Birthday cakes

Last year, I decided I wanted to bake a cake from scratch and conveniently, Adam's birthday was just around the corner. I whipped up a yummy chocolate cake:



Also conveniently, my birthday was six weeks later. I say it was convenient because Adam did not have time to forget how much he liked that cake I baked, and said he'd make one for me. I requested cupcakes, which turned out to also be quite yummy:




So anyway, this year May rolls around and it's birthday cake time again, and I have the delightful Baked cookbook, which I received for Christmas last year. And you guys, every single thing I have made so far has been mouth-wateringly good. Even the granola, which they say is "reasonably healthy" (although can you really trust a bakery when healthy is involved? I'm guessing no). So as an excuse to make one more recipe, I made Adam the Malted Milk Ball Cake:



That cake did not disappoint, and I'd been eyeing the lemon drop cake as well, so that was what Adam promised to make me this year. Just look at how well it turned out!



I think the nicest thing about this is that not only does Adam spend hours making me these birthday treats, he also has to do it six weeks later into the summer than I do, which means that the kitchen is that much hotter. Even with the window unit running full-blast, he still had to put the cake into the fridge every few minutes while he was frosting it to keep the icing from melting right off into a puddle, and the same thing happened last year with the cupcakes. Still, I can't see what I get next year!

If only they made an "Understanding Men" version, I think I'd be all set.

(Image via here; I noticed this book on the Weird & Wonderful page at abebooks.com)

A public apology

Summer is over and that is a total drag. My final year of grad school started last week, and the leaves are starting to change color and everyone keeps reminding me that Pumpkin Spice Lattes are back at Starbucks. Okay so the only thing on that list that's a true drag is that school has started.

And actually, that wouldn't be so bad except for the fact that I'm currently trying to do all my homework while battling a bad cold that came with a heaping side of crow:

Adam took the entire week of Labor Day off (sidenote: we went to San Francisco, it was fantastic), and last Monday he came home from his first day back at work and immediately fell into bed for about three hours. "I have a sore throat," he said. "Mmmhmm," I said. "Do you have a case of back-to-work-itis?" And all he did was roll over and go back to sleep, which I took as a sign that he was admitting to being a bit melodramatic. He took an afternoon off sometime later in the week, and I continued to tease him for faking.

Now, I think we all know where this is going.

Saturday morning I woke up with a sore throat, and things have gone downhill from there. Today I went through an entire box of Kleenex. But the worst part is not that I wake myself up coughing, or that my nose is bright red from all the tissues it's seen, oh no. The worst part is admitting to Adam that I was wrong. I mean, that was even hard to type.

And maybe the second worst thing is that I can't be the diva I typically am when I'm sick, because if the roles were reversed, I'd SO be rubbing this in his face, and I don't really want to lose more face than I already have by admitting to being wrong. It would be something like, "oh, you need me to make dinner? Because you're sick? Like I was last week?" and on and on. But tonight when he came home to find me curled up in bed and covered in used tissues, he just asked if I needed anything and proceeded to make dinner. Proving that I am sick with some sort of Karmic cold only non-sympathizers ever come down with.

Seriously, TAKE THEM.

An email exchange (paraphrased, but not by much):

To: me
Forwarded message: "Thanks for your ticketmaster order, two tickets for Conan O'Brien's tour, Sunday May 9, 8pm, Boulder, CO"

To: Adam
Thanks! I was so surprised to see you got those! And also thanks for getting the Sunday tickets in Boulder.

To: me
Boulder is the only show he's doing in Colorado.

To: Adam
No, he'll be in Denver on Monday, but I have class so isn't that nice of you to think of me!

To: me
If I'd known there was a Denver show, I would have bought those tickets.

To: Adam
Shh...just take the brownie points.

Wherein my neuroses reveal themselves in full force

I'm moving in about two weeks, into this lovely little house:



So that's exciting! Unfortunately, I turn packing into an extremely intensive organizational nightmare, which is not exciting. For example: When we started packing our books (which by the way were shelved in alphabetical order by author's last name), I stood in front of the bookshelf, empty box in my hand, torturing myself: should I pull them off the shelves in order to make unpacking more simple? Should I try to pack as many books as possible into each box? Are there any I should get rid of?* Will all of these books even be kept in the same room?**

While I stood there, Adam came over and started pulling books off the shelves and sticking them wherever they would fit. So that solved my problem, or so I thought. And so I went along putting books into boxes. With other books. That's important, because then. THEN! He started putting things in those boxes that WEREN'T BOOKS. Things like magazines (okay FINE), and knickknacks (well I guess they're all things from shelves), and then he was opening drawers and just looking for whatever would fit! Video games, dvd cleaner, just whatever was at hand. Well, I was shocked. I knew that we would never be able to find anything ever again, and all of our stuff would be unorganized and unusable for the rest of our lives.

