Dewey Decimal is An A-hole.

I've been working on budgeting better and was looking at expenses - and noticed that hoooo doggies, I spend a lot on books. Too much.

So I decided to get me a library card. I found our local library system online and signed up - and the card came in the mail yesterday. It said all I needed to do was show up with picture i.d. and my card and I'd be golden.

Here's what I forgot about public libraries. Since I actually haven't set foot inside one in um, ten or so years.

You can't find shit.

That is, unless you're good friends with Dewey Decimal. And believe me, I would have no problem getting reacquainted with him, but stupid me, I brought my toddler to the library with me. I thought he'd be awestruck by all the books. That he'd sit down in a little beanbag chair and pore over all the wonderful picture books.

[Not my kid]

I had a rude awakening when I was reminded that my child is not, and will never be, that child. A library child. He's more of a let 'em loose in WalMart child. A park child. A circus child. Not a 'quiet place' child.

Especially a quiet place with a ginormous fish tank.

FIIIIIISSHHHHHH!!! Fish! Mommeeeee, fish!!

Yeah, I see them.

I figured out pretty quickly that the little list of books I wanted to find, so neatly tucked inside my purse, would be staying put. No books for me today.

We went directly to the children's section. Where my son decided to lie down on the floor and roll around. I grabbed for a couple books that looked semi interesting, scooped him up under my arm and made for the checkout counter.

All the way there, he made a racket. Mommeeeee! Books!! BOOOOOOKKEEEEES! Even the men at computers hunched over the free internet (porn) stopped and looked up.

My saving grace was that there were a few 'recommended' books right by checkout. And one was, in fact, on my little list.

Thank you God. I hope you don't mind me picking up a book that has 'blue balls' in the title. It's been a rough day.

Well Read

I adore reading. As long as I can remember, I have devoured books. The library was one of my favorite places to go as a child. In the summer, we'd go every few weeks, and I'd walk out, barely able to peer over the teetering stack of books precariously perched in my arms.

My mom stopped sending me to my room for punishment, cause to me? That was like heaven. I could just go read and read and read.

Judy Blume was my favorite. Of course, I would get in trouble for reading her. Cause they were 'sexy'. All that talk about breasts and periods. Um....

I guess Forever was a little racy. Maybe.

I do remember getting my hands on a copy of Elvis and Me, Priscilla Presley's autobiography, when I was about ten. Totally inappropriate, and the person who lent it to me? My eighty year old great grandma. My mom didn't catch me with that one till I was done and re-reading it.

Then I moved on to Sweet Valley High. I always pretended like I liked Elizabeth better, because she was the sweet twin, but I always really wanted to be Jessica. And I bet you did too. Liar.

And those really awful Christopher Pike murder mysteries? Read those too. Those were like soft teenaged porn, really. Our parents had NO IDEA.

In college I majored in English and actually hated reading for a few years cause I had to do it, all the time, and then listen to a bunch of bespectacled (but they only wore the glasses to appear intellectual) blow-hards yammer on about Proust and Thoreau. And I had to read poetry and I know it's sacrilege for an English major to admit this but OMGIHATEPOETRYWITHTHEFIREOF1000SUNS. This stems from being forced to try to find something meaningful out of a bunch of words some dude wrote while he was doing copious amounts of opium or whatever. I do, however, enjoy a good dirty limerick.

When I worked outside of the home, I actually had time to read during the day, and read and read and read. On the train, at lunch, in traffic (just kidding, kind of...have you been in Seattle traffic?).

And then, when I became a stay at home mom? The reading came to an abrupt and grinding halt. But I have figured out how to work in some reading time. Usually it occurs in the bathroom. In the bathtub or the other place, whatever, don't judge. And I try to read before I go to bed. Usually this concludes with me passed out, drooling, the book on my chest.

Have I read any good books lately? Lots! I'm in love with the Girl With the Dragon Tattoo series. And yes, I have been reading the Sookie novels, the ones True Blood is based on...brainless? Yes. But so fun.

Also, my friend Andrea sent me a wonderful book called Cold Tangerines when I was having a rough time - it's about finding the small joys in life. It's a perfect little book, you can read a chapter at a time, and it is just, well, uplifting (thanks again, Andy).

On my nightstand, I've got The Help. That's next. I've heard wonderful things about it. Can't wait to dig in.

What have you read lately? I'd love some suggestions. I need to keep the nightstand stocked.

All is Calm

Christmas package shipped? Check. (Yes, I lied. Actually, they didn't even ask me if anything was hazardous as I had a crazy monkey child swinging from my arms).

Dark chocolate truffles with sea salt made? Check. Need to give them away, promptly.

