I said I'm Cookinggal, not Bakinggal

I think I've mastered this cooking thing. I just follow recipes. But now I'm so darn good that sometimes I substitute things. And when I get really crazy, I just add in things. Like last night I made King Ranch Chicken (thanks, Jenny Johansson) and I just threw in some jalapeños. Actually, it's usually jalapeños since we got that giant tub of them at Costco.


But apparently when you're baking, you can't do that. For instance, I attempted to make Mandy's rolo cookies the other day even though I lacked most of the ingredients (and a few baking brain cells).

Recipe called for "unsweetened cocoa." I thought Swiss Miss sugar free hot chocolate would work fine.

Recipe called for one cup sugar. I ran out of sugar after half a cup. Why not use 30 Splenda packets for the other half a cup? As I told Frank, "It says 'it's made from sugar so it tastes like sugar.' It's the same thing!" Nope.

Recipe called for butter. I used margarine.

Oh, and I just used the odor-absorbing Arm and Hammer box (which has been with us through two fridges) for baking soda.

After I slaved over these damn things for hours, Frank and I had the following conversation:

Elsa: "How do they taste?"
Frank: "Well, I guess I don't know how they're supposed to taste..."
Elsa: "What kind of answer is that? If they tasted good, you'd just say that they tasted good."
Frank: "They're not good."
Elsa: "Well, maybe you don't like rolos. Is it the rolo that makes it taste weird?"
Frank: "No, the rolo is the only part that tastes good. It's the part around the rolo that tastes bad." (i.e. the part that I made).

So it's not that big a deal that I screwed up Mandy's rolo cookies. It is a big deal that I chose to tackle my first baking recipe for Frank's work superiors and co-workers. I even bought these cute little Christmas bags to put them in. Frank didn't want to take them to work but he reluctantly agreed when he saw the bags. And the bows.

I think for me I need two chances with baking. Remember my double layer pumpkin pie I made for Thanksgiving?

Yes there are two layers but they're sort of layered together in one pumpkin pudding mess. Still tasted good.

But for Christmas I wanted to get that line between the layers. So I took the advice of Jessi (a friend and loyal blog reader) and put the pies in the freezer overnight. There was a bit of panic when they were still frozen a half hour before we were to have dessert. But after a quick visit to the oven, they looked like this:

Look at that line!! It's magnificent!

So I think I'll leave the baking to experts like Mandy. But I WILL attempt to make those rolo cookies again. This time I'll follow the recipe exactly. I won't even add in jalapeños.

And the Winner Is...

First, I have some good news and some bad news:

Bad News:
I did not get 100 emails.

Good News:
I did not get 100 emails.

Why did I think I wanted to receive and sort through 100 emails? Frank said I should have made it 20. Hello? It wasn’t the TWENTIETH blog now was it? That’s something you should have mentioned back in September!

So I took all the emails I did receive (still a pretty good amount) and put your names and favorite blogs into an Excel spreadsheet. So if you voted three times you were in there three times.

I drew the names out of a hat that Frank got for free at the White Rock marathon. Hee hee. I always almost write “marathong” when I write that word. It’s so weird. It’s not like I write the word “thong” that much. Or ever.

Anyway, the winner is…drum roll…Alicia Clayton of Fort Worth, Texas!!!

The funny thing is she WAS the last person to email me and she thought she was too late! But she did make it into the drawing with only one vote.

Her choice? Food for Gross Thought

Here is what she says: “It just reminded me of the good old days when we watched Lifetime movies on our lunch breaks and you freaked b/c we passed by Jenny Jones!” That is true. Also, Alicia makes a damn good peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She doesn’t skimp on the PB or the J.

Also, I just thought you should know her husband Doug (who ironically was the FIRST person to vote yesterday) and her daughter Avery (who’s too young to vote both on Writinggal and in political elections) sometimes dress alike…

As far as your favorite blog, there was a four-way tie:

Go, Grannies, Go


Oh, the Places Frank’s Feet Will Go


What Happens in Cabo Stays in Cabo


Tips from Thea


So while Frank always assures me that he is the favorite “character” in the blog, it looks like people are more pleased when Thea makes an appearance. Although Frank's feet have quite a following. I will keep this research in mind for future blogs.

Thanks to everyone who voted and for reading these past 102 blogs! And as Big Daddy Doug Clayton says, “Here’s Looking Forward to the 1,000th!” But then again, this is coming from a guy who dresses like a two-year-old.

101st Blog to Come Tomorrow

If you can stand it, I'm going to wait until tomorrow to announce the winner in my 101st blog. That way I can make a whole blog about it.

Darn it. THIS is my 101st blog now.

So tomorrow, in my 102nd blog, I will announce the winner.

See you then.

Writinggal Out.

100th BLOG BLOWOUT!!

Today is my 100th Writinggal blog.

Thank you. Oh, you’re so sweet. Oh, stop. I’m blushing. (That’s me responding to all of your “Congratulations,” “I love the blog” and “You are so multi-talented what with your writing and cooking and spinning. You should run for president against Oprah.”)

