Messing With a Broke-Broke.

Yes. Mr. Merlot is being a gold digger again.

I... I don't even know where to begin. I treat him with love and respect. I get him oil changes every 3,000 miles. I offer him emotional support ("C'mon Mr. Merlot, you can make it up this hill!"). I waxed and vacuumed him the other week, I even bought him a new T for his front when I was visiting my folks recently. And yet, he's never satisfied. When I first got him, he became all worked up about needing a new catalytic converter. I sighed, wrote the check, died a little bit inside for my checking account, and he was happy. I also bought him a brand new battery. Now, ten months later, he's wanting more. Kids these days - they're never satisfied with anything.

Yesterday, it took a few tries to turn him over to A) get to work B) leave work and C) get home from Dick's Sporting Goods. (At least he got me home and didn't leave me near a sporting goods store) When I went to go to work this morning, taking separate cars from OfficeMate because I had to come home in the afternoon for a phone interview, all Mr. Merlot would do was click. No turning over. Click. Click. Click. Every click was another hairline fracture to my heart.

So he was left at home, and we carpooled in. After coming back and then having my phone interview (I honestly do despise interviews. The whole process makes me unfathomably nervous. Just take my word for it, I'd be a good fit for the position!), we went out to see what we could do for that car. We tried jumper cables, to no avail. I called my on-call mechanic (Hi, Dad!) for phone support who walked me through some things (I now know where my starter is located), and we've deduced that Mr. Merlot needs a new starter.

Do you hear that sound? That's the sound of my wallet wailing. I haven't gone to the dentist in like two or three years, but my CAR needs more money put into him. Absolutely, that makes sense. I guess Mr. Merlot was feeling left out because OfficeMate's car got a new battery this weekend, and Mr. Merlot wanted something new, too. Goodness, he's always needing to be the center of attention. For the next few days, I shall be chauffeured around by OfficeMate to and from the office. I'm moving up the social ladder in Roanoke - I don't even have to drive myself around.

In other news, not related to my complaining about my Gold Digger of a vehicle, I did in fact have a phone interview today. This means that I have done something right in the world of job hunting, and hopefully will empower me to keep on keeping on in this department.

Also, as many of you read on the Book of Faces, I have indeed surpassed the $100,000 mark in my grant revenue. I recently found out that two proposals I assisted in writing back in February ended up winning $93,000, so that puts my grand total over the $120,000 mark. I feel so legit! You better believe I worked that into today's interview.

A Eulogy

Today has been a long day. Maccy had an appointment with the Genius Bar this morning, something I figured I'd take advantage of while in the DC area with our plethora of Apple Stores. I knew the diagnosis would be bad, but was still somewhat hopeful they'd be able to perform their Mac voodoo and he'd come back to life. But it was not so. His diagnosis was more of an autopsy.

There is, I learned, a little chip around the qwerty section of MacBooks that is responsible for relaying information to outputs: monitor, mouse, keyboard, etc. His was fried; that chip was responsible for the burning smell that occurred whenever I turned him on. The man at the Genius Bar was able to hook Maccy up to an external monitor, mouse and keyboard and he worked well enough. The repair cost was $750. Oh goodness, that number hurt to hear. I struggled to keep myself composed and talked over my options with Genius Bar Guy. I could buy a refurbished 2010 MacBook for $850. I could get a 5% discount on the warranty because I'm a government employee. It wasn't that bad, he promised. It just wasn't worth repairing a five year old computer when I could get a new one for $100 more.

