Question...

Does it make me a total cheese-fest loser that I loved the Office tonight? It touched me. It touched me in my heart.

Sudoku

Have you ever been completing a really tricky sudoku? And it's taken you forever to get as far as you are? And you're on a roll? And you're almost done? And you're so proud that you've solved this challenge, you're ready to yell it from the rooftop so everyone will know how awesome you are?




... And then you find a mistake. You try to correct it, but to no avail - the mistake runs deeper than quick surface corrections.

So you can't finish the sudoku... You sadly place your newspaper in the recycling bin... You feel like crying, but you hold it in, because really, it's only a puzzle.

But on the inside, you're really, really sad.





Yeah... That sucks.

The Tale of the Defrosted Food

Recently, my life has been pretty boring during the day. Summer classes have ended so I spend eight or nine hours at my desk every day just, you know, doing my job. It's good times, but it can get a bit tedious after a while. Basically, I just spend my time counting down until it's time to go home and the excitement can begin. Or whatever.

Usually "the excitement" is a positive thing. Like taking a hike or going out to dinner. Those are positive things we have done in the past when I get off work. But yesterday, "the excitement" was very, very negative. Oh my, was it ever!

First, some background. The last time we went shopping, we got a big, val-u pak of Hot Pockets. We stuck the box in the bottom of our freezer, with the opening out, for easy access to the sandwichy goodness. I have been taking the Hot Pockets with me to work every day, to enjoy for my lunch. Yesterday, I took the last Hot Pocket in the box and, feeling it unwise to leave an empty box in the freezer (why does cardboard need to be frozen?) I took the box out and put it in the trash. Please remember that I said we had placed the box in the bottom of our freezer.

Nine hours later, I have ten minutes left before I get off work and I get a call from Lewis. "Did you get something out of the freezer this morning?" he asks. "Yes..." I say. "Why?"

As it turns out, when I shut the freezer, it didn't close as tightly as it should have. And since I had pulled a big box out of the bottom, the other contents of the freezer had shifted around a bit, and a carton of ice cream had tumbled to the front, pushing the freezer door open further, and making it stay like that. For nine hours.

Crap.

I get home a little while later, and survey the damage. The good news was, most of our stuff was either frozen enough that it stayed frozen all day (like all of our ground beef, thank goodness) or could be refrozen and be just fine (like our butter and pre-cooked hot wings). But there were a few items we had to throw out (like the solitary creamsicle, sitting in the door) and a few we needed to eat ASAP (like our (luckily) almost-empty bag of chicken and our frozen dinner rolls) (there were twenty rolls left).

Awesome.

First thing first, I got the dinner rolls ready. They are supposed to rise a bit before baking, but I was in a bit of a bind. They normally take three or four hours to rise (it was probably 5:30 by now), but there is a quicker method that takes one and a half hour. However, things were complicated by the fact that the rolls were already defrosted. So I decided to do the quick method, but just keep an eye on the rolls so I knew when they would be ready to bake.

The quick method involves preheating the oven to 200 degrees and placing a pan of boiling water on the bottom rack of the oven. Sounds simple, right? Well, after I poured the boiling water from the pot into the pan, I picked up the pan to put it in the oven and the pan slipped, sending boiling water all over my hand and the dish rack of drying cups. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Miraculously, I escaped the incident with only a few small burns on my hand (which don't even hurt any more), and none of the glasses cracked. However, I was already really ticked off at myself for leaving the freezer door open all day and that combined with my seriously overactive tear glands, I started to cry. Luckily, I have a great husband who just gave me a hug while I sniffled and tried not to laugh at me, which was very nice because I'm sure the whole incident was hilarious to watch.

With Lewis' help, the rolls were placed successfully in the oven, and I turned my attention to the chicken. I got a new cookbook last week (Hershey's Recipe Collection. We're going to get so fat), and I hadn't had the chance to try it
yet, so I pulled it out. There were some recipes for dinners that use cocoa, one of which involved boneless, skinless, chicken breasts (what we had), so voila. However, the recipe also involved some ingredients we didn't have. So, I charged Lewis with the task of keeping an eye on the rolls and off to the store I went!

I decided to just go to the Creamery on 9th, because it's closest and if they didn't have everything I needed, I would just have another excuse to continue in my bad mood. Plus parking there sucks, so that's one more point for bad mood Lyssa. Sho 'nuff, none of their six spots were free so I had to park in the lot across the street. Check one for the mood.

