So a fun thing to do when you're supposed to be working on your paper for your literature class is to look up silly music videos on youtube. This has long been a favorite of mine, seeing as it features THE MUPPETS and I really, REALLY love the muppets. Okay, fine. I'll go work on my paper.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
just to make it interesting
My shipment of Girl Scout Cookies has arrived.
Five boxes of thin mints.
Yep. I know.
At least it isn't twelve boxes like last year.
Five boxes of thin mints.
Yep. I know.
At least it isn't twelve boxes like last year.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
i immediately regret this decision
Ahem. Let it be known to all that I, Andrea Boerem, have of my own free will determined to eat only one dessert a week for the month of March.
I'm really not sure what I was thinking.
It just happened so fast- I was doing some grocery shopping with my friend Hillary, and all of a sudden she was telling me how she's cutting back desserts to once a week and I was nodding my head in frenzied agreement and saying "Yeah! I've been meaning to cut back on sweets anyway!!"
Which I have. What? Well, I have.
Really. Although I guess it's been more of an idea floating around the back of my brain, along with some others like wanting to memorize the entire Constitution including amendments (good party trick) and learning how to do a back-flip. You know, things that I never actually plan to do.
I really have been on sort of a shame spiral in the sweets department lately. Now, I've never been one to deny my undying love of sugar. Sure, I'll have chocolate chip cookies for breakfast sometimes, and cheesecake is just as yummy for dinner as it is for dessert, but lately it's gotten.....bad. Really, really bad.
I think I realized it when I polished off the last of an entire sheet of eclair cake. For lunch. Which was followed by ice cream for dinner. Chased by some golden Oreos for a nightcap.
So, it was time for a change. Maybe that's what I was thinking. Or maybe I was shamed into it after reading one of those tell-all stories about supermodel diets where you find out that all they eat is tofu and paper.
Either way, I found myself walking home from the grocery store trying desperately to weasel my way out of my predicament. We said desserts only once a week, but natural sugars were okay. Since fruit and I are still not on speaking terms, I reviewed my remaining options.
Honey is natural. That's good. I love honey. What else? Granola bars are okay, we agreed on those, that's good....hmmm. Things were looking bleak already.
I walked in to the apartment. I'm only eating one dessert a week for the month of March, I said.
Paul stared. Why?
Good question. I mumbled something about eclair cake, and retired to the kitchen to examine the contents of my pantry for something that tasted like a Mars bar without actually containing sugar.
I meant to start on Sunday, but then we had a baby shower to go to and someone brought homemade chocolate mousse and I'm not made of stone, people, so.....I caved. I caved and inhaled that silken chocolatey deliciousness and thought....tomorrow. I'll start tomorrow.
I meant to. I really meant to, but Kevin and Ryanne came over for dinner and they brought S'mores cookies which I had never before heard of but oh heavenly day they smelled celestial, and.... I melted. I melted into a weak-willed Andrea puddle and devoured that S'mores cookie with wild abandon. I only had one, though. That's a start, right?
Things are getting better. This morning, for example, I didn't even think about having my normal pre-breakfast sampling of ice cream. I'm pretty proud of that. Also I made blueberry muffins and I only had two measly ones, so small that really they only count as one. Although I may have put some chocolate chips in the mix. Maybe.
Paul just came in. He saw what I'm posting about. Are you sticking with it? He asked me with a look on his face like I'm about to split myself into two people.
Uh, yeah, I said, the muffins don't count, to which Paul replied WHO ARE YOU KIDDING? THE MUFFINS TOTALLY COUNT, so I said actually they don't because they're just the Jiffy muffin mix kind and I only put a few chocolate chips in them, and chocolate chips are totally found in granola bars and we agreed granola bars are okay and also muffins aren't a dessert they're a snack, so....
I'm good. I'm compliant, and I would like the Invisible Sweets Police People to know that.
Then Paul asked, where are you going to get with denial like that?
I don't know what he's talking about. I'm not in denial.
I'm really not sure what I was thinking.
It just happened so fast- I was doing some grocery shopping with my friend Hillary, and all of a sudden she was telling me how she's cutting back desserts to once a week and I was nodding my head in frenzied agreement and saying "Yeah! I've been meaning to cut back on sweets anyway!!"
