I wear the cheese, it does not wear me.

Last night I dreamt that a giraffe got loose from the zoo, got onto my enclosed porch, and trashed it. Flower vases smashed, chrysanthemums eaten, ceramic garden stool tossed to the wind, and my Nikon D40, with lenses, totally smooshed.

What did I take away from this? I feel like an irresponsible camera owner who left her D40 out in the path of maniacal giraffes. I'm certain James will chastise me.

So long, Coach. I love you, but I love my sanity more.

My dreams of an October TV date with the Taylors have been smashed. I was recently delighted to order DirecTV, until my dealings with six different customer service representatives convinced me that everyone at that company is on the crack. Each new person I spoke to contradicted what the last had told me and sometimes even themselves, culminating in a conversation in which I asked the same question five times in a row, was ignored or given false answers, and was forced to ask the customer service rep, “Am I not speaking ENGLISH right now?” When I asked her to cancel my order, I very politely told her I would need an email confirmation because I couldn’t believe a word she had told me. Or, you know, as politely as you can insinuate a person is a big honking liar. But! Two days later, no email confirmation. So, ha!

What an appalling experience.

So, I was very upset about my satellite TV options, which is one of the stupidest things in life that a person could be upset about. And the universe has driven that point home. Yesterday I heard a radio program about a woman dealing with an infestation of bedbugs, received an email from a guy who does not know how to properly use an apostrophe, and saw a girl go out in public in an extremely unfortunate hot pink polyester mini-dress that was 100 percent wrong for her figure. Clearly other people have bigger problems than I, so I need to just check out the Dish Network and shut up.

Also, I remembered that Uncle Jimmy has DirecTV, and a DVR that he said I could use any time. So maybe I will be having dinner with the Taylors in October after all.

Happy Birthday, Jen

Today is Jen's birthday. We're having roast turkey with all the trimmings to celebrate, which I think is a pretty fantastic way to celebrate someone we love. Happy Birthday, Jen.

Ali, in the Kitchen, with the Spatula

Tonight Mom, Melis, Jen, and I went to Westwood for Great Cheap Dates and to see Julie and Julia. What a wonderful film! It made me want to cook. With meat. Can you believe that?

I came right home and baked some chocolate chip cookies. It wasn't anything terribly complex or even anything I hadn't made before, but I really wanted to be in the kitchen and to get my hands on some butter. If you learn nothing else from Julia Child, you learn that butter is a wonderous, magical substance that makes everything better than it was before. Ironic then, that Melis sat three seats down from me, munching on butterless popcorn. What a waste.

I also made some spaghetti sqaush for lunch today. Look how pretty it is:

Yum.

Tonight's delicious dinner...

...is hibachi-style fried rice, courtesy of Liz and Zack's awesome recipe. They made us a fabulous hibachi meal when Kris and I visited this weekend. I wanted to be buried in a pile of that rice so I could eat my way out. Thanks, guys.

So long, cable. Hello, Coach Taylor.

I just signed up for DirecTV. This is awesome because not only will I get a ton more channels, many in HD, for less money, and finally be able to DVR shows instead of shamefully being tied to the archaic VCR, but more importantly I will be watching season 4 of Friday Night Lights NEXT MONTH (!) instead of waiting for the viciously cruel summer of 2010 premiere. I must confess this is 95% of the reason I chose DirecTV. The siren song of the new East Dillon football team...

October 28th, baby! Me and Coach and Tami. It's gonna be awesome.

These childish tantrums will not stand!

My landlord has placed the following note on our building's mailbox:

Mailman,

Your childish TANTRUMS by shoving the mail into my box and crumpling it into a ball had best not happen again or I will videotape the behavior and lodge a formal complaint.

The words "TANTRUMS" and "ball" are double-underlined.

I can't help but think that he probably crumpled the mail first and then shoved it into the box. But when you're mad enough the capitalize and underline a word, you're probably not thinking about the chronology of the events.

You know how I laugh when people fall down? Things have just been taken to a new level.

Roger gets my sense of humor.

