Rachael

Too busy for more than this:

Look, Ma, I’m blocking!

Boy, do I hate blocking. I’m no good at it, I don’t have a blocking board, nor do I have enough pins. I used the shower curtain, woefully inadequate. Then I did a little blocking on the bed, then I gave up.

I’ll show you a real picture of it later this week, when I have time to eat and not drive at the same time….

Also, flowers smell nice. (That was printed on a pillowcase when I was teeny — it was the first sentence I ever read all by myself, I think.)

God bless Trader Joe’s. Five bucks for flowers that will last two weeks. Love ’em.

[quick] mwah!

https://rachaelherron.com/too_busy_for_mo/

I made chicken on Friday night. Is there anything as nice as the smell of roast chicken filling a house? When the light falls faster, and the cars on the freeway look like a string of holiday lights, and it’s crisp outside, and all you can think of is knitting in front of the TV, cats on your lap, dogs on your feet?

I can’t even really brag about my chicken-cooking abilities, since this is what I do: Roughly chop one lemon into big chunks, chop a head of garlic into big chunks (don’t even worry about peeling the cloves), scissor up a bunch of rosemary, shove all of it into the chicken (thanking that nice free-range kosher chicken and wishing it well in the next life), then stick it in the oven, an hour and a half at 350. Forget about it. Basting, what’s basting? Doesn’t need it.

However. I got cocky. (Get it? Cocky? Chicken? Heh.) While chicken and some frozen veggies are fine for me for dinner, sister Bethany was coming over and I decided to show off. Surely you could cook veggies with a chicken like people do with a roast, right? (Not like I’ve ever done that, but still. How hard could it be?) So I cut up some potatoes, added a bunch of carrots and mushrooms, then threw some chopped shallots on top. Left it all to cook next to Mr. Chicken.

Yeah. Perfect chicken. That part come guaranteed like that. But guess what happens if you cook veggies like that? Yes. You get little potato rocks and hard small carrots that are all wrinkly and pathetic. It was to weep. Only a few of the mushrooms made it, and only those that were sitting in the chicken juice actually had a chance.

So I cooked up some zucchini with shallots, added the mushrooms and pretended that’s what I meant to do. And garlic bread. That always fixes everything, doesn’t it?

Still haven’t seen Lala. She’s back tonight from being a rockstar, but I’ll be at work. We’ll be ships in the Oakland night until Wednesday, and then I leave on Thursday for the holiday. Bah. But she doesn’t like chicken, so it worked out well for Friday night, I suppose.

Also: Saw Good Night, Good Luck. I can certainly see why people liked it. It did take me forty-five minutes to realize that it was in black and white. I loved the aesthetic. And the hair. But dude, I fell asleep like four times, and so did another guy. I never do that. So I suppose that’s a less-than-glowing review. 

Okay. Off to work. Happy week, all. Oh! I finished a shawl thingie yesterday – remind me to show you!

The Whoreshoes are playing tonight in Santa Barbara! I should have told you sooner. But there you go. And tomorrow in LA. Go see their website for the details!

Which means Lala is gone again. I saw her last night. One night in more than three weeks is what I get with her. Grrrr. At least I have cute little dogs to cheer me up. And what does she have to cheer her up? Beer, loose women, the rock’n’roll lifestyle. It’s hard. (Actually, she has a cold, and she looked pretty miserable packing up her car….)

Darlings – oh, just TOO busy. New job is going great, but it leaves me with literally zero down time during the week. Plus, just because I like to make myself a little bit crazy, I’ve taken this lack of time as a sign that I really have to work harder to fit in the important stuff, so I’ve been sacrificing a little sleep to fit in regular writing and running sessions.

I’m proud of myself. Running AND writing make for a healthy, happy Rachael, since I’m never fully me when I’m not writing. The running just makes me healthier. I don’t have to enjoy it (although I kind of did today — sunny, warm run, new tunes on the iShuffle, didn’t trip or anything).

I haven’t even had time to read the things you wrote about Stupid Worries, and I can’t wait for my weekend (which starts tomorrow) so I can catch up on those!

So just this:

Took this shot this morning, and it confirmed to me that, yes, I still have a lazy eye when I’m tired. I liked how it looked as blurry as I felt. Now, to the bath, then to coffee shop for writing, then to the job for my Friday night! Yeehaw!

https://rachaelherron.com/darlings_oh_jus/

While I totally understand the need for it, I hate the verification box: those letters that you have to type to prove to a program that you’re not a spammer. Even yahoo mail has recently tossed some of them in.

The problem is that I always type too fast, make a mistake, and get that terrible split-second panicked feeling — Oh, god, I must be a spammer! Quick! Fix it! I’ll be spam forever! Aaaauuugh!

It’s akin to the feeling you get when your tags are current, and your tail-lights work, and you’re not drunk or high, and you have no weapons in your vehicle, and you’re obeying all laws of traffic, and there’s a cop on your ass. It’s Stupid Worry.

You know how it feels. What’s your Stupid Worry?

Updated to add:
Why didn’t I know I had such an attractive audience? Damned if you ALL aren’t lookers. I had NO idea it would be this much fun to see you all. I’ve long had this idea that the blogs we love the most are the ones with plenty of face shots — it’s part of knowing someone, the visual, the silly expressions, the posed ones. You know when you’ve been reading a blog a long time and then suddenly you see the writer for the first time, and it’s such a happy HELLO moment? That’s what I’m having over here on my end. Thanks.

I can’t resist this, seen at Mason-Dixon:

Wave At Me via Frappr!

Please? Won’t you post a picture of yourself? There’s really something about seeing the person you’ve corresponded with, that you’ve read, that lurks. I’d love to say hi to ya. As of this moment, WAY too late on Friday night, I’m waving to myself…..

Listening to:

Imogene Heap. If you’re anything like me, rather settled and happy to be home on Friday night with the clean dogs and sleepy cats, but there’s still a part of you that could freak OUT in the bathtub over Kate Bush’s Wuthering Heights or anything with the slightest touch of electronica romanticism, go iTunes her album Speak for Yourself. At least sample it (especially "Hide and Seek"). Formerly of Frou Frou, she’s out on her own, and I heart her, hard. I think I’m crushing. Don’t tell La. (Lala! Get home and put yourself on my map! Please?)

Reading:

Page After Page. Oh, this is nice and real and human and a good kick in the ass for you, the writer.

Carter Beats the Devil. Just go buy it. It’s awesome. Em, you would love this, I think.