From my front porch, I can hear the bells at the church a few blocks away play every hour. Today they rang out a song for me while I was out on a cigarette break.

From my dining room, I can see into my bedroom, where there is a week-old pile of clothing that needs to be folded and put away.

From my kitchen window, I can see the rotunda of the capital (if I bend just the right way).

From my bathroom, I can hear the downstairs neighbors enter and leave their homes. I also have hello kitty shower curtain holders.

From my bedroom, I catch a glimpse of myself roaming with my camera in the bathroom mirror, and take a shot.

From my desk, I see my iPod, sick of playing the same album for the 3475th time in a row. I thank it for the contribution to my sanity.

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Slightly drunk and more than happy would be the case. I went to a concert last night. A concert! I haven’t been to one of those since… well… 1999? 2000? Whenever Weezer played at 6th & Main in downtown Boise. The main reason for this is that I’m a lameass. Oh yeah, and the crowds here, in general, suck. I personally also don’t like being pressed up against sweaty strangers, no matter what Gabby says.

To go on… this concert… show… was put on by 2 wonderful bands, Interpol and Blonde Redhead. I am personally more of a Blonde Redhead fan, as I think Interpol has good music and all, but it really runs together into one big hypno-song that doesn’t have much fluctuation. Blonde Redhead, on the other hand, I have been listening to for a past couple of years. I enjoyed their music, but I wasn’t a huge fan. Until now.

The show Blonde Redhead put on last night was a-fucking-mazing. They were only able to do a 40-minute set, and when they left the stage to make way for the more popular group, I burst into tears. Well, that was a lie… but I was really really really really sad and I wanted them to come back. Like, now.

When Interpol came on, I was really quite surprised at how young they are. I had never seen a picture of the band, and it really looked like some of the emo boys from the crowd just wiggled their way up onstage and picked up the instruments. Oh wait, that’s our entertainment. Wow, so, emo boys? Yeah, there were a ton of them at this show. The sad thing is that I just want to pat them on their moppy heads and coo at them. By george, they're cute! But impossible to take seriously. Who would’ve known that it would become such a fad?

After the concert, most of the crowd went down to the second home; more commonly called the Nerdolux. The bass player from Interpol was spinning some ‘dat music there, and everyone likes a good DJ. The music was awesome, the crowd hot, and the drinks flowing. I touched some indie celebrities. I had stars in my eyes. Eventually, I had to go home so I could go to work today, of course, but I did get to meet the members of Blonde Redhead and thank them for being so fucking cool.

I walked home and flopped into bed, exhausted. This post is proof that I do get out of my house sometimes. This has been a public service announcement.

First off, you can blame the new layout for making me want to type. Second, you can blame yourself for actually reading.

I love to cook. I love creating things in my newer fancy big kitchen that came along with the new apartment. There are, however, a couple of issues that come along with this, as I will starkly outline below in proper format
1. I don’t really know how to cook.
a. While I enjoy the cooking and creating part, things sometimes turn out completely wrong. I season well, but I tend to sauce everything, and that’s just not right. The few dishes I have created all by myself that turned out fan-fucking-tastically, I don’t have the recipes for, because I don’t bother to write down what I’m doing.
2. Hence, sometimes things turn out really really horribly.
a. See case study 1, below
3. Or horribly horribly bland. Which the B will still eat without much complaint.

Case Study 1:
I regularly go to Asian food stores to get things like rice and Japanese curry. Once, I found a really interesting-looking curry that was contained within a plastic bag within a plastic container, on which many many things were written in (what I’m assuming was) Hindi. Now, I love my curry – I make it at home often, and I pretty much stick with the S & B kind that I’ve eaten since I was 5. I’m standing there, looking at this curry in this neat cup-deal with cool stuff written all over it, and decide it’s dinner.

!!Flash forward!! to that night, where I’m preparing curry like I normally do: chicken, carrots, broccoli, onion, whatever in a pot, and I’m about to add the curry that I purchased. I take my pair of scissors and cut open a corner; I taste a bit of the curry, and it seems fine. Now, since there are no instructions in English on the side of this container, I figure I should add about the same amount of curry mix as I always do, so I add about half the bag to the pot, mix it up, and put the lid on to simmer.