Amazingly, they did have everything I needed and it was all relatively inexpensive, so that actually made me pretty happy (although, if anyone is in need of some cilantro, we've got a ton. It was 50 cents for a bunch, and apparently one "bunch" was their entire stock). I also got some chili powder, tomatoes, garlic, an avocado, and green onions. And then I went home and started cooking.

I began to combine ingredients, but when I got to the chili powder, I noticed that there was no safety seal. The seal had been tampered with. And everyone knows you're not supposed to mess with food that has a tampered with safety seal. It could be poisoned.

Every time I've opened a safety-sealed food container, I've thought about how exciting it would be to purchase a food item with a tampered with safety seal. Maybe a hazmat team'll come swooping in and destroy my safety-sealless food item like they destroy the sock in Monsters, Inc.

But it wasn't exciting. It sucked. I had to go back to the store.

As I was driving home again, I got to thinking. The only thing I had purchased that would have a safety seal in the first place was the chili powder. None of the vegetables were safety sealed. Who's to say they're not poisoned? So far, it would appear that they are not, but I'm sure I'll be eating more vegetables in my life.

Anyway, Lewis and I finished making dinner, and it turned out okay, although I have some changes I will be making to that recipe. Nothing needs a whole tablespoon of salt, I don't care if you are a Hershey's recipe.

The rest of the day was good. We went to Sundance with Lewie's parents and took a full moon ski lift ride. And then, when we got home that night, and I was doing my Google Readering, I came across this article, which reminded me that as stupid of a mistake I made with the freezer that day, at least we didn't get scammed by someone in Nigeria. Also, I've never written anything in my educated life that involved spelling a pluralized last name three different ways (if you take a gander a the article, you'll find that KSL spelled the last name of the family involved "Coxes" "Cox's" and "Coxs'," - all when "Coxes" was correct). Way to go KSL. Thanks for making me feel good about myself and the successfulness of my education. I may say things like "sho 'nuff" and "successfulness" but at least I know how to pluralize a proper noun.

Mobility Photography

The thought occurred to me today that I have a whole slew of random pictures on my phone that I don't really do anything with. I mean, probably the only time I've ever uploaded pictures from my phone to the introwebs (or anywhere) was for the April snowstorm debacle. And I'm sure no one wants to relive that.

But I've got some pretty awesome photos on my phone. Well, they're okay. In any case, I'm going to post them here, mostly because Facebook doesn't offer mobile services for T-mobile (I know, right?).

I've divided them into two categories:

1. Pictures others have taken of themselves.

I leave my phone on my desk alone for ten minutes, and this becomes my wall paper.

Something similar happened here. Although the background offers no clues to this picture's origin.

This next one was from Lewis trying to be cute. Or something. Either way, it was while we were in bed and I did not want my picture taken. That sounds dirty.

I think this one speaks for itself. Clearly, it is the reason I married Lewis.


This is another one that magically appeared as my wallpaper when I left my phone on my desk. I think this one is Lew's caller ID picture now.


And then one of me, that I took right after I got this phone, before I let myself go and also to tell my friends that I finally joined the 21st century and got a camera phone.


2. Pictures of people/things I deemed worthy.

Misprints in the Daily Universe.


Celebrations.

Evie.


Nature.


Weirdies.


And, of course, my own personal sexiness. Like the nightie?


Enjoy!

Alyssa Does Not Recommend OR What I Learned From MSVGS

Mega Shark Versus Giant Octopus. A movie with so much promise. Not promise that it would be good, per se. More like promise that it would be so bad it's good.

But no.

It's just bad.

Bad, bad, bad.

Let's back up for a second. It all started a month or so ago, when we saw a trailer for this intriguing, direct to DVD movie. You can (and should) watch the preview for yourself. I mean, how could we be disappointed? The shark bites a freaking airbus out of the sky! How could this movie not be awesome, albeit awesomely bad?

But like I said. It's just bad. So bad, I'm embarrassed to let people see it and I didn't even make it (sorry, Luke).

The movie appears to be composed solely of stock footage from Planet Earth, green screen scenes, and a handful of digitalized shots of the shark and/or the octopus, used over and over again (sometime flipped to make you think it's a different shot). As for the shark biting the plane out of the sky? I'm pretty sure they just threw a plastic plane and a rubber shark at each other and filmed it. Pathetic.