Obviously for the 100th blog we have to do something spectacular. And this time it will benefit you, the blog readers, as well.

Here’s what we’re gonna do: Just as if we were a Mom and Pop grocery store, we’re gonna reward the 100th reader of the blog today. No, there won’t be any sirens and confetti and you won’t get to run around the blog and shop for one minute. But it will be almost like that.

You see I can tell once 100 people have viewed the blog but I can’t tell who you are. So after you’ve read this, send an email to elsasimcik@hotmail.com (I don’t want you clogging up my Writinggal email) and tell me your fave blog of the last 100. I know, I know. It sounds self-serving and vain. That’s probably because it is.

BUT the 100th person to email me will get a prize. It will be personal, mailable and of course, edible.

Now you want to ask, “But Elsa, do 100 people even read your blog?” Not exactly. I usually get about 105 “page views” a day. But that counts people who go back multiple times. Plus, with the holidays we may have a weak readership day.

SO you can email me up to THREE times but you have to put a different fave blog in each time. This will also help to prevent against people waiting until 5:00p.m. to email me.

Ooh, ooh. I just got another idea. When I announce the winner I’ll also tell you which blog was the favorite. Man, I have a lot of reading and counting to do today. Good thing I've got that calculator handy.

I’ll post it later tonight (around 8p.m.) in my 101st Writinggal blog. Oh, thanks again. Yes, it is like that. No, no, I’m not going to stoop to that level. Well, maybe. (That’s me responding to people saying, “Wow, 101 blogs. That’s like as many blogs as there were Dalmatians" and "What if I send you a steaming bowl of queso? Then can I be the winner?”)

I'm Dreaming of a Mildly Cool Christmas

Hi. It's me, Writinggal. On location from Friendswood, Texas (or as Scott Womack calls it "Pleasantville.")

Frank and I rolled in about 8:00 last night. He was wearing short sleeves. He would have worn shorts if I had let him. He ALWAYS asks if he can wear shorts. Sure, it's not that cold but it looks weird to wear shorts in Dec/Jan/Feb. I can't convince him.

I donned my very light-weight "Team Captain" jacket. (Oh, and my mom also asked me what I was the team captain of.)

It's warmer in Pleasantville than it was in Dallas! On the way down I asked Frank to turn on the A/C. He reminded me that his A/C is broken. "Darn! We need that A/C!" I said, sweating.

What kind of warped state do we live in where a gal complains that the A/C is broken in late December? On the first official day of winter!

We poor Texas kids have never made a snowman on Christmas. In fact, I don't think I've made a snowman ever. We've never had snowball fights. We've never laid eyes on a sled. And that one-horse open sleigh? Never dashed through the snow in it.

God, Jesus, Mother Nature (to whom it may concern), I'm not asking for a white Christmas. It would just be nice for a little breeze. Perhaps some brown ice? Or maybe just a Christmas where Frank doesn't even THINK to ask if he can wear shorts.

Writinggal, signing off from lukewarm Pleasantville.

Is the Folger’s Christmas Commercial Guy Still Single?

I love how Folger’s digs up “Peter Comes Home” every year for Christmas. You know the commercial from the early 80’s:

The older brother comes in the house early on Christmas morning. His much younger sister (obviously an oops child) greets him at the door with excitement. She says that nobody is up yet and you know she wants to go jump on their heads and annoy the crap out of them. But big brother Peter knows that Mom and Dad would just say, “Dammit, Oops! Get outta here! I knew we were too old for this. When does this one go to college?”

Instead Peter says, “I know how to wake them up.” He then heads into the kitchen and starts making Folger’s. Suddenly the camera flashes to 80’s-fro mom inhaling deeply, enjoying the fresh aroma of Folger’s. Everybody comes downstairs and mauls Pete. Oops gets shoved to the side. It’s sort of like the Prodigal Son. Except they drink coffee instead of slaughtering the fatted calf.

I love the fact that Folger’s hasn’t improved on the quality of the commercial. In fact, I think they may have purposely made it fuzzier just so people know it’s old and don’t think they dress their talent in puffy vests. Wait. I think those are back in style. Go Folger’s.

Oh, but my main question is: Is the actor who played Peter still single? I’m thinking he’d be a good catch for some of my single blog readers. Hello? He’s hot. Sure, it’s about 23 years later but I bet he’s a distinguished silver-haired man now. And plus, he’s totally loaded. Do you know what kind of royalties he’s getting from having this commercial run for that long? Unless he made some bad deal like a lifetime supply of Folger’s. Then he’s stupid. And poor. So now he’s just a stupid poor old man. Forget it.

Plus, if you married him you’d have to spend every Christmas morning with Oops. Ya know she’s gotta be screwed up by now. She’d for sure jump on your head. And that is not the best part of wakin’ up.

