That didn't take long at all.

Last night, I did a very bad thing. I googled "South America tours". I knew I shouldn't do it. I should've just worked on my knitting. But something else took control of fingers and typed it. Big mistake.

I found this 124-day tour of South America. We're talking 3-4 days in each location, 4 day cruise down the Amazon (but they have snakes there - big ones), hiking the Inca trail, Iguacu (sp?!) falls, Buenos Aires, OMG SO MANY AMAZING THINGS!!! And, because it's a more "adventure-y" trip, and more focused on local culture than grand tourism, it's cheap because you're on local transportation and staying in small local places (read: no amenities) and sometimes even camping and getting eaten by whatever you get eaten by in South America. Turns out the same company also has a trip to Antartica (which is also a bit less than most trips to Antartica - which are usually really expensive, because, hello, it's Antartica, not Vegas).

Okay, here's the thing. When I finished school, I did a quick trip of Eastern Europe and then went to Oz/NZ for a couple months. That was supposed to be my grand trip (for the next couple years) because then I would be joining the workforce and becoming a responsible adult and be limited to 2 weeks vacation. So my vacation focus was supposed to shift to the U.S. and be city jaunts to places like San Francisco and New York City and Seattle and Boston and Savannah and places I needed to see there. It would work perfectly - I could knock locations off my "to-see" list, but the destinations were close enough they could work easily into my time off.

Then Sept 28th hit. And I realized a year before I had been on a plane to Oz. And I remembered how free I felt. (Not that I couldn't feel that free in Charleston, but still) A couple weeks after that, I went to Contiki.com (BAD! BAD! BAD!) and noticed the Morocco trip fell over the Thanksgiving weekend this year - and that the trip is only 9 days long (including two travel days) - so, really, I could do it with only 4-5 vacation days. Then I could see Morocco AND get a 4th continent! Then last night.

Googling was a mistake. Last night, as I lay in bed, dreaming of 6 months in South America (and a 4th and maybe even a 5th continent!!!), dreaming of staying in a jungle resort in the middle of the Amazon and meeting indiginous peoples, I started cursing myself for not going for (completely) broke. It was the smart decision - but last night, I was wishing I wasn't so smart.

I thought I was happy with the U.S. plan. It wasn't perfect, and I knew it would only hold me over for so long - but I thought it would last longer than 6 months. I thought I'd at least get to one city before I was sucked back into the dreaming. I didn't think I'd bail this quickly. I just need to stick to the plan. I need to start sightseeing lists for San Fran and NYC and everywhere else so I get excited about those instead.

But Antarctica has penguins!!!!!!

You'll ruin your dinner

Remember when your mother said that to you? No, you can't have those cookies cuz you'll ruin your dinner. And you're thinking, "no I won't. It's only a cookie. I can eat a cookie and still eat dinner."

Well, it happened. I had two cookies when I got home and now I'm full. I don't want dinner. So I'm not making it. I ruined my dinner. I can't believe she was right.

All done

There has been this one garbage bag of t-shirts, and this one box of bedroom knick-knacky things and framed photos, that have absolutely refused to be unpacked these two months. That is no longer the case. The t-shirts are all put away, the closet has been properly organized (or, as organized as it's ever gonna get), and that box of "why did I even bother moving this?!" stuff is all unpacked and stashed away. This coming weekend will be two months, and I'm finally officially unpacked. (I'm not counting the unhung pictures sitting on the dining room table waiting to be hung, because those are technically unpacked, they're just waiting for divine artistic inspiration, and for their three friends to be framed as well).

But I've finally unpacked it all. And I'm never moving again. :p

No luck

Well, of course, luck was not on my side. As I turned the corner, I saw my landlady and she kinda chuckled and said "hi" (I think she chuckled cuz, a couple weekends ago when my parents were here, my dad went to get the paper and caught her in her dressing gown and she made some comment that she was hoping she wouldn't see anyone). Then, she stopped right at the stairs and had some conversation with a guy - and they were positioned such that I had to walk right between them to get to the stairs, and then back to the hall. So that didn't work. Plus, my cutest robe is fleece, and, while it's getting chillier, fleece was not required. So now I'm really hot.