To be fair, the movie was somewhat educational. Here's what I learned:

1. People with lisps shouldn't swear. It just sounds silly.

2. Referencing something from pop culture will not give your movie more credibility. Especially if what you are referencing is "Thrilla in Manila," because it sounds dumb. I don't care if it involves Muhammad Ali.

3. If you are filming a scene that's supposed to be sunrise or sunset, you should probably make the sky change a little bit, because that's what, you know, happens. If the audience can tell you used a green screen, you're in trouble.

4. Mega is a stupid word, and if I never hear it ever again, I'll be okay with that.

5. If you base your acting ability completely on over the top facial expressions, you're in danger of being in a movie like this. Sorry, Debbie Gibson.

6. Don't ever - EVER! - hire a special effects studio called "Tiny Juggernaut." Really?

7. If you want to be taken seriously as a movie, you should not include the line, "You need to go home and think about what you did."

But what can I expect, really, from the people who brought us "The Terminators," "Transmorphers 2: Fall of Man," "The Day the Earth Stopped," and "Snakes on a Train." And yes, you read all of that right. I bet they have a great market Asia.

Now, what should I rent next? Hmm... "Sunday School Musical" or "30,000 Leagues Under the Sea"?

OCD

SO! I'm done with the semester. I can't tell you how pleased I am. Pleased as punch, really. Right now, I'm sitting in the McKay Building Tec Lab while Lewis studies. He's ignoring me, but for some reason he said I should stay. Some of that quality time married couples always take part of or something. Whatevs.

Anyway, I noticed something today, as I was taking my last exam. First, though, a small sample of background information: I've always been a little obsessive-compulsive. Maybe not enough to call it a disorder, per se, but still. A little.

So back to my exam. It was one of those tests where you're given x number of topics and you're supposed to write everything and anything you know about them. For this particular test, we were given a list of twenty or so topics beforehand, and we got to pick whichever five we wanted to write about. Most people aren't big fans of this method of assessment, but I don't mind it. I seem to do pretty well on it anyway. My biggest problem, however, is remembering the specific names of the people involved in the topic, in this case, the experimenters. To combat this, I took one last look at all the names right before the test started, and then typed them all in at the top of the page (my professor lets us use our laptops for the exams). With the names, I included a word or two indicating which experiment went with each name.

This is what I wrote:
Repacholi and Gopnik - food preferences
Chandler, Fritz, and Hala - deception
Wimmer and Perner: hidden treat
Meltzoff and Moore - neonatal imitation

And so on.

But then I noticed that for Wimmer and Perner, I had used a colon (:) instead of a dash (-). I know what you're thinking. Big whoop! Who cares? Well guess what, you insensitive jerk! I do. I care so much that I had to go back and replace that colon with a dash, even though I was going to freaking delete that whole section of information when I was done with the test. I care so much that I am considering deleting this whole post because I can't stand to see such an incongruity, especially when I know I caused it. I care so much because I'm freaking OC if not D!

That's right, Lewis. You married a crazy.

Whiskey Tango Hotel, Wake Forest? Whiskey Tango Hotel?

Really, Wake Forest? You lost to Cleveland State? Really? Why, why, why did you lose? That game shouldn't have even been close! Oh wait. It wasn't! You got stepped on by Cleveland State!

I don't think you realize what this does to me. I had you in the Final freaking Four. The Final Four! Pretty much, because of you, it's time to say good-bye to my bracket. It's ruined. Like whoa.

I don't even care any more. You broke me. As far as I'm concerned, March Madness is over and there's just a whole lot of basketball on TV that of course I'm going to watch. You're dead to me.

And YOU, Utah! I wasn't going to say anything about the other teams that pooped on my bracket last night, but I just hate you so much that I feel justified. The one time I give you any credit, what do you do? You lose. By a lot. Really, Utah? Never again.

To Cleveland and Arizona States, well done. You may have ruined my chances at anything and everything, but I know how to appreciate a good upset. And you both pulled fantastic upsets. And now you play each other - 13 and 12 seeds, respectively. One of you is going to make it to the sweet 16. Well done, indeed.

And a hearty pat on the back to Wisconsin. I picked you over Florida State, in a 12-5 seed upset. Thank you for looking out for me, even if those jerks over in the Midwest region screwed it up.