I told him I wanted to think it over, and went to visit Brother at his coffee shop to drown my sorrows in a latte and read some Wall Street Journal. I discussed my options with OfficeMate, the parentals, and a handful of friends. My loving parents offered to front the cost of a new machine until I get a real job and can pay them back. I then made my way to a different Apple Store where I had them wipe Maccy clean, so I can recycle him without the possibility of someone getting my files. This process apparently takes forever, because I was waiting for well over an hour. I just ordered a new computer, who will probably be named Maccy Jr, in honor of the computer who came before him.Dearest Maccy,
You were by my side for almost five whole years. You stood by me in my awkward eyebrow stage. You edited so many awful cliche college photos. You didn't shudder that time I installed AIM on you (I'M SO SORRY!). You traveled to Spain with me where we enjoyed many a cafe con leche in Bar Alberto. You helped me skype so many people. You were there for me when I videochatted Brother and his dog, Holly, in class. Maccy, you endured my writing some seriously bad papers on you, but also were the reason I wrote some of the best analytical pieces of my life. You let me put embarrassing music on your iTunes, and helped me find this job. Let's be honest, I finished my first grant proposal with you. You will be followed by a 2010 MacBook - he'll be a lot like you, but larger (250GB to your 60GB), faster (I don't even know how much RAM you had...), and won't be held together by tape. I'm sure Maccy Jr. and I will have many great adventures and memories, but you, you Maccy, were my first Mac. You were there for me for college, studying abroad, and beyond. You were an amazing computer and I know that had it not been for this water incident, we would have many more years to compute together. Thanks for five fun years (and sorry if I ever bored you with excessive facebooking).
Sincerely,
MV

Uphill Climb

As I write this, I am frantically running back and forth to my kitchen, lovingly adding more chicken broth to my risotto and giving it a nice little mix. With a glass of wine. And then I intend to eat my risotto with chopsticks, because I haven't used them since I've moved to this town. So, it's more or less an average evening.

I have, as of late, but wherefore I know not (spot the nerd reference), developed an unhealthy obsession with Mad Men. I've stopped reading and now spend my free time completely engulfed in the lives of Don Draper and Peggy. Oh, Peggy. How did you manage to get yourself a private office, at 22, as a female in an advertising agency in 1960? I don't even get a door on my shared office. You're my hero. Let's be best friends.

OfficeMate and I successfully climbed to McAfee's Knob this past weekend. Well, climbed is a very strong word for what I did. I huffed. I sat on a log and was passed by children and people legitimately doing the Appalachian Trail with massive backpacks. I shamed OfficeMate by making him stop, too. He climbed. I huffed.Aside from my being shamefully out of shape (It was hot! I was getting over a cold! We only brought one water bottle! I ran cross country nine years ago! Doesn't that count for anything anymore?), the view at the top was absolutely worth it. The view is absolutely breathtaking, and I'm embarrassed it took me until now to get out there. It honestly is not that far from where I'm currently living. I am also now one of those cliche people with a facebook photo of themselves at the top. Sue me.

And finally, sadly, I've begun job hunting again. Much like my hike this weekend, I'm horribly out of shape. If you're a prospective employer, hey, what's up? Let's chat sometime. Job hunting is soul-crushing work. I've said it before and I'll say it again; the whole process is like a bad dating scene. "Hey, I think we'd be great together! I like combating (insert nonprofit mission statement here), too! We should get together sometime. No, I'm looking for something long-term. I think we'd work really well together. Please give me a shot! I THINK YOU'RE CUTE! PLEASE CALL ME!"

Ah, the joys of being back here, not even 12 months since the last time.

When I'm a Real Adult...

So my computer gave up. Last Monday, he just refused to turn on anymore. Awesome, right?

Luckily, I was Charleston-bound last week yet again, because my brother graduated! This also means that my parents were able to bring brother's old (and I mean old) laptop - an iBook from 2004 that shall suffice as my computer until I have a real salary and can invest in one of my own. They keyboard pops out. I don't know why. Apple, what were you thinking?? So I apologize for the lack of blogging last week - I just had no computer. But check out my new, sweet, top-of-the-line-seven-years-ago gear! (Stock photo since I'm afraid of asking this one to open a jpeg)

In addition to using a seven-year old computer right now, I am also driving the world's most sneaker-like Kia Soul, which I had previously only associated with hamsters. When Mr. Merlot got hit back in February, I played many a fun game of phone tag with various insurance companies, and last week the whole situation was finally resolved. Mr. Merlot is in the shop getting his bumper fixed right now. Fingers crossed that he'll get a new T out of this whole situation!