Bailey's on ice? Check. I forgot how delicious this stuff is. Num.

Tree decorated? Check. Though half the ribbon has been pulled off courtesy of G-Rex. Gives it character.

Babysitter booked for tomorrow so the hubs and I can have a shopping/dinner date? Check! My father and step-mother in law will be arriving at three so we can do some damage at Toys r' Us. I think we're more excited about going to play than we are about our quiet dinner. I LOVE Toys r' Us. Love.

Good book and cozy jammies? Check. I'm finally getting around to reading The Angels Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. I'm only about 50 pages in and it is already delicious. He is a beautiful writer, smoky, mysterious, heady. If you haven't read him, you must. Start with The Shadow of the Wind. Ah-maz-ing.

Tonight, I'm good. Totally content. Now, if I can win my Fantasy Football match this week, I'll be one very happy girl. Fingers crossed.

Guess What?

I haven't decorated the tree yet.

Oh wait. We don't even have a tree yet...

I haven't done any Christmas shopping except for G-Rex. Even though I spent eight hours shopping yesterday with Tiff and Jenn. By the way, I think I want to live in Toys R Us. I must have been deprived of toys as a kid because I couldn't tear myself away from the Little People, Playmobil or Imaginext. I am STILL waiting for my Barbie Dream House (my friend Andrea had the sweetest Barbie setup as kids. And I'm pretty sure we were still playing Barbies till we were twelve or so. My mom didn't like me to have Barbies, so I needed my fix. This is the longest aside, ever. Shoot.).

I haven't managed to get all the vacation laundry put away yet. I have this lofty goal of cleaning out the closets before I store everything, and making a trip to Goodwill. But as of right now, it looks like all my closets threw up.

I have not done any Christmas baking. Or crafts. Probably a good thing about the baking, because I kind of have a problem with baked goods. As in, they seem to attach directly to my ass.

I am all sorts of disorganized and unmotivated right now.

But, I have kept running. I HAVE TO. Because I have committed to run a freaking half marathon in June. The San Diego Rock and Roll 1/2, with Team in Training (more on that later). So, fear of humiliation and vomiting during the race is my motivation there. Whatever works. Plus, I finally get to meet my girls from the Sisterhood in the flesh. It's going to be stellar. I seriously cannot wait.

I have been reading. Vacation reading, my favorite. I read Push (the novel the movie Precious is based on) in two hours. It made my heart hurt. Don't get me wrong, I completely and wholeheartedly recommend it, but it was gutwrenching.

On the other end of the spectrum, I read both of Chelsea Handler's books, My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One Night Stands and Are You There Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea. I LOVE HER. Anybody who can make me belly laugh in public whilst reading is good, very good. Just a warning. If you are easily offended by sex, language, sex, drinking, equal opportunity racial profiling, sex or bodily functions, you may not like her books. They're like reading the diary of your crazy college roommate. Because I never did anything in college in a drunken stupor that was completely stupid. No, not me.

Tomorrow, I will go pick up my Christmas cards, which I managed to design and order online today. I will go to the god awful post office and buy stamps.

Perhaps, if I can completely channel Martha Stewart (or at least Rachael Ray), I will bake some sugar cookies to decorate.

And I will keep them far away from the dogs.

Dooce In the Hizzay!

My wonderful B watched the kiddo last night and I got to go to see Heather Armstrong (aka Dooce) speak.
IT. WAS. FREAKING. AWESOME.
I wasn't really sure what to expect. A few people sitting around a corner of a small bookstore?
Uh, no. First of all, the bookstore was huge. I'm pretty sure it's an old grocery store. About a quarter of if it is the actual store, and then there is a stage with a bunch of area for seating/dancing/whatever, and then there were a few places to eat - even a barbecue place. Huh? The bookstore is called Third Place Books, and I will definitely be going back. Locally owned and lots of author readings.
I pulled in the parking lot and it was packed. I found what I seriously think may have been the last spot and pulled in.
As I was walking up to the store, a little blue Subaru (the Washington state car, dontcha know) pulled up right in front.
And out steps Heather Armstrong.
First impressions? She's really tall (I'd say at least six feet in heels), does not look pregnant at all except for her bump, and is gorgeous. The photos on her site don't do justice.
I held the bookstore door open for her she was very gracious.
At this point I decided to go buy my book and find a seat. I didn't want to be TOO big a stalker. The place was buzzing like we were expecting a rock star. And the crowd was so diverse! There were people of all ages - women quietly knitting, total sorority girls (right behind me, OMG OMG OMG), a gay couple. I was so impressed how far reaching Dooce.com has become. Pretty amazing for a blog.
Heather (can I call her Heather) read a few passages from her new book - It Sucked and Then I Cried - and then read an archived blog post from a time she visited the Pacific Northwest. And it was about farting in public bathrooms. We were all shrieking with laughter. A question and answer period ensued, which included a ton of people basically plugging their own blogs (is that couth?) - but the best one was a woman who made her a gift. A gift she figured only Dooce would appreciate - a leather vagina purse. Go Seattle go!
I anticipated a huge line for the book signing, so I followed the lead of the guys sitting by me to get in line early.