I kept my knowledge of our impending doom to myself, and I'm glad I did, because over the next few rounds of packing, I realized that for us to not kill each other during this move I was going to have to get over it. The organizer in me was going to have to keep her mouth shut. And also maybe not overreact to the idea of mixed-content boxes.

And so I'm trying to get over it. I think I have, mostly. It probably doesn't hurt that Adam is letting me get this shower curtain for our bathroom. Isn't that shower curtain he the greatest?

*Hahaha! Just kidding! Of course not! You can't just GET RID OF BOOKS. Come on.

**If you think I'm crazy, please understand that I had just come home from sitting through a cataloging class, which is all about organizing books. So give me a break.

My phone rings.

"There's a crazy wreck at the intersection in front of our apartment. There's like, a car flipped on its side."

"Oh wow."

"Yeah, there are a bunch of people from our building out there, I was going to go stop and talk to them but I have to get the pizza."

"Well maybe when you get back."

"Or you could go out there and see if they know anything."

"Yeah, I don't really feel like going out there and being nosy."

"Or because you're already wearing your pajamas."

"Busted."

Clarification.

Should I tell you all that my roommate is now actually also my boyfriend? I probably should. I don't really know what I should call him, so I will continue to use boyfriend and roommate interchangeably.

We started dating in August. His mom didn't believe him when he told her - she asked multiple times if he was joking. My mom said, "well it's about time," as did most of our friends. Apparently, everybody else saw this coming way before we did.

So things are going well. I mean it's weird, isn't it? This wasn't supposed to happen, but here we are. I have to admit that it's really convenient, because guess who gets a ride to and from class three times a week? I couldn't have picked a better time to get myself a boyfriend.

I mean really, how scary is that scene where the sheet moves on its own?

Last night I saw Paranormal Activity with a big group of friends. I knew I was going to be scared by this movie - I lost sleep over the trailer.* So I made my boyfriend sleep in my room with me last night. Not that that was much of a comfort, because he has nightmares pretty regularly, and wakes up terrified in the middle of the night. Which happens to be something that happens in this movie.

So I didn't get much sleep last night, and as I suspected, my boyfriend woke up twice and did that thing where you gasp and sit straight up. Each time I was already sort of awake, since I spent most of the hours between 2:00 and 5:00 counting down the minutes until it would be light out. "It's okay, it's okay," I'd say, patting him on the back. "Go back to sleep." And of course because he was dreaming about spiders or something not related to the movie he'd roll over and easily drift right off.

So tonight I don't know what is going to happen. I'm stuck. Do I sleep alone, and risk waking up horrified about something I made up in my mind? Or do I sleep in my boyfriend's room (which coincidentally is set up an awful lot like the bedroom in the movie, OMG, so scary), and wake up scared because he's woken up, drenched in sweat, because he thinks there are spiders in his bed? (That's really what happens, btw).

I mean, really this is a lose-lose situation for me. I should never have seen that movie.

*I was just about to go to bed and my boyfriend was like, "hey remember that movie trailer where the sheet moves by itself?" Why yes I do now that you mention it. Thanks.

Kitchen Stand-off

In an effort to save money, my roommate and I not eating out for the entire month of November. Oh except actually we have four times to eat out, because the last three months we tried to do this (March, April, and May), we failed. So we set ourselves up for the failure ahead of time, so next week when we want burritos, we don't totally give up.

Anyway, I have made dinner the last three nights, so tonight was his turn, and I sat in the living room on my computer while he took over the kitchen. The kitchen is typically my space, and I don't think I ever appreciated that until tonight when he started to clean out the refrigerator. Because suddenly, he was trying to get rid of everything: "What is this!?" he would ask, a look of horror on his face. "That is a block of mozzarella cheese. Which I bought last week." and so on. Because the bulk of things in the refrigerator are mine, he has no concept of what is old and what is brand new.

So last week we got these mini pumpkins in our farm share, and one went bad pretty quickly but the other one was still good. They came with cooking instructions on little stickers, but they were covered in mud and I had to clean them off. So, I took the sticker off the good one and left it on the counter. I had planned on fixing this little pumpkin at some point for a quick lunch, but I hadn't had an opportunity yet. "Just throw it out," he said. "You aren't going to eat it."

Then of course I became indignant, because that is what I do when people try to tell me how it is. (This is not a charming personality trait, btw.) "YES I will," I said. "I put the sticker with the cooking directions on the counter. Where did you put it?" And then he got indignant. "In the trash. Because it kind of dirty" [okay, I will admit that is true] "and I didn't really think a sticker just sitting on the counter was important."