Last night on Mad Men a secretary drove a John Deere riding mower over a smarmy British guy’s foot. He went down like a French prizefighter and I nearly fell off the couch, so violent was my laughter. Something about the way Harry looked mortified when a fine mist of blood hit his crisp, white oxford shirt, and then Lois drove the mower straight into a plate glass window... I was in hysterics. So much so, that I had to rewind the scene a few times and guffaw again. And if you saw me walking into work this morning, that chuckling was the result of my playing the scene over again in my head.

I have no excuses.

This weekend = craftiness and fun

Kris and I are heading to Liz and Zack's this weekend for the usual (playing with baby Wes, Rock Band, craftiness at Color Me Mine, etc.)

I expect awesomeness at every turn.

Serena Williams is flipping insane.

Did you watch the US Open match? How about the circus of a press conference immediately following, when she tried to justify her behavior? I'm actually kind of pleased she refuses to apologize or even acknowledge that she should apologize. This way I am free to be just as disgusted by her as I please, and isn't that what we all want?

She and Kanye West need to go have dinner with Christian Bale and Russell Crowe. They can form a club for rageaholics with no self-awareness whatsoever, and fight over who gets to be president.

Russell would throw phones, Serena would "shove bleeping tennis balls down people's bleeping throats," Kanye could scream about how Kim Clijsters didn't deserve to win the match because Serena's got one of the best games of all time, and then Christian could jump up on the table and declare, "You're all dead to me, professionally!"

For the last time, celebrities, listen up! If you're famous, you simply must try harder to hide your psychopathic tendencies. I don't need to be watching Gladiator and not be able to concentrate because all I can think is, "Dude throws phones at people when he doesn't get his way." I'm just trying to watch a movie. Or a tennis match. Or a crappy awards show.

Take a page from Tom Brady. I'm convinced he's got bodies in his basement, but it's not like he goes around in blood-soaked t-shirts. The only evidence he displays are his cold, dead eyes, and he can hardly hide those.

A drill story

So, last weekend I went to my Dad and told him I was having trouble with my drill. It wasn't allowing me to drill starter holes and I didn't know what I was doing wrong. So my Dad was like, "Describe the item to me." And I did so, and then he was like, "Yeah, that's not a drill. That's an electric screwdriver." (Shut up, James.)

So I went to Ace (the helpful place) and I am now the owner of an actual drill. I already used it to hang a shelf and it's so much fun to use! I just want to start drilling holes in all my walls. I need to exercise some restraint or I'm going to destroy my apartment.

This QB really ties the team together

My team is drafted and now I just have to hope that Kurt Warner doesn't shatter like a Czech crystal vase. Every time I turn around, someone is reminding me just how old and decrepit he is. Whatev!

Also, I now realize that my team name opens me up to taunts of, "Mark it zero, dude" anytime one of my players fails to produce. I accept that risk.

"Put the piece away, Walter."

Draft day!

Today, we draft. This year my team is named The Dude Abides, and my team slogan is. "This is not Nam. This is Fanstasy Football. There are rules." Either that, or, "Obviously you're not a golfer."

If you’re not getting any of this, you have my sympathy. Get thee to Netflix.

I'm drafting in first position. I don't want to spoil the surprise for anyone, but if you're one of the 3 people who read this blog, I'm giving you the inside scoop: I'll be taking AP. I really hope he does well, because by the time it snakes back to pick #20, I'll probably stuck with, like, Willis McGahee.

Hooray for the start of football season. "You got a date Sunday, baby!"

Farmers' Market Flowers

This week I nabbed some sunflowers for a harvesty, "Hello Fall!" look. I am so ready for Fall.



I also told the Flower Master (that's what I'm calling her now) to just arrange whatever she wanted for my second bouquet. She went with a lovely variety of pinks, with a few pale greens to keep things interesting.



Last week's flowers look pretty much the same as the day I bought them, so that's awesome.



And this week there was something new: dried flower balls. These two went home with me. Wouldn't these be a great favor for a bridal shower?



And on the way back I ran into Aunt Penny, so now all I can think about is delicious cookies.

Julia is two. And yet I haven't aged a day.

My marvelous little niece turned two on Sunday. Aunts, sorry I haven't posted photos on Facebook yet. It's on my To Do list, I promise.

Julia shoved her face with cake and had lots of fun ripping open presents. I got her a dress-up set and all you need to know about that is the two-year-old walks better in heels than I do. It's a humbling truth.