Mexican Town Trunk Show

Mayas Jewelry and Shop

This week I stopped by a Latina Trunk Show that was hosted by the Mexican Town Welcome Center and Mercado. It was a lovely event.  Complete with beverages, appetizers and desserts.  (The coffee was excellent, and I’m a coffee snob!)  I met Monica Cervantes.  She runs a fabulous jewelry shop in the Mercado (see photo, left).  That’s Monica in the black blouse and white trousers, helping a customer.

Also of note was the Felicidades Gift shop.  Where Sonia, the owner, carries these candles that she makes (see photos, below).  As the story goes, she had a dream one night about these candles, and then began making them the very next day.  I know, they look like food.  They’re candles though (and the scents are delectable). 

 

Art Opening at the Pinwheel

Tonight my friend Tom and I had dinner in Ferndale.  After which I wanted a coffee and maye even dessert.  We took a stroll down 9 Mile when I spoted the art work of Carl Oxley inside a little bakery/cafe.  Lo and behold, it was a opening, of a show of Carl’s work.

Carl Oxley & Taurus Burns

 

Tigers vs. Yankees

Yes, I went to a baseball game. It was only my 3rd Tiger’s baseball game, ever.  Well, really only my 2nd.  Becauase the first one I ever went to (I was abou 10) was rained out.  So we went to the stadium, and sat there for awhile.  And then they called off the game, before it ever got started.  And we all went home.   The next time I went to a game was about 20 years later.  And the Tiger’s had started playing at Comerica Park.  I was with friends who drink a lot of beer, so I passed the time by drinking.

But this time, the 3rd time, I was with friends who don’t drink.  So I tried to sit still in my seat, and tried to pay attention to the game.  It was tough though, and I found myself daydreaming.  My friend, Calvin tried to explain the game to me.  I tried to pay attention and I tried to muster up every bit of interest that I possibly could.

 

This Can’t Really Be Possible. Can it?

Do you remember how you felt when you heard about the flesh eating disease for the first time?  Like, “Ew, no way.  That happens to people?  That could happen to me?”

That’s how I felt last night.  My friend Jennifer called me up from San Fran and in the midst of our conversation about the link to the Paris Hilton crotch shots that she’d emailed me and a documentary about two-headed twins, she casually mentioned that she’s lost her desire for coffee.  Even in the morning, she just hasn’t been into it.

 What?!  That happens to people, just out of the blue?  Could that happen to me?

Jennifer is a girl who’s always been able to appreciate a great cup of coffee.  She taught me the beauty of the atop-the-cup single serving cone filter brewing method (she even travels with her own, so as to always be preparred).  I like my coffee strong, but Jennifer will use the amount of grounds from which I feel comfortable brewing two cups for just one single cup, and not a drop more.

For this to happen to Jennifer really scares me.  I hope it doesn’t happen to me.

 

Get Down With OPP

My creativity is on vacation.  So I’m resorting to posting links to other people’s posts.

Check out this dude, Chris, who writes from the East Villiage.  Here’s a great post of his:

Questions I Want to Ask Potential New Roommates Based On Experiences with the Roomate He Will Be Replacing 

 

Automatic Responses

Okay, so you know how the moment you sink a can opener blade into a can of tuna a cat’s ears will perk up, they’ll drop whatever they were doing, and come running as fast as they can?

This is my version of the cat-and-tuna-can phenomenon.  When I hear the tap running in the kitchen for more than 20 seconds I know exactly what it means.  It means MG is thawing meat for dinner.

This morning I was in the living room when I realized the tap was running.  Suddenly I was filled with glee and I came running to the kitchen to see.   I found this in the sink (see photo) and found MG surfing up pheasant recipes.  And I knew exactly what this all meant!  Pheasant for dinner along with tonight’s Project Runway finale viewing.

 

Text in the Food

Jones and I are in D.C.  I found this onion in my salad last night while we were having dinner.  It’s in the shape of my first initial.  I took it as an auspicious sign.

 

I’d Never Seen Anything Like It

One night last week I was in my bedroom with the door closed.  When suddenly this (pictured above) slid in from under my door.  Perplexed, I picked it up to investigate.

It’s a gummy T-bone steak.  That’s right, a big gummy candy in the shape of a T-bone steak and even packaged like a piece of meat.

Michael had brought it home for me.  He knows that I like food that’s in the shape or form of something other than itself.

 

I’m a Reality TV Pop Culture Junkie (and I Have the Dress Now to Prove it).

I am now the owner of this dress. 

It was created by Michael as part of last week’s Project Runway episode.  Yep, I just spent an arm and a leg on a dress that I’ll probably have to starve myself for 2 months to wear.

