My Bathroom Ceiling

Ken and I are still moving along with the purchase of a home here in Pittsburgh even though we recently had a HUGE roadblock thrown into our path. The buyers in our condo in Cleveland backed out. That’s right, we made the conscious (stupid?) decision to carry two mortgages and move forward with the upcoming much needed renovations of the 100 year-old home.

As I mentioned, we’ll have to gut most of the house, but now our priorities when it comes to renovating are as follows: make it livable. And that means putting walls and ceilings back up where they belong so we don’t have to live with this kind of gaping hole.

My First Home Inspection

I’ve lived through my first experience with a home inspection. The first place bought was new construction, so I had no real idea of how good, bad, and downright evil these little guys could be.

The good: turns out the general wiring and plumbing are in fine condition.

The bad: seems as though the place has a couple of leaks that involve things like “flashing” and “gutter work”.

The ugly: none of those leaks were mentioned in the seller’s disclosure.

So, I still love the place and know that I’m not willing to walk away from the home. I can’t; I’m emotionally invested now. Ken and I sent a letter over to the sellers anyway, just hoping they’ll want to do right by us and get some of this fixed. We’ll find out today whether or not I’ll have to find their new home and tp it.

The Trials and Tribulations of Home Buying

My life is about to become all about a home.

This past weekend, Ken and I had an offer accepted on a home in Shadyside, which is a very fun, compact little area within the city of Pittsburgh. The home a beautiful, old Victorian, deep red brick, gorgeous architectural detail within the brick laying, and a double gable roof. All of this wonderfulness outside makes up for the inside of the home, which is a total wreck.

And today I’m going to go through the home inspection process. I’m going in prepared with tons of research on what to look for when it comes to wiring, moisture, structure, roofing, etc. I’m nervous, but excited to go through this.

Check back soon to see if I’m still add that “excited” part to any of my sentences.

The New "Me"

I started working at the Heinz School at Carnegie Mellon exactly two weeks ago. The process of reclamation has been both strange and familiar. There people are, for the most part, the same people with whom I worked 4 years ago. So, this is good because most of them are my friends. But some things do change.

Some people here shuffled around jobs and moved up in the ranks. This means new people have been hired. There’s one person who’s fairly new to Heinz who reminds me of someone I used to know.

Oh right, it’s the new “me”.

She hangs out with the old happy hour gang. She knows all good things going on around town. Students love to talk with her. She’s fun, engaging, stylish. She’s genuinely someone to whom everyone else in the school is drawn.

*sigh*

I’m not claiming that I have or had all of her pizzazz and flair that she does. But I am pretty sure she’s the new me in my old group of friends. Damn.

My Other Job

I’m living with my folks right now as I find my way through the transition of moving from Cleveland to Pittsburgh. So far, things have been pretty good. Generally, I don’t see much of anyone in my family, mostly because we’re all busy with our jobs. But I do see my mom more than my brother and dad, As I’ve mentioned before, she loves to cook. More than that, she loves to tell me what to cook for her.

Last night, I cooked what she told me to cook (see previous sentence). The recipe was quite tasty, though, and about as easy as they come, so I thought I’d share. It’s some sort of version of a spaghetti carbonara, but without the (what I think are) nasty, runny egg yolks.

1 lb fresh angel hair pasta
1 box frozen peas
1 cup low fat cream
2 shallots, thinly sliced
4 slices of bacon, cut up into ½ inch pieces
Parmesan

Boil water and cook your angel hair pasta (this should only take, like, a minute, in the boiling water.) In a pan, sauté bacon and then remove from pan. In the bacon fat, sauté the shallots for a couple of minutes. Then add the peas and cream. Bring it to a simmer and then let it thicken for a couple of minutes. Throw the angel hair in with the sauce and toss to coat. Throw the bacon pieces in and toss. Place into pasta bowls and garnish with a little parmesan.

YUM!

Old? New?

This week is my first week with a new job in a familiar place. I moved back to Pittsburgh and started working at Carnegie Mellon’s Heinz School of Public Policy and Management, which is where I was before moving to Cleveland.

It’s so strange being back here. Good, but still strange. I get the sense that everyone kind of feels as though no real time as passed while I’ve been gone, yet, for me, I feel as though I’ve lived a whole other life. My old friends and colleagues have been great, making me feel completely at ease. But along with that comes the idea I’ve somehow remembered every little detail and nuance about the school, the university, and the personal lives of all who I’ve run across.

This is, in fact, not the case.

I got a 5 minute run down of benefits and payroll. Great! And now I have forms sitting on my desk ready to be sent to an HR office in a location I no longer remember.

