Birthday

So awesome. 

To mark the beginning of my 28th year, I hung with family, booked my wedding venue, did some light shopping (including this GORGEOUS new shirt I got with a gift certificate) and finished the day with Stephan, Steak Salad, and Champaign, in order of importance. 

I love my birthday. It will so soon end, alas. 

Also, this weekend I found my wedding dress. 

The rest of August may be a let down....

Things to do

So the jam/jelly did not gel. I had to undo all the wonderfully sealed jars, reheat the 'jelly' and add more gelatin. Very sticky, and all my nice labels were ruined. 

Alas. But now it's done, and firm, and frankly, tasty. 

Didn't get anything else done yesterday though. I must, I must, I must go to the gym today. Not because I will instantly look more svelte, but because I will feel less like a blimp. 

And I have to return Stefan's CD. Oy, why don't I make friends with the neighbors? I hate driving all the way over there. 

I have decided not to paint the bathroom. To many finicky things, and the new paint smell would make it clear to Susan this isn't a part of the normal home improvement, but a rush job to impress her. 

Stephan has agreed to mow the lawn soon though, so at least our yard will be nice. Which is good, because it seems as though we are having another heat wave. Maybe today I will finally check the weather report and not be so 'in the dark' about what's headed my way. 

With that, I'll end my no doubt riveting entry.

More Jam

I've made more jam. Hopefully.

This time it's Rhubarb Rosemary Jam. The reason for my hesitancy is that I keep turning the jars and the contents are totally liquid. Not jammy. But, since this is, actually, jelly, using gelatin to thicken the liquid, it shouldn't likely get firm until it's cold, which it definitely isn't. I put one into the fridge for faster testing. 

I got the Rhubarb from the store, so no spider incidents this time. 

The stove caught fire, but I put it out, so that was okay too. 

Now I am considering painting the bathroom, but this is, like, actual work, so I'm not rushing into anything here. 

My auntie Susan is coming to visit this weekend, so I have to gage what actually has to be done, and what I only think has to be done so she can be impressed. It's a fine line. I also have a cold (ugh. is there anything worse than being sick in the summer?), so I don't want to take on too much. Additionally the yard needs a lot of work, and the upstairs (where she's staying) needs serious cleaning, so... bathroom? I don't know. 

Much fun was had this past weekend. Stephan got inebriated and was very funny. At one point he came over and said "You look like Amy. I like that." Our friend Mukesh's jaw dropped and he says, "What?" Stephan looks over and goes, "Do you know Amy?" Then he wandered off. 

I had to explain to Mukesh that Amy is a character on the "West Wing," played by Mary Louise Parker, who Stephan loves dearly. Not as much as he loves her as Nancy Botwin, on "Weeds" but he's into it. Anyway, he thinks I look like her, some times especially. I think she's fantastic, so this bothers me not at all. 

Now it's Monday. We have a ton more vegetables and fruit in our box, and I am at a loss as to how to keep up with it all.

Anyone need a head of lettuce?

Making Jam

At some point last week I decided to make blackberry jam. This is likely directly related to my presumed success making blackberry vodka. Which involves dumping lots of blackberries in to lots of vodka (I think the guy who picks up our glass from the recycling must have thought we were on a binge last week). Anyway, then you let it sit for a month, so I don't actually know that I've done this successfully for a couple more weeks, but apparently my heart believes it has, because it is already urging me on to bigger and better things. Namely, jam.

So first I had to look up how to do it. The first recipe had, like, seven bullet points related to sterilizing the jars alone. Important, to be sure, but I decided boiling them in water for a time was as complicated as the process needed to be. 

To make blackberry jam, you need lots of huge pots, lots of sugar, a funnel, and jam jar picker-upper (to lift jars from boiling water), pectin, and, of course, blackberries. 

So yesterday I got off to a late start, and gathering the funnel and picker-upper ended up being more time consuming than expected, and then it started to rain, so collecting the blackberries was also out.

So this morning I headed out to the bush in the yard to gather berries. Do you know what's on a berry bush. Spiders. Lots and lots and lots of spiders. But hey, I'm a big girl, right? Yeah, right. I think we're all adults until THIS*: 

*not actual size. But almost.

Yeah, that drops out of the bush into your little bowl. Holy jesus. It was through total force of will that I managed not to drop the bowl and spill all my berries. But *SHUDDER.*

So I placed the bowl on the ground and tilted it to the spider walked out on it's own. Then I pulled up my big girl panties and got on with it.

