my day

Current mood: bouncy

My day consisted of a margarita, 40 pennies, goat cheese and a bug man.

Margarita Day!

At 3:00 today, the Vice President of HR took the Events team to Bahama Breeze for margaritas and to celebrate two successful events of substantial size that happened last week (the Bob's Your Man Rally and Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day). The weeks leading up to these two events entailed long hours... so today we celebrated. Me (Event Production), Shawna (Communications), Tommy (Graphics), Aaron (Entertainment), Jack (Video Production), and John (well... John).

Toll Plaza Woes!

Following a Bahamarita (which turned out to be fabulous!), I went to Best Buy to get a Mother's Day gift that's going to take some time to put together (not saying what it is in case there are any big mouths on here)... but yeah, don't forget Mother's Day is May 11.

Out of habit upon leaving Best Buy, I hopped onto the Osceola Parkway to take the fastest route home to BeauDog. About a mile out from the toll plaza (after seeing the sign), I realized I had no cash - just an ash tray full of change. I managed to pull together $1.50 from that change, but this is how it was handed to the plaza attendant:

1 Quarter, 5 dimes, 6 nickels, and 40 pennies.

Yep. 40 pennies.

Guess that was my cue to buy a SunPass.

At least the attendant didn't take the time to count. She just shook her head, took my word for it and flipped the signal light to green.

Hugo's at Home a Success!

In Cali - Studio City at the corner of Riverside and Coldwater Canyon to be exact - there is a restaurant called Hugo's that I went to a few times. Great food. Cool vibe. It was ordinary to see directors and actors reading through scripts while waiting on lunch, agents and clients looking over headshots while sipping hot tea, and plenty of hot, young wanna-BEs who in all likelyhood will in fact oneday be the BEs.

So anyway, there was a dish I always had. Lately, I've really had a craving for this dish. I looked up Hugo's menu online in hopes of remembering the ingredients so that I could make it here at home. Sadly, I learned that Hugo's no longer serves the delight.

Long story short, I did a little experimenting in the kitchen in hopes of recreating the dish.

White potatoes, Sweet potatoes, Pearl onions, Goat cheese... Success! I must say - I am pretty dang good in the kitchen. Go me! As a matter of fact, I think my version of the tasty side dish might even be better than the original from Hugo's! I do not kid.

I'm armed and ready for our next potluck at work!

Running From the Bug Man

As the day drew to a close, I took Beau out for his last walk of the night and gave him a chance to play a little football. About 25 minutes into our fun, I heard it. That buzz. That awful buzz that means only one thing - the bug man was coming!

It's kinda like hearing the cute little melody that means the ice cream man is coming. You remember that? You hear the tune and start running like a mad woman to get a dollar so you can buy a Orangescicle or one of those 3-toned tubes with the frozen bubble gum ball at the bottom. You know what I mean.

Except with the bug man... It's not a cute tune - it's an ear-aching buzz (that comes from the back of the truck where the poison is released). And with the bug man... You don't run like a mad woman to get a dollar - you run like a mad woman to get fresh air. I have no desire to grow a third eyeball or a mustache.

Yeah, so Beau and I were out playing ball when I heard it. Though the echo of the buildings made it a little difficult to pin-point the location of the bug man, I soon knew his exact location when he turned onto the street across from me.

I grabbed Beau's leash, retrieved the bag of poo that sat on the grass a yard away and gave Beau a verbal, "Let's go, Dog!" and haul-tailed it across the grass heading for the sidewalk in a desperate attempt to cut off the bug man and make it back to my building before he did.

For nearly 45 minutes (maybe it was only 45 seconds), Beau and I ran like the wind... jumping curbs, dodging mailboxes, dipping into the street to avoid stray sprinklers and keeping our eyes on the target - the door to my living room (where we could breathe carefree). All the while, the buzz stayed right on our heels not letting up an inch. But I refused to look back. I had a goal - a target - the door.