Which I have. What? Well, I have.
Really. Although I guess it's been more of an idea floating around the back of my brain, along with some others like wanting to memorize the entire Constitution including amendments (good party trick) and learning how to do a back-flip. You know, things that I never actually plan to do.
I really have been on sort of a shame spiral in the sweets department lately. Now, I've never been one to deny my undying love of sugar. Sure, I'll have chocolate chip cookies for breakfast sometimes, and cheesecake is just as yummy for dinner as it is for dessert, but lately it's gotten.....bad. Really, really bad.
I think I realized it when I polished off the last of an entire sheet of eclair cake. For lunch. Which was followed by ice cream for dinner. Chased by some golden Oreos for a nightcap.
So, it was time for a change. Maybe that's what I was thinking. Or maybe I was shamed into it after reading one of those tell-all stories about supermodel diets where you find out that all they eat is tofu and paper.
Either way, I found myself walking home from the grocery store trying desperately to weasel my way out of my predicament. We said desserts only once a week, but natural sugars were okay. Since fruit and I are still not on speaking terms, I reviewed my remaining options.
Honey is natural. That's good. I love honey. What else? Granola bars are okay, we agreed on those, that's good....hmmm. Things were looking bleak already.
I walked in to the apartment. I'm only eating one dessert a week for the month of March, I said.
Paul stared. Why?
Good question. I mumbled something about eclair cake, and retired to the kitchen to examine the contents of my pantry for something that tasted like a Mars bar without actually containing sugar.
I meant to start on Sunday, but then we had a baby shower to go to and someone brought homemade chocolate mousse and I'm not made of stone, people, so.....I caved. I caved and inhaled that silken chocolatey deliciousness and thought....tomorrow. I'll start tomorrow.
I meant to. I really meant to, but Kevin and Ryanne came over for dinner and they brought S'mores cookies which I had never before heard of but oh heavenly day they smelled celestial, and.... I melted. I melted into a weak-willed Andrea puddle and devoured that S'mores cookie with wild abandon. I only had one, though. That's a start, right?
Things are getting better. This morning, for example, I didn't even think about having my normal pre-breakfast sampling of ice cream. I'm pretty proud of that. Also I made blueberry muffins and I only had two measly ones, so small that really they only count as one. Although I may have put some chocolate chips in the mix. Maybe.
Paul just came in. He saw what I'm posting about. Are you sticking with it? He asked me with a look on his face like I'm about to split myself into two people.
Uh, yeah, I said, the muffins don't count, to which Paul replied WHO ARE YOU KIDDING? THE MUFFINS TOTALLY COUNT, so I said actually they don't because they're just the Jiffy muffin mix kind and I only put a few chocolate chips in them, and chocolate chips are totally found in granola bars and we agreed granola bars are okay and also muffins aren't a dessert they're a snack, so....
I'm good. I'm compliant, and I would like the Invisible Sweets Police People to know that.
Then Paul asked, where are you going to get with denial like that?
I don't know what he's talking about. I'm not in denial.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
the death of a cupcake
You just looked so sad, lying there on the sidewalk
Smashed (but not beyond recognition)
Your Hostess swirly design faced the sky, proud
Even in defeat
I would have rescued you
But that would have been disgusting
Smashed (but not beyond recognition)
Your Hostess swirly design faced the sky, proud
Even in defeat
I would have rescued you
But that would have been disgusting
Sunday, February 8, 2009
the first adoption interview
Paul and I went for our first adoption interview with our caseworker on Friday.
Neither of us really knew what to expect..... I mean, he probably wanted to know that we're not escaped convicts and stuff, but that goes without saying, right?
We stopped by the Jewish bakery on our way, and Paul got a black and white cookie. I said I didn't want any, but he gave me half anyway. I thought that was quite decent of him.
I was a little nervous. It all felt so....I don't know, real. Like we're actually doing this. Not just talking about it. I felt the same way when I decided to go back to school.
See, I have this habit of thinking I know how my life is going to turn out. After Paul and I got married, sure, I said I wanted to go back to school, but......I didn't mean it. Really I figured I would have kids, and I'd go back later on. Much later on.
Go back to school, the little voice said.
