I Don't Take Myself Seriously Enough To Be a Musician

(If you don't think that font choice is funny, then I'm not totally sure we can be friends.)

Little known fact: I wanna be a rock star. Badly. In my car, I am one. I beat the crap out of Taylor Swift on her own songs (I could write tomes on the subject of Taylor Swift, but I will not). But, still, even in the silence and judgement-free zone of the car or the shower, no one can actually sing a Kelly Clarkson song. Am I right? My friend Cindy knows exactly what I'm talking about. We tried, man. We gave it a solid effort until one night we just gave up. You can't do it. And if even Cindy can't do it--you know it's a real defeat. Cindy could belt out Crazy In Love like it was NBD, bitz.

You know how Rob Gordon is always making mental lists? Well, me, too. I am always keeping a mental list of songs that I would cover when I became a rock star. The difference between me and Rob Gordon (there are so many) is that Rob can spout off his lists without hesitency where as, after two days of thinking about it, I can't think of many at all. My full-length album was suddenly cut down to just a little guy. Like, a single with bonus tracks.

Songs that I would cover if I ever had the opportunity:

Over The Rhine; Suitcase: The first time that I heard this song, I was halfway through reading The Maytrees by Annie Dillard. I know that most of you won't understand what's so powerful about that but the best of you will. I'm not going to ruin it for you, so I'll just leave that subject alone. I can't say that I like this song. There are things about it that are so damn good. Like the way her voice just tumbles out at the end of "sunny day." The way the whole thing sounds like a gorgeous, sleepy, half-mumble but is still completely coherent. It feels like a day when it's raining but when the sun's still shining bright. It's cheerful but pensive. Even sad things happen on gorgeous afternoons.
I don't like how it makes me feel. It reminds me of the type of person I am--like this song would most likely be written to me, rather than by me. It reminds me of what I'm very prone to. And with that--I'll leave it alone because this became kind of a downer. NEXT.

Kid Cudi; Pursuit of Happiness: I'd probably, actually, start the record with this song because it's way more cute. I'd take it all the way down, take out all the fake sounds and add a banjo and a mandolin and I'd curl my hair and wear a patterned, A-line dress that hits at about my knees and sing my little heart out while sitting on a stool with my hands in my lap. I've got it all planned out. I sing it in the shower all the time. And. I. Rule at it.

Stevie Wonder; Part Time Lover: I always thought it was silly that a blind guy would think to say, "if she's with me, I'll blink the lights." But upon further consideration, I think only a blind guy could really get away with that without seeming all together too suspicious.

Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers; My Sweet Charade: For the record, I had loved this song for years before I saw how fucking adorable that guy is. If I cover his song, do you think he'd go out with me? Yeah? Me, too.

The Smiths; Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now: Oh Morrissey, you writes like I do: "I was looking for a job and then I found a job." It's touching, really. In my head, I'm still wearing that dress from Pursuit of Happiness.

Also, it's coming to my attention that my affinity for songs that boys write about girls will not translate well into an album that paints an accurate portrayal of my sexual preferences.

What would you cover?

Ten on Tuesday on Friday

1. What are your thoughts on Valentine’s Day. Do you love it? Hate it? Loves it. I can't help it. There are lots of reasons that I love Valentine's Day even if, at the end of every single one, I go to sleep a titch disappointed. I know that people who actually do get chocolate and flowers are a little disappointed, too. I know that it's only my own brain that I'm fighting against in that department. A whole day dedicated to flowers, candy, hearts, balloons and forcing you to remind people that you like them. I think it's great.

2. What is your favorite romantic comedy? You've Got Mail. Doy.

3. Meg Ryan & John Mellencamp: what’s your first reaction? I don't understand the question.

4. All time favorite poem or quote? The quote question is too much. But my favorite poem is easy. Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold. "Ah, love, let us be true/ to one another! For the world, which seems/ to lie before us like a land of dreams,/ so various, so beautiful, so new, /hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, /nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;/ and we are here as on a darkling plain/ swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,/ where ignorant armies clash by night."

5. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve gone without sleep? (like consecutive hours). I do not like to even think about this question because I am a lover of sleep. As an adult, I'll say that once I chaperoned a lock-in. A lock-in, by the way, is probably the dumbest invention in the history of youth groups. You get a bunch of moody teenagers all together, get them hyped up on sugar and sleep deprivation and then expect it to end well? I mean--who's the moron here? So, that was, I don't feel like doing the math 24 hours?, to answer the question.

6. What color ink do you prefer to use? Blue. I'm a blue-ink girl. Black is harsh and when I'm filling out forms, and things (which I do quite a bit at my job) I lose my handwriting when I use black. So I try to keep a blue on me at all times. Also, I'm ultra picky about my pens. I don't want one with a cap--I will lose it and then draw all over my pocket. Also, I don't really love those super fancy glidey ball pens. I like a good, generic, ball point pen. Preferably featuring a misspelled advertisement but I understand that beggars can't be choosers.

7. Share with us a blog that you recently found and fell in love with (and link us!) Books of Adam. Turns out that I'm, like, the only person left who doesn't read this. Everyone's all "OMG, how have you not read Books of Adam" and you know how I am about over-hypped things. I still haven't seen Avatar or read Twilight or Harry Potter. So, anyway, this won't be news to you.

8. If you could be on a reality TV show which one would you choose? Um... I don't watch TV (reality or otherwise) but I'd have to go with one of those where they tell you that you're ugly and then give you a haircut and a new dress and then let you drive around a race track in a reasonably priced car. That's a thing, right? What Not To Wear + Top Gear = Brilliant show idea. (As long as it takes place in Britan because have you seen this new tripe that they're calling "American Top Gear" good lord).

9. Mountains or Beach? I don't think I have to tell you how I feel about bathing suits.

10. With the Oscars around the corner, what’s your pick for best picture? Oooh. I don't know. Let me Google who's nominated. (Now sit here for a minute in eager anticipation, k?)

Okay. Hold on. There are TEN nominees for this award? Let's go through the list:

Black Swan --What did I just say about hype? I didn't see it. But I will for sure rent it.
The Fighter -- I don't know what this is.
Inception -- I watched it! And I felt like a champion when it was over, like I'd just finished the Times Crossword Puzzle or understood a cartoon in the New Yorker!
The Kids are All Right -- This movie was all right. I can not believe it's up for best picture, though. And I can't be the only person who's sick and tired of seeing Julianne Moore's nipples. Am I?
The King's Speech -- I am vaguely familiar with the premise of this film.
The Social Network -- I loved it a lot. I could talk about it for pages.
127 Hours -- I watched it. I didn't puke at all like they said I would. I thought it was brilliantly done.
Toy Story 3 -- This is... this is the list for BEST PICTURE, right?!
True Grit -- Thought about watching it. Then I didn't.
Winter's Bone -- I have only heard of this film through Wayne and Garth.

I would pick The Social Network. Here's why: It's a long, long movie about the creation of Facebook and it should be boring as hell. It should be two hours of 2 guys sitting at their computers and then 3 guys and then 2 again. But it's not. It's actually quite gripping and exciting and, more than anything else, fucking gorgeous. The story was great. The acting was great. The fake twins were great (that statement is not about boobs). The filming was great. Hell, even the sound was great. Those guys win.

The End.

It's a Chickadee Suicide

Yup. We've come to the point of the show where the lady talks about her cat. And it would be worth skipping over (at this point I still can't guarantee that it's not) if you didn't know some things about me. This cat right here, this is Kiki. We are roommates except that she does not help with the bills.

A few things:

1. I really, really hate it when people like their pets too much. Let me rephrase that, actually. If someone likes their pet, I think that's great. I think more people should have more things in their lives that they're not indifferent to. It gives us reasons to wake up in the morning. It's nice. But what I hate is when people try to impose their appreciation for their animals on me. You know what I'm talking about?
"I'm not really a dog person."
"Oh! Then you've never met my dog.* He's huge, sure. But he won't hurt you."
"He's licking me and he has this mucusy drool that's actually ruining my pants."

" No. No, fluffy."

" He weighs 112 lbs and he's humping my leg and I am trying to be polite, here."

"Yeaaah. Isn't he so sweet and loving? Who's my big lovey doggy? It's you! It's Fluffy the Bull Mastif. Yes. It. Is." And then ever so seriously, "He's blind in one eye. Cataracts. It's too bad."