Santa's Lunch Break

‘Twas five days before Christmas and all through the mall
Writinggal was shopping; wishing she wasn’t too old for a doll

Jessica Simpson’s Christmas album played loudly on the P.A.
She sang of happier times, when she was still married to Nick Lachey

Okay, okay. That’s all I got. What I really want to tell you about is how I saw Santa returning from his lunch break.

He was heading back towards his North Pole set-up. (And by the way, the Shops at Willow Bend, the fanciest mall I’ve ever patronized, has the most over-the-top Santa’s North Pole I’ve ever seen complete with snow falling!) He was carrying a bag from Sonic. (They have one in the food court! I told you it was fancy!) He was also carrying a Route 44 Cherry Limeade. (I know because I used to work there. Not at the one in the mall. One in my home town.)

Anyway, I kind of smiled at him like I was spotting a celebrity. It was sort of like the time I saw Joe E. Tata who played Nat on 90210. We were in L.A. and I wanted to take his picture but I had one of those disposable cameras that only worked outside. So I didn’t want to have to ask him to step outside the restaurant. But it was still really cool. It’s like I was this close to seeing Luke Perry.

But back to Santa. It occurred to me that it must be hard for Santa to just wander into the food court and grab some lunch. I mean, do the kids mob him? Do they tug at his pant legs and try to tell him what they want for Christmas? Does he just sit at a table in the food court by himself? And I guess he has no choice but to keep all the garb on. Otherwise he would confuse all the poor Plano kids.

Also, he looked pretty disgruntled. When I first realized there wasn’t a Santa I think I still thought it was a pretty good gig to play him at the mall. Now, at age 28, after looking into the eyes of that curmudgeon of a Santa, I think I’ve figured out something: playing Santa at the mall is like the worst job ever! I told this to Frank last night and he said, “Really? Why do you think that?” I said, “Well it obviously means the guy didn’t have another job!" He must have been waiting in line at the unemployment office and somebody came up and said, “Hey, you’re fat. Wanna put on this beard, red suit, hat and have kids potentially pee on you all day?”

Poor guy. He’s got no money and a bad body image. What could be worse?

Listening to Jessica Simpson's whiney voice sing "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" all day long. Yep, that could be worse.

Queen Latifah, you best not get me a Wal-Mart GC for X-Mas

Have you seen that Wal-Mart commercial with Queen Latifah and her mom? They get in the car to go shopping and QL is all, “We’ve got so much shopping to do. I don’t know how we’re gonna get it all done in one day.” Then they get to Wal-Mart and her mom grabs a gift certificate and says, “We’re done.” QL smiles as if to say, “Oh, mom. You’re so clever!”

Now let me just tell you if I was a relative or close friend of Queen Latifah’s and I opened up a package from her and saw a Wal-Mart GC, I’d be pretty bummed. I mean, unless it was like $5,000.

You see, this is why I don’t want to be rich and famous. Because once you’re of a certain status the only acceptable gift is a car. And then it just gets ridiculous. I mean, did you see Nick and Jessica giving each other cars every year for Christmas? And then her parents got in on it, too. She should say, “Look, Mom. The only reason you could afford to buy me that car is because you and Dad take 10% of my salary. I THINK I can afford to buy my own car.”

Plus, don’t they want to pick out their cars??

If Frank and I were famous (come on, we could be like Reese and Ryan don’t ya think?) I would just say, “Hey, don’t buy me a Bentley. Don’t buy me a Benz. Let’s just buy another home in Aspen and call it even.”

Also, if you’re a celebrity, you have to give a huge tip every time you go out to eat. If you leave even 30%, the waitress will tell everyone at the Ivy that you’re a cheap ass. Same goes for the hair salon. Same goes for the nail place. And even at Subway where they shouldn’t have a tip jar in the first place!

So Queen Latifah, I’m okay if you buy my present from Wal-Mart. I mean, I understand that you’ve got an endorsement deal with them. But at least get me a plasma TV or something. You don’t even have to go shopping for it yourself. Don’t you have an assistant who does that for you? Or just send your mom. Or better yet, send Jessica Simpson’s mom. But just know that she'll take 10%.

Writinggal's Persons of the Year

Time magazine is confused. What’s more, they’re confusing everyone else. They can’t decide if the Person of the Year is a good thing or a bad thing. So this year it’s three philanthropists: Bill & Melinda Gates and our friend Bono. (I once almost went to a beach in Italy where Bono was a few days before. Thus the “our friend” label.)

Since they’re the “Persons of the Year” for doing good things they make comments like, “We’re so humbled” and “What an honor.” Did they know they share this “honor” with Hitler?

I’m not saying it shouldn’t switch from bad to good. That’s okay. Time just needs to be more consistent in how they pitch it. Like this year they’re going along with the whole “honorable” thing. Instead they should push their point about how it’s the most “influential” person/thing—good or bad. Because next year when they pick Bin Laden they’ll have to defend themselves: “No, no. It’s never an “award,” it’s just whoever makes the biggest difference—good or bad. It’s always been like that.”

Plus, I totally have other ideas for who it should have been this year:

Oprah-It’s her 20th anniversary. And she helps in Africa, too! Plus, she buys people houses. And iPods.

