Onion Schmonion

Hey guys, just your onion-y bloggy buddy here. I know all of you have been waiting with bated breath to learn the outcome of my stinky situation. So with no further adieu...

In the case that you wake up on the idiot side of the bed and feel comfortable with dicing an entire onion into your crock pot to simmer for 12 hours therefore allowing onion fumes to sink into every piece of fabric, body part, or whatever else have you in your apartment/self, you can do these things to remedy your idiocy:

For starters, try amateur things like, using salt to "exfoliate", aka rub your skin raw, and then smoothing it back down with spoonfuls of peanut butter. MMMM there's nothing like the smell of onions, salt, and peanut butter all mixed into one!

Light some candles. Let them burn down to a puddle of wax. Maybe even dip your fingers into the wax. No pain, no gain, right? Burnt is better than onion garden a la fingers.

Wait three days to see if the smell will just go away.

Spray Febreeze on everything like it's your J-O-B. Even your dog. That little stinker has fur, remember? Fur is like fabric...that onion has lodged itself waaaaay in there, right next to the skin.

Don't feel like cleaning your apartment? Quick, give someone a hug and note their reaction. Feel like busting a move with your mop and vacuum now, McStinky?

Leave your windows open. I don't care if it's January going on February. Or that there's an ice storm going on. Priorities people. I personally think it sucks more when you can't wear your smelly jacket in freezing weather than it does you shivering on the couch.

On top of all windows open, turn on all fans. And the turbo fan. Do not, whatever you do, take a shower. While the idea of steaming, hot water all over your body sounds just splendid, the idea of freezing immediately after exiting the bathroom, does not.

And last, but not least, but definitely the most important, and the only one you should really take note of, put small bowls of baking soda everywhere possible.

Five days after the escapade took place, I am onion free, but still onion paranoid.

Something Smells....Onion-y

Because I have recently graduated from college, and due to this lovely recession we are experiencing I've started to play a daily game called "What's The Least Amount of Money I Can Spend" (Creative, I know).

Preferring not to go through my bank statements and highlighting the unnecessary buys, therefore sparing myself the shameful remorse from things like $10 lattes and $15 lunches, I decided to just halt all spending possible.

A bit drastic, yes, but I tend to be more responsive to "full stop" efforts rather than simply cutting back. Rent and bills don't count, obviously, otherwise I would be kicked to the curb in about a month.

I just assumed, and rightly so, that most of my money goes towards food. Well, and drinks. Alcoholic drinks. Eating out and going out are two ways to deplete the bank account.

So as a result Neighborhood Walmart has become my new best friend and I've become somewhat unsocial.

The upside (besides spending less) is that I've gotten into cooking. Nowhere near gourmet, but just basic home cooked meals that have yet to end in disaster. During this recent development I decided to bust out the old crock pot and give it a whirl. I went with trusty beef stew as my first one-pot meal.

Here is the recipe, courtesy of recipes.com (this is an exercise, so pay attention):

4 carrots
3 potatoes peeled and cut into cubes
1 stalk celery, cut
1 diced onion
a pinch of paprika
1 1/2 cups of beef broth
1 tablespoon of Worchestire sauce
1 cup flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 bay leaf
2 pounds beef
Now. Which one of these items do you think ruined the next couple of days for me?

The culprit = 1 diced onion.

First of all, a whole onion?! Really, recipes.com?? That's a lot of onion. I'm downright disappointed in myself that I doubted my instincts and followed the recipe. I actually hate onions (unless they are onion rings, in which case they are delicious) but I figured it would add flavor and I should just get over it. Wrong.

Second, I stupidly decided to put the ingredients in at 8pm and let it cook while I sleep, planning to take it out at 8am and then voila! I can take some to work for lunch. Well, at 2am Lola decides to take a running leap over my body and dart around the room in a burst of hyperactivity, causing me to bolt out of bed in a frenzy. In the process, my nose catches a whiff of something...unpleasant. I open my door and wham! the stench of too much cooked onion slaps me in the face. You would think I would decide to abandon the beef stew idea right then and there, but no. Being somewhat still asleep I merely thought it would just die down as it continued to cook. HA!

For the next 6 hours I dreamed about onions, smelled onions, and felt like I was sleeping in an onion.

