What tampons? [TUTORIAL & PRIZE]

I think I might have some bathroom issues. Like issues with how the bathroom looks, not how things go down in there.

Don't be nasty.

Like, I used to be irked by the grodiness of the naked trash cans, so I made some nice upcycled Tshirt liners for them, and that helped me deal with that particular bathroom issue: grody trash cans.

But then there's still the issue of the HELLO! I'M A BOX OF TAMPONS RIGHT HERE!, which is almost as annoying. Not that it's grody to see a box of tampons in a bathroom, but it just seems, well, so OBVIOUS HELLO and plus, whose bathroom decor matches teal blue and yellow?

Yeah, not mine.

(And don't just go matching your bathroom to your tampons, that's bizarre.)

So, because I like to create things to make pretty other things in situations where prettying is probably not necessary, I set out to make a not-obvious tampon storage device to un-ugly the teal and yellow box lurking near the trash can in my bathroom.

Because I guess I just couldn't go on another day with that box hanging out there behind the trash can just being all teal and yellow and HELLO! TAMPONS! in my black, white and beige bathroom (aren't I the lively decorator) and just had to find a way to conceal it so I could take My Crazy to a different room in the house.

Again, scary look inside my head. Apologies.

But, if you share this particular nugget of Crazy and would like to soothe it with a quick project that you can probably source from thisnthats around your house, try it out. Really, this thing took no time and barely any fabric, math or patience.

Perfect.

Covert Bathroom Storage
(I get it. Not everyone is YAY! for tampons.)
Print this thing

Materials:


1 8.25" x 23" piece of cotton fabric
1 wire hanger (I recycled a white dry cleaner hanger)
1 30" package white or coordinating 1" Velcro (you won't use the whole package)
Coordinating thread
Scissors
Pins
Wire cutter
Fabric marker

To make

Make the box:
Fold your fabric in half, wrong sides together, matching short edges. Sew the long sides, creating a pocket. Place a small dot 2" up from the bottom on both long sides of the pocket.


Fold pocket in half vertically, so that seams run up the middle of the pocket and bottom corners point down into triangles. (You create the triangles by pushing up at the middle of the bottom of the pocket and folding the corners down.)

Pin through all layers to keep this in place.

Sew a straight line across the corner, lining up your stitching with the mark you made in the previous step.

DON'T SEW BOTH FOLDED DOWN CORNERS TOGETHER.

Fold one corner flap up and sew the first line, then flip pocket over and, holding up the now-sewn corner, sew the other corner, lining up your stitching with the market you made in the previous step.


Turn your pocket right side out. Those folded corners now fold down inside the pocket to form a box.

Fold over about 1/2" at the top of the box and sew to create the top hem.


Make a small cut in the center of one of the long sides of your hemmed box top and zigzag stitch around the cut to keep it from fraying later.



Attach the Velcro
Separate your Velcro and line the short end of one of the Velcro sides up with the cut you made in the top hem.

Keeping the Velcro lined up with the top edge of the box, sew Velcro along the top edge of the box completely.

With the corresponding strip of Velcro, add about 1/4" space below bottom edge of top Velcro and sew this strip below the top strip of Velcro so that when the top of the box is folded over, the Velcro will match up.

Fit the hanger
Using your wire cutters, cut the bottom rung of the hanger off by making two cuts before the wire begins turning toward the bottom rung.

Straighten out the wire completely, leaving the hook intact.



Lay hanger on box and line hook neck up with the notch in the hem.

Begin bending the straight part of the hanger so that it will turn the corner at the edges of the box when the hook neck is centered over the notch.


Then, using the box as a guide, bend the arms again, forming a rectangle.



Place one hand over the rectangular portion of the hanger and, with your other hand, bend the hook upward, toward the rectangular portion of the hanger.

My hands look all manish here. I don't know why. They're very shrimpy in real life.

Holding the rectangular portion and neck still, twist the hook so that it points away from the rectangular part of the hanger.


Fit the bag
Hold the hanger with the neck at the notch in the bag and fold the top of the bag over to stick to the corresponding Velcro on the main portion of the bag.


Rework the bends in the hanger if necessary and add your accessories.


Then hang it on the trash can (underneath the liner, obviously) next to the toi and admire your great covertness.


You're like 007 of the bathroom!

And now we can pretend like it's not all HELLO! TAMPONS! back there. Or whatever you hide behind your trash can.

Oh, about that prize...See, I already made one of these deals a while ago, but my camera died half way through the tutorial making process, so I never posted it, and then had to make it again (this time) so that I could post a tutorial.

So, now I have two of these covert wonders and only one bathroom (sad). So - if there's anyone out there who'd like one of these things, but doesn't have the desire to craft one, you're welcome to it. Just leave a comment like, "I want your tampon box!" or whatever, and I'll pick one person with the random name generator thingee to receive it.

Sound good? And don't worry, the one you see in the photo is actually the one I made the first time, so the one featured in this tutorial has never actually seen any bathroom time. In fact, that's a new box of tampons in the picture, so those hadn't even gone into the bathroom at the time of the photo. What I'm saying is this storage box doesn't have any toi cooties or anything, so don't be afraid or start anti-bacterializing yourself. It's safe.

OK, that's enough about my bathroom for now.

And also please notice the "Print this thing" link at the beginning of this tutorial and on some of my other tutorials and also along the sidebar there. Yeah, right there.

This is so you don't have to, like, set laptop near your sewing machine or, lord help us all, print out my entire mind-numbing wordy blog post just so you can make a bag for your tampons.

I mean, really now. That's something a crazy person might do.

No more guessing required.

I like you fearless people that guess without fear of me mocking your guesses. You're very brave since you know what a snarky bitch I am.

Brave or not, though, no one guessed right. Sorry, Charlies.

'Member that other thing I planted when the arugula went in? That thing that was supposed to restock the nitrogen in the soil and also make vegetables that I could turn into nuclear green hummus?

My roots are magic.

Yes, it's fava beans. They're blooming! Although not at the rate of my neighbor's plants, which pisses me off since her plants are about 20 feet from mine (with the fence between them), but I can't get too wrapped up in that since some magic is always going down over there anyway and I just don't have access to her magic wand all the time, so boo.

But the plants are blooming and I'm now waiting impatiently for them to start sprouting pods so that I can get to eating the tender little nuggets inside as though I've loved them all my life, even though I only met them last year.

I'll be awesome. You just watch.

We won't tell them that I threw out/composted two bags worth before I figured out how to eat them, OK? Forgive me. I was not wise in the ways of fava back then and I have some shame about it.

OH WELL. New day and all...

So, the favas are blooming and hopefully making future pods so that I can make future hummus and then rip the plants from the ground to make room for one of the beds of tomatoes.

Because you know I'm going to have TWO beds of tomatoes this year. That's FOUR plants. That's DOUBLE the amount of tomatoes I've ever had in a season. Big times, again, big times.

Also, the daffodils are doing a good job trying to pretend it's spring in February and I think you should see this.

We're wicked cute.

And now I don't have any guessing games left to play. But, you do have a few more days to vote on Adopt a Crop 2009 before I crush 3/4 of you with the winner. And right now the Lemon Cucumbers are winning because you're crazy and want me to make pickles again as though you didn't get enough last year.

Hey, fine by me, I actually might know how to make pickle chips at this point and HEY! thanks to my sister I realized that I do have a chopping mechanism in my possession that can make the pickles into chips. WEE! For a while there, I thought I'd have to cut them by hand or else risk losing that hand by using my POS mandoline THAT I HATE no matter what Cook's Illustrated says, to get the pickles into chip form.

Thankfully my sister knows the inventory of my kitchen and also that my food processor came with a device that will make chips from cucumbers. She's a smartie, that girl with her double masters.

SO - go vote on your crop of choice and I'll come back soon with the final tally so we can get to planting. Last frost date around here is Sunday. WOO!

Fuck you, frost. You're SO five minutes ago.

Running Update: Totally *that guy*

When I started with this running stuff I kinda didn't think I'd take it too far. Mostly because I always hated running and said that I'd never be a runner and other things that now make me look like a jackass.

