A la Carrie from Sex & the City

I hate parsley. It's not just that I find it annoying or mildly unpleasant. I HATE it. I hate that it is the obligatory garnish sprinkled on top of everything I order. Sometimes I try to pick it off if the pieces are big enough. But it can be darn difficult to remove from red sauces or an alfredo. Every time they set my dish in front of me, I curse (mostly to myself). I always remember after the food arrives that I meant to ask them to hold the parsley. Never have I remembered as I am ordering. It always sours the meal for me but never wholly ruins it.

However, last night when the waitress set my fettucini alfredo down on the table, I had a sinking feeling. Not only was it covered in finely minced parsley (making an attempt to remove it absolutely pointless), but there was also giant chunks of freshly ground pepper. Which I hate even more than parsley. When you order a mild dish like alfredo, you'd think it might be implied that things like pepper are not desirable.

Apparently I will need to not just ask for no parsley, I will need to ask for NOTHING placed atop my food for decoration or presentation. Vile. It certainly eliminated any enjoyment I had for my meal last night.

On the Home Front

This past November we put our house on the market. As it turned out there was virtually no interest in the house. It was priced too high, the yard has too many trees, and not having a furnace tends to scare away potential buyers. Winter hit hard and early and people just don't want to house hunt in the snow. We lowered the price once, but then decided to take it off the market, unwilling to lower it any more.

I'm not keen on cutting down the trees, nor can we install a furnace, but we can continue to make minor updates to the house. It might improve the marketability of the house or maybe we'll make it into somewhere we want to stay (although it is a bit smaller than we would prefer). Since de-listing the house, we installed a utility sink in the basement, hung some insulation, and replaced all the hardware on the kitchen cabinetry. Obviously I am using the term "we" loosely. It is super helpful when doing home improvement projects if your other half is capable of doing pretty much everything himself.

Next on the list is a slightly larger project- replacing all of the interior doors. The original dark brown doors are pretty beat and look rather dated. Eventually we want to replace them all with white 6 panel doors to match the ones I had installed on the family room level when I had it finished 4 years ago. Also on the to-do list is a new light fixture for the dining room and doing something about the flooring in the master bedroom. Our real estate agent described the carpet in there as "interesting."

The list of things we could do goes on and on, but that's just part of home ownership.

Vent-a-licious

My friend Melanie recently implied that I'd forgotten how to blog. And perhaps she's correct. I'm not feeling very creative. It seemed as though my blog had turned into a big, old vent. Complain, complain, complain. But then again, I started this blog as an extension of my spiral notebooks. And frankly, much of what I do in my notebooks is vent. It gets it off my chest and out of my mind, thus preventing some major dwelling. And me, I'm prone to dwelling. Besides, I'm quite sure there's no one left reading this little tiresome blog, so I might as well use it to my benefit.

I'm sure it will come as no surprise that I am still singing the same old tune. The "I HATE my job" tune. Because, to be honest, I hate every single thing about my job, except for the fact that I have my own office with a window and a door. Beyond that I hate everything I do, I hate "the company," and I hate my commute.

Another thing I hate is hand washing dishes. I bought a dishwasher so that I would never, ever have to hand wash dishes again. But I've found one time that I don't hate it, after finally getting home almost 11 hours after I left, after an excrutiating hour in the car, cursing at the drivers around me, with a throbbing, pounding headache from blasting the heat in an attempt to melt the giant blocks of ice from my windshield wipers. As I sit here typing on my laptop I keep realizing that my shoulders are clenched tightly up around my ears. Even after I force myself to relax them, they creep right back up.

I know some of you (I'm going to pretend I actually still have readers) are thinking to yourself, work isn't supposed to be fun, that's why it's called work. I understand that in theory and maybe I just don't have as strong a constitution as you all. Feel free to condescend all you want (to yourself or those around you), and I will continue to curse you out in the quietude of my little brain.

So I'm telling you this right now. I can't do this much longer. I will NOT be working at this job at this time next year. No matter what. So there. The end.