Festival of Lights

In many ways, my mom’s side of the family is stereotypically Jewish. They all hold advanced academic degrees, my mom loves a good bargain more than anything in this world, and my grandma cannot look at my thin husband without practically weeping, then nagging me for not feeding him enough.

When it comes to Judaism, however, they are all relatively clueless. Because my grandparents and mother all grew up in the Soviet Union, you have to go back about a hundred years to find religious Jews on our family tree. Think Fiddler on the Roof.

But even though my grandparents are decidedly non-practicing and my parents’ family worships at an LDS church rather than a synagogue, we somehow feel the need to get in touch with our roots by celebrating Hanukkah every few years. This year my mom called me to see if Mike and I would be available on Sunday night, then followed that question up with a conversation that went something like this:

Mom: So what are we supposed to eat for dinner? I know you’re supposed to have latkes, but what else?
Me (after typing “traditional Hanukkah foods” into google): It says that most people have beef brisket.
Mom (who is a vegetarian): What? Biscuits?
Me: No, mom. BRISKET. It’s a cut of beef.
Mom: Oh. Well what should we have to drink? Aren’t we supposed to have grape juice or something? And isn’t one of the kids supposed to tell a story?
Me: You’re thinking of Passover.
Mom: Oh that’s right…

Despite the confusion regarding Jewish customs, my parents did end up hosting a Hanukkah feast last night. My mom even busted out the family menorah and dreidel, which proved to be kind of unnecessary since by the time dinner was over and we had listened to a condensed version of the Hanukkah story and heard my grandparents recall memories of Hanukkah celebrations in Israel, the gathering had dissolved into the kind of chaos typical of Preobrazhensky functions and all pretense of ritual was abandoned. I guess that’s just what happens when you have two languages and four generations (ranging from 6 months to 92 years old) present at one very crowded table.

Food-wise, we did have the aformentioned brisket and latkes for dinner. We also had these:
Yes, those are jello jigglers. Cut in the shape of a dreidel and Star of David (I found the cookie cutters at my parents’ house and couldn’t resist). This creation might strike some as slightly tacky, but is there anything more appropriate for a bunch of Mormon Jews to serve for dessert on a Jewish holiday? I think not.

And speaking of Mormons, who knew that Utah’s own conservative senator is a wannabe Jew? Strange.

Things-I-Love Thursday

During our freshman year of college my best friend Sara and I both worked at a jewelry stand in the Cottonwood Mall (may it rest in peace). This job was hellish on so many levels, but what really drove both Sara and I to the brink of insanity was the Christmas music the mall chose to play during the holiday season.

Man alive was it bad. One song that mall management seemed particularly fond of playing literally had no lyrics besides “Rock and Roll Christmas, Christmas Rock and Roll…” Over and over and over again. Another classic was a rendition of “Santa Baby” sung by a dude, with terms like “sable” and “decorations from Tiffany” replaced with more masculine items such as shotguns or guitars. To me it conjured up images of a wifebeater-clad man drunkenly singing karaoke on Christmas Eve. Not exactly festive.

There was one bright spot in the midst of this musical Christmas graveyard. Every once in a while the mall would bust out that guilt-inducing classic “Do they know it’s Christmastime?” (Sara and I always referred to it as “Feed the World”). I had never really cared for this song before, but that winter it became one of my favorites. After hearing “Have Yourself a Skanky Little Christmas” or whatever abomination was blasting through the mall speakers, it just felt good to hear something recognizable. Even if it did make me feel like kind of a jerk for not donating my paycheck to Africa.

A few days ago I found this video while browsing on YouTube:



It goes without saying that my Christmas is now complete. And can we all just agree on the fact that the ‘80s was a magical decade for men’s hair? Because that much is glaringly obvious. In this video I recognize Sting, Bono, and Boy George. If anyone could tell me who the rest of these peeps are I would greatly appreciate it.

Other things I am loving at the start of this holiday season:

Reading this book and laughing:

Reading this book and crying:

Sipping on this:


Topped with a scoop of this:

(And don’t tell me I could save myself the trouble and just drink mint-flavored cocoa. So not the same thing).

-Watching Mike put Christmas lights up and hearing him scheme about the Griswold-esque spectacle he is going to create next year (inflatable penguins are most likely going to be involved. Get excited).

-Opening a new window of our Advent calendars each night (one of my favorite traditions).

Now if it would only snow...