But then I started running regularly and started signing up for and running races and, well, now I'm in too deep to pretend I'm not a runner - even though I'm slow and am more concerned about men in American flag shorts than I am about my own well-being.

You'll be glad to know, however, that I've made more progress in the I'm a Total Jackass department, and so I thought I'd share that with you now. You know, to kick of Running in 2009, which is officially happening now that I signed up for my first race of the year and have a list going of other races that will go down in '09.

See, when it became clear that I was going to be, at least, running one race and needed to be out and about training for it, I started making promises to myself to keep from becoming one of *those guys* that were out running when I was out running and making me feel like some kind of loser for not being as extreme as them.

I just had it in my head that there are some things about these Extreme Wraparound Sunglasses Runners that I just never ever wanted to be a party to because it'd make me feel like a sell-out or a poser or some other unsavory reincarnation of my previous Real self who'd be ashamed of the big faker I'd become. Or something. It's hard to tell what's really going on in my head.

Anyway, two of those things to which I never wanted to be a party were fluttery running shorts and tights.

And let me just give you a minute to guess WHO of all jackasses has both of those things now and also now understands why runners wear them and can totally justify owning and wearing them even though she feels like a total douche bag for becoming *that guy* who owns (but rarely wears) fluttery running shorts in the summer and tights (TIGHTS! Idiot!) in the winter.

Go on...guess...

Yeah, sorry people, it's me.

See, one of the first times I was out doing more than the entry level three mile run, I came face to face (because this man was running against traffic in the bike lane, hello) with a very Extreme Wraparound Sunglasses Runner Man who, I felt, was taking his shit a little too seriously.

He had on one of those breathy hats with the side vents and, of course, the obligatory wraparound sunglasses and those fluttery shorts that leave very little to the imagination and he was COOKIN'. Like, running with all his might down my neighborhood street as though his fruity fluttery shorts were on fire. Which is fine, except that he didn't even smile or recognize that I was there like other people had and that pissed me off.

Who was he? In his fruity Extreme I'm too good for you with your running capris to even nod in your general direction as I fly by traveling just below Mach 10. Who, I ask?

Well, regardless of who he actually was, he became, in my mind, *that guy* who I don't want to become because he's obviously a jerk-off and the shorts must be the root of all his evil because look how silly they are.

And then I finished my first race and went on to sign up for my first half marathon which had me training in the hot sweaty months of summer and HELLO shorts are a good idea when it's supah hot out and HEY GUESS WHAT those fruity extreme fluttery shorts are really nice because your legs and parts can breathe and not be confined to the pukey hot stretchiness of running capris.

Oh.

So, there, I became *that guy* who has fluttery running shorts that just show off the whole leg and most of your ass when you hit your stride and that's that. Except that I caught a glance at my ass cheek in a store window at one point and immediately went home and bought a pair of these
(I now have 3 pairs) and haven't gone back in the drawer for the fluttery shorts because, well, I don't need to see my ass in a window. Yew.

The other thing that, I felt, was going to always set me apart from *those guys* was the whole tights issue. Because who in the whole wide world is so extreme with their running that they need to put on tights, of all things, and then go run around in public for all of the neighborhood to see?

I think this issue got hammered home with me when some beotch in tights flew past me during my first Turkey Trot and I had to bear witness to her speed and the fact that I could see her supah buff calf muscle flexing even beneath the barfy tights. GAH! So annoying.

And, at the same time, SO different than my running capris because, well, they were tight to the ankle rather than split and flared at the calf and that fact in itself made them the douchiest things ever. Like wearing a unitard or one of those puffy Jane Fonda headbands. You know what I mean.

I swore I'd never wear tights.

And then, it became winter in NorCal and I went running at 6am in shorts on one of our sub-40 degree mornings and suddenly understood why tight to the ankle tights might be a fun idea. Fun like when your skin doesn't go numb and begin to break off in frozen chunks as you charge past Starbucks.

So, I broke down and got some tights. And I do love them, when it's cold. Like, frost on the roofs and 30 degrees cold. And I still feel a little ridic when I'm out in these babies, but then when I take a post-run shower and my legs don't feel like they're on fire from the warm water hitting their frosty coldness, my ridiculousnessocity wears off and I can understand why running tights exist.

I don't like them, but I get it.

So, there you have it.

And I told you all of that so that I could tell you that this morning I broke back out the shorts for a bare-legged run and it was AWESOME.

Also, I signed up for my first race of 2009 and am planning to ratchet my shit up a little bit this year and run two half marathons instead of my historic one.

Big times.

Some stuff is growing and it's not all vegetables.

Thanks for playing along with my supah mature guessing game but I'm sorry to say that nobody guessed exactly right. Which is important to me, the exact-ness, because I'm A/R.

I do appreciate the fact that you think I could be growing raspberry bushes (thank you, Shannon) even knowing what a maniac I can be with prickly berry bushes. But, no, I'm afraid that there is a shoot-on-site alert from my mom posted at all Bay Area nurseries warning them against selling anyone fitting this description a prickly berry bush of any variety.

I am a very accomplished klutz with the bushes, dontchaknow, and I think my mom worries for my life when I get too close to them. Especially since I'm typically wearing flip-flops and shorts at those times.

ANYWAY.

I'm also not planting any new variety of citrus (already have the one Meyer lemon), since we have a ton nearby and that ton is good exercise for the Jada, so growing it at home would be silly and the dog would hardly get any backpack time taking it from the yard to our kitchen.

And LORD NO I am not having chickens around here. The idea...I can not fathom...it would be too...the dog would massacre...Aaaaaaaaaargh! Anyway, so, No on the chickens. But thanks for playing!

However, Kris did say "fruit trees" - which is pretty close, so let's just go with that.

Would you like to hear the story of the fruit trees? It's short. Here we go...

Bubba and I like to give each other trees as gifts. A few birthdays ago he gave me two Japanese maples for our front yard and for his birthday this year, I gave him an apple tree. A Gravenstein one, to be precise. The End.

Like that? I try hard to please you can't you write a shorter post? people, OK. Please appreciate.

So, for this momentous birthday-that-shall-not-be-named, Bubba got his long-desired apple tree and we planted it in the backyard with just enough hi jinx to be considered celebratory.

And because we are also silly, in addition to being oddball fruit tree-coveters, we then named the tree so that we can refer to it during future landscaping conversations without confusion.

We call this tree, Skinny, and I think you can see why.

One day, we will pick an apple from this twig. One day...

And then, in a totally birthday-free tree-giving event, our fabulous ,wonderful, generous neighbors gave us their cherry tree.

WHAT?

To give you an idea of how fabulous, wonderful and generous these ladies are, allow me to paint a picture of the tree-giving moment. If you are of the can't you write a short post? mindset, I suggest you look away. This might take a minute.

We were across the street at their house one morning, sharing some homemade waffles (theirs) and freshly squoze orange juices (ours), when they asked us if we wanted a cherry tree.

I'd be shocked if she didn't see the answer leap off my face because YES, obviously I've wanted a cherry tree all my life and how could you know that? GET OUT OF MY HEAD CRAZY WAFFLE LADY.

Well, apparently, they had a cherry tree WITH MULTIPLE GRAFTS HELLO!, living in a half wine barrel in their backyard and it needed a place to go in the ground where it would get adequate sun. Except, that sunshiney place didn't exist in their backyard. Sad. Poor tree, living in half a wine barrel with no sunshiney hole to call its own.

It sounds kinda porny, but really what this meant was that they thought a sunny spot existed in our backyard and wouldn't we do them the huge favor of saving their tree from this half wine barrel by taking this tree off their hands and planting it in our yard where it could have sun and a place in the ground to call home.

Um, kay.

I thought for a minute that they were joking, because of the too-good-to-be-trueness of the whole scenario, but no. They were being serious. And also fabulous, wonderful and generous as always by gifting us with a very nice and multi-grafted cherry tree that would fulfill all my fruit tree hopes and dreams.

That's all, just all my hopes and dreams in tree form, no biggie.

Howdy, Neighbor.

