Nothing to say

Glancing over my last post, not much has changed.  People are giving me hell for not updating, though, so here we are.  I'm getting ready to go on a two-week trip next week: flying to Chicago, driving to Kalamazoo for a few days at the International Women's Brass Conference and a performance with the Athena Brass Band.  I'm looking forward to that.  Then I'll be spending a few days with my parents before driving to Gettysburg for a second performance with Athena.  One or two days with my friend, Forbes, in Philly, and then heading home.  At that point, I'll be stuck in my Texas work-sleep-read pattern until September, when I'm heading out to Indianapolis for a NABBA Board meeting.

the new normal

Probably good advice.

I know, it's been forever.  I didn't even update the end of No Dairy January.  I ate Chicago-style pizza on January 31st, and on Groundhog Day I made the fabulous mac and cheese.  After that, it was basically back to normal.

I'm going to have to change my normal a little bit.  I've lost interest in maintaining my weight; I don't really go out or see people other than work and band practice, and even for band practice I don't go out afterward because I always have work.  I'm either working or sleeping, or waiting to work or sleep.  My clothes...well, I pretty much alternate two pairs of jeans, and a few long-sleeved t-shirts, so I don't even have the motivation of clothes that don't fit.  My work clothes got a little looser in January, but I think they're shrinking up a little bit again.

Of course, now I'm getting ready to go to the NABBA Championships at the end of this month, and planning to see people I haven't seen in a while, and suddenly I'm like, shit, I've gained weight.  And my hair...jeez, my hair is long.  I haven't had my hair this long since college.  I look better with shorter hair, but I don't really give a shit.  I just pull it back for work, anyway.  I don't look in the mirror much, but when I do, there's a stranger there.  A long-haired, gray-streaked, unsmiling stranger with cute glasses.

I read a lot.  John got me started reading the Game of Thrones series, so I'm all wrapped up in that; I'm also starting to dig through our boxes for books I haven't read, or haven't read in a while.  I look at stuff online for the house, but I don't buy anything.  Bookshelves, cat furniture, garage door openers.  We got Dish network, since the dish came with the house, and I'm extremely disappointed with TV.  After three years of no cable, I'd gotten used to the quiet.  The noise is horrible.  Reality shows and those ugly commercial shows like they have on TLC and Food Network now--they have three soundtracks.  One person talking, and the background noise of the restaurant or wherever they are, and the ubiquitous music track.  Why does music have to be whored all over the place?  It's not even good music, it's canned, artificial crap.  I don't understand.  I watch Steven Colbert sometimes, and the MLB network now that spring training has started. John likes to have the TV on while he's doing other stuff with the computer, and he watches horrible, noisy shows like Perpetually Cursing Ghostchasing Frat Boys, or Hoarse-voiced Redneck Pawn Shop Mafiosi.


I auditioned for the DMA program at UT Austin, but I don't really want to go there.  I will like it well enough after I start, assuming I get enough of a fellowship to be able to attend.  I don't think they will offer enough.  UT is the same as Texas: they have a huge ego and lots of other options. They're glad I'm here, but they'll be fine if I don't stick around.

I actually get more of a sense of being needed from the hotel where I work.  They're happy I'm there.  It's a strange world, in the hotel--the only natural light in the lobby is diffused through the tinted, covered windows at the extreme far end; the light is always the same, the air is the same, the music is looped and plays the same songs at the same time every day.  The guests are the same.  The employees are like interchangeable parts of a huge machine--we change every eight hours, but we're the same.  Seasons don't change and the only way you can tell the time of day is by the number of guests in the lobby.  Sometimes that doesn't even matter.


I'm less healthy than I was a year ago.  I'm less busy, and I guess I have less stress, but I'm not exercising--I'm on my feet all day, ALL DAY, and it just hurts; I don't want to walk when I get home.  Sometimes I do a little work in the yard on my days off.  I alternate between eating plain vegetables and lean cuisines for days at a time, and then eating fantastic food when John's around.  Sometimes I eat fritos and a banana for dinner.  When I work, I usually get up at 5:30, but then they'll give me a couple of late evening or overnight shifts that completely fuck up my routine.  I don't HAVE a normal anymore.

I have to do better.  I have to find a routine, somehow; something that's not work/sleep/work/computer/sleep/work/sleep.  I have to keep fruit in my house like I did last year.  I have to buy a dresser and bookshelves and organize my quiet office/sewing room/practice room so that I want to spend time in it.  I have to get out of my house.  

I just don't feel like it.

The Dude abides. Mostly.

my Lilybug

I was better at this blogging thing last year.  Actually, I was better at the whole no dairy thing last year.  I have stuck to it, but there have been a few near misses, even after the pizza incident.  There's been a lot of stress, and a few days when I thought I would kill someone for some damn macaroni with parmesan cheese--my go-to comfort food since before I could cook my own meals.

