Batter Blaster and Why the World is Coming to an End

Just last Monday, while watching daytime television on my "day off" I realized my American cheese habit isn't so bad. While American cheese is called cheese but really isn't - although I can't tell you what it really is and would prefer no to think about it - the fact of the matter is in some forms it still resembles what it is suppoese to be akin to (sliced cheese).

Just because Kraft thought I might prefer not to cut it up myself and individually packaged them for my convenience does not make it resemble cheese any less. However, never have I thought to buy Cheese Whiz, which perhaps makes me a little bit of a snob. I just don't want to squirt my cheese onto crackers. I want it to start in a solid form so that I can - after I have unwrapped several slices, toasted bread and buttered a pan - feel like I actually worked for my gooey grilled cheese sandwich. Where would the satisfaction lie if you just squirted some cheese whiz onto bread and had an instant grilled cheese. This brings me back to last Monday and the revelation that while I unwrap individual packets of american cheese and hastily throw away the wrappers so that my roommates can't count how many slices went into a given sandwich, someone is squirting not cheese but waffle batter onto a hot griddle and instantly, without more than a mere shake of the can, has a perfect waffle 3 minutes later (actual directions as follows...Shake, Point, Blast, Cook). It's called Batter Blaster and if you haven't seen the extended commercial for it please click on the following link for a demo video that has auto replay in case your mind goes too numb to hit play a second time.

http://www.batterblaster.com/

What's next Hambuger Blaster? Ew sorry that's disgusting but okay if they come up with that just remember where you heard it first.

So anyway you can see why I might think the end of the world is near.

Speaking of prophesizing the end of the world I just started reading "Under the Banner of Heaven" and while all of me says read this it will be interesting I am only 3 chapters in and I am already so horrified I just don't know if I need to read the rest of it. Its like trying to take your eyes of off a car crash though and so I will probably finish it or at least try until it hurts too bad and finally I will revert back to some piece of trash novel that makes me want to go shoe shopping and start a family and then I will - instead of having nightmares about incest, teen pregnancy and religious manipulation - dream of making perfect fluffy waffles without even breaking a sweat and that is how I will get my children to love me.

By the way... Batter Blaster is organic. Do what you will with that information.

*This is not endorsed by Batter Blaster, nor is it intended to recommend its use in anyway. In fact, use at your own risk.

Parka in the Park & Other Random Thoughts

Doesn't Molly Ringwald look good on my page? I mean she just kind of works there. After noticing this I briefly considered making her the main image on my page even though she has very little to do with anything I write about - I could insert her here and there more often I think - I realized there was potential for confusion that this was actually a Molly Ringwald fan site, which would probably trick unsuspecting readers into reading about my inconsequential life instead of THE it girl of the 80's (why though why) which while I secretly think that is genius I realize it would be a tad bit manipulative and I won't sink that low. At least not yet. But speaking of Molly I read that Dolores Park's film in the park is playing Pretty in Pink on August 1st and I think, although I cannot imagine why they picked that over Sixteen Candles even though they are essentially the same plot line - Jake Ryan is so much dreamier than Blane McDonnagh and well Sixteen Candles has Michael Anthony Hall which is always +10 bonus points as long as it is prior to 1990 - I might go. You have to give San Francisco credit for doing that kind of shit. I mean film in the park in July and August sounds really picturesque. Except we are in San Francisco. They should rename it Parka in the Park because that is what you need to stay warm after sunset in San Francisco during the summer months. Speaking of warm weather I have departed from my usual blogging at Nook and decided to stay in the House of Hot Mess for several reasons the main being that last time I was there I kept getting the evil eye from the owner because I was taking up valuable real-estate - a table for two and the bench on both sides of me - and all I ordered was a cappuccino. I mean I get it okay, but after 2 hours there they finally made me and some other girl committing a similar offense share a table and then we were just sitting there each on our laptops trying not to accidentally look up at each other and have awkward communal table moments while we were "working."