Jessica Simpson-Thanks to J.S. I totally dug out my Daisy Dukes this year. But then quickly put them away.

Tom Cruise-We were all glib until we listened to him.

Weathermen…women…Weatherpeople…Weatherpersons?-That’s who Best Week Ever said had the best year. And I always defer to them.

Aunt Marilyn and Uncle John-Maybe they can be the persons of the year for the blog.

I’m just left with so many questions for Time. Like when they notify someone that they’re the person of the year, what do they say? Congratulations? That doesn’t really seem right. But I bet they do when it’s a good person. Or persons? Doesn't anybody say people anymore? They’re so confused. I'm so confused.

Hey-I wonder what kind of music Bin Laden will request at his photo shoot. I peg him as a Limp Bizkit kinda guy.

Confessions of a one-time Sub

Last Friday Frank and I let out a big “schwoo.” That’s a collective sigh of relief. They had layoffs at his company (a large manufacturer of snack foods). We got the word in early November and panicked for about a month before we found out. During this month I thought of different options for us if he did lose his job (not that I don’t make enormous amounts of money writing this blog).

I thought maybe we could substitute teach. I actually have experience in this area. You see when I lost my job in 2001 I was a substitute teacher—for one day.

I was assigned to an elementary school in the very affluent Highland Park. Does this mean the children are better behaved? Smarter? Nah. Just means they all carried cell phones. And this was before cell phones were cells.

I was to teach computer class. Great-I’m an IT genius! Well, not really, but come on, this was 1-5 grade, how hard could it be? The computer-teaching part actually wasn’t hard. We cut and pasted, learned how to change the color of fonts and practiced typing spelling words.

I couldn’t, however, master the art of getting kids to walk in a line. I thought they just did it automatically. Not if there’s a sub. Especially a sub who seems easy to overthrow. I tried to walk a class of first graders back to their classroom and they all walked in a mob.

“Get in a line!” I yelled. A couple of kids wandered off towards the bathroom. “Oh? Is it like an organized bathroom break now?” I asked (big mistake). “Yes,” one of the boys answered and giggled. Several ran off to the bathroom. A few more just ran away. The ones I could find I ushered (maybe shoved a little) against some lockers. “Sit there! Don’t move!” I said. “But we’re not even in this class,” a little boy cried. “Oh, well then you can go,” I said. When I finally delivered the kids to their regular teacher, we were probably missing about 1/3 of the class.

Whatever. It was time for lunch. Now this I was excited about. I had missed school lunches for like 12 years! And that day, in the rich elementary school, they were having chili cheese dogs—yes! “I’ll take a chili cheese dog, some tater tots and two chocolate milks!” I said. “Um, you know, the teachers can have salads,” the cafeteria guy said. No way was I gonna waste this opportunity on a teacher salad! The coney was so good. Yes, the other teachers looked at me weird as I dipped my tater tots in catsup and mayonnaise. (Just like old times!)

Later that day I had another first grade class. We were practicing something in Word and the Microsoft Office Assistant (paperclip man) popped up. “Who’s that?” one of the kids asked. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I said and deleted the paperclip man for him. “NO!!!!” the kid shrieked, “I-want-him-back-I-want-him-back!!!” “Oh, sorry!” I said and found the paperclip man for him again. Soon the whole class was shrieking, “I want him too! Why don’t I have him?” I had to go around the room and get the paperclip man to appear on all 30 screens. We didn’t make any progress on changing the font color that day.


As I helped one of the first graders find the paper clip man she looked up at me and asked, “Why is your tooth crooked?” How do you respond to that? “You know. My dad is a dentist. He could fix that for you.” Stupid rich kids. Although she’ll be happy to know that based on her “encouragement” I did eventually get a crown on that tooth. But not at her dad’s office in Highland Park. In the shopping center with the sign that just said, “Dentist.”

So I never substituted again but not because the kids scared me away. Or the paperclip man scared me away. Or because I lost some of the kids. Or because I asked for seconds on tater tots. Just because I got another job. But if it came down to it, I could sub again. But next time, I hope it’s on free ice cream day. I’m so craving a push-up!

Food for (Gross) Thought

I can’t watch certain things on TV and eat. Luckily Frank’s got it down and he knows the rules. If we sit down in front of the TV with food (which is a lot), he must adhere to the following:

• Find something acceptable right away. No flipping!
  
• No trashy talk shows (i.e. Jerry Springer and I’m gonna go ahead and eliminate Tony Danza and that new Tyra show)
  
• No surgery—Duh.
  
• No Animal Planet
  
• No shows that take place before 1899
  
• No news…you never know
  
• No Married with Children
  

No Science Fiction movies (even when I’m not eating)


I think that covers it. So what is allowed? Sports, actually. I don’t really like ‘em but they don’t make me nauseous. I’m not even sure the other stuff makes me nauseous anymore but I don’t want to risk it. Oh, and most sitcoms are okay too.