In Good Company

A big "thank you" goes out to Max Hall for overshadowing Utah's loss on Saturday with his astonishing case of verbal diarrhea. Stay classy, dude.

GO UTES!!!

(In case you have been living under a rock and haven't seen it yet, you can watch the zoobie rage here)

Gratitude

“Let us rise up and be thankful,

for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little,

and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick,

and if we got sick, at least we didn't die;

so, let us all be thankful.”

-Buddha

Hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

(P.S.-If you're making yams as part of your feast, you should try this recipe)

Things-I-Love Thursday

Sara and I just got through showing Butch our new favorite YouTube video. His response? "You should have put this on your blog for Things-I-Love Thursday."

Apparently my husband actually pays attention to what I post on this blog. Our marriage is full of surprises I tell you what.

Since it is still Thursday for the next couple of hours, here is the video (Freaking YouTube won't let me embed it but I'm posting the link):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUO0gd7cr9o

I fell in love with this song last year, so I was thrilled to find this beautiful little video. And best of all it's a "winter song" so I can technically listen to it now without breaking my No Christmas Music Before Thanksgiving rule, and keep listening to it as long as there is snow on the ground. That my friends is what we call a win-win situation.

See this little dinosaur?

Once upon a time she was my baby sister, but then she grew up and became this gorgeous thing: Today little Masha is turning the big 2-1. And, even though it's weird for me to think about how old we are these days, it makes me happy to know that we haven't outgrown our friendship or our hyperactive tendencies (even if it means that our significant others can't handle being in the same room as both of us).

Happy Birthday Smash! Remember that no matter how old you get, you will always be my favorite little sister.

Because I am fresh out of nice stationary

Dear Kneaders All-You-Can-Eat French Toast,
I have lived just a short drive away from you for months now, yet Saturday morning was our first introduction. It makes me sad to think that my life was void of your cinnamon-y goodness for so long, but rest assured that we will be seeing a lot more of each other in the future:

Dear Friends and Family,
Most of you know about my owl fetish. In fact, I have even alluded to it on this blog. Over the years many of you have given me an incredible amount of owl merchandise. You are lovely people.

Thing is, given that owls are super trendy and therefore widely available these days, my fetish has gotten a little out of control. A while back I told Mike that it would cool off once I got my most sought-after item: an owl cookie jar. Being the thoughtful husband that he is, he presented me with this little guy as an anniversary gift:

So in the interest of being true to my word I think I am officially done collecting owl items. Just in case you were wondering.

Dear Residents of Cottonwood Heights,
You know those white lines painted at intermittent spots across our roads? You may think that those markings are just there for decoration, but that is not the case. They constitute what is known as a crosswalk. Meaning that next time you see my dog and I waiting patiently by these lines you should probably stop and let us cross instead of speeding by in your Escalade.

Dear Butch,
I like it when we have buffalo wings and salad for dinner. Let’s do it more often.

Love,
Dasha

Anniversary

"There is only one happiness in life: to love and be loved."

-George Sand

Tomorrow Mike and I celebrate two very happy years together.

I sure do love you Butch.

What kind of strange karma is THIS?

I am not a successful thrift store shopper. I have always wanted to be, and really wish I were one of those people who, when asked where they got a certain ultra-cool piece of clothing or home decor, can just casually respond with “I found it at DI” or “I picked it up at a yard sale.”

To compensate for my lack of thrifting skills, I tend to shop at secondhand stores and online antique shops; same unique items, less browsing and sifting through crap in suspect conditions. A few weeks ago I was looking on eBAY and found these little dears:

Mere days after I got these brass owls in the mail, Mike and I went to Savers (yes, we are classy like that). As I was browsing through the home décor section I spotted a pair of owls identical to the two smaller ones I just bought. I looked closer, and, sure enough, they were exactly the same. Don't believe me? I have proof:

WHAT ARE THE FREAKING ODDS? I swear stuff like this just does not happen. I am the only person in the universe who finally finds a cool item at a thrift store only to have it be something I just bought for twice the cost. I am also probably the only person that is stupid enough to then buy the thrift store item for no logical reason. So I now have two sets of identical 1970s owls sitting in my living room and no idea what to do with the spare one. I win at life.

Happy Halloween

Love,

A homely librarian and her nerdy admirer

Things I Am Excited For

1) The start of another season:

And the opportunity to sport my Millsap t-shirt tonight while eating junk food and screaming at the TV with friends. GO JAZZ!

