An introduction to my crazy dreams

Not everyone remembers their dreams. I have been blessed/cursed with a very vivid memory of mine, however. Luckily, I don't have many typical nightmares. Though, I do have some very bad dreams. Very bad.

For instance, I'm on my own for dinner tonight because boyfriend is going to the Penguins/Red Wings game with a friend. As with any evening he isn't around to cook dinner for me, I heat up a frozen French bread in oven and call it a night. (It's called being lazy.)

However, tonight I am not just having any pizza for dinner. I am having the new pesto pizza from Trader Joe's! I've been salivating over it for days. Tonight, it will be mine.

So what does this have to do with my bad dreams? I will tell you! Last night, I had a dream that my sister came over and ATE MY PIZZA! Oh, the horror! I laid some smack down on her, you better believe.

I woke up and told boyfriend very sternly that he was not to touch the pizza. Thank goodness my sister won't be raiding our fridge any time soon.

No Ghosts. Just Quiznos Today.

I was too lazy to pack myself a lunch last night, so I threw a can of soup in my bag and called it a day. Unfortunately, Lazy Amanda forgot how much Hungry Amanda despises soup for lunch. It's boring. It's unsatisfying. It contains no bread. What is to like about soup, really?

I was so displeased with the idea of vegetable soup for lunch that I waited as long as could to eat lunch--hoping hunger is a temporary state of mind, and maybe those 20 ginger snaps I just ate would be a good lunch substitute.

Well, 3:00 rolled around and I am one of those people who need to eat every two hours or I start feeling dizzy and weird. When I get really low blood sugar, it isn't pretty, my friend. Ok. The soup is still in my bag. Should I just go heat it up in the microwave? No. Soup bores me. (Except miso soup. Andrew, I am totally serious about killing you if you eat my soup from TJ's. Srsly.)

Cue the impromptu dash to Quiznos. I have been packing my lunch in an effort to save money. Quiznos is by no means a luxury splurge, but it ain't exactly a can of soup either. To compromise, I tried the very affordably priced $2 Sonoma Turkey Sammie. I brought it back to my office and eagerly took my first bite. HELLO FLAVOR EXPLOSION! I didn't even know what was in a Sonoma Turkey Sammie, but I figured it would be better than soup no matter what. Had I read the ingredients, I might not have ordered it because I am not big on exotic spices like pepperjack and chipotle. But boy-oh-boy! This little gem hit my tastebuds in all the right places. FYI: the Sonoma Turkey Sammie contains turkey (surprise!), pepper jack cheese and Chipotle Mayo--as well as the usual tomato and lettuce. Mmmmmmmm!

I can't wait to go back for the 2 sammie special. Tell them Amanda sent you. (Then please tell me about all the weird looks you received from the Quiznos peeps who don't know what you're talking about.)

In other news, I am now part of the 20-something bloggers. My question is, however, do I get kicked out in six years when I turn 30? That'll be way harsh.

All that and a haunted buckeye

No wonder I am so exhausted today. My weekend was chock-full of fun and craziness.

I kicked things off Friday by whooping boyfriend's bottom at two rousing rounds of Rack-O. Ever beat someone by more than 600 points at anything? I have! Let me tell you, it is more fun than it sounds. We also shared a yummy Sumatra French press coffee at Enrico’s Tazza D’oro in Highland Park.

Saturday afternoon was filled with shopping in Shadyside, petting greyhounds (i want!), and delicious lunch at the Shady Grill (yummy California BLT with avocado and turkey).

Boyfriend asked what I wanted to do Saturday night. I said, "umm... go roller skating."

For some reason, the day before he ignored my suggestion to go sky-diving, but welcomed the skating idea with open arms. I don't get it. I haven't been skating for more than ten years though, so I'm glad he humored me.

After I found a buckeye in the pocket of my jeans for no apparent reason (thanks, ghost), we headed to Glenshaw's Romp 'n Roll for R&B Skate (true). There were tons of peeps getting funky on they skates. Some were invading my personal space with their funkiness, and almost knocked me on my tush a few times.

Our friend, who I shall refer to as "Sk8terboi," made the evening far more enjoyable with his highly-refined skating style. It reminded me of a little tike learning how to walk for the first time. I'm not actually sure you can even call what he was doing "skating," as at no point did I actually see his skate wheels spin. He baby-stepped his way around the rink in such an amusing fashion, that I had to shield my eyes from him so I didn't get distracted and lose my balance.

We had a blast, and though there were many close calls, neither boyfriend, Sk8terboi, nor I took a spill. By 10:30 the rink was packed to the gills and boyfriend had an oozing blister forming on his foot. It was time to call it a night. But first, we all had to smell boyfriend's fingers, which apparently "smelled like someone else's feet and sweat" from his rented roller-blades. Don't worry. When asked to smell someone's fingers, I always decline.

On Sunday I headed to my parents' house where my mom requested I join her for a day of decoupage (true). I made my friend something simply fabulous for her birthday. I won't give away too much, in case she reads this, but let's just say some of it is metallic and all of it is awesome.

Hope your weekend was filled with as many buckeyes, roller skates, and glue as was mine. It was truly outrageous.

xo

The case of the missing slipper

Last night I was looking forward to curling up on the couch with a David Sedaris book and eager to get cozy in my jammies and slippers. I saw one of my pink fuzzy slippers sitting in the hall between the bathroom and kitchen, but its mate was no where in sight. I found this to be rather odd, as I usually take off both slippers together, rather than taking one off... walking through the apartment before abandoning the other.

I searched for that lone slipper for several minutes before enlisting the help of the boyfriend, who helped me turn the apartment upside down. We were on a mission to find that damn thing. I was Cinderella. And my feet were cold.

