent story ended up being about this revered bunny cake, which is a tradition in many households (not mine). You take two round cakes and leave one whole, and cut the ears out of another one, leaving a concave bowtie shape in the middle. Then you decorate this with frosting and coconut and jelly beans. The photo actually turned out great, because the photographer is amazing and thought to put colored eggs and grass all around it. I still think it's kinda dorky, but god was it delicious.

http://recordnet.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080319/A_LIFE/803190313

The last time I was in a bee, I spelled "plain" as "plane."

So a while ago, my boss asked me if I was any good at trivia games. I asked if he meant like Trivial Pursuit, and he was like, "Well, not exactly. Do you want to be in a Record trivia bee?" Of course! How fun! A little interoffice challenge, maybe for a day off. Not so much. A city library fundraiser, this thing attracts hundreds of people. And I have stage fright. Fantastic.

I was asked because the theme was "Wine, Women and Song." Being a woman, I'm one for three automatically, and being a wine drinker and quasi-educated about it, I was an easy target. Well, by the time I figured out how big a deal this was, it was too late to back out, not that I probably would have anyway. That wouldn't have earned me any points for people to look the other direction when I come in late.

So a couple of weeks ago, I took the stage with two other people from the office and about 90 others from around the city. There were two rounds, with round 1 questions worth 1 point each and round 2 questions, 2 points.

The first round, I was on fire. There was a question about Dana Owens ("Queen Latifah!") and one about what a wine-growing region is called ("Appellation!") (I make it sound like I was shouting, but really we just wrote the answers on a piece of paper and handed them to our drunk scorekeeper. No joke. Bud Light.)

But the second round was tough. Questions about local history and old movies - I'm out. It was sad, because we were doing really well. But I really did have fun, like a big nerd. And if you're in town, you can watch this. SJTV, Comcast 26, in Stockton. (I hear my face fills the screen on at least one occasion. I hate that - I picked print for a reason.)

Random thoughts

• I realized today that there's a direct correlation between the cosmopolitan-ness of a city and its meter rates. In Walnut Creek, a quarter gets you 12 to 18 minutes. In San Francisco, a quarter gets you 6 minutes. (I know!) In Stockton, a quarter gets you an hour.


• Wal-Mart has sushi now. It looks like there's a sushi area for the chef to actually be there to make it daily, which makes me feel better. It looks decent and doesn't smell, but I just can't bring myself to try it. It's really no different from the sushi at Raley's or whatever, but there's something inherently "discount" about Wal-Mart that you don't want associated with food that could potentially make you ill anyway. Crackers, fine. Raw fish, maybe spend the cash. But it was $4.97 for like 16 little roll pieces! I know, I know ...

"You come to me, I give you Brazilian AND education!"

My waxer is the cutest thing ever. She's tiny and "Persian" (I think she's from Afghanistan), and she calls everyone "sweetheart." (And she can get away with calling black women "My chocolate!") And she's super politically active. She's always talking about how great America is, and she's really into the election. The last two times I've gone to see her, all we've talked about is Obama. (As opposed to why I'm not married, and my teeth.) She's stumping for him to everyone she talks to, the minute they walk in. I get in the door: "Hello, sweetheart! Hillary or Obama?!" Thankfully, I remembered from last time and said, "Obama!" She doesn't like Hillary, I think partly because she thinks a man should be president. Hey, to each her own. That logic makes as much sense as why Bush got reelected, but people believe what they want to. So this time, she told me about Obama's past, and how she loved his book, and about his family history. It was quite enlightening. And distracting, thank god.

We're big time now!

An email write-in campaign to get an Olive Garden? It saddens me. And not even because I want to write about the food in this town. Just because of what Olive Garden stands for in terms of expanding culinary experiences. I'm not trying to be holier-than-thou, god knows I shop at Target and eat at California Pizza Kitchen, but why launch a whole drive to get one? Is it that spectacular? And why does that mean that a city has "arrived"? To get an Olive Garden?! That kind of means the opposite -- you're on a downward spiral to Big Boxville.

So there's a story in today's Record about it, and this quote is my favorite:

Stockton's appetite for an Olive Garden could be a product of the city's
restaurant landscape - "Stockton is such a gastronomic wasteland," said Ken
Albala, a food historian at University of the Pacific - or a product of its
Middle American attitude about food: "They're not terribly concerned with
quality. They want, just, a lot of food."

So sadly true. Olive Garden serves "Italian," but it's a cheesy bastardization of what true Italian is - simple, with focus on flavors such as herbs and vegetables.

I know enough to know I don't know that much about international food, and who am I to say Stocktonians should be deprived of their love for this stuff? That's why we have free will, I guess - so some people can indulge, and others have every right to run for Whole Foods.

If only I'd known before I got that bird on my ass.