And here's me getting my book signed! I was so very pleasantly surprised how warm and affable she was in person. And how chunky I look next to a PREGNANT woman! Damn. Oh well.

Tightwad Tuesday: Make Your Own Yogurt

Back in the early 70's, my Aunt Cindy published a book full of recipes, tips and anecdotes called Out of the Molasses Jug. She is a very talented artist, and the whole book was hand printed and illustrated. It is difficult to find these days, but I have my old copy up with all my cookbooks. If you can find it, it's a really charming how-to book - how to live off the land, how to reduce your footprint, how to live naturally - quite ahead of its time, really.
I was thumbing through it the other day and ran across a total tightwad tip.
Did you know you can make your own yogurt?
To start, you'll need 1/2 cup plain commercial yogurt. From there, you can keep using the yogurt you've cultured from that starter batch to make your own. You just need to reserve a bit from each batch.

Here's the recipe:

Warm a quart of milk in a saucepan (whole, skim, whatever you like). When milk comes to almost a boil, remove from heat and allow to cool till lukewarm - about 110 degrees - where you can stick your finger in it and it feels hot but endurable). Add 1/2 cup commercial yogurt, or yogurt from an earlier batch. Stir well with a wooden spoon.
Pour into preheated jars or earthenware containers. Wrap snugly with a couple of kitchen towels and place somewhere where the yogurt will not be disturbed.
In three to six hours, a firm custard like curd should form. When this happens, refrigerate.
When you're ready to eat it, combine the culture with three cups milk and one large can of evaporated milk premixed with 1/2 cup powdered milk.
This will keep in the fridge three to five days.
I like mine sweetened with a bit of honey. This is also good in place of sour cream or in lieu of mayonnaise in dips.

For more tightwad tips, head on over to Being Frugal. And stay tuned for more fun stuff from Out of the Molasses Jug. It's a gem!

What Day Is It?

I was gearing up to write my Tightwad Tuesday post and I realized it's Monday.
Duh.
Should I start freaking out about not knowing the day of the week? I've always been fuzzy on the actual date, but the day of the week? This is not good.
You think with the amount of time I spend online (way too much) I would have some inkling. But then again, do I read the news? Not much. Unless you count Perez Hilton, and he doesn't usually talk too much about what day it is.
Bejeweled isn't much help either. I am still obsessed with that mind numbing game. I literally can't stop. It's quite possible trying to beat my high score will be the end of my sanity. What's left of it, that is.
The good news is that it IS Monday, and if B is able to get out of work fairly early, I get to go to a book signing tonight.
I'm excited to be getting out of the house, natch, but I'm double excited because I'm going to see Heather Armstrong, who writes over at Dooce. She's pretty much my idol as she supports her entire family by writing a blog. WHAT?! I'm totally jealous. I'm turning green.
Wish me luck that I get out of here on time! I'll write all about it should I get to go.
And I'll write all about it if I DON'T. But that won't be a happy post. Not at all.

Mortified

I have always had problems keeping up with writing in a diary or journal. I had one diary that lasted me from third to seventh grade. I would fervently write for about a week, then you wouldn't hear a peep from me for about six months. I started a journal when I traveled abroad. It has two entries.
What all my self reflective writing has in common, besides it's rarity, is how hideously embarrassing it is when I look back at it (it does get less embarrassing and more funny as I get older). So I was delighted when I ran across this book called Mortified
(http://www.getmortified.com/book/) during one of my many lunchtime field trips to my new favorite bookstore, The Elliot Bay Book Company (http://www.elliottbaybook.com/). Mortified is a deliciously humiliating compilation of journal entries, letters, stories, etc. that have been graciously released for publication. Some of the stuff these kids (now adults) wrote is just so painfully funny it's almost difficult to read. When I first read the book, I was on the train and had to stop - I was laughing so hard I looked crazy.
So, since most of my girlfriends are turning 30 this year, I decided this would be my gift of choice for all of them. I'm pretty sure that some of the notes we passed back and forth in junior high would make the cut for this book - I'm positive my diary entries would. But I don't quite think I'm ready to divulge my dorky past. Maybe later.