10 minutes later, I remove the lid to dish this stuff up, and immediately, my eyes start to water. “This is fantastic!” thought I, as both the B and myself love spicy food. I portion out some of the curry mixture on top of rice, hand a plate to the B, and he and myself head out to watch some computer while eating.

I sit down on the couch.

I take my first steaming bite of curry. At first, it’s too hot, so I do the huff-puff thing around the food in my mouth, trying to cool it down. I start chewing, and the first thing I notice is that the sauce is… well… salty. A lot salty. The second thing I notice, which takes a moment to make its way to my brain, is that my mouth is on fire. Fire with a capital “F”, as in “Fuck! My. MOUTH. Is. On. FIRE!” I, of course, don’t say any of this out loud. Stoically, my lips pressed together, I look at the B, whose face is bright red, his eyes watering, his nose running, and smoke is pouring out of his ears. I ask quietly what he thinks of the food. What I receive in return is a plea for water, and he hands me his dish as I get up to go to the kitchen, the fear in his eyes as I remove the food from his sight is obvious. I bring him his water, and resolved not to have my mistake completely ruin dinner, I pick out the chicken on my plate, wipe off the curry as best as I can, and eat it.

And I can tell you what it is like to lick the sun – to stick my tongue out and give Mr. Light-Up-The-Blue-Sky a little bath. I opened my mouth, and invited the spiciest thing I have ever eaten into my mouth, and I chewed and I swallowed, and I lived to tell about it.

And I’ll promise you that that will never happen ever. Again.

Point: I should learn how to actually cook. And how to find directions about the curry I should only use 50 grams of, not half the bag, containing 400% more than I should have used, and how it should have been mixed with coconut milk. Or I could just learn to read hindi.

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as some of you may be able to tell, i've been messing around with my stylesheet a bit today. though pretty and whatnot, this stylesheet/pics/whatnot was not created by me, and therefore won't be hanging around for very long. the design was made by the people at notthatugly.com, which is linked in the navbar. the final-ish site design by yours truly should be up once i get back from France - about 3 weeks.
other than that, there's really not much going on at this point. the B has taken off for Egypt, and will be gone for 5 weeks. France is looming, knocking me a bit towards the sharp edge of reason, with all of the wedding stuff going on as well. i'm still looking for a photographer, but i'm hoping that this (gasp) bridal show at ye olde Centre on the Grove will give some better ideas than the ones that google came up with, which were mostly crap. in tow will be the maid of honor, slowly hobbling on the one leg i've left her with after chomping off the other (this is my site - i can blame anything and everything on myself here). maybe there'll be some freebies.

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I finally broke down and purchased an over-priced Martha Stewart Wedding Planner book at the book store last night. All I really needed was a notebook in which to take notes with folders in which I can stick receipts and things, but alas… at least it has nifty pictures.

My cat jumped out of the kitchen window the night before last while the B and I were asleep. Since she is a totally indoor cat and doesn’t have a tag, we were pretty worried about her when we realized she was gone – around 11am yesterday. I ended up taking some time off of work to wander the neighborhood in search of her. I spotted her once about 15 minutes into the search, but she bolted across a yard in the alley, one which I could not get across, and disappeared. I went back to work an hour or so later, feeling sick from worry and was v. much unproductive. I left work early, and as soon as I got home, I started searching again. As soon as I called her name, she started mewling for me, and I was able to coax her out from under some bushes and take her inside. I asked her if she had had any adventures while in the outside world, but she said she just didn’t want to talk about it. We were all exhausted.

I am nearing completion on a freelance project I’ve been working on since late November. It’s just now gotten to the good part, in which I have a lot of fun. Yay for technology!

France! 2 weeks! From today! Excitement!

Taxes! I just got my federal returns. I am a good little tax-monkey.

That is all.

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