Well, it's not technically on my ass, but close enough that it's hidden. Anyway, it was one of those things where I'd wanted it for a long time (it's a bird, and my name is Robin, ha) and around college graduation time, one of my friends was like, "Hey, I have this flower I want to get, but I don't have anyone to go with." (Tattooing for girls is more social than for guys, I think.) So I volunteered, and I ended up passing out in the chair. I was breathing too shallowly, and ended up getting lightheaded and twitching. Not my finest moment. So now I have this bird, and it's fine and cute and usually I forget about it, but sometimes I wonder if I had an easy way out, would I take it?

Now, at least for future tattoos, I do. Freedom2Ink is this thing where the dye is encapsulated with plastic or something, so when you want it removed, it can be done completely with one laser treatment. The laser blasts open the capsules, and the ink is reabsorbed into the skin.

But part of me thinks that's lame. The whole idea behind tattoos is that they're permanent, and that makes them more of a statement. Like, "I love you so much I'm willing to put your name on my body for all eternity!" Not so much impact: "Let's get tattoos of each other's names for tonight!"

"Keep doin' what you're doin' with that Easy Bake oven!"

When a job doesn't even feel like work, you know you've found something good. I got to step away from the computer and into the role of chef for a couple of hours last week, and it was fantastic. I brought my little toaster oven to work (no test kitchen) and all my supplies, and took it all to the photo department to prepare for a photo shoot.

I started by covering the entire workspace, about 2 square feet, with aluminum foil. Because that floor is gross. I tried to keep all the food in some kind of container to prevent contamination, but I wasn't as careful when touching the floor to get up (yeah, I was sitting cross-legged on the concrete the whole time - awesome) and then cutting something. Whoops. But whatever, I shared everything I cooked and everyone came to work the next day. But anyway, I was cooking the prosciutto-wrapped figs, and that whole place smelled sooo good. Seriously, I was the center of attention for a while, and I didn't even have to do any public speaking.

So everything's going fine, and then the timer dings and I go to get the figs out of the oven. Except all I have is my hand. So not happening. I begin to panic, but then see the whole package of mini pitas (for the pizzas!) just sitting there. Good thing there were extras. So I grabbed one, gripped it to bend it in half, and presto! Instant pot holder. Just call me MacGyver's bitch.

Here's how it turned out.

Dude, you're not even sniffling.

I went to the pharmacy today to pick up a prescription, and the guy in front of me wanted to know if they had any Sudafed, the kind that's now kept behind lock and key. Not that weird. But then ...

I went next door to the grocery store. I got my soda, then got into line behind ... the same guy. Hmm. Coincidence. So we're waiting behind an old lady writing a check (always!) who had questions about every item on her receipt, and I notice there's a super annoying loud chick in the line next to us. Like, she's almost a parody of annoying people on their cell phones in line.

"Girl, I know! She told me that I had to give her the whole bag. She said it was for gas money! That's crazy! I told her to just take me back to my house 'cause that ho crazy."

Anyway, she stopped talking long enough to ask the cashier if he had any Sudafed. The guy went to look (yeah, I'm still waiting) and he said they were out. "How about Claritin D? You got any of that?" Again, no.

So the guy in front of me finally gets to the cashier, but he doesn't have anything on the conveyor.

"Do you guys have any Sudafed?"

A ha! Meth fiends!

I hate this town.

The Delicious Bowl!

So for my next food story, I have to actually adapt recipes. It's so much harder than it sounds, because there's tons of trial and error. Pizza wasn't cooked in 12 minutes? Well, would it be cooked in 15? Possibly, but you have to start from scratch, because you can't just punch in another three minutes on the timer since you lost all the heat in the oven when you opened it at 12 minutes. Argh. But when you finally get it right, the feeling is so amazing. Like reaching a mountain's summit. I hear.

On my Valentine's Day menu (theoretically, for the story) I have: prosciutto-wrapped dates with parmesan, tuna crostini with tapenade, mini margherita pita pizzas, and kiwi-strawberry nut cakes. If I were Rachael Ray, I'd say, "Deeeelish!" But I'm not, and I really don't like her, so I'll just say, "That better get me some."

The dates are amazing. Honestly. Sweet and salty and chewy. Read the story and use that recipe. That I totally made. Love it! And this is how they look:

Kind of funky, yes, but so good. The tuna crostini were decidedly less photogenic:

I realized after I'd started eating that I hadn't taken a picture, so this is the best I have. But they were really good. I have to cook them again, so I'll try to get a better photo.

I'm having a little battle with the pita pizzas. Should I put the cheese down first, or the tomatoes? Should the tomatoes be crushed, or in slices? Since they're not in season, I'm thinking canned. I think I'll just make four, and try one each way.

This is why my pants are tight.

The best reason I've found for international travel.