We can be friends if you're open to the idea that I might not be thrilled with the idea of your dog putting his/her face all over me. I mean, I get it. You probably don't want my cat to stick her ass in your face. It might happen, but you can push her off the couch. I don't care. From what I can tell, she doesn't care either.

2. I don't even like cats! I know, it's hard to tell because since I moved in (about a year and a half ago), I've had two. I'm much more a dog-person because dogs are not bitches except when they are. In all actuality I'm much more a fish person. Hell, not even that. I really don't like having things to depend on me. This is why I'll never seriously consider motherhood. I mean... can you imagine it? I'm such a terrible candidate for pets. I've had this yet-to-be-named orchid for a week and I think it's still alive. That's only because it gets "watered" once a week and I haven't had an opportunity to forget, yet.

Here's how my last pet experience went, I said "Maybe I should get a cat." And then a cat materialized in my life. This cat was fucking crazy, you guys. For starters, he pee'd everywhere (and this is where people all say, 'Yeah, boy cats do that.' As if that's okay?!) He was cute, sure. He had the best name ever, yeah. His name was Hammond. Yes, directly named after Richard Hammond. I had hopes of teaching him to drive. I couldn't even teach him to not barf all over every difficult to clean surface in my home. He did, however, teach himself to open drawers and pull out my toilet paper and shred it. He had claws. Claws, I tell you! Did I mention that he was fucking crazy? I mean mad insane. It was like if whats-his-name-the-butcher from Gangs of New York and Edward Scissorhands joined themselves and added fur. And I have some permanent scars from him. One on my neck and one in an area that few men have dared to go--how that cat even got access to this region is still a mystery to me.

Now, we were just finally coming to an understanding. I was learning that if I left soft things like blankets or laundry on the floor, he would piss all over it. So I was cleaning up after myself--it was getting to be alright. I could get over the fact that he had claws. I couldn't bring myself to actually have him de-clawed, but I was getting pretty good at deflecting his destructive habits. In short, we were in a relationship where he did whatever he wanted but I came to a point where I just put up with it. It was abusive is what it was. I could even get over the fact that he was kind of a rapist but I could not get over the following situation:

I woke up one morning, bright, early. I laid in bed and smiled. It would be a lovely day. And then I heard it--the familiar sound of liquid landing on something. But what? I turned on the light and searched the floor--it was spotless, where could that cat be? Where was he?

And then I saw it. He had opened the drawer to my dresser. He was standing in my clean, folded and put away laundry (do you know what a feat it is for a person to wash, dry, fold and then put away her own laundry without her mother telling her to?!) and, yes, there was urination occurring. It was all I could do to not fly into an abusive rage. So in a just-short-of-abusive manner, I screamed and threw (read: lightly tossed) him outside. I couldn't take it anymore. Under the cover of night, we took him to the humane society. Last I heard, they still couldn't find a home for him. I guess he just lives there, now, with all his slicy and dicy rage. I had a good level of guilt about it for quite some time. Until I got over it.

Now Kiki lives with me. Kiki used to belong to my nieces and nephew until Amos started getting pretty physical with her and my sister-in-law decided that it was time that Kiki found another place to live lest she be accidentally and lovingly murdered to death. She's lived with them for years and so I took her. I didn't want to. I was not excited about having another feline in my presence. Hammond--he had burned me bad.

Turns out, though. Kiki is my kind of dog. I tell her that all the time, anyway. "Kiki, you're the best gog I've ever had." She really never comes out of her cozy spots unless she's hungry. She doesn't need me to pet her all of the time. When I watch movies, she will sit on the other side of the couch and will sometimes look at me and rarely, she will put her paw up on my leg. In short, she's real good at being a boyfriend.

When people come over she gets excited, though. She likes to entertain and she does that thing where she gets you to like her, to pet her, and then she shows you her asshole and ruins it all. Seriously, that's a mood killer. But, really, if that's as bad as it gets--I can deal with that if you can. She doesn't even get mad when I forget to feed her sometimes. Not like the nameless orchid.

