a girl in her element

You know those people who can’t seem to finish a meal without dripping, spraying, spilling, dribbling or some equally messy action?  The ones who should wear bibs while chowing down… or perhaps just drape a tablecloth over their bodies, Halloween ghost style… and while they’re at it, cover the table and floor with tablecloths too.

Yeah, I live with one of those people.  There’s also a very small likelihood that I fall into that category once in a blue moon.  Speaking of blue moons, when is the moon ever blue in Las Vegas?  I swear I’ve seen it every color of the rainbow except blue.  The gleaming lights from all the hotels light up the moon, and I have yet to see it blue  MGM green?  Yes.  Bellagio gold?  Check.  Wynn brown?  Yep.  Blue?  Not yet.

Anyways, what the heck was I rambling about before?  Ohh, untidy diners.  Yeah, so I know a couple of them, and that is precisely where this idea comes in.

Placemats from the dollar section of Target!  They were $2.50 for a 2-pack.  I snatched up 2 packs.

Aww, look how nifty!

Hmm, does anyone else think it looks like a checkerboard? Well… resemblance to a board game or not, they’ll serve their purpose in catching bread crumbs or steak bits or spaghetti sauce or beer snorted out of a nose while laughing too hard.

Oh, oh, oh!  While we’re on the topic of this table, I find it absolutely necessary to show off my coasters.   I scored them from Target for 75 percent off after Christmas.  They didn’t strike me as being particularly holiday specific, but hey, I wasn’t going to complain about a sale.  I love them dearly.

So does the cat… oh wait, she’s probably just admiring her dainty little reflection.  She’s a conceited cat.  I’m not kidding.   Remind me to tell you the chronicles of her encounters with mirrors one day.

Still admiring herself.  I tempted Thomas with the mirror, and he couldn’t be bothered to check himself out.  Well, that’s not typical boy behavior… weird.

There you have it.  Now I have no delusions that these placemats will completely eliminate crumb chaos, but they’re a start.  Next on the list… three tablecloths.  And hey, since it’s Halloween season, I might even be able to skip one of the tablecloths and just get a ghost costume that doubles as a bib.  Spooky ghost costume for the messy eater, tablecloth for the table and one for the floor.  That should do it.

September 2009’s issue of Prevention has an article titled “Surprising Signs You’ll Live to 100.”  Let’s see how I measured up.

You’re the life of the party. Life of the party?  Hardly.  Funny and approachable?  Usually.  Socially awkward?  Sometimes.  A hermit?  Once in awhile.

You run for 40 minutes a day. Sort of.  Some days I run for an hour.  Some days I run for 30 minutes.  Some days I don’t run at all, except to fetch my Lean Cuisine out of the microwave and maybe to grab a beer.   It did specify “for a total of about 5 hours per week.”  I’d say I usually get close to that, so I’ll put myself down for a YES.

You like raspberries in your oatmeal. Sure, if I ate oatmeal, I might throw some raspberries in there.  Do you think it counts if I throw some Crunch Berries into my Cheerios?  Cheerios could pass for oatmeal, right?.  If not, then I’d have to go with NO.

You feel 13 years younger than you are. I turned 25 this year.  13 years younger would make me 12, so on most days, YES!  Well… wait… do they mean mentally or physically?  Hmm, mentally, I’m an immature 12 most days.  Physically, there are days I psych myself into thinking I’m actually 64.  This one is still out for the jury.

You embrace techie trends. I’ve got my iPhone attached to my hip, and I can hardly get out of my computer chair because it’s been molded to my body, so I would go with a YES.  Finally, a solid ‘yes.’

You started menopause after age 52. Not applicable for obvious reasons.

You make every calorie count. Their definition of ‘making every calorie count’ is limiting daily caloric intake to 1,400 to 2,000.  I don’t count calories, so I’ll have to get back to you on that one.  I do know that by my definition, I make every calorie count.  I shovel my favorite foods into my mouth without ever looking back, and I rarely, if ever, feel bad about doing it.

You had a baby later in life. Again, not applicable.  But wait… having a baby later in life is a sign you’ll live to 100?!?  This is the perfect comeback for those friends and relatives who drill me like I’m on the witness stand asking me when I’m going to have a kid.

Your pulse beats 15 times in 15 seconds. Is this when I’m sober or slightly inebriated?  Because there’s a huge difference between the two, from about 65 to 500.  I’m guessing they’re referring to the first, so I’m not too far off.  I’ll give this one a SORT OF.

You don’t snore. I don’t snore, but I have been told I make weird squeaking noises in my sleep.  Apparently at night, I have delusions of becoming a baby chick.  Snoring is a NO though.

You have a (relatively) flat belly after menopause. I’ll let you know when I get to that stage.  And relative compared to whom?  For now, I suppose I have a relatively flat belly, but according to all those around me (ironically they’re all older than me), “it’ll catch up to me.”

You get your blood tested for vitamin D levels. I can’t say I’ve ever asked my doctor to specifically do this.  Whenever I get motivated enough to forgo my midnight snack to fast and get poked by needles in the morning, I get a blood test.  I’ve been tested for every other medical malady (thanks to being a self diagnosed neurotic hypochondriac) but never vitamin D.  For now, this one’s a NO.

