'Cause I Know A Habit Is A Hard Thing to Bear...naise...

I'm watching station 11-4. I don't know what that is on digital TV, I just know that on my digital converter box it's 11-4, and there is currently a man on it winning my heart with a French accent, seared steaks, sauteed thyme, and a new and exotic way to make bearnaise sauce. Sweet crunchy cracker, I don't even know what to say. Who knew? Who knew that bearnaise could be wrestled far more simply than I have ever dreamt possible?*

I am spending the week in the company of family. Family can, from time to time, be far more fun than anything on the earth save the board game Encore**. The Whit, Bighead Ethan, Destructicon, and Smiley Kylie spent last night with me. Moments like this make me wish I weren't so confident that as a woman living alone there is no reason for extraneous room, as I will just fill it with crap; gracious as they are, I can't help but wanting to apologize every fifteen seconds for the fact that I live in approximately 800 square feet, and that when the boys try to write a report on Pilgrims, they can reference weeks like this as they try to write their Magnum Opus, "What It Felt Like To Cross On The Mayflower." They are all exceptionally kind, though, and make me feel like I could host a thousand. I can't help but adore each of them, and the Best! Thing! Ever! Is that now they live close enough that it is entirely probable I can show up randomly on a weekend and touch their stuff and smell funny. Just like they do to me.

I love those kids. I love them so much that if I were to try and express it, I'd turn into Creepy Aunt who Pinches Cheeks or Kisses Noisily When Not Invited. I'd wrap my arms around them and snuggle with them for a thousand years and refuse to let them go, not even for bathroom breaks. (We all know it's just a matter of time, but leave me my illusions.)

This evening was no exception, as the Nutz Brothas continue to grow and expand in their gorgeousness.

Tomorrow is the wedding of the eldest sista of the Nutz Brothas, and I am sure all will be resplendant and on their best behavior. In the interim, however, I will remind myself that I need a pedicure but won't have time for one between now and tomorrow night, that Chris Isaak loves pedicures, and that no matter how much time you take off work, it's just going to suck worse tomorrow.

Got that goin' for me.

*Probably every chef in the world knew. Well, shut the hell up. Unless you told me, your knowledge does NOTHING to help me at this juncture, so I will continue in my crush on the French guy with the bad hair and the suggestion that bearnaise can be handled by whisking the egg yolks and butter together, then sauteeing the vinegar, wine, tarragon, and shallots, bringing them to room temperature and combining the two. How come that seems so much easier than every version I've ever tried? Is that authentic? Is it NOT authentic, but TASTES authentic, differentiated only by pretentious wieners who insist they can taste the difference if they know that it was prepared differently?

**Which nobody will play with me. I tried it once, figuring I was in a room full of music afficionados and geeks. The insufferable malaise of watching them deign to try and suffer through such a plebian game nearly was their undoing, never mind mine.

Post Apocalyptic Christmas Funk

I know it's nothing new under the sun, but I loathe January.

Just when I get used to people eating every day like I eat--that is to say, unstintingly and without comments like "How many calories do you think I'm consuming?" or the always popular "This is fat free, right?"--it all comes brutally to an end. With nary so much as a by-your-leave or a here's-just-one-more-box-of-Sees-chocolates-and-I-don't-mean-the-nuts-and-chews-box-either, January hits and suddenly I'm surrounded by these militant diet Nazis who are absolutely determined to take every bit of joy out of everything that has just transpired. So maybe the jeans are a trifle muffin-top-esque; so perhaps that sweater is more Divine than Lana Turner; who does something cold turkey and actually expects it to stick? We all know that New Years resolutions last, on the whole, approximately six weeks, max. After that it's back to the "this isn't on my diet, but it's so good" ouevre.

Until then I am forced to deal with bastard people who claim they won't eat anything not on their New Beach diet. And yet somehow a package of Albertson's chocolate chip cookies were voraciously consumed in under 15 minutes today. Did I say consumed? Perhaps I meant inhaled.

I don't know. It's a hard quandary. If you're going to stay up all night making cinnamon rolls for people, you want people to acknowledge them as the greatest cinnamon rolls of all time. You want them to grovel. You want them to worship. At the very least you are expecting ranting, raving, and the occasional curse word from people who are on a diet but "Just can't help themselves." Somehow it's lessened when you wonder...are they eating the Albertson's cookies because there is nothing else on the horizon, or because they truly are philistines and have no concept of the difference beween the shortening and hairnet crowd, and artistan cinnamon rolls created with the truly magnificent maple-wood rolling pin gifted you for your birthday by one of your Best! Friends! Ever! ?

Does it really matter in the end?

Also, New Years' resolutions suck. It's the penultimate experience of a hairshirt, or maybe drawn-and-quartered with your eyes picked out by corbies. They just serve to make you realize all teh ways in which you are falling down in life and love, and ultimately all you can change about either of those remains internal--which if you really wanted to change you would have before or after, not needing a particular date to think to yourself "Gosh, I'm something of an asshat, perhaps I should rethink my approach toward God and man."

Since New Years' Resolutions have the aforementioned shelf life of approximately 6 weeks, give or take 4 weeks in the offing, I always vote with the Chinese New Year as the time for the traditional "I should change this" plan.

So what am I contemplating this year as far as resolutions, goals, and general ways to better my life?

Regrettably, I am a shallow, shallow person and so all of my goals are equally shallow and vapid. It makes them (a) both easier to achieve; and (b) that much more satisfying, since I can generally meet all of them. New years' Resolutions are sort of the equivalent of deodorant for me; at some point they are going to crap out, and I have to plan for backup if I'm going to make it through the allotted time with my laissez-faire intact. (It's so much easier to judge others than to actually live up to self-actualized expectations.)

Really, I'm not sure yet what I'm intending. Since my work day yesterday consisted of discussing who would be killed and eaten in the event we we suffered a Donner-party snowfall (entirely possible at 9:30 a.m. and utterly ridiculous by 11:00 a.m., how I love this state), I suppose there ought to be at least something career minded included in the list. Perhaps it will be simply not killing the junior attorney, who both deserves it and somehow invites it simply by virtue of existing. Plus he's an asshat, but that's neither here nor there.

Stay tuned, fellow Americans. While almost anything is possible, it's absolutely guaranteed that it won't be a goal to maintain freshly mown Landscaping and Legs. One must be practical, after all; who wants to be that hallowed dreamer?