We never do because he’s a total bed hog who mercilessly steals covers. Plus he got a new fleece-covered doggy bed for Christmas so he sleeps in comfort. But last night I was feeling like a total softie so I let Jack hop into bed with me while I read Sherlock Holmes.

Things quickly became problematic. Jack passed out long before I hit the second page of my short story, his heavy canine head resting right next to me. He likes the feeling of a nice down pillow under his bony head, but it grosses me out to share pillows with my dog. I mean, he’s a DOG, for one thing, and he smells like movie popcorn, for another. I can’t for the life of me figure out why my dog smells like cinema-fresh Orville Redenbacher, but regardless I don’t want him stinking up my pillows.

I moved his head to my shoulder in a misguided act of kindness, but as Jack drifted further and further into the depths of doggy dreamland, his breathing got heavier and louder. His breaths sounded as if they were coming from miles away as their barreled down that big ol’ snout of his. His nose sounded like the blizzard in Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. It is particularly distracting trying to read about a 19th century detective in rainy London when your dog’s loud breathing snoring makes you think of claymation snowstorms.

So I gave up on Sherlock and turned out the lights.

I awoke the next morning to find that, in his efforts to cuddle with me throughout the night, Jack had actually turned me 90 degrees and I now lay with my head hanging off one side of the bed and my feet hanging off the other, a pillow shoved under my right side and Jack snoring loudly on my left.

“Morning,” I grumbled bitterly and promptly shoved him off the bed. Lesson learned.

***

I tucked Jack into his kennel tonight, thankful for the fact that I only had to share the bed with The Boyfriend instead of an inconsiderate zoo animal. As I closed the door of the crate I thought exasperatedly, It’s just so much more pleasant to sleep with a HUMAN, who at least has evolved enough to understand the concept of a SHARED living space.

I mean, sure, when The Boyfriend and I first started living together, I had to train myself to stop sleeping diagonally across the bed. Some people don’t like that. Apparently. But now we’ve worked through that. And now I also know that it’s not reasonable to take the entire comforter and turn myself into a one-man blanket ball just because it’s really, really, really cold outside.

The Boyfriend smiled fondly at me as I clambered into bed. “I was thinking about all the little things I love about you, and here’s one: your sleep twitches.”

I laughed. “Really? I twitch that much? It’s noticeable?”

“Yeah, it is. You twitch all night long,” he said in that fond voice you use to talk about your partner’s secret quirks. Then, turning to look at me with wide, worried eyes, he said in the slightly panicky voice you use when you realize your partner may be somewhat disturbed, “You twitch a LOT.”

Jack let out a snort from his kennel.

Upon pulling the two chicken breasts out of my fridge today I was dismayed to find they still had their skin on. A surprise twist like this is usually the point in the cooking process where I whine to the Boyfriend and he comes to rescue me from animal flesh or fires I’ve set or milk I’ve spilled or any other culinary catastrophe I am experiencing.

But he was in the middle of a much-needed nap, so I manned up and did it myself.

Barely.   

With fork and knife and lots of “ew ew ew”-ing, I ripped the skin from the chicken, threw the breasts haphazardly into the pot, doused them with 1/2 cup of the marinade, and jumped around the kitchen frantically until the heebie jeebies passed. The feeling overcame me again when I had to wash the skin-y cutting board, a task I performed using lots of scalding water and half a bottle of Dawn. To stave off future panic attacks, I also bleached the counters and microwaved our kitchen sponge to within an inch of its life.

In short I’m not sure the hype about the Crock-pot’s “ease” is believable. It was a pretty tense and panic-stricken morning for me, I’ll tell you that.

[courtesy of gocomics.com]

Six short hours later, as my kitchen filled with a sweet hickory aroma, I slipped off the top of the Crock-pot to find tender — and FULLY COOKED — chicken meat falling right off the bone, no assistance needed from me.

I didn’t even call the Boyfriend in for Animal Flesh Control.

We ate it with baked potatoes (no bones in those!), which cooked while we took Jack on a snowy walk around neighborhood.

This is one hearty dinner for a snowy day. And unless you are me, stress-free as well.

I started off the year as a recent college grad who was holding down three part-time jobs and trying desperately not to become hopelessly discouraged. Looking through iPhoto it appears that, besides working a lot, all I did from January to April was cook and eat. Which makes sense — I had no money and the Boyfriend was still in school — what else are a poor post-grad and a senior college student supposed to do in the cold Upstate NY winter? During these first few months of 2010, I did make scallops for the first time, jump back on the bacon bandwagon, and enjoy several lunches on our back porch, but aside from that there was nothing particularly new and noteworthy in the early months of the year.