So about that warm weather, I always feel obligated on the few rare sunny days in SF to get outside at least a little bit, today in lieu of the outdoors I have opened all the windows in our dining nook and am pretending it counts. There are two fatal flaws about pretending to be productive in the apartment a. The refrigerator b. my bed. Case in point in the time it took me to write the above I visited the refrigerator 4 times. And now I am feeling a little tired from my food binge so before I sign off for a much undeserved nap I'll leave you with this one thought. Remember when, not too long ago, I wrote about my secret love for designer fanny packs and casually admitted I have capri length black silk overalls and you judged me. Take a moment and think about your worst fashion faux pas and fuck off.

My Day Off

It's Monday morning and I brushed my teeth at 11am. My "day off" that I have incurred as a result of the current economic downturn - the same economic downturn I thought couldn't touch me with a 10' pole - is Monday. At first I was extremely upset about the day off, among other things it stifles my ability do my job the way I would like and, of course, comes with a 20% pay-cut. But now I am working towards embracing some of the things it allows me to do. And after all I still have a job. 

The perks of having Mondays off include of course brushing my teeth as late in the day as I want. No one else is around to smell my foul breath, and besides I wake up around 10am with no where to go. I have also taken to shaving my legs twice a week (does it alarm you that it was previously once a week, saying it out loud kind of alarms me), I have more time in the shower these days so in addition to shaving I also exfoliate my feet on Mondays which is nice since pedicures were the first thing to go with the pay cut. Also Monday is a great day to do laundry, clean up the apartment and what I am far more likely to do which is watch TV all day - like right now for instance I am watching Sabrina; Pretty in Pink is on next, maybe Molly Ringwald will inspire me to make my own clothes thereby helping me to live on my now smaller budget!- And there it is; the rationale of a someone who is actually sore from being in bed pretty much for the last 24 hours. 

Well Pretty in Pink is calling me as is the american cheese in my refrigerator. Can someone please tell me who thought Molly should be the it girl of the 80's, I don't get it.

Hippie Headbands & Fannie Packs

LK has been hounding me about this post since I told her she was my inspiration for it. Little did she know that it's all about things I like but she hates; my secret love for fanatical trends.

So there is this adorable girl in my yoga class and I can't figure out if she is a hot mess or not. Anyway the last two times she has been in my class she has worn a sparkly silver headband in the fashion of, as LK would say, an effing Indian. 

Lindsey hates this new trend but I secretly like it. The thing is, as so many super trendy things do, the hippie headband would look absurd on me. It would slide up my tiny head and my hair would go right along with it and pouf out at the top and then eventually and probably at the most embarrassing moment the headband would spring off my head an into the lap of some gorgeous guy - hot mess moment/ v. awkward- Well anyway I wish I could wear one and to yoga no less. Hippie headbands fall into the same secret love trends as the following. 

Shorts one pieces, I realize you have to weigh 110lbs wet and be about 5'-10" or taller to wear them. I have a pair of black silk capri overalls that I love but haven't warn in years because they have been banned by all of my friends; they sort of fall in the same category - except they fall to the mid calf and have OshKosh like pockets in front (Yeah I know that was the first reference to Oshkosh since 1993). Actually LM hasn't seen them yet. I am waiting until she really pisses me off one day and then I will pair them with my crocs (which you should know I only purchased for when I went backpacking and it was totally worth it) I will go out with her in public wearing them and like your mother did in Junior high I will embarass her to shame. And that is how she will know I am mad at her. It's genius.

I also secretly love the designer fannie pack. But then again that too would ride up my hips, create a pouf in my shirt and totally embarass me. Maybe it would pop off at the same time as the hippie headband and then there would have to be an intervention. So don't worry I will leave these trends to those who know how to keep it together.

