Knives are sharp

Last night I was admiring my new birthday knives. They are exquisitely beautiful and shiny, especially the santoku knife, which has oval indents in it for "thinner slicing." I was standing in my kitchen admiring its icy, almost malicious gleam in the tinny fluorescent light, and found myself instinctively moving my finger toward the blade to touch its shiny edge. (I like to touch shiny things. I am a girl.)

Slow motion-- my finger's hypnotic trajectory is punctuated by my mother's voice-- "KNIVES... WILL... CUT... YOU..." I managed to stop my finger micrometers away from the knife, suddenly realizing that yes, running my finger along the edge would probably result in a terrible, annoying band-aid on my digit for the next two weeks. This probably saved me hours of irritation as well as 8-10 bloody paper towels.

Thanks, Mom.

It's almost my birthday and that means I've been thinking a lot about... alcohol!

I thought of a good name for a sure-to-be disgusting shot: PBR&J. It would consist of Pabst Blue Ribbon and Jello, or maybe PBR and grenadine and a cherry. At any rate, that's gross, but it would be fun to order. I would probably try it once or ten times.

You know what would make a really good shot? Tequila. I'm going to have some now.

P.S. My parents got me knives for my birthday. Super sharp professional chef-quality knives. I'm excited because my current cutlery requires Neanderthal-esque techniques in order to slice foods tougher than a mushroom. Sometimes I think it would help if I grunted and scratched my fleas while I use them, no joke. Now that the new knives have arrived, my mom keeps calling me and reminding me to be careful, because "knives can cut" me. Thanks for the heads up, Mom.

Natatory Notice

It's almost my birthday, and if you read my blog (I have a hunch that you do...), I want you to know that I would love to spend it downing vodka tonics and jagerbombs with you. Unfortunately, depending on who you are, various circumstances prevent me from doing so: for one thing, I'm in North Carolina. For another, my parents are going to be here all weekend, and while they SAID it would be OK to ditch them to go out with friends one night, I doubt that they mean "we will be your designated driver so you can go to a bar, get trashed, and stumble home with some strange man to make out with until the wee hours" which is what I planned on doing.

SIGH. But it's okay, I'm glad they are visiting, I miss my family, blah blah blah. They are going to be horrified that I have no food in my apartment. Here is an account of the contents of my fridge and pantry:

• 1 cup of flour (freezer)
• Half a bag of frozen spinach and a bag of frozen stir fry vegetables
• 1 yogurt (after I eat the second yogurt in about five minutes)
• 1 egg
• 1 eggplant and 3 red potatoes
• Mustard, minced garlic, and basalmic vinegar
• 1 apple and 1 lemon
  
• Dried lentils
• Canned tomatoes
• Instant organic awesome zen oatmeal
• Tea, tea, tea, and coffee, coffee, coffee
• Wild mushroom risotto
• Rice vermicelli noodles
  

(Did you notice that I don't keep many wheat products in my place? That is because they make me feel SICK.) All the veggies, oatmeal, yogurt, and fruit will be in my tummy by the time they are here. I eat a lot of veggies and yogurt and fruit and oatmeal. And B vitamins.

But I digress. My point is that, when it's not my birthday anymore, will you still go out with me and drink hard liquor? If you're from Chicago, I miss you. If you're from NC, I see you, so I don't miss you, but I do miss hard liquor.

OK time to make coffee.