Cling Film 101

Is there some secret to cling film that I'm not privy to?  It seems just about the most useless thing to have in a kitchen.  That said, I have a box of Saran Wrap in my drawer of boxed wrappy things, one that I don't remember ever buying.  It's probably several years old and not even half used because apparently, I fail at Saran Wrap.  Is there a class I can take somewhere so that I'll finally know how to use the shit?

I know that sometimes cling film is more desirable to preserve stuff than foil would be.  In a perfect world, it seems it would be better at keeping out air than a strip of foil.  I don't know why I think that--maybe because it seems like it would stretch over the surface, where foil would just tear.  Perhaps it's because of its similarity to dry cleaning bags and since I know that those are not toys for little children because of the ability to deprive their little lungs of air, similarly, cling film should deprive the food being protected of outside, influential air.  In theory.

In reality, cling film seems like just a big joke--a torturous device meant to bring around creative strings of curse words.  ("Motherless whore!" has always been a Pants Family favourite.)  When I try to tear off a piece, I inevitably wind up tearing most of the film by force rather that the little sawtooth thinger on the box lid, so instead of a neat rectangle in the shape and size I need, I wind up with a trapezoid at best, but usually a janky triangle that won't cover even half of what I am trying to wrap up.  If I do get a good piece torn off, it then sticks to itself in ways that are impossible to unstick, as if the cling film has magically become super strong epoxy tape.  In both the sticky tape and janky polygon cases, I'm forced to rip a new sheet of cling film out of the box as I mutter phrases heavily peppered with fuckwords.

And that box--why is it made of utter crap cardboard?  It wobbles about as I wrestle with the roll of film.  The lid flips up and down on me, refusing to stay open if I want it open, or closed if I want it closed.  Like it knows....  And don't give me that shit about the little tab at the end of the box that you're supposed to stick your thumb in so that the roll remains inside the box as you pull from it with the other hand because I've gotten that email at least 10 times and it doesn't fucking work!  I just wind up flipping the roll out in a more dramatic fashion and getting a cardboard slice on my thumb from the crap box.

Also, is it legal to bring a box of Saran Wrap on a plane?  Because that sawtooth cutter strip on the lid of the box is certainly more dangerous than my 3 ounces of contact solution and nail clippers.  I could probably fashion a shiv worthy of the highest security prison shankings with that sawtooth strip.  I know for a fact that if CSI came in and spritzed my Saran Wrap box with Luminol, the damn thing would light up like the Rockafeller Center Christmas tree.  I've probably left more of my own DNA on that little saw than I've pulled usable Saran Wrap from that damn roll.

Once I get a strip I can use off that stupid role and stopped my hand from bleeding where the ripper-strip sawed through to the bone, I try to put the film on whatever I'm trying to save.  Last weekend, it was a disposable, 8x8 tin pan of brownies.  They were fully cooled and ready for preservation but when I put the film over the top of the pan, it just kinda laid there.  The box said the film sticks to itself and I've certainly witnessed that on many occasions.  So I tried to bunch the excess together under the outer rim of the pan so that the film is nice and tight over the surface of the brownie pan.  It looks great until I let go of the film; then I hear a crinkling noise and watch that flat sheen disappear as the film loosens itself and lays flaccid over the pan, protecting the brownies from nothing.  It didn't stick to itself.  I have a pile of remnants of film that are hermetically sealed to themselves and rendered unusable, but when I need it to stick.... 

I wound up wrapping the brownies up with cling film, but not just a nice strip like they'd have you believe is effective in the commercials.  No, instead, I made like a warehouse worker in a shipping facility and wrapped the brownie pan in a good 25 revolutions of continuous layer of cling film, turning the pan in several directions so that it would hopefully at least try to deter the air from infiltrating.  The little pan looked like shiny square of cling film rivulets, a virtual pillow of Saran Wrap ready to be popped into a shipping container and sent to some far away land via very slow boat that probably houses eleventy hundred rats who are well versed in the fuckery of cling film and enjoy the hell out of some home baked brownies, thank you very much stumpy bleeding girl.