So, the tree's still pretty young, but one day it will produce a good crop of Bing, Black Tartarian, and Van cherries so that we may stain our faces (clothes, hands, dog) red from a prone position on the lawn.

I hope.

And, in the near future, we may also have the pleasure of a blossoming cherry tree in our very own yard.

And that is the dream, people.

My very own cherry blossoms which I can just stand in my yard and stare at without anyone walking by asking me exactly what the hell do I think I'm doing standing in their yard eyeballing their tree.

Yeah. I'm a total cherry tree gawker. I have ONLY ONCE OR TWICE stopped mid-run to admire a blossoming cherry tree because I'm a totally humongous dork. I don't know what it is.

I will stare at you. Prepare yourself, tree.

So, yeah, that's the story of the fruit trees. The long and short versions. And now we have two fruit trees living it up in the backyard and I've also been moving and planting some other things so that the trees won't be all alone as they get used to their new homes.

I mean, it'd be awkward otherwise, right?

So I relocated the strawberries so they'd be close to the cherry tree. Help it get up to speed on backyard gossip, I guess.

These strawberries are so snarky.

And I put in an artichoke near the tree so that it could feel graceful by comparison.

I'm not ugly, I'm exotic.

And because I was feeling adventurous and the camera was already a-snappin', I went out to the front yard to check on the bulb and wildflower progress.

Good job, pee hole!

Told you I saw a daffodil. And now there's three.

Ok, so those last two don't have anything to do with fruit trees or companion click social circle planting, but I look at them a lot, too, and they're doing a lot of growing without any attention from me which makes them awesome.

And if you want to keep going with the supah mature guessing games, just go ahead and guess what's blooming in the vegetable beds right now.

Go on then, guess...I won't ridicule you publicly for your wrong guesses or anything.

Adopt a Crop 2009

No, it's not too soon, people.

The cherry trees are blooming and I saw a daffodil this morning so it must be time to order seeds and get going on the vegetables for 2009.


(Also, WOO! I saw cherry trees blooming and I LOVE cherry blossoms and I squeeeeee like a little fruity girl when I see them which Bubba totally loves! Maybe.)

And, no, I haven't had any fava beans from the winter garden yet BUT THAT'S NOT IMPORTANT. What's important is that we get the empty garden section all adopted out so that I can begin adequately stressing out about starting seedlings, amending soil, turning compost, fixing irrigation, praying for rain and just generally losing my mind with regard to produce.

You remember this process. My crazy is not new.

Last year the Adopted Crop was pickling cucumbers (good job) and the goal was go to from seed to jar of pickles and then send the jar of pickles on a visit to one lucky Adopt a Cropper. And since that worked out so well (Minus certain attempts at pickling that came out like sour mustardy poo. Wow. That was gross.), I thought I'd adopt out this year's crop with the visitability (new word alert!) of the end product in mind.

SO - each of this year's choices have shippable end products which I will include in the choosing/adopting description so that you can do your adopting based on how much you'd really want to visit with its final state.

I mean, who knows, Winner 2008 might have really wanted pico de gallo instead of pickles but how would she have ever known?? Ok, it was obvious last year, but still.

And if you need a refresher or didn't play along last year, here's how you play Adopt a Crop:

Choose from the list of vegs below and then I do all the work to make your choice turn into food.

All you have to do while I'm sweating it out in the garden trying to make this whole seed to food thing happen is sit back and laugh at my tight hamstrings and sombrero (do not mess with the sun, people, he is not fucking around).

And in the end, the only thing you're really adopting is, potentially, the veg as its final product, which I will describe shortly.

Shortly's here!

Bicolor Cherry Tomatoes could become a canned Bicolor Tomato Sauce.

Black "Carbon" Tomatoes (standard size) could become Scary Salsa.

Lemon Cucumbers could become Pickle Chips.

Tricolor Basil could become Tricolor Pesto.

Which crop would you adopt?
	Bicolor Cherry Tomatoes/Cherry tomato sauce
	Carbon (black) Tomatoes/Scary salsa
	Lemon Cucumbers/Pickle chips
	Tricolor Basil/Pesto
Free polls from Pollhost.com

So, choose away! You have until 3/1 to place your votes, which, coincidentally, is our last frost date here in merry San Jose. Love it here!

Then you can all begin the ritualistic finger-crossing that is my favorite gardening tactic. (Companion gardening and neem oil, pfffffft!)

Ooh, and I can't wait to introduce you to some of the other new garden faces around here. Clues: They produce food (duh), they don't live in the raised beds, they aren't vegetables.

Voting and guessing in the same post? Perhaps Spring Fever has arrived early.

Bag Issue. Cont'd. [TUTORIAL]

So, I'll make this short since I'll be ashamed of myself if I spend too much time talking about discarded Tshirt sleeves, but in case you're making one of those Tshirt Trash Can Liners - save the sleeves!

Why, why would you do that?

Well, to make miscellaneous pouches for things and maybe a little digital camera sleeve, of course.

I'm sure you can figure these things out for yourselves, but since it didn't dawn on me until I was done with my trash can liners and staring despondently at a pile of soon-to-be-doggie-footwipes, I thought I'd share my thoughts with you guys, as I'm known to do.

Plus, I took pictures, so can't be wasting those 1s and 0s.

Tshirt Camera Sleeve

Materials:

1 discarded Tshirt sleeve
Fabric marker
Seam ripper
Thread
Scissors

To make:
Slide your digital camera into the sleeve and pull the long side of your camera snug against one side of the sleeve, with the shirt's hemmed edge along the short side of your camera.

With the fabric pulled tight around your camera, and using your camera as a guide, trace around your camera on the fabric with your marker.

Sew these lines to enclose the sleeve.


Slide your camera into this new pouch you've created to make sure it fits snugly and that it's long enough to cover your camera completely.

Cut the camera pouch free from the rest of the sleeve, trim corners and, using your seam ripper, rip a few stitches in the middle of the short end of the pouch for the camera strap.


Turn right side out, pull camera strap through hole and sleeve over camera.

Done.

Push the sleeve back to take photos, slide it back over the camera to protect it from evil keys stabbing around in your purse.

See, I barely used any words. I mean, compared to what I usually do.

And, while this may not be the fanciest OH MY LOOK AT HOW AWESOME AND CUTE THAT IS thing I've ever made, it's endlessly useful and will provide many pouches for many scratch-prone things.

See, I tried to make this same simple ass thing twice before from regular cotton fabric to no avail because I can't measure and/or I had lost patience with sewing by the time I got to this project, so it's the closest incarnation of my original design (which was meant to be way hotter) and, as such, is pretty plain and boring.

But, this time perhaps HOT is in the practicality. And the fact that I might save my camera from my mean stabbing keys.

And while I'm thinking about it, some other scratch-prone things that will get probably get protective Tshirt sleeve pouches: Ski goggles (sewn horizontally rather than vertically), sunglasses, FlipVideo cameras, shoes (for travel), jewelry, fancy utensils like my real silver pie server thingee.

Plus, imagine all the possibilities of things I could protectively sleeve if I used that hem as a drawstring strategy? Oh hell yes.

The dog will just have to wipe her feet on towels like a normal dog might.

The Bag Issue. Solved. [TUTORIAL]

About five years ago, my sister gave me my first reusable grocery bag.

Well, I guess I could have used a number of the random canvas bags lying around my house as a grocery bag instead of taking the plastic ones Safeway was giving me with my food, but it wasn't a part of my life then, and so, I consider the one my sister gave me, all hand sewn with a cute wine bottle applique on the front (nice that she printed my shopping list it, I thought), my first official reusable grocery bag.

My mind isn't all that much of an original thinker, so I guess it took having a thing presented to me with its explicit purpose sewn to the front in order for me to deal with the plastic grocery bag issue.

Because, I will say, it was truly an issue.

I had a variety of ways of dealing with The Bag Issue, as Bubba called it, and one of those ways included filling one bag with all the other bags and shoving it under our sink so that it could pop out every time I went down there for the Cascade. To say that I hated this Way of Dealing With the Bag Issue would be understating it slightly. I used to flip it off every time it happened. That bag of bags. JERK.