Anyway, I told you all of that to create padding for this story:

My cat is sitting on the diningroom table where I am sitting here with my computer. She's watching the little birdies in the tree. They're not really flying away, they're dropping out of the tree. Like a little mass chickadee suicide. They're reminding me of Mr. Mastadon Farm. And the cat is so excited that she's staring intently and whipping her tail so hard that my empty coffee cup fell off the table. That is all.

I love you.

*People say this all the time about anything.

"I don't want to get involved in a church."

"Oh, well you've never been to my church!"

"I don't really like green beans, much."

"Oh, well then you've never tried my green bean casserole. It's got this cream of mushroom soup..."

"I hate the dentist."

"Oh, well then you've never been to my dentist. One trip to him and you'll be begging for a root canal."

Ten [Things I Want to Do Today] on Tuesday on Friday

I don't feel like answering ten questions today but it is my rare day off (Okay, I know that a day off isn't actually rare but I'm feeling whiney. Deal.) And I have quite the to-do list. So it's still Ten on Tuesday on Friday but it's Ten [Things I Want to Do Today] on Tuesday on Friday.

1. Convert this recipe from metric to... normal? Not metric? There's a word for something that's unmetric. I know there is but I haven't been in 6th grade science for a long time.

2. Type out that blog that I can't get out of my head but I won't post because of all of the offence and unnecessary hurt feelings that will incur.

3. Clean my kitchen and feel good about myself.

4. Drink an entire pot of coffee [already half-way there] and then clean out the system with vinegar and water. The water in this town is so hard, it calciumizes everything.

5. Keep working on The Winter of Our Discontent. How did it take me so long to read Steinbeck for the first time in my whole life? I have most certainly been cheating myself and so have you. John Steinbeck--get out of my brains, you!

6. Look for a coffee table or something else that is super cheap and would make a suitable tv stand. And maybe even paint it yellow.

7. Reserve something good at Red Box. Otherwise I'll have to go watch The Thin Red Line with my brother. Not that that's a horrible option but--oh, the boy stuff.

8. Take down the Christmas Tree. I can feel your judgement from here! Knock it off.

9. Make dinner for my sister. Dinner's at 6:00ish. We're having Jalfrezi and rice and Hilah's tortillas (because I can't make them come out like tortillas, they just come out like flat bread--Hilah, what am I doing wrong?) and you're so invited.

10. Write a blog about my to-do list instead of actually getting started on it.

See, that way there's already one thing crossed off.

What's on your to-do list?

Eff This Game

After the day she'd had, Libby was thrilled to encounter the 50% off Valentine's Day candy isle at Walmart. Was it coincidence... or fate?

Dear Pop Music

Because "we kick 'em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger" is just so not okay.

Swagger is it. Swagger is cool. Swagger is what everyone is looking for--including but not limited to (except, mostly limited to) pop musicians. And because I'm sick and tired of everyone singing about the sex appeal that Mick Jagger holds, I am going to provide Pop Music with a list.

Words That Rhyme With Swagger That Are Not "Jagger"

• Dagger
• Hagger[ed]
• Lager (with the right accent)
• Jager (with the same accent/ higher level of inebriation)
• Bagger
• Gagger ('tis better to be the gaggee than the gagger)
• Stagger (an actual word!)
• Wagger (one who wags, doy.)

You're welcome. All my love,

Libby

Various Disconnected Things

Hi, Everyone. My computer at home is sick, lethargic, sore throat and fever. I knew I'd regret saying no to that flu shot.

In the mean time, I'm at the library--my favorite public facility! I came here to get a book to read for when I would otherwise be mindlessly browsing the interwebs. But I can't find anything that I'd rather be reading than The Winter of Our Discontent, so I opted for the computer section. Computers in public places are weird. There's this little cubby in which my computer is stationed to give the illusion of privacy but I know someone somewhere has remote access to this desktop and is probably reading this blog way before you are.

Watched The Grammy's last night. I love those. Last year my sister and I were a hundred (give or take) miles away but we watched them at the same time and talked on the phone for the duration. It was the best. This year, saddly, Sisser's tv is broken. And I was in a friend's basement surrounded by, ten (?) other people. It was rude enough that I couldn't keep myself from texting my sister about the show the few times that I did.
"B.O.B. is wearing a fucking monocle!!" It should be no surprise that I do not know how to spell that last word. But the point got across. And, also, I'd like Bruno Mars a lot more if he'd just cut his hair. I know, he's going for a specific look but once he puts a hat on that bee hive, the cool points tend to collect like gold coins in those secret levels in Mario Brothers III.