So does living to 100 look promising for me?  Hard to say and I’m not competely convinced that I want to know.  I live a fairly healthy lifestyle most days.  On the days that I goof up, I relish it and try a little harder the next.   There’s no use in kicking myself for skipping the gym one day or consuming more calories than I should every now and then.  I’d like to think that the ultimate surprising sign you’ll live to 100 is living a full, rich life that strives for moderation but without punishment for having joy in life’s pleasures. And regardless of whether you live to be 100 or not, you’ll have truly experienced an exquisite life by simply being human.

Continuing my quarter life crisis adventure…I was on the road for what seemed like forever.  Seriously, it did not look this far away on the map… not that the map stated anywhere that it was actually drawn to scale.  My lack of skills to correctly interpret a map have gotten me into more than a couple quandaries.

Oh well, it was too late to turn back.  It seemed like days later, but since I hadn’t gone through my entire playlist on my iPod, I concluded it had to be closer to a few hours (yes, my iPod is my measuring unit for time).  I finally arrived at my mystery destination.

Any guesses where I ended up?

How about now?

Now???

Ding, ding, ding!!!  I AM at the Grand Canyon! It doesn’t matter how many times I go there, I’m still speechless every time I get that first peak over the canyon.

I absolutely love this place.  It’s completely breathtaking and awe inspiring.

I even found me a pal.  Actually he’s kind of an old friend.  A couple years ago, we first met and now it’s sort of tradition that I have to visit him every time I return.

Cruising along in the Element, headed home.

Two days and a few hundred miles later, I landed back home.  My head was a little less foggy, and I could finally catch my breath.  It appeared I would be able to fight my way through my quarter life crisis.  If nothing else, I learned one very important lesson – everyone should take a little trip by themselves once in awhile.  It doesn’t have to be anywhere insanely exotic.  It doesn’t even have to be a faraway destination.  Just a little time to yourself, a little time to clear your head and a little vacation without someone perched next to you babbling away  and insisting you don’t know how to read a map or that you’re driving too fast.

Technically speaking, almost every corner in the house can be designated as a ‘cat corner.’  The kitties love finding a corner, curling up and dozing off into a happy cat slumber.   But no corner in the house deserves the name ‘cat corner’ more than this one.

Oops, the kitties’ water dispenser was being cleaned and refilled.

Thomas checking it out.  I took his minute long slurrpppp as a sign of approval that the water was fit for him.

Back-up stash of kitty food and treats.  These were bags of food and treats that I scored for free with coupons.  It’s not their main supply of food and only gets broken into on the off chance that they’re out of their regular brand.

Canned food dispensers stocked with Trader Joe’s, Weruva and Pet Promise food.

Lots and lots of kitty food.  The white container stores their Taste of the Wild dry food.

Saving the best for last.  I love this mat. It’s the perfect size for this corner, and it’s made out of a rubbery material that’s super easy to clean (a must have since my offer to construct cat bibs was met with ruthless stares from a boy and two cats) .  I guess sometimes it does pay off to tag along on trips to Lowe’s.  If it hadn’t been for finding this mat there, I potentially would have morphed into a very whiny and obnoxious girl while wandering Lowe’s for four hours.

Element Girl wants to know…

How do you organize your pet(s)’ supplies?

I bought this book at Barnes and Noble a couple months ago.  One, because it was on clearance and two, because it sounded like it might be fun.

Little did I know that I would actually find my job listed, among skydiver, game show contestant, Santa Claus and beekeeper.

I’ve never thought of my job as being ‘odd’ although repeated conversations like this should have been a clue -

Stranger: So… what do you do?

Element Girl: I’m a ____.

Stranger: ‘Oh, uhh, what do you do exactly‘?  or just simply a blank stare or a look of confusion prompting me to explain what I do.

So listed on this page is my job, and not only is it considered ‘odd,’ it’s listed under ‘The Oddest of the Odd,’ a group of jobs that warranted their own extreme category heading.

Any guesses as to which one it is?  Stay tuned to find out my ‘odd’ job!

I have to be completely honest and admit that I’ve never been a big potato fan except the “deep fried in greasy oil doused in ketchup” kind.   I still love them and will always love them, but I’ve also come to the stark realization that I have to stop consuming them like they’re the last potatoes on this earth if I want to live past the ripe age of 30.

I don’t mind a good baked potato once in awhile, but my idea of a baked potato is a “loaded” one.  Butter, sour cream, shredded cheese, bacon bits, chives, a few items short of the entire condiment section.  I don’t know for a fact, mostly because I’ve never bothered to check and a big part of me is denial, but I’m willing to venture a guess and say that my idea of a baked potato is probably just as unhealthy as a basket of fries with a side of ketchup and ranch.

I didn’t grow up in a meat and potatoes kind of family.  Dinner was more like meat and a mound of broccoli, “real vegetables” as my mom would say.  So with the options of fries and baked potatoes out of the running for a healthy spud side dish, what else was a girl to do to accommodate a boy who did grow up with meat and potatoes?

