In which Laurie Ann attempts to cook something fancy

We were having a brunch at work and the directors were doing the cooking. Since I'm an assistant, I got lumped in with them and also had to prepare a dish. I decided to try that Strata recipe from Smitten Kitchen. Those of you who know me know that I don't cook, or at least not often. When I do, it's nothing fancy, usually just mac & cheese or meatloaf, or similar comfort foods. It's not that I can't cook, I just don't do it unless I have people to feed. So, enter fancy recipe. I was doubling it because we have a lot of folks at work, but there was someone else bringing an egg dish, too.

I prepped everything before hand, getting the measuring stuff and spices out
chopped the onions with my pseudo Slap Chop
shredded the cheeses and cut the breadthen sauteed the onions and added the spinachDon't you just love the smell of onions cooking? Soooo good. Then I just poured the egg mixture over the layers of bread, cheese and spinach, and popped in the fridge to set.This morning, I got up early because the strata has to sit out for 30 minutes before cooking. Then I stuck them in the oven while I showered and got ready for work. By the time I was done, so was the strata. And it looked beautiful.And you know what? It tasted delicious. Hooray! I cooked and didn't kill anyone!

Veni Vidi Vici--Action Jackson saves the day (now with photos)

Like a white knight he stepped out into the bright sunlight, faithful steed by his side, bucket of cleaning supplies in his hand. The day of reckoning...I mean, cleaning had arrived. Oddly, I didn't experience the expected meet shock. In fact, it felt like Jackson and I had known each other for years and were getting together after a long absence instead of meeting in person for the first time. He brought his dog, Baloo, too, or as I like to call him "ol' tiny mouth." We hugged and set off to the attack the mess. Before we went upstairs, I offered him an out-- "I feel you may have underestimated the scope of this mess. If you see it and say,'Screw this shit' I will totally understand." But Jackson was stoked to get started (clearly something wrong with him) so up the steps we went. He surveyed the damage with a few head nods and then we were off to the races.

Have you ever seen a man so happy to clean?

We started by filming (Yikes) a little before video on Jackson's flipcam (I need me one of those) beginning in the bathroom and then moving on to film the mess. OH. MY. GOD! He is actually going to post it on his site, which I will link here when he does. I should have been mortified, but I think at this point I just really wanted the help.

Jackson started in the living room, while I tackled the alcove separating garbage from donation, and setting aside the keepers. My vacuum, as I mentioned before, was kind of broken. Jackson got down and dirty with it, taking off the cover, unwinding all my hair that had gotten wrapped about the roller, and oiling up the belt. Eureka! It works! He was a blur of activity and before I knew it, he had the coffee table cleaned and scrubbed, the stereo table cleared, and was on the floor with the brush attachment scrubbing the nooks and crannies. Honestly, who IS this guy? I feel like I was standing still the whole time, even though I did my part in the alcove. In the time it took me to get through all the stuff in the alcove and actually see floor, Jackson had vacuumed the living, scrubbed everything in sight, vacuumed the stairs, jimmied open a window that I thought never opened, and cleaned the windows on the front door. Then, Jackson hauled all the donation items out to his car. He swept the porch and met the Frau, too. Ah, Frau. She asked him, "you live here?" "No, I'm just cleaning," he answered. "You sure you don't live here?" Good old suspicious Frau Pita. I promise I was cleaning, too, but honestly, this guy cleaned circles around me.

We had a moment of panic when Baloo the Ninja Pup escaped, but phew, he was just across the street. He is one stealthy chihuahua and so cute. Here's a pic I snagged from Jackson's blog. He looks so innocent. He ripped into a couple of little stuffed animals I was throwing away but was very good about not eating the eyes and noses he tore off.

Get that bunny (also, my phone camera sucks)
The carnage

I heart Baloo. I heart Jackson, too. After a brief lemonade and fruit break, we jaunted down the street to Out of the Closet where we unloaded a very loaded car. We exchanged high fives with the Out of the Closet staffer who helped us, and back home to finish. Sadly, the vacuum which had valiantly sucked up years of neglect breathed a sigh and sucked no more. Actually, it still sucks, but the brush has a broken piece. But that's okay, Action Jackson had done more than enough already. He truly seemed bummed that he couldn't tackle that last patch of carpet. We finished up by filming an after video, which while my place looked clean, I'm sure I looked a mess. I took some shots of SuperForester Jackson to the Rescue and a self-portrait shot for posterity. Have I mentioned how much my camera sucks?

Then, it was hugs for Jackson and kisses from Baloo, whom I have renamed "ol' dragon breath" and he drove off into the sunset. Who was that man in white?

Jackson, you are a prince among men, a truly amazing individual, and I cannot thank you enough for coming in and decluttering my apartment, and by extension, my life. I promise you I will continue this trend and not clutter it back up. Thank you for doing what you do, for starting SuperForest, for your beautiful generous spirit...and for the lovely signed copy of the SuperForest Humanifesto (suitable for framing).

