It’s been a really frenetic 24 hours on my dashboard.
First it was all like “Yay! Health care for all!” then it was like “CNN forgot how to get news right” then it was one billion memes reflecting both topics then it was “Yessssss it’s Friday/Magic Mike opening day” and then “Katie Holmes is free” and then it was like “remember when Tom Cruise jumped on couches?” and now it’s all “Adele is having a baby.”
Social media can be really exhausting. Also, I’m following some really random blogs.
Anyway, this afternoon I’m coincidentally meeting this pseudo-Suri Cruise blogger for coffee and an interview. Seems like good timing. I’ll ask about Suri’s take on the news. And that’s my contribution to the complete randomness that is the internet today.
This is the sound I’ve been listening to for FIFTY minutes as I’ve been sitting on a runway in Charlotte waiting to take off. It’s like I boarded the missed-nap-time-must-be-teething-hasn’t-eaten-in-days children’s flight to DC.
There’s like an 80% chance you’re going to see something soon on CNN about the lady that went crazy on some flight to DC after being seating among FOUR screaming children. You’ll know who it is.
One of my favorite things to do on lazy weekends is spend a Saturday morning picking out farmers market fare and a Sunday afternoon cooking it.
Obviously, the first priority when doing this is cocktails. So, up first were mojitos made with fresh mint, blackberries, and limes.
For an appetizer to pair with the drinks (and use the insane amount of fresh dill I now have in my possession) I made these smoked salmon chips. My version was different because I mixed the dill into the sour cream and sprinkled it on top (instead of using any chives). I really liked how this one turned out (partially because it looks so pretty in the picture).
Next up I made this buttermilk biscuit tomato, cheddar, and dill pie. I’d made this same pie last summer and LOVED it. My feelings haven’t changed. It takes forever to make, but if you have really great fresh tomatoes, it’s worth every second. We ate it alongside a garden salad.
Finally, for dessert I made a lemon pound cake, which I topped with farmers market blueberries that I’d slowly heated with organic sugar.
And this completes your tutorial on how to take healthy fresh food and turn it into a ridiculously high calorie dinner.
So this morning a guy around my age got on the metro at the stop after mine. He sat down next to me and pulled out the Washington Post Express morning paper, flipped to the crossword puzzle and began working on it. I wasn’t paying much attention, but then I happened to glance down two stops later and notice that he’d almost completed it.
I’m pretty sure my jaw literally dropped. I mean, we’re not talking about a Saturday morning New York Times puzzle here, but still. Five minutes and you’re almost done? I watched him rapidly finish up the last few words. Then he flipped to the Sudoku puzzle. He finished it in less than five minutes.
Next up was the Scrabble game. He struggled briefly with the word “yeoman.” And by briefly, I mean about 20 seconds. As he folded up his completed paper, I said, “I’m impressed.” He laughed and said, “Just a way to make the ride less boring.”
You know what I do to make the ride less boring? Stare blankly into space. We got off at the same stop (he was already at the top of the escalator before I’d even gotten on at the bottom—a metaphor for our lives, I’d imagine). My stop is the same one as the White House. I’m really hoping that’s where he was headed to work this morning because I’m pretty sure that guy could solve an international crisis on like a long car ride.
So, I didn’t want explain it in my blog send off of my parents’ pup, Abby, but her death was fairly tragic. She was eaten by coyotes. I’m not going to go into the details, but, as you might imagine, it was traumatic for my mom who could hear her barking from inside the house and saw the coyotes in yard.
I took this pretty personally. In large part because Rosie frequently explores the pastures around my parents’ farm and the idea of her being at risk is horrifying. So, I called my dad and demanded that he shoot the coyotes. Stat. He explained that it’s not that simple because they mostly only see them at night. Fine. Shoot them at night. He said that while the chance was only about one in ten thousand, shooting at night put you at risk for killing someone you can’t see in the darkness and he just wasn’t willing to do that. I told him those odds were good. Shoot them. If you kill someone you have a very large farm and an auger. Seems like an easy solution. But apparently he’s just not willing to go to prison for this one.
So, today I decided to search the internet for some alternatives since, despite my thoughts on the matter, apparently my father is determined to be a law-abiding citizen rather than a dachshund avenging vigilante. The extent of conversation on the world wide web regarding killing coyotes is staggering. The extent of it that is testosterone-fueled discussion of how to kill one with your bare hands is even more amazing. Apparently, this is something people like to talk about. Who knew?
Anyway, my favorite find of the day was a discussion board that was started by a guy who insists that coyotes are stalking him. The board was full of answers from people who cited themselves as knowledgeable because of backgrounds like “US Army Training” or “Hunter for 13+ years.” But the best answer came from a guy who just called himself a “Truth Telling Texan.” That’s right. Everyone else needs explanation, but not him. He’s a Texan. So obviously he knows how to kill things. The following is his completely awesome answer:
I can see you need a Texan to help you with this.