April is when it all turned around for me. On the evening of April 1st — April Fool’s Day, mind you — I got a call about a job I had interviewed for in February. The interview had gone so well and I’d immediately clicked with the team, but funding fell through and so did the job. This phone call, however, signaled the rebirth of the job and the hiring of one very thankful Page girl! I’m currently exploring the Development side of non-profit work and I find it suits me well.

This spring brought me a new job and it brought a college diploma for The Boyfriend. And in keeping with the Spring Whirlwind, the Boyfriend, Roommate and I had to deal with the end of our apartment lease in May. The Roommate made plans to abandon us and move downstate to live with her boyfriend, taking Sid, her fabulous cookbook collection, and all of the clothes I used to borrow with her. Meanwhile my boyfriend and I struggled to find a landlord who was willing to rent us an apartment even though we have a dog. Yes, even dogs as cute as Jack are unwanted by landlords.

The stress of not potentially not finding a place that was okay with Jack’s size and overall canine-ness wore away at us throughout the spring until we finally found a gorgeous place in a quiet neighborhood:

I really love our apartment — the location, the size, the style. It’s really perfect for us and our growing zoo.

In June I turned 23 for the first time with the help of my family and some sombreros.

Compared to Summer 2009, July and August were fairly quiet. The gang made a trek north in August to do a little camping — our first group trip together.

And by “camping,” I mean eating, drinking, boating, swimming, eating, kayaking, campfiring, drinking, S’moresing, eating, and sleeping in real beds.

(Jack only went swimming twice: once when he fell off the boat trying to rescue the Boyfriend and as seen above when he ran into the water trying to rescue the Boyfriend and I from our kayaks. That’s puppy love.)

October was a banner month: the Boyfriend got his EMT certification, had a birthday, and carved his first Jack o’lantern.

Jack is so proud he’s fighting back tears.

My big moment in October was the 17th, when my sister and I took a supersecret trip up to Saratoga Springs…

…to get tattoos!

I was incredibly nervous, but it’s been a wish of mine to get a tiger lily tattoo for a few years now. Tiger lilies bloom in the summer right around my birthday and my dad brought my mother a bouquet when I was born.

The pain is not as bad as you think. The actual art of having someone draw on you is far more impressive than the sting of the needles. (By the way if you’re in the Capital Region and looking to get a tattoo, go to Needlewurks. They are professional, friendly, talented, and clean!)

My sister got a Linnea flower after her name.

As the months turned colder and cuddling became more necessary, I began to greatly miss my pudgebucket, Sid. So in November I dragged The Boyfriend to the animal shelter where we found Penny:  

Who, like her doggy brother, is an odd mix of lazy and crazy.

“Excuse me, are you gonna eat all that?”

To round out the year, in December the Boyfriend and I celebrated our anniversary on Cape Cod.

And finally, Santa topped off the year nicely by bringing me one of these for Christmas:

(image courtesy of gdgt.com)

It’s love.

Thursday

My roommates and I went to a debate between Karl Rove and Howard Dean. I’ll save my political opinion for my soap box, but the “r” in “Rove” is for ridiculous. Oops — have I said too much? My liberal leanings aside, the debate felt like a once-in-a-lifetime experience. How often do you get The audience on both sides of the political fence was fair and interested (with the exception of one obnoxious Rove naysayer who didn’t make it five minutes into the debate before being escorted out by the police). The debate was part of the University at Albany’s World Within Reach Speaker Series.

It’s an admirable series and I sincerely hope we see more debates in its future

Friday

I woke Friday morning with the intent to do errands and instead found my little car had a flat tire — its third of the year, mind you. I got frustrated and bailed on the situation in favor of Target therapy with The Roommate. I bought myself a consolatory Bolthouse Farms beverage to sample.

Green. Satisfying. And the fact that I was drinking broccoli and spinach made me forget my flat tire. The Boyfriend won Boyfriend of the Year for surprising me by changing it and was rewarded with a box of Wild Berry Poptarts. Obviously.

Saturday and Sunday

Many phone calls about a new apartments. Many people telling me sternly that they do NOT take dogs. Many hugs for Jack, since he is the best puppy ever and any landlord who wouldn’t want him to live in their apartment is undeserving of his doggy love.