Boyfriend, in the midst of cooking up a delicious dinner, had to forfeit the search because his water had come to a boil on the stove. After looking under every piece of furniture and in every conceivable hiding spot, I finally gave up. Had I accidentally thrown it away? What the duce?

This morning, I awoke from my slumber to get ready for work. Still wiping the sleep from my eyes as I stepped into the shower, I was in deep thought. "Don't forget your leftover portobello ravioli awaiting you in the fridge," I cautioned myself. "Even if it makes you a little gassy, it would make for a delicious lunch," the voice in my head continued.

It was after the shower that I saw it. Both of my slippers, lying together in a pair as though nothing had ever happened. "Oh, I guess boyfriend found my slipper?" my inner monologue rang. "But when? How? I don't understand!"

I ran to snoozing boyfriend, and gently awoke him. (Read:: shook him violently as though I had said "And this is what it would feel like to die in an earthquake!")

"HEY!" I excitedly hollered. "DID YOU FIND MY SLIPPER???"

Boyfriend gasped and quickly lifted his head, frightened.

"DID YOU FIND MY SLIPPER???"

"Huh? No!" Boyfriend was startled. But not as startled as I was.

"You didn't!? Really!? OMG! AHHHHHHHHHHHH! THAT'S CREEPY!" I was stunned, I didn't know what to do except hit groggy boyfriend over the head with my pillow several times as I screamed in horror.

As I finished getting ready for work, I kept my eye on the haunted slipper in fear that any remaining ghost particles might attack me--possibly when my mascara wand was uncomfortably close to my retina.

Before I left to catch my bus, I cautiously picked up the slipper with my thumb and index finger. I looked on the bottom of the sole for a cryptic ghost message, written in pig's blood. Nothing.

I examined the cloth for any ghost clues... and there it was. The label on my slipper sent chills down my spine. "Easy Spirit." I $h*t you not.

"Ok, I'm outta here," my inner voice proclaimed.

I grabbed my jacket and purse (but not my ravioli... dang) and ran for the hills... or bus stop.

Things I Really Want

Banana Guard: Specially designed to keep your 'nanners bruise-free. This is a huge scientific break-through! I am so tired of bringing bananas to work only to find them a mushy mess upon my arrival. Thank you Banana Guard! I especially like the glow-in-the-dark model, though it is unavailable at this time.
Get yourself a banana guard: $6.99 for a single, $12.99 for a 2-pack, and $29.99 for a five-pack.
www.bananaguard.com

Edge lovers unite! I know it might strike some of you as odd, but I always try to score an edge piece when eating home-made brownies. Now, every peice can be an edge piece. Go ahead, dance. You know you want to.
All the edges you can eat for $34.00.
www.bakersedge.com


I have been in a hotdog phase for a few months now. Who knows when it will end? I should stop running from my cravings and purchase this fantastic little guy. A pop up hotdog cooker! It cooks two individual hotdogs with a hot coil system, and simultaneously toasts your buns too! Radical.
$49.95 Dogs and buns sold separately.
www.hammacher.com


And now a place to sit while enjoying those nummers nanners, brownies, and dawgs... the Air Chair. I guess my fascination for "porch-sittery" began when I realized my new apartment has hooks on the porch just begging for something comfy to hang from them.
Now on sale for $59.98
www.hammocks.com



Finally... what I really want... Season 8 Gilmore Girls. Ah, a gal can wish, can't she?

Tastes Like Dissapointment

A quick update on the girl scout cookie situation:
I heard whisperings that girl scouts had set up shop a few blocks from my office yesterday afternoon. I headed over with hopes of purchasing a box of Thin Mints for my mom and a box of Do-Si-Dos for myself--you know--just in case mookie was in Mexico by now with my cookies.

Just moments ago I opened the box of the peanut butter sandwiches, hoping to savor the creamy deliciousness mixed with the texture of the oh so perfectly crunchy wafers that I so adore. Instead, I thought to myself, "Are these stale?" Something was not quite right. I immediately scanned the box for an expiration date, but instead found a string of confusing numbers that I do not have the ability to decode. Hoping it was my imagination, I took another cookie from the box. Nope. This cookie is definitely not what I had been lusting after.

After a quick round through the "circle square" office, I had all the data I needed. Forcing cookies down the throats of several employees had led to this conclusion: these cookies are victims of transfat-removal. The horror! In an attempt to do their part to make the country healthier, the girl scouts have launched an assault on my favorite cookies of all. They have left me with an orange box of dissapointment, with two more boxes on the way. As one colleague said, "They still taste good. They aren't the same, but they don't taste like boogers or anything." Another said, "Transfats aren't good for you, Amanda. Just get used to it." Boo.

Wherefore Art Thou Do-Si-Dos?

O Do-Si-Dos, Do-Si-Dos! Wherefore art thou Do-Si-Dos? Girl Scout cookie season is upon us, yet I seem to be cookieless. This is an utter hell for a self-declared Cookie Monster such as myself. I placed my order many weeks ago with a mystery man known only as "mookie." He was throwing himself down at the feet of his former colleagues, begging that we buy cookies from his daughter via a mass e-mail to my department. Because I'm fairly new at my job, I do not know this mookie person. But I do know that I am a Do-Si-Do fiend. I sent the mook-ster an e-mail in which I requested $14 dollars-worth of Do-Si-Dos, Thin Mints, and Samoas. He was supposedly collecting money when the cookies come in--"usually mid-February" he said in the mass e-mail.

But alas, March is about to come in like a lion and I have not a cookie to my name. If there are any entrepreneurial Girl Scouts reading this, your services are in need. For the love of all things holy, bestow your glorious peanut butter sandwich cookies upon me!