Picture a Day - Day 62

I have a secret to share with you all.

While I don't think it's anything all that shameful it may shock and horrify some of you to the point of near hysterics. So this post comes with it's own special fainting couch complete with smelling salts.

Now onto the secret.

I don't like shoes. I don't get a giddy feel when I see them in the store, I can much easier pick out a cut grasshopper before a pair of heels, and there is nothing that puts me in cold sweats more than having to go shoe shopping.

I wish it were just that I have a handful of shoes I like and don't go outside my comfort zone, but no it's much worse than that. I hate wearing shoes.

Don't believe me do you? Well here's a picture of my bare feet yesterday while I was sitting in my office (note all the wacky wires, I wish I could pretend they lead to something cool but it was really just my computer):

Sometimes I just think that my feet are claustrophobic as well as afraid of the dark. I offered to get them the little flashing shoes that were all the rage a few years back thinking then they could peek out but sadly it just made them angrier and I had to walk over broken glass to get them back in line.

If it weren't for the wonderful frozen tundra outside or the occasional road hazards I would easily spend all my time barefoot. I have been known to run out in the snow to get the mail just because I really didn't want to go through the annoyance of putting shoes on.

I can hear you all arguing, but what about sandals? True, sandals don't bother me as much as all encompassing shoes but there is a problem. Sadly Environmental Services is crystal clear on two things in a lab: 1. You have to wear pants at all time to protect your legs from spills and 2. You must wear closed toe shoes at all times to protect your little piggies for the dangerous blades every lab has dangling from the ceiling. At least I assume that's why.

Well I suppose we all must suffer in some way for our jobs. I just can't wait for all this thawing melting and refreezing to get done. There really is nothing worse than wet and soggy shoes my feet are already terrified of.

I hope I didn't cause too much of a ruckus in the peanut gallery. Are all the ladies still up in the balcony? No one fell out?

The things I do to keep my freak title.

Dare I ask if anyone else out there is not a big fan of shoehorning pieces of leather onto their own feet? If not, then I suppose you may all begin browbeating me with taunts of how huge my feet are (all the better to not fall on you with my dear) and how terrifying they must be.

Target Women: Super Special

Ever wanted to get into Target Women but weren't sure where to start?

Well Sarah had a great special the aired during the Super Bowl. It's how her Target Women specials turned her into the perfect lady and has lots of great bumpers around all of her past Target Women shows:



"We know more about weddings than we know about String theory."

Picture a Day - Day 61

Did you know that last night there was some sort of sporting field event? Apparently a small bird and a metal alloy planned to fight to see who was the best at moving a small cow bladder.

You'd think the bird would have the advantage what with it being able to fly but if there's one thing Monty Python has taught us it's that a 5 ounce bird cannot carry a one pound coconut (I assume this ball weighs about the same).

Who knew that such festivities would grow up around the battle of two icons? I fear to see the Catholic version, say Saint Agatha vs Saint Francis of Assisi.

But we decided to join in the celebration last night along with countless millions (though I'm sure the NFL would love to know that number and possibly sell a few first borns to get it). Not so much in the huge party with all our friends but more in a quiet reflective snarky take on the action on the field (we generally ignored the commercials as they were just horrible this year. Only one made me even giggle but that's mostly because I always secretly wanted a komodo dragon to sick on solicitors).

Sadly, I cannot show off pictures of us commenting on all the dirty moves or some of the gobsmacking plays (plus I think the NFL will pull out my fingernails if I do talk about it). So, here is the food we prepared to settle into a night of football where we really didn't give a crap about either team.
We were all set for the first quarter with our hot wings on one plate as well as a cheese platter complete with some baybel, a few of chedder, and brie mixed with cranberries and cinnamon (there also appear to be some pepperoni on there, I think my husband got a few wires crossed).
For the second quarter we'd moved on to some new homemade sausage. Yeah my husband celebrated his man weekend the only way he knew how: grinding up pork shoulder and stuffing it into a casing. These did taste a ton better than the first batch, but isn't that always the way it is with the first of anything.
To get through the Bosses half time show (boy does he look rough in HD, like someone left a piece of leather out in the desert for a few weeks) we looked to a fast turning February classic: Thin Mint ice cream.

If you have any small (or large) love affair with those $3.50 a box girl scout cookies you have to get this ice cream. Not only is it a nice and creamy chocolate there are huge chunks of the thin mint cookies mixed in. I always preferred thin mints straight out of the freezer so this is the perfect combo. There is also a Samoa version for anyone who likes coconut out there.

And that was how we got through this thing called a Super Bowl. How about the rest of you? Did you get into it or just sort of stay in and ignore it?

Did you really think that any commercials were worth it?

This is so cool

Remember that painting I did a while back of my dress without me in it.

Well I finally got around to painting its counterpart and I have to say I am really jealous. My husbands looks so much cooler than mine.

Picture a Day - Day 60

Wow, I've now been doing the picture thing for two months. And in celebration I thought I'd let all you non Nebraskans in on a little secret.

Okay you have to promise to not go blabbing this as we don't tell just anybody, only our nearest and dearest.

We have all throughout the state a "Fast food restaurant" with green roofs and yellow walls called Runza. Only it's nothing like your typical McDonalds, or Burger King, or you know that other hamburger place Long Johns.

The other places may claim that they never freeze their beef, but you know that it's true with Runza. It's like getting a homemade hamburger with some horribly addictive flavor added in.This was my tasty meal last night (Runza fries also hold a special place in my heart. Ooh crinkle cut). It wasn't til we were dating that my Chicago born and raised husband learned about the joys of a Runza hamburger.

But I am sure you are asking yourself just what the hell is a Runza? Well that's the other side of things that makes Runza special. If you are ever in Nebraska be sure to stop by and I'll introduce you to a Runza.

Mr. Runza is a golden pocket bread that is stuffed to the gills with seasoned grounded beef, onions and cabbage. It's an original German recipe that every cafeteria I have ever eaten in in this state has mimicked.

There are a multitude of different Runzas one can try as well, from a BLT to a Swiss and Mushroom.

But there is one mythical Runza. It can cause rioting and chaos in the street every few years when it is reintroduced. It's like eating a warm and gooey pizza all wrapped up in tasty bread.

I speak of course of the Italian Runza.

For our wedding we decided to feed all of our Bridesmaids and groomsmen our tasty Nebraska secret. I carefully took everyones orders (all the Nebraska side generally knew what they want) but just as we were pulling up a cloud lifted and a shaft of light shone down upon a sign "The Italians were back!"

Naturally I had to call everyone back and tell them of this, and of course we all changed our orders and got one. You don't get a much better sign and symbol on your wedding day than having the Italian Runzas come back.

Well if there's one thing I hope you've all learned from my ramblings it's that if you ever visit Nebraska and stop bye to say hi, expect a dinner of pocket bread goodness.

Does anyone else have a local secret that no other tourists would ever suspect?