Monday

A handful of unsuccessful apartment viewings that led me to feel like Goldilocks (“This one’s too small! Too expensive! Too smelly!”). Subsequent consolatory egg sandwich on cute new plates from Mom.

Tuesday

Homemade strawberry rhubarb pie from The Roommate. Oh, my.

Wednesday

Third Eye Blind came to town! And we took some lame pictures.

Thursday

I read blogs and ate ham and pea risotto. And that was the most exciting thing I did that day. For real.

Friday

Twas my last day at my part-time jobs. I said goodbye to being a part-time secretary and goodbye to the kids at the after-school program where I worked for the past few years. They threw me a little pizza and cupcake party and we had movie day. So fun! I got so many homemade cards and letters from the kids and the counselors chipped in for a lovely card and going away present. I’ll be back for a visit!

My going away party was followed up by girls’ night with some loverly ladies:

Former college roommates, we are now all grown-up. Between the four of us we have a Masters student, a journalist, and two hard-working ladies in the non-profit sector.

Saturday

The Boyfriend and I signed the lease on a new, grown-up apartment and pondered the fact that our new landlord may be a little nutzo. But she owns a pretty place and loves Jack, so I’ll take the crazy.

Sunday

Since our new apartment has a washer and dryer, The Boyfriend and I made what will hopefully be one of our last trips to the laundromat. Admittedly I will miss the days when I have the hour-long wait for the dryer as an excuse to go across the street and get a sandwich from Scratch.

Ooh, mama!

Sandwiches make smiles.

You’ve been around for this week, which has mainly involved me being really excited about my work at the new job and then going to bed at an outrageously early hour. This is the place for me, I’ve decided. Yes, the people are friendly and dedicated; yes, the agency has an awesome mission and extensive programming; yes, I will learn so much here and can turn this into a career that I love. But most importantly, today I discovered that each employee’s birthday is celebrated with a custom homemade cake. Today’s was a lemon chiffon cake with lemon curd and marscapone whipped cream frosting. And when I discovered that my birthday is the day before the woman’s in HR, everyone declared we should celebrate them on different weeks, since “you can’t combine birthdays and cakes.” I agree completely. Let’s all be best friends immediately.

I’m currently listening to Madonna — you are, too, if you watched Glee last night. I’m also tuned in to Food, Inc. on PBS but it is bummin’ me out a little, so I think I’ll opt for doing some work-related paperwork in bed instead.

With the Boyfriend, of course.

Here is my advice for men who are looking to plan a great date and score some major bonus points with the little lady: plan a date around her interests. It’s incredibly flattering to know that you’re paying attention and it guarantees she will have a good time. And unless you’re dating, I don’t know, Lady Gaga or some other wackadoo, chances are she likes some pretty cool stuff and you’ll both end up enjoying yourselves.

Personally, my interests include wine and old movies. The Boyfriend planned accordingly.

We started the evening at the Palace theater in Albany to see a screening of To Kill A Mockingbird. I love watching old movies at the Palace. It’s this grand old theater and I imagine this is what it was like to go to the movie theater when the movies first started. It’s just such a fun, classy atmosphere. I also have to give major props to the ticket people. Upon arriving we discovered the “cash only” rule and could only scrounge eight bucks between the two of us, which left us each a dollar short for a ticket. The ticket people took pity on us and charged us the senior ticket price of four dollars each, thus scoring some major karma for themselves.

I read the book in high school but never got around to seeing the movie. However, I loved the story, wanted to be Scout, and I have a secret crush on Gregory Peck, so the film was on my must-see list. The movie was incredible. The Boyfriend seemed to enjoy it, too, and I always give props to people who are open to watching old black and white movies. I was raised on Bringing Up Baby and Notorious, but I realize this is unusual. There was no Quentin Tarrantino or Michael Bay in the 40s or 50s.

When we were in college a friend of mine had the idea to re-read all the books they forced him to read in high school. While you’ll never get me near Lord of the Flies again and though I’ll be good without re-reading Ellen Foster, generally this turned out to be a good idea. To Kill A Mockingbird was one of the books he read for a second time and he quite enjoyed it. In truth high schoolers are way too busy freaking out about EVERYTHING to bother with understanding books anyway. Not that I blame them; I was the same way. But nowadays, rather than bemoaning the fact that I’m a nerd, I accept it. Nerds read books. Point me to the nearest copy of Harper Lee’s classic.