Once when I was working at an advertising agency we had lunch at an editing house where we were finishing up a commercial. We all went to eat in the conference room and they turned on the TV to JERRY SPRINGER!! You see that I put that as my #1 no-no. That’s not an accident. JS is the absolute worst thing I can watch and eat. But since I didn’t know these people that well I couldn’t say anything. I just stared down at my food and didn’t look up. The worst part is they weren’t even watching it. They were like, “There’s nothin’ else on.” And did I mention it was my birthday?? Worst birthday ever!

Another time I was forced to watch the movie Dune while eating. I think I just starved. Now Frank likes to play this game: “Which would you rather watch while eating? Dune or the Surgery Channel?”

Oh, and another good rule: I don’t eat during commercials. You never know when an ad for hemorrhoid cream’s gonna pop up.

But it’s not just TV. Once we were at an outdoor restaurant in San Francisco and there was this person dressed up like a clown/street performer/weirdo. We were with a group so I didn’t say anything but Frank could tell something was wrong. He turned around to see what I was looking at and started laughing. He said, “You can’t eat and look at him, can you?” Now that’s another favorite thing of his to bring up. If somebody looks gross he’ll say, “Could ya eat and look at him?”

It’s a wonder I manage to eat anything what with all the grossness, ickiness and science fiction in the world. The good news is that if I need to lose a lot of weight very quickly I could just put my TV on a continuous loop of the forbidden programming. I’m calling it “The Dune Diet.” Hey, don't steal that. I've got a patent pending.

Update on my Gym Friends

About four months ago I introduced you to my gym friends. Back then I didn’t know their names or much about them except shallow observations. Now that I’ve been going there for awhile (and even teach classes there) well, I still don’t know most of their names but I thought I’d update you anyway. You may want to review the original post first.

Done? Okay, here goes:

Uni: Yes, she still does her own spin routine and she still wears unitards. However, Uni has made a major change: She now wears a way-too-long t-shirt over her unitard. It goes past her knees like pajamas. She gets all tangled up in it when she spins. Somebody help this woman!

Clepto Clarice: CC is actually really sweet. The first time I ever taught spin she came up to me afterwards and told me I did a good job. She said it was a good workout and she sweated a lot. For some reason I then told her the story about the time I went running and when I came back I was so sweaty that my neighbor asked me, “How was your swim?” CC laughed even though it was a gross story. I like her. Oh, and she hasn’t stolen my bike in months.

OCD Olivia: She’s still obsessed with running too far on the treadmill. And she’s still there at all times of the day. But I found out she was training for something. I spotted her at the White Rock race this past weekend. She ran the half marathon too! We passed her and I nudged Frank and said, “That’s OCD Olivia! I blogged about her!” I looked up “OCD Olivia” in the official results but I guess she ran under her “real” name.

Lisp Girl: For awhile I thought Caithlyn quit working at the gym. I never saw her anymore. But then the other day I taught spin at another location: the Plano SUPER SPORT (it’s like the V.I.P. gym which just means it costs more.) Caithlyn was working there! I didn’t say her name because I refuse to sound like I have a lisp too.

Screwed-up Steve: He’s the same. Still listens to his own music. Still chews on the towel. I do know more about his taste in music though. He likes devil music. I don’t. We’re not compatible.

Since I work at home it’s nice to have this circle of gym friends to hang out with during the day. Even though I don’t know most of their names. And I’ve never talked to most of them. Still, I think I’ll invite them over for a little holiday party. But if Clepto Clarice is comin’ I better hide the silverware.

A Lesson from my Dad

On days like this (when I'm a busy writinggal), I think I'm just going to leave you with some wise words from my dad. This is my favorite and I very much believe it:

"If you're bored, you're boring."-Elsa's Dad

Goldilocks and Her Running Partners

Ever since I started running I’ve been on my own. Solo. Or SoulO as Nick Lachey puts it. Sometimes when people hear that I run they’ll say, “We should run together!” and at first I thought that was a good idea. So I tried it.

The first girl said I was too slow. Well, she didn’t say that to my face but she told a mutual friend, “I just can’t physically run that slow. It’s bad for my knees.” I certainly didn’t want to be the cause of her paralysis. I’d try to run with other people and they would say I was too fast. I like that better than being too slow.

I notice when I run in races there’s usually no one around me. No, I’m not at the front of the pack. But I’m not at the back either. Just nobody is running the exact same pace as me. Or else I smell like garlic.

Also, I don’t really like to talk when I run. I just like to let my mind wander. Running through neighborhoods is my favorite because I like to try to figure out people’s floor plans. I’m not going to rob them or anything. I just like to try to figure it out.

I think it’s funny when people say “but running by yourself is so boring!” Boring? Running is hard. That means it hurts. Is going to the dentist boring? Is having a baby boring? When you’re in pain, boredom is the last thing on your mind.