Just as I reached the door and turned... the bug man reached up. Upon reaching us, he switched off his sprayer and waved.

The little sucker. I dare not consider the enjoyment he must have gotten from watching us run... me with long lanky legs and Beau with short stubby legs, carrying a football and a bag of poo.

Mean ole bug man.

Flattery, conversation, drinking... hmmmm

Current mood: cultured

Ever get a song stuck in your head and it's there all day? Oh glorious me... the song that's stuck in my head - "It's a Small World." Yay. And mind you, it's only 10:30 in the morning, so I have yet another 12 hours of, "it's a world of laughter, a world of tears... it's a world of hopes and a world of fears..." Again - yay.

My dining experience over the weekend:

I've been to Raglan Road in Downtown Disney before, but this particular experience was like no others... and therefore, it warrants a write-up as a new experience.

First, the place was packed and so we stalked a few people at the bar before finally finding a couple of stools together. Then, our friendly neighbors to the left said to me, "We think people don't talk enough and we just wanted to tell you that we think you're beautiful." Very nice, huh? Well, wait for it.

I ordered a margarita. I know - it's an Irish pub - have a beer, right? Show me one I like and next time I will. But at the moment, I had Mexico on the brain.

Next came an appetizer called Dalkey Duo. Odd name. Fab taste. Battered sausages presented on forks that stood via slots on a wooden plate with a great mustard dipping sauce. Greasy little artery-cloggers... amazing.

As my friend Rob (hope you don't mind I name you this time... it's just easier than typing 'my friend' a million times in the write-up) and I were talking, our friendly neighbors to the left (specifically the woman - blonde, blue eyes, not all-together unattractive) jumped into the conversation on occasion. At times, I had a hard enough time hearing what Rob was saying, and yet she heard him quite well - often interrupting conversation to ask a question or throw out a point of her own.

Okay.

For dinner, I ordered what I thought was an Irish Burger... turned out I mistook the word Banger for Burger. I swear, I'd not even finished one margarita when that mistake occurred. So, what came to me after the appetizer was nothing of what I was expecting... and it wasn't that great.

The band started to play and the Irish table-dancer came out every few minutes to perform. I always think this is cool. Apparently, our friendly neighbors to the left also thought it was cool and felt compelled to conversate about the potential to fall off the table, or high-kick one of the people sitting around the table, etc. I laughed with them... still thinking they were just overly friendly folks.

But in particular, the way the woman kept listening to Rob and speaking to him, I began to think perhaps she was into him. With her not knowing our relationship, I thought it took great nerve to more-or-less engage him the way she did with me sitting right there between them. I did notice the silver bands on their hands and so dismissed it.

At one point in the evening, I excused myself to find the Ladies Room. I later found out that while I was away, she asked Rob about our relationship. Wow. Perfect strangers who just happen to be sitting next to each other at a bar... trying to get rather personal. Okay, yeah, so they're still just friendly, right?

And, by the way, I was a little disheartened to learn we were defined as neighbors. I'm also neighbors with a blonde fellow named Swen, but I wouldn't let him sit on my dog.

So, evening goes on. Plates are taken away. Glasses are taken away. Check is about to be paid. And our friendly neighbors now ask us if they can buy us a drink. Interesting. Outside of men with an obvious intent, I've never had someone randomly ask to buy me a drink. Especially not a lady. It was... strange. At that point, I had to reevaluate their friendliness.

Flattery, conversation, drinking... hmmmm

After saying our limit had been reached, we declined. Moments later, the lady left the bar to find the Ladies Room and my friend and I left. Oh, excuse me... I mean, my neighbor and I left. (just pickin' - don't take offense)

So... what was the deal with the couple in the bar? Rob's thought (and I think I tend to agree)... swingers.

That was a first. So, while the restaurant was not new... the encounter certainly was and I felt warranted a review. There ya go.