By 8am I was most definitely not taking beef stew to work for lunch. Nor did I want to eat it for dinner. Or, really, ever again.

Sitting at my desk a few hours later I feel as if I am carrying multiple onions in my pockets, purse, and maybe even one hidden in my hair.

I stroll up to the receptionist and waft some of the air around me towards her.

Me: Do you smell that?
R: Smell what?
Me: I don't know, anything, what do I smell like when I'm standing near you?
R: I don't smell anything.
Me: Are you sure?? I don't smell like beef stew, or...(practically spitting the word out) onion?
R: Um, no.

I decide it's just me. A few hours later I meet up with my boyfriend.

Boyfriend: You smell funky.
Me: (groan)
Boyfriend: (wrinkles nose) Like...food. Why do you smell like food?

A few tablespoons of salt, spoonful of peanut butter, two hands rubbed raw, and a shower later, I think I have succeeded in getting rid of _____ (I cannot even bring myself to say the name now).

Today, I put on my clothes for work and the rank smell is back. Or it never left. My apartment is hoarding the onion smell and every item belonging to me reeks. I detest, no, loathe, beef stew. I will never eat it again. I will also not go within 6 feet of an onion for a very.long.time. And I'm wary of the crock pot.

How did attempting to be frugal land me in this mess? And yes, I still smell like onions. Any suggestions how to forever rid myself of the atrocity that is inhabiting my apartment, clothes, hair, and fingers? Anyone?

Return to Jr. High

My love of writing all started back in 7th grade, because of this guy:

He's pretty dreamy, huh?

His name is Bernie Schein, and he was my 7th and 8th grade teacher. He's recently joined the Facebook phenomenon and in the past few weeks I've been updated consistently on my Home Page about Bernie's posts on former student's walls. Creepy? Inappropriate? Sketchy? Yes. He is all of those things and more. Which is why he was the most popular teacher at my school.

An explanation of my school is needed: Paideia is a private school in Atlanta, founded by parents in the 1970s. The first buildings of the school were old houses. (My 6th grade classroom was in the attic of an old mansion. Yes, it is as cool as it sounds. And my hand print is still painted on the eave representing the 6th grade class of 1998. Shout out to L & B's class! Wha wha!) Teachers are called by their first names. Sometimes couches are used instead of desks. It's a pretty laid back environment, where children are urged to be themselves and excel. Whether you wore Ralph Lauren and your mom drove a Mercedes, or you preferred to shop at the local dollar store and your mom drove a 15 year old station wagon Volvo, Paideia welcomed you and your uniqueness.

Before you start thinking Paideians held hands and sang Kumbuya every morning (which we most definitely did NOT), I'll being Bernie back into the picture. We were talking about Facebook.

I think it's safe to assume he's quite taken with Facebook. Being a graduate of Harvard, Bernie is pretty smart. And he's used his intelligence to learn that Facebook is a great way to advertise yourself, should you have something to advertise. Which he does. His book. Which was just recently published. (Fellow English majors out there will appreciate the title: If Holden Caulfield Were In My Classroom. Catcher in the Rye should pop into your mind (If you're smart)).

I'm famous, actually. I'm in Bernie's book. (Most of his former students are.) We aren't broadcasted as ourselves, but instead our personalities, stories, sense of humor, problems, and behavior can be identified throughout the whole thing. His favorite question to ask his students since publishing the book is "Did you see yourself in the book??"

If you're intrigued by what I've said about my school, and Bernie, you should go check out his website, http://www.bernieschein.com/ and Paideia's website, http://www.paideiaschool.org/. Because by no possible means will I be able to explain Bernie and his philosophy of teaching, nor his personality, nor the difference it made in my life. And, this post is already too long. If you've made it this far, hang in there, it gets better!

Bernie is a pot bellied, potty mouth, balding, hysterical, crazy, freakishly smart, and freakishly caring old man. He called kids out on their crap, and he always spoke the truth. Being Real, was the goal in his classroom. And he tried to pull the "realness" out of every single kid. If you're real, you're being yourself, and when you're being yourself, you're happy. Pretty simple. We would then express this realness in stories. What we've learned about ourselves, how we've gotten to where we are through whatever obstacles we've come across in the past, etc. Hence, why I love to "dissect" the meaning in things. See One For the English Major Team post.