Now listen up and keep this between me and you. As the coyotes approach pick out the lead one and start barking at him and making eye contact. This will piss him off. As he runs at you he will leap for your throat, this is when you drop to one knee and grab him by one of his rear legs. You then use him as a club to beat the other Coyotes to death. If the one you grabbed is still alive just bash him against a tree.
If it’s a lone male attacking, use the same method, but instead of grabbing his leg, grab his testicles and swing him over you head a couple of times and throw him as far as you can. I have heard that the Coyote will never again get near you, or any other human. Good luck.
I’m guessing he said that “Good luck” at the end not for the guy trying to kill the coyotes, but rather for the human race now that he’s made his existence evident.
So you know how sometimes over the phone you have to spell out your name or email address? And how normal people are like “Yes, it’s Karen. That’s K as in king, A as in animal, R as in Robert…” You get it.
I am COMPLETELY unable to do this. For me, this is what happens:
"It’s Sarah. That’s S as in snuffleupagus, A as in a, R as in racist, A as in a again… or just as in again, and H as in heir… oh, not air, um, as herb… wait… son of a … why are there no H sounding words?"
With the mere spelling of a straightforward name I’m able to make people feel completely confused and a little offended. It’s a real gift.
Weekends should be longer than two days. Like maybe 365 days. A year. This was a heavy-on-the-calories and light-on-the-work kind of weekend. Which are obviously the best. Here are some of my favorite parts.
On Friday night I met up with my brother and his girlfriend for pomegranate margaritas and ridiculously gorgeous views of the Potomac at the National Harbor.
One of the things I love about living in new spots is discovering the differences in culinary offerings. For example, spring menus here were packed with shad roe dishes—something I’d never tried. However, finding reasonably priced pickled okra in DC is so hard that I brought ten jars back with me from my last trip home. This makes Saturday morning farmers markets a fantastic adventure. I bought these lovely squash blossoms and a locally made fresh mozzarella, which I later stuffed into the blossoms, rolled in a batter and fried. Because as a southerner, I’m prone to working hard to make vegetables as unhealthy and delicious as possible.
Jenn and I got very domestic on Saturday with me grilling chicken in the backyard and her making fresh veggie, Pinterest-inspired pasta salad. Jenn was proud of her internet-discovery dish. I was proud I didn’t burn down the house.
My sweet friend from college is having a baby boy in less than a month. And so on Sunday morning I got to celebrate in Capitol Hill with friends I hadn’t seen in years—and learn more than I currently need to know about babies.
Important lesson: Sunday nights can be depressing. But eating fresh strawberries and homemade ice cream on a warm patio helps.
A few months ago I was riding on the metro home from work one afternoon when a guy behind says “Rachel? Rachel?” And then lightly taps me on the shoulder, “Rachel?” I turned around, politely smiled, and said that I wasn’t Rachel.
Then, a few weeks after that, I was waiting in line for coffee at the Starbucks near my office when a guy approaches me from the side and says, “Rachel? Hi!” I turned and shook my head, again noting that I’m not Rachel.
Finally, the other night, I got on the metro at the airport. It was packed with people returning home from a Nationals game. I was facing forward and standing up when a guy behind me starts saying “Rachel?… Rachel?” I knew immediately what was happening and finally turned around. “Rachel?” he said and I shook my head. “No, sorry,” I said. He responded that I looked like someone he knew. No kidding.
So I’m perplexed. I can only assume that somewhere in the greater DC area there is a woman who looks strikingly like me—so much so that people legitimately think I’m her until I indicate otherwise. I’m partly impressed with how many guys she knows. But mostly just curious about what this doppelganger looks like. I’m guessing Kate Hudson meets Blake Lively. Right? No? Fine.
So last night as I was finishing up making dinner for my book club, my replacement pink gown arrived from Rent the Runway and I tried it on and it didn’t fit and I realized my backup was at the dry cleaners and then my friends arrived for the evening. Ok.
So then Rosie was sick all night and I’m starting to actually appreciate the quiet in our backyard at 3 am, but also I need sleep and a healthy dog so I hurried to the vet this morning where I paid crazy money and Rosie got lots of drugs for her dear Aunt Jenn to administer all weekend while I’m gone. Alright.
So I got to work late, lugging in a suitcase and excuses about sick dachshunds and tried to write an article and realized that I don’t actually understand how the US election process works like what the f are delegates, I really should have paid more attention when I was getting my degree in POLITICAL SCIENCE and so I missed my deadline. Sounds about right.
Then my intern pointed out that there was a tornado warning which isn’t awesome for a lot of reasons including the dog I left in the yard on a hilltop and the flight I’m supposed to catch tonight, but then my boss told me to go home before the storm caught up so now I’m riding a train to hike up a hill with a suitcase in the rain and tornado in a white dress. Yep.
I’m aware that my problems are seriously small, but today they’re giving me a serious headache.