"...there's so much that we share that it's time we're aware, it's a small world afterall... it's a small world afterall..."

Dang it!

laughing my head off

Current mood: cooky/wacky

These are two of the funniest things! The rest that I've found from this group is pretty stupid - but these two crack me up!!!

In the first one, he gets tickled towards the end and has to end the call. But the second one takes the cake!

Don't think less of me for thinking these are hilarious - but I was rolling on the floor this morning!

--- tried to embed, didn't work ---

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qq43kGbt444

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SgJ_zxYYTeA&feature=related

Wings

Current mood: inspired

For about two weeks, there has been a dragonfly hanging around outside my front door.

Initially, I discovered the dragonfly standing on it's head a few yards from my door. I assumed the fellow was dead or dying. Apparently not. A few days later, it made it's way to my door and has not left.

Each morning and evening, I look for the dragonfly to see where it waits. Waits for what? I don't know.

Sometimes, the dragonfly is perched on the ceiling (can something be perched on the ceiling?), sometimes it is on the bench outside my door, and most recently the dragonfly was on the mat. I nearly stepped on him.

At first, I dismissed the dragonfly. But after two weeks of seeing him... well, I'm this close (*forefinger and thumb a quarter-inch apart) to naming the winged critter. But I figure as soon as I do, he will either disappear or I'll find him flattened with the Nike swoosh across his back. (a bit reminiscent of Petal - some of you will recall Petal and Flower.)

Out of curiosity, I did a little research about what it might mean to have a dragonfly stalking you.
Dragonfly - good fortune, magic, vision, dreams, luck, ancient knowledge, illusion
Dragonfly - symbolic for change and being okay with it.

Dragonfly - The image of the dragonfly sparks the creative power of the imagination.
Dragonfly - In Native American tribes the dragonfly symbolizes whirlwind and swiftness. They also believed dragonflies to be souls of those who have passed.

Dragonfly - In England dragonflies were considered dangerous and evil.

Dragonfly - The dragonfly was the official symbol of a Japanese warrior clan approximately sixteen hundred years ago and was later adopted by the Emperor of all Japan as his official emblem.

I think I'll name him Wings.

who u callin a shrimp?

Current mood: shocked

As I started last week - I'll continue this week. New restaurant experience on which to report.
Mitsukoshi Tokyo Dining in the Japan pavilion at Epcot.

Tried Sake for the first time ever. I tried a sampler featuring three different types. The first tasted like rubbing alcohol with a hint of fruitiness. The second tasted like rubbing alcohol with a hint of fruitiness. And the third tasted like 100% grade-A moonshine.

Aside from being fairly certain that I'm not a big fan of Sake, I can at least make this guarantee - Sake is some sort of Japanese laughing potion. At one moment (only half way through the second tasting), I found myself giggling with no explanation. No clue why. Just laughing. And when my friend asked why I was laughing, my answer was honest - "I have no idea."
Now for the big shocker. Everybody who knows me will be blown away by this revelation. Hold on to your rocker.

i ate shrimp.

Yeah, I know! Can you believe it!?!?!?

So how did this come about?

Earlier in the day, I had lunch at Sora at Gaylord Palms and, out of sheer curiosity alone, I tasted the unidentified white, puffy chips that were on my plate. A rather strange experience. The puffs had small air pockets that when placed on your tongue latched on like a squid and sort of pulled moisture before dissolving. I'm not really sure how else to describe this unusual sensation. It reminded me a bit of pop rocks candy.

When Rich, the assistant manager of Sora, came to the table he identified the curious white puffs as being made from shrimp.

As you might imagine, my stomach did a small flop, my lips sort of curled in minor disgust, I held back a gag-reflex and then... well, then... the most horrific of all my reactions occurred...I reached for another.

Blow me down!

So, at dinner in Japan...

i ate shrimp.

Well, perhaps a more genuine description would be to say that I sampled shrimp from my friend's plate.

