For the last few days, I've experienced a perpetual state of famish (famishment? famination? Who the hell knows?), which I've used as an excuse to double ice cream servings, dip into Betty's candy jar once again, and yesterday, eat two lunches. Lunch number one consisted of a sensible ham sandwich and two pieces of fruit--one to accompany the sandwich, the other intended as a mid-day snack. Somehow, I managed to eat all three items before ten-thirty, and seeing as I volunteer at a local elementary school on Wednesdays and don't step foot into the office until nine forty-five, this act is doubly impressive. By eleven-thirty I was ready for round two, so I joined the billing staff in their exploration of a new hot dog place located behind our industrial complex. After reading and seeing the eye-opening works of one Morgan Spurlock, I've sworn off major fast-food chains (except Steak 'N Shake, because their shakes are to die for and I don't want to feel guilty for suporting their efforts so I hope their quality standards are top notch) and was therefore relieved to learn the joint uses one-hundred-percent beef and makes their french fries from scratch. Literally. I saw them peel the potatoes with my own fat eyes.
You'll be happy to know that Frema's first food menu was quite a success; the sole variation took place on Saturday, as we received passes to a local amusement park as a wedding gift from my brother- and sister-in-law and spontaneously decided to redeem them. After step class last night, I rolled up my proverbial sleeves and got to work preparing the cantonese beef chow mein recipe, which I've made once before, so at least I knew going in that the suggested thirty-five minute prep time would take no less than an hour and a half. It went pretty well, except I added four uncooked cups of rice where the book called for cooked, so after simmering on the stove in excess water the entire time it took to prepare everything else, the rice was finally deemed a bust and tossed in the trash.
There's been no menu-planning this week, as most of our dinners have included some sort of leftovers. I get paid tomorrow, though, so I'll get back on the saddle before our next shopping trip. Luke's biggest concern is buying two weeks' worth of fresh produce only to watch them spoil after a few days in the fridge, so weekly Target runs may be key to this new, organized lifestyle. How often do you all shop? What's the lifespan of your most popular non-canned, non-boxed items? Do share your secrets.
In the meantime, I'll share some of mine.
Judy, my new Internet Exercise Buddy, asked:
Which person, alive or dead, famous or not, would you most like to meet and converse with?
When I was eleven, the answer to this question was Eddie Furlong, who ROCKED as John Connor in Terminator 2 and appeared in my dreams as the boy who introduced me to my first French kiss. I'd pop in the VHS tape and spend entire afternoons rewinding his first appearance in the movie. ("She's not my mother, Todd!") The hair, so flippy! The mouth, so pouty! My mother didn't like us taping posters to the walls, so Eddie's Teen Beat spread was awarded full custody of the laundry hamper.
Alas, I'm an adult now, with a laundry basket unsuitable for pre-teen celebrity pin-ups, who doesn't follow current events very well, so there's no deep-seeded wish to meet any historical or political figures. Can I say my internet friends and leave it at that?
Which is your greatest guilty pleasure: sweet snacks or salty snacks?
Sweet snacks. Ice cream's sweet, right? I love candy, too. But is that sweet or just sugary?
Marriage-101 wants to know:
What one thing would you like to accomplish before you die?
Have a baby. Turn my pooch into a six-pack. Pay off my student-loan debt. Kick the @$$ of the acne that's plagued my face since the age of thirteen. Stay married. In that order, of course.
If you could go anywhere in the world, expenses paid, where would you go?
Somewhere hot and beachy, like Aruba or Hawaii. I'd spend my days swimming in crystal-blue water, shopping in yuppie boutiques, and eating at fancy restaurants. Absolute Heaven.
What is your dream job?
My love for writing started when I was seven, when I wrote my first short story: We'll Never Eat Candy Again. It was about two little girls who steal five bucks out of their mother's purse and spend it all on junk food at the local mom-and-pop. It was only six pages but featured a table of contents, chapter headings, and an "About the Author" section. From that point on, I told people that I wanted to be an author. And while I might not write the best-selling fiction books that little girl dreamed about, I did grow up to be a writer. I write magazine articles and relish in the byline. I publish press releases on the Internet and take pride in the compliments I receive on my writing style. I maintain this blog and experience genuine delight in sharing my silly thoughts and stories with the world. I think it's safe to say that my dream job has become my reality.
That said, my current position in the life sciences industry doesn't inspire me to my full potential, and the idea of exploring teaching or counseling positions in local school districts has intrigued me over the course of the last year. However, both of those career tracks require more education, which in turn require more money, and seeing as I plan on taking a hiatus from the work force after Luke and I have our first child, it doesn't make sense to make those investments.
(We officially settled on that last part just Monday, by the way, and I may take Lost A Sock's suggestion to request that Luke put our new agreement in writing. I'm so excited about this I could pee all over myself, even though it means holding off on trying for a year or two while we pay off the Cobalt and accumulate a twenty-percent down payment for our first house.)
Who do you think is the "sexiest man alive"? Luke does not count.
Kiefer Sutherland. Have you seen 24? His "urgent, noble widower in need of a healthy roll in the hay, because my God, faking my own death means I've been celibate for the last eighteen months" persona is sooo my type.
Until now, I've been tackling these questions in order, but in light of today's answers, Jill's question is undeniably appropriate.
What would you do if you are not able to have children?
Upon first reading this, my first instinct was to laugh. I was at home, so I turned to Luke, repeated the question, and said, "What a pointless thing to ask. Of course we're having children." And I meant it. If Luke and I can't conceive naturally or with the aid of fertility drugs, we'll go the adoption route. Somehow, someday, we will have a child, even if it's years from now, even if it costs a lot of money, even if we have to steal someone else's. (I hope I didn't say that out loud just now.) There's no doubt in mind. I will be a mother, and Luke will be a father.
I know that's not what Jill meant, though, so I'll rise to the occasion and offer a more direct response.
First of all, if I couldn't bear a child, I'd be devastated. One of the things that most excites me about having a baby is producing a human being who'll bring together the best of what Luke and I have to offer. My curly dark hair, Luke's model-friendly height, our shared admiration for Zach Braff. I want a fat belly to rub my hands over that's not a byproduct of gas or too many Blizzards. I want to use one of our awesome baby names and push something through my vagina. Having to bid farewell to all those wants would be really, really hard.
If we couldn't have children by any means, though, it would admittedly be a lot easier to iron out the logistics of my life. Money would no longer be an issue, so I'd probably go back to school. I'd search for a job more emotionally satisfying and not place so much weight on the potential salary. I'd hire a personal trainer to whip me into the best shape of my life. Luke and I could travel to exotic places without depleting anyone's college fund. And we'd be the most attentive aunt-and-uncle team you ever saw.
It's not a life I would pray for in a million years, but it's a damn fine plan B.