Another way I dealt with the overabundance of evil white plastic grocery bags with the big annoying red "S" was to shove them down into the bottoms of my trash cans, below the one presently being used as a trash can liner, so that I'd never EVER run out of liners.

Except, sometimes, there'd be so many fucking bags down there that the Bag In Use had very little space inside which it could accommodate any actual trash.

The trash was really underneath the trash, is how I see it now, but then it just seemed like stability - I'd always have a trash can liner. Yay. Problem solved. ISH.

That was five years ago.

Since then, I began actively carrying and using my own bags (including that original one) for all my shopping; grocery, hardware, clothes, Target, vacation souvenir, etc. On the rare occasion when I've already used my purse bag and the other bags from my car and I'm left without a reusable bag in which to carry my purchases, I'll usually just hand carry whatever it is out with me or shove it right into my purse.

My life now involves almost no icky white plastic bag with the red "S" touching, and not only because I rarely shop at Safeway (thank you farm share), but because I just have adjusted to My Life Without Plastic Bags and don't feel like reverting. It's stability, that I never have to deal with The Bag Issue anymore, so the problem is solved.

ISH.

See, now I don't have any trash can liners. And that is a problem. Because trash cans are grody in there. Especially bathroom ones (we still have a giant bag liner in our kitchen one because whoa - messy otherwise) with all the cotton balls and Qtips and empty bottles of shampoo I throw across the bathroom from the shower when they run out mid-shampooing.

It just gets all grody in those cans (yes, I can hit the trash can with a shampoo bottle from the shower because this is the one time in my life where eye/hand coordination comes together) and, really, they need liners.

But I'm not about to go back to taking my Target purchases home in icky white plastic bags with red circles on them NO. And I'm certainly not going to be buying actual plastic trash can liners to carry home in icky white plastic bags with red circles on them. That'd be, well, ridiculous.

My initial thoughts involved using one of my, now many, reusable shopping bags in my trash cans, but like the bag I used to use in the car for trash, it didn't seem aesthetically pleasing enough for my apparently beloved bathroom trash cans, and so I scrapped that idea.

And then we went commando with our trash cans for some time. No liner, no trash bag in there, no nothin'. Every now and again our cleaning lady who I love would put a bag in there, probably all the while thinking we were living like wild animals, but it would irk me that I was again interacting with icky plastic bags even though they were hiding the grodiness of the cans.

Getting too close to the scary roots of my brain? Probably.

WHATEVER.

It dawned on me during one of my eight yearly nights of insomnia (I heard this is the average number of nights per year that any person has insomnia) - a way to fix this whole crazy bag issue that shouldn't be using up so much of my brain power:

Tshirts.

That's right - what if I continue down my obsessive path of upcycling Tshirts into useful things by fixing them up as trash can liners. Reusable, washable, durable trash can liners.

And also that would get them the fuck out of my bottom drawer so that I could close it without having to do the shove-your-hand-in-there-and-push-everything-down-but-pull-it-out-fast-enough-so-that-it-doesn't-get-slammed-in-there-when-you-close-it-with-all-your-might thing.

Yes. This could work. And OH it would be so easy because just sew the neck and sleeves shut and BOOM - you have a bag.

But, since it was insomnia I was dealing with, and not just a moment of sleeplessness solved by rolling over and pulling some more covers off Bubba (sorry, love), I had to make it fancy.

And that is where the Hem Turned Drawstring came to be. And that is when I decided fancy would also mean incorporating a cord stop, some shoelaces and some white electrical tape (optional).

So, if you have a grody naked trash can in need of a liner or are trying to break yourself of a similar Bag Issue but can't imagine your life with naked trash cans or you're dealing with an overabundance of race Tshirts, this might be a project for you.

Also, it's so easy you'll get that great feeling of satisfaction in, like, 10 minutes, and get to go on about doing nothing the rest of the day because, TAH DAH! you were productive already.

Tshirt Trash Can Liner

Print this thing

Materials:

Tshirt (I used a lovely Presidio 10K shirt in a women's small)

1 yard of shoelace string (or enough to wrap around your trash can with approx. 6" remaining)

Coordinating thread

Coordinating electrical tape (or whatever tape you have on hand)

1 cord stop
1 small safety pin

To make:

Turn your Tshirt inside out and sew the sleeves and neck closed, like this:

Then, with the shirt still inside out, cut off the sleeves and neck, outside the seams you just sewed.


Cut into the bottom hem of the shirt, being careful not to cut into the hem's surging, and zigzag stitch at the base of the cut you just made.

Are you seeing how this is going to become the perfect channel for a drawstring?

This is so that hole doesn't rip all apart. Later. When you're doing the drawstring-ing.

Attach a safety pin to one end of your shoelace and insert, safety pin first, into the hole you just cut in the shirt's hem. Using the safety pin as a guide, pull the string through the hemline and out the other end of the cut you made.

TAH DOW! Drawstring in a hemline you didn't have to sew. LOVE that.

Place your shirt in your trash can, former neck and sleeve ends at the bottom of the can and wrong side out, and fold the shirt's bottom hem (with the drawstring) over the top edge. (This way the right side of the shirt's hem will show on the outside of the can.) Pull the cord through the hem until the shirt fits snug on the can. You should have about 4-6" of shoelace hanging out of either side of the cut in the hem, if not, pull it through until you do and cut to fit. Wrap some tape around either end to secure the cut ends.


Insert both ends of the cord into the hole in the cord stop and tie the ends in a knot on the other side of the cord stop.

You have to squeeze the cord stop mighty hard to get the hole to line up.

Pull the drawstring tight with the cord stop. You're done!

Then put it back in the bathroom, you know.

This went so fast, I made two, since I have a pile of race shirts now and they do nothing other than sit in my drawer and make it full.

And now I don't have any naked trash cans. WOO!

That's something. To me.

Happy Made Up Holiday!

We always call this "Made Up Holiday" instead of Valentine's Day.

I guess it's because we don't like to be told what to do and when to buy candy, so we rebel in the best way we know how: make up a snarky name, act all above everything and then go about doing the same shit all the true Valentine's Day Believers (who we call SUCKAHS) do but with a sense of superiority because Well, this is for Made Up Holiday, so I'm not buying into anything, really. I bought this tub of peanut butter cups and Bubba's sending me flowers because we want to, not because any holiday told us to. REALLY.

Our web of delusion is really coming along well, don't you think?

Anyway, this keeps us from feeling like part of The Machine or like we're a slave to The Man or have fallen victim to any other scary The's, so whatever.

Our interpretations are a little off, anyway, so perhaps that's the fine line keeping us from becoming the SUCKAHS we make fun of for buying carnations off the street from the dude with the giant teddy bears.

No Godiva chocolates in this house.

Who needs red roses when TJ's has calas for $3.99? I bought these for myself. Happy Made Up Holiday, me! I hope I score.

No breakfast in bed around here. But I did wear my purple Wrightsocks on my run. Festive.

Bubba sent me orange roses to work yesterday because he knows I love orange and because he knows that getting flowers at work is a very favorite self-involved thing of mine.

I don't think it's still considered traditional if you shove a Valentine in with your farmshare fruit.

Anyway, Happy Made Up Holiday, people. I hope Santa Valentine brings you things you really like and that someone cooks you dinner AND lets you sleep in while he walks the dog.

Or whatever it is that you like.

xo
Finny

Slow on the uptake

Alright, I know this post isn't going to come as an epiphany to anyone since everyone in the whole wide world (seriously, there are 52 posts in my Reader alone) has made the friggen No-Knead Bread except me, but STILL, I made it and it's awesome and now I will share with you the many ways I love this bread and a few things I learned so that if you're the one other person out there who hasn't made this bread besides me, you don't do the same dumb shit I did that might lead to disappointment and sadness.

If you're bored of the NKB, I won't blame you if you skip this post and come back tomorrow (ish) when I plan to change tunes altogether and just bitch openly about a cultural phenomenon that I find to be wholly inexcusable.

Anyway, my bread.

I never thought I'd make this bread because I had three or four different run-ins with faulty yeast in a very short period of time and the experiences had broken my bread-baking spirit.