This Kia though... oh man. I've always mocked people with particularly boxy cars. The Nissan Cube, most Scions, and now I'm in one. A friend asked me if the Soul had any redeeming quality, and I told him the key fob had a beeper lock thing. That's sad for two reasons: 1, Mr. Merlot doesn't have a fancy key fob and 2, that's the best thing I can come up with about the Soul. Thankfully, it's only until tomorrow when I can be reunited with my ghetto Corolla.

It's not uncommon to hear me utter the phrase, "When I'm a real adult, I'm going to have (insert whatever I'm kvetching about my lack of at the moment)." The past week's events have swelled up the urge to write that list out. And so I bring you...

When I'm a Real Adult, I'm Going to Have:

-A car that's not a Kia. I love Mr. Merlot and he's allowed to join me in Real Adult land.
-A laptop that both works and is younger than 7 years old. This computer is older than brother's dog.
-A garbage disposal. No more peeling carrots over the trashcan and getting sad when they slip into strawberry stems and moldy leftovers.
-An ice maker, because making ice one tray at a time is sad.
-A dishwasher, because nothing sucks more than making a big meal and then having to wash every damn dish by hand.
-Central air conditioning, so that when it's 90+ degrees outside, I don't have to hope the itty bitty window unit can reach my bedroom.
-A toilet with a balloon in the tank and a handle that isn't held together by a rusting paper clip. Yes, you read that properly. I don't even know how my toilet is able to flush without exploding.
-DVR. Because no one should have to choose between House and How I Met Your Mother.
-A gas range. Not only do they cook more evenly and ensure you can cook after the power goes out, food doesn't get stuck on them and then later set off the smoke detector when you try to boil water.
-A double oven. I've never had one and can't help but imagine they'd be so helpful.
-A ceiling that doesn't leak onto my electronics. Or really, one that just doesn't leak at all.
-More than two chairs at my dining room table so that if you have a third person over, you don't have to drag over a chair from the living room. And if a fourth person comes over, they don't have to sit on the armrest of the third living room chair. As for five or more people... that's when we eat around the coffee table.
-A shower that doesn't go cold for 2-5 minutes while you still have conditioner in your hair or shaving cream on your legs.
-More counter space than the pittance I currently have.
-A washing machine and dryer in my house/place of residence. Laundromats with men who talk to themselves and machines that eat your delicates are just unpleasant, awkward and expensive.
-Windows that don't allow huge breezes in, forcing you to tape plastic bags over windows in the winter. (Our sail came down about a month ago, and our window is back!)
-Windows that don't shatter when you try to close them, forever scarring you and making you rethink shutting the windows in the future.

All that being said, I realize this is the time in my life to live with a leaky ceiling, tape plastic bags over my windows, and warn visitors about the toilet. "Don't be frightened if it sounds like jet engine when you flush it, and you don't forget to jiggle the handle after the bowl drains!" In all of the ghettoness, there's a level of endearing charm.

Welcome, Splendid Sunshiney Spring!

Springtime!
My favorite part of any season is its initial arrival. I love the beginning of summer when the pools open and you see kids everywhere because school is finally out. I adore when fall rolls in and you grab a scarf on your way out the door, and can't help but notice the tops of trees changing to yellows and reds. The first snowfall of winter is always something to behold.

But today, today I would like to embrace the arrival of springtime. I thought it was coming a few weeks ago when I saw some daffodils fighting their way out of the earth, but this weekend Spring decided to come on out in all of its glory. I broke out the flip flops, I wore a dress (pale legs be damned!), and I cherished every single bud on the trees. Roanoke is blossoming, and it's gorgeous. Downtown is covered in dogwoods, lilacs cheer up the cemetery across the street, daffodils recline in front yards, welcoming the extended daylight hours.