One last gratuitous shot of Jack, because he's adorable and amazing.

PS. I am feeling so old right now. I just got up to get another glass of lemonade and could barely walk. I'm going to sleep well tonight.

This is why I need help cleaning

In looking over the crap I have to get rid of, I noticed the posters rolled up and tucked between the book cases. They've been there since 2004, but they do not belong to me. They were left here by my friend Daren who spent a brief time sleeping on my couch and, eventually, a futon is the alcove room. Daren's leaving was emotional. I asked him to leave, not out of anger, necessarily, but because I was becoming increasingly bothered by things that shall be left unsaid and I wanted to always adore him and be his friend. In the end, there were no long goodbyes, no lingering hugs, just an empty, clean room and a letter on my laptop which I no longer use but can't throw away because I have no way of retrieving that letter and I don't want to lose it.

Anyway, when I came home and looked around his empty room, I found the only remaining evidence that Daren had lived here--a guitar pick, the posters, and a blue Bic lighter which was laying on the futon. Today, in preparation for the big clean up this weekend, I called Daren to see if he still wanted the posters. There were some pretty cool ones, including a collectible White Stripes light box piece. He said "yes" then asked me if I'd like to have dinner, too. Well, I can't say no to a handsome fella, so we met at my place and headed off to Masa in Echo Park. After the most enormous Caesar Salad ever, we came back here to sort out the poster situation. We reminisced about our brief cohabitation, Daren mostly, but me too. I missed him, really, really missed him. He's a jetsetting musician these days (I always knew he would be) so he's rarely even in LA anymore, let alone have time to socialize. I miss the way he used to sing to me. He tuned Dave (the guitar) and played me a little Beatles tune. Then I asked him if he wanted his lighter. He laughed and asked, "Why would you keep my lighter?" So I told him how sad I was when he was gone and how I left that lighter laying on the futon for a very long time before I folded the futon back into its chair form and put the lighter away.

We talked a bit more and Daren took a few last looks around. When he remarked how little had changed since he left I explained that I left things that way because "they reminded me of you." As we hugged goodbye, Daren said, "Maybe you should keep the lighter."

And I did, because I'm all sentimental and shit.

And this is why I need someone with no emotional ties to help me clean, because I would hold on to everything. (I'm going to hide the lighter, though).

Today was not fun for the sleepy and unfocused

[Warning: this post is full of knitterly language and linky goodness]

I finished a hat last night, the one I was making for my friend at Saturday's SnB, and was quite proud of it.* I even blocked it, something I rarely do. Then, I began looking harshly. "I should have used smaller needles," I said. "The pink on the button doesn't exactly match the pink on the hat." So, before my Crazy could talk me into unraveling it and starting anew with smaller needles and a more matchy button, I did what any self-respecting knitter would do--I cast on another project. I'd been on Ravelry earlier and saw this adorable braided scarf on Sarah Sparkle's projects page. "I have the perfect yarn for that around her somewhere," I thought. "Let me dig it out." So, there I sat at 3am casting on a scarf. And since the braided bits are the most interesting, I couldn't stop until I had worked it up past the braids. But it's such an easy knit and there was actually something interesting on TV at 4am (PBS)...well, next thing I knew it was 7am and I had to get in the shower or be late for work.

At work, it was one of those days where everyone needs your attention or needs you to do something for them, or get something for them, or prepare something for them, or dance a jig for them (not really, but I wouldn't be surprised). My own work suffered from the starts and stops and my inability to remember what I was working on when I got a chance to say, "Now, what was I working on..." But that's okay. I can go with the flow. I saw a spider doing yoga on my sink this morning, Warrior III pose, I believe. If he could take the time to find his inner peace, so can I.

The threat of embarrassment is a great motivator

Does anyone remember that "Sex & The City" episode in which the ladies discuss secret single behavior? That's things you do when you're alone in your apartment that you couldn't do if you lived with your significant other. My (not so) secret behavior is that I'm a slob. My apartment is a mess. I'm not quite "Hoarders" worthy (no rotting food anywhere) Photo courtesy Seattle Police Department

but it's still pretty awful. My vacuum broke, so I haven't vacuumed in a while. The fire engine red carpet shows every bit of dust and dirt (now I understand why so many apartments have that awful brown carpet) so I've tried sweeping with a regular broom, but it's not very effective. I have stacks of papers, old bills, magazines and catalogs, printed knitting patterns, etc, all stacked on the coffee table and on the computer table. My bedroom is...well, it's a good thing I'm not dating anyone. And the little sun room is filled with stuff. Much of it is knitting paraphernalia and books, but there are two boxes of things from my old Tower Records office which I have not unpacked, plus a broken boom box, a broken floor lamp, and more. In short, I need an intervention.

