Tag Archives: Frantic Terry

Accidents will happen

Dear blog,

Oh I went and did it again, didn’t I? I got all wrapped up IRL and ignored the 010011011011101s until those 01011010011101101s threatened me in the way only they can and I became overwhelmed.

This “getting overwhelmed” business parallels with so many other things in my life, so I’d like to say it’s a one-time thing, but I don’t want to lie.

  • I had gum surgery.
  • I finished level three.
  • I pulled my back
  • Troupon played and lost (by ONE vote!) Cagematch.
  • I started practicing with the IFL.
  • I had an impossible flat tire.
  • I got new boots.
  • My dad celebrated a birthday. (I’m always grateful for these.)
  • I fell down, really hard.
  • My A/C went out and had to be replaced. WHOA, that was expensive.
  • I ate curdled cereal on accident.
  • I drank a lot of champagne.
  • I had a weird run-in with a cop that might not actually be a cop, in plain clothes wearing a balaclava in 107 heat.
  • I started reading Game of Thrones.
  • I missed out on the level three showcase because of a handful of the above.
  • I start a new intensive this week with Jill Bernard.
  • I had coffee. Lots of coffee. Lots of coffee with interesting conversation.
  • I slept. A lot.
  • And then didn’t.  A lot.

 

All that is happening/happened. Some of it I’ll go into detail about. Most of it I won’t.

But I’ll be back soon, I swear it. Here’s a pretty picture. Forgive me?

IMG_1469

 

Love and watermelons,

Terry

DAZED AND OBTUSED

So yeah. I totally should have realized today was going to be brought to me by the letters W-T-F when the lotion bottle I picked up after my shower this morning FLEW out of my hand and across the bathroom.

I left my phone at home. I left my sunglasses at home. I left the check I needed to deposit at home. I was running late to my dentist appointment (my teeth. my teeth. have I talked enough about my teeth?). There was wake-you-up pain at my dentist appointment. WAKE-YOU-UP pain.

On the way back to the office I saw that the road was clear to turn so I turned. From standstill to turning left on Lamar. Completely oblivious to the red light telling me NOT TO GO and the cop in the next lane. THAT JUST HAPPENED.

I contemplated the “run home quickly for the shit you forgot” strategy and then decided against it because I didn’t want to be late.

FOR THE MONDAY MORNING MEETING.

(It’s Thursday.)

*head/desk*

I really, really should go back to bed immediately.

Already.

Remember how I was all, IMMA POST EVERY SINGLE DAY EVER!?

I forgot that it’s really tough to keep that kind of promise when you’re days away from leaving the country (maybe. I’m looking at you, Heathrow!) and it’s a close countdown to Christmas and there’s a MILLION THINGS HAPPENING.

Things:

1) Ainjel is here and her CD sounds awesome
2) My tooth hurts. Endodontic flare up or something.
3) I bought snow boots and thermals.
4) I had Christmas tamales. There’s nothing, nothing like Christmas tamales.
5) The Saints lost. I … I … I don’t even know.

Sidenote: I really, really hate Everybody Loves Raymond.

Suet

When talking about mince pies, or mincemeat pies, you can’t … oh I’m just going to get it out here in the beginning, mince words. There’s suet in those gorgeous buttery crusted, sweet pies.

What’s suet? It’s essentially the hard fat (beef or mutton) around the loins and kidneys. It’s used to make tallow and pastries, especially mince pies and Christmas puddings. Sounds awful. But it’s really not.

People, hardcore people, make their own mince filling from fruits and raisins and brandy and suet (and occasionally meat), and then serve them in gorgeous pies or mini-pies around the holidays.

Other people (see: me) buy versions from Mr.Kipling or Hoppers (two of the only three I’ve seen Stateside). My absolute favorite, though:

Walker’s Luxury Mince Pies.

And we just finished the last of them.

This means that this week, THIS WEEK, I need to do what I set out to do when I stalked Dai Due’s booth at the Austin Farmer’s Market a few weeks ago and make a ton of them myself.