However simple it was, parents had to give the OK for their kids to be admitted into Bernie's class. That's how intense it was. It was a roller coaster ride of a junior high experience and some parents just weren't on board with the whole concept. Luckily, my parents were.

Anyways, you'll have to do some sleuthing on the web (i.e, go order his book, check out his website) to find more out about this fascinating guy. I have already done all this, and finished the book (rave reviews!), so I've spent my time today catching up on Bernie's comments on Facebook.

On trying to promote his book:

"Yo ___, it's me. Berns. Yep. Cool as ever. Have you read my book. Tell me what you think. You were a great student, reminded me naturally a lot of moi, though I was more the matinee-idol type, and you're not. Love, Bernie"

"Yo, ____. Right. Bernie here. Yes, the great one. CALM DOWN. CALM DOWN!!! God. Read my book, tell your parents to read it, and get back to me, if you catch my drift. Love, Bernie"

"____, Have you read my book. I mean, am I funny or what. I LOVE MYSELF. Love, Bernie"

There are more, much more, funny ones, but I'll wait to see your response to these and post the rest accordingly. For all I know, you guys might be the type of people who wouldn't want your kid (or future kid) to touch Bernie's classroom with a four foot pole. In which case Bernie would respond, with my absolute favorite response, "Why don't you take four running leaps and bounce up my butthole sideways!" ;-)

In conclusion, (Bernie, I hope you're happy and that this did you justice) BUY HIS BOOK. Happy Friday everyone!

What Comes Around, Goes Around

So, funny story:

My eyes have been evilly conjuring up Agitation, Irritation, and Insane Light Sensitivity to take up temporary residence in my eyeballs. Sometimes they invite Redness, and Water. Then they all get together and hold a gross eye infection meeting approximately every two weeks for about 24 hours. They mask themselves as sprinters, when in actuality they are marathoners, since this whole ordeal started about a month ago.

I was driving to work yesterday morning (since eyes were engaged in mid-battle by 8 30am I had already surrendered to glasses) and reached for my sunglasses. To put OVER my glasses. (I absolutely do not have, nor will I ever buy, the clip on prescription sunglasses lens. Sorry. I would rather look like a complete idiot then pull out those handy-dandy-I'm-turning-into-my-father contraptions). Then, with the sun visor down, left hand blocking sunlight, squinting like an angry old lady, and water streaming out of both eyes, I figured I should give the eye doc a ring-a-ling once I un-safely and miraculously reached my destination.

Here's how the conversation went with the doctor this morning.

Doc (peering into eyes with microscope contraption): Uhh huh. Uhh huh. (Sits back) You had pink eye.

Me: I have pink eye?

Doc: No, you HAD pink eye. You don't anymore.

Me: Are you sure?

Doc: Positive.

Me (annoyed): Then what's the deal with my eyes now, since I apparently don't have pink eye.

Doc (chummily): Your eyes THINK you still have pink eye, so they keep trying to fight it out every now and then.

Me: So, it's contagious, right? I need to stay home and stuff?

Doc (happily): Nope! You can go to work and everything!

Me (feigning happiness): That's great!!!! But you've dilated my eyes, so I can't drive for a while, so I probably should hang out here for a bit, right?

Doc: Nope! That was numbing drops. It will just excrete yellow crust from your eyes for about an hour. (Ew!!)

Me (dejectedly sighing): All right. (Weakly) Are you sure?

Doc (beginning to look at me strangely): Yes. Positive. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. You can drive and go to work. Just put these eye drops in 4 times a day to clear your eyes up, and no contacts until you see me next week. Off you go!!

Me: FINE. THANKS.

Funny how things work, huh? When I was jokingly wishing pink eye on myself, I actually had it. And stayed at work all day. Then, I am enlightened and told that was actually pink eye, but now it's just "fake" pink eye, and even though my eyes feel worse than when I DID have "real" pink eye, I am apparently all better and free to go to work. Wahoo!

Oh, karma. You are a b*tch.

And the Award Goes to...

The talented Chelsea from Design a la mod has given me my first blogging award! Thanks!

Here are the rules of the award:

1) Choose a minimum of 7 blogs that you find brilliant in content or design.

