Tuesday, November 29, 2011

It makes me yummy.

Me (watching a video a co-worker made that I created a lower-third graphic for): "Hm.. I don't know if he used my lower third."

Jack: "Maybe he didn't like your lower third."

Me: "He did like my lower third!"

Jack: "He'd better not like your lower third."

And then he said "I love milk. It makes me yummy." And made an elephant noise.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

In which I ride in a car and eat Nibs

(So, yeah, I wrote this at the airport on Sunday and forgot to post it until now. Because I am efficient like that.)

I have been in 11 states in the last four days.



That's a fifth of them, you guys.

As I mentioned in my previous (nonsensical) post, I flew up to Boston on Wednesday to ride with my brother from there to Colorado Springs, where he and his wife are moving this month.

I got there Wednesday night and crammed in a double-dinner of Nick's Roast Beef (you'll never want Arby's again if you eat here) and clam chowder at a second restuaurant. I wanted both since it was probably the last time I would visit Boston for a while, so they kindly obliged.

Actually, my pregnant sister-in-law relished the experience - she's in her second trimester and it seems that she just can't get enough food (she is also super-tiny and adorable and all belly). I'm not even close to pregnant but who am I to be an unsupportive sister-in-law? Bring on the multiple-meal meals!

That morning, Shane and Cassandra had their "find out if it's a boy or a girl" ultrasound, and Shane wanted to wait until I arrived to tell me/everyone else.

Our mother was not a fan of this idea. At all. Which obviously made it all the more fun (see what happens when you let us push your buttons, Mom?).

When I arrived, they handed me a stack of ultrasound pictures and had me "guess," though the "money shot" didn't make it a difficult guessing game at all - It's a BOY! I'm super-excited for them (they are SO well-suited for a boy) and for me (a nephew weeee!). His name is Devin and he will be all kinds of cool.

Shane and I left early Thursday morning and drove 15 hours through Massachusets, Conneticut, New York, Pennslyvania, Ohio (where I kept missing the turns and trying to go to Cleveland, apparently) and ended up in Fort Wayne, Indiana for the night. Fort Wayne was a little out of our way but Shane basically insisted that I get to see my buddy Ellyn, even though it added some time to the drive. (Squee.)





We enjoyed a really nice breakfast with El and the kids (Coen smiles at me now - I'm wary of the positive attention after all the time he spent in judement of me, so don't worry, I'm on my guard) and spent Friday driving through Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, and Kansas. When we finally stopped in Hays, Kansas at about midnight, we were having a tough time finding a hotel on Hotwire so when we finally got one booked we asked the front desk lady what the big event was in the area.

We figured she would say something about a Kansas State game, but instead, her answer surprised us.

"Pheasant hunting," she said.

"Pheasant hunting?" we replied.

"Yeah, you're lucky to even get a room. They've got everything in this area booked solid," she said.

Um. Okay.

The next day, we were talking about the pheasant hunting.

"Have you ever eaten a pheasant?" Shane asked.

"No, I don't think so," I replied, "but I'm guessing it's probably a lot like any other bird."

"It's a bird?" Shane asked.

"Uh, yeah..." I said. "What were you picturing?"

"A little poor guy," he replied.

"A British one?"

"Yeah," Shane said, "like in Oliver Twist."

If they're hunting little poor Englishmen in Kansas, I guess it makes sense that people would want to come see that.

Saturday was a short drive thanks to our two long days before, so we got to Colorado Springs at about 2 p.m. and had some time to unload the car at Shane's rental house and do a little baby clothes shopping now that we know that they're having a boy.

Shane wanted a little Broncos jersey, so we headed to the mall to see what JC Penny had. As we passed by ridiculous onsies and tiny shirts that said stupid stuff like "My grandma hearts me" and "Daddy's little genius" and "My auntie is cooler than your auntie" (alright that one is totally true) and "Txt me for a good time!" (what??), Shane was getting angrier and angrier.

"Why do they put stupid crap like this on baby clothes?" he seethed "Some of these don't even make any sense! I would never dress my baby in this!"

We left JC Penny immediately, Shane nearly hyperventallating, and I directed him to Dick's Sporting Goods instead, where we figured maybe we would find the little Broncos jersey.

No luck. I headed to the cashier's station, where I asked one of the guys working there if there was somewhere else in the mall that might carry a baby-sized Broncos jersey.

"We didn't have one here?" he asked.

Uh, yeah, dude, You did have them here. It's just that I would rather get directions from you to somewhere else I can buy it.

Anyway, we ended up finding quite a few little Broncos onesies and pajamas and things (and later at Target I found the tiniest little jersey ever but Shane forbade me to buy it because it was a Tebow jersey). I think Devin is pretty well-set to be a Colorado baby now.




Speaking of Colorado, OH THE PRETTY.





Must. Stay. Forever.

Or at least long enough to stop getting winded every time I climb one freaking flight of stairs. Stupid altitude.

(Who needs a karate school anyway?)

Anyway, mission accomplished. Shane's in Colorado now and will do that whole trip again with Cassandra in a few weeks, we listened to an entire book (read "Unbroken" by Laura Hillenbrand immediately by the way, especially if you're in just too good of a mood lately), I introduced Alece to the word "Nibs," and I figured out that my love of sleeping in sauna-like conditions are a Crawford trait - Shane cranked the heat up so high every time we got to a hotel. It was AWESOME.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go work on persuading Jack to move to Colorado too.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

In which... I don't know, what was I supposed to be doing again?

I have to be on a plane in about 9 hours. And I'm not packed.

But hey, I'm blogging instead, so that's productive.

