Clothed...Kind Of

Readers,
It's been a week since we last touched base on 30for30.
Contrary to what you may think,  just because I haven't posted doesn't mean I haven't been wearing clothes to work.
Day7 may lead you to believe otherwise.

More 30 for 30 below.

Oh, KBP wears clothes, too.

Mrs. P takes no prisoners. Weapon of choice: a combination of a pencil skirt and two cats who play video games.

Braid, Belt, Boot, and Recycle. Repeat!

The B in KBP is for Beauty and Beret.

Hip background c/o Jenny B's apt in NYC.

Somedane wanted the spotlight.

Tweet-tweet

On my wrist

What exactly are not-pants?
Not-pants: noun

1) a piece of clothing to be worn on the legs as a facade for pants. Best used when wearer is feeling extremely lazy, "curvy", or has no clean real-pants.

"These not-pants are the reason I didn't get tenure!"


Not-pants take on various forms. One example is jeggings*. Jeggings often disguise themselves as skinny jeans. Tricia Gail and I have a similar pair from Target that are very convincing. The piece of apparel pictured in day7's 30for30 are a terrible excuse for not-pants. They are simply a thicker, textured legging with a vertical seam down the front of each leg.

When I confronted TG with my not-pants situation, she tried to make me feel better by saying, "They look like riding pants." That's exactly what I was going for, the "straight-from-the-barn look".

Who am I kidding? My dog is the size of a small pony and I wear denim and gingham way too frequently.  I love the straight-from-the-barn look.

Next time, I'll take some photos in a hay loft.

-L



*Note: Jeggings are not to be confused with jorts; a very light or dark wash denim pair of shorts with a carpenter's loop. Unfortunately, no hammers rest within this loop.  Jorts usually fall far below the wearer's knees and are also referred to in some circles as the devil's hybrid.*

Thursdate with the GOAT

Recently, the only person to accompany me on my Thursdates is...well, me. This is in no way a reflection on my social life; I like to think that all of my loved ones are just itching to hang with me. So what if the last time I called Betty to share with her all the highs and lows of my day, she said, "Is this going to take long? The Good Wife is coming on."

While my one parental unit is more inclined to keep up with the career of that guy who played Mr. Big on SITC, my other has still yet to let me down.
Instead of my usual solo hangout in Panera, I spent this Thursdate with my dad. Betty was going out with her "friends from school" (when did she get those?), so the GOAT had no plans for dinner. If I could make a guess, I would wager his dinner involved leftovers in the form of kielbasa. Never good the next day. I hijacked his evening and we dined at the fine eatery that is Subway. Don't scoff, readers, the GOAT and I love Subway.

Why we love Subway:
1) The GOAT always has a coupon and we both feel like we got away with something criminal when we use it.
2) We might be the least pickiest people on the face of the earth when it comes to "eating out". If the food tastes good, doesn't take forever to make, and is relatively inexpensive; we're very happy.

Why I Love Taking the GOAT to Subway
1) He almost always gets whatever I'm getting
2) He always tries to pay and when I say no, I can guarantee that he will say with sincerity, "Thanks so much for dinner, kid. I really appreciate it."
3) He always asks me about one or two of the following people:
A) Tricia Gail's Danny: "How's Danny doing in Newark?" Danny carries a gun and loves Libby, therefore he's very interesting.
B) Lydia: "Hey, have you heard from that Harkness girl lately?" Surprisingly, Lydia is also licensed to carry a firearm; however, the GOAT loves her, ammunition-wielding or not.
C) My brother Brian: "Brian never texts me anymore, what's he been up to?" (at this point in our conversation, he usually shows me an email or text from Brian from a day or two previous at which he asks me how he can respond in a way to annoy or tease my brother.)
Recently Anthony has made the list and he's always curious to know where he is "flying to". Maybe the GOAT thinks I date a pilot or a goose?

Why this Subway Thursdate especially ruled:
Behind us in line was another, much younger Dad/Daughter Subway Thursdate going on. I don't normally have unkind things to say about this establishment, but sometimes the Way of the Sub can take a long time to make your 'wich. Daughter of said combo was around 7 years old? Probably practiced more patience than I did. She passed her time in the queue talking her GOAT's ear off about Ke$ha, her day at school, how cool it would be if Taylor Swift was her teacher, and while I didn't hear it, I'm sure sparkles or ponies were mentioned, as well. While my GOAT whistled along to the Ke$ha song playing at the Way (I have no idea how he knows this) and I eavesdropped/shot impatient looks at the dude in front of us ordering a very complicated pastrami sub, her GOAT was completely intrigued and fascinated with his child's fast-paced, take a moment or two from talking and have Dad twirl me, conversation. He also didn't miss a single twirl opportunity.