2) Show the 7 winners names and links on your blog, and leave a comment informing them that they were prized with "Honest Scrap." Well, there's no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon.

3) List at least 10 honest things about yourself.





Here goes. I'll try to make this as exciting as possible...

10.) I am a direct descendant of Jefferson Davis.

9.) I am also a descendant of Pinckney, who signed the Declaration of Independence.

8.) My mom seriously considered naming me Pinckney, and would have called me Pinky for short...that would have been fun. (sarcasm detected).

7.) My dad sounds like he walked off a southern plantation yesterday. He says things like "holler", "yonder", "dahlin", "dubyah" (i.e. 'w',) and "ol" (i.e. 'oil').

6.) I have 4 nieces and nephews and one of my nieces is older than me (none of them call me Aunt Sloane. phew.)

5.) When I've had a few drinks ask me about something historical. Chances are I'll give you a history lesson about one of the following: Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth I, Marie Antoinette, or Napoleon Bonaparte (Yup, I'm about as cool as they come)

4.) I love challenges...I've biked 1500 miles across Europe one summer in high school, run a 10K military style obstacle course in mud, run a half marathon, and am open to any suggestions for my next challenge.

3.) I started walking when I was 7 months. I like to think that has something to do with my love of running, but it probably doesn't.

2.) Although I was an early walker I was not an early talker. And when I did finally start talking it sounded like another language since I apparently had a hearing problem (which has since been cured, don't worry).

1.) And, last but not least, if I could be anything I wanted to, and be successful at it, I would be an author. Any publishers out there? ;-)

And now for the 7 fabulous blogs:

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit

A Mess From Out West

I Used To Be Witty

Life

Show My Face

Inspiration DC

Steece's Pieces

A Case Study: Bob

Here's a scenario, just for giggles:

Begin Scene.

Bob graduates college. Bob can't find a job because of the stupid economy. Well, let's give Bob a break, cause otherwise that would have been the end of the scenario. Maybe he lives in a place where the economy is soaring. So, Bob finds a job. Bob is a good natured guy, so he enjoys the first few months of his new job despite the lack of work for newbies. But after, say, 4 months, Bob gets restless. He spends most of his time memorizing Wall Street Journal articles to impress coworkers on thirsty thursdays. When will he be challenged, or even simply fully utilized, he wonders.

After a year or two, once Bob's reached a state frighteningly similar to a robot, he gets promoted. Finally, he's at a good place in his job and feels just swell about things.

Then, the New Guy is hired. Bob is his superior. Bob is in charge of what New Guy does. Bob feels slightly weird about the situation. He:

A.) Doesn't want New Guy to have the same, I-slowly-die-inside-every-day-I'm-here experience that he did. Perhaps he can take on a mentoring role, teach him the ways of the company, invest some time in New Guy and really help him advance. Even if it means spending extra time coming up with projects or things New Guy could do.

or, B.) Feels like New Guy should suffer as he suffered. It will make him stronger in the end. He needs to go through a "pledgeship" of sorts, not just be granted happiness the moment he walks through the door. This is the process everyone goes through. Besides, I have enough on my plate.

End scene.

Which one does Bob choose, you ask? I don't know, people, this isn't a real story. But, I bet you $5, maybe $10, that this scenario is a frequent one among responsible, caring, and smart professionals. Why would responsible, caring, and smart professionals choose B over A? Because people can be ridiculous and stupid sometimes.

And people that work under said people, tend to read and relate to my blog. And then send me emails, comments, and messages about how much they relate. Most of these come after a ballsy post. (Ballsy=what everyone is thinking but won't say. Or write). And I can't help but wonder (Hello Ms. Bradshaw, we meet again. I'm beginning to understand why Carrie used that line so many times. It just rolls off the tongue..er, keyboard), if there are so many people twiddling their thumbs at work, don't you think people might, I don't know, change things up a bit? Invest more time in the newcomers, perhaps? I'm just throwing ideas out there...something to mull over for when YOU become the superior over the "inferior".

In the meantime, my blog is here :-)

An Ode

In no particular form, correct style, or heartfelt meaning, An Ode. To Job.

I was so excited to graduate college,
And set forth into the real world with knowledge,
But you've led me astray,
And I just have to say,
I'm just really not that fond of you.