We'll have to see how tomorrow goes. Right now I need some OJ.

Do I just make a run for it?

This is the first weekend I've spent here by myself, and I've just discovered a new problem.

I just woke up. My newspaper is in the lobby. I'm in pjs and my hair is a mess. But it would be too much a destruction of my routine to put clothes on and comb my hair - Saturday mornings are for lazing about a bit first. Before, neighbours were far enough away they wouldn't be able to really see super-messy hair or smudged eye-makeup. Now I run the risk of passing people in the hallway. I have my robe ready - the hair is another issue. But I think I'm gonna make a run for it. Wish me luck.

Just like Mom's. Or better

When my sister was here, she made me some meat sauce and froze it. I grabbed some one night, made some ravioli, and had this amazing pasta. I figured I had just kinda hit the perfect combination of cooking time and textures and counted my blessings. A couple nights later, I made another pasta with the sauce, and again, it was out of this world. Then it hit me. It was the sauce. My sister makes incredible pasta sauce. Even better than my mother's. (In all fairness to my mother, I think part of what makes my sister's sauce so good is the onions - which my mother would love to use but never can because of my father's allergy. In all fairness to my sister, though, her sauce kicks ass.)

This is especially funny in my family because my sister was never a cook. Whereas I was actually interested in cooking and learning to cook, she couldn't care less. Her first year away from home, she ate cereal. And literally almost nothing else. Breakfast and dinner - cereal and cereal. The last year or two she's been cooking more, and is now a really good cook, constantly experimenting and trying new things. Still, the meat sauce surprised me.

As I was contemplating the sauce, I noticed something interesting. Her sauce is very different from my mother's. It's more tomato, and less meat. It's a thicker, creamier texture. It has a completely different taste. Then I remembered a night in January when I was at my sister's place and made a stirfry. She took one bite and said "omg it tastes exactly like mom's! I've been trying to get mine to taste like mom's and it never does. How did you do it?!" I had no answer - that's just how I make a stirfry. I realized the difference, that night of the second pasta, as I sat there staring at the penne stuck on my fork. I learned how to cook from my mother. Under her watchful eye. Watching her and then repeating the same. Verifying every step with her. Whether intentionally or not, my mother influenced every single step of my cooking process. While my sister always gets advice, recipes and steps from my mom, it's only ever over the phone - so she learned to cook on her own. Creating a completely different style.

As I was baking for Thanksgiving last weekend, my dad was sitting at the counter, watching me. He started laughing. "You bake just like your mother, and her mother before her. If you had learned to bake from my mother, you would be doing it completely different." My sister bakes and cooks in entirely her own way. Influenced by no one.

After I had that second pasta, I called my parents to tell them I liked my sister's sauce better than my mother's. My dad exclaimed "That's the way it should be!", taking some sort of paternal pride in what he saw as some sort of passing of the torch. My mom just laughed. She's just thrilled we're slowly but surely discovering the wonderful world of the onion now that we're free from the confines of my father's allergy. Me? I started rationing the pasta sauce and trying to find a time for my sister to come out to make me another batch before Christmas. I could get the recipe, but it could never be the same. And I only have 3 containers left.

I've missed fall

I didn't have a fall season last year. I'm obviously not going to get any sympathy for that, since the reason I didn't have fall was that I was traipsing around Australia (and it was their spring), but it's been 2 years since my last fall. It's my favourite season, and I've missed it. October is my second favourite time of the year (first being Christmas) and driving around this weekend, with the bright blue skies and the the gold, orange, and red leaves, seeing all the displays of pumpkins, and feeling the warmth of the sun contrasting with the cool air, I remembered how much I love fall, and how much I've missed it.