First I smelled it.

Mistake.

Then I spent a few seconds clearing my mind of the smell and psyching myself up to actually putting it in my mouth.

Even now, my nose wrinkles at the thought of putting a shrimp in my mouth.

But I did it. And I can honestly say that it was, "not bad." I'm not about to run out and learn to make it or seek out obscure seafood restaurants with freshly caught shrimp. I don't even know if shrimp can be freshly caught. Shows what I know about seafood.

But I do at least know this... if I were stranded on a beautiful desert island with the Swiss Family Robinsons, I would have a piano to play, I would surely win the ostrich races every time, and I would not starve to death because I could eat shrimp.

i ate shrimp.
i ate shrimp.
i ate shrimp.

But if you throw it in my face, I will deny it!

a conspiracy

Am I the only bleeding heart that runs for the Kleenex everytime the ASPCA commercial plays starring Sarah McLachlan and several sad-faced, abused pets?

It kills me. It absolutely kills me.

Those innocent faces and longing eyes of animals who deserve so much more than their current circumstances... I can't help myself.

And then when Beau gives me the frown and lowered chin because I've told him it's time to end the game of football we're playing, I just want to tell him, "There are dogs somehwere in the world who never ever get to play." I liken it to when your mom said, "Eat all your peas. There are starving children somewhere in the world who never ever get peas."

But seriously, this commercial and those faces... geez, I'm a sap I guess. You know what else gets me? Those dang ole stupid Hallmark commercials where the soldier surprises the family by coming home, or where the family surprises the broke college kid by showing up at his place for Christmas. You know the ones?

It ought to be against the law! I think they've cut a deal with Kleenex. It's a conspiracy.

Return to Paradise

Current mood: drained

Tonight, I stumbled upon a movie, quickly became hooked and wound up sitting on the floor in front of my TV completely glued and unable to move (with the exception of absently petting the brown dog that occasionally laid a football or a soft chin in my lap).

Return to Paradise - a film from 1998 starring Anne Heche, Joaquin Phoenix and Vince Vaughn.
I missed the first of the movie, but it didn't take too long to gather what was happening.

Several scenes served to once again prove the genius that is Joaquin Phoenix. One scene in particular served to leave me completely spent. Watching Joaquin, I couldn't help but feel what he must have felt as he made a last ditch effort to do what we all do - to cling to life, to try to live, to want for nothing more than another day to breathe. And the fashion in which he did it, amongst strangers and completely alone... it was... well, if you haven't seen the film, do so.
Another scene with Anne Heche was just as moving. Won't say too much in case you haven't seen it.

By the end of the movie, my heart felt heavy. Is that possible? I don't mean that to be poetic... I mean it literally. My heart, my limbs... I felt heavy. I was utterly drained. The movie drew me in and left me utterly drained.

As the credits rolled, my mind's eye wrote the rest of the story. It was one of those films lacking resolution. So, as a result, I felt no closure to the emotions that stood on end... I was left just as stunned and with just as many questions. I suppose to get up and move on, I had no choice but to write the ending for myself. So, in my head, I have the ending. And, kick me if you must, but my endings are generally happy (or at least happier). Wanna know how it ended for me? Rent it, watch it, ask me.

Even right now, some half hour later, I am struggled to free my mind of thoughts and scenes and lines. Kinda of a rough movie in that regard - one that stays with you. If it weren't 30 below outside tonight, I would take Beau out for a romp - it always makes me smile to watch him walk along.

maduros on my mind

Current mood: hungry

Irish, Moroccan, French, Cuban, Polynesian.

With a friend, I accidentally began a quest to eat my way around the many restaurants in Orlando... and ultimately around the world (while remaining in a 30-mile radius).
Fast food from Japan, hummus amongst the arts (including a punked-out belly dancer). Even sushi. Yep, I tried it. And there is one thing I can say for certain about eating sushi - do NOT smell it.