Hiking
In order to properly celebrate this weather, I've gotten myself outside. I went running last week, and had decided that I wanted to conquer McAfee Knob on Saturday. OfficeMate being an adventurous soul, decided to join me. So off we went, ready to brave the gazillion other hikers that were no doubt going to be out on this gorgeous March afternoon to the most photographed location on the Appalachian Trail. The parking lot was packed, but I refused to be deterred. Being overzealous, I blazed ahead without bothering to read any signs. We stopped after about 3/4 of a mile for a scenic overlook, but I wanted to continue on to the overlook - the one people travel to Roanoke for. So we kept on trucking.

Two hours later, we had seen practically no one, which was odd considering the amount of people in the parking lot. We smartphoned it up to discover we were in fact on the Appalachian Trail, but had hiked about four miles south... not north. Whoops. It was still a beautiful day and I'm thankful I was able to get such a solid hike in, even if it wasn't to McAfee Knob. Just another hike for another weekend. Plus, that first overlook wasn't so shabby.
But goodness, I need to start researching my hikes more to avoid more directional catastrophes.

Cooking (of course)
The kitchen has been ablaze (not literally, knock on wood) with activity. Along with Pi Day, last week was also St. Patrick's Day. Now, it bears mentioning that I don't have an ounce of Irish blood in me. There's plenty of Latin blood and a hint of Scottish, but no Irish. Ergo, when I attempted to make corned beef and cabbage, I over-analyzed a simple recipe and it didn't come out quite like I had envisioned. It was rather... tough. I also had no beer in the apartment (there is almost never beer in this apartment), so instead, I had a nice Spanish wine from Galicia. That was the least disastrous part of that St. Patrick's Day meal. I'll leave Irish food to the Irish from here on out.

Luckily, my breakfast food is still reliable. When I moved to this apartment in October, I decided to start brushing up on my breakfast food skills. Other than Eggo waffles and cereal, I had never really been up for cooking in the AM hours. Now, either on a Saturday or Sunday morning(ish), I'll cook up some solid amounts of brunch. French toast, pancakes, eggs, homefries, sausage, bacon, eggs in a basket.... I've done it all. I'm actually quite proud of my homefries, which have taken months of practice to get to their current level of tastiness. Should you ever eat them, do yourself a favor and don't ask me how much butter is in them.

Training
This week, I leave for a two-day training with the Center for Nonprofit Excellence in Charlottesville. I'm hoping to learn the techniques behind identifying proper funding sources for various nonprofit areas of interest ranging from early childhood education to health and wellness. Something I've struggled with has been getting various rejections for grants I've applied for. After a little bit of trial and error, I deduced that it wasn't so much that my proposals were poorly written or the programming wasn't desirable, but that the who was all wrong. I was asking any old foundation for funding, focusing on getting out a request, rather than finding the foundations who wanted to fund my exact program. So, hopefully, I'll come back from Charlottesville with some more ideas and a better plan of attack for the office and our clients.

Coincidentally, a dear friend of mine from college is celebrating her 24th birthday in Charlottesville this weekend, so I'll be there cheering her on this Saturday as she runs the Charlottesville Ten-Miler. It shall be grand.

Here's to a productive week.

All Hail Apple Products

Last weekend, I went to the land of Northern Virginia to visit my family and assist in the celebration of my mother's birthday. (Read as: bake her birthday cake, take drink orders for guests, slice the cake after my mother sliced the ceremonious first slice, and other joyous tasks.) Fear not, family, I jest.. only slightly. Of course I am more than happy to do these things for the woman that birthed and raised me.

I drove home Sunday night in what started as torrential downpours, and the further west I got, the more quickly it became a blizzard. Nothing spells fun like I81 Southbound with trucks in a blizzard going 40 mph.