Oh no he didn't. He did not just try to tell me how things should be in the kitchen. And of course I told him that. And then I asked him when was the last time he cooked dinner, and he couldn't remember. And we bickered a little, about how the kitchen is my space, not his, so I always just do things the way I want without any worry. I was preparing the pumpkin for the microwave during this conversation, and at this point I opened the microwave door.

"I'm using the timer! You can't use the microwave."

"The timer will keep going even if I use the microwave."

"Oh."

"See? This is not your space. You should not be in the kitchen."

"Yeah. I don't even know where we keep things, like...what is this? A spatula? I had to look really hard for this."

Was this a setup? Did he mess up my kitchen system on purpose, so I'd keep doing all the cooking? Or was he sincerely trying to help in the kitchen? I can't tell, but these are the situations that set a precedence and I don't want to mess up. What am I supposed to do here? How can I win?

Flu, possibly of the swine variety

So guys, grad school and a nearly-full-time job is a lot of work, especially when I also have a new boyfriend and all I want to do is bake him cookies and be taken out on dates. (It's a real tough life I lead, I know.) I don't have time for the internet, except for when I am procrastinating and not writing a paper (for example: right now).

Luckily, I have had some really great coincidences that have made my life easier lately. The week before last I had the flu.* I had been putting off writing a paper and putting it off some more and really just doing everything in my power not to sit down and write it. And then on the very day I'd set aside to finally get it done (the day it was due), I was sick. And didn't have to go to class. Which meant I was given an extra two days to finish it.**

I was crazy feverish when I finished it, so I'm not entirely sure what I turned in, but the fact of the matter is that the paper was finished and submitted and I could move on to doing more important things like taking Sudafed and blowing my nose. And having this conversation with my boyfriend:

Me: "Ugh...I'm so glad you're home. I had a fever of 102 today."
Him: "So what did you do all day?"
Me: (In slight disbelief) "Um. I SLEPT all day."
Him: "Oh, so you didn't go to work or anything."
Me: (Even more disbelieving) "Did I not just tell you what my temperature was?"
Him: (Realizing he is about to be in trouble) "Do you want me to get you some dinner?"

So yeah. That was a lot of fun.

*One of my coworkers swears it was swine flu. I think if I survived the actual swine flu--which truthfully was not the sickest I've ever been, and not even the worst flu I've ever had--I should get a t-shirt that says "Swine Flu 2009 Survivor" or something. I mean this is a national emergency, people. And I made it through.

**Everyone on campus is terrified of the flu. If you just say you have a cough, they're like "OMG. STAY. HOME." Which makes sense but isn't really worth the fuss, because I am about 99% sure I caught the flu from someone on campus. But they're all really accommodating if you're sick, so that's a bonus.

I think I could go with a top ten or top fifty list, actually

I was recently rummaging around in the Que Sera Sera archives, and found this Top Five List of Fears, so here are mine (in no particular order):
1. Zombie Apocalypse (aka Zombocalypse) (it's totally possible, you guys)
2. Falling
3. 3-D movies (especially the ones at, like, Universal Studios? Where they have stuff like bubbles and fans under the seat? OMG HATE HATE HATE.)
4. Failure
5. Large flocks of birds

While I was making this list I started thinking about what everyone else might be afraid of, so here is my roommate's Top Five Fears List*, as imagined by yours truly:
1. Spiders
2. His roommate's inferior math skills
3. Letting his roommate drive his car
4. Running out of the Skyline Chili his mom sends from Ohio
5. Commitment (naturally, as he is a male)

Coincidentally, his running out of that chili is on my Top Five Ultimate Dreams List, right under Suddenly gain amazing math skills and Never be socially awkward again. But that is a list for another time.

*After I conceived of this list, I told him about it. When I finished naming them, he nodded and said, "Yeah. You got it."

In full disclosure, I went ahead and made just the hearts.

"I think you better do a test run of that new cookie recipe before you make them for my parents' visit next weekend. You know. With the high altitude* and everything."

"Oh, that's true. But I don't have any Easter cookie cutters. I only have, like, these Valentine hearts and some Autumn ones. A turkey and a maple leaf and a ghost."

"Perfect. Ghosts work for Easter, right?"

"I can't believe you just said that."

"And I think you could use the hearts too. Like, for love."

"This is just like that time I almost had to use Christmas cookie cutters for Halloween and tried to make a zombie out of a toy soldier. It just doesn't work."

*You know, it seems like dude NEVER pays attention to anything I say, and yet he is able to come up with these very convincing arguments that truly appeal to my logic. I can assure you that he has NO IDEA what effect high altitude has on baked goods, and yet, he can remember this conversation and use it to manipulate me.