And in the name of blog content, I'm going to start critiquing or reviewing each of the new places I try. Keeping in mind that I am certainly not a food critic, my tales will be based on personal taste and experiences in the eatery.

For my first report - Bongo's at Downtown Disney.

I had Bistec Empanizado, a lightly breaded Cuban style steak served with moro rice and sweet plantains.

The steak left a lot to be desired. Tough and chewy, tasteless.

The atmosphere of the restaurant was interesting. We sat by a double glass door leading to an outside dining patio. I found particular humor in witnessing the same server repeatedly push the locked door on trips in and out while cursing at himself for making the mistake again. Towards the end of our meal, a Latin band began performing in the dining room. Kinda fun... and fitting.

I've rushed through the details to get to the highlight of the evening...

The real story here... the sweet plantains. Four arrived, evenly spaced on my plate at 3:00, 6:00, 9:00 and 12:00. With very little curiosity, I tasted the rather unattractive brownish blob.
Holy freaking cow. My taste buds did a little dance. The plain-looking blob turned out to be a tender, sweet delight. The focus of my entire evening turned immediately to the fact that, sadly, there were only a pathetic four of these little blobs on my plate.

For the briefest of moments, I wondered what my friend might think if I reached over and stole the matching blobs from his plate.

Wowweee. I LOVE these things! Fully addicted.

I went home dreaming of sweet plantains. I woke up fantacizing about the next time I can get back over to Bongo's for more sweet plantains. Knowing it might be sometime, I searched online for a recipe. Hours later, I stood in the produce section of Publix ignorantly squeezing and smelling plantains in a vain attempt to choose the perfect ones. My first attempt at preparing the sweet dish? I'm still working on perfecting it, so I'd rather not mention the results of the first few attempts.

I can tell you this - I WILL be back at Bongo's. Perhaps just for a lemonade and an order of maduros... or two or three.

rusted toes and a pink nose make for a great time of year

Current mood: breezy

Ahhh Spring...gotta love it.

The hood of my truck is perpetually yellow with pollen. The no-see-ums get me on every walk I take with Beau. My toes and the tops of my feet looked like they're rusted (tan from a bottle gone awry).

And yet, Ahhh Spring... gotta love it.

The heavy coats are finally put away and the sun dresses are mighty tempting. Flip-flops are a staple. My nose is a pleasant shade of pink because it's sun kissed, not frost bitten.

Ahhh Spring... i DO love it.

take time to stop and smell the ro, no the jasmine

Current mood: geeky

On Saturday evening, I hosted a Taste of Georgia party at my new place... and as one might imagine, there was a lot of fried food.

Now, if you know me, then you know I generally cook fairly healthy and I never fry (except for the rare ocassion like Saturday). First off, I understand the negative health aspects of fried foods. Second, I’m afraid of being popped by the grease and of starting a grease fire.

And now, even 3 days later because of all that cooking, my place smells of fried food. It seems that smell is a toughie to get rid of. My great grandma’s house forever smelled of fried food. Now, as much as I appreciate the cooking that lady did, I really don’t want to walk through my front door and immediately invision my great grandma on the couch shelling peas picked fresh from the field and my great grandpa in the recliner shouting numbers at the TV where The Price Is Right played daily.

And as long as we’re talking about smells... I just have to mention another. Right now, there is an amazing row of Jasmine blooming down the sidewalk where I walk Beau everyday. I have always loved the smell of Jasmine... such a sweet smell. Not musky like a rose, not perfumey like many other flowers. That Jasmine is... heavenly sweet. I LOVE it! I’d imagine it’s killing my allergies, but who the heck cares?

You know what? I just got a great idea! Perhaps I’ll sneak out that way about 10:30 or 11:00 when very few people are out and about... I’ll take a pair of scissors. Got me? I figure a few glass bowls with Jasmine floating in them strategically placed in each room will take care of that smell of fried food.