So, I quit my job and applied to school. Know what? There was a part of me, a not so tiny part, that thought maybe now I'll get pregnant.
As I hauled my book bag out the door on my first day of school, I thought....
Oh!!! So, you actually wanted me to go back to school.....okey dokey, I think I get where you're going with this......ri-ight.
The little voice came again: put in your adoption papers, it said.
So Paul and I started the adoption process, and there it was again, that not so tiny part of me that thought......maybe now I'll get pregnant.
As we sat down on the couch in the caseworker's office I thought.....
Oh!!!! So, you actually wanted us to adopt.....alrighty, I think I get you, I dig.....we're actually supposed to do this!!!
I sat next to Paul and listened as the caseworker described the adoption process. It's complicated, more so than I had anticipated. If you adopt a baby from another state, you can't take the baby home until the proper paperwork has been filed, which usually takes at least a couple of weeks. As I envisioned camping out in a Motel 6 for two weeks while caring for a newborn, I thought about how the scenario I had been picturing didn't so much involve a complementary continental breakfast.
After the baby comes home, the process still isn't finished. The adoption has to be finalized, a process which requires hiring an adoption attorney, and while six months is usually what is expected, in New York it can be more like two years.
It wasn't all scary. There was some positive, exciting stuff too, like we're just about done with everything we need to get our paperwork finished, and could be ready to meet with birth parents as soon as April. Cue fluttering feeling in the pit of my tummy.
We walked out of the office a little dazed. We were silent; Paul took my hand. How is it possible to feel so many different emotions at the same time? Was I happy? Sad? Excited? Nervous? Stressed? Hopeful? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
I'm feeling a little.....stressed, I said.
Me too, Paul said. Paul is sort of a fatalist. You can't take him to a playground because he's too nervous, always sees the worst case scenario. I could see the same sort of look on his face, the look like someone was too close to falling off the monkey bars.
I think everything will be fine, I said.
We'll just take it one step at a time, Paul said. No sense in worrying about everything all at once, right?
Right, right.
The thing is, even after walking out of that office faced with all the gritty details, I feel really good about this. Like there is a very specific reason we are meant to do this. There's also a part of me that thinks this is is crazy. Insane. How can this possibly work out?
Later that day, Paul brought home a package of Golden Oreos, which, I am not going to lie, are like crack to me. The package was gone within eight hours.
This might be the sugar buzz talking, but I think everything's going to be just fine.
Neither of us really knew what to expect..... I mean, he probably wanted to know that we're not escaped convicts and stuff, but that goes without saying, right?
We stopped by the Jewish bakery on our way, and Paul got a black and white cookie. I said I didn't want any, but he gave me half anyway. I thought that was quite decent of him.
I was a little nervous. It all felt so....I don't know, real. Like we're actually doing this. Not just talking about it. I felt the same way when I decided to go back to school.
See, I have this habit of thinking I know how my life is going to turn out. After Paul and I got married, sure, I said I wanted to go back to school, but......I didn't mean it. Really I figured I would have kids, and I'd go back later on. Much later on.
Go back to school, the little voice said.
So, I quit my job and applied to school. Know what? There was a part of me, a not so tiny part, that thought maybe now I'll get pregnant.
As I hauled my book bag out the door on my first day of school, I thought....
Oh!!! So, you actually wanted me to go back to school.....okey dokey, I think I get where you're going with this......ri-ight.
The little voice came again: put in your adoption papers, it said.
So Paul and I started the adoption process, and there it was again, that not so tiny part of me that thought......maybe now I'll get pregnant.
As we sat down on the couch in the caseworker's office I thought.....
Oh!!!! So, you actually wanted us to adopt.....alrighty, I think I get you, I dig.....we're actually supposed to do this!!!
I sat next to Paul and listened as the caseworker described the adoption process. It's complicated, more so than I had anticipated. If you adopt a baby from another state, you can't take the baby home until the proper paperwork has been filed, which usually takes at least a couple of weeks. As I envisioned camping out in a Motel 6 for two weeks while caring for a newborn, I thought about how the scenario I had been picturing didn't so much involve a complementary continental breakfast.