There's nothing for me to do all day,
I think I'll start "working" from home, ok?
I'd be more productive,
There would be less deductive, (huh?)
And I would be much more fun too.

Do you know I've considered trucking?
And nannying, and waitressing, or just nothing?
The shack down the street,
Looks like paradise to me,
If I was able to quit and say suck it...hmm. Maybe not.

Ok, I take that back, it's not you...
Let's blame the economy, and "change" too.
I just want something demanding,
And difficult, and daring,
To prove my worth (and stop swearing).

Let's work on this, mmmkay?
In fact I think we should do happy hour today.
We can sort out our troubles,
Get over our fumbles,
And start all over, hooray!

One for the English Major Team

One sunny day in the Fall of my sophomore year of college I was on my way to declare a practical major when I got an unexpected call from my father. A few minutes later I got off the phone and started walking in the opposite direction towards a different building. I had been given this advice (which, at the time, seemed more like an order): "Major in something you enjoy, rather than something practical. Then, when you go to graduate school, you take the practical road." And that is how I became an English major.

I was not prepared for the hundreds of people who would later scoff and mock my decision. As soon as the phrase "English major" comes out of my mouth, doubt of my survival in the 'real world' creeps into their eyes, and they either say, or think, "English??!! What are you going to do with that?!" Well, oh ignorant one, let me tell you.

For a college student, there is nothing more frightening than scanning an exam and realizing you have no idea what any of the answers are. Not only that, but there is no multiple choice. A big, blank, blue book practically burns a hole in your eyeballs as you squirm in your seat, this close to a full blown panic attack. What to do, what to dooo...Oh! I know! Develop a coherent essay with fully backed up points and examples from the text to illustrate your meaning!

How? That's for the English major to know, and for you to never find out. We're brilliant. We can be put on the spot and come out smelling like roses. We can answer a question we don't know the answer to, back up our claim, marvel at the genius we just pulled out of nowhere, and leave the professor dumbfounded by our intelligence. Especially since he thought we were either unprepared, daydreaming, or just plain idiotic (Now imagine what it's like when we actually do know the answer).

Confused? Why not wander over to your bookshelf and pull out Shakespeare or Chaucer. What? (feign surprise) You don't have any of those? You only have Confessions of a Shopaholic and other similar chick novels?? I suppose they are a bit difficult to understand.... Pity. Well, let's just say that Shakespeare and Chaucer are remembered and widely read (at least by other people) for a reason.

If you can actually understand what Chaucer is saying while reading it, then hats off to you, but I really don't believe you. Unless you are a Chaucer extraordinaire, aka ,professor who will remain nameless from second semester sophomore year. Who, while we're on the subject, made me speak Middle English for a mortifying ten minutes in front of the entire class. Don't know what Middle English is either? Sigh. Google it. Then speak it around other people and note their reaction.

Anyway, English majors are taught to decipher, describe, dissect, determine, declare (oh, why hello alliteration), analyze, and interpret everything put in front of them. That skill cannot be left at the door. In fact, when you're talking to me, just know, from here on out, that while I'm nodding my head and nonchalantly sipping my coffee, I am putting you through a "what's he/she really trying to say" detector while jotting down notes in my head, and coming up with plan a, b, and c of possible answers, ideas...plans of action, if you will.

Now, transfer these impeccable skills that have been tweaked and perfected over 4 years into any professional environment (ahem, I stress any environment) and the true English major will succeed and excel.

Beg to differ? Well, unsuccessful flaw finder, in true English major style I've already mapped out possible questions, arguments, and back up arguments to your unsatisfied mind. So I'm all ears. ;-)

Do you like your job?

In my opinion, there are 3 types of job people, and you are able to determine which category a person belongs in by asking the question "Do you like your job?".

1. The "I Love My Job" people

The four word answer says it all-these people speak the truth. It's been an exhausting day for them, be it running all over town meeting with business execs, making a deal, answering thousands of important emails, teaching math to 20 3rd graders, devising a new advertising plan for a client, etc. etc., and they don't have the energy, and more importantly, feel the need, to dive into an over enthusiastic explanation of their undying love and devotion for their job. Instead, the exhaustion speaks for itself: I am exhausted because I spent all day working tirelessly for the company, and I put myself through this because I believe in the company and want them (and undoubtedly themselves) to succeed.