It seems like I must have had a lot of stress a year ago, too--I was facing grad school auditions, a recital, too much work, every weekend booked up with concerts or trips, and clearing out the condo to move.  That was *before* my best friend stopped talking to me, I got wrapped up in drama in my brass band, I didn't get into grad school, I got bedbugs, my mom had surgery, I had to move to Texas, I got a crappy job, and my grandma died.  Have I mentioned that 2011 really sucked?  Maybe I haven't mentioned that here.  :)

Anyway!  I'm getting ready for another audition, and I have mixed feelings about that--strongest feeling is "holy shit, I have to practice"; I posted my brass band journal about a month late and had to juggle some inquiries; I don't dig my job; I have ridiculous allergies; I haven't been doing that great in the mental health department.  I was hanging in there.

And then last week happened.

I went to the old apartment complex to give some food to my old patio cats, and (long story short), I brought The Dude home with me.  I'd decided to leave her, because there were at least two other people in the neighborhood who were feeding and loving on the cats.  She was looking skinny, though, and she was happy to see me, so I went to the apartment of one of the cat ladies and told her I was taking the tabby cat with me.  (She was happy.)  Then I scooped up The Dude, and all hell broke loose.  She was freaked out about my car, and she bit the crap out of my hand.  I've been nommed by cats my whole life, okay, I am not the type to freak out about a cat bite, but she REALLY bit me.  She got her teeth around the base of my right index finger knuckle and just grabbed on, hard, and wouldn't let go.  When I got loose, it was a typical cat bite: couple of punctures, nothing too impressive, but there's a reason why vets are afraid of cat bites.  Cats have dirty mouths, and those puncture wounds are impossible to clean out.

I did my best, took some ibuprofen, went to bed.  Oh, you know what I did first?  I brought the cat to my house and fed it.  That's right, folks.  Over the next few days, I was forced to tell the story to many, many people, and each one of them looked incredulous when I said that not only had I not kicked or killed the cat, I adopted her.  I resolved not to piss her off again, and to keep my hands away from her mouth!--but she's living happily now in my back yard.

Anyway, when I went to work the next day, my finger was swelling and I couldn't do much with it.  By lunchtime, the entire back of my hand, all the way to my wrist, was red, swollen and hot.  My supervisor sent me home early and I went to the ER.  There, I had x-rays, IV antibiotics and toradol for the pain, a tetanus shot, and an earful of the REAL problems suffered by the girl sharing my room--she'd come to the ER for anxiety attacks after her husband got deported.  I got bitten by a mostly-tame cat.

Anyway, they sent me home with a bunch of prescriptions for antibiotics, vicodin, and phenergan to help the nausea from the vicodin.  They also gave me a note to get out of work for three days, and I had the following day off, so I spent four days taking painkillers and trying to eat at the right times to avoid getting sick from the meds.  I also finished my brass band journal, although I feel like I should go back and take a look at my editorial column now that I'm not on the drugs, heh.

The swelling is gone, the finger doesn't hurt except when I try to bend that joint.  I'm supposed to call a hand specialist, but I haven't yet.  I'm still taking the antibiotics, and hating every minute of it--man, those things mess with me.  I may or may not get a call from Animal Control about The Dude, since the ER had to report the bite.  San Antonio Animal Control did call me and said I could either claim the cat and pay $250-300 to have her quarantined, or I could NOT claim the cat and she would be euthanized, but then they called back and said I live just over the line in Leon Valley, so I'm in a different jurisdiction.  Leon Valley Animal Control has not called, and if they do, I will tell them I was on GODDAMN VICODIN and I forgot to call them.  Also, I've had the cat for almost ten days since the bite, and she has not died or shown signs of rabies.  So there.

The Dude, meanwhile, is living it up in the back yard.  She really wants to come inside, but other than that she's loving life.  She's got her own food and water that she doesn't have to share with the other patio cats, she has a big yard to gallop around in, although I've never seen her gallop. She plays patty-cake on the glass door every day with Lily.  She climbs the wooden fence and sits on my bedroom window ledge; she goes around to the front yard to check stuff out.  She has a box with a towel to sleep in--she'll get a real house after I've taken her to the vet and made sure she's sticking around.  I think the little hussy might be pregnant, but I just can't deal with it at the moment, you know what I mean?

Oh--for the record--my sinuses are clearer than I can remember in the last several months, and my work pants fit me better than they did a month ago.  That's a big deal, and it helps to remember that when I'm staring at the milkshake menu at the Alamo Drafthouse.  Not every single thing in my life is going wrong. :)

Huh.