As we were walking out of the theater, The Boyfriend turned to me and said, “I imagine you exactly like Scout when you were little.” Scrappy and opinionated? I’d say he might be onto something…

The second half of the date centered around another interest of mine: booze. We went to the Wine Bar and Bistro on Lark, which I have been dying to get to. Without knowing it, we picked the perfect date spot! The Wine Bar is located in a warm and romantic brick-covered basement, accented with fireplaces, candles, and local artwork.

They also have a little something called Wine After Work (yes, please).

“You Know You Need It!!”

Since we went on a Monday night, we enjoyed $5 glasses of wine. I tried a Vouvray which is now a new favorite of mine.

A little sweet, but quite crisp and incredibly fresh. The Boyfriend ordered a glass of Chardonnay, but we both agreed that my wine choice was the winner of the evening. We weren’t planning on eating, but before I knew it I found myself ordering butternut squash ravioli with pancetta. I mean, come on.

The Boyfriend got a stew with chicken confit, bacon, sausage, and white beans, all with a side of garlic crostini. This was absolutely incredible.

As soon as the server set down the bowl he said, “Baby, you better take a picture FAST because this isn’t gonna last long!”

They also brought us a carafe of water right away, which is awesome since I drink water like a beast when I go out to eat. I definitely judge a restaurant by how much water they give you.

My blurry Valentine

With its intimate layout, the Wine Bar is decidedly ideal for couples, but I foresee a girls night out with my lady friends there soon. You can’t beat the $20 bottle Wine After Work deal, and the food is good, too. The glasses of wine are plentiful and the hassle of the workweek seem far away.

It was heavenly to slurp soup, sip wine, and chat with my love. I spied a little on the only other couple in the dining room who were clearly on a second date. They knew each other, but they were asking basic questions: Where are you from, What’s your family like, What do you do for a living? I was suddenly very thankful to be sitting across from someone who has known me for years, someone who has seen me cry and makes me laugh, someone who cheered me on at my college graduation and knows my friends. Someone my mother likes. Someone with whom I have a song and a dog and a common obsession with Criminal Minds.

First dates are nice. Anniversaries are pleasant. But a random Monday night out with your sweetheart is something to cherish.

Then again, this was the sight that met my eyes when I walked through the door this evening:

That would be a slice of cheesecake from the one and only Cheesecake Machismo. How do I feel about Cheesecake Machismo? I would like to fill my bathtub full of their cheesecake and soak it in through my pores. I’m hoping one day they will hire me to be their personal cheesecake tester. Just hearing the word “cheesecake” bring me unabashed joy. Cheese? Wonderful. Cake? Yes, please. Cheesecake? WELL, IF YOU INSIST.

I suppose I should stop my drooling for a moment to mention that this phantom cheesecake was purchased and set ever-so-sweetly upon my desk by the one and only Boyfriend. I sent him a text earlier detailing the fact that I was having a crummy day full of gray skies and blue emotions. (I believe the text went something like “shmeh.”) And because he is wonderful he bought me cheesecake. Bliss.

The cheesecake was a good buffer to the other thing I came home to:

That, dear friends, is a large pot. Normally I would use such a pot to boil up a large vat of pasta, sprinkle it with a little cheese and pepper, and call it dinner. But on this day, we are using this pot to collect the rain that is falling from our living room ceiling.

Drop by drop…

This is the fourth or fifth leak we’ve had in the apartment since we moved in last spring. We’re all delighted, as you can imagine.

It’s been raining all day along in Albany. But yesterday it was doing a little something like this:

Albany finally got its snow.

Nearly everything was cancelled, so The Boyfriend, Roommate, and I clambered into the Roommate’s minivan and ventured to the Gateway Diner for a late breakfast. Speaking of why you’re fat:

When one’s city is blanketed in snow, one is left with no choice but to consume copious amounts of breakfast foods to cope with the pending hibernation/starvation of a snow day. You understand.

I can only hope spring will be here soon, at which point I will stop eating like a bear.

(P.S. I know the layout of this particular post is all distorted.  I have no idea why.  WordPress and Ecto are both being whiny children today.)

The two apartment couples spent a night in on Saturday. We watched Spanglish and ate copious amounts of cheese. The Roommie and I decided early on that we wanted cheese, wine, and crusty French Bread for dinner.