2) Going to a real concert for the first time in almost a year. I know. I'm probably getting old and boring before my time, but what can I say? Three hours surrounded by sweaty bodies and the aroma of weed just doesn’t scream Time Well Spent to me the way it used to.

So what band has gotten me out of this funk, you ask? The freaking Sounds!!! I have been dying to see them live for years, and it is finally happening this Friday. In my opinion, there is good music, and then there is good concert music. There are many musicians I love that I wouldn’t care to see in concert, and then there are bands like The Sounds that just beg to be listened to while dancing wildly surrounded by a mob of people. Don’t believe me? Check them out:





3) Watching creepy old horror movies like Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? this weekend. You can keep your slasher flicks and M. Night Shamalayn weirdness, because to me nothing says scary like a black and white movie about a crazy former child star trying to feed her wheelchair-bound sister dead parakeets and rats. They just don't make 'em like they used to...

What are you all excited for?

P.S.- New recipes posted here

Definitely not hiding it under a bushel

It’s not unusual for siblings to share a hobby. The Osmonds sing and dance, the Browns play their instruments, and the Mannings throw footballs. I would like to say that the Preobrazhensky children are known for oil painting or something cool like that, but the truth is that our collective talent is eating. And we are very, very good at it.

In fact, we are so passionate about our hobby that if you spend at least half an hour with my brothers and sisters you will undoubtedly find the conversation turning to topics like the new sushi restaurant downtown, the superiority of homemade ranch dressing to the store-bought variety, or the mystery of people that “forget to eat” or are “too busy to have lunch” (my brother-in-law made such a statement once, and we all looked at him like he was a visiting martian).

We all differ a little in our tastes- Helen hates Mexican cuisine, Smash and Smeegs love their burgers a little more than the rest of us- but one food is a definite favorite with everyone: wings. Specifically Winger’s wings, because apparently something about that spicy yet sweet sauce just makes our collective taste buds rejoice.

Once a year Winger’s has a special promotion: all-you-can-eat wings for ten bucks. If you haven’t guessed already, it’s our kind of event; a chance to really showcase our talent for the world to see. For years now fall has meant not only changing leaves and cool weather, but my brothers and sisters and I stuffing ourselves with wings until we swear that we are never eating them again, only to return eagerly the next year.

Here is a photo tour of last year’s dinner. Wingfest 2009 is happening this week. I can’t wait.

The crowd last year. We missed Dema (as we will again this year-stupid grad school), but Colton and Logan made very good substitutes:
The first time we went to Winger's Smash ate not 10, not 20, but 24 wings in one sitting. I knew then that I was truly in the presence of greatness:
Lots of ranch is a necessity:

Unless you are a wing purist like Butch:

Smeegs trying not to get the wings stuck in his braces:

Alex's first wing. The year before he was content just to dip his whole hand in Ranch dressing and lick it clean. Definitely his mother's child:

The aftermath. We are truly everything that is wrong with this country. Notice how we didn't waste valuable stomach space on the starchy french fries and popcorn, though. Dr. Atkins would be proud:

I guess it could be considered a Twilight tribute...

Pumpkin carving tends to be one of those festive activities- like making gingerbread houses or dying easter eggs- that always sounds fun to me in theory but when it comes to actually doing it I lose interest in about 2.5 seconds and sit around distracting everyone around me, usually while eating sickening amounts of candy.

Maybe this is because my immigrant family wasn’t too big on these holiday projects. I think we carved pumpkins all together once in an attempt to be festive, but after that we just had one family jack-o-lantern carved by whoever felt the most motivated that year and called it good.

The Cassitys, on the other hand, are all about the seasonal crafts. They make ornaments at Christmastime, dye eggs for Easter, and, of course, carve pumpkins when Halloween rolls around. The first time I participated in the annual Cassity pumpkin carving night was two years ago when Mike and I were engaged. By the time I had hollowed out and cleaned the pumpkin my craft ADD was really up and going, so I grabbed the simplest looking stencil I could find and went to town (yes, they had stencils. And special pumpkin carving tools. The Cassitys don’t mess around).

I probably should have paid a little more attention to how I positioned the stencil though, because what was supposed to be a frightening image of a vampire biting someone turned out to be a little…well…erotic in feel:

Yep, I unintentionally created Pumpkin Porn. Awesome. I think I am going to keep things a little more simple this year:


Because apparently I can't be trusted to keep it G-rated otherwise.