After the baby comes home, the process still isn't finished. The adoption has to be finalized, a process which requires hiring an adoption attorney, and while six months is usually what is expected, in New York it can be more like two years.
It wasn't all scary. There was some positive, exciting stuff too, like we're just about done with everything we need to get our paperwork finished, and could be ready to meet with birth parents as soon as April. Cue fluttering feeling in the pit of my tummy.
We walked out of the office a little dazed. We were silent; Paul took my hand. How is it possible to feel so many different emotions at the same time? Was I happy? Sad? Excited? Nervous? Stressed? Hopeful? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
I'm feeling a little.....stressed, I said.
Me too, Paul said. Paul is sort of a fatalist. You can't take him to a playground because he's too nervous, always sees the worst case scenario. I could see the same sort of look on his face, the look like someone was too close to falling off the monkey bars.
I think everything will be fine, I said.
We'll just take it one step at a time, Paul said. No sense in worrying about everything all at once, right?
Right, right.
The thing is, even after walking out of that office faced with all the gritty details, I feel really good about this. Like there is a very specific reason we are meant to do this. There's also a part of me that thinks this is is crazy. Insane. How can this possibly work out?
Later that day, Paul brought home a package of Golden Oreos, which, I am not going to lie, are like crack to me. The package was gone within eight hours.
This might be the sugar buzz talking, but I think everything's going to be just fine.
Friday, February 6, 2009
paul does me a solid
Tonight, it was my turn to pick the movie. We've been on a bit of an action-y kick lately which I love, don't get me wrong, but tonight I was feeling a different sort of vibe. The frilly, English accent, girls twittering over letters fraught with meaning sort of vibe.
Paul, much to his credit, totally ponied up and watched Emma with me. I'm not sure which I enjoyed more: watching the movie, or watching Paul watch the movie. Here are just a few highlights:
Paul: I didn't understand a word they just said.
Andrea: Well, we don't know it yet, but Frank Churchill is secretly engaged.
Paul: Who?
Andrea: Frank Churchill.
Paul: But I thought he was secretly in love with Emma.
Andrea: No, that's Knightly.
Paul: Who?
Andrea: See, that is Frank Churchill and he's secretly engaged to Jane Fairfax.
Paul: Who?
Andrea: That one.
Paul: Blue dress girl? Why don't they just call her blue dress girl? That would be so much easier.
Paul, much to his credit, totally ponied up and watched Emma with me. I'm not sure which I enjoyed more: watching the movie, or watching Paul watch the movie. Here are just a few highlights:
Paul: I didn't understand a word they just said.
Andrea: Well, we don't know it yet, but Frank Churchill is secretly engaged.
Paul: Who?
Andrea: Frank Churchill.
Paul: But I thought he was secretly in love with Emma.
Andrea: No, that's Knightly.
Paul: Who?
Andrea: See, that is Frank Churchill and he's secretly engaged to Jane Fairfax.
Paul: Who?
Andrea: That one.
Paul: Blue dress girl? Why don't they just call her blue dress girl? That would be so much easier.
Monday, February 2, 2009
standing for something ( i make a fool of myself)
I think I made a fool of myself approximately four hours ago.
See, I'm taking an American Literature class this semester, and today Awesome Crazy Hair American Literature Teacher Who Sort of Intimidates Me But Really I Like Her gave us a quiz, which she then asked me to collect from my fellow students.
I'm good at taking direction. I sort of go into worker bee mode, you know? "Must collect papers. Must collect papers." (meant to be read in a robot voice)
So, I went around the room collecting the papers. Silently. That whole robot voice thing was only in my head. As far as I know.
So I got to this kid who clearly preferred to not be at school at all, let alone taking a quiz in a class on early American literature taught by Smarty Pants Awesome Crazy Hair. He was still writing. He asked me if he could have a few more minutes.
Me. The one who is not the teacher and has no authority whatsoever.
So I sort of gestured towards the teacher. I'd like to think my gesture was able to convey the message that the time allotted for the quiz was actually over along with sincere and heartfelt sympathy for his plight, but I don't think he got that message because he rolled his eyes and made that sighing sound like I had just socked him in the gut and threw his pen down and tossed his paper at me.
Angry at the man. I dig.