Yesterday I ran the White Rock half marathon here in Dallas. At about mile 7 I noticed these two girls who were running right next to me. They asked me what mile we were on and we started talking from there. Their names were Dixie and Allison. I knew Dixie’s name right away because Allison kept saying it: “Ya doin’ okay, Dix? How ya holding up, Dix? Look, Dix, we’re almost there!”

We chatted and ran and Allison commented, “You run the same pace as we do! You should train with us!” I told her about how nobody is ever running around me. She said, “That happens to us too! Right, Dix?”

But then we realized that I lived in Dallas and they lived in Oklahoma City. So alas, we couldn’t be the three legendary running ladies. But we finished the half marathon together. Even though Dixie almost gave up. “I can’t go this fast, guys!” she said. Allison said, “We won’t leave you Dix!” I thought, “Speak for yourself!”

We all crossed the line at the same time and had our best half marathon times ever.

So even though I’ve never found the right running partner for me I think the few that I’ve had have helped me along the way. Especially the first one who thought I ran too slow. Oh, by the way, she ran the half marathon yesterday too.

She came in a minute behind me.

Why Rick Springfield Kinda Rocks

Now normally only people who totally rock make my blog but I had to give a shout out to Rick Springfield. Why does he kinda rock? It depends on how you look at it: Is it more important to have A LOT of mediocre songs or one exceptionally awesome, kick-ass song? If that one song is Jessi’s Girl, then I’ll take it.

Jessi’s Girl is a masterpiece. Let me point out my favorite parts:

• First, there’s the rockin’ guitar solos—nah, nah, nah, nah, nananana
  
• Then there’s the quiet rhythmic verses where Rick’s voice gets softer and the instruments are really subtle (“I played along with the charade.”)
  
• Natch, there’s the lyrics:
  “…and she’s lovin’ him with that body I just know it”
  “I’ve been funny, I’ve been cool with the lines. Ain’t that the way love’s supposed to be?”
  “I feel so dirty when they start talkin’ cute.”
  
  

I heard Rick on a radio interview the other day and he said Jessi’s girl is a REAL person. But the guy’s name was Gary. Can you imagine how different our lives would be if the song was, “I wish that I had Gary’s Girl?” Actually, I kinda like the alliteration. No, no. It has to be Jessi.

But poor Rick. He was doing this radio interview in an effort to promote some new album full of cover songs and all the DJs wanted to ask about was Jessi’s Girl. I mean, the guy sang TONS of songs (although I can’t name any besides JG) and he starred on General Hospital! But everywhere he goes I bet people play air guitar and sing the chorus.

He shouldn’t feel bummed about it though. I mean, some people never have a hit song. I know I haven’t. Have you? So that’s something to be proud of. It’s just weird to be defined by one thing. It’s like Kato Kaelin. Or Baby Jessica. Or that guy with the shampoo bottle from my junior high.

I know if I met him I couldn’t resist either. I’d say, “Rick, I wanna tell you that I love you but the point is probably mute.” And of course I'd tell him that he kinda rocks.

Have you Met Hillary?

We had so much fun playing "Have you met Mandy?" that I thought we'd try the game with another lovely lady, Hillary Hansen.

Background: Hillary lives on a ranch in Dillon, Montana with her husband, Jon (both pictured here) and their two kids Savannah (4) and Brock (almost 2). Guess who else lives there? Jon’s family—his parents, his sister’s family and his brother’s family. Guess who his sister is married to? Hillary’s brother.

Confused yet?

I was at first too but pay attention:

Backing up More: Hillary grew up in Wharton, Texas and went to college with me at UT. Her brother, Scott, went to TCU for their ranch management program.

Jon grew up on the ranch in Dillon, Montana and also attended ranch management school at TCU. He met Scott there and at graduation, Jon’s parents offered Scott a job on their ranch. So he moved to Montana.

In Montana Scott met Jon’s sister, Jodi. They hit it off. He decided to invite his younger sister Hillary to Montana to hang out on the ranch one summer. She met Jon. They hit it off.

Foreground:
Now Hillary is married to Jon and Scott is married to Jodi. No, there’s no incest there. Just a brother and a sister who married a brother and a sister. Oh, and Hillary’s parents went ahead and moved there too. I mean, why not? Everybody else did!

Anyway, Hillary sends out emails on a regular basis with pictures and updates about life on the ranch. Sometimes I get ranch envy and wish I lived there with the gorgeous mountains, beautiful sunsets and the ocassional outing "into town."

But yesterday she sent an email about the weather. At first glance I thought she said it was 25 degrees. I thought, “That’s how cold it is here in Dallas!” But then I realized she said 25 BELOW! Little Savannah even had a bit of frostbite on her cheek. I felt a tad guilty for constantly whining to Frank, “I’m frozen!”

But when it’s not so cold the ranch seems like a blast. And if you’re starting to get that itch to travel there, well get ready to…uh... scratch it? Their ranch, Hansen Livestock Company, now has cabins for rent—some rustic, some really rustic. You can hunt, fish or just hang with Hillary and the kids.

Thanks for playing, “Have you met Hillary?” I’ll leave you with some pics to help you feel even closer.