When I finally arrived to Apartment Sweet Apartment ready to collapse, OfficeMate informed me that he had some bad news. It appears that, with all the rain, our old building was not fully equipped to... how shall I put this... keep a roof over our heads? A leak had formed in the fixture over our dining room table, which is also where we keep our computers. For all my complaints about my 5 year-old MacBook, Maccy, I was devastated. Somehow OfficeMate's computer had successfully avoided the ceiling pee, but mine was taken as the victim. I like to think Maccy offered himself in lieu of OfficeMate's Dell - Maccy's a gentleman. To the right, you can see Maccy post-leak, with the bowl of gross water on the floor.

He was fried. OfficeMate, who is quite good with computers, said he had tried to revive him, to no avail. I can admit with no shame whatsoever that I cried tears for the death of my trusty MacBook; his death, and the realization that I don't remotely have the funds for a new computer.

I took out his battery and left him to dry, with the naive hope that he might work again. For days, he sat on my Old Lady Chair, upside down, drying, in a computer-like coma.

Yesterday, I decided to give him another shot. With OfficeMate nearby for technical and emotional support, I put in his battery, plugged him in and pressed the power button. After a few moments of silence, Maccy dinged his glorious start up noise. My little computer was back. In the words of OfficeMate, "I'd say Maccy's back and better than ever, but he's probably going to run about the same as before."

Now, he's not in pristine condition. His battery fell victim to the leak. Where once a picture of a battery glowed with the percentage charged in the top right corner, there is now a battery with a big 'ol X in it. However, if that's the price I have to pay, I'm okay with it. Now he just gets to live plugged into the wall 24/7. Thank you, Steve Jobs, for allowing me to own a computer that can come back from the most dire of situations.

I'm really just pumped I don't have to job hunt from my phone. I suppose the first thing I'm doing when I get a salaried job is buying a new computer. It's time.

Geocaching and Kitchen Adventures

I spend a lot of time trying to find ways to pass the time in Roanoke. Generally, I get disillusioned after only finding information for shuffleboard tournaments and girl scout award ceremonies, but sometimes something comes up that seems legitimately interesting.

One of the blogs I follow, Rage Against the Minivan, mentioned geocaching. Upon further observation and some solid researching (thanks, Wikipedia!), I learned that it's really just a scavenger hunt for nerds. They even have a legit site for which you need a login. People hide waterproof containers in random locations, and then you get to find it using your GPS device. Or, in my and OfficeMate's case - our iPhones. Sometimes they're filled with fun trinkets, and the idea is if you take something, you leave something as well.

So we did what any normal 20-something in Roanoke would do (because honestly, there can't be more than like 5 more of us) - we went geocaching. There's a park-ish type area a few blocks from our place, so off we went. We began with the caches ranked one-star, or the most simple, and ended up scaling some serious cliffs, and later, walking on some now-out-of-use railroad tracks. Child-friendly? Please. Keep in mind, I of course, was not dressed for this occasion and was scaling cliffs in traction-less flats and trying to keep my Raybans from falling off my head.

After approximately an hour or so of this madness, I began to think this whole thing was a hoax. It was some master plan created by the internet to make two people in Roanoke look like idiots in their neighborhood and potentially trespass for the second time in two weeks. I also questioned whether this was a Peter Pan type scenario - that perhaps we were just too old to properly geocache - since it is really created for children.And then I spotted it. A flash of white inside a tree trunk. At first I thought it was my awful eyes seeing what they wanted to see, but no! It was there! A plastic container with a sheet to sign claiming you had found it, full of fun things for the taking. I took a magic capsule (currently growing into what I can only hope is a dinosaur) in exchange for an old cell phone charm from high school. Walking back to the apartment, we spotted the initial one we were searching for just by chance - of course. I still have a lone monkey from a barrel of monkeys that I need to give to another geocache, so there's still at least one adventure left in this department. Also, I'm telling myself this totally counts as exercise.

Meanwhile, in my kitchen...
When my sister came to visit, she brought with her a bag of spinach, courtesy of my mother. Not being sure what to do with it, I left it for a few days. On Monday, I used my fancy Epicurious app (quite possibly my favorite one on my phone) and found a recipe for Bibimbap. I threw in some spinach and carrots, and had to stop there for lack of space in my bowl. Now, I am far from Korean, and I've had legitimate Bibimbap two or three times, and while mine was not nearly as tasty, it was still pretty solid and not half bad for a Latina trying to be Asian for one night.