Yeah - plan stan!

admit

Current mood: honest

We were talking about things you’ll admit to yourself and not to others. Some said they had no thing too big to admit. So, I got to thinking about the quirkies to which I’ll admit. I compiled a small list. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll add an amendment of the things to which I will never admit.
I will admit to the following:

I squeeze from the center of the toothpaste tube.

I failed my written learner’s permit exam the first time I took it.

I’m terrified of the dark.

I am brand loyal to tp and kleenex.

Well into my teen years, I watched DuckTales... everyday at 4:00... and enjoyed it.

When no ones is watching, I dance with my dog.

Today, I ordered crème brule for lunch from room service.

Sometimes, when I hear music and my fingers feel it, I play my leg with my fingers as if it were a row of keys.

As much as I’d like to say I walk the dog, the truth is the dog walks me.

I tell people I hate reality shows, but until this year, I was thoroughly addicted to American Idol.
At times I bite off more than I can chew.

I watch The Disney Channel... and Hannah Montanna.

I can’t say with 100% certainty that I dislike the taste of fish since I’ve never even tried most. (Though I still refuse to eat it based solely on the smell.)

There was a time in my life when I was convinced I was going to marry Joey McIntyre.
I actually like broccoli.

I’m 32... entirely too old to crush... and yet it still happens and is now (insert school-girl giggle here).

If an outlet sparks at me, I’ll never use it again.

Most nights, I fall asleep with the TV on, a crossword laid across my chest and a brown dog curled against my side.

trade industry secrets - ha!

Current mood: argumentative

While I working at an event at Epcot last night, a videographer and photographer working for Disney Marketing were capturing set-up, catering and party moments for use in advertising.

The photographer asked if he could take my photo. I said sure. He offered to send me a copy if I’d give him my email address.

Now, when I was modeling in LA, this sort of thing was simply unheard of. It was very rare, if ever, that a photo subject would get a copy of a photo prior to ripping it from a magazine. Only if the negotiations allowed did the photographer provide a photo, and even then it was post production and only the photo used for the project.

So, for this professional photographer to offer up a photo blew my mind.

True to his word, he emailed me three photos this morning. Along with the photos, he typed a brief message that simply said, "I can tell you’ve posed before. You’re lovely. Tim"

Generally, I don’t tell strangers that I modeled because I feel like it 1) could sound gloaty and 2) could be interpreted as risque (though I never did that sort of work). But considering this fellow was a professional photographer, I felt compelled to confirm his suspicions.

I wrote back thanking him for the photos and the compliments and said I’d left LA just over a year ago after working as a print model.

Done, right? No.

The sucker had the nerve to write back again and ask me to get together to trade industry secrets.

"Get together to trade industry secrets." Did he just ask me out? What?

And if he did in fact sorta ask me out by suggesting we get together to trade industry secrets, why would he assume I’m not with someone? Is it written across my forehead? "Poor, pathetic lonely chick desperate for photographer with whom she can trade industry secrets."

I don’t know. Maybe I’m assuming he’s assuming I’m idiot. But for whatever reason, I really took offense to this.

What ARE these industry secrets anyway? My secrets? I don’t have many. And I don’t really consider them secrets. But here you go: 1) Angle your body so that your hips are the furthest thing away from the camera so they appear smaller. 2) If you have an early calltime, fill the bathroom sink with cold water, drop in a few ice cubes and dip your face in for 3 seconds at a time for 5-6 times in a row. As much as this hurts like h-e-double-hockey-sticks, it eliviates the look of tiredness in your face. 3) Don’t be yourself in front of the camera - your pics will look like the ones you take with your friends. Be someone else. Act. Take on a persona for the shoot.
You’re playing a role anyway... don’t be afraid to ask the art director what he/she is envisioning and then give them what they’re hoping to see.

That’s all. That’s all I got.

So will I meet with Tim to trade industry secrets?