Hillary and Brock

Hillary and Savannah

Look how much fun they have on the ranch!

The Friends who Never Call Back

I remember when 911 first came out. They had posters all over Landolt Elementary School. It sounds so normal now but back then, we had to practice it over and over again to remember it. I guess it worked. Because I use it a lot:

--There was the time my car got stuck in the ice on a day like today. It was early in the morning and I was driving from my apartment to the gym. I swerved, I spun and then I stopped. I ran up to my apartment and called Frank. He lived about 20 minutes away so he just said, “Go try and push it!” I guess since I was on my way to the gym he thought I had super-human strength. So I did. But it didn’t move. Soon after, a car carrying a couple of other girls, also en route to the gym, got stuck. They were dressed really cute like they were just going to the gym to stand around and pose. They immediately made phone calls and announced that several men were coming to help. “Great! My boyfriend just told me to come push it,” I said, pointing to my apartment. I guess they thought he was actually in the apartment and that I had the meanest boyfriend ever. Their men showed up and moved their car. The thing is, they didn’t even bother to move mine! They just all left—probably to go do some pretty-person activity like drink Starbucks.

So I called 9-1-1. They said, “We have about a thousand other cars to get to before yours. I suggest you leave it.”

--Another time I called because my apartment was on fire. Okay, it was one of those oven fires where there’s a crumb on the bottom so when you cook pizza it sparks up. I was screaming on the phone to 9-1-1 when Frank walked in. He put it out and I had to tell my 9-1-1 friends, “Nevermind.”

--I used to run in a neighborhood in the mornings and one day I saw this house with a blinking light. I mean like the lights in one room were blinking on and off, on and off—very deliberately and very consistently. Hello? I was a girl scout! I know what that means! S.O.S.! I don’t know what it stands for but it means someone’s in trouble. Natch, I called 9-1-1 when I got home. They said they’d go check it out. But every day after that I saw the same thing. Guess it was their alarm clock? Not a bad idea…

--I’ve called several times for things I’ve seen on the road—accidents, suspicious people. One time in Austin I saw a lady crossing the bridge of a major highway because her car had stalled about a half mile back. I didn’t want to stop and help her but I thought maybe my 9-1-1 friends would. I called them and this time they asked for my number in case they had any questions. I was going to a Christmas party but I kept my phone by me all night, explaining to everyone that I was an important witness in a police investigation and I could be called away at any minute. But they never called.

Now I know you’re thinking that I should be calling 3-1-1 in some of these cases and I have—for debris in the road and things like that. But they take forever to answer. I’d have better luck calling MedCo!

--I once struggled with whether or not to call my pals at 9-1-1. I was running outside (you see a lot of things when you’re running) and I saw a very normal looking man standing outside a very normal looking restaurant. The only abnormal thing was that his pants were down around his ankles. I won’t describe what else he was doing (for Grandma Valerie’s sake) but I don’t think he should have been doing that. When I got back to my apartment (after running really, really fast—not sure why. It’s not like he could chase me with his pants around his ankles) I called all my friends and told them the story. Later I decided maybe I should put in a call to my friends at 9-1-1, just in case. So I dialed that familiar number and when I told them the story they said, “Hey! Why didn’t you call us sooner?”

Writinggal's Conspiracy Theories

I believed in Santa Claus until I was, I don’t know, 16? Like all kids, I weighed the options:

1. There’s this portly man who lives in the North Pole and he flies around with reindeer one night of the year and delivers presents to every single kid in the world—even in the remote areas of Cambodia. Oh, and he manages to fit down your chimney.

2. The entire adult population is lying to the entire kid population.

I chose to go with #1. I rationalized it with the old “the elves help him.” When I found out there really wasn’t a Santa Claus I started to become suspicious of everything—
particularly large, money-hungry corporations. That little Enron oops didn’t restore my faith either. I’d like to reveal some other scams happening right under our red noses:

Bank of America is stealing from you:
I know because they used to steal from me. It’s like the Office Space plan. They take about a tenth of a cent from all unsuspecting customers every so often and when you balance your checkbook and see you’re a few cents off, you blame yourself. Hey, you’re good at math, especially addition and subtraction! These aren’t logarithms, people (not that I know what logarithms are. Frank?) After awhile of always rounding down my balance, I got fed up. I started checking my bank account online every day—watching for the little withdrawals. And you know what? I never found them. You know why? Because BofA NOTICED I was online all the time and they figured they couldn’t mess with me! So don’t let ‘em mess with you.