I’m hoping that maybe I can make up some of the cost of the dress with all the money I’ll save on food.  Oh and it’s a reversible dress, so it’s kind of like 2 dresses in one… right?

 I’m trying to justify this crazy purchase any way I can.  How am I doing so far?

 

Dorkwave. August Theme: Oral Hyjinx

More photos will be uploaded soon.  Right now I’m still recovering.

 

Serious Sexy Coffee

I found this quesiton posted on a discussion group for people who are super-serious about coffee. 

—–
Discussions > Espresso > Latte Art > Too much crema?
Posted by: Steve
I roast my own beans and usually use them up before they are a week old.  I have a terrible time getting the microfoam to break through the crema, usually just gurgles and bubbles underneath.  Is it a function of too much crema or not stretching the milk enough (or something else)?  I am usually stretching until I feel the pitcher just starting to get warm then bury the tip.  I have tried stretching a little longer and that seems to be too long-get the dry foam on top.
—–

People posting to this site create profiles for themselves that include their pertinent personal details.  You know, just like MySpace, right?

Here are Steve’s Stats:
Espresso: Pasquini Livia 90S
Grinder: Mazzer SJ
Drip: Clarity
Roaster: Stir crazy/convec oven

He sounds dreamy!  Totally my type.  (And is it just me, or was his crema post a bit suggestive?)

If you’re interested in reading more of this shit (it’s seriously fascinating, and I’m not being sarcastic), visit CoffeeGeek.com and check out the forums.

 

I am in Love

I am in love with the Carbon 60 molecule.  It’s just so beautiful.  I don’t know what else to say. 

 

Dogs and Stuffed Animals

This what I often come home to.  Dogs with stuffed animals.

 

 

 

Oh You’re Sooooo Pedestrian.

This is Sarah.  Sarah is 4 and 1/2.

Today she gave me a little tutorial on how to walk on my hands.

I tried to reason with myself that her center of gravity is lower, so no wonder she’s so much better at this than me. 

 

Sucks Ass

I think my life is falling apart today.  An online form we created for a client is generating a ton of errors (I’m told by one of our programmers that it’s all because of a lack of validation… story of my freaking life, technologically and psychologically), my head hurts.  Plus Nada, Keith and I got into a screaming match this morning that included me yelling the “f” word really inappropriately.

But we all made up and went to Au Bon Pain for lunch (using the free coupons from Jerry that I talked about in yesterday’s post, below).  My salad arrived with the dressing tossed in and not on the side as I’d ordered.  Keith found 3 hairs in his sandwich.

And to top it off, I just found out that there might not be a Dorkwave party this month.  Sucks. 

 

Too Much Sucre from Au Bon Pain!

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wore my “fat pants” to work today.  And then complained to my coworker, Nada, all day long that they’re not so loose anymore.  And that that’s a BAD sign.  They used to hang off me.

Next thing I know, Jerry, the owner of the local Au Bon Pain arrived with this offering of pastries for me.  (see photo above.)   He said the feedback letter I’d sent them last week was the most detailed he’d ever received in his 20 years in customer service.  I’m really not sure if I should take that as a compliment or as a scary commentary on my obsessive nature.

You see, last week I’d had it with Au Bon Pain and I wrote them a feedback email.  4 out of my 5 recent food visits were really frustrating, and I wanted to let them know, with some constructive input.  (Plus, writing my detailed letter was a great distraction from doing my actual work.)

I kind of like the place overall, and some of the menu items.  But the customer service had been so weird.  They would modify my orders to work around the fact that they were persistently out of major items.  But they would modify the order and not say anything.  I’d discover it back at the office and be like, WTF is this?  This is some spontaneous random creation that I didn’t order, this doesn’t even exist on the menu!

I started referring to it as Au Bon Pain in the Ahsss.  And I was beginning to hear the buzz around the office about how “That place’ll never last… “.  Damn, if that was my restaurant, I’d want to know!

The pastries sound like a sweet ending to the story but the reality is that Nada and I ate so many of them that we ended up feeling sick all night long.  I was so geeked up on the sugar that I couldn’t sit still for hours.  So now I’m pissed again.  I feel fatter than ever.  (Now it’s not just Au Bon Pain in the Ahss.  It’s Au Bon Pain in the Faht Ahss.)  Plus Jerry basically used the same tactics that work so well for drug dealers… give ’em a free taste, and get ‘em hooked. 

(After the sick feeling goes away, Nada and I know we’re going to want more.  And we’re probably going to trot our fat asses up to Au Bon Pain for another fix.  Great.  Looks like I’ll be wearing the fat pants for awhile longer.)  

