I’m writing this post on Sunday evening as we watch the Oscars. Forty-five minutes or so in, my takeaways are this:
1) My ears say Stewie is hosting. My eyes see something different. So very confused.
2) The “We Saw Your Boobs” song. Surprisingly catchy. I give it a … C. (Sorry, that’s the breast pun I could muster.)
3) Paul Rudd was completely stoned, right? No matter. Still my celebrity boyfriend.
4) Jaws speech cut-off music?! Ha. Pure awesome.
5) Jessica Chastain. Just, gasp.
The truth is, I’ve always loved movies, but in 2012, I saw exactly two in the theater: “This is 40″ and “Argo.” The former isn’t anywhere near the Oscars, and rightfully so – it was terrible. The latter, Argo? Both my guy and I loved it. And because it’s pretty much the only movie we’re really familiar with, we’re cheering it on.
I don’t want to whine about the weather, I really don’t. I mean, I don’t necessarily have to live in Washington State. It’s a free country. And these dreary, gray winters are the price we pay for stellar spring days, glorious summers, and amazing autumns.
But if I were to whine, I would mention that winters here stink, and I am in desperate need of a little sun, a lot of light, and the feel of warm sun on my skin. Ugh. Desperate need.
The weather here in the Seattle area has been so, so strange. Just over a week ago, a dense fog descended upon us, and didn’t lift until yesterday. Apparently, it’s called a “fog storm.” Really, it just made me feel like I was living inside a horror movie for seven days. Without the blood, gore, stupid dialogue, and tense jumpy moments, thank goodness.
Naturally, living in pea soup made me want to make pea soup. I think out of the box like that.
They say having a baby changes everything. And it’s true. Having a baby changes EVERYTHING. But not just capital-letter EVERYTHING. It also changes lowercase everything. Every little thing.
Case in point: a recent morning in which I, while congratulating myself for being oh-so on the ball, started prepping dinner before the sun even dared show its face. And because of my beloved, wonderful one-year-old (and, okay, the demanding cat), a soup that used to take me easily less than 30 minutes to assemble ended up taking me exactly three hours and fifteen minutes from first swipe with the peeler just to being ready to simmer.
Food bloggers as a lot tend to wax super-duper poetic about every single recipe they post. I mean, if they don’t love what they’re sharing, they probably wouldn’t blog it to begin with, right?