hijinks

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Carrot

kristy3 Comments

Today I fulfilled a long-held dream of mine, and I think it counts as community service? See, Madison public schools are celebrating Farm-to-School month on “Wisconsin Wednesdays”––the day of the week that school cafeterias serve locally-grown fruits and vegetables. I heard about the events and a call for volunteers to help out, possibly by dressing up as a fruit or vegetable. My initial reaction was, “Where do I sign up?” and that’s how I ended up in an elementary-school parking lot putting on a carrot costume.

“You don’t have to wear the costume,” the volunteer coordinator assured me, but I gave her my best are-you-kidding-I-can’t-wait look. Frankly, I was shocked I didn’t have to fight over the costume with the other volunteers.

portrait of the artist as a young carrot

It’s probably the closest I’ll get to celebrity-status, and I have to say, having experienced my lunch period of fame, I can see the appeal. As I walked through the cafeteria, kids yelled, “Look, a carrot!,” “Hey, carrot girl!,” “Can I hug you, Mr. Carrot?” and my personal favorite, “I love carrots!”

I also got to talk to some fans who asked me about all kinds of things, mostly pertaining to my brand (carrots). One kindergartener, however, asked a more philosophical question: “Why are you talking like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you talking like that? Like, with your mouth?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it before.”

This is why celebrities get media training.

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Carrot

PANDEMONIUM!

kristy, , 5 Comments

S O U P

Yesterday after we made and put away a big batch of soup (pictured above), Devin yelled, ” Oh no! We’re going to have to make another soup! We have a giant leak!” Pandemonium ensued.

Only he actually said, “Oh no! We’re going to have to make another soup! We have a giant leek!,” which is a vegetable in the same genus as onion and garlic, commonly eaten in soups.

Let this be a reminder to all of you, lest a dramatic person in your life cry at the thought of mopping: it is important, when using homophones, to provide ample context for your audience.

PANDEMONIUM!

MILK vs. MILK vs. MILK vs. MILK

kristy, , , , , 2 Comments

Last time I told you about why I love roommates in general. Today I’m here to write about one of the reasons I’ve loved living with my current roommates. Two words: taste tests.

It all started last October when Marika pointed out that we had a lot of hot sauces & offered to conduct a blind taste test. Anda, Tasha, & I tried five hot sauces without knowing what they were. And since this blog is my personal place for bragging about myself on the internet, I will humbly admit that not only did I correctly identify each of the hot sauces, I also correctly guessed how I’d rank them.

Last Fall, we also developed a love of break-and-bake cookies. I credit Penelope the pitbull who only ate raw chicken (three times a day) for introducing me to the joys of sort-of baking. See, when I moved to New York, we rented a lady’s furnished apartment for a one-month sublet, and even though she hadn’t advertised that she had a dog, the lady kindly left her pitbull behind for us to take care of. Before sharing a one-bedroom apartment for a month with two friends and a pitbull I was fairly sure wanted to eat me, I’d never even thought about break-and-bake cookies. Overnight, my life philosophy became ‘Have a bad day? Pick up a pack of break-and-bakes! Feeling good about the state of the world? Pick up a pack of break-and-bakes! Watching Mad Men tonight? Pick up a pack of break-and-bakes! See a pack of break-and-bakes? Pick up! That pack! Of break-and-bakes!’ Soon our apartment was break-and-bake central. What did Penelope the pit have to do with this? I don’t know. Just go with it.

Anyway, when I saw the world’s cutest cookie taste test on natthefatrat, I felt moved to do our own *break-and-bake* cookie taste test.

Not nearly as cute but very tasty!

In case you are curious, the cookies were ranked as follows:

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MILK vs. MILK vs. MILK vs. MILK

De facto

kristy, , 2 Comments

Sunday was a huge day for me. I started preparing for it in real life on Saturday in Times Square, but mentally and emotionally, I had been preparing for months.

Let’s begin at the beginning. On Saturday, I went to Times Square to meet my old boss for lunch. She was in town for a conference and only had a short break, so we had to meet there. Now listen, I’m not one of those people who hates on Times Square every chance she gets, but man, is it ever confusing!

It took me forever to find the Dean & Deluca even with GPS, and on my way, I saw way too many decontextualized cartoon characters (i.e. people dressed up in giant costumes, like Snoopy or Buzz Lightyear). Maybe this is weird, but decontextualized characters make me sad. I can’t imagine anything more uncomfortable than walking around in a huge, thick costume on a hot summer day and trying to get people to pay you for being in their pictures. Who pays them is what I want to know, and how do they pay the rent? Do they ever get those costumes washed? Also, if I give them money, do I have to interact with them? My instinct is to give each of them a dollar and then run far, far away before I have to touch them. ‘Please do not hug me, Times Square Clifford. Please! I am begging you!’

But back to the matter at hand: lunch with my former boss. The thing about her is that she is so good at sharp pop culture critique, talking social justice realness, and make-up. Over lunch she told me about this new Polish brand of make-up that is CRAAAZY. I’m talking every color you can ever think of in ONE SINGLE tube of lip gloss that when applied is the perfect hue of peony pink (magic, science, chemicals!). I don’t know much about cosmetics, so I ask her for advice whenever I get the chance. On Saturday, after our lunch date, I was inspired to buy an eyeliner marker. Then, I went to buy accessories. I ended up going to the Forever 21 in Times Square (not a lot of small, independent stores there) because I didn’t have much time before I had to go to work.

On Sunday, I raced home after work and got ready for the Mad Men season finale. I’d heard about a party very close to my apartment sponsored by an adorable vintage clothes-seller, complete with a costume contest. After weeks of agonizing, I’d finally come up with what I thought was the outfit. No one was available to take a full-length picture of me, and I wanted to get there early, so I didn’t spend too much time on pictures, but I did take some shoddy Photobooth ones.

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De facto