I didn't realize that was part of the heritage.

"That guy's not wearing green! I'm going to go punch him."

"I think you mean pinch him."

"No. I am Irish."

A real live tree. Well not live for much longer.

We put up our Christmas tree this weekend. It's pretty, I think:



I'd never had a real tree before, and neither had my roommate, but neither of us knew the other one was a real tree virgin until we'd lugged the thing into the apartment. I always thought my family had always used a fake tree because my dad was allergic to them, but apparently this isn't true, because when I called him and told him we'd bought a real tree he said, "Aren't you allergic? That's the reason we never had a real tree." So I am extremely confused but not sneezing yet. My theory is that my mom knew what a pain pine needles are to clean up (already, I am a little annoyed by them), and decided to tell me that I was allergic in an effort to avoid the hassle. Smart woman, that one.

Thankful it all turned out perfectly

This was the first Thanksgiving I've ever played a major role in meal preparation, and it was FANTASTIC. Everything turned out perfectly. This is my plate.



After we finished eating, we were looking at my pictures and my roommate said that even though he was stuffed, that picture made him want to go eat the entire meal over again.

It was a lot of fun, and I will probably talk about it more tomorrow, but today we're going to put up the Christmas tree and maybe go downtown for the lighting of the Denver City and Council Building's Christmas lights. I just have a lot of holiday goodness to soak up today, is all.

Sidenote: Does anyone have a good idea for about half a gallon of left over cranberry sauce?

Thursday is going to be CRAZY.

"Do you know how to cook a turkey?"

"I think we need vegetable oil."

Wondering

what my roommate is going to do when he realizes that the "event" my friend and I have been talking about, the one we're all going to tonight, is not just any old event, it is the Jingle Bell Ball, a Christmas Tree Extravaganza that takes place BEFORE THANKSGIVING?

Because celebrating Christmas before Thanksgiving is probably his least favorite thing.

Seriously, how fun is it going to be to see the look on his face when he walks into a huge display of Christmas trees? It's going to be like getting an early gift. Which will make him even more upset.

Better than winning five bucks

There is an episode of How I Met Your Mother called Slap Bet. I don't know if there were Slap Bets before this episode, so if not, a Slap Bet is when you make a bet and the winner gets to slap the loser across the face. And of course, because we are a little obsessed with all things concerning this show, my roommate and I can't have an argument without instantly challenging each other to a slap bet:

"This song is from Tom Petty's newest album."

"Um, I'm pretty sure this song is as old I am."

"No, the only album of his I have is the new one, and I know this is on it."

"You wanna slap bet?"

"Absolutely I do."

Generally we back out as soon as the other person asks to slap bet. I've won twice (I won that Tom Petty bet up there, by the way), but I as I'm not a very violent person, I put the second slap in reserve, and we decided I'm allowed to use as an out if needed. The only slap bet we've had since then ended in a draw, since we were both wrong.

It's a nice feeling to know that I could take a risk and come out even, but at the same time I like holding on to the power of having that slap left. You're supposed to have a non-biased Slap Bet Commisioner who decides what's fair and what's not, but we don't have one. That's probably going to come back to haunt us (and by us I mean ME, specifically), even though for now we're doing alright. I just know it will end something like this,* especially since we can't seem to live our lives differently than they do on the show.

*but with less happy singing and more pain.

Friendly Breakfast Conversation

"I got my flu shot at work, so if I get sick, I am going to complain."

"And who are you going to complain to?"

"You."

"And that is different from any other time how?"

"Oh just shut up."

Boys and Girls

It's National Blog Posting Month again, which means you are in for a daily dose of my questionable writing skills for the rest of the month. I'm sorry.

I am more than a little concerned that this is going to be a difficult month, mostly because everything I want to write about is sort of themed "Look at the difference between boys and girls!" as living with my roommate is a lot of fun, and whenever we have a clash of personalities it is relatively easy to chalk one up for gender differences. For example:

• Last week he was cleaning his bathroom and carried his plunger out to the kitchen to get some paper towels. And then his plunger TOUCHED the paper towels. I was grossed out and told him we couldn't use those for anything in the kitchen anymore. He told me that was silly because he hadn't used the plunger in forever, couldn't even remember the last time, in fact, and that I was overreacting. GROSS. I didn't give in.
• I made cookies last night and cut them out in autumn shapes (acorns, turkeys, pumpkins and maple leaves). I only had red and brown sprinkles to decorate them with and I was disappointed. He quickly pointed out that the pink and purple sprinkles in the cupboard, while not autumn-colored, would taste the same as the ones I had out. I think his exact words were, "I will eat a purple pumpkin, Loren." It just didn't seem right.
  
• This, and this, and also this from the archives.