But as I constantly aspire to embody the type of girl who is able to wear these things - The headband is a physical impossibility as my head is just too small - I'll leave you with this last thought. I made the brilliant choice, as I sit in nook today, not to order the cheese platter designed for two that I typically eat by myself. I ordered the boring old cup of soup instead - I officially hate myself -but anyway what I was getting at is if I kick my cheese habit do you think I can wear a designer fannie pack or a shorts onsie? Hopefully not together but maybe one at a time? 

Union Street Festival/ Insomnia

I am not happy about this. It is 2:30 am, my head hurts and I can't sleep. But I guess that's what I get for drinking all day as if I was still in college; when I never used to get tired or hangovers. Back then God didn't punish me for drinking a fifth of Popov (woof) with little more than a piece of toast to tide me over. I could wake up and go to class after sleeping for two hours. I didn't get that puffy residual drunk look that is so common to me now after a day of drinking in the sun. Dear God why the change of heart? Is it because you want me to grow up and be an adult or because you have finally realized I am never going to join your team? Is this the same reason you have finally allowed my cheese habit to catch up with me and why when I went through all of adolescence zit free you have finally decided to curse me with adult acne? Who knew you were as vindictive as me. I forgive you all this if you would just let me sleep right now.

So yesterday (as in several hours ago) was San Francisco's annual Union street festival. There are several of these festivals during the season. For your reference please search Folsom street festival images. The morning started at LM's friends house at Greenwich and Laguna but in an effort to actually see the festival instead of skirt around it all day attending parties in the area we headed to union to wander around before things got too crazy. Fairly typical street fair but add more drunks than usual and less music. Seriously the amount of live entertainment was a little disappointing, although above average people watching really filled the gap. We headed over to a friends friends apartment that was in the thick of it but ended up at the wrong party. How we found this place I don't know but it was a frat house in the middle of San Francisco. Literally reminded me of a pike house in SLO. It was wall to wall people, men in tank tops and acrylic nails everywhere. I was given a stamp that says friends which I am sure when I finally do fall asleep and wake up will be on my forehead. So we finally find our friends but the apartment is out of beer so we agree to go to the Bus Stop where there is a huge line which we don't want to wait in so we walk around the side of the bar to the back entrance where for no bribe at all you can walk right in. Genius. 

My friend John Tuttle, is saving us a table and when he sees us he stands on the bench to greet us and low and behold two naked white legs. He is wearing short shorts and has a popped collar. I don't know Tuttle are you pretending to be one of them or are you actually one? We finally agree sitting inside a bar on a sunny SF day at a street festival seems wrong and so decide to explore which really means eat some food and 20 minutes later head back to the house party with fresh cold 18 pack in hand. The house has a beer bong tied to the stair railing and a beirut table set up in the living room. I love both of these things (but when am I going to grow up?) I walked home alone at around 7:30 p.m. up Union to Hyde. I almost died walking up the hill and if you think I am exaggerating then you A. don't live in San Francisco and B. Didn't know what I didn't tell you which is at the fair I ate a chicken skewer with the meat of half a whole chicken, Pad Thai, a hot dog, and 2 slices of pizza. I wasn't going to tell you because I am trying to pretend it never happened. I can feel you judging me right now...just stop that's what I have God for. Anyway I hop on the cable car at Hyde (thank god) and I am home and in bed by 8:30 p.m.. But not before I can text several friends to let them know I will be going out in 2 hours which is pretty adorable if you think about it since I woke up at 1 a.m. trying to figure out where I was.

Still can't sleep, I think I will watch the last episode of Parks and Recreation. If you haven't seen it go to hulu and watch it. It is genius, I hope they don't cancel it next season.