Make it work!

A few thoughts that have been going through my head while catching up on Project Runway this weekend (Besides the usual "How are they going to buy fabric in a HALF HOUR?!!" and "Holy crap how is he going to finish that dress in ten minutes?!" Apparently watching people sew really stresses me out).

1) Can somebody please explain to me why Christopher is still in the running? Does he have mafia connections or something? That is the only feasable explanation I can come up with cause he makes dresses that either look like tin foil or something that a five-year-old constructed. Plus he is a crybaby that has meltdowns on the runway. The day Heidi tells him "you're out" cannot come quickly enough as far as I'm concerned.

2) These adorable people just need to hurry up and make out already:

3) Someone should do us all a favor and punch Nicholas in the face. Hard.

Yikes.

Last night I bought some fancy schmancy shampoo for curly hair. A hairstylist recommended brushing your hair before using it, and, since I am nothing if not trusting, I followed those instructions.

After ten minutes of playing tug-of-war with a cheap plastic hairbrush, this was the result (please take note of my awkward Sylvester Stallone smile):

"Naturally curly hair is a curse, and don't ever let anyone tell you different."
-The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

I am a nerd. A deeply nostalgic and overly sentimental nerd.

I’m kind of having a dilemma. You see, being the snotty English major that I am, I usually find the thought of turning iconic children’s books into movies pretty abhorrent. Mostly because the majority of these books are so simple and short that in order to turn them into feature films the writers have to add all these elements that make the story more complicated, realistic, and "grown-up” in feel.

For example, the first time I saw a poster advertising a film version of the Dr. Seuss classic The Cat in the Hat, I thought “what in the devil are they going to do to make that book into a movie? It’s about a cat barging into a house and creating chaos with a couple of kids while rhyming.” The answer? Add a bunch of random subplots, including a single mom’s dissatisfaction with her job and a sleazy neighbor who has some mysterious vendetta against the children.

Same thing goes for Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. In picture book form, it’s a simple story imagining a world where food falls from the sky. The movie, from what I have gathered by watching the previews, centers the plot around an inventor that creates this phenomenon, thereby completely changing the nature of the story.

I’m sure there are plenty of other picture books that have been given this same treatment- I’ve even heard that my beloved Eloise was turned into some made-for-TV monstrosity- and it kind of bothers me. I mean, you can make a movie out of a novel or even a longer, more detailed children’s book while remaining true to the tone and nature of the story, but when you take a simplistic book of 100 words or less and make it into a two-hour movie, you are invariably transforming it into something completely different.

I mean, isn’t the whole beauty of being a kid that you can read books like this and thoroughly enjoy them without any additional detail? You don’t need an explanation as to why food falls from the sky or why a six-year-old girl lives at the Plaza Hotel without any parents. I guess what worries me about this whole business is that somewhere out there a kid is going to pick up a copy of Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and, instead of enjoying the pure whimsy of the story, is going to wonder where the inventor from the film version is. And that is sad.

Anyways, back to the dilemma I mentioned at the beginning of this post. When I heard that Spike Jonze was making a film version of Where the Wild Things Are, I was determined to boycott it for all the reasons listed above. But then I saw the trailer. Which is, well, kind of freaking awesome:



True, I’m not too keen on the filmmakers complicating the story and potentially making it a little too “touchy-feely” for my taste, but other elements of this movie look pretty fantastic. I love how the cinematography interprets Maurice Sendak’s illustrations, love how the “wild things” look fuzzy and real and not all CGI’d, and think the little boy they cast as Max is cute as a button. Plus any kids movie that has an Arcade Fire song in the preview is bound to be pretty cool.

So here’s hoping Where the Wild Things Are doesn’t suck. Because right now it is my only hope for getting over my nerdishly cynical ways.

Roll out the red carpet

I have a shelf filled with cookbooks in my kitchen, yet most of them have been slowly gathering dust ever since I discovered the wealth of recipes found on the internet and, more specifically, blogs. For some reason I find a recipe so much more worthy of trying if I know that someone has taken the time to blog about it. So, in the interest of being a giver as well as a taker, I am starting my own food blog:

http://dashasdishes.blogspot.com/

I’ve only posted one entry so far, but hopefully it will be the first of many. Let me know what you think.