There’s no such thing as a rebate from Sears:
We bought a washer, dryer and a refrigerator from Sears in July. We got free delivery with a mail-in rebate. Great! After the appliances were delivered we promptly mailed in our rebate and waited. And waited. After the allotted 90 days we called Sears: “Hey, where’s our rebate?” Surprise! They never received it. “It must have gotten lost in the mail.” That’s weird. I sent out 200 wedding invitations and none of them got lost in the mail. I send out over 100 Christmas letters every year and they never get lost in the mail. So Sears is telling me (very confidently I might add) that the ONE time I mail ONE thing to Sears, it gets lost? They tell me to fax it in. We do. I call a couple weeks later: “Hey, it’s me, Elsa. Where’s my rebate?” Double surprise! They never received it. “It must not have been processed correctly.” I get it, Sears. You’re counting on your customers to be lazy. We don’t want to have to deal with this. In fact, we might even forget about our rebate. But you obviously haven’t dealt with the Simciks, Sears! We will drive to your headquarters in Chicago if we have to. We WILL get our $50!

You’re not covered by insurance:
The medical insurance scam is similar to Sears in that they try to annoy you into paying. If you want them to pay you have to go through so much red tape, fill out so many forms and talk to so many automated answering services that you might be inclined to say, “Fine! I’ll just pay for it myself!” Plus, you have to go to medical school just to be able to fight with them: “What do you mean you won’t cover Dysplastic Nevi? I mean, I don’t know what it is but I’ve got it and you better cover it!”

I just wanted you all to be aware of these evil plots to take your money. And these are just a few of them. I could probably tell you about scams until Easter. Oh, and don’t even get me started on that bogus, basket-carrying bunny.

My Dream of not Working

I called my Grandma on Thursday and like a good granddaughter I said, “I told you so!”

During one of my visits with her I had informed the 83-year-old that I was going to quit my job to be a full-time freelance writer. She had lots of questions: “So where will you go to work?” “What? What do you mean you’ll work from home?” “Will you make any money doing that?”

I explained to her that while Frank went to business school I worked so that he could follow his dream. I said, “Now he’s going to work so I can follow my dream.” She responded with, “Your dream of not working?”

I thought THAT comment made my blood boil the most but that was before she went on to tell other relatives:

“Frank has a big job at Frito Lay [she thinks he’s like the CFO] and Elsa’s not going to work.”

After awhile of her telling people that and me rolling my eyes and sighing she would follow-up that comment with, “She gets mad when I say that" and then giggle.

“Really?” I asked her, “You noticed? Cause you don’t act like you do!”

I would call her periodically and give her updates on my writing. Try telling an 83-year-old who’s never even turned on a computer that you write articles on the Internet. “What? You mean your articles are on TV?” she asked (rather suspiciously I might add).

I decided that the lady needed proof. I sent her a magazine article I had written in Women’s Health and Fitness. That did it. She immediately called me and gushed about my talent, my fame and naturally, the enormous amount of money I must be making as a result of all of this. I didn’t argue. In fact, since Grandma is under the impression that I’m rich and famous now, I’m pretty sure she thinks that I’m stooping beneath my level by being with a guy who’s merely the CFO of Frito Lay.

After she sung my praises I just couldn’t help it. I had to tell her, “I told you so, Grandma. And you said I wasn’t even working!”

She said, “Well there goes your dream.”

Far enough from Fargo

As I sit here and blog my toes are frozen. It’s this weird thing that happens to my feet every winter. My toes turn white and then they go numb—even if I have socks AND shoes on! Frank will sit on them, we’ll run them under hot water, he’ll even put them in his armpit. (Thea—who is anti-feet—is not liking this right now.)

But I guess that’s what you have to deal with when you live in the cold North. Sometimes I hear Al Roker talking about other places that are even colder than Dallas. Like Fargo, North Dakota where it was like 15 below today. I guess if I moved there my toes would just fall off. Yes, I would get off the plane, look down and I’d be toeless.

So I’m not moving to Fargo, North Dakota. And it's not just the cold. I also can’t move there because of the absence of queso. Do you know that people outside of Texas don’t even know what queso is? Sure, they act like they do but if you order it you’re either going to get a cup of shredded cheese or if you’re somewhere semi-southern, they’ll bring a bowl of some white mush. If I lived in Fargo I would have to always have a block of Velveeta and Rotel on hand so I could make it in my queso maker. But do they even have Rotel in Fargo? By the way, did you know that Rotel was invented in Elsa, Texas? How could I leave?

And although I still argue that I DO NOT have any sort of Texas accent, I’m not sure the Fargoians (Fargonites?) would understand me. You see, I once met some people from Minnesota at my friend Jessi’s wedding. I’m gonna lump them in with Fargoians; It’s all the same to me. We got into the whole dialect discussion: You know, Coke v. pop, y’all v. you guys, etc. One of the girls asked me, “What do you call that thing that you carry around that has a strap and you put stuff in it like books or clothes?” I answered, “A bag.” She started laughing and told her fellow Minnesotians (Minnesotites?), “See? She said it! I told you she would!!” I asked, “How do you say it?” She said, “Duh! It’s BEG!”

Obviously the lack of queso has affected their brains. Plus, the fact that their toes have fallen off probably doesn't help. I pity these people.

So I’ll just stay right here in Texas where it’s cold enough as it is. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go put my toes in the oven.

You can't tell but I'm trying to spell out "Help! My toes are frozen!" with my breath.