And yes, just like you, I came home and immediately looked for Esperanza Spalding on YouTube. And, just like you, I was so happy (but still shocked) that she beat out The Bieb.

Also, my friend Angie pointed out that Drake (homina homina homina) looks like a black Ross Gellar and the truth is--girl's not wrong. I'd love to post a side-by-side but you'll just have to Google that for your own selves as I am out of time.

I wanted to tell you that you make my heart all squishy (it's Valentine's Day, after all).

-Libby

PS Nope, I sure didn't spell check this before I hit "publish".

Ten on Tuesday on Friday

Blah blah blah. No introduction. On with it.

1. What’s your favorite kind of donut? Sprinkles. I am a grown up. Actually, if I had to choose between a pink sprinkle donut or a cruller, I'd pick the cruller. This decision may vary and is dependent upon the cruller's freshness.

2. Do you use the snooze button? I do. I don't often use an alarm, though, but when I do I account for at least two snoozes.

3. Do you write in cursive, print, or a combination of the two? I write in a weird combination. It's print, I suppose, but my letters get really long and tall or swoopy. I never write a cursive "L", I've never been able to pin one down that I like. I like my handwriting a lot, though. I'm a girl like that.

4. Tell us a joke. I'll tell you a joke that a three year old named Ashlynn told me the other day.

Knock Knock
-Who's there?
Ashlynn.
-Ashlynn, who?
Ashlynn is here.

So, obviously, kids are just dumb because that's not funny at all.

5. How many languages do you speak? I speak English. I can say a tongue twister in Polish and I know a few kitchen related words in Spanish. "Albondigas" means "meatball" and "chiccaron" means "I want to kill you", or so I gather. Spanish speakers, please pardon the spelling.

6. Why did you start blogging? Fame. Fortune. Success. Sex. Intrigue. It's totally working.

7. Do you use bar soap or liquid body wash? I prefer bar soap. I prefer Dove bar soap. But I'm so sick and tired of dropping it that I usually just buy liquid body wash.

8. Do you buy bottled water? I buy bottled water when I'm at work because it's $.40 and we have easy access to recycling. I ordinarily don't buy bottled water anywhere else. That choice is not based on principle, though it would be nice if I had some of those.

9. What did you think of the Super Bowl Half Time Show? I don't understand the question.

10. How do you feel about Steve Carell leaving The Office? I think he's obviously recognized that he's on a sinking ship. I'm sorry--I know not everyone agrees but the writer's strike a few years ago threw the whole thing off and it's just never recovered. I used to live for Thursday nights so that I could watch The Office but now I feel like they've really outdone themselves if I can manage a chuckle or two and, brothers and sisters, this should not be. Now I live for Thursday nights so the I can watch Community. And since I watch Community, I'll just have to wait for Big Bang Theory to come out on DVD. Unless I take up pirating, which I do not plan to do. That decision is also not based on principle.

An Inconvenient Glitten

Gloves, hats, scarves, mittens--they're all 50% off at Walmart right now. So these, my first pair of glove/mittens. Glittens? Moves? They're the gloves without fingers but they come with a hood, essentially. I'm sure they have an official name. When I was trying to think of how to describe them, my sister explicitly forbade me from using the phrase "knitted foreskin", so I won't. You can thank her for not being made subject to that.

Anyway, my first pair of hand-warming devices of the winter season. Yes, I am aware that it's February but this is the first time that I've actually had to do things like dig the car out from underneath an estimated seventeen inches of snow, you guys! So while I was at Walmart, I got these. And I forgot my debit card so, yeah, I wrote a check for $3.94. Who carries checks but not cards? Oy. Anyway, since owning these glittens, I've learned a few things.