I also Skyped with my very favorite buddies tonight (instead of packing). And went to Starbucks with Jack (instead of packing). And watched New Girl (SERIOUSLY, WATCH IT) and Parenthood (instead of packing).

I am a Master Procrastinator. I'm a... Mastinator?

Never mind. Scratch that last part. Those aren't words you should combine.

By the way, I love combining words. I don't know if I've ever blogged about my love for combining words, but I do love it. I mean, the very word "blog" is a combination of words, so maybe that's why blogging and I get along so well.

I make phone promos every month at work - you know, the on-hold music with the "thank you for staying on the line" that you get when you call our offices and we put you on hold? Yeah, I make those. Except instead of "phone promos," I call them "phomos." And then I get all excited inside when I write it on my little to-do list at work, because, teehee! Look! I made a word out of two words!

I made it my life's goal to get our project coordinator to use the word "phomos" during our production meetings.

Well, that and making the perfect batch of hummus. That was my other life's goal. I have accomplished both of those things, so, I guess, this is goodbye? I can die now?

Sheesh. Did I have a point tonight?

Ah, yes. Leaving tomorrow. Flying to Boston. Driving from Boston to Colorado. Flying back from Colorado.

My brother is moving, see. And his wife and fetus aren't joining him there until a few weeks from now. And did you know it takes a long time to drive from Boston to Colorado, and if you go by yourself, you could DIE?

So, I'm going too. Because that's what good sisters do.

They ride in the car for three days with their brothers so their brothers don't die.

(Especially if they just want to go too. Because yay, countryside and lots of snacks!)

And books. We will listen to books too.

All while not dying.

That is the plan.

And as plans go, I think it's a good one.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Gingerbrexia

Apparently, Jack and I have food issues.

Oh, not of the eating disorder variety. And not of the body image variety.

No, this would be of the "bad decisions" variety. And the "lazy" variety.

You see, for the last two nights, all Jack and I have had for dinner was Starbucks gingerbread lattes. And while perhaps the gingerbread latte has some fabulous well-balanced nutrition that I don't know about (I think the red cup gives it extra power, maybe?), I still kind of doubt that's the best choice for a complete dinner.

It happened innocently enough - Jack came home from work on Tuesday night super-excited that it was red cup day (yes, we are THOSE people) and therefore gingerbread latte day (YES, WE ARE THOSE PEOPLE), so he whisked me off to Starbucks just before they closed. We sat and held hands on the table-top (YES! We ARE those people!) and sipped our lattes and talked. TALKED! Because, um, marriage is hard, and sometimes you have to sit and hold hands and sip lattes and talk.

Until you get kicked out because they are closing*, but then you can just go home and sit on the back porch and finish your lattes and conversation there.

Related: Our dog gets VERY nervous when we sit outside. She's like "WHY ARE WE OUT HERE? TAKE ME INSIDE! DO YOU KNOW THERE'S, LIKE, RABBITS AND WIND AND STUFF OUT HERE? WHYYYY ARE WE OUTSIDE!? DID YOU KNOW THAT THIS DOOR WILL TAKE US BACK INSIDE IF YOU JUST COME OVER AND OPEN IT? THIS IS ALL SO VERY TERRIFYING!!!"

I feel like we may have done something wrong in this dog-owner relationship but I can't quite pinpoint what.

So anyway, by the time we finished our lattes and New Girl (WATCH IT IMMEDIATELY IF YOU ARE NOT ALREADY), it was sleepy time so dinner didn't really matter.

Okay, no big deal, we can skip dinner every so often, right?

Except. We did the exact same thing last night. Minus the hand-holding because, seriously, too much of that is just gross.

When we went to bed last night, I sighed.

"I'm SO HUNGRY," I whined in the darkness.

"Me too," Jack said.

"We probably should have eaten dinner," I said.

Because, you know, we are adults and all. And hey, there is a way to fix this problem! Cook dinner! Eat it!

We went to sleep instead.

Which, judging by my recent cooking experience, was probably a good choice. Because the last dinner I tried to cook? Ranch burgers with fries?

Didn't go well.

Actually, the ranch burgers went okay. (Except that they were "bland" according to Jack, which, stab stab stab.)

But the fries.

See, I've never made fries before (or deep fried anything before). And instead of, you know, Googling anything or finding some kind of recipe for said fries, I just kind of cut up potatoes into French fry shapes and heated up a bunch of oil in a pot.

And I kept heating it and heating it and heating it. And darn if it didn't boil like I thought it was supposed to.

I put one "test fry" in the oil and it made a terrible hissing sound. Within 6 seconds it was burned to a crisp on the outside and still completely raw on the inside.

COOKING TIP: DON'T TRY TO HEAT OIL TO BOILING; IT WILL NOT TURN OUT WELL.

Candy told me to put a thermometer to if it was 375 degrees yet.

The digital thermometer didn't even return a number. It just said "HI," as in "HOLY CRAP, MANDY WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO THIS OIL!?" I took it off the burner and smoke immediately began pouring out of the pan.

Jack and I began running around, turning on fans and opening windows as our house filled with smoke. The dog was sneezing and our eyes were burning and it was getting hard to see anything through the haze.

So we did what any adults would do while the smoke cleared - we grabbed our burgers and walked over to my mommy's house down the street.

Oddly, they didn't even question it when we walked in with our plates and burgers. Just started talking to us like nothing was odd at all about us bringing our dinner over to eat there.

I guess by now everybody's used to my cooking.


--

*At 10:40? Can they really kick you out at 10:40 when they actually close at 11? I was kind of unhappy about this but I never question a Barista (THEY HAZ DA DRUGZ!) so we did leave.