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Al Johnson: Secret Chef

My Alex made the most delicious looking breakfast the other day. Of course I had already left for work, and I dont eat eggs – BUT it look fab. If I was a carnivore I would definitely have indulged.

Thought I had pic, but apparently it is lost in the abyss of my computer. Will post later.

PL&K

natalie marie

I Am Less Than Thrilled.

Today I am in a particularly SHIT mood. I have just realized that my choice of a living situation for this year has been less than poor.

I am so annoyed, in fact, that I can barely write completely sentences. Ergo, I will list what has been wrong with my living situation from day one, all the way up to the icing on the cake – ie. ten minutes ago.

1. The house chosen is on the opposite end of campus from all my major classes. It was chosen because Liz was going to have to be spending a lot of time on South campus, which it is closer to.

2. When picking rooms I got the smallest. Not only is it the smallest, but it has a door to Liz’s room. As well as the tiniest closet known to man. And to get to the bathroom, I must either walk through Liz’s room OR through the kitchen, through the living room and into the bathroom. Stellar.

3. There is no garbage disposal. I realize this is dumb, but it pisses me off.

4. Liz continues to think that we must make EVERYTHING in the house like new, or new. She is wrong. I already spent $100 on re-painting the disgusting paint in my room. I am not painting another room of this place. Nor am I shelling out the money for furniture or decorations.

5. Pets. At the beginning of the year, Liz decided to bring her dog from home because her mother didnt have the time to take care of it. This was fine, because we are also allowed to get cats. So we were very excited about getting our own baby kitty.

A month ago, Liz called to talk about Bones and I mentioned how excited I was go get a cat because I miss mine at home and ever since Zorra died I have been really wanting another cat. She then proceeds to talk (exaggeratedly, and at length) about her cats at home and how its really weird but this summer has been really hard on her allergies.

Then calls me back 10 minutes later and says – I dont think you should get a cat. My allergies are really awful and I dont think I would be able to breathe in the house if there was a cat there, even if you kept it in your room.

Oh ok. To which I am clearly NOT happy about. So I say, thats ok I’ll just get another dog. She is excited because now Bones will have a friend yada yada.

Fastforward to NOW. After looking at dogs for 3 days, I suddenly remember reading something about only one dog being allowed per house. I text Liz about this and she says

“Well I dont think there is a rule but I dont think ben [the landlord} would be too happy about multiple pets.”

Oh really. OH REALLY.

FUCK YOU.

She fucking knew all along that nobody else would be able to get pets. And I am very tempted to tell her she cant bring her dog because if we cant have pets then she cant either.

I am tempted to get a cat just so she is as miserable in the fucking house as I am.

peace, love, and miserable fucking roommates,

natalie marie.

Protected: That Just Threw Off My Universe.

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My Mother.

I had dinner with my mother last night. For those of you who know me (well, or well enough to know about my mother), you all know how fantastic that went. She just called to harass me about some more nonsense, and (shocking) I hung up on her. In honor of these special moments, I have compiled a list of my top five favorite mom stories – in chronological order.

1. Natalie, age 9, is brushing her hair. She asks her mother why hair is in the brush after she brushes it. Her mother responds, “You have lukemia, because I don’t know anyone else that loses that much hair.”

2. Natalie, age 16, comes home from work at American Eagle (don’t judge me) and is hungry. Shocking, there is not much to eat in the fridge. There is a 1/4 of a French baguette on the counter. Natalie makes a PB&J out of it.

Fast forward 2 hours later, Natalie is on the phone with best friend Stacey making plans. Mother enters.

Mother: Where is the bread?

Natalie: I ate it.

Mother: All of it?

Natalie: There wasn’t that much left.

Mother: I CANT BELIEVE YOU ARE SO SELFISH. YOU COULDN’T EVEN LEAVE ONE PIECE FOR YOUR SISTER OR I.

(more screaming that Natalie ignores.)

Natalie continues to make plans with Stacey.

Mother: WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING. YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE. YOU’RE GROUNDED.

Natalie: Why??

Mother: YOU ATE ALL THE BREAD.

Natalie: (to Stacey) Sorry. I can’t come over anymore.

Stacey: What? Why?

