I'm Wanted for Murder.

My roommate has been out of town for the last week. Before she left, she entrusted me to watering her happy, pink flowering plant from her bedroom. She even brought it downstairs to the living room to hang out with my other plant so I could water them together. I was more than happy to, as I'm hoping to add more plants to my house and backyard, so this would be a great chance to test out my green thumb that I SO desperately wanted to cultivate. The following picture is a result of my 'care'.

I'm at a loss...I've given both plants the same amount of water, sunlight, and love. There's a few pink blooms hanging on, yes, but the rest of the plant is heading south quickly. I brought in reinforcements. My mom, a seasoned gardener happened to be at my place on Friday morning, and I told her my concerns. She said, "Maybe you over-watered it. Put it outside on your patio for a day or two, and it should perk up."

And the picture above is what greeted me this morning. It looked even worse. Horrified, I brought the plant back inside so it could spend it's final days under 24-hour care. A sort of "botany-hospice".

Maybe this plant didn't WANT to live. Or maybe my plant killed it out of jealousy. Or just maybe I'm to blame. But no matter who's fault it is, my roomie is home tomorrow. At this point, I need a freaking miracle. This plant is by the front door...the first thing she'll see when she returns from her long cross-country journey. When she asked what happened to her beloved plant, I will simply give this explanation:

"It was Colonel Mustard, in the Living Room, with the lead pipe."

It would be real nice if you all backed me up on this theory.

Because I'm awesome.

Don't you hate when you're in the car, and an awesome song comes on the radio just as you're reaching your destination? This was playing when I pulled up to a work meeting this afternoon. So I stayed in the car until it was over. And I rocked out.

Judge me if you want. I don't care.

An Ode to Cheese.

I realize that I've maintained this blog for over a year, and have yet to really talk about my love of cheese, although the title section of my blog claims that I do. Let's fix that.

Cheese. Fromage. Queso. However you say it, it's mankind's greatest accomplishment. And no, mankind's greatest accomplishment is NOT landing on the moon. That's a distant #2. Here's a rundown of some of my favorite cheeses:

The first stop on our tour is the Apricot Stilton. Trader Joe's carries a great one. (And if you don't live near a Trader Joe's, I don't know what to tell you. Except that you should MOVE.)
This cheese is STUPID good. In my opinion, the stinkier the cheese, the better it is. And you can't go wrong with the fruity/stinky combination. Delish.

Next up, Pepper Jack. My love affair with this stuff started in college. There's nothing highbrow about this one. It simply rules.

The next cheese is Brie. A longtime favorite of mine. The best way to enjoy this is baked. Try and keep up now:

1. Buy a wheel of brie
2. Slather some fruit preserves on top (apricot or raspberry are my preferences)
3. Wrap the whole thing in puff pastry.
4. Bake that sucker.
5. Eat it.
6. Don't share it with anyone.
7. Wash it down with a glass of wine.
8. Pass out from a wine/cheese induced coma.
9. Repeat as needed. Lastly, cheddar. The original gangster, when it comes to cheese, as far as I'm concerned. I prefer a sharp, well aged white cheddar.

There are a few exceptions. Below are 3 cheeses I don't get anywhere near. After all, a girl has to have her standards:

1. Swiss cheese. I hate the taste and it gives me some NASTY gastrointestinal...um, issues. And while I normally like stinky cheese, the smell of Swiss sickens me. Also, paying for cheese that's full of holes makes me think that I'm paying for a bunch of wasted space. No thank you.

2. American cheese. This is not cheese. The only time this should be used is to hide a pill in it for the dog. Otherwise, have some respect for yourself, and just go straight for a nice sharp cheddar.

3. Spray cheese. This is the polyester of cheese. Aerosol and metal cans should not be part of the fromage equation. Gross. The inventor of Easy Cheese should be strung up by his toenails.

I hope your horizons have been slightly broadened. Or that you're at least a little hungry. I also hope that my lactose intolerant readers haven't needed to pop a Lactaid from reading this.

Interesting (or maybe not interesting to anyone else) side note: I hated cheese as a kid. HATED IT.

I have this song in my head on repeat today.

I love Helen Reddy. LOVE HER. And yes, I'm 30, not 65.

I fear my mild-mannered office mate Jasmin will murder me before the end of the day if I can't hit the "shuffle" button in my head and turn off "repeat". This is a very real possibility.

Economy Rant

I'm a recruiter for a school. With our economic downturn, calls from people needing jobs have become more and more desperate. I have fewer and fewer jobs to offer them, if they're even qualified to apply for them in the first place. I'm beyond blessed to be more financially secure than I've ever been, and the only complaint I have with two jobs is that I work TOO much. I'm sure most of our country's unemployed would tell me to go screw with that last statement. Sorry.

And, as bad as I feel about the lack of jobs I have to offer my applicants, this evening's rant is actually about salesmen. Allow me to explain: these fools are desperate right now. Just as desperate as the unemployed, because a lot of their livelihood depends on commission from selling their crap. And no one has money, so no one can buy their crap. But they're worse, because they are obnoxious on top of being desperate. A craptacular combination. Salesman of the world, hear this: I get that you need to make a living, but the rules have not changed just because the economy has taken a dump. Calling someone five times a day will not make a sale. It will only piss them off.

*Robert from CareerBuilder.com, if you're reading this, yes, YOU inspired this post. I was feeling bad that I can't buy a job-post package from you, but you've rapidly lost my sympathy, and you've crossed over into the 'annoying' category. Leave me the hell alone. And yes, my receptionist told me how much you called today. I was totally screening your ass.