I was off bread baking forever because apparently yeast was my arch nemesis and chose to revolt in inertness when I ripped the package open. It was very disappointing, to go to the trouble of making bread dough only to have it lie lifeless in the bowl, not a rise or bubble in sight.

And I realize that this synopsis sounds a little lewd and lascivious, but I promise it wasn't. If it were, I might have at least been amused but overall it was just sad and made me hate baking bread.

But then Elke made the bread. And she went on and on about its ease and fabulousness and perfect crust and things. It made me want to go back into the water with the fucking yeast to see if it would, by some miracle, work for me again as it once had when I used to bake bread in a flower pot like some kind of fruit.

So, I consulted with my bread-baking neighbor to find out what kind of works-every-time miracle yeast she used (Perfect Rise Yeast) and then I went right over to TJ's and got it. And while I was there I restocked on King Arthur flour because we all know it's the best flour, so there.

And then I came home and did my famous reenactment of Finny Cooks Without Reading the Recipe All The Way Through that nearly took me back to hating bread because of the part where the recipe says, "Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven" which I did not know about beforehand because I WHOOPSY! didn't read the recipe all the way through before starting to bake like a normal person might.

Oh.

I don't have an oven safe 6-8 quart heavy covered pot. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this big blob of dough NOW? Is what I was asking myself in a loud annoyed voice.

Please don't throw me out. I promise to behave.

Shit shit shit.

But wait. I DO have a crock pot. And it has a big ass ceramic removable pot because it's from the friggen 70s or something before Rival got all fancy and started making these things from shiny stainless steel and stuff.

And that fucker has a LID! An oven safe one!

Hazzah. I had my oven safe 6-8 quart heavy (as all get out) covered pot. Also, I'm now extra glad that I didn't WHOOPSY! donate Bubba's ugly old crock pot back in the day when we moved in together because of its ugliness and how I thought I'd never use a crock pot so why did we need one taking up all this cabinet space.

Sometimes I can be such an asshole. Also, wrong, but you know, NOT THE POINT.

The point is that I have a pot that totally works to the point where I now LOVE our ugly old from-the-70s crock pot even if the LOW temperature setting really means OFF and even though I'm sure it was originally marketed as being "a lovely kitchen appliance in fashionable harvest gold!"

So, what other ridiculous show-stopping events could have kept me from baking a successful loaf of simple bread that doesn't even require kneading? Um, yeah, our house.

Aside from the yeast that was arching me, the house seemed to be taking its side. Perhaps the house is one of The Yeast's henchmen and agreed to arch me relentlessly until I gave up baking bread forever.

Perhaps. And perhaps I've started to lose it when I begin thinking that yeast and houses are evil superhero criminals creating diabolical plans to avenge me. Too much Adult Swim?

See, the bread dough wasn't rising. Or bubbling adequately. Or really doing any of the things that bread dough is supposed to do, like double in size for instance, and it was really starting to piss me off.

*Achooo* *Sniff* *Shiver*

Oh. Yeast needs heat to rise. Our house is not warm because we never turn on the heater. The yeast is cold.

THAT'S IT - The House is arching the yeast! Wait, no, I need to turn on the heater! OR, better yet, I need to put the bread on the bathroom counter, turn on the bathroom heater (we have one built into the exhaust fan) and close the door for about two hours.

TEE DAH!

The bread bubbles! The bread rises! Miracles happen! I don't have a really retarded arch nemesis!

Ew. Food in the bathroom.

And approximately 3 hours later (after rising and baking), I got loaf #1 that was not entirely fucked up.

And I look purty, too.

It wasn't perrrrrrrfect, sorta only rose right on one side BUT, it tasted ruuully good and looked pretty respectable. For bread, anyway.

You could take me home to mama, that's how respectable I am.

But if I'd had any notion of quitting while I was ahead with the whole bread baking business, Bubba put a quick stop to that. He is a bread loving man, dontchaknow, and as soon as the smell filled his nose, it was, let's say, ON.

I baked again - this time for our Ski Week Menu of Amazing Food - and it came out perfect. Like, I took at least 10 pictures of it perfect. And we ate every last crumb of it perfect. And I even brought some to my mom perfect.

Harvest gold is SO my color.

There's steam coming from the bread. Not that you can see it.

And if you ever wanted to eat the best meatloaf sandwich you'd slice up some leftover Cajun Meatloaf from this recipe of Pastor Ryan's and put it on some of this bread with some sharp cheddar cheese perfect.

I ate this over the cutting board like in the old days when we broke all our plates. Long story.

And when it was gone, I made some more. You know, because now that I've managed to make it right, Bubba has re-whetted his addiction to fresh-baked bread and will. not. be. without. it.

So, just to prove that I could make it again without horrible debilitating failure, last week I baked this loaf when I got home from my run.

Running and baking bread are obvious complimentary activities.

After which, we continued our celebration of Hey! I Can Bake Bread Again! by eating it every which way.

It was raining and we ate fondue while watching old Pink Panther movies. Obviously.

Bread and pseudo-butter.

We even served it to our bread-baking neighbors when they came over for dinner. For the record, they loved it, too. AND THEY'RE FANCY WITH BREAD. So, that means something. To me.

No one said anything about my tubTub though. Sad.

Anyway, that's probably enough about me+bread=luv 4 eva. However, here's the sum of shit I learned that might help you out if you haven't made this and want to:

1. I recommend SAF Perfect Rise Instant Yeast in packets. You can also get it at Trader Joe's.
2. I recommend King Arthur Flour All Purpose, Unbleached flour. You can also get it at Trader Joe's.
3. If you don't have the 6-8 quart heavy covered pot the recipe calls for, a crock pot pot and lid will totally work as long as they're the Oldie Hawn kinds with the removable ceramic bowl with the heatproof lid.
   
4. If you can't get the bread to rise or bubble, turn on the heater and put the bread close by.
5. Use a LOT of flour on the towel before you throw the dough ball on there. Trust me.

The end.

Food tastes best with ö in it.

There isn't any ö in Rouladen, but we were excited nonetheless.

OK, it's been two whole (almost) posts without any talk of food and I can't take it anymore and must now talk about food because OH MY GOD we had a German Feast the other night which deserves some attention.

Now, I don't know about y'all, but my life's history of German fare has been pretty limited. I've had the occasional brat, and a few fresh baked pretzels and lord knows I've had my share of beer, but I wouldn't consider any of that truly experiencing German food. Not even the German chocolate cake that I love with such great intensity that it hardly matters from whence it came because I wouldn't be able to hear the explanation over my loud munching and smacking.

I do love German chocolate cake.

I mean, I doubt Germans sit around the table in their haus (Do you like my German word here? Stay tuned!) eating pretzels and brats and drinking beer all the live long day. They must have other things right? Sure they do.

Anyway, what I'm saying is that I knew there was more to German food than the few Americanized options I've experienced personally, and thankfully I have a lovely German friend who lets me pillage her orange tree and also wanted to cook us dinner.

And by us, I mean Bubba, Jada and I.

So, off to Elke's we went on Sunday night, for what was billed as REAL German food, OhmeinGott! (See! German word alert!)

Best part was that we were going to have Semmelknödle, which is made all the more delicious by the fact that it has an ö in the name, which is my favorite thing in all of German to say.

ö
ö
ö

What the F is Semmelknödle? Or the other things on the menu; Rouladen mit zwiebeln, gurken und speck? Well, let me just tell you since I TOTALLY speak German now (I do not):

I wish I still had Bubba's translation of this recipe. There were windshield wipers involved.

Rouladen is the German equivalent of Bubba's favorite foods ever rolled into one fabulous dish. Bacon, pickles and onions rolled in flank steak and braised in beef (and I suspect beer) broth.

Really now. Bacon AND Beef AND Pickles? My yes. It is the perfect storm of dinner.

An amazing cross section of deliciousnessocity.

Um, yes, please.

And for the Semmelknödle, it's basically a bread dumpling. And there's some spices in there, probably, too.

You can't be sad when there's Semmelknödle.