 

Here’s Your Rib, Baby

Chris has been pissed at me for weeks because I have one more rib than he has.  He thinks that whole Biblical Adam and Eve story is just so unfair.  He’s hiding how pissed he really is in this photo.  That’s a fake smile that he’s forcing so that no one will know how mad he is at me.  And I’m guzzling that glass of wine to dull the pain of his persistent resentment over this issue.

I’ve told him we can try to find a doctor who will listen to his case and who might agree to a rib transplant.  (Taking one of mine and giving it ”back” to him.)  What do I care?  First of all, I’m a Buddhist now anyway, so whatever.  Secondly, hell, he can take a few.  Maybe if my ribcage was smaller it would make me look bustier overall.

Anyway, this evening we went out to Slow’s BBQ for drinks and dinner (as pictured above) and Chris ordered ribs.  I might not be able to give him a rib back.  But I can buy him some to eat. 

 

If Your Therapist Says it, it MUST Be True!

Bob (my sarcastic therapist) wrote me a note today.

As I was going on and on again with my typical “If this okay for me to feel?” self-doubt schtick he looked at me with squinty eyes, inhaled deeply, and then took immediately to his notepad.

(I think he’s sick of the way I go around in circles worrying if what I’m thinking or feeling could possibly inconvenience another person - or make anyone at all uncomfortable… because god forbid if I make anyone uncomfortable.)

Our time was up, so he completed his note to me, and tore the sheet of paper off his notepad.  Extending his arm out towards me, to hand me the note, he spoke very definitively nothing beyond the words: “7 years of grad school… Here you go.”  (That’s a little dose of typical Bob sarcasm.) 

I walked out the door with the note in my hand.   It read, “Diane, DIANE!  Yes.  It is okay.  -Bob”

Maybe it really is that simple.  Mental habits seem so hard to break.

I’ve pulled the note out several times today, to remind myself.  I’m a sad case.  But seriously, Bob is funny.

 

What’s *Not* in a Name?

I’ve been thinking about changing my middle name.  Recently I conducted some internet research to see what would be involved.  

There are many checklists and FAQ’s available online.  For women getting married, men who are a little more non-traditional and getting married, people undergoing gender reassignment, and, of course, people who want to change their name for various other personal identity reasons.

There were some unexpected limits that I discovered, however, regarding what one cannot choose for their new name:

–  You cannot use a name that would be intentionally confusing. Such as a number or punctuation — for example, “10,” “III,” or “?.”  (A man in Minnesota once wanted to change his name to the number “1069″.  Minnesota’s Supreme Court ruled that he could not legally do so, but suggested that “Ten Sixty-Nine” might be acceptable.)

–  You cannot choose a name that is a racial slur.

–  You cannot choose a name that could be considered a “fighting word,” which includes threatening or obscene words, or words likely to incite violence.

(Damn, no numbers or obscenities allowed.  There go all my ideas for my new name.)

   

 

Kids Don’t Need Drugs to Trip Out and Think Everything’s Amazing

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yesterday I drove around with my friends Paul and Oli (pictured above) listening to techno.  Oli is 2 & 1/2-years-old and loves singing along with the lyrics of Soulwax’s tune, “It’s not you, it’s the E talking”.  Occasionally he would also exclaim, “Want gum!” and “Want popsicles!”.

I felt like I was on my way to a rave.  You know, since people tripping on E want gum, popsicles and candy.

But we didn’t go to a rave.  We had some dinner instead.  Oli stayed put in his seat during dinner for a really long time until he couldn’t take it anymore and tried to bail on us and dive over into the next booth (see photo, top right).  

After dinner we drove to Tiffany’s, listening to more techno (Paul had to pick up an engagement ring for a friend.  Interestingly this is not the first time I’ve gone with him on an engagement/wedding ring pick-up).  Oli was tripping on the white gum.  He loves gum!  He demanded the E Talking song again.  While stretching his gum out into a big long string he exclaimed over and over again, “E Talking!  E Talking!  E Talking” – until I finally put the song back on for him. 

I gave Oli his first-ever gummy candy (my favorite Kasugai Muscat Grape Gummy candy, the flavor is amazing!)  He was mesmerized by the texture of it, but ultimately could not bring himself to eat it.  We tried to explain that it needs to be chewed like gum.  But then swallowed like food.  I even made the connection for him of the gummy candy being like jello, I thought that might help.  But he wasn’t buying it. 

He looked at the gummy candy for a long time, asking incredulously, “It’s candy?  Like candy?”.  Finally he gave up and hurled it accross the car where it landed on Paul’s arm (and stuck there, since Oli had licked it a little). 