I had an hour and a half long meeting with a woman who I actually HIRED into my previous position and, during the entire meeting, I couldn’t focus on anything other than figuring out what her husband’s names is. I thought I remembered correctly yesterday and asked her how Thomas was doing, only I asked with some sort of French accent added onto this pronunciation for no real reason. The accent, of course, was not needed.

This morning I walked down to Starbucks to get some coffee and, when walking back into the building, was asked why I didn’t just get the Starbucks that’s already brewed in the coffee room on the second floor. Huh. My bank account wishes I would have remembered that one a little sooner.

I met up with an old friend last night for dinner and when she casually mentioned she was divorced, I about fell out of my chair. “You didn’t tell me that!” She sure did, about 3 years ago. Via MySpace. GOD.

I’m glad the weekend is nearing. Then I’ll be able to take a prospective student tour without being caught by a colleague.

Efficient Women Workers

A buddy of mine shared with me an article, dated 1943, from Transportation Magazine, “Guide to Hiring Women.” Of the eleven tips on getting more efficiency out of women employees, these were – as I like to say – blog worthy.

*Give every girl an adequate number of rest periods during the day. You have to make some allowances for feminine psychology. A girl has more confidence and is more efficient if she can keep her hair tidied, apply fresh lipstick and wash her hands several times a day.

*General experience indicates that “husky” girls – those who are just a little on the heavy side – are more even tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.

*Be tactful when issuing instructions or in making criticisms. Women are often sensitive; they can’t shrug off harsh words the way men do. Never ridicule a woman – it breaks her spirit and cuts off her efficiency.

And people wonder why it's such a big deal to have Hillary running for U.S. President. She'll be great so long as her people understand that she needs an adequate number of breaks to primp.

The Drink Order at Starbucks

This morning , as I was waiting to get a coffee from Starbucks, I started collecting rude ways in which people ask for their drinks.

“Yeah, get me a triple, no-foam latte.”

“I want a iced, extra caramel, caramel macchiato.”

“Why don’t you give me a non-fat, extra-hot, with-whip mocha.”

“Regular coffee. Be sure to leave room for cream.”

Whatever happened to the polite and correct way of asking for something? May I please order a drink in a kinder world?

Just a Midwestern Kinda Gal

(This is a quasi-repost from another blog.)

Having just talked with a friend who is thinking about vacationing in Miami, FL., I’m reminded that, while I love visiting Miami, I could never live there. And here are my top 10 reasons for thinking I couldn’t hack it.

10. Dinner served on beds isn't appealing to me when it's in a public setting.
9. I couldn't spray tan enough to get to a decent bronze tone needed to blend with the crowd.
8. When I want to hang out in an Asian-inspired bar or restaurant, I don't want it to include hydraulic tables and wind tunnels.
7. I can't afford breast implants.
6. I've never been fluent in Spanish, and it seems to be the official language of Miami.
5. Wearing sweaters in 70 degree weather doesn’t make sense to me.
4. With only one major university in the area, my 10 years spent in higher education probably wouldn't help me get a job.
3. The notion of needed to buy a $300 bottle of vodka to secure a table at a restaurant makes me vomit in my mouth.
2. Carrying hurricane insurance would cost me more than my current mortgage.

And the number 1 reason for me is......

1. I think eating sushi served off of female and male models' bodies is creepy.

Rememer Your Props!

I recently started taking classes at the gym on campus with my friend, Christina. This is not my first foray into the class-taking experience, but this time around, it has a new twist.

Props.

I’m not talking about one or two pieces of equipment; that would be normal. For any given class, I usually need to set up the following: a light weight set of free weights; a medium weight of free weights; a heavy set of free weights; a ball; a stand for the ball; a mat; a step; add on steps to make the initial step higher.

There’s barely enough room to work out in after it’s all set up. I get tired just thinking about having to set it all up.

I miss jumping rope. Props needed: 1.

A Day of Hard, Hard Work

Here are some of the things I did at work today, in no particular order.

*Watched an MIT Tech TV video wherein a student created a replica of the MIT seal with origami;

*Watched The Price is Right;

*Took an hour and a half long lunch;

*Read Heart Healthy Recipes;

*Spent some time trying to figure out what I’m going to wear tomorrow.

I promise you, they all had a direct tie to work. Except for the lunch, that is – that was just fun.

Why the move to Mondays, PDQ?

My favorite section of the Plain Dealer Sunday paper is the PDQ. I just adore those stats. Imagine my horror to find out that the PDQ will now be printed only for the Monday edition of the paper. Starting in two weeks.