This readers, is the most important reason why I love Thursdates with the GOAT. I'm 25 years old and my GOAT still pays attention and shows interest in all my ramblings. Sadly, my conversations don't include ponies or sparkles, anymore. At least not that often, anyway.

I'm also completely confident the GOAT wouldn't miss a twirl opportunity, if I asked for one, either.

Happy Thursday,
-L

Oh, the pic is What We Ate.

On a sidenote, when I snapped a shot of our subs, the GOAT said, "Let's send it to Brian to make him jealous."

30for30: day123

30for30 is back.
Long gone are the days of the myspace-youcanseemycamerainmyfullengthmirror-days.
Instead of a tripod, I use a complicated, cake-plate meets cereal bowl meets cupcake cookbook creation.

Enjoy, readers.

 Of course, a majority of my outfits have accompanying stories. Day one's ensemble prompted a student to go out of his way and say, "Now, I mean this in this most endearing way. Today, Miss M, you look like Minnie Mouse." I didn't even know my kids could spell endearing. For this impressive compliment, the next time I wear my red bicycle skirt, I think I'll wear white gloves.

 No more arrows. I'm not John Madden. What is this magenta blur you keep seeing in the bottom right corner of my photos? Is it a hip new filter? An effect? No, that's part of my makeshift cake-stand tripod mess. Get used to it.

  

 

 One last story. Last year, one of my lovelies informed me that I had a habit of dressing like a "female Ellen DeGeneres". I ran into him this afternoon. After we exchanged greetings, he looked down at my boots and said, "Those are some bad boots." I thanked him and said, "I bet Ellen wouldn't wear these." To which he replied, "No, he would not."

Stay tuned for more outfits. Keally P makes her inaugural 30for30: day123 later this week.

-L

Eat this, not that.

Stop hitting the side of your computer monitor.* There's nothing wrong with the contrast or brightness. These cookies are actually green and by no error on my part. I came across the recipe for these cranberry pistachio pudding cookies on one of my favorite recipe blogs, Siriously Delicious. Previous to this discovery, I didn't know pistachio instant pudding existed. Had I known about it, it would have been one of those foods I held my purse extra tight around in the grocery store.

Sketchy and oddly colored as it looks, pistachio pudding does a cookie good. In the words of my favorite food blogger, Lady J of Delirious Kitchen, the cookies are amazeballs. This is an awesomely easy recipe to make, too. Get the pistachio pudding mix at Target for 0.87 cents, a bag of dried cranberries from Trader Joe's or start pilfering Craisins from the salad bar for a few days, and I'll bet you already have most of the other ingredients. Just watch your wallet around that pistachio pudding.

On a related note, I have terrible luck when it comes to bringing baked goods to parties. For the last two years in a row, it's been like pulling teeth to get anyone to eat what I bring. The first year I went to my department holiday party, I brought a cinnamon apple bundt cake. I even glazed that sucker. It was pristine looking. Throughout the party, I casually walked by the dessert table to check on how my cake was doing. No. One. Touched. It. Why? I have no idea. Tricia Gail said people were too afraid to cut a slice because the wreath of cake was so pretty. Man up, colleagues.

Last year, I brought cupcakes to the department party. I blame my recent interaction with the sidewalk on not being able to remember what kind they were. I just know it took an embarrassing amount of time for these treats to be consumed, too. My supervisor's son was seen sneaking a few off into his room. Apparently, that's the kind of dessert I make, the one that deserves to be hidden away and eaten in private.

Rosie B's Halloween party gave me hope. I made a variation of Lady J's caramel apple cider cookies for this occasion and they were a hit. The first time I took my "Is-anyone-eating-what-I-made?" walk, a considerable amount of these gems were gone. Sure, they were pretty-pretty good; however, I think the success rate might have had something to do with my being dressed as a maid. No one likes to insult the help.

This year, I'm going to do things differently. The host of this year's department party, Shauna B, isn't aware of it yet, but I am going to walk my cookies on a tray around her home like someone who works for a catering company until said confections are completely devoured. Sure, I may get some used napkins to throw away, or requests to refill a beverage, but I'll be happy in my heart of sketchy-cranberry-pistachio-pudding-cookie-loving hearts that this dessert was enjoyed. If this strategy doesn't work, I will summon my fifth grade basketball skills and set a pic on the guests who attempt to eat any other dessert. Don't make me roll. I'll do it.


*Yes, readers, I'm aware I'm a member of a dying breed who still works at a desktop computer. Just call me Getwiththetimes-o-saurus.