Things That Are Mostly (or Completely)

Impossible to Do Whilst Wearing Glittens

1. Rocking out to Tiao Cruz's Dynamite in the car (you would never actually get into it anywhere else). Because when you've finally dug your car out and you're waiting for it to warm up, you feel excited and you start singing to anything that's on the radio and your mittens really prohibit you from clapping or effectively using any hand gestures during the lyric, "and I told you once, now I told you twice." Because no matter which number it is, you're just holding up a mitten and you're faced with the reality of what's actually going on here. You're bundled to the max, covered in snow, celebrating with one of the fifty most poorly written songs in the universe. And, yeah, I do realize that people have been partying to this song for so long that everyone but me is completely exhausted with it. But I usually don't get on board with pop music until after everyone else has decided they're totally over it. (I have a much better taste in music but you'll just have to take my word for it, I wonder what you must think of me. Music in the car is an exception to music everywhere else, alright?)
2. Texting. You bought those mittens and you're like, "check it out, the comfort of mittens but the ease of having fingers to use! I can text and stay warm!" And you buy them and put them on and then realize that securely holding your phone while your hands are wrapped up in what is, essentially, an afghan knitted by your grandmother, is still impossible. And look, the thumb isn't uncovered and turns out that's your primary texting digit. I can, however, lay the phone on the table and push buttons with my pointer finger. This activity makes me look like a middle aged woman but let's get real here, I'm not?
3. Reading. This is the only time in my life that I've ever wanted an e-reader. It's cold in the break room at work, I have 45 minutes on my lunch break during which I'm not eating. I don't want to watch Dr. Phil (why is this the only station anyone watches??) and I would really like to tune out the sound of my co-workers bitching about how horrible it is to have the job that we have (so many people don't have jobs and can't feed their children that it hurts my heart to hear people offer the same complaints day after day after day and keeping those jobs from someone who could actually appreciate it). I like to read on my lunch break because it sends me into my own little world and for the most part, people can tell that you don't want to be messed with and some of them respect that. But yesterday I read two pages and quickly realized that in order to keep reading, I would need to remove my glittens to turn the page. So I watched Dr. Phil. Aaaand it changed my life. (No, not really)

Update:

The following photo demonstrates the most Googled phrases that people use to get to this here blog. It's a good day for Robert Frost and a weird day for reality.

All the World is a Birthday Cake

"Ho-o-o-oly crap!" Was the first thing I said, today.

I laid in my bed, like I do, reticent to get out from underneath the electric blanket. My cat kept coming into my room. She would stand at the door and say, "Raaaow?" And I finally threw off the blankets and went into the kitchen where I was confused because she had plenty of food and water. She jumped up into the window in the dining room and said, "Raaow!" And I looked at the window and said, "Ho-o-o-oly crap! Who's a good dog?" And then I rewarded her with pets for knowing I'd really like to see that, even before 8:00.

I can't take a decent photograph so I'll have to just use a thousand words.

When I came home from work, last night, it was 26 degrees and there was no real wind. It was just a regular, cold night. I didn't have to pull my coat any tighter than usual, there were no indications (aside from rumors that I'd learned to ignore) that there would be snow to this degree and this magnitude when I woke up this morning. And not just snow covering everything. That's not enough to be so impressive. Snow flakes are huge, fat, juicy little suckers. They're flying around, twisting down in spirals and looping back up and collecting in my windowsills.

Out my window, it looks like a black and white movie. In no time at all, Fred and Ginger are going to come dancing down the middle of the road and pass by my house as if this was the sort of thing that happened every day. The snow is thick like frosting and all the world is a birthday cake.

I used a book of Emily Dickenson poetry to prop open the window when it was warmer outside and now the book is just leaned up against the glass and it kind of looks like Emily is pining to play in the snow. I kind of am, too. There are inches and inches out there and it's still coming down so quickly. Does it make sense to say that I just want to take a huge bite out of it? Because I do. A gigantic hunk right out of the frozen lawn. When I go to open my door, there is resistance. A few more hours and I could be legitimately snowed in. Please, oh please.

If today was a snow day, I'd make a full pot of coffee instead of just half. I'd work on that very funny blog-post that I've been milling around for a few days. But it's a project and I may even need some help. Rest assured, you'll have something very good to read once I get some time to work on it. If today was a snow day, I'd make something for dinner that takes all day to simmer on the stove and I would take it to my neighbors to keep them warm. But that's not today, because it's not a snow day. But it is.