Nob Hill Musings

There has been much debate about whether the House of Hot Mess (my apartment that is) is located in Nob Hill or Russian Hill. I like to think the invisible line dividing the two is at Hyde and Jackson. Our favorite dive chinese restaurant U Lee located at this very juncture captures both worlds. It is Zagat rated but still tiny, cheap and a little questionable. It has the flashing neon lights - that in my mind define Nob Hill and a sorry attempt at the twinkle lights that so characterize and separate the two. At this juncture you cross over from slightly seedy liquor stores and cheap ethnic dives to "markets", wine bars and formal world dining. How the two can coexist so closely together is the mystery of any city I suppose. So by my own boarder definition sadly (or not sadly but I will debate that later) the house of Hot Mess despite being posted on Craigslist by our miserly low life landlord as located in Russian Hill is actually in Nob Hill. I should have know this sooner I suppose but it has taken almost 7 months for it to be okay. I should have noticed it the night that Little Asian Man dumped his trash bag full of cans onto the sidewalk underneath my bedroom window and one at a time set each can up on end and proceeded to crush it beneath his foot. I should have known I wasn't in Russian Hill everytime I walked up our entry stairs (which BTW we fondly refer to as the death trap) and was greeted by the smell of urine. Marissa did actually discover that our 1st floor neighbor couldn't be bothered to walk his dog past the entry steps to pee. I have been devising a threatening note in my head that will hopefully scare the old man that lives there - and who is probably paying like $150 a month for the entire apartment thanks to SF Rent Control - into taking his damn dog for a walk. This will be delivered at the same time as the death threat to the upstairs neighbor who walks around in heels 24 hours a day. I imagine she owns healed slippers with fur on them similar to Carrie's when she is trying to have good sex with Burger (that was doomed from the beginning and we all saw it, I mean Burger....really?) So anyway I digress but what I was at one point getting to was, as I sit at Nook (located in Russian Hill, but barely) Is that I kind of embrace living in Nob Hill. Now thank god we are not bordering on the TenderNob or China Town but I like cheap food I can afford and more importantly restuants that I can bring my own beer to. I like divey goodwill stores not disguised as high end boutiques. I like the can lady I see in the morning engergetically collecting her recycling, please note this is entirely different from Little Man can crusher. I like the stoners who work in Le Beau our market... hello they put extra cheese samples out and don't care that I try each one twice. I have nothing else to say about it except I wish I didn't end this post with cheese. But whatever I am a little hungry and Nook has a delicious cheese platter but it isn't really for one...hmmmmm.

Hot Mess Moment – Effing Donuts…

So I have decided to come clean, be honest about my secret envy of girls who are anorexic- oh hell, how about girls who have self control. Like the one who doesn’t eat the bread at the table and only half of her oversized dinner. I envy these girls so much I make comments like “I could look like that if I didn’t eat” or “she looks hungry” or “Her coke habit was the best thing that ever happened to her” or the even more cleverly disguised “I am concerned about so and so, I think she might have an eating disorder…” concern my ass I just really want to be her.

But it turns out I am not. In 2004 a “Mya” was a term, dubbed by my freshman year college newly found friends, for a shot of alcohol that I poured…it was usually about half of a highball glass and took you between 2 and 3 gulps to take. The size was completely discriminate and based upon several criteria including whether or not I liked you, whether you shook your head about wanting to take one or manned up, how drunk I wanted you to be and how drunk I already was. So I am sure you can see why I look upon this dubbing fondly. In 2009 the term has changed slightly. “Pulling a Mya” as it turns out is when one eats miniscule piece of something she really shouldn’t be eating any of. Several minutes, hours or in some very extreme cases a day later goes back for SOME more or over several miniscule pieces finishes the remainder of said item. For example my male coworker brings extra donuts down from his safety meeting and Jeremy goes and takes half of a donut in an attempt to restrain himself. 10 minutes later Jeremy announces he is “pulling a Mya” and goes back for the other half. Right…. Fucking humiliating when my 6 bottomless pit male coworkers have decided you have done this enough times for the entire act to carry your name for life. Now you know Jennifer Aniston would never… but hello Brittany you’re lucky I got stuck with it first.  But then again "The Brittany" is much much worse.