There were other spiders, but they were all small (less than a quarter inch). I still freaked each time, but after the first one, it was in perspective. However, I consider this my cardio for the day, because my heart rate was definitely up for the hour it took to do this. I was covered in a fine sheen of sweat as I carried my bowl back into the kitchen.

So then you boil the berries, with the pectin. Fact: boiling blackberries sputter and stain and burn. Then add sugar, repeat. 

So then I put all my sugary berry goodness into jars, 10 in all, and put on the lids. Then you put the jars into boiling water for ten minutes. So there I am, cleaning up the kitchen and keeping an eye on the jars when, can you guess?

That's right! The sink broke, dumping water across the kitchen floor!! 

So while the jam boils, I stick a bucket under the leak, towel up the kitchen, and then drag the neighbor over to find out if it can be fixed. Apparently yes, because he fixed it in about 30 seconds. So no plumber, which is great.

Luckily, this did not impact the jam in anyway, and none of the jars exploded as they boiled away for ten minutes, which I sort of expected they would. And now I have THESE:

Now, the jars are out, cooling. I am waiting anxiously to see if they sealed properly. If not, you, yes, YOU, may get your very own jar soon, because they wont keep. However, my secret hope is that enough of then seal so that I can trade some with the neighbor, who rumor has it made Strawberry Jam. So then we could have two kinds. 

And how great would that be?

Wedding Stress

Already! 

But this is like, there's is no money for a wedding. Should I even have a wedding because there is really no money for a wedding? Why don't I have a job so I can afford a wedding, what's wrong with me, what kind of selfish individual am I for wanting a wedding I can't (and no one else can) afford anyway?

That kind of stress. 

I got very excited about this one venue. It's gorgeous. It's vintage, it's fantastically cool. The fact that I even got excited over it is a thing, since I really, really wanted a summer wedding anyway. 

Should I MOVE the wedding? But if I move the wedding then it's going to be like, 9 months between the time I get legally married and the time I take my vows in a pretty, pretty dress. And what's the fucking point of that? Maybe I should cancel the Vienna wedding- but who in their right mind wouldn't want to get married moments before the new year in Vienna with snow and dance to the waltz? I certainly want to. And there is something so defeated about canceling your wedding. Oh, and some of the painfully red-tapey paperwork is already in motion, and it only last 6 months, so I'd have to do that all over again, and I really don't want to cancel it anyway.

So the wedding has to be in February. I can live with that. But only if it's gorgeous. Thank god we found this place. Oh, but wait, we can't afford it. Because there's no money. 

Maybe we should ONLY have a Vienna wedding. I mean, most of my friends can't afford to go to it, so that would beyond blow. I couldn't get a cake at Sweetlife, I couldn't have Blu do my hair, I couldn't actually be all that involved in planning, because a) I don't speak very good German, and b) I'm not in Vienna. Also, right now it's just a civil thing, so no dress. Which is unacceptable. I mean, no dress. Whatever.

So the wedding has to be in the U.S. to be really worth having (for me). There are certain people I want there, period.

So I guess we should have it at a community center or something.   The previously relatively quiet snob in me is throwing a fucking hissy fit. Meanwhile, I feel like crying because the whole thing hasn't even started yet and it's going down in flames. Everyone keeps saying this is going to work out, and I'm sure they're right, but in the meantime?

Wedding. Stress.

Relative Satisfactions

It's no surprise that things in life are relative. If you're hungry, really hungry, the first thing you eat can often be the best thing you've ever eaten, at least, until you eat something better. 

So I cleaned the bathroom yesterday. It took 2.5 hours. I should say that it wasn't that I've never cleaned it or something, but it had been a long time since it got an in-depth, in the corners, spring type clean. 

Now it looks bea-u-tiful. I find this very satisfying. I will likely find it to be satisfying right up to the minute it's filthy again, at which point I will put off cleaning it for as long a possible.

Logical? No. Likely? Absolutely. 

Now: what to do today? I recently had this Fat Straw drink- it had the tapioca things in it- and it was SO good. I am running ideas on trips to NW 23rd just to get another one. And I have to pick up a baby shower gift. And mail my dads birthday package (his birthday was two weeks ago, if you wanted clarity on how bad a daughter I am). Oh, and go to the gym. 

Another busy day for the House Elf.

Home again

My job is on hiatus for at least two weeks. While it didn't pay almost anything, it took care of two bills, and got me out of the house everyday- two things key in making me feel like a productive human being, as opposed to a parasite. 