Does goat cheese count as dairy?  It just occurred to me to wonder that.

Annus horribilis

I made a Texas-shaped pancake.

It's a pumpkin pancake.  I've made them a few times recently because I have a whole can of pumpkin to use up.  The first time, I added pomegranate arils--pumpkin-pomegranate pancakes sound so exotic, don't they?  I need to add more spices; the pumpkin turns out rather bland without cinnamon and nutmeg.

I haven't reported on my meals lately because there's not that much to share.  I get up at 5:30 in the morning and eat cereal with soy milk; I go to work and sometimes have a morning snack of half a bagel with peanut butter, or some dry shredded wheat.  I have lunch at work--early; lunch comes early when you start at 7:00--and it's usually a pile of lettuce with a couple of veggies and some chickpeas or beans, a small piece of fish or pork, and either jello or fruit.  On exciting days, there will be chili or shredded chicken that I just put on top of the lettuce. I get home around 4:00 and nibble on crackers or an apple, or maybe a grapefruit, and then I sit around awhile, eat dinner and go to bed.  If John's around, we might make chili or something, or we might go out.  Last night we went out for Chinese; no dairy challenges there.

Tonight I have an overnight shift because two of the overnight people went on vacation together.  (I guess that's what happens when you stay up all night every night with the same person.)  The cafeteria closes at 8:30, so late shift and graveyard shift workers get different food.  It's actually better.  There's a chef's special that comes from the hotel restaurant, and I would like to try it sometime, but I don't do overnight often so I don't know how to order it.  If you don't get the special, you get something from the coffee shop, which is where I work.  We have prepared sandwiches and pizzas, both of which are pretty good for take-away type food.  Obviously, I won't be eating the pizza this month.  The sandwiches are boring, but I put the buns in the toaster, take off the cheese, substitute mustard for the pesto- or cherry-enhanced mayo that comes with some of them, and eat them anyway.  I usually eat dinner before I go to the overnight shift, so this ends up being my fourth meal of the day--combine that with little-or-no sleep because I don't work graveyard often enough to be able to sleep during the day, and I am on my way to a big fat ass, if I'm not careful.

I got a phone call from someone today...I'm not sure whether to refer to him as a friend or an acquaintance, because he's somewhere in between.  We're friends who meet up a couple of times a year, have a Coke, and talk about band, but we don't really get into personal stuff.  He called because I've been slacking on my newsletter; I thought he was going to ask what was up and I'd tell him the same bull that I tell everyone else: busy, bought a house, depressing job, etc., and I'd promise to get it done soon.  As it turns out, he didn't really care about the newsletter, but he'd guessed from the fact that I haven't done it that there is a lot of shit going on here.  He just wanted to talk about the shit.  I ended up telling him all the crap that I dealt with last year.  He empathized, clucked over me for a while, and diagnosed my 2011 as an annus horribilis--a year of horrors.  My problems aren't solved, but it feels better to have listed them for someone; maybe I'll figure out a way to get going on 2012, instead of dwelling on my horrible 2011.

Cookies

1 cup peanut butter
1 cup sugar
1 egg

6-8 minutes at 350 degrees

Seriously.

Potluck

We had a department meeting at work today and the managers decided to make it a potluck.  Everyone had to sign up to bring something to the mandatory potluck.  I almost signed up for the easiest thing I could think of--Rice Krispie Treats--but at the last minute I decided to make cornbread instead.  I have a great recipe for cornbread that I used to make at my friend Rich's house when I worked for him.  Of course, it contains butter, buttermilk and cheese.

And I'm sensitive about potlucks.  I always want to do a test run, especially for baking, and especially when I'm still not quite used to my oven.  I bought all the ingredients to make cornbread twice, figuring I'd make it Saturday and then again on Monday.  I know it's silly--other people just brought grocery store danishes and quart containers of potato salad.  I don't like putting all the effort into baking unless it's going to come out right.  I'm careful.

At some point, I realized nobody except John would be eating the test run cornbread.  I thought I might, since it's just INGREDIENTS in the bread that are dairy, but I was justifying.  There are lots of visible cheesy bits in it.  I decided to take the chance and only make it Monday.

It came out all right, though it's thick and I never seem to get the middle done as well as the edges.  I may have to try tweaking the temperature and cooking time a little.  After all that, I got to the potluck about ten minutes late (because I was working my shift at the time) and people had already gotten their food and sat down.  About three people ate the cornbread.  The rest went anonymously to the Stewarding department.  I never tasted it, not even while I was cooking.  That turned out to be a huge challenge--and eating the potluck lunch was a challenge, too.  So many cheesy pasta salads and potato salads.  And rolls.  Ugh.