50×365: AT.

September 30, 2008

Neelia, Glitterpony and I stood outside your favorite cowboy bar in the cold and presented our performance art – a raunchy version of the Twelve Days of Christmas.  Or was it the alphabet?  No matter – it was dirty, and you loved it, and I loved you for loving it.


A follow-up.

September 30, 2008

Yep.  La Boss Lady thought I wanted her to alter my clothes.

“No – what?  Not at all.  I – geez, no.  You thought I wanted you to do more work?  No.  What I meant to say was, ‘Do you want this jacket?'”

“WHAT?  Oh!  Um, oh!  Uh… sure!”

Hah.  Whoops.

50×365: AT.

September 29, 2008

You are very turquoise-and-hammered-silver.  When I think of you, I think of your big, fancy, chunky, fabulous, layered, intricate jewelry – a little too formal to be fussy, but almost fussy.  I don’t think you’re interested in understanding me, but that’s alright with me as I don’t quite understand you either.

1. I don’t need as much food as I thought I did.

2. Sometimes, it sucks to do your job.

3. Carrots dipped in hummus and sprinkled with dry roasted sunflower seeds are pretty fucking awesome.

4. Speaking of hummus, Trader Joe’s hummus kicks Safeway hummus’ ass any day.

5. I don’t know how to use my words when I’m offering something to somebody.  Right, or now.  Okay: it turns out, I made it sound like I wanted La Boss Lady to help me hem a jacket – but, no.  I’m offering La Boss Lady this jacket I’ve never worn, because the arms are too long and it won’t button over my boobs.  (Bad purchase, Yvanka.) I thought to myself, Who has longer arms than I do? AH! Boss Lady! But today I couldn’t form a coherent sentence, and I think I gave her the impression that I hoped she’d help me shorten the sleeves. Um, no.  You don’t need more work to do, lady.

Oh, well.  All will be made clear when I see if she wants it tomorrow.

50×365: AL.

September 28, 2008

I don’t think you remember the vastness of your dislike for the child-me – and I wish that I could forget, too. I suppose I understand that you wanted to have adult conversation on your vacation—but you didn’t have to be cruel about refusing to listen to your young niece.

50×365: AF.

September 27, 2008

We spent summers together, riding our bicycles into the housing developments.  Then, in junior high, I grew up quickly, you protested mightily, and we separated.  I don’t regret it.  I remember your thin face and crooked teeth, your predilection for raunchy jokes, your dirty house and your oversexed, desperate mother.


September 27, 2008

My wallet is missing.  This is what I get for having so much faith in the universe.

Also, what the hell, boss-lady?  Why for have you strewn nails next to your bed?  Ouch – ouch, I say!  Very unladylike and unpleasant of you!  Also, very tetanus-risky!  Goddamnit!

This morning, I got up to the sun streaming in the window.  I tidied the kitchen, downloaded my scone recipe, put on my walking clothes and got ready to wander toward the most delicious coffee you’ve ever tasted.  And then!  And then!  No wallet.  And then, in the pre-shoes search for the wallet – impaled!

The Universe: Go back to bed, Yvanka.

Yvanka: But now I *really* want a scone.

So as a reward for being so good on this diet for the past two weeks, I decided that I’d make mini-scones, and then?  I would eat one.  And then go back to the land of all things vegetable.

However, I rationalized, if I was going to cross the threshold into Baked Goods, I wouldn’t be satisfied with just making scones.  Instead, I would make The Ultimate Scones.  Go big or go home.  BUT! I couldn’t find a recipe.  The Internet did his best, but all he could find were half-versions – apricot ginger scone, or apricot white chocolate, or this gem.  (What is the ‘household searchlight’, pray tell?)

So I bucked up and emailed the restaurant.


Hi!  This is a long shot, but… the white-chocolate-apricot-ginger scones I had for breakfast at your establishment were the best I’ve had, ever, anywhere.  Could you be persuaded to share the recipe with me?  I promise I won’t use it for commercial use, or distribute it further, or post it on the internet.  And I would just come and eat them at your restaurant, but sadly, I live in (redacted).

I understand if you can’t, but would truly love it if you might share your culinary genius!

Thank you!

Yvanka Marmalade, Scone Lover


I never really expected that they would email me back, or – heavens – that they would actually SHARE that recipe with me.  But!  But! They did they did!



Thank you for the compliment and of course you can have our recipe. We have attached the recipe for The Campbell House Scones as a word document. Our pastry chef pointed out that to you need to add the following to the while-chocolate-apricot-ginger scones: Add diced dried apricots, diced candied ginger, and a handful of white chocolate chips. Enjoy!

We look forward to having you stay with us again.


The Campbell House Inn.


If you ever need a place to stay in Eugene, OR, please please please patronize this lovely little inn.  They have scones you won’t believe.  And they are kind and generous and shared their plain scone recipe with me and gave me all sorts of lovely little add-in bits and they use the font Americana and I have such anticipation for these lovely scones I can barely wait until they come out of the oven.

With a glass half full (of milk) (to wash down the scones),


50×365: Arnie.

September 26, 2008

You are friendly and you mean well, but you are always creeping people out with your perpetual staring and your close-mouthed, eye-bright smile.  You’ve had a hard life, so I try not to hold these tendencies against you.

However, you are not allowed to tell me that you love me.


September 25, 2008

So I am in a statistics class – Applied Statistical Analysis.  Sounds fancy, but it really means Remedial Statistics. I know.  Sucks.  Mathtastic hideousity.

Want to hear something disturbing?

Statistics is the best class I have.  I KNOW.  The other two are just such ever-loving worthless flippin’ hootenanny – buzzword concept blah blah blah – that the relative solidity of statistics feels calming to me.  I get an answer, and it is a number, and it is correct. And I get to play with cell referencing and formulas and tables and exCELLL I LOVE IT.

Oh God I just admitted that I love my stats class.  Oh god.  Goddy god god.  I… I’m sorry.  I don’t even know.