The funny thing is when I have a roommate, I'm not this bad. Okay, my bedroom has always been a mess--just ask my sister who shared a room with me for 16 years--but the rest of my apartment I keep fairly clean. I guess I'm okay with my own mess, but I cannot abide someone else's mess. I can only let it go so far before I have to clean. Unfortunately, I have lived alone for a very long time. After staying up late to watch a late night Oprah show about people who had been featured on "Hoarders," I looked around and realized just how bad it's getting around here. The next day I typed "I need a maid" in my Gmail chat status line. However, even that didn't inspire me to clean.

Then, yesterday, out of the blue, Jackson of SuperForest.org Gchatted to me "How much do you pay?" It took me a few minutes to realize he was responding to the maid thing. I told him I couldn't afford what it would cost to have someone clean this mess. But he was serious and started asking about the magnitude of mess and what day would be good for me. Before I knew it, I had agreed to his crazy idea and so Jackson will be joining me next Saturday to tackle this mess before the authorities come knocking. How could I say no to an offer so genuine from a man with such a radiant smile? But then I really turned a critical eye to the mess and panicked. You see, Jackson and I have never met in person. I can't let this be his first impression of me!! So, I've been cleaning today. I've set the timer to 30 minutes and cleaned in little bursts. By next week, maybe it will be presentable or at least not make him run screaming for the hills.

They're messing with me

On almost a daily basis, the toilet in the first stall in the ladies room is clogged with a wad of toilet seat covers. I'm talking 40-50 of them crammed into the toilet. I like to use the first stall because the industrial sized toilet paper holders in the other stalls are lower and are not comfortable for a woman of substantial size such as myself. There is no handicapped stall in the Ladies Room of Horrors. I'm a busy woman and have a bad habit of not going to the bathroom until it's very nearly too late, so when I encounter the clogged toilet, it adds an unwelcome delay in my relief. It's quite aggravating. Originally, we assumed the dispenser was like a loose slot machine and some hapless woman went for one sheet and ended up with a handful. Even if this were the case, she shouldn't try to flush them all. Toss them in the trash.

As this began happening so often, I checked the seat cover dispenser* and have discovered it's almost impossible to grab more than one at a time unless you're digging your fingers deep into the holder and grabbing a stack. This means someone is deliberately clogging the toilet!! Am I still in high school? Are they hoping to flood the floor and get the day off? Jeez Louise!

Yesterday, the first stall was clogged, as expected, so I went to the last stall--and IT was clogged with seat covers!! Argh!! I used the second stall. When I went back a few hours later, THAT toilet was clogged with seat covers. Finally, at the end of the day, all five toilets were jammed full of seat covers. What the...? Who does this? I swear they were just watching and waiting and doing this just to irk me. As usual, I suspect the characters across the hall.

Before you suspect I'm a total freak (kind of), I realize there are more important things to get worked up about but honestly, it just boggles my mind how grown ass women can be so ridiculously inconsiderate.

*Lest you think me disgusting, I don't use seat covers because I find them more irritating than they're worth. The paper sticks to your butt and besides, I am a champion hoverer.

Just checking in

My brother, you may know him in comments as UR Brother or Anonymous, not to be confused with my sister, Anonymous--where was I?--oh yeah, my brother got worried because I hadn't posted since New Year's Eve. Awww, it's sweet when they stop beating you up and start caring. Anywho, I'm still here. What's happening? I'll tell ya--a whole lotta nothing.

I spent the early part of New Year's Day on the phone with my mommy, as I do each year, watching the Rose Parade together. I, naturally, watched it commercial free on KTLA with Bob Eubanks and the lovely Stephanie Edwards. She was flipping between HGTV and one of the network stations. Poor Mom; I never realized how much the networks cut out by showing commercials. And HGTV wasn't showing commercials, but they weren't giving good descriptions of the floats. I was sure to share the wealth info Bob and Stephanie provided with her. We do love our Rose Parade. I spent the rest of the day being a lazy arse. In fact, I spent most of the weekend doing that. Oh, I started and am mostly done with a hat for one of the gals at work, but that's it. And I made a cell phone cover for my new phone.

I got pulled over again. I know! It was at night and they turned the spotlights on my car as they approached. I was so blinded I couldn't see to dig in my bag. I said to Officer Handsome (seriously, are they recruiting Abercrombie & Fitch models?), "Wow, those spotlights are so bright. They're blinding me."
"They're supposed to, ma'am," was his reply. I asked him if he could turn them off, and to my surprise, he did. I handed him the ticket I got two weeks ago and he said, "Oh, I see you've already been blessed." Then, he let me go and told me to get it rectified as soon as possible. Yes, sir, as soon as I get paid again. Geez.

Yeah, other than that, nothing exciting to report. Back at work doing all that "Holy Crap, the holidays were here and we didn't do squat, so we have to catch up now" stuff. And knitting. And making crafty shit for an office thing. And scrubbing the dickens out of my kitchen because it was time. And....that's all.