Love, Libby

Update: My manager was kind enough to offer me a half a snow day. So that's kind of him. I think he knows that I like to turn on my oven when it's particularly cold outside. He may reap the benefits.

Late at Night, She Experiments With Webcam

Hey, yeah. So I got drunk and video'd myself! (Something about that statement is not the truth)

But don't get used to it because, frankly, I can't handle the sound of my own voice that much.

And 15 minutes of Me is a lot of me-time that I won't subject you to on a regular basis.

Links that I promised:

rootsandrings.wordpress.com

www.noodles.com

www.etsy.com/shop/tinyleaves?ref=pr_shop

The Classiest Post Ever Written by L.M. Parker

Something you probably know about me: I really, really like to cook. And I really, really like to blog. And don't get used to it or anything, but today was kind of a boring, snowed-in, listening-to-indie-chill-on-slacker.com kind of day and nothing puts me in the mood to photograph my lunch and put it on the internets quite like blizzard conditions and William Fitzsimmons. Ohmahgah, I would serve him lunch. I would serve him lunch so hard.

Also, after the post I wrote yesterday, my older brother implored me to "bring back the class." This request did leave me a little confused, though because I didn't think that a childhood story about the first time I heard the f-word was terribly unclassy, relatively speaking, and also it made me wonder about a time when this space was particularly classy. He must have been talking about this post. Or this one.

Things that are classy: champagne (but not too much), pearls (unless you think about where they actually come from), and old ladies wearing lots of jewelry. But few things in life are classier than fashioning a lunch out of the weird crap that you find in the fridge, so that's what I did. I got all Paula Deen up in hurr (if Paula Deen's fridge was filled with a bag of frozen vegetables, a box of baking soda and a case of Free State Wheat. I'm pretty confident that it does not.).

If you're anything like me, in the wintertime your vegetable reception takes a turn for the worse. I don't know why but when it's cold outside, the only vegetable that I want to have anything to do with is a potato. In all of its glorious forms. But today I was requiring some vitamins and protein (since yesterday all I ate was rice and toast). I did have a bag of frozen vegetables and a dozen eggs and I thought, quiche for one! So my brains got pretty set on that idea. Then I remembered that I don't have any pie crust or a pie plate and also that it's mostly impossible to make a quiche for just one person. But I was still excited, so I put my noggin to good, creative use, and I decided to make a "hashbrown" "crust" and to bake it in my gigantic, oven-safe bowl. I know that it is oven safe because I watched it go into a kiln. I wouldn't go just throwin' anything into the oven if I was you. That would be a poor decision that would result in, probably, the most disgusting mess your oven will ever know. But enough, on with the "recipe" for, what I'm going to call:

Quiche-Kinda

To make your quiche-kinda, you will need these kinds of things.

Super important information: cook those vegetables. Cook the hell out of them. I had this "Asian" blend that didn't have anything like baby corns or water chestnuts or sugar snap peas in it. It was mostly broccoli, asparagus, red peppers and yellow squash--all delicious things. Cook them and press all of the water out and then let them cool down. Nothing hot and wet is allowed in this quiche-kinda. Classy, Libby. Gotta stay classy.

Slice your potato all up and then layer it in your bowl. No, not, like layered as in multiple layers, more like a layer of potatoes. Because this is your "crust". In retrospect, you should probably just shred that potato. Oh, and I didn't mention this but I put some milk in there with those eggs and other things.

I don't know why the butter needs to go on top. You already Pamed the hell out of the bowl and filled it with eggs and filled it with cheese, does a girl really need another source of cholesterol?

Let me link you to Hilah's recipes, because they're awesome. The recipe you can see, is her recipe for tortillas. And the recipe you can't see, is her recipe for peach cobbler that is... well, frankly something that I would make love to were it a possibility. But it is not. #classyfail

How did I know that this was done? Well, let me tell you a secret, I didn't. I guessed. But I did guess based on a few different things. A. It had been about a half an hour and I was getting impatient. B. When I shook the bowl (while holding a pot-holder, jeesh), it was not jiggly. So I took it out. And I started eating. Bad idea. That shit was hot. Also, if you let it sit for a few minutes, it sets up really nice and won't get watery or anything. There's nothing classy about a leaky quiche-kinda.

Have a classy day.