Hello from the Lucas residence. I'm home sick today, thanks to Mr. Lucas who coughs with wild abandon.
Eh, who am I kidding. I was going to catch this sucker anyway. My immune system has been compromised by cake, cookies and ice cream. There may be a leaf or two of spinach swimming around in there, and I did have an organic burrito last Thursday that had a carrot in it, but it's obviously not enough.
Dang temptation.
So anyway, sick or not, there is a weekend wrap up that must be told and I hope and pray this fog in my brain lifts before the memory of laser tag, cake ball tower, and karaoke is gone for good.
Until then, see you tomorrow for Ten on Tuesday.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Say it ain't so!
Bad new, folks. Just saw this in my email (apparently someone has heard of my unnatural love of chocolate):
It's an article.
And it predicts a most unfortunate occurrence.
One that ranks above global warming on my scale.
So what do we do? Where does this leave us? Growing mini cocoa crops in our back yards? Seed processing plants in our garages? Our own personal team of chocolate bar producers at a cost of $5,000 per Hershey's with almonds??
I grow dizzy at the thought.
But at the same time I wonder if 2014 is when I finally break myself of my kiss-a-day habit?
(and I'm not talkin' about Corey kisses)
I think New York State is doing something very similar with tobacco. Not that there is a shortage. They've hiked the taxes so high it costs an arm and a leg for a pack of cigarettes and it's forcing some people to quit. If I have to save a month's worth of wages for a simple Lindt truffle, it just might be worth it to me to instead use that money for, say, a few car payments. Maybe a week long trip to Europe. Or a complete wardrobe change.
But as I read the article further, I see they're talking about fairtrade cocoa. It makes up something like 1% of the chocolate in the world.
Looks like the addiction continues.
Will there be a chocolate drought? World’s supply of sustainable cocoa could run out by 2014
It's an article.
And it predicts a most unfortunate occurrence.
One that ranks above global warming on my scale.
'Supplies of sustainable cocoa are set to run out, it's that simple,' he said.
So what do we do? Where does this leave us? Growing mini cocoa crops in our back yards? Seed processing plants in our garages? Our own personal team of chocolate bar producers at a cost of $5,000 per Hershey's with almonds??
I grow dizzy at the thought.
But at the same time I wonder if 2014 is when I finally break myself of my kiss-a-day habit?
(and I'm not talkin' about Corey kisses)
I think New York State is doing something very similar with tobacco. Not that there is a shortage. They've hiked the taxes so high it costs an arm and a leg for a pack of cigarettes and it's forcing some people to quit. If I have to save a month's worth of wages for a simple Lindt truffle, it just might be worth it to me to instead use that money for, say, a few car payments. Maybe a week long trip to Europe. Or a complete wardrobe change.
But as I read the article further, I see they're talking about fairtrade cocoa. It makes up something like 1% of the chocolate in the world.
Looks like the addiction continues.
Friday Confessions
1. I made a major change in my life on Sunday: I got bangs.
Shallow? Don't judge.
2. In the office whenever the microwave dings to tell me my leftovers are done I open the fridge. Every. Single. Time. Please explain.
3. I, um, wanted a Bump-It before I realized they aren't cool.
4. One of my favorite times of year is when I can shred old documents. I make a game out of it: how many sheets can I shred at once before I jam the thing?! Or, keep a constant stream of paper going in. Don't let it stop!
Stupid? Don't judge.
5. I am growing a dust family in my keyboard. They're fed by crumbs from my lunch and an occasional splash of water from my cup. Only once did I make like God with Noah and flood the suckers. But it was an accident. And we have since started over. It's like my version of SIMS.
6. Oliver dog has had the worst bout of gas lately. The kind that instantly fills up a room and makes your eyes water. Corey knows this, yet he still asks if it was me. Like I am capable of producing 300lb man farts.
7. I find this topic funny. And immature. But I just can't help myself.
8. I have added numerous candy wrappers to the contents of my purse. Successful completion of my sugar addiction resolution is getting farther and farther from me.
9. Tomorrow I just might kill it altogether with the chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles I'm making for my sister's birthday.
I'm weak. Don't judge.