Have a lovely, sketchy-ingredient-filled weekend,
-L

P.S.
This has been a week of wonderful running. Steph therabbit B and I will attempt to run another Super 8 tomorrow afternoon, before the party. Thank you to Mama Stud, Dr. Martinez, Steph B, and Shauna B for being truly awesome, positive, and wonderful workout friends, all week. <3

Things I Love Thursday

Below is a list of things I love from my job, my closet, my fridge, and my Thursday, December 8th.

Disclaimer: Since I am blogging from bed, I must channel my baseball-story telling substitute, Mrs. Strazza, and ask you to "use the television set in your brain" because this post contains no pictures.

Beginning my day with extra big hair (c/o the ol' go-to-sleep-with-your-hair-wet trick) and a multigrain bagel (c/o Dunkin Donuts).

Listening to one of my verbose volleyball players describe my substitute, "She had long hair. She wasn't young, but she was older than you. She ran out of passes. So I had to ask a hall monitor for passes. The hall monitor thought I was going to steal them. I wouldn't do that, I take honors classes. Don't be out anymore."

Learning that one of my favorite former students kicked serious tail on his report card. His mom hung it on their fridge. (Tail kicking report card c/o Tricia Gail.)

Receiving ridiculous compliments from my students after I told them about my meet and greet with the sidewalk on Sunday: "Don't you worry, you've still got it!" or "You can't even see it with your really long bangs!"

Running to break up a fight with Moira K and discovering Tricia Gail right smack in the middle of it; taking care of business. Later I learned she tried to avoid it, but, in her words, "got sucked in kind of like a parade going by." Scrapper.

Learning and using new word mash-ups like: Breakfast for dinner=Brinner. Angry because I'm hungry=Hangry. Shauna came up with a great one that means: You're tiny and cute, but your brain functioning is similar to that of an hor douerve's. Ask her about it.

Running 8 miles with Steph B for the first time ever. I know, we're kind of a big deal. She puts the B in BEAST.

A sundried tomato, spinach, and pecorino romano omelette that was responsible for using up the eggs in my fridge before they went bad. Food guilt: avoided.

Having a WWMW (What Would Matt Wear) moment of panic. Fear not, it was resolved with nautical stripes and a Pendleton scarf.

A tail-kicking parking spot in Princeton.

Sweatpants Trousers: When you come in from a Thursdate with yourself at Panera, you're only one outfit-component change away from pajamas.

Looking forward to re-celebrating the nuptials of B&K on Saturday with some true lovelies.

Was your Thursday lovable? Tell me about it,
L

Click. Clack. Bleed.

 

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
-Ernest Hemmingway

Tolkien's was a beast. Hemmingway referred to his as an automatic weapon.  Woody Allen may or may not have gotten his tongue caught in his. Cormac McCarthy resold his for $254,000. Steinbeck's was second fiddle to a seashell ashtray and a pencil. Enjoy Benjamin Law's Typewriters and the Men Who Love Them.

6th and Willow Smith: The Weekend in Matt-iple Snaps

On Saturday, Matt had a holiday party.

On Sunday, Tricia Gail had a Crafternoon.

On Sunday night, I fell on my face.

 

For better or for dirty sock camera cases, Dan's in. <3

Matt's box.

"Why, yes, I did steal my shirt from a Vegas showgirl."

Laura upstaging Kevin, again.

The first of many Willow Smith hair-whip shots.

Shield your eyes, kids.

Matt is immure to the hair-whip.

Wait, no he isn't.

Pre-sunglasses maul.

The Girl with the Plunging Neckline who stole Christmas.

It will be mine.

Hi, I'm Maya. I'm beautiful.

Hopefully you've formed a steadfast friendship with Shauna, Stacy, Tricia Gail, Steph B, and me before the holidays. If you didn't you won't get any of this bark. If you did, you might.

Happy Holidays! -Tricia Gail's light fixture.

I'm dumb. Don't run at night. Plainsboro, fix your sidewalks.

 Party in Hoboken with friends and Crafternoon with the Ladies SB make for a pretty great weekend. A trip to the ER Sunday night wasn't exactly how I planned to cap it all off. I owe some folks a sincere thank you:

Betty & The GOAT: Having a clumsy and foolish kid is certainly an 18+ year commitment and these two understand that more than any other parents I've met. Yes Betty, I know you told me so. <3
Ant: Thanks for still thinking I'm cute even though I look like I lost a fight with Joe Frazier.
Steph B: Your prayers, copies, and checking in on me texts are immensely appreciated. Yes, we are still running on Thursday, just not at night.

Big thank-yous to all my wonderfuls<3,
L