Things-I-Love Thursday

Fall is my favorite season. I love all the cliched things that everyone seems to love about this time of year: the gorgeous leaves, “jacket weather”, pumpkin baked goods, college football, etc. I love coming home from a run with my cheeks red from the cold instead of the heat, love watching the mountains change color, love eating the delicious apples, peaches, and plums my dad generously gets us at the farmer’s market each week, love raking leaves outside at dusk. Love love love.

I think the main reason I love fall is that it is by far the best transition of the year. Winter and summer are both just natural progressions of what comes before them- each one a bit colder or warmer than the preceding season- and spring, at least if you live in Utah, is either nonexistent or a messy beast. It’s full of rain, melted slushy snowpiles, and finicky warm temperatures that, when they finally make their blessed arrival, last about two weeks before transforming into the full-fledged heat of summer.

But fall? Fall is different. After a summer full of late nights, hot temperatures, and constant activity I am always ready for a change of pace. Ready for tennis played in the light of the afternoon instead of on artificially lit courts at night, ready for meals made in the crock pot instead of on the barbecue, ready for fires burning in a fireplace instead of in the backyard or a campground.

Unlike with spring, I am never impatient or antsy for fall to arrive. I keep enjoying the warm weather, wearing my flip-flops and t-shirts until one day there is an undeniable chill in the air that lets me know it’s time for socks and a sweater. It feels easy and inevitable, like settling into a comfy armchair after a long hectic day.

True, this year’s transition was a little messier than usual- a textbook Indian Summer followed by that freak storm yesterday- but this morning I walked outside and was greeted by a beautifully sunny, crisply cold morning. Fall is here, friends. Let’s celebrate.

Yep, I'm Special

One of the things I love about my husband is his random sense of fun. While most couples get to know each other by going out to dinner and a movie, we spent our dating days garbage bagging at Churchill Junior High or getting lost in various canyons. So when Mike suggested rollerblading as one of his birthday activities I was not in the least bit surprised. Mind you, I hadn’t rollerbladed since sixth or seventh grade, but who am I to deny a birthday request?

So yesterday I strapped on an old pair of fruit boots that Mike found in his parents’ garage. After cruising up and down our street a few times I felt pretty comfortable in them, and we decided to go explore the rest of the neighborhood.

The next part of this story is kind of a blur. A blur that involves me rounding a completely harmless (i.e., barely sloped) street corner and somehow performing a spectacular imitation of a baseball player sliding into home plate:

Only in this instance home plate was a gravelly stretch of pavement. Did I mention I was wearing shorts? I will spare you the photo of what my leg looked like afterward. Not a pretty sight.

The best part was that all this occurred right in front of a school bus full of children whose driver stopped and waited as I (with the help of my chivalrous husband) gathered my mangled body and what was left of my dignity.

But perhaps that was the silver lining of this situation. Maybe after the bus driver stopped laughing his head off (okay maybe he didn’t laugh, not everyone is as horrible of a person as I am), he could have used this little incident to teach the kids a valuable lesson:

“See that, boys and girls? That’s why you should always wear a helmet when you rollerblade. And be nice to people like that girl, who probably rides the shorter bus to school and has to wear a helmet all the time.”

24

Happy Birthday to my favorite:

Happy 24th, Butch. You are the greatest.

Schadenfreude-licious

Schadenfreude: A German word meaning pleasure derived from the misfortune of others. Or, in other words, the feeling I get when I watch this clip of Donny Osmond from Monday's episode of Dancing With the Stars (please take particular note of the instructor's reaction):


I don't know why, but I found this part of the show so hilarious that I made my friends rewind it 5 times on the DVR. And I have to admit that I am still laughing while watching it in my cubicle. Maybe I am just weird. Or kind of a horrible person.

In related news, I think my brief love affair with DWTS has officially come to an end. I blame it on the fact that Tom Delay looks like a total perv of an old man and if I keep watching him prance around with his sweatpants pulled up to his armpits I might start having some seriously disturbing nightmares. Also, Donny Osmond gives me a headache, Macy Gray kind of frightens me, and the cast selection in general just kinda blows. Except for these two, who are so freaking adorable:I guess ultimately there is only room in my life for one guilty pleasure of the reality TV variety, and now that Project Runway is back on after last year's hiatus I no longer need to spend hours indulging in the mind-numbing spectacle that is Dancing With the Stars. Heaven knows I will miss looking at the sparkly dresses, but I'm hoping that the brain cells I conserve by not listening to Aaron Carter practice awkward pickup lines on his partner will make my resolution worthwhile.