Dai Due doesn’t play around with their Mincemeat. Read their description:

“We begin preparing our Traditional Mincemeat in May, when the apricots first show at the markets. These are dried, along with Rain Lily Farm sugar figs and tiny, sour plums. When Fall rolls around, hundreds of pounds of Lightsey Farm Keffir pears and Apple Country Granny Smiths are diced and very slowly baked with sugar, spices and a little buttery Richardson Farm beef suet. As the temperatures finally drop a bit more, the final ingredients in a 6 month recipe present themselves: the first oranges and grapefruits are candied and juiced, and sweet new-crop pecans are roasted and added to the mix and baked even further. This syrupy compote is then fortified and preserved with copious amounts of brandy. This mincemeat is redolent of pears, apples, brandy and spice, rich depth from the dried fruits and suet, slightly bitter notes from the grapefruit, sweet and sour flavors from the orange and savory crunch from the pecans.”

I mean, for REAL. If your mouth isn’t watering right now, you’re dead to me.

The reason I haven’t made pies from the two GIANT quarts I bought from them is because I’m stuck on the crusts. (That, and the boxed Walker’s pies are SO GOOD.) I don’t know how to shape them, cut them and/or bake them. There’s a better than not chance I’m going to go with roll-and-go crust, but even then, how big is too big? Do I stick them in my cupcake tins?

I’m guessing yes and that I’m going to do some trial runs until I figure it out and eat so much mince that I turn into a giant bottle of brandy. Also, I’ll drink heavily whilst doing all of it it’ll just be fun either way. Y/Y?

If it turns out to be a giant disaster, that will be FINE because I’m going to England in T-11 days now, when on Christmas Eve, we’ll eat 234895793485798 of them at midnight mass and I’ll wonder why I felt the need to even try in the first place.

ELEVEN DAYS. I need to make mince pies, Mexican Wedding cookies and butter cookies in the next eleven days.

Stay tuned.

FRANTIC MENSTRUAL MATHEMATICS. No Reservations, my ass.

So I’m a big Anthony Bourdain fan. I’ve got a whole post about it coming up.

I’m a bigger fan of keeping quiet spots, quiet. So when my honeymoon spot, my beloved Petit St. Vincent, shows up in much-hyped footage of the upcoming NO RESERVATIONS season premiere, you can bet I’m going to freak the fuck out a little bit BECAUSE WE HAVEN’T MADE RESERVATIONS TO RETURN YET.

It’s no reservations, but FOR REAL.

And this place, you kind of already have to reserve your spot a year in advance. ALREADY. There are only 22 cottages on the whole island. It’s a place where people who go, come back. FOREVER. They don’t need flashy ad campaigns to stay in business. They don’t need travel deals on hotels dot fucking com to pimp their rooms and they certainly don’t need ANTHONY FUCKING BOURDAIN to come and show off to the world how very quiet and private the god damn island is.

(Cue to me immediately sending an after-hours e-mail requesting a reservation. I did this after trying to pinpoint exactly where my period will land in nine months. Yep, frantic menstrual mathematics.) DAMMIT, TONY.

Your shirt is see-through and you’re wearing last season’s boobs.

Oh the wacky www. With all its… wackiness.

* * *

So I used the $$ from the Regina tix to buy some vintage hardboard placemats on le ebay. They’re the most awesome ones in all the land of internetdom. Trust me, even bugivshort agrees they’re the least suckiest of all the choices available. And she’s got the thumb on the pulse of the whole style thing.

I spent the rest, on lotto tickets. Stylish lotto tickets.

Okay, not really.

* * *

I talked to my best girl on the phone and when she asked a simple question about a bridesmaid dress I kind of wigged out in the hyperventilating kind of way b/c I can’t even *think* bridesmaids dresses when 1) I haven’t even found my wedding dresses (that’s right, two.) or 2) asked all of my bridal party to BE in the wedding.

Deep breaths.

* * *

deadlines deadlines deadlines.
I think I waited as long as possible now and have left myself with nothing but balls-to-the-wall anxiety to fuel my pitch. I know I work best under pressure, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD can I just finish something before the eleventh hour for ONCE?

Just once. Come on!

* * *

D comes back on Saturday. He got to hear President Clinton talk today in Chicago. So awesome. Know what’s decidedly not awesome? Half the bed being cold w/o him.

That’s okay. He left me with the world’s grumpiest cat to keep me warm.

And by “keep me warm” I clearly mean glaring at me from across the room and spontaneously vomiting.