So, you know, typical German sounding menu: Meat wrapped in meat, some bread and OH! that's right - a vegetable: cooked red cabbage.

You have to love how Germans throw a vegetable in there and don't even try to NOT make it look like an afterthought. Now, don't get me wrong, I love cooked red cabbage, but it's not the LOOK AT ME I'M A FANCY VEGETABLE dish that, say, an arugula salad dressed with Lemon Pesto Vinaigrette might be.

What? Me? Self-congratulatory? NEVER.

Meanwhile, the "I'm not so fancy" vegetable looked very nice set out for our authentic German Feast meal.

All of this was gone after, like, 15 minutes.

Not that I noticed it much. Given the bacon wrapped in flank steak situation hanging out right next door on my plate.

Whatever - I loved it, is what I'm saying - and also I'm glad the focus of the menu was meat because who doesn't want their bacon wrapped in beef? Jerks. And also I think we've all heard just enough about my stupid salad dressing.

I ate this meal twice because I'm a wild animal.

And because Elke is quite the hostess, she also made sure to round out the authenticity of our meal by playing German pop music, encouraging us randomly spout our favorite German words (Scheibenwischer!)and letting her cat steal from my purse.

This is Tara. She steals.

Ok, so cat burglarizing isn't inherently German, but the cats (she has two) spent the better part of the evening trying to either make out with Jada (they love dogs) or stealing dog treats from my purse and it was too awesome to not say anything. You understand.

For the record, Tara (the cat you see here face down in my bag) stole three (3!) Puperoni treats from my bag, played with them on the floor in front of Jada's face for our entertainment and then conveniently left them unattended (wink wink, doggie) to go back for more.

We suspect that these animals are in cahoots now given the seamless stealing/passing/eating of treats that went on during dinner. I don't know how Jada bribes them, but I suspect it involves inter-species cuddling as these cats are always trying to groom her fur or kiss her nose.

It's a little bizarre.

ANYWAY.

We ate some very VERY very good German food (twice - we all had seconds - it was SO good) and then this chocolate banana bread I made when I forgot how much I love German chocolate cake and finally had a reason to make it. Whoopsy!

Oh well. I sorta bet it's not really an authentically German thing? Elke?

Hi. I'm made with prunes. Don't eat too much otherwise YOU KNOW WHAT.

For the record, the cake was fine. And I suspect that it wasn't GREAT because it was one of those switcheroo recipes that says Oh this is as good as the real thing but guess what there's something weird instead of butter.

And the weird thing was prunes.

Not as successful as swapping out butter for Greek yogurt (love you, Greek yogurt!), but not totally foul. In the future though, I will just use butter and leave the prunes for brooming.

You know.

And that concludes the German Feast Meal.

Lederhosen! Ok, that's the last German word I can think of.

Craft:along February - An example of my crazy.

Dear Donk,

Let me first be honest with the crafters out there and come clean about the fact that I sorta (totally) begged you to pick the fabric bowl as one of our projects this month. 

I did this because as soon as I saw it in my Reader, I knew I was going to make it anyway and wouldn't it be better for everyone if it was also a project I *had* to do for our craft along rather than just another project that took time away from things I should really be doing around my house like weeding the back .40 so that I don't almost die later?

See, I knew you'd all understand. Bless you.

It's just that I knew immediately that it would answer a question that had been plaguing me for a very long period of time. 

A very important question that'd had my brain achurnin', unproductively, for some months already. 

A question that would resurface every time I set the table for a nice din-din with Bubba. 

A question that was driving me slowly and ridiculously insane in a way that wasn't even related to the question's inherent ridiculousness.

Prepare yourself...

How can I make the tub of Smart Balance less ugly on my table?

Yes, people, this is the question that has been rattling around in my pea brain for, let's say, 3 months. In there with such other useful, world-changing gems like how to train the dog to wipe her paws before she comes inside and how to best organize the toilet paper under the bathroom sink to allow for optimum storage space saving. (Dog - 0, TP - 1!)

And now you see why I haven't gotten to more important things like world peace and reviving the economy - because I've been trying to make my dog's feet clean, the TP neat and the butter tub pretty.

Yeah, my frivolousity is sometimes amazing even to me. I know. Shame, eyerolling, etc...

But I know you're all curious to see what I did because deep down you've all wondered yourselves how to make that tub of Smart Balance (or Country Crock or whipped butter or whathaveyou and I don't want any lip about the fact that we eat this stuff, so can it) look less crappy on your table when you set it up all nice with proper utensils and maybe some clean linens, too, riiiiiiiiiiiiight?

Yes. You have. Just tell me you have because it will make me feel less like a jackass.

Smart Balance says, "Don't I look less ugly? Thank you."

I only used about 25 ft of cording (rather than the 50 feet the pattern called for) and all the scraps left over from a skirt and this trash bag (another frivolous brain pattern) to make it, including the two extra mini-handles to hold !TAH DOW! the butter knife.

Because, obviously, one can't have a butter tub TUB without a butter knife holder, can one? No.

So, totally excuse me for letting my brain run amok with table setting silliness instead of more important world-fixing things, but wouldn't you find this a more pleasing setting at which to dine than one set all perfect-like except with a giant tub of Smart Balance slammed down amongst the otherwise uninterrupted prettiness?

Again, just say yes.

See, you barely notice the butter tub, there. It blends, y'all.

And as long as I don't take the tub of butter with me in the car (where the trash bag lives) on a day when I'm wearing my Barcelona skirt sewn from that same Amy Butler fabric, no one will witness the extreme nature of my obvious and far-reaching Crazy.

And FINALLY my butter tub is pretty!

Yay. I'm insane.

xo

Finny

Not food + Road-knitting epiphany + Cows

FYI - I haven't blocked this yet, so don't make fun of my wonky stitching. 

If I didn't know me I'd think I was becoming a total fatty or something with all the food I talk about but I promise you that I am not. Becoming a total fatty, that is. 

Because, thankfully, I do other things besides cook and eat and bake and eat and master plan week-long ski menus full of meat and scary nachos and eat.

Really!

I've also been doing other things like reading ridiculous books about stupid teenage vampires (don't look at me like that, I'm already ashamed of myself) and running and planting fruit trees and crafting hoodies for Bubba and working of course also TAH DAH! knitting.

Because Finny's got to knit, or so I've heard.

Now, I'm not quite done with my main knitting project yet because I got sidetracked by an amusing crochet project from this month's Craft: magazine (lovelovelove) and I also ran out of yarn *thisclose* to the end, but I wanted to show you anyway if only because I'm a total show off and also proud that I THINK it will probably fit like all the pictures in all the projects (there are 332 going now) in Ravelry do. 

But if I don't talk about this project again or show you the final photos, don't you judge me, because all that means is that I finished it and it totally didn't fit and I'm shamefully frogging it to make it into something else one day, OK? 

As it turns out, I'm not so good with knitting to fit the first time around. But you know this. In fact, this project has been frogged twice already to get the gauge right. Which is ironic and retarded because I was so bold as to note on my Ravelry project page that I wasn't going to "knit a gauge, but thanks for asking."

I'm such an asshole.

Anyway, so I have had to frog it twice and so I'm on my third try now and it's looking like it might fit. At least based on my stretch-it-over-my-boobs-and-torso-in-its-half-finished-state fitting method, anyway. 

Yes, I'm very technical.

When stretched across my boobs this is much more flattering. BOOBS. I said boobs.

My big dream is that this will be part of my YAY! Spring is here and I can wear tank tops and flip flops and skirts again as though I haven't been wearing them all winter like a fool! outfit. Because you know I always hatch up one of these outfits to celebrate the first day of spring like some kind of child.

And YOU KNOW I've already built the outfit in my mind of which this tank top will be the crown jewel. Not that the outfit will be fancy and involve jewels or anything fruity like that, but you know what I mean.  So, prepare thyselves to rejoice with me when this thing fits and I love it and can wear it to work in The Supah Spring Day #1 Outfit.

Also, I had a knitting epiphany while we were driving halfway across the country to ski. A knitting epiphany, to be exact. 