Okay, so earlier I was thinking I'd post an entry about how I was assembling parts at work (we're trying to get a new line running and we had no operator) and how my hands were getting all roughed up and I was wondering if the operators would have to wear gloves to protect themselves. Then I was wondering if it was less a case of actually requiring personal protection, and more a case of having a flash of "oh! maybe this is just what happens when you do a fair bit of manual labour", and how sad it was that I'm only now having this revelation. :p

Then I started thinking that I should write about routines and schedules and how I haven't had an externally-imposed schedule since the year 2000 and for the last 4 years have done whatever I wanted whenever I wanted and how, not only do I have to be a certain place at certain times, but that I can't get anything else done because I haven't found the groove yet. I haven't figured out this grocery/food thing (like, how much to buy, and how long it'll last, all for one person) or found time to do the cooking thing (like, I'm cooking simple meals but I used to love to cook and now I'm just doing enough of a basic meal to stay full and I want to cook for real - tonight when I told my dad I had a sub for dinner he even said "A sub?! You're the one who cooks!"); I haven't figured out this talking to my sister thing (suddenly, given my working and sleeping hours, the 2 hour difference is HUGE and we've gone from talking anytime of anyday to never being able to catch up; I haven't been to the gym; I haven't even gotten close to sorting out the cleaning thing; I've barely gotten the newspaper and laundry thing down. Then I decided that's rather boring and I'm really too tired to go into it all (all that is the short version - that's really scary. :p)

I really wasn't expecting to be this tired. Of course, this week has had extra long days, but still.

Then I had thought of another topic (that I now forget) that might be almost mildy interesting, but when I logged in, I found a link to this blog! OMG! How perfect! I love the recipe tables! I love the eggplant taste test! I love the orange juice dilemma!!! This is great! This totally made my day! Just that someone would even think up a cooking for engineers blog! It reminds me of this article I read in an Industrial Engineering magazine about using IE concepts in the kitchen (like, two people cutting potatoes because there's no sense having a knife and a person idle). The one thing I always found hilarious was that, despite supposedly being an industrial engineer, one of the things I've always had problems with is making sure the whole dinner is ready at the same time - that sort of job scheduling is supposed to be part of my job - is that what they mean when they refer to the difference between book lurnin' and real life experience?

The next dish I want to make is either a pork roast, or balsamico roast chicken and potatoes (recipe cut out of the paper). And next weekend, when I'm finally home for a weekend, I'm going to get the apartment all organized for real, cook one of the above meals, and try to regain some sort of routine. And pull out my knitting. I have lots of knitting to do.

And I have to give a shoutout (really, I feel like I have to shoot myself for even using that phrase) to K for all the spelling help. Even if I ended up taking out the word "alot" but I don't think you actually answered me on that one anyway.

Too much of a good thing

I always ate Kraft Creamy Peanut Butter. I don't like chunky peanut butter. Then I found out about Extra Creamy Peanut Butter and I was like whoa! EXTRA creamy must mean extra better! So I bought some. And have been eating that. And it's good. But then, when I went home this weekend, I had some of the regular creamy peanut butter. And I realized I like the regular creamy better. It makes no sense. If it's the creamy I like, shouldn't I like the extra creamy better? Maybe "too much of a good thing" really does exist. Next time, I'm sticking with regular creamy.

The power of the little silver key and the little gold box

Every day, no matter how long or short, how fun or mundane, how jam-packed or leisurely my day has been, there is always one moment when everything going on disappears and the quality of my day seems to hang in the balance. Holding that little key in my hand, standing in front of that little box, wondering if I have mail. I try to peak through the ventilation holes, hoping to spot some sort of paper. I start to feel the excitement in my stomach. I dare not breathe. What sort of day will it be today? Will it be the highest of highs? Fun mail! Mail addressed to me! From people who love me! Or people I gave money to and so are delivering my merchandise! Mail like that can make your entire week! Even when it's a handwritten note from your sister written on scrap paper from her printer at school because she was too lazy to go buy a card. Alas, that sort of mail is extremely rare. So, often, you must take solace in your bills. Yes, they just want to talk to you cuz you owe them money, but hey, at least they know you're on the planet. And want to talk to you. Kinda. They're at least more personal than random junk mail. Popped in every box like cheap hooker. For food you'll never eat, or stores you'll never visit. And you start to wonder if anyone worthwhile wants to talk to you. Then, one day, you open the box, and there's nothing. :( And you long for a Domino's ad because Domino's at least recognizes your existence. And you almost start appreciating the junk mail. So much so that you make origami animals out of it. Because nothing is more depressing than no mail.

I just wish life contained more fun mail.