10. I had a dream that I was picked to interview Pioneer Woman. It turned out she actually lived in a suburb in Ohio and all those kids she writes about really weren't hers. I remember having a deflated "this is it??" moment. Thank goodness it was just a dream!!
...
Now to enjoy the rest of my Friday! Which means putting off all the hard work until Monday.
Shallow? Don't judge.
2. In the office whenever the microwave dings to tell me my leftovers are done I open the fridge. Every. Single. Time. Please explain.
3. I, um, wanted a Bump-It before I realized they aren't cool.
4. One of my favorite times of year is when I can shred old documents. I make a game out of it: how many sheets can I shred at once before I jam the thing?! Or, keep a constant stream of paper going in. Don't let it stop!
Stupid? Don't judge.
5. I am growing a dust family in my keyboard. They're fed by crumbs from my lunch and an occasional splash of water from my cup. Only once did I make like God with Noah and flood the suckers. But it was an accident. And we have since started over. It's like my version of SIMS.
6. Oliver dog has had the worst bout of gas lately. The kind that instantly fills up a room and makes your eyes water. Corey knows this, yet he still asks if it was me. Like I am capable of producing 300lb man farts.
7. I find this topic funny. And immature. But I just can't help myself.
8. I have added numerous candy wrappers to the contents of my purse. Successful completion of my sugar addiction resolution is getting farther and farther from me.
9. Tomorrow I just might kill it altogether with the chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles I'm making for my sister's birthday.
I'm weak. Don't judge.
10. I had a dream that I was picked to interview Pioneer Woman. It turned out she actually lived in a suburb in Ohio and all those kids she writes about really weren't hers. I remember having a deflated "this is it??" moment. Thank goodness it was just a dream!!
...
Now to enjoy the rest of my Friday! Which means putting off all the hard work until Monday.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Comfort is a dish best served with mustard
We've had a request here at Corey & Stacie.
A request for a certain topic to be covered.
One that this particular reader feels is not touched on as much as it should be.
A topic on the awesomeness that is Corey.
And that request came from Corey, himself.
...
"Hey Beetle, is there gonna be a blog post today?"
"Maybe."
"Do you have something planned?"
"Not yet."
"So you don't have something already scheduled?"
"Nope."
"You should write about how I made you dinner."
"You serious?"
"Yeah! I make stuff from Food Channel for my beetle!"
"Um, sure."
"Tell them I made a homemade raspberry sauce!"
"Ok..."
...
This was all said through a shower curtain, I should add, not over Wheaties and coffee as you probably imagined. But don't go back and try to imagine it. Trust me, it was as funny as it sounds.
And it was cute. Kind of a childlike excitement, he was so proud of himself. So I oblige:
Yes, Corey made us dinner the past two nights. And dessert. Which was very welcoming to me as I have been a tad down in the dumps over work stuff, future stuff, and the end of the world as we know it.
But I digress.
He's been watching a lot of the Food Channel recently, even a little Barefoot Contessa (whom he claims to not enjoy, but watches anyway..."I like the food," he says. He does, however, draw the line at Rachel Ray. As he should). His favorite: Diners, Drive Ins and Dives with Guy Fi....um, Guy Fior....the guy with the spiky blond hair. It is Guy who inspired Tuesday's meal of a burger covered in chili and cheese.
To Guy F. I say, Thank You. Because it was stinkin' awesome!
Last night it was our comfort food staple: tator tots covered in cheese, a meat sauce, ketchup and mustard. No inspiration. Just taking super good stuff and mixing it all together.
No big whoop, I make junk like this all the time.
Well here's the kicker, my friends, the piece that puts Corey above those of us who just make junk: he was home sick both days.
Awwwwww....
...wait, so you ate food that was probably tainted with cold germs?
Um, yeah. I guess I did. But heck, if I was gonna catch it, I was gonna catch it. Besides, how could I have turned down a meal planned to make me feel better from someone who should have been in bed trying to make himself better?!
The best part is next. He bought fresh raspberries.
While still sick.
And he made a sauce.
That he put over chocolate ice cream.
And cheesecake.
I die.
Almost literally. I thought my stomach was going to explode. But I ended up surviving and digesting and swearing off all things greasy and sweet. That is, until lunch time today.
...
So that's my story.
The hubbs takes good care of me when I need a pick-me-up.
And it works.