See, when I knit things that involve patterns with multiple rows of instructions, even if multiple only = 2, I have to keep looking at the pattern to make sure I don't fuck it up, which I most certainly do if I assume I've got it ,which, most certainly, I do not.

And my refer to the pattern every other stitch method requires me to keep the pattern close by, which, while knitting on road-trips, means it gets tucked under my left thigh with its top corner precariously close to dipping into Bubba's coffee in the truck's cupholder.

Not ideal, but it's what I had. Until we drove to Colorado last week. And I realized that HEY! I sit in the passenger's seat and HEY! there's a fucking glove compartment on the passenger's side and HEY! What if I open the compartment, tuck the top of the pattern in there and shut it?!

OH MY GOD IT TOTALLY WORKS.

Awesomeness. I have innovated road-knitting. 

At least for myself, probably the last person in the whole wide world to put this specific two and two together. 

What scenery? I see no scenery. Just this pattern and all its YOs and SSK and what not. DON'T DISTRACT ME.

And so now you know what I do to contribute to our road trips when I'm not sleeping, attempting to be The Navigatress, losing the ongoing road-game of Cows on My Side, hunting around in the backseat for snacks or generally bugging Bubba while he tries to transport us safely to Snow.

(For those of you who want to play Cows On My Side, it goes like this:

Drive somewhere with someone else in the car and sit on opposite sides.

When you see cows on your side of the car, you yell COWS ON MY SIDE! and get a point.

When you see cows on your friend's side of the car, you yell COWS ON YOUR SIDE! and they lose a point.

When you see a cow crossing sign, you yell COW SIGN and they lose 5 points.

The person with the most points at the end of the drive wins. 

This is a game for simple people. Enjoy.)

I do this because I'm self-involved. Enjoy.

UPDATE: If you wanted to be interviewed but didn't leave your email address, please shoot it to me at finnyknitsATgmailDOTcom so I can send you your questions. Stupid Blogger doesn't give your email unless you have it listed on your Blogger profile, so there are a few of you for whom I don't have an email address. Sorry, y'all.

I like to consider Kristin at Going Country something of a kindred spirit. Not because we lead similar lives (hardly, she's on a farm in NY and I'm in a suburb in Silicon Valley), but because we have a lot of weird things in common which I find amusing.

I won't get into all those here because it's none of your beeswax, but I will say that one thing we have in common is our interest in ourselves. Like, I am very interested in ME and she is very interested in HER and in that we have bonded in a way that only two very self-involved people can.

A weird awkward way that involves swearing and the sharing of cocktail recipes. Whatever.

SO - what I'm saying is that when she offered to interview readers with questions that SHE would make up for THEM, I saw it as a perfect chance to:

A. Challenge her to create questions to which she did not already know the answers.

B. Spend some time talking all about my favorite topic, Me. Yes, we know I'm very self-involved, so don't look at me all like that.

Turns out the whole challenge thing wasn't a challenge for Kris - because she's that way and so now I'm here to make good on my part of the deal in which I answer her interview questions for your amusement and my own.

Please to enjoy.

1) What one song always reminds you of a particular event or time in your life? And what was the event or time?
Cyndi Lauper's, "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" reminds me of riding in the back of my mom's car on the way to swim practice. Every time I hear it (which, granted, is rare these days) I can practically smell the chlorine in my nose.

2) What's your favorite thing about your husband?
In addition to the fact that he's SUPER handy and can fix nearly anything, he is also THE most hysterical person I know. The fact that he vowed to devote the rest of his life to entertaining me with his hilarity is very satisfying.

3) What's the single best food or dish you've ever eaten?
Quattro fungi pizza in Rome. Hands down. I think there was some fucking truffle oil on it, too. Just to make it all the more ridiculously good. I ate the whole thing even though I was so stuffed and was sitting at a table of extremely hot Italian men. No shame.

4) What's the worst food you've ever cooked yourself?
Tofu. Stupid boogery, goopy, "Martha says it's good so try it" tofu. Sucked ass, that tofu. And, as such, so does Martha.

5) How (or from whom) did you learn how to knit?

I learned from instructions I printed off the Internet. Which is how I ended up knitting "the weird way" instead of "the normal way", like everyone tells me. For the record, The Continental/German/Traditional Method is not "the weird way". YOU'RE THE WEIRD WAY.

And now you know some more ME things because, obviously, I don't talk about ME enough on MY blog.

I should be ashamed of myself, but I'm not.

However, in the name of fair play (and in an effort to not be a total beotch), I wanna interview one of you guys, too. If you'll have me, of course. I do love to know all about you lovely nice people who come here and brave my bitching, even if it's just so I'll know to whom I should direct the police later when you become a stalker.

To play Finny's Going to Ask You Five Potentially Embarrassing and Inappropriate Questions game:

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me! I'm not afraid!" or something similar.
   
2. I'll email you five questions that will likely have questionable content or swears.
3. You then update your blog with answers to my questions (no editing the questions) and link back to the original post.
4. And you can decide whether you want to include this explanation and offer to interview someone else in that post.
5. If you go this route and people want to be interviewed, you do it.

So, if you don't blush easily or like the challenge of truthfully answering sketchy questions, feel free to indicate your interest in a Finny interview in the comments. If you just want to comment but don't want to be interviewed, I totally will not take it personally because I would be wary of me, too.

xo

When being A/R is totally helpful

So, not sure if you saw any of the photos from our recent road trip to Steamboat, but there are a lot of food-type pictures in there and those food-type pictures represent my A/R-ness at its most extreme.

See - Bubba and I are always working on how to make our trips *perfect*. It's a completely hopeless undertaking because we both know nothing will ever be *perfect*, mostly because we're both a little neurotic and like to bitch as a sport, but we strive for this perfection nonetheless.

Our ski trips are no exception.

Last year, while the snow was *perfect* and the accommodations were nearly *perfect* (shitty too-bouncy bed), there were a few things that were less than perfect. Like, the drive was a holy terror and shaved AT LEAST 14 years off my life (and I wasn't even driving) due to its complete and total icy and stormy shittiness and our nightly apres ski (Fruity Term Alert) meals were good but not Amazing.

And since we can't do fuck all about the weather (Although this time our drive was way easy. Thank you Mother Nature for sparing us your bitchiness.), we thought we'd try our hand at Amazing Food.

For us, Amazing Food to Be Enjoyed Post Ski Activities sounded a lot like:

BBQ Brisket & Beans
Smoked Pot Roast Soup
Super Scary Nachos
Grilled club sandwiches on home baked bread
Cajun meatloaf and mashed potatoes
Birthday Cinnamon Rolls with Orange Zest Frosting
WT Cherry pie
Bubba's Filthy Breakfast That I Do Not Eat

And then the obligatory daily cocktail hour that gets earlier and earlier in the day depending on how long it takes the sore muscles to cry out for mercy from the ski lift. For the record, Cocktail Time arrived at the lunch hour on Thursday AND Friday because we are wimps and/or boozers.

So, how does one go about securing the Amazing Food to Be Enjoyed Post Ski Activities Menu? One begins cooking her fingers to the bone in friggen December for the Jan-Feb trip and then shoving full one's freezer to its fullest capacity so that one can remove its entire contents into a cooler for the long haul across the western US, that's how.


You know I'm talking about me and cooking, right? Yes. Right.

So, to make real this dream of Amazing Food to Be Enjoyed Post Ski Activities, I began the baking/cooking/portioning/labeling/freezing process back over the holidays (remember those things? ew.) so that we could live our dreams of Amazing Food to Be Enjoyed Post Ski Activities in the snowy week of our ski fantasy at the end of January.

It takes a lot of dedication and combined insanity to bring a dream this gluttonous to fruition, dontchaknow. But it's worth it when I consider that I test-drove a lot of recipes and their freeze and reheatability for the benefit of myself and others.

At least this is how I'm justifying being so A/R and little piggyish, so just work with me.

The test drivers:

(Also, ignore the heinous dishware. It comes with the condo and we, apparently, do not share a taste for decor with the owners. Right down to the dishes that are too big to fit in the cabinets and weigh one hundred pounds each. Whatever.)

