Category Archives: Miscellanea

Simple things.

Are truly the best things sometimes.

* One box of pasta, any shape, wheat or not.
* Newman’s Own Italian or Light Italian dressing. The small bottle.
* Four tablespoons of McCormick’s Salad Supreme, as seen here:

Add black olives, onions, peppers, pepperoni, or tomatoes if you want, but even without those things? This is a DELICIOUS, simple pasta salad.

I thank Lauren’s aunt for turning me onto this crap. It’s too goddamn good.


So, I love food. This goes without saying because most people pretty much love food.

Problem is, I am a food lover with an eating ISSUE.

Fun times!

My biggest food hang up is I eat when I’m bored or depressed. So, in reality? About 35 percent of my day I’m shoveling shit in my mouth. It’s good that I’m cognizant of it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not sitting here consuming my leftover pasta salad in mass quantities even though I know I’m not hungry.

Why do I do this?

Why does my pasta salad have to taste so good?

When will this madness stop?

Honestly, when I become aware of my eating habits I can curtail them. It’s been so long since I actually thought about how and why I eat that I lost track of it, so I anticipate I will be getting better about things. I think I’ll just blame my mother for this, considering she and my grandmother taught me how to cook. If everything I made tasted like dog shit, there wouldn’t be this issue.

Nearly six months.

September third will mark the six month anniversary of my grandmother’s death. I thought about that today, while I was putting my groceries away, and I wasn’t quite sure how to feel. It doesn’t SEEM like she’s been gone that long, which is a good thing.

The last time I saw her she made me a ham sandwich because I hadn’t eaten after work. I remember telling her that no matter how many times I made a ham sandwich, mine would never taste like hers. She said my Uncle Michael always said the same thing to her. Her explanation for it? Hers tasted better because they were made with love.

The other thing I remember about our last face to face meeting, besides the fact that I gave her an obnoxiously loud kiss and told her how much I loved her (which I am so very glad for) – was watching her move around her kitchen. She was a little hunched over and her movements weren’t that great. It bothered me at the time because my grandmother, though in her 80’s, never SEEMED old, but there she was, tottering around in her kitchen, her arthritic hand steadying her on her countertop. When she breathed, every once in a while she’d make a strange little noise. It’s very hard to describe, but it was like she was short of breath and almost sounded like a muted ‘heh’.

Honestly, I didn’t say anything about the breathing or her unsteadiness on her feet because of her monsterous pride. Insinuating she looked weak would have insulted her. This is the woman who SHOULD have had a cane, but refused to walk with one. Abso-fucking-lutely refused. Instead, she just walked as little as possible (which probably wasn’t healthy) to avoid her family’s nagging, so me mentioning her looking unwell? Yeaaaah. Wouldn’t have gone over big. Fart in a spacesuit bad, I’m sure.

It goes without saying I think about her every day, and I really wish she were still around. She used to remind me that she was “The best friend I ever had” because she was the only one in my life who defended me no matter what. I understood when she said it she was making sure I wouldn’t forget her, ever, or what she did for me. I never would have. She didn’t need to keep saying that to me. I hope I never gave her the impression that I wasn’t thankful for what she’d done. I hope I never gave her the impression that she wasn’t the brightest light in my dim little world, because she was. She was my best friend.

I really really miss her.

Glad my tax dollars are being put to good use!

Thanks, CNN.

For those with click-a-phobia:

LOS ANGELES, California (AP) — Here’s a mind-bending idea: The U.S. military is paying scientists to study ways to read people’s thoughts.

Scientists use electroencephalography, or brain wave-reading technology, to measure brain activity.

The hope is that the research could someday lead to a gadget capable of translating the thoughts of soldiers who suffered brain injuries in combat or even stroke patients in hospitals. But the research also raises concerns that such mind-reading technology could be used to interrogate the enemy.

Armed with a $4 million grant from the Army, scientists are studying brain signals to try to decipher what a person is thinking and to whom the person wants to direct the message.

The project is a collaboration among researchers at the University of California, Irvine; Carnegie Mellon University; and the University of Maryland.

The scientists use brain wave-reading technology known as electroencephalography, or EEG, which measures the brain’s electrical activity through electrodes placed on the scalp.

It works like this: Volunteers wear an electrode cap and are asked to think of a word chosen by the researchers, who then analyze the brain activity.

In the future, scientists hope to develop thought-recognition software that would allow a computer to speak or type out a person’s thought.

“To have a person think in a free manner and then figure out what that is, we’re years away from that,” said lead researcher Michael D’Zmura, who heads UC Irvine’s cognitive sciences department.

D’Zmura said such a system would require extensive training by people trying to send a message and dismisses the notion that thoughts can be forced out.

“This will never be used in a way without somebody’s real, active cooperation,” he said.

John Pike, director of, a Virginia-based defense research firm, said the technology is still too nascent to be of practical use for the military.

“They’re still in the proof of principle stage,” Pike said.

A message left with the Army was not immediately returned Friday.

Somehow, I don’t believe the part I bolded out. I really just don’t.


I have three. This does not make me creepy cat lady, as you have to have four to be a creepy cat lady. I READ THAT SOMEWHERE, IT MUST BE TRUE.

/looks pointedly east.

Now then. I love all of my cats, even the anti-social pansy one who hates me so much he refuses to come out from under the couch when I pass. Griff’s my fat, lazy gentleman who doesn’t do much wrong unless you have a cup of coffee or iced coffee, at which point he will climb all over you (all 17 pounds and 43 feet of him) and just annoy the crap out of you. That’s tolerable. No, I’d like to talk about ‘my’ cat, Samara. She’s definitely a Momma’s Girl and follows me around the house meowing. I think this is how half of her life has been spent anyway. “OH LOOK, THE FEMALE IS MOVING. I SHALL TALK AT HER AND FOLLOW HER BECAUSE CLEARLY WHERE SHE GOES I MUST GO TOO. SQUEEEEEEEE.”

That in itself would not be so bad, except for the fact that she’s so spoiled (not my fault?) that she believes my food is her food. So this is a list of foods Samara will maul you to steal: yogurt, grapes, tomatoes, milk, fresh fruit, cheese, bread, and now apparently, apple sauce. I think that might be it. By far the WORST of those? Tomatoes. There was one time when we were living in the apartment that we had pasta for dinner. She was a typical pain in the ass, begging for food, climbing on my desk to try and stick her head into my plate. When I smacked her on the butt and tossed her away, she sulked and stalked into the kitchen. About five minutes later there was this HUGE clamor and a very very distress MREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOW. I ran into the kitchen expecting to find the cat on fire. No, nope. Not my Samara. She’d trash picked and was licking the inside of the tomato sauce can and had unfortunately gotten her head stuck in it. She was running through the house shaking her head screaming, and inevitably bashing into shit she couldn’t see. When I popped the can off of her head, she was smeared in tomato sauce. It bothered her for a whopping twenty seconds and then she settled down to clean herself, as happy as can be.

The thing that sparked this post today was she actually leaped at me to get my apple sauce. I was trying to enjoy it for my breakfast, and then OHMYGODKITTENAERIALATTACK. I managed to keep my hold on it so there wasn’t an apple sauce catastrophe all over my rug, but Jesus Christ. I love her, but sometimes I have no idea what the crap to do with her.

Bad Kitty, No Biscuit.

/gets mauled