Whenever I go to Asian markets, I love picking up something I've never seen before (and not something obvious like Pocky). It's a fun mini-adventure, and pretty cheap. But I've never seen anything as cool as strawberry Cheetos. But I bet I could get the same effect with a tub of whipped Betty Crocker and the 7-Eleven Cheetos.

Slang of the day.

Bromance: A platonic love between two men that results from a bonding experience or shared interests.

One more reason America sucks.

After I saw "Sicko," I started thinking that things in our neck of the woods may not be the best on Earth. And now, more proof. A company in Japan has instituted "heartache leave" as part of its benefits package. Seriously. And the best part is that it's graded by age, with women 30 and older getting the most days, three, because at that age women are over the hill and would be much more upset over a breakup because god knows, finding another man is like finding a needle in a haystack. (I'm paraphrasing.)

Shit to buy:

1. A fuse. Apparently you can't use a treadmill and run a space heater in an adjoining room at the same time. (I was drying my clothes.) While I'm at my parents, blowing a fuse just means giving up on the workout and coming out to blog (at least until my dad wakes up). But at my other apartment, it means the whole place has no power. So I need to buy a fuse, and also locate the fuse box. (I know, it's ridiculous not to know these things, but I do know how to turn off the water, so that's something.)
2. Batteries. I used the last ones to replace the worn-out ones in the remote, and I can just see my alarm clock going dead one night at 10.
3. Ice. Margarita Sunday depleted my stock, and I never think to buy soda the weekend before I run out, so it's always warm when I want to drink it. I saw this thing that chills wine really quickly, and how awesome would that be? After I win the lottery, that's on my list of useless crap to have.
4. A portable generator. So you guys don't have to suffer through posts like this every time I can't do something else.

But what are the coffee crystals made of?

I know it's unbelievable, but I just discovered instant coffee. I like to switch up my tea every now and then, but there's only regular coffee ever brewed at work, and caffeine just makes me itchy and shaky. (And a little dopey and grumpy, too.) And I never really grasped the concept of instant coffee until I saw a container of it on the water cooler and read the back. Genius! So I bought some "coffee crystals" at Safeway, and they're pretty good! I mean, I don't know jack about coffee so I'm not the best judge, but it works for me.

Good thing I discovered this at the same time I started my pack of Crest Whitestrips. Not so genius.

Rest in peaceful protest.

On the Adam Corolla show this morning, Adam was talking to a woman who was planning to picket Heath Ledger's funeral because of Heath's portrayal of a gay man. She's a member of a radical Baptist church that's protesting Heath's sharing of the message that it's OK to be gay.

“Heath Ledger is now in Hell, and has begun serving his eternal sentence there,” the Westboro Baptist announcement says.

Whaa?! Seriously? I guess it shouldn't surprise me, given that people are willing to blow themselves up in the name of God, that people are also willing to make complete idiots out of themselves in the name of God. It just bothers me that these people are so close-minded. Like, isn't the idea of God supposed to encourage people to live better lives, to be kind and loving? Their God doesn't sound like too nice of a guy.

But why take their anger out on a DEAD man? That's the most shocking part - that people are going to be grieving and they're exploiting it to gain attention for their cause. I hope somebody smacks that chick in the face. I know, violence isn't the answer, but it sounds like in their religion it might be.

Cooking tips

I know most of you probably don't care about cooking, but I think these things I've learned recently can help everyone. And I post so randomly that maybe you'll read this even if you don't care, just because it's new!

• When hard-boiling eggs, use old eggs. Seriously. At least seven days. Otherwise you end up with a bowl full of mess that's half pitted eggs, half shells still stuck on. And a full portion of frustration.
• Baking powder expires. (I know!) If you don't bake often and don't want to buy it every few months, try this: Mix one part baking soda to one part cornstarch and two parts cream of tartar.
• It's important to use really cold butter when baking pastries, because when it hits the oven it lets off steam, forcing the pastry to rise.

Wednesday random thoughts.

• When doing "business" at work, why not travel to a lesser-used bathroom? Especially if it's going to take a while? We must have four bathrooms here, and two are definitely off the radar: one upstairs, and one f'ing freezing one toward the back. It just seems that there would be less stress in those situations, and a feeling of "Safe Toilet Syndrome." (Google it, with "Dr. Oz.")
• I am addicted to those little boxes of Valentine's Sweethearts. Not the regular kind, but the chocolate kind. They're modeled on Necco wafers, and I have a two-a-day habit. Which, at 110 calories each, pretty much negates my workout.
• Is cleave at work ever acceptable? I understand we in newspapers aren't paid very much, but clothes that can do double duty as clubwear and business casual aren't in existence. Maybe I'm just jealous, but it seems there are some shirts that are debatable, and some that are just obviously inappropriate.