Has anyone ever told you...

So remember how a while back I wrote about awkward things people say? And how I never know how to respond to these kind of statements? Well, I have another one to add to the list. I never know what to say when people tell me that I look so much like so-and-so (so-and-so being a celebrity, a mutual friend, or someone that I have never even heard of).

I’m sure all of you have experienced the same thing, and I really cannot come up with an appropriate response to it. “Thank you” doesn’t seem quite right, cause it’s not like they are really paying you a compliment (unless they explicitly state that they think so-and-so is good looking), and half the time people tell me that I look like their great-niece or something random so I don’t even get what the devil they are talking about.

Here are a few of the random comparisons I seem to get over and over again:

Christina Ricci:
Ew. To me she looks like an emaciated crack whore. But luckily most of the time when people compare us they refer to her as “that girl from Casper.” So apparently I look like Christina Ricci circa 1995, which I am slightly more OK with:

Betty Boop:

Seriously people? A cartoon character? And a deformed, slutty one at that?

Amanda Seyfried:

I’ve heard this one a few times since Mama Mia came out and I don’t see it at all but whatever. At least she’s pretty.

Cabbage Patch Doll:

I’m not even going to dignify this one with a response. Mostly because if I think about it too long it makes me want to cry.

The one time that I’ve been glad of people’s tendency to play the look-alike game was on my wedding day. Mike and I were standing in the receiving line at our reception and my mom’s friend took one glance at my new husband before telling him that he looked exactly like this man:

And suddenly the reason that my dad took such an instant liking to Mike became abundantly clear. I think I will start calling him "Crocodile Butch" from now on.

I ain't sayin he's a gold digger

Our country is currently fighting two foreign wars, Congress is debating changes in health care legislation that could impact our lives forever, and yet all I seem to hear about lately is Kanye West. Oh, and how npr needs my money. Because apparently it’s that time of year again.

Now don’t worry, I’m not going to pretend to be one of those people that only read the meaty sections of the newspaper- I love my celebrity gossip as much as the next person- but can we all just admit that this has gotten a tad out of control? Even our president has started in on the Kanye-bashing (although if dismissing Kanye West as a jackass isn’t showing good presidential judgement I don’t know what is).

What I do want to point out here, though, is that by talking about him all the time we are most likely just feeding into Kanye’s little scheme to get more fame, attention, etc. You know that phrase “any publicity is good publicity”? Definitely seems to apply in this case. I mean, homeboy had already established his reputation as an arrogant douchebag with a serious case of verbal diarrhea and a God complex before the VMAs-why not push the envelope a little further? Especially if it gets your name googled a bazillion times the day before you are scheduled to appear on Jay Leno’s new show. Think the timing of that little outburst was a coincidence? Not so much. Well played, Mr. West (or your publicists). And thank you for being the narcissistic fool you are, because it just makes watching The Colbert Report even more enjoyable :

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Kanye West Interrupts Taylor Swift at the VMAs
http://www.colbertnation.com/
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Health Care Protests

Future's so bright, I gotta wear shades

If you choose to schedule a long-needed eye exam during your lunch break, remind the doctor not to dilate your eyes. Otherwise you may end up spending the rest of your day like this:

As much as I adore the 5-dollar sunglasses I got at the state fair this weekend, sporting them in my cubicle with my face 6 inches away from the computer screen basically solidifies my status as the office loon.

Things-I-Love Thursday

My mom has a crush. It has been common knowledge for over 30 years and my dad is fully aware of her feelings, so I don't think she will mind me making this announcement. You see, like many women of her generation, my mom is madly in love with Paul McCartney.

I don’t quite know how this obsession got started, seeing as my parents grew up in a country that banned Western music, but apparently Beatlemania did not recognize the limits of the Iron Curtain. My mom also dabbled in other bands that were part of the Brit-rock invasion (ask her about the time she and a friend were nearly arrested for having a Led Zeppelin album in their possession), but her heart always belonged to Paul, and, by extension, The Beatles.

Moving to the U.S. did nothing to decrease my mom’s love of the Lads from Liverpool, so naturally our family listened to Beatles music quite a bit while I was growing up. And when I say "quite a bit" I mean that I knew the words to every song on Rubber Soul by the time I was eight years old. The Beatles were what we listened to on road trips, while cleaning the house, etc. In fact, I associated their music so much with my childhood and adolescence that, like many vestiges of that era, I ended up more or less outgrowing it.