BBQ Brisket & Beans

Bubba set up the smoker with the sole purpose of creating smoked meats for this trip. Included in the smoke-a-thon were two briskets, a half dozen chicken breasts, a pan of beans, a pork shoulder and a pot roast. Bless this man.

After we sliced (and sampled) some of this goodness, I packaged/labeled/froze it for the express purpose of bringing it on this trip. To say it was *perfect* would be an understatement. I would say it was at least swoon worthy and I wouldn't have blamed Bubba for taking the brisket to bed with him and giving me the couch. It was just that good.

Smoked Pot Roast Soup

So, when the Day When Smoke Will Rise Again came, we threw a pot roast on there that had come as a gift from my folks' during the raiding of their chest freezer over the holidays.

This was not a mistake.

For one, smoked pot roast is a fine, fine thing (I'll post on this later. Promise.) and Vegetable Beef Soup made from smoked pot roast is, um, otherworldly? Pants-peeingly delicious? Extra nummy? I don't know. It's just real nice. And when you've spent the day slamming down snowy runs in zero degree temps (Ok, one day the board read 1 degree. Whoopy.) and you're wild animal hungry, this soup takes on metaphysical dimensions of goodness.

Also, there was salad.

Super Scary Nachos

These are only scary because this was an appetizer. Because we are ravenous beasts after skiing all day (or, in my case, 3/4 of the day because I'm a wuss) and need a snack to keep us from eating each other's limbs before dinnertime.

The guac poo swirl on top is the result of me squeezing it full-strength from the package. Sometimes pre-made is OK.

Grilled club sandwiches on home baked bread

I might be the last person on earth to make the No-Knead Bread, but I'll make up for it by baking it weekly until I die. If only so that I can relive this sandwich and soup experience. Really now, is there anything superior to a pimped out grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup on a frigid snowy day?

No. No, there is not.

Especially when your pimpiness comes in the form of turkey, bacon and home baked bread. Blah dow.

Also, there will likely be a future post where I show you all the bread-porny ways that we're loving on this bread. It's not right we love it so much.

Cajun meatloaf and mashed potatoes

I rolled the dice on this meatloaf recipe from Pioneer Woman instead of making my own tried-and-true recipe and I absolutely loved it to little tasty pieces. Bubba was kinda meh on it until we had it for Amazing Food to Be Enjoyed Post Ski Activities dinner with some mashed potatoes and bread. I will talk more about this meatloaf in a future post that will likely draw attention from the authorities given the amount of sexy talking I plan to do about meats and loaf and spiciness and sandwiching.

Birthday Cinnamon Rolls with Orange Zest Frosting

You're all familiar with these cinnamon rolls (also by Pioneer Woman because I'm a slut for her) by now and how I successfully froze the giant dough recipe into individual pan size doses for future use. Well, one of these doses came with us on vacay and baked up for Bubba's Birthday Breakfast under some of my special made frosting. It was special in the sense that it was the last frosting left in the WT can and I'd mixed in some orange zest before we left.

WT *can* be delicious.

WT Cherry pie

To continue with our WT theme (really, it is our whole life, but who's checking?) Bubba requested Birthday Cherry Pie. But since there aren't any cherries on the tree right now and when in the world will I have time to make a pie crust, we opted for the WT version.

Ingredients: 1 can of cherry pie filling, 1 package of frozen puff pastry dough
To make: Grease a cookie sheet, place one sheet of frozen dough on the sheet, pour pie filling on top, turn up the sides, put the other sheet on top, pinch the sides together, bake according to pastry dough instructions. Done. Go WT out on the couch in front of CNN.

Bubba's Filthy Breakfast That I Do Not Eat

He ate this two days in a row and it consists of one English muffin, two slices of cheddar cheese, a few slices of bacon and some type of cooked egg with a LOT of pepper. I do not eat this filthiness because I loathe plain eggs. However, he did make this for me without the egg and it was great. The egg is the filthy part. To me. Because I'm some kind of loser according to the egg-eating authorities of the world (Bubba).

And that concludes the Look at All The Food We Ate on Vacation post for February 2009. I realize it's probably mind-numbing and a little bit sickening, but this is how we live our lives as you well know so I don't expect a bunch of lip from the likes of you.

Instead, wouldn't you like to tell me your favorite vacation meal? What in the world do you break down and make when only AMAZING will do? I like to know so that maybe we can work it into a future vacation binge.

And in a future post, I will ask more questions and there will be an interview involved. I know you're intrigued.

Adopt a Crop update:- A recipe, already.

It all happened so fast.

I kinda knew that the winter edition of Adopt a Crop would be hard-pressed to produce something which would be packable and shippable, but in my haste and excitement to get it on the road, I just figured I'd deal with that later.

Hi, Later!

So, instead of trying to find a wilty gross way to prize someone with Arugula/Rocket/Roquette somethinrother, I'm just going to share a recipe here for everyone. It's the best I can do, so if you have a better idea on how we can all go about celebrating the fact that we went from seed to salad in a few week's time (Farmgirl - I realize I'm ripping you off here with this but sometimes I'm very unoriginal and so I hope you forgive me.), you just tell me all about it. And then I'll think about it briefly before deciding to go back to my original plan of just posting recipes for everyone to use.

Because it's not always about winning a prize, OK. Gah!

Anyway, for the update part:

I seeded two new rows of the arugula before Bubba and I left for our ski trip (Yay! We're home! I never want to drive again!) because the first two rows were looking all mature and delicious. I knew they'd be ready for a giant salad when we got home from skiing all day and eating all night, so putting in two more rows would mean we'd have an extended harvest if the weather would start acting like winter instead of late spring and I wouldn't have to contend with the anxiety of taking down my whole crop at once for two enormous Broom Salads. You know what I mean.

And don't you know it, I came home to find that the first two rows were downright bushy. And don't you also know that I didn't take a picture of the bushiness because WOO I was already picking our salad. Sometimes, I find it hard to control myself around salad greens and now you know something else stupid about me that I bet you could have lived without.

Whatever! Stupidity abounds!

And while I didn't do anything remotely amazing with the arugula itself, I did pull together a dressing that is, dare I say it, The Best Salad Dressing Ever. Yep.

At least, for the moment it is. Until I run out of Meyer lemons or begin hating pesto or make something else that makes my taste buds sing when paired with my beloved arugula or something catastrophic like that.

Until then though, this is my The Best Salad Dressing Ever. Yep. It is also part of one of My Favorite Dinners Ever. Yep. because nearly everything in this dinner was either grown in my backyard or sprung forth from my very hands.

Like, the pasta is homemade, The Best Tomato Sauce Ever. Yep. in which it is tossed was homemade by me from my own garden's produce, the arugula and tomatoes in the salad are from that very same garden, the Meyer lemons are from my wee tree and the pesto is from the last basil harvest of the season and has been sitting idly by waiting to be a part of this dressing for some time now.

SO - if that's not a reason to be at least one of My Favorite Dinners Ever. Yep., then I really don't know what is.

Moving on...

Finny's The Best Salad Dressing Ever. Yep.

Ingredients
Juice from 1 Meyer lemon
1 T homemade pesto (or otherwise)
3 T olive oil
1 T kosher salt
1 T fresh ground pepper
2 big handfuls arugula
3 chopped tomatoes (small)

Sometimes Meyer lemons are best when they're old and hard on the outside. I think, anyway.

To make
In a large bowl, whisk lemon juice, pesto, salt and pepper. When thoroughly blended, add olive oil 1 T at a time until completely blended.

I didn't even try to make this pretty.

Then toss in TO THE VERY SAME BOWL a couple big handfuls of freshly picked arugula right from your garden WOO and a few of the last tomatoes (chopped) from your garden WOO and toss to coat.

Yeah. Those are tomatoes from the garden. Still. They taunt me from their bowl. Jerks.

Then just go ahead and serve it up with your second pass at homemade pasta which came out way better than the first time because you remembered to flour the dough as it was being cut and did NOT let it wad up into a big sticky pile from which individual noodles could not be retrieved. Don't forget to mix yourself a nice cocktail, too.

Enjoy, my pretties.