Posts Tagged With: Baked Potato

November Start


I told you it wouldn’t be a whole month until I came back again.  Nano is going very well.  So well, in fact, that I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.  It usually drops in week 2, so we’ll see how much I hate this story and everything it stands for in another 8 days or so.  I’m no longer surprised that this happens, but every year I’m surprised by how genuine the feelings of loathing are.  You would think I would have learned by now that this is a phase.

Brian participated in the annual Baked Potato Decorating Day contest at his work, held every year on November 1st.  He won for his impressive rendition of Bag End, complete with round carrot door and broccoli Party Tree.  I am still upset by his refusal to let me make hobbits from tater tots, but I shall live through my disappointment.  His prize was $45 to Barnes and Noble, and we spent a blissful evening among the stacks of books.

“Do you want anything?” Brian asked me toward the end of our perusal.

I started laughing.  Because I want everything, of course.  They’ve come out with those amazing gilded Barnes and Noble Classic editions of American Gods and Anansi Boys, A Wrinkle In Time, Shell Silverstein poems, Cthulhu mythos, Robin Hood, Moby Dick, The Eye of the World, 10 Wizard of Oz books…  Moleskine has Harry Potter special editions sitting on the shelf.  I have not yet read Rene Ahdieh’s latest.  America’s Test Kitchen has a gigantic cooking bible.  I’m dying to purchase a slew of romance novels, and Uprooted. They have a vast collection of color-your-own postcards and a Pusheen luggage set.  I still need the Puffin In Bloom copy of the Little Princess.  They had fancy hard-backed editions of The Silmarillion.  When I said I wanted everything, I wasn’t kidding.

“Don’t worry about me,” I said.  I’m used to drooling and not buying.  Also, I didn’t help with the potato and I can’t remember the last time Brian bought books.  He picked up three and has been spending his nights reading, like I usually do, which is reward enough.

Writing and reading your heart out are what November is for.  We have a good start on that over here.

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From the Email File

From the notorious email file… I would like to present you with several posts about eating.  It was too good not to do a second post.  This might be it, though.


Me: To Whom It May Concern (Just in case you’re confused, that’s you),

This is a reminder that you have a hot date tonight with the most amazing woman in the world (Just in case you’re confused, that’s me). Don’t forget about me and go play DnD before I can eat dinner with you, OK?  See you soon!!

Brian: Thank you for your email. One of our representatives will respond to you within 3-4 business years.

Me: I’m sorry, but that’s unacceptable.  I’d like to speak to your manager immediately.

Brian: She’s experiencing a backlog of complaints. Allow 6-8 years for a response.


Me: I just found out that it’s Baked Potato Day… in DCA only and nowhere else!  Oh the injustice!!! WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY??

Brian: You’re weird, dear.

Me: And you married me.

In related news, I finished everything I absolutely have to do today early.  I think a trip to DCA is in order…

Brian: LOL. 🙂



It is strongly recommended that you not go to lunch at Café Adobe today.  Your wife will most likely want to eat dinner there, and it will be a tragedy if she cannot, due to your prior dining at the establishment.  That is all.

Brian: According to Google Maps, the nearest Café Adobe is in San Jose, so I’ll just go to Taco Adobe instead. 😛

Me: So what you’re saying is… you don’t love me enough to take me to San Jose tonight?

Brian: No. I’m saying that it’s a six hour drive, and I don’t think we’ll get back in time for your 7:00 class. Just thinking of you, dear. 🙂

Me: Oh, we’ll have plenty of time if we fly into Oakland for dinner and then fly back for class.  I have Dramamine stashed in my purse…

Brian: You do realize that this isn’t like Star Trek, where we can magically beam ourselves onto an airplane bound for San Jose, right? We actually have to drive to the Long Beach airport, board an airplane, fly to San Jose, disembark, hail a taxi to the restaurant, eat, hail a taxi back, board another airplane, fly back to Long Beach, then drive from the airport to your class; all in the space of two hours. I should also mention the niggling, little detail that there aren’t any flights leaving for San Jose from Long Beach this evening.

Other than that, your plan sounds perfect. Perfectly CRAZY!

Me: Can I just say that I love that you looked up the logistics getting an airplane from Long Beach.

Also… I’ve been brainwashed by Star Trek to think that we can, in fact, beam ourselves aboard an airplane bound for San Jose.  And it’s not magic, it’s 24th century science.  Duh.

Brian:  Then my work is done.  Also, I’ve never been more turned on than I am right now.


Brian: I’m frustrated… [insert work rant here]. Please, can I just have my life back the way it was?

Me: I just want you to know that all your troubles are over because, lo, it is Baked Potato Day and the peasants rejoice.

Brian: I don’t like potatoes. 😛

Me: Um…EVERYONE likes the Disney potatoes.  Besides, you don’t have to actually eat one for its good mojo to get all over your day.

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I am a superstitious girl of epic proportions.  They probably shouldn’t have let me read the 800 page Dictionary of Superstition because it only got worse.  I knock wood, won’t walk under ladders, and hold my breath when driving by graveyards.  I refuse to walk over piles of dust and always feel guilty that I didn’t buy a new broom when we moved.  I never have red and white flower arrangements. The tips of my candles are always burned.  I could never figure out how to sleep with wedding cake under my pillow without getting fondant ground into the sheets, but I was working on it.  I blame the first year of my marriage partially on the fact that the ceremony was on Thursday.

“Ooh!  A penny!” I said to Brian one day.

“What the heck are you doing?” he asked. 

“I have to put it in my shoe.”

“Uh, why?”

“It was tails and tails pennies are bad luck.  So you put them in your shoe to turn it, and you get the luck after all.”

He looked at me like I was absurd. 

 I don’t know if I should admit it as this is fairly easy to hide, but judge the quality of every day based on a complex rubric of symbols I have made up for myself.  For instance:

Trains are good luck.  The Metrolink used to be a vague part of my day when I worked in Claremont, but now train tracks cross my route to work in five different places.  My bedroom looks out on the train tracks, and the window rattles when the Metrolink blazes past.  There are hierarchies to trains, because not all of them are Metrolink in Orange County.  In fact, Metrolink are the lowest rung of luck because they’re so prolific.  Surfliner trains are lots of luck, and freight trains are the ultimate luck bonanza.  Trains that I see but don’t have to wait for multiply the luck as well. 

Beatles or Simon and Garfunkel songs on the radio are good luck, but only if on the radio and not purposefully played.  Also lucky are the numbers 9, 4, and 6 (in order of luckiness).  Things like the Disney cafeteria having baked potatoes at lunch time are also wrapped up in this, and the way the elevators work at Dodge College.

Since the failed attempt to write my third novel (Psychopomp, about a man who starts to be followed by a murder of crows and then finds out it’s because he’s the next Death) I have also been followed around by crows.  Not in large groups, but one is generally around somewhere waxing fat and glossy and giving me a dirty look.  I’m not sure what this means yet, but I know that I like them.  They make me feel like I’m in an epic.  Standing on the Misty Mountain and looking for advice on what to do about the dragon, perhaps.       

So now that I’ve admitted to being crazy, would you please excuse me?  A black cat walked in, and I have to leave before it tries to cross my path.

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