Easy-bake.

Sunday was baking day this weekend, because I'd borrowed a cookbook from my friend Genette at work, and I was on a deadline to get it back to her. My mom loves scones, and there was a delicious-sounding oatmeal variation in this book, so I thought I'd try it out. And I actually had some of the stuff from previous projects (I don't have a pantry, so I don't often keep supplies "just because.") The only thing was I had to buy a food processor, but I'm all for impulse purchases.

The recipe was pretty simple -- the only thing was I forgot the cardinal rule of flaky pastry: make sure the butter is cold. I side-tripped after the grocery store, and then laid everything out in preparation for baking, so it was decidedly room temp by the time I processed it. But whatever. Practice makes perfect. But everything else seemed pretty easy, and the result was beautiful!

I love how it's always a surprise when you bake. You put something in that's pretty much inedible (except when it's cookies), and after 15 minutes it's delicious.

Fashion memo

Cute, cheap shoes alert: Payless' Hellene slingbacks. They're like $17 and even though they give you some crazy blisters, they're adorable, and perfect for those pants that aren't a good length for flats, but look like highwaters if you wear 'em with the big-girl shoes.

I know enough to know I don't know.

It's officially election time. I'm officially a Democrat, but that still leaves a lot to be decided in the primaries. What kind of Democrat am I? One with a strong stance on war, or do I care more about health care? The Vote Smart Web site is a great resource to find out about how each presidential candidate voted on certain issues, broken down by category, during their tenure. Unfortunately, neither Clinton nor Obama (the only two I've looked at) wanted to share their stances on political issues posed by the organization.

My next stop - The New York Times archive. I really care to be educated this time around. If nothing else, it makes for good dinner table conversation. If you don't abide by the adage of avoiding religion and politics at dinner.

Goddamn you, Gardasil.

I kind of hate health insurance companies. And not just because I saw "Sicko." I decided to get the Gardasil shot after a friend of mine who has a master's in public health told me that I was ridiculous to ignore a vaccine that could prevent cancer, the first of its kind. The coverage is for girls 11-26, and I was 26 when I went in. Apparently it's a series of three shots. The first one was covered; the other two are not. What kind of shit is that? Like, shouldn't it be dependent on when I started the treatment? I know I was 27 when I got those other two shots, but it's not logical to think I'd get one and not the others. They're a package! And the girl at the insurance company, when I called to ask, said, "Sure! If you start the series when you're 26, we should cover them all."

Anyway, it's $150 a pop, so if you're old like me and considering it, just know that much. This has been a public service message.

Happy new year!

I'm not making resolutions this year. That's a good sign, I think. I don't feel like I have to eat healthier (thought I totally should) or lose weight or find a better job. I would like to be more adventurous, but it's not something that I just thought of on Jan. 1, so I don't think it counts as a resolution. Maybe cook more. That's a good one. And watch less MTV.

I spent NYE in Phoenix with my friend Laura. We hardly ever get to see each other, so when we do it's nice that there's an excuse to drink. I flew out of the Stockton airport, if you can call it that. It's pretty much two rooms: one for checking in, and another for waiting. The problem with the waiting room is that there's no bathroom or water. So do get either, you need to leave and come back through security. Isn't that ridiculous? With the laws being what they are, at least put an Aquafina vending machine over there. Anyway, the flight was uneventful, and no one tried to have a conversation, which made my day.

As soon as I got there I wanted to eat, so we hit up: Wal-Mart. I love supermarkets over restaurants because the choices are so much better. However, I bought Goldfish crackers, popcorn and soda. So maybe a restaurant would've been healthier. But I was on vacation! Phoenix Wal-Mart was a hell of a lot nicer than Stockton Wal-Mart. There were still the obligatory harried-looking soccer moms and slow-moving elders with coupons, but it seemed more spacious and clean and organized. Or maybe I just hate Stockton and project my feelings onto everything I see, including Wal-Mart.

After bingeing, we went over to her old roommate's to get ready, then went to his friend's to drink a little beforehand. He's a fun guy. Who wanted to smuggle vodka into the bar.

He should've worn bigger pants.

The bar we went to, Casey Moore's, was fun. It wasn't a NYE-destination place, which was awesome, because there was no cover and fewer hoochies. But they didn't even pass out Champagne for a toast! The countdown was really random - one guy started doing it, and everyone was like, "Oh, is it time?" So who knows if we celebrated right, but it doesn't really matter.

Then Laura and I took off and stopped by the burrito place, because what better way to break all possible resolutions at once? (Swearing, drinking, smoking, eating disgusting foods late at night ...) But it was the perfect way to end the night, because the cashier guy totally gave us roses! Even after I was accidentally a little patronizing and said "Por favor" and other lame Spanish shit in an attempt to be friendly.