Until he comes over and farts in my face.
So maybe he doesn't quite get all aspects of soothe and comfort...
A request for a certain topic to be covered.
One that this particular reader feels is not touched on as much as it should be.
A topic on the awesomeness that is Corey.
And that request came from Corey, himself.
...
"Hey Beetle, is there gonna be a blog post today?"
"Maybe."
"Do you have something planned?"
"Not yet."
"So you don't have something already scheduled?"
"Nope."
"You should write about how I made you dinner."
"You serious?"
"Yeah! I make stuff from Food Channel for my beetle!"
"Um, sure."
"Tell them I made a homemade raspberry sauce!"
"Ok..."
...
This was all said through a shower curtain, I should add, not over Wheaties and coffee as you probably imagined. But don't go back and try to imagine it. Trust me, it was as funny as it sounds.
And it was cute. Kind of a childlike excitement, he was so proud of himself. So I oblige:
Yes, Corey made us dinner the past two nights. And dessert. Which was very welcoming to me as I have been a tad down in the dumps over work stuff, future stuff, and the end of the world as we know it.
But I digress.
He's been watching a lot of the Food Channel recently, even a little Barefoot Contessa (whom he claims to not enjoy, but watches anyway..."I like the food," he says. He does, however, draw the line at Rachel Ray. As he should). His favorite: Diners, Drive Ins and Dives with Guy Fi....um, Guy Fior....the guy with the spiky blond hair. It is Guy who inspired Tuesday's meal of a burger covered in chili and cheese.
To Guy F. I say, Thank You. Because it was stinkin' awesome!
Last night it was our comfort food staple: tator tots covered in cheese, a meat sauce, ketchup and mustard. No inspiration. Just taking super good stuff and mixing it all together.
No big whoop, I make junk like this all the time.
Well here's the kicker, my friends, the piece that puts Corey above those of us who just make junk: he was home sick both days.
Awwwwww....
...wait, so you ate food that was probably tainted with cold germs?
Um, yeah. I guess I did. But heck, if I was gonna catch it, I was gonna catch it. Besides, how could I have turned down a meal planned to make me feel better from someone who should have been in bed trying to make himself better?!
The best part is next. He bought fresh raspberries.
While still sick.
And he made a sauce.
That he put over chocolate ice cream.
And cheesecake.
I die.
Almost literally. I thought my stomach was going to explode. But I ended up surviving and digesting and swearing off all things greasy and sweet. That is, until lunch time today.
...
So that's my story.
The hubbs takes good care of me when I need a pick-me-up.
And it works.
Until he comes over and farts in my face.
So maybe he doesn't quite get all aspects of soothe and comfort...
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday can take a flyin' leap...
Boy am glad that day's over.
Over and done and gone forever.
Although it started with such promise....
...at 2am when Corey's coughing kept me awake until 3am and then a Lifetime movie kept me awake until 6am and then I had to get up for work at 7am.
Such promise.
It only really got rough once I got into the office. The NYS Senator's office where I take residents' complaints and turn them into sunshine.
And try to get them their unemployment.
So I'm in the office. I find out the maniac whose been honking his horn in the parking lot is Corey trying to get my attention. He's sitting there in his pajamas and slippers waving like a lunatic in my general direction. He had run out of the house behind me once he realized he left his cell phone in my car and desperately needed it.
Whoopsie.
Then I took a call and was yelled at by a constituent: apparently, my boss does not like children and would like to see harm come to them. This is, of course, the same boss who is mother to six and grandmother to 13.
Then I was hung up on.
Then I spent almost an hour listening to the saddest story of the week while watching a man cry.
(Girlfriends, can we say a hopeless, dejected man is one of the sadder things around?)
Then I balled to Corey on the phone while warming up my lunch. The events of the day were, as they say, the camel that came and sat right on my face.
...
The straw that the camel found in its ear....?
...
I realized that maybe it's time to find a new job, to move on.
Then realized that I have no idea what I would move on to.
And then I ate a buncha chocolate.
For serious. I had, like, twelve Hershey kisses with almonds and some Reese's PB cups leftover from Christmas. Because what's a girl to do who has a piece of paper that reads, "Congratulations, you have a degree in talkin' good"? And what's a girl to do who has ruled out all of the possible fields in which the skill of "talkin' good" would be applicable?