I am a 'Real Housewife of Multnomah County.' Minus the housewife part. But I'm almost a housewife. Stephan and I refer to my role as being a House Elf, thank you Harry Potter.  But the truth is that I don't spend that much time cleaning, cooking, or gardening, and that I find little satisfaction in any of it. It makes it hard to do any of it well. And the kind of cooking that would be consuming generally involves expensive ingredients, which I feel is not exceptable (this is apparently not a word, so I guess I can't write either).  

So I guess the thing is that when I am not making money, I feel like I shouldn't want things- dinners out, cute clothes, cool new plants, art supplies, new editing suites, etc. But I do want all of these things, which makes me feel like a parasite, and stresses Stephan out, I assume. And why should he, on top of paying for all of my stuff (which, on a basic level, is no small thing), and pay for my toys too? He shouldn't. So then there is the double Idea that not only should I not want things, but if I do, I shouldn't talk about it. Which in turn leads to the 'suffering silently' thing, albeit I am not suffering, and hardly ever silent. 

What is a House Elf to do?

I can throw myself into truly in depth cleaning projects. I suppose today I could really, really clean the bathroom, which it really, really needs. But I find the prospect unappealing if I can't then paint it another color and put in a shelf and floor rug. All of which cost money, thus undermining the selfless, money free part of the project. I realize virtue is supposed to be it's own reward or some shit like that, but I'm not feeling it. 

I studied my German for about ten minutes. Stuff I should already know, at that. Now I'm typing. Rumor has it if I can get enough people to read my blog, then I can make money off of it, but this doesn't seem to likely to be a short term solution to anything. 

I'm getting married, but any progress on this cannot be made solo, because a) Stephan wants to be a part of the decisions, and b) with my father possibly paying for stuff, I have to be sure before I can move forward with anything, because god knows I don't have anything of my own to contribute. 

I could job search, but that's a surefire way to end up feeling suicidal. As well as angry. Every time I think of the way I quit my job, I feel stupid, like "why did I do that?" as well as feeling really mad, because when it comes down to it, I really don't feel like I had a choice. This is a vicious and unproductive cycle my brain likes to indulge in far more than I do. 

 

Now I'm hungry, but I don't want to eat until The Young and the Restless starts, because it's more fun that way. And I don't want to eat now AND in 20 minutes, because then I will blimp out and get depressed and useless and stupid because all I do is watch  The Young and the Restless and Stephan will leave me because I've become Peggy Bundy and then where will I be?

With that, I'm leaving off on what seems to be the worlds most boring/self-indulgent blog entry. 

I have to entertain myself until it's time to eat, watch my stories, then go try to get toned at the gym, then clean the bathroom and neaten the house and then pretty up and cook dinner in something skimpy. 

Because that's what a good House Parasite does.

Surrealism

Last night (on several glasses of wine) I stared at myself in the mirror and though about how the fuck it happened that I am not 13 anymore (or 16 or 21 or whatever), but me, now, at 27, and- the kicker- getting married.

I am an engaged individual. In a matter of months (six) I will be stand in front of someone and tell them that, for sure, I want to spend the rest of my life with Stephan. Which is pretty cool, but really weird, and not a little alarming. 

The point of writing today was actually to describe the proposal, because I've noticed that I don't recall anything that happens in my life, and this is not something I want to forget. 

So Stephan maneuvers the day to closely resemble our 2nd date (to my total oblivion). We are walking around the Rose Garden and set down our blanket in the spot where we had said date (supposedly my idea). Stephan is on his back, and I am giving him kisses. I'm asking him questions, and if he tell me the truth, he gets a kiss. When he lies, I give him a kiss (Stephan: "how will you know when to kiss and when to kiss?"). We do this for awhile. 

"Am a pretty?"

"Yes."

He gets a kiss.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

He gets a kiss.

You get the gist.

So then he sits up on his knees and faces me.

"Is it my turn?"

"Yes. But there is only one question. Do you want to marry me?"

"Yes."

I get a kiss... and a ring. When he asked my heart and my head got really giddy, but it was when he started digging in his coat for the ring that my brain got in on the action. Then there were lots of kisses. And I tried to only pay attention to him and ignore the ring, but he wanted to tell me all about the ring, which was awesome, because I wanted to look at it a lot. I still do. I just wiggle it back and forth to see it sparkle. 

And I didn't cry, since most people ask. I just smiled. Grinned. For weeks. I'm probably in my longest stretch of good mood ever, which is saying something, because since meeting Stephan, I have in general been of a much sunnier temperament than ever before. 

But hey, I'm in love.