This morning, I made sour cream pancakes to rid myself of sour cream that had been building up since Mexican a few nights back. Also courtesy of the Epicurious app, and also delicious. All my culinary successes from the week (I OWNED that spaghetti!) had made me ambitious, and I decided to try a souffle. A spinach-mushroom Parmesan-Chevre souffle.

He's beautiful, as you can see. However, I folded my egg whites in all wrong, ruining the consistency towards the center. Seeing as he was my very first souffle though, I shall continue to be proud of myself.

Baking

Baking can go straight to hell.
I've always hated baking, but it's also always bugged me that I can never seem to get it just so.

I don't mean boxed cakes and brownies because, not to brag, but I make a mean funfetti cake. I mean baking from scratch, like my mom's Christmas cake or my neighbor's homemade fudge. I just... I can't do it. I've tried and tried but it's always in vain.

In sixth grade, I told myself I would be the queen of shortbread. I made batch after batch for these "market" things we had in math class (to learn how to use money, if I remember correctly), and everyone told me they were great. I liked the compliments, like any insecure 12 year-old, but deep down I knew they were lies. My shortbread was too crumbly. My parents bought margarine instead of butter, ruining the entire concept of shortbread. I knew I could do better.

In high school, I set out to make the ultimate oatmeal raisin cookies. However, my recipes only came from allrecipes.com, the Better Homes and Garden cookbook, and the Joy of Cooking. I never sought to tweak these, I just rotated through the three, hoping by some miracle, that the ultimate chewy raisiny goodness would just happen. Of course, it never did. I got batch after batch of dried out, crumbly, bland starch. Once again, my deflated ego and I stepped away from the baking world.

College came, and I was determined to bake properly, but laziness generally won out and boxed cakes reigned supreme. One miraculous day my senior year, I realized I had let a big bag of apples get unattractively squishy and decided to try my hand at baking again. I made apple muffins, and they were delicious. However, I wrote the recipe on a post it that I promptly threw away.

Fast forward to current day. There was one apple in the fridge that I had forgotten about for approximately two weeks. I bought two more apples at Kroger with the intention of making apple muffins - if I was able to make them once, I could do this again. I got home from a very "meh" day at work feeling all sorts of the Mondays and I knew that a successful baking experience was just what I needed to cheer myself up.

The recipe I found claimed these were simple muffins. All the reviews were positive. They didn't take too many ingredients. All signs pointed to "YOU CAN'T MESS THIS UP!" I put on my apron for fear of getting my yoga pants dirty (right?), and got to work. I remember thinking the consistency looked off. I remember thinking there were too many apples. I remember thinking 350 seemed way low for the oven. I also remember thinking, "I own one muffin tin with space for six muffins. This is going to take forever." But I shrugged, excited for my perfect muffins, and introduced the filled muffin tin to his new friend, preheated oven.

As this is happening, I start dinner. Black beans and rice; a latino no-brainer. I can do this with my eyes closed, in my sleep, hands tied behind my back.

25 minutes later, my muffins didn't look like the ones in the picture. They were, in fact, underdone and horribly lumpy. I put them in for longer and kept checking. By the time we reached like 40 minutes, I butter&floured my loaf pan and threw the rest of the batter in.

By this point, I've become so distraught and distracted with my damn muffins-turned-loaf that I've messed up my rice. I messed up my rice. I'm so ashamed.

Right now, I'm waiting on my non-bread-looking-loaf-thing to finish in the oven. I have six sad looking we-wanted-to-be-muffins-but-we're-just-lumpy-apple-things on my counter. I'm eating my overly-sticky-yet-burned-on-the-bottom rice and beans, and weighing the pros and cons of wine vs. chocolate milk.

Baking can go straight to hell. I'll stick to cooking.