 

Here’s How I Can Relate to Sharks

For lunch today (Well, breakfast, really -if you want to get technical) I had sushi at the bar at Crave and watched sharks on the TV.  It’s Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. 

In addition to my usual cucumber salad and miso soup I decided to go with a nigiri salmon theme today.  Sake, smoked salmon, seared salmon and salmon roe.  Here’s a closeup (right) of my samplings.  —–>

As a single woman at the bar at Crave, it’s important to watch out for two things:  the young, overly-enthusiastic, looking-to-get-laid waiters.  And the married in-a-mid-life-crisis Ford engineers.  The former will fish for a opportunity and the latter will mack on you in between bites of their mackerel.  Both will try to get into your physical space.  Which really tests my patience when I’m trying to enjoy a meal in peace and solitude.  I try my best to keep my gaze fixed on the TV and avoid eye contact.

I munched on my salmon today and learned a lot about sharks at the same time.  I learned that shark attacks on humans are relatively rare.  A shark is ultimately not so interested in humans.  A shark knows that a human is not a tasty tuna or a salmon or a mackerel, and subsequently has no need to attack a human – unless the human is harrassing the shark or getting into the shark’s personal space.

(Sharks, the narrator explained, don’t have a very high patience level.) 

As I ate my salmon today I felt a sense of cameraderie with the sharks.  They won’t bite your head off unless you get into their space.  They just want to swim around and eat their fishy lunch.  Without having their space invaded and without being harrassed by the pushy humans.  I can relate.

   

 

You Eat What?

           
              Back                                                                 Front

Okay, listen.  We made this shirt today.  And what makes it so funny to us is that Chris is not fond of vegetarianism - at all.  So we think the play on words is hillarious. 

It also does double-duty by communicating a clear message to any boys out there who think he’s cute and wish that they could snatch him up.

Sorry boys, he is strictly vagitarian! 

 

Generation Y? Generation “Y Not?”!

    
     Before (blank shirt)                             After!  (embellished shirt)
     Trying on blank shirts                           Chris wearing the finished                         
     at American Apparel                              product

This is the first shirt of the X/Y Series. We put a “Y” on this new shirt for Chris today.  And I put an “X” on a shirt for me. 

(GenY: that’s him.  GenX: that’s me.  Get it?)

 

When in Rome… u can txt msg evry1 u no, no mttr whr they r in the wrld!

I finally did it.  Yesterday I finally entered the world of text messaging via phone.

I spent the evening obsessively texting unnecessary info and quips to everyone I know, everywhere.  (Especially to the people who’ve been bugging me for the last few years to finally get on the txt msg bandwagon.)

Then I clipped the nails on my thumbs extra short (to make texting easier).  Then I decided I need to get a whole new phone with a full keyboard.  I’m outta control. 

 

Sign Language

        
       Above: Jen describing a busty woman to Ria.

 <—Left: Jen referencing female anatomy.  
        (To Ria’s dismay.)

They say that spoken words are sometimes unnecessary between good friends.  I think that’s true for me and my friend Jennifer.  Sometimes signs and hand gestures say it all.

 

OMG, I’ve Never Seen One this Big.

My friend Jennifer discovered the hugest bottle of Jean Nate that we have ever seen.  At the ghetto CVS near my place.

Due to the unbelievable size we decided this was blogworthy news. 

(Plus, the rest of our weekend was so scandalous that this is the only oddity we feel is fit for public consumption.) 

 

Dorkwave. July Theme: Pirates.

  

 

A Delightful and Enlightening Discovery, Indeed.

Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher. 

Until recently I never really “got” that whole thing.

But now I get it.  I  get it!

 

Some Signs are Not Auspicious. They are Symbols of Freedom from Emotional Blackmail.

This is me. Matter-of-factly flipping off the USA 3000 “Fly to Florida for $69″ billboard. 

(My afternoon ritual as I’m driving home on 94 E.) 

It’s a little difficult to see the billboard in this photo.  But trust me, it’s behind all those trees.

It feels great flipping off this sign with wholehearted enthusiasm, and not a hint of my former self-doubt.  I’m finally 100% free from the emotional manipulation and FOG (fear, obligation, guilt) and it feels great!  I’m not even angry anymore about what happened.

Now it’s just fun to remind myself how far I’ve come and how free I am - by flipping off the billboard.

 

Meaningful Signs from The Universe

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some families would pick a corner McDonald’s as their landmark for reference and meeting up.  Not the Geigers.  Our point of reference in Philly was the giant olive at the corner of 20th and Chestnut.  A symbol invested with great meaning for us.

It was our North Star for the weekend.