And after this whole thing, was I smart enough to throw the box of Saran Wrap away so that I won't go through this again?  No.  I put it right back in the box of wrappy things where it will sit until my mind has fogged over this latest battle with cling film and the Universe needs a good laugh, wherein I'll repeat the process all over again. 

Fuck you, Saran Wrap.  You motherless whore.

screw you, jack frost

I have a cold.  Or a sinus infection.  Or the plague.  Or something.  I don't know what it is, but my face is on snot-production overload and I go through periods of constant nose-sparkles.  (Nose-sparkles: that sensation you get right before you have to sneeze.)  It's irritating and I have no idea where it came from.  I'm telling people at work that it's a sinus infection, even though I have no earthly idea if it really is.  I just know that a sinus infection isn't contagious so I can avoid all the annoying looks and shit that way.  I wash my hands a lot.  I use that sanitizer bullshit (that I believe really is bullshit).  I don't go poking around in people's noses and then rub my face.  I don't inhale people's sneezes.  I don't lick the keyboards and phones of others.  I don't know where this bitchshit came from, but I do not like it.  At the very least, it's pretty mild.  A minor irritation rather than a hit and run by a freight train.

So naturally, I'm going to do all of my holiday baking for work people this weekend. 

Grinchmas revisited

So I've typed up this entry once before and it was near perfect.  And then it got eaten.  I didn't cry but I probably made a snarly face because I know I won't be able to recreate that exact post again.  So here's a half-assed attempt to make the same point, less eloquently.  I'll spare you the snarly face.

I think my context is just different than that of the "I want a Wii" angel-tree-kids.  Growing up, I never knew what the money situation was; my parents did an excellent job of keeping us out of that.  I didn't want for much, but I didn't get everything immediately either.  I was not a Veruca Salt.  My parents tried to teach us the value of stuff.  While I don't remember it, I apparently left my new bigwheel in the front yard and it was swiped.  My parents didn't replace it because they'd told me not to leave it out there.  Fair enough.  I probably threw a fit at the time, but as I don't remember a lick of it now, I think we're all good. 

Anyhoo, my parents were fine with letting me know when I was being Veruca Salt and asking for expensive stuff.  I knew that if a family friend or grandparents wanted a small want-list for a birthday or xmas, that even if I did include that insane Barbie Dream House that I coveted so, I also knew to include smaller, more reasonable items.  (And between you and me and the angel-tree, I don't have that Barbie Dream House anymore, but I still have my Grumpy Bear Care Bear.)

Thusly, I find it inappropriate for children to ask for only high-ticket items.  From strangers, from parents, from anyone, I just find it inappropriate to imply that anything less than a $200+ gaming system is unwanted.  Surely there are other things that may bring about a smile without spending that much money.  Do you know how much candy (or drugs) $200 can buy?!

As far as my Grinchitude regarding obligatory holiday charity, I just feel that being all "Peace on Earth and Goodwill towards Men" for a month doesn't negate whatever assholery was practiced for the previous eleven months.  Stop trying to play cheerier than thou, charity-ier than thou, festiver than thou.  Put your spirit where your mouth is and just be a good person all twelve months of the year. 

And for the love of all things holy, do not decorate your motherfucking car with a rudolph nose and antlers. 

welcome to a new kind of tension

There's a tax deadline next Wednesday. As a result, there's been much scurrying around the Baconry. I don't find it nearly as bad as some make it out to be, but that could be because I'm on a smaller team that's known for being ahead of the game. Still, I processed nearly 20 returns yesterday after lunch. That's not a normal workload but I managed to hammer them out and still be on my way to PB's at 5pm. Personal returns are due on October 15 so we'll probably have another influx soon after this one is done. I'm taking the overtime and socking it away for New York.