Counterclockwise from the orange cheese: smoked Cheddar (if you have not tried it, you MUST!), Brie, herbed goat cheese, and smoked Gouda.

In addition to olives and bread we had grapes and an apple.

Sometimes I think it might be nice to lose five pounds, but with so much cheese in the world, is it worth it?

NO.

With our cheese we shared a bottle of Malbec.

I don’t know anything about wine, but I like Malbecs as far as red wine goes. Later we popped a bottle of Mondoro, which is sweet sparkling wine.

Jack and Lola were happy to chill with us in the living room (and wait for pieces of cheese to hit the floor). We wore the younger pup out — Jack fell asleep on my shoulder halfway through the evening.

But Lola was ready to hang out!

Lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lola. (Do you know that song by the Kinks? I’ve been singing it all week.)

I ate more cheese last night than I’d care to admit. Despite the large block of dairy digesting in my stomach currently, I’m thinking sometime in the future this apartment needs to have a wine and cheese party. Ever hosted/been to one??

So the fact that in the same week I’ve eaten scallops AND tilapia is sort of a big deal.

The Boyfriend cooked dinner tonight (because he is magical). This gave me time to clean my desk, YouTube Tom Petty, and sit around in wool socks.

Score.

He used a Real Simple 20 Minute Meal recipe to make Seared Tilapia with salad, with a few variations: canned mango instead of fresh, no ginger, yellow onion instead of red, and spring mix instead of watercress.  I personally have no photos of the process because I wasn’t there; the following snapshots are from The Boyfriend. Halfway through cooking he grabbed my camera off my desk and said, “I want to be proud of my tilapia.”

Ingredients, minus that box of truffles you see in the background:

Cooking the fish:

The finished product:

The dish was good (actually, my exact words were “This is freakin’ good!” through mouthfuls of fish). I’m terribly wary of anything too “fishy” and, brat that I am, I was sort of craving something hot and soup-like versus a salad on such a blustery evening. But the recipe (and the cute chef) won me over. After a week of eating only leftover Valentine’s Day cupcakes (I jest — or do I?), eating something real was refreshing. Definitely bookmark this recipe and save it for those nights when you’re hungry NOW but you want to do your body one better than frozen pizza.

While dinner was searing, I finished up a book my mother gave me for Christmas:

I quite liked it: the narrative is about eating and working and freaking out about the future, all of which are my personal hobbies. Phoebe details her entrance into the world of fine dining through her time at New York restaurant Per Se. Her style is relaxed and witty, like she’s your best friend, recalling her day at work while you two share wine and late-night take-out. The story focuses on beginnings: the opening of Per Se as well as the opening of Phoebe’s adult life. It’s an amusing portrait of haute-cuisine and the people who eat it. This was an accessible, friendly read, perfect for a recent graduate with no money and a penchant for anything edible. Gosh, my mother knows me well!

The Boyfriend and I decided to spend Valentine’s Day in instead of going out to dinner. We’re a low-key couple, what can I say. I’d much prefer catching up with my love over a glass of wine while I cook dinner instead of throwing on a dress and heels and spending money at a restaurant. I much prefer restaurants on random nights, not busy holidays.

We took care of a cat and its house over the weekend and we decided to cook dinner there, since it would be free from roommates and pets (no offense to either). It was kind of hard to leave these two guys:

For our Valentine’s Day dinner I decided to cook us something I have never made before:

I found a recipe in the Bon Appetit cookbook that turned out to be delicious. And fast!

1. Over medium heat, cook the zest from one lemon in 1 cup dry white wine. Add scallops and cook until opaque, 1-2 minutes on each side.

2. Remove scallops and set aside in a bowl. Turn up the heat on the wine and cook down the liquid, about 6 minutes.

3. Return heat to medium and add 1 tablespoon of mustard and 1 tablespoon of butter. Add 3 more tablespoons of butter, one at a time, whisking until the sauce comes together.

4. Add the scallops and their juices back into the pan and cook them until hot, about 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. While the scallops cook, boil a large handful of angel hair pasta.

5. Toss the pasta with a tablespoon of butter once cooked. Put a serving on each plate and top with the scallops and sauce.

While I cooked we sipped wine, nibbled edamame, and listened to some tunes, including our song.

By the way, cookbooks are a great way to keep laptops safe from spills on the counter.

Dinner was simple and small, but it packed a delicious punch.

It was a good day.