Braketology

To the men's basketball teams of Minnesota, Akron, Illinois, Tennessee, Utah State, and BYU:

What were you thinking? You lost in the first round. Did you not understand that you were supposed to win? I picked you all to win this round. And what did you do? You lost.

Minnesota: while I am still highly disappointed, I am most forgiving of your lost. 10-7 seedings are rife with upsets, but there's always at least one that goes to the 7 seed. I should have known.

Akron and Illinois: the winners of both of your games play each other. Do you know what that means? It means that I will definitely lose points in the next round too because you both lost. You freaking tools. Akron, I had you to upset Gonzaga. Sure, historically they are a fantastic tournament team, but they lost the last two years in the first round. It would have been so easy to get in their heads and pull an upset, but no. You choked.
As for you Illinois--seriously? You lost to Western Kentucky. Western Kentucky! How in the world could you let that happen? It's Western freaking Kentucky!

Tennessee: true, you only lost by two points. But I'm irrational and I don't care. I hate you for losing.

Utah State: you are one of the most underrated teams in the country. You had the chance to prove everyone wrong and you miffed it. The fact that you only lost by a point is not the point.

BYU: you know you will always have my loyalty. But this trend of losing in the first round every single NCAA tournament you make it to has got to stop. 1993 was a long time ago, boys. A very long time. It's time to win again. But not this year. You lost this year.

To Louisville, Ohio State, freaking Utah, Wake Forest, Dayton, USC, Michigan State, Missouri, Pittsburgh, Wisconsin, Xavier, and Temple - you had better win. You had just better. All of you. I mean it.

Oh, and UCLA? I appreciate you pulling it out, but come on. VCU? Let's show a little more hustle in your game against Duke. After that, you may lose. But only after.

A Trip Down Memory Lane...Or Perhaps Dark and Dank Memory Alley

When someone asks me what my most embarrassing moment is, I don't really know what to say. It's not that I've never had an embarrassing moment. Goodness knows I've had more than plenty. But it's hard to pin down what would be my most embarrassing moment. I usually share the following story, which I find to be quite humorous, and it's generally well received, so maybe I'm right in my opinion.

When I was eight- and nine- years old, my family and I lived in London. While we were there, we had many opportunities to see different types of theatrical performances. One of our favorites was that of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged). We loved this show so much we went back and saw it a second time, bringing with us some of our visiting relatives.

After the play, my family stayed behind to talk to the cast and get autographs and such (it's possible I made that up. They were taking their time leaving for some reason). While my family did this - whatever it was they were doing - I excused myself to use the restroom. I had some difficulty locating the bathroom facilities so I asked a passing usher for assistance. He pointed me in the right direction and I soon found myself facing two identical doors. To my nine-year-old mind, it seemed logical that there would be signs indicating which door led to the ladies' room and which led to the mens'. Call me crazy, but signs such as these seem to be something of a standard in most public places. However, I had no such luck in locating anything of the sort. And I really, really had to go. So, putting my trust in all that was holy, I picked a door and dashed in.

Once inside the bathroom, I noticed several odd porcelain objects along one wall. They looked somewhat similar to toilets, but they were not in stalls and they certainly didn't have any place to sit. I brushed the oddness aside, however, mentally noting that I was in Europe and, well, let's face it: those Brits are weirdies. It was not too long after this experience that I learned what a urinal was.

After I had finished what I came to do, I washed my hands and prepared to make my way back to my family. As I exited the WC, I heard a great burst of laughter. Down the hall a ways was the entire cast and crew of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged), laughing their heads off at me. Don't be too shocked. The cast and crew only had five, maybe six people total. But still. They were laughing at a nine-year-old. And then it hit me. I chose the wrong door. I turned around slowly and sure enough. There it was, clear as pie. The sign I had somehow missed in my quest to fulfill social norms and use the loo allotted to my gender. I had used the Mens' Room. I froze, unsure of what to do, but positive that I could not allow my untainted image and innocent visage to be marred in front of all these highbrow sorts. Thinking quickly, I came up with a rational and well thought-out solution.

I pretended I was blind.

That's right, I slapped my hand on the wall and shuffled and felt my way back to where I had left my family. No doubt the cast and crew were convinced of my invented handicap and felt bad right away for chortling at the disabled. Had they known I was feinting, they would have offered me a part in their theatrical production right away, no doubt. I can't believe they laughed at a little kid. Jerks.