But that is neither here, nor there.
But really it is here. And I have no idea what that saying means.
Luckily, the bad stops here. I came home to footie pajamas. And Corey, probably fearing a still-sobbing mess, prepared a meal fit for an almost-sobbing-mess: a burger covered in chili, cheese and mustard, chocolate ice cream with homemade raspberry sauce, and cookies with milk. I snuggled up with the dog and fell asleep at 9pm.
I'm still expecting to find the same problems at work, the same issues I don't want to have to deal with anymore, and the same brick wall with the words "What's Next?" written all over in graffiti.
...not amateur Schenectady graffiti, more like the work of NYC subway tunnel artists.
But eventually things will change. I'll know where I'm going. And that dang camel will be able to find the piece of straw in the haystack.
Over and done and gone forever.
Although it started with such promise....
...at 2am when Corey's coughing kept me awake until 3am and then a Lifetime movie kept me awake until 6am and then I had to get up for work at 7am.
Such promise.
It only really got rough once I got into the office. The NYS Senator's office where I take residents' complaints and turn them into sunshine.
And try to get them their unemployment.
So I'm in the office. I find out the maniac whose been honking his horn in the parking lot is Corey trying to get my attention. He's sitting there in his pajamas and slippers waving like a lunatic in my general direction. He had run out of the house behind me once he realized he left his cell phone in my car and desperately needed it.
Whoopsie.
Then I took a call and was yelled at by a constituent: apparently, my boss does not like children and would like to see harm come to them. This is, of course, the same boss who is mother to six and grandmother to 13.
Then I was hung up on.
Then I spent almost an hour listening to the saddest story of the week while watching a man cry.
(Girlfriends, can we say a hopeless, dejected man is one of the sadder things around?)
Then I balled to Corey on the phone while warming up my lunch. The events of the day were, as they say, the camel that came and sat right on my face.
...
The straw that the camel found in its ear....?
...
I realized that maybe it's time to find a new job, to move on.
Then realized that I have no idea what I would move on to.
And then I ate a buncha chocolate.
For serious. I had, like, twelve Hershey kisses with almonds and some Reese's PB cups leftover from Christmas. Because what's a girl to do who has a piece of paper that reads, "Congratulations, you have a degree in talkin' good"? And what's a girl to do who has ruled out all of the possible fields in which the skill of "talkin' good" would be applicable?
But that is neither here, nor there.
But really it is here. And I have no idea what that saying means.
Luckily, the bad stops here. I came home to footie pajamas. And Corey, probably fearing a still-sobbing mess, prepared a meal fit for an almost-sobbing-mess: a burger covered in chili, cheese and mustard, chocolate ice cream with homemade raspberry sauce, and cookies with milk. I snuggled up with the dog and fell asleep at 9pm.
I'm still expecting to find the same problems at work, the same issues I don't want to have to deal with anymore, and the same brick wall with the words "What's Next?" written all over in graffiti.
...not amateur Schenectady graffiti, more like the work of NYC subway tunnel artists.
But eventually things will change. I'll know where I'm going. And that dang camel will be able to find the piece of straw in the haystack.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Ten on Tuesday
What a wonderful surprise to wake up and find out it's not Monday anymore! Time for some Ten on Tuesday hosted by Chelsea at Roots and Rings. I have no idea who came up with this round of questions, but as long as I can make just one marching band reference I'm happy.
1. Do you decorate for Valentine’s day?
No. Winter pretty much sucks the life outta me. The only motivation I feel to decorate comes when spring does. No V-day, no St. Pat's Day, no Easter. I'm a bum.
2. Does your desktop have a picture or computer graphic? Is it organized?
I have this picture on my desktop:
That's my boy Oliver with his buddy Rowdy, the only dog he's ever actually enjoyed playing with. Sadly, Rowdy died about a year after this day. He had a good life. Obviously.
3. Do you use a paper planner, electric planner or no planner at all?
I've tried 'em all! At the same time. So I usually have plans written down, I just don't know where.
4. Do you change purses or bags often or stick with a good thing?
I usually stick with one purse for awhile, like six months. But I would change more often if it was more convenient. Or if I didn't shove things in it that otherwise don't have a home. Like receipts. Night lights. Bottles of Tabasco sauce.