Natalie: (laughing) I ate all the bread.

Stacey: (laughing) Right. Call me later.

3. Natalie, age 18, is sitting at Red Robin with Stacey after taking her second SAT. Her mother calls.

Mother: Where the FUCK are you?

Natalie: (confused) What? At Red Robin with Stacey?! Why?!

Mother: You cant be there! You’re grounded!

Natalie: What?! No I’m not! Why am I grounded!?

Mother: I didn’t like the way you talked to me last night.

Natalie: But you never told me I was grounded.

Mother: Well, I didn’t want to tell you that you we’re grounded, because I didn’t want you to screw up your SAT score because you were mad at me for grounding you.

Natalie: Well then how am I grounded if you never told me?

Mother: YOU’RE GROUNDED. COME HOME NOW.

4. Natalie, age 20, has decided to randomly dye her hair. She enlists the help of best friend Stacey. The two buy hair dye and lock themselves in Natalie’s bathroom. Natalie’s mother comes home and knocks on the door.

Mother: What are you two doing in there?

Natalie: Smoking pot.

Mother: NAT.

Natalie: Shooting heroine.

Mother: ARE YOU DYING YOUR HAIR?

Natalie: No.

Mother enters. Natalie’s hair is wet on the top of her head. Stacey has gloves on.

Mother: You know your nose looks 10 times bigger when you dye your hair like that.

Closes door.

5. Natalie, age 20, has moved out of the house because her mother doesn’t approve of her lifestyle (ie working 3 jobs and going out every night.) Natalie is at Matt’s. It is 2am. Text recieved from mother.

Text: If you don’t respect me then I don’t respect you. And that means I won’t respect your things just like you don’t respect mine. If you don’t come home and start making better decisions I’m going to take fishy and flush him down the toilet.

Text to mom: Ok.

Natalie goes home the next day and fishy is gone.

A month later, mother brings fishy out of the closet, where she had been hiding him for an entire month.

Thanks mom, for giving me something to laugh about every day.

peace, love, and hugs,

natalie marie.

Curse You Container Store.

I am sitting in my room on the hardwood floor practically swimming in a heap of hangers, clothing and metal rods.

About 20 minutes ago, I came home from the gym and sat on my bed. I opened my computer, and across the room there was a crack and my $40 closet crashed to the floor.  Not only did the clothes inside spill across my room, but the bin of clothes on top flew onto my bed, equally distributing the devastating mess.

Really.

Which is exactly what I said to the poor excuse for a closet as it rested awkwardly on my bed.

I have spent the last 15 minutes attempting to put the cursed thing back together.  In this process I have been enlightened to the fact that there is not a single kind of tape in this apartment.  The piece of plastic that snapped in half and caused this disaster is now being crudely held together by double-sided photo hanging tabs and twine.

Yes. Twine.

My spirit is shot. And at this point I just sit here and stare at the monstrosity that is the pile of clothing and hangers on my floor.  Maybe in another 20 minutes I’ll start to attempt to piece it together again, but as for now I’m going to mope.

I will no longer rave about the container store.

peace, love, and flowers,

natalie marie

Sorry BlogSpot, I’m Over You

BlogSpot broke my heart today.

After checking my e-mail and getting my early morning fix of FB for an unnecessary amount of time, I clicked on over to update my blog.  I was surprised that blogspot did not automatically log me in as per usual, but I was not alarmed.  I entered my password and waited.

Nothing. And then.

“The address you have entered does not exist.”

I’m sorry. WHAT.

After a solid 20 minutes of checking and rechecking and searching and FAQ’s, I had to finally accept the fact that those cheeky bastards at Blogger had actually LOST or DELETED my blog.

Now let’s get this straight. I have been a loyal member, reader, writer of BlogSpot since it was BLOGSPOT, not this Blogger bullshit. I stuck with them when they changed their name and now they’ve gone and deleted a good few years of my writing. (I’m not saying all of it was good, but come on, a lot of it was.)

So guess what Blogger, you broke my heart but now I’m over you. I’ve chosen to be with WordPress, which is better anyway. Have fun with your angsty 13-year-olds and wannabe Perez-ers.

peace and love and pie,

natalie marie.