That’s where parmesan potatoes come in.  They’re healthy, well, relatively speaking.  They’re easy to make, and they’re oh-so-yummy.

Cut up some potatoes into nice bite sized chunks.

Aww, look at the happy potatoes!

Oh, but then they realize they’re about to be thrown into a bot of boiling water.

Oops, it would be helpful if I’d actually remembered to start a pot of boiling salted water instead of playing with my food.  So use your imagination and pretend they’re in water.

Let them boil for a bit, but not too long.  You don’t want them to be mushy!  If you’re like me and you can’t tell when they’re cooked just right (they should still have the slightest crunch to them), test one if you have to.  Just don’t shove it in your mouth while it’s still burning hot.  I can’t feel my tongue today because of that rookie mistake.  Anyways, once they’re done, throw them in a collander and drain them.  Let them sit for 5 to 10 minutes to cool down.  You don’t want them to be burning hot when you throw the parmesan cheese on them.  Use this time to tidy up the kitchen or work on the other parts of the meal… or watch America’s Best Dance Crew.

When they’re slightly cooled, put them in a mixing bowl and liberally cover them with olive oil, black pepper, parsley flakes, lemon juice and parmesan cheese, lots and lots of parmesan cheese.  Mix it altogether and there you have it!  The nice thing is that you can add the fixin’s in whatever quantity your heart or taste buds desire.  If you like the lemon flavor more than the cheese flavor, throw more lemon juice in.  If you prefer butter over olive oil, you can do that too!  The other plus is that it doesn’t get any harder no matter how many potatoes you have.   You could easily whip up enough to feed a small army.

I might have gone a little crazy with the parmesan cheese.  I was occupied with a dancer on TV doing backflips, and so my hand just kept pouring that cheese on.  That’s what I get for trying to do two things at once.

Mmmm, they complement just about any meal including steak, mac and cheese and green beans.

No wonder I had a hard time buttoning my jeans today…

I finally watched Marley and Me last night.  I know, I know, a little late to the party… or rather a sob fest, complete with boxes of Kleenex and mascara rolling down my face.

I should have known that I would cry enough to fill a small pool when everyone told me they cried during the movie.  Not just girlfriends who are cry babies like me, but I heard the same thing from boys.  And when I say boys,  I mean teenage boys who are “too cool” to exhibit emotion, grown men who are too macho to shed a tear, adult males who typically only cry when their football team loses…  even the “my neck is thicker than your thigh” bodybuilder at the gym who never even smiles.  I, on the other hand, cry at movies that no one else even tears up during.  Not only that, I sob at the same movies, the ones I’ve watched a million times and know the endings too.  I have The Lion King memorized, yet I cry every time Mufasa dies.  I’ve watched Titanic an embarrassing number of times, but I still weep when Jack let’s go.  I know the ending of A Walk to Remember, but it doesn’t stop the waterfall from flowing.

As always, I read the book before I watched the movie, and I don’t recall soaking the pages with tears.  In fact, I’m positive I didn’t because I just checked my copy of the book, and there doesn’t appear to be any water damage to the pages.  Hey, you never know with me.   The movie kept compelling me to think about Kritter and Thomas (of course, it didn’t help slow down the tears when Kritter sat on the floor with her head slightly tilted and a look of concern while her momma cried).  I should have prefaced this blog by saying that the only other pets I’ve had are a goldfish I won at a school carnival named Skittles and a handful of hamsters. When my goldfish died, my mother bluntly told me I should never have pets because I can’t handle it when they die (she’s probably right though).

I won Skittles at a school carnival.  I was in middle school and had absolutely no experience with any sort of animal, unless playing with rolly-pollies and worms in the backyard counted.   Skittles lived a long two years, in a small, clear plastic container that once held tea leaves.  Once a week, I would transfer him into a plastic cup, change his water and plop him back into his “bowl.”  I fed him once a day and watched him swim in circles for two years in a container smaller than most of the mixing bowls in my kitchen.  Then one night right before we were getting ready to leave for vacation, I noticed Skittles swimming upside down.  Again, only having experience with worms that can lose a head or tail, sometimes both, and still keep on going on their merry way, I had no idea what was going on.  The next morning as we were getting ready to leave, I noticed he was no longer moving.  It broke my heart.  I cried and cried that first whole day of vacation… all because of a goldfish.

Combine the feelings evoked from Marley and Me with the remembered sadness over losing Skittles and I was beyond sad and fearful thinking about losing Kritter and Thomas.  But for now, I don’t want to think about that.  I simply want to enjoy my critters.  Have fun playing with them, feel happy when I feed them, smile when they curl up with me and even find joy when they destroy something or tear up the house.

From now on though, I will remember to keep a box of Kleenex next to the DVD player and always wear waterproof mascara to the movies.

Element Girl wants to know…

Do you cry easily during movies?

What’s the most tear-jerking movie you’ve watched?  (So I make sure I don’t watch it…)