5. What’s your favorite YouTube Video?
I have a few. Thanks to Chelsea I'm hooked on the Harvard Sailing Team videos. Then there's my favorite commercial:
And I can watch this girl, Anjelah Johnson, forever. Hi-lar-ious.
6. Do you use Turbo Tax or a real person to pay your taxes?
I used to do my taxes online when times were simple. I was single. And had one income. Now I have a spouse who has a full time job and plays the ponies. I also have a side business where I sell one to two pieces of jewelry every blue moon. Stuff got tuff.
7. How many states have you set foot (or tire) in? Which ones?
Let's count: Washington-aunt lives there, Oregon-driving through, California-I lived there, Arizona-vacation, Nevada-Vegas, duh, New Mexico-driving through, Texas-driving through, took for-ev-er, Louisianna-driving through, Mississippi-granddaddy lives there, Florida-annual vacation, Tennessee-driving through, Kentucky-driving through, Indiana-I lived there, Illinois-neighbor, Michigan-neighbor and sometimes Sunday brunch, Ohio-neighbor, Pennsylvania-BFF lives there, New York-I live here, Vermont-new neighbor, Massachusettes-shopping, Connecticut-Corey's BFF lives there but I'm sure guys don't call their BFFs BFF, New Jersey-neighbor, Maryland-driving through, Delaware-driving through, Virginia-vacation, Hawaii-band (geek) trip.
Twenty-six. I'm over halfway there.
8. How many countries have you been in? Which ones?
Just three: Canada, Mexico and Italy. Four if you count changing planes in France.
9. How many pillows are in your house? (Sleeping or decorative)
Twelve on the bed (I think I've written before how much I love my mountain of pillows) and just two (of the softest pillows ever) on each couch.
10. How cold is too cold for flip flops?
I let my feet tell me when it's too cold. They turn a deathly shade of blue-ish purple. It is as gross as it sounds.
...
On that note...Happy Tuesday! Hope m' dead feet don't haunt your dreams!
Monday, January 24, 2011
I succumbed to peer pressure and Snoop Dogg.
It's true.
I pride myself on my ability to wear gray sweatpants with a different shade of gray sweatshirt into the grocery store and not giving two licks about the cashiers giving me the "oh no she didn't" sneer.
I go to breakfast in a half pajama, half could-be-pajama outfit, complete with no make up and greasy hair without wondering for a second if I'm going to run into someone I know.
In other words, I don't normally care what others think about me.
But not Saturday.
Oh dear. I'm almost ashamed to confess.
But as I tend to keep nothing to myself, here is my story:
I was invited to a friend's birthday party. And as we are not turning seven the "party" was not balloons, clown, cake, then nap. It was dinner followed by drinking, followed by drinking, followed by drinking, followed by what could be called dancing.
Oh, the horror.
See, I'm not much of a boozer. My alcohol consumption for the entire year includes probably a pitcher of beer and bottle of wine. It's just not my thang. So, you can imagine my tolerance for the stuff is pret-ty low, which is why I gave myself a pint limit. And a 10:30pm bedtime.
Well, that went out the window by shot number one.
I can do just one shot. I mean, this is a birthday party and the thing is called Hawiian Punch. Completely harmless.
This lead to:
"Let's send Stacie home to Corey WASTED!!"
Which lead me to say:
"No, no, no, no, no. That's not necessary."
Which lead them to say:
"Drink this or you'll die!"
And I go:
"But I have so much to live for!"
And they say:
"Like what? You make felt balls and watch Matlock!"
And I'm like:
"You're right, but I really enjoy Matlock!"
And they go:
"It's hard not to...Ben Matlock is a courtroom genius!"
And I'm all like:
"Genius is taking it a little far...perhaps maybe he's just very insightful!"
...
Ok. So I exaggerate.
But I do normally feel bad when people buy me things meant for consumption and I'm just not in the mood. Corey bought me a Snickers bar last weekend after I'd already eaten my weight in candy, but I ate it anyway.
Bad example. But I think you get my drift.
So here is this second shot. Already poured. Already paid for. And a pair of puppy dog eyes behind it.
Ok, ok. Just this last one. Besides, it's the size of a thimble.