This makes no sense to me. Who is going to read this section on Mondays? The substance usually coincides with fun, weekender-type things like, number of beers purchased during a home Indians game: 44,501. What’s it going to cover now? Number of times the Dow opened above 12,000 in 2008? Who CARES? I mean, I do, but not in the PDQ section. I want the PDQ to answer the following questions for me:

* Number of times Lindsay Lohan has been in rehab
* Amount the average American spends on lollipops in a year
* Number of copies of the Karma Sutra sold on February 14th
* Average pay per movie for Michael Cera
* Number of trees killed to print Michael Cricton novels

Well, I guess change is always bound to happen. So long, PDQ. I enjoyed reading you on Sundays.

If You're Skinny, Can You Be Fat?

All the world chattering about the idea of getting fit and trim. Lose weight from the holidays! Get in bikini shape now! But the latest buzz is k-i-l-l-i-n-g me. It's neatly packaged in this little phrase: skinny-fat.

Skinny-fat? Give me a fuckin’ break.

So, let’s see. We’ve made a neurotic mess of girls who are of a normal size, but not Kate “I BLOW” Moss’s size. We’ve made overweight girls feel like they’re menaces to society. And now we’ve made girls who are already probably too thin to begin with now think they’re fat. The skinny-fats.

Case in point. There’s a woman out there – a web writer – who talks about the fact that she’s 5’5”, about 100lbs, and sporting a size 2. But she’s not working out, so she joins a gym and does a body composition test. The trainer tells her that she’s 29% body fat, which makes her almost obese. OBESE?

I’m no genius, but I think that you’d have to have some extra “body” to have that kind of fat proportion. Maybe those invisible parts of her are enormous.

Why can’t we just say this woman – or any woman – just wants to feel good, get some energy kickin’, and call it a day? No, no. Clearly a label must be created, and, from here on out, she’ll be known as skinny-fat. And sometimes nuts, as labeled by me.

The Loser Who Just Watches Other Losers

I admit it; I’m completely addicted to reality TV show, “The Biggest Loser”. I listen intently to the contestants’ personal stories about why they want to lose the weight; I love to watch the pounds melt away as they go through all of those strenuous work outs; I get teary-eyed watching the final episodes as they unveil their new, toned, tough-as-nails selves and tell us how they feel as though they have a new contract on life.

I want to be on the show.

Those who know me know that this could be an impossibility for a couple of reasons.

1. I’m not obese.
2. I don’t have children whose lives would be affected for the GOOD by me losing half my body weight.
3. I haven’t contracted diabetes and don’t have liver failure because of my unhealthy lifestyle.

But what I love about the show is that these contestants basically get a clean slate to change their physical and emotional selves, and they do this by leaving their jobs and heading to a ranch to basically learn how to work out, eat well, and enjoy a healthy lifestyle. They do this for something like 6 months. 6 months!

Hello?! I want to be on this show. What I wouldn’t give to take off a half of a year and just play all day, all the while getting in some seriously kick-ass, model-esque, take-my-bikini-clad-bod-to-any-beach-in-Miami shape!

If anyone has some thoughts as to how I could perhaps pull an application together for this show, I’m all ears.

Survivor: U.S.A

At my prior job, there was a group of us who used to bet on the castaways from CBS’s reality TV show, “Survivor”. An actual fact: I won the pool once by betting on Ethan. To be honest, I kind of hated the show. But throw some money on the table and mix it up with the show, and I was ALL about it. I was thinking about this last night while watching the U.S. presidential candidates vomit out their last stump speeches before the first caucus. And then it hit me.

DUDE. All voting should be democratic-style caucusing, and it should be billed, “Survivor: U.S.A.” It would be total peer pressure, but people would totally get into it because it would be like playing a game. And people would be talking like this.

First Democratic Girl Voter (FDGV): "Oh. My. GOD. Did you see who Sue was aligning herself with last night? Mike Gravel! AS IF."

Second Democratic Girl Voter (SDGV): "Seriously? That’s so lame. Everyone knew there was NO way Gravel was going to pass “the threshold”. Sue totally should have aligned with, like, Hillary or Barack."

FDGV: "I know! I mean, Sue obviously ended up aligning with Hillary, but not until after she went through persuasion. How bogus is that?"

SDGV: "Totally. She’s so lucky she even got to cast a vote! But it’s so unfair that Sue can say she’s backing a “winner” now. Whatever."

Jeff Probst, you ain’t got nothin’ on me.