I can't do much sarcasm and wit with these people...they're straight up "fighting the good fight" and working hard for the money. I can envy these people, however, and I do on a regular basis. Isn't this what we all aim for in a job?

2. The "I Love My Job. Like, Really, Really, Love My Job. If I Could Have Designed My Dream Job, This Would Be It" people.

The 22 word answer says it all-these people are lying through their teeth. Feel free to whip out your lie detector and use as needed, since pretty much everything they say hereafter will be cooked up with white lies, fibs, and full blown fabricated stories. These people want to love their job, but for whatever reason don't, but they also don't want other people, for whatever weird reason, to know they don't love their job.

Why? Well, they could be talking to their boss/someone who knows their boss/their boss's wife/a potential employer and don't want to come across ungrateful, unappreciative, and suffering from Bad Attitude Syndrome. Putting that scenario aside, they could be talking to an acquaintance/nemesis/ex boyfriend/parent's smug friends/hated teacher from 5th grade, and would like to create the picture of 'I love my life!' rather than 'I hate my job, and I hate you too'. Sorry, strongly dislike. Hate is such a strong word.

For whatever reason they feel the need to lie about their job, you can just go ahead and plop them in the 3rd category (below) while you listen to their 15 minute schpiel (sp?) about working at The.Best.Job.Ever (!!!).

Note: Sometimes these people like to throw in a bucket of I'm Too Cool and claim that wearing a headset, surfing the internet all day, entering numbers into Excel, answering phones, taking messages, running errands, and anything else that makes you feel like a complete professional loser, are the best things about their job and they wouldn't have it any other way. Hold on just one moment while I run gag in el bano.

3. The "I Hate My Job." people

Like the Category 1 people, the 4 word answer says it all. Not only are these people being in-your-face honest, but are also (most likely) loving the out loud declaration of the fact. They sit for 8 hours (sometimes 9, *shudder*), just seething over their situation while having to put on a Mr. Positive face for the office. Every request and question is answered with jubilation and enthusiasm, while on the inside wanting to face plant into the floor.

Sure, this situation will make them stronger, developing the ability to carry on in rough and tough times, be all the better for it when they do get a job they love... bla, bla, bla, but refrain from saying so. They already know. That's what they tell themselves every single day and hearing it from an outsider (particularly a smug, chum of a fellow, who pats them on the back and says things like "Ah, everyone hates their job at some point. You'll come out swingin'!") makes them want to face plant them on the floor.

So. Best way to handle these built up anger machines are to simply lend an ear, nod, and back slowly away after 5 or 10 minutes. After all, they shouldn't be allowed too much ventilation. No need to make your day miserable as well.

I have a case of The First Official Work Day of the New Year

At the end of my last post regarding Work Withdrawal I said to "check back tomorrow for Part II". Well, in case you haven't noticed, 12 days have gone by and there is no need to continue with Part II for one big reason:

I wouldn't be able to give much advice about work withdrawal since I went off the deep end into La La Land of vacation exhilaration and became numb to all work related feelings and/or doings. Oh, and it's past the holidays.

As I sit here in the black hole of work, slowly thawing and reintroducing myself to the office environment, I'm slightly disappointed that a sunny, bright, it's-a-brand-new-year-attitude hasn't inhabited my brain. Instead, a strange and unfamiliar feeling of wrath has unleashed itself. It's possible that the teasing 80 degree weather over the weekend that dropped to a freezing 32 degrees and pouring rain on the very day I go back to work might have something to do with it. Nonetheless, I am just not feeling it today and I have a slight suspicion that many other people are not feeling it right along with me.

Go ahead and throw me in the Pessimistic Group. I'm well acquainted. In fact, that is one of my new years resolutions--stop being pessimistic. I'm off to a great start, huh? But there is always good in the bad, however, and I have found it while riding on the negativity train:

The fact that I am not feeling it on the first day back from work, after the holiday vacation, and a fresh start to a new year, tells me something....perhaps I should think about change. (Now isn't that a familiar word as of late.)

And by change, I of course mean change myself.

Oh, to dare to delve into the throes and woes of this downsizing economy. I wish myself good luck.