I've asked for the time off for Thanksgiving because it's still far enough out that the calendar is wide open. I wanted to get in before everyone else so I'd be able to get the time off. I'm kinda just going on the assumption that I'm going to go at this point. I haven't heard from HR, but as no one else is blocked off, and it was cricket-chirp central last year during that 3 day week, I don't think it will be an issue. Mama Pants said I could have her Continental Miles (as soon as we figure out how to transfer the buggers) so I might even wind up with a free ticket—miracle!! And if not, I know I have enough on my own for one leg of the trip. The other part, if I have to cover it, will probably run about the same as a round trip ticket, given the holiday weekend, but it's worth it to me. Amanda will have to work at least one of the days I'm there so I'll have to traipse around the city by myself. I'll get lost for sure, but I think it would do me some good to have to go it alone for a bit. It doesn’t necessarily intimidate me to try navigating new places. Generally I'm doing it in a car, but eventually I want to get rid of that beast of burden anyway.

Via Colori is the weekend before Thanksgiving and I'm signed up for a square again. I'm pretty sure I've got a bigger one this year. I'm still blank for ideas. I think I'm going to need to go find a patch of sidewalk somewhere and just start drawing on it to see if I can pull off an abstract design that doesn't look too much like a cop-out. I think if I blended the colours the right way, it could be really beautiful, but I think I still need a trial run on the actual concrete surface before I commit to it. This will require me to purchase a new box of pastels, I think. Last year, instead of giving us a ginormous box at the festival, they had a table where we could come grab specific sticks of colours we needed, or trade out colours. I think it was a better system than the year before, if only for cost cutting. Those giant boxes of pastels couldn't possibly be cheap. And they worked out great for me—I didn't even need to grab any sticks from the table last year, I had enough left over. I donated quite a bit to artists who were walking by and needing specific colours as well. (It's the nice thing to do.)

I want my weekends back. I have a million things I want to get to, but I am usually so exhausted by the time I get home, I'm lucky if I get food into my face before zombie-walking to the bed. Having only one day of a weekend (or no weekend at all) doesn't leave me much room to do everything I'd like to. Lots of projects keep getting put off and that tends to screw up the flow of my life. That said, I know I won't have a weekend coming up. Since deadline is Wednesday, we'll most certainly be in churning out returns. I feel like I owe my kitchen an apology. It really just needs a bucket of napalm and a total do-over.

My saving grace these days is the Broadway soundtrack to "American Idiot."  Yes, it's the Green Day album that was turned into a play.  The harmonies give me chills.

and then i'll go eat worms

I am irritated today. The weather is messing with my head in a literal sense. I'm on the precipice of a migraine, but I'm still doing the little dance around that line so I don't know if it's really going to happen and take me out, or just torture me like a sibling poking at me but never making contact whilst singing, "I'm not touching you, I'm not touching you." So if someone could wooden-spoon the barometric pressure into not not-touching-me, that would be great.

Today is one of those days that just reiterates that I do not belong here anymore. Aside from the friggin weather that sucks, I'm tired of cars in general. People in cars who have no business being out among other members of society, let alone behind the wheel of a car. People who bring their children to bookstores to run around screaming while they clap loudly for and at their children. (Bookstores are like libraries. Shut the fuck up.) People who don't know what the hell they want to order but insist on standing in line and asking a million questions at the register, even though all you want to order is a goddamn piece of diner cake but you can't because these two dippy bitches need to hear every detail about everything in the world that they could have easily read on the menu if they'd only stepped aside. Or hey, how about hiring some more people? Or people who work more quickly? (Dessert Gallery, I am looking at you. I walk out empty handed more often than not. I won't be walking in anymore.) And a "busy" period that involves no "busy" at all, yet I'm supposed to come in and do nothing. Newsflash, I can do nothing at home. A lot more comfortably. And you wouldn't have to pay me. Also, I want a self cleaning house, goddammit.

And why is getting older such a cruel joke? It's hardly fair. It's like my body is starting to betray me. I should not pee myself because I cough too hard! Uh, not that that's happened recently or anything. No, it's um, just an example. Yeah. The little wire-whiskers randomly popping up everywhere? Unfair. I realised last night that I actually do have a place that I could test out a particular wrinkle cream that was advertised during Project Runway. And hey, how about everything giving me heartburn? That's awesome. My parents used to joke about how getting older sucked so much. I know now that they weren't joking, I was just an asshole kid who didn't have to worry about it. Joke's on me.