Moving out of my parent’s house didn’t mean that I stopped listening to The Beatles altogether- I just didn’t do it intentionally. I saw the abomination that was Across the Universe, and you can’t go to a wedding these days without hearing “All You Need is Love” or “In My Life” blaring on the photo slideshow. Surprisingly though, I don’t have a single Beatles song on my ipod and I haven’t really been troubled by that fact. Until this week that is.

You have probably heard that yesterday marked the release of The Beatles digitally remastered catalog and The Beatles Rock Band game. Pretty much the Second Coming as far as Beatlemaniacs are concerned. I have heard about this event every morning this week on my way to work. The news stories are always accompanied by clips of the remastered songs, which means that I find myself singing “she loves you yeah, yeah, yeah” at the top of my lungs while I’m driving. I look like a complete fool but I don’t even care. Hearing The Beatles, as trite as this may sound, suddenly feels like being reunited with a dear old friend. I’m excited to get to know them again. So if anyone gets their mitts on The Beatles Rock Band, please invite me over to play. You may have heard that I suffer from some serious developmental delays as far as video games are concerned, and this claim is not unfounded, but I think I could handle the singing part. After all, I already know the words. My mom has taught me well.

Friday is a good day for a PSA

To all the men out there wearing those ridiculous v-neck shirts that show your nasty chest hair and make you look like a girl:

Please, please stop. It’s scaring the children.

Thank you for your cooperation,
Dasha

One Smile

Yesterday I came across this quote by Maya Angelou:

“If you have only one smile in you, give it to the people you love. Don't be surly at home, then go out in the street and start grinning Good Morning at total strangers.”

I know it’s not exactly the most catchy or profound quote out there- you can’t really put it on one of those wooden plaques to hang above your fireplace- but it really resonated with me. I feel like there are days when I literally only have only one smile inside me- days when I am grouchy and irritable and a veritable mess of emotions, and I do everything I can to hold my sh*t together everyplace except for where it matters most.

Yeah, I get that if you are going to have a full-fledged nervous breakdown it’s definitely better to do it in front of your husband or your parents than an unsuspecting co-worker, but I just wonder if maybe sometimes the relationships we claim as most important are the ones that end up in last place on our list of priorities. Like maybe if I put the same amount of effort into being cheerful around my husband or siblings when I am having a bad day as I do when I encounter a grocery store clerk or waitress, I might actually be putting my money where my mouth is.

This might all sound like a lot of rambling but the point is this: well said, Miss Angelou. Well said.

Things-I-Love Thursday

I have always had a longing for a neighborhood restaurant. You know, the kind you always see in movies or TV shows where the characters are on a first-name basis with the servers and never have to wait for a table? Yeah, that kind. And although in my dreamworld this restaurant was usually a sit-down diner akin to Luke’s on Gilmore Girls, I quickly changed my tune when we moved into a house near this place:

(Image courtesy of Your Heart Out)

Have any of you been to Lone Star Taqueria? If the answer is yes, good job. If not, you need to go immediately. It’s funky, local, and the food is amazing. It was even featured on the Food Network show Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, so it’s pretty much famous. And because I now live within walking distance of Lone Star (does anyone else get an unnatural amount of satisfaction from walking places instead of driving?), I am claiming it as my very own neighborhood dive.

There are a lot of great things on the menu at Lone Star. I have heard praises sung about the nachos, burritos, etc., but Mike and I both remain loyal to the fish tacos: white corn tortillas topped with freshly grilled fish (selection changes daily), shredded cabbage, tomatoes, cilantro, and jalapeno mayonnaise. We each order two every time we come here and are never disappointed. Even if you are one of those people that claim to hate fish, I recommend giving these suckers a try. I think you’ll be converted.

So next time you are in the neighborhood, come mosey on over to Lone Star with us. And if all goes according to plan, don’t be surprised if I just stroll up to the counter and say “I’ll have my usual, por favor.”

You might be a redneck if...

Highlights of your recent trip to Bear Lake included watching your three-year-old nephew "boogie board" behind a four-wheeler:

And observing your husband when he and your now dreadlock-less friend applied the same concept to the art of skimboarding:

Truly a classy weekend.