But with that I opened up a door to more booze thrown at me. Almost literally by the end of the night. Which came at 1:15am after two hours of dancing to music I've never heard of. Because I'm an old lady who watches Matlock movie marathons on Sunday afternoons instead of catching up on the latest in the industry.
Oh, and because I'm not too fond of the f-bomb.
Or the b-and-h bomb.
(please don't ask what that means...)
Lucky for me, and who knows how this happened, I married a man who will drag himself out of bed in zero degree weather with a cold looming to pick up his weak and not entirely sober wife and not point out the hypocrisy in her lectures on "going out" the occasional nights he chooses to watch a football game outside of their home.
(sigh...)
The moral of the story: don't be like me. Just say no. Because when you're dragging your butt outta bed six hours later to be at church the next morning I can guarantee you will 1) feel like gross NYC street sludge, and 2) sit in that pew feeling the ominous pointer finger of God with each word of your pastor's sermon.
So, let's drink to bringing back pinatas, swimming pools and My Little Pony cakes for birthday parties!
Drink chai lattes, that is.
I pride myself on my ability to wear gray sweatpants with a different shade of gray sweatshirt into the grocery store and not giving two licks about the cashiers giving me the "oh no she didn't" sneer.
I go to breakfast in a half pajama, half could-be-pajama outfit, complete with no make up and greasy hair without wondering for a second if I'm going to run into someone I know.
In other words, I don't normally care what others think about me.
But not Saturday.
Oh dear. I'm almost ashamed to confess.
But as I tend to keep nothing to myself, here is my story:
I was invited to a friend's birthday party. And as we are not turning seven the "party" was not balloons, clown, cake, then nap. It was dinner followed by drinking, followed by drinking, followed by drinking, followed by what could be called dancing.
Oh, the horror.
See, I'm not much of a boozer. My alcohol consumption for the entire year includes probably a pitcher of beer and bottle of wine. It's just not my thang. So, you can imagine my tolerance for the stuff is pret-ty low, which is why I gave myself a pint limit. And a 10:30pm bedtime.
Well, that went out the window by shot number one.
I can do just one shot. I mean, this is a birthday party and the thing is called Hawiian Punch. Completely harmless.
This lead to:
"Let's send Stacie home to Corey WASTED!!"
Which lead me to say:
"No, no, no, no, no. That's not necessary."
Which lead them to say:
"Drink this or you'll die!"
And I go:
"But I have so much to live for!"
And they say:
"Like what? You make felt balls and watch Matlock!"
And I'm like:
"You're right, but I really enjoy Matlock!"
And they go:
"It's hard not to...Ben Matlock is a courtroom genius!"
And I'm all like:
"Genius is taking it a little far...perhaps maybe he's just very insightful!"
...
Ok. So I exaggerate.
But I do normally feel bad when people buy me things meant for consumption and I'm just not in the mood. Corey bought me a Snickers bar last weekend after I'd already eaten my weight in candy, but I ate it anyway.
Bad example. But I think you get my drift.
So here is this second shot. Already poured. Already paid for. And a pair of puppy dog eyes behind it.
Ok, ok. Just this last one. Besides, it's the size of a thimble.
But with that I opened up a door to more booze thrown at me. Almost literally by the end of the night. Which came at 1:15am after two hours of dancing to music I've never heard of. Because I'm an old lady who watches Matlock movie marathons on Sunday afternoons instead of catching up on the latest in the industry.
Oh, and because I'm not too fond of the f-bomb.
Or the b-and-h bomb.
(please don't ask what that means...)
Lucky for me, and who knows how this happened, I married a man who will drag himself out of bed in zero degree weather with a cold looming to pick up his weak and not entirely sober wife and not point out the hypocrisy in her lectures on "going out" the occasional nights he chooses to watch a football game outside of their home.
(sigh...)
The moral of the story: don't be like me. Just say no. Because when you're dragging your butt outta bed six hours later to be at church the next morning I can guarantee you will 1) feel like gross NYC street sludge, and 2) sit in that pew feeling the ominous pointer finger of God with each word of your pastor's sermon.
So, let's drink to bringing back pinatas, swimming pools and My Little Pony cakes for birthday parties!
Drink chai lattes, that is.
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