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10/23/2002: On the menu

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While there may be a lot about being an adult that sucks (like having to pay bills and how they actually expect you to *work*, and don't get me started on trying to decipher IRS tax codes and trying to remember the difference between term and the other kind of life insurance), there are some rather nifty perks. One of those perks is that you can eat whatever you darn well want for dinner. So if, say, you happen to have some leftover pumpkin spice cake, and you felt a strange whim to whip up a batch of homemade pumpkin spice ice cream to go with that cake, as an adult you can rationalize that this makes a perfectly valid dinner. Of course that little nagging voice in the back of your head that sounds just like your mother might just guilt you into sucking down a plate of steamed broccoli beforehand so you can at least claim you ate your vegetables, but the point here is that when you are an adult you get to eat cake and ice cream for dinner. Heck, you can even eat it for breakfast.

Not, mind you, that this quite makes up for that whole paying bills-IRS-life insurance thing. But there's something deliciously rebellious about eating ice cream and cake for dinner - so much so that it can make you forget about all the rest maybe for just a little bit. Maybe.


All of our Benthic Creatures cohorts are in town together today and tomorrow to test out all our lovely new knowledge about the mollusk handling software on a handful of representatives from the state. Either we wowed them with our expertise today or else they were simply desperate to escape so they wouldn't have to sit through the same presentation any longer, but they gave us all kudos and head pats and even some helpful suggestions. So after getting *that* out of the way, a small group of us headed off to get dinner at this place by the river, where you walk through a rather steeply slanted box car to reach the restaurant. The waitress was amusingly surly (well, we were amused at least. I'm not so sure she was). Since she claimed it was the restaurant's specialty, three of us decided to give the sturgeon a try. This is the very first time I have ever had sturgeon. It will also be the last. I took a few bites, pushed it around on my plate until I decided that it was just too big to hide under the potatoes, and then quietly finished off the breadbasket in lieu of the rather large and gamy chunk of fish. I'll stick with salmon, thank you very much. Yick. We brought it home with us anyway, however, because Richard liked his, and so either he can eat the leftovers, or maybe I'll just feed it to the cats.


Because I couldn't stand waiting any longer, I went to the library and checked out the last two book in the Stephanie Plum series by Janet Evanovich - Seven Up and Hard Eight. It was lucky that I managed to get my hands on both of them at once, because Seven Up ends with a cliffhanger that would have driven me absolutely batty if I'd had to wait for it any longer. I sat down yesterday afternoon with the first and read it straight through. Then after having to sit back and catch my breath at the end of that one I had no choice but to dive right into Hard Eight. Those of you who are familiar with this series know why breath catching is required but I'm not going to say why here because I don't want to spoil it for anyone else. However I will just say (uh…note to my husband: if you're reading this right now, just skip this next part, okay?) that my several of my coworkers and I want to know how we can get a Ranger of our very own. Heh.
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