I moved on. I stood waiting for the last kid to give me his paper. He didn't ask for a few more minutes like the last kid. He didn't even acknowledge my presence. He just kept on writing.
And I just stood there.
Waiting.
The classroom was silent. I considered turning in the rest of the papers and sitting down. I think that would have been a completely reasonable thing to do.
I didn't, though. I kept on standing there, waiting, for like TWO MINUTES until he finished, looked up, and handed me his paper.
I just, I don't know.....had to.
It was like robot voice just took over, and I had to complete my mission or else I'd explode or something.
MUST COLLECT PAPERS. MUST COLLECT PAPERS.
There was something else, though. It was like I became that obnoxious girl sitting in the front row pointing at the kid who wasn't obeying the rules. Only I wasn't just pointing, I was standing, like a hunting dog, right in front of his desk.
I called Paul and told him what happened. Wow, he said. I would have just sat down.
Geez. Of course I should have sat down. Stupidstupidstupid!
Then I thought great, so now I'm going to be Weird Standing Girl for the rest of the semester.
I sat there for a while, picturing what the rest of the semester would be like as Weird Standing Girl. I was in the middle of visualizing a milk carton being thrown at my head when I thought hey.......WAIT A MINUTE!!! I AM OLD!!!!
I'm a good ten years older than everyone in class with me!!! Old TOTALLY trumps crazy! Old is like the all encompassing adjective, you know? So instead of thinking I'm Weird Standing Girl, maybe they just thought I have a bad case of rheumatism or arthritis or the gout or the vapors, and I had to stand.
I feel so much better now!
Please don't ruin it for me.
See, I'm taking an American Literature class this semester, and today Awesome Crazy Hair American Literature Teacher Who Sort of Intimidates Me But Really I Like Her gave us a quiz, which she then asked me to collect from my fellow students.
I'm good at taking direction. I sort of go into worker bee mode, you know? "Must collect papers. Must collect papers." (meant to be read in a robot voice)
So, I went around the room collecting the papers. Silently. That whole robot voice thing was only in my head. As far as I know.
So I got to this kid who clearly preferred to not be at school at all, let alone taking a quiz in a class on early American literature taught by Smarty Pants Awesome Crazy Hair. He was still writing. He asked me if he could have a few more minutes.
Me. The one who is not the teacher and has no authority whatsoever.
So I sort of gestured towards the teacher. I'd like to think my gesture was able to convey the message that the time allotted for the quiz was actually over along with sincere and heartfelt sympathy for his plight, but I don't think he got that message because he rolled his eyes and made that sighing sound like I had just socked him in the gut and threw his pen down and tossed his paper at me.
Angry at the man. I dig.
I moved on. I stood waiting for the last kid to give me his paper. He didn't ask for a few more minutes like the last kid. He didn't even acknowledge my presence. He just kept on writing.
And I just stood there.
Waiting.
The classroom was silent. I considered turning in the rest of the papers and sitting down. I think that would have been a completely reasonable thing to do.
I didn't, though. I kept on standing there, waiting, for like TWO MINUTES until he finished, looked up, and handed me his paper.
I just, I don't know.....had to.
It was like robot voice just took over, and I had to complete my mission or else I'd explode or something.
MUST COLLECT PAPERS. MUST COLLECT PAPERS.
There was something else, though. It was like I became that obnoxious girl sitting in the front row pointing at the kid who wasn't obeying the rules. Only I wasn't just pointing, I was standing, like a hunting dog, right in front of his desk.
I called Paul and told him what happened. Wow, he said. I would have just sat down.
Geez. Of course I should have sat down. Stupidstupidstupid!
Then I thought great, so now I'm going to be Weird Standing Girl for the rest of the semester.
I sat there for a while, picturing what the rest of the semester would be like as Weird Standing Girl. I was in the middle of visualizing a milk carton being thrown at my head when I thought hey.......WAIT A MINUTE!!! I AM OLD!!!!
I'm a good ten years older than everyone in class with me!!! Old TOTALLY trumps crazy! Old is like the all encompassing adjective, you know? So instead of thinking I'm Weird Standing Girl, maybe they just thought I have a bad case of rheumatism or arthritis or the gout or the vapors, and I had to stand.
I feel so much better now!
Please don't ruin it for me.
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