Found Credit

I have a credit card that I pay and monitor online. I hardly ever use it, so when I do, I always have to remind myself to pay on the last day of the month.

Today, I went to pay and realized that I have $0 due. I checked my records, and it turns out I paid it early this month and completely forgot.

It's not quite as cool as finding 20 bucks in your coat pocket, but since the rest of my day has been kind of stressful, this really gave me a boost.

I Must Be Overworked

When my alarm went off at 3 this morning for Stella's overnight potty break, I thought at first that the noise was the fax machine at my office.

Guacamole for Everyone!

If a dream deferred is a raisin in the sun, a dream realized is an avocado in a box addressed to you.

Thanks to my sister, one of my lifelong dreams has been fulfilled. I am now an official member of the club -- the Avocado of the Month Club, that is. Yesterday, I received a box of six enormous avocados and some kind of tool, which is supposed to be a peeler or scraper or something. I don't care what it is; I've always wanted to belong to an of-the-month club, and now I do.

I'm not sure if they're really going to send me avocados every month or if it's just an honorary title, but either way, I'm excited.

CNN Tells It Like It Is

I'm not sure whether to laugh at or be embarrassed for CNN.com about the link they posted to this story about an animal donated by the Make-A-Wish Foundation dying after being attacked by a pair of dogs.

The link reads Pit Bulls Kill Cancer Boy's Miniature Horse.

Cancer boy? Pretty harsh there, CNN. If the loss of his horse doesn't make him feel horrible, I'm sure this label will.

Shaggy Has Left The Dumpster...At Least For Now

It's been two weeks, and my shaggy blonde dumpster diving pal has not made another appearance.

After the last sighting, I did in fact go to the cops and tell them what I'd seen. It felt strange to visit the police department and not get paid for it; every time I've been there before, I've been picking up reports for the newspaper. I half expected the ladies at the front desk to hand me the basket of papers, but I'd never seen them before, and I haven't covered their town for close to two years anyway.

I thought they'd brush me off, but actually, the gatekeeper lady who they make you talk to over the phone (I guess so they can get your information and run a background check on you before actually looking at you) admonished me for not calling right away when I first saw the guy . In fact, the tone was almost accusatory. I wasn't sure whether to be glad I decided to come in, or sorry.

Anyway, the cop I talked to face-to-face agreed that it was probably a medical center janitor but said he doesn't typically work the overnight shift, so he's not as familiar with the cleaning crew schedules of area businesses as the cops on that shift are. He also said that it's unlikely someone looking for medical records or financial information would find anything, as doctor's offices usually shred these things before throwing them away. Still, he took as much information as I could give him and said he'd share it with the officers on the overnight shift so that they could swing by and keep an eye out. He also said that if I saw the guy again, I should give them a call right away so they could check it out.

Well, there's been no sign of Shaggy and no word from the cops (although they never said they'd keep me updated). I did, however, see a report in the local paper about a shaggy haired blonde guy raping a woman in a neighboring town. It could be a coincidence, but that still hasn't stopped me from holding the door open while Stella pees so we can get inside quickly when she's done.

God Loves A Terrier

It's official -- I'm becoming my mom.

I think that for most women, this revelation comes when they find themselves saying things like "clean your room or no TV for a week" or "I'll take the orange lipstick and an embroidered holiday sweatshirt, please," but for me, it came in a more sneaky way. A sort of musical way.

My mom has always had a thing about making up songs. She doesn't just willy nilly go around singing about any old thing, but I don't know if she's terribly selective about her subjects, either. I remember very well when I was little and we got our first microwave oven, and for weeks, she went around singing, "ohhhhhhhhh! I love my microwave!" in an almost operatic fashion. And when I was 17 and we got her a dog for Mother's Day, she gave him his own theme song, the lyrics to which were, "everybody loves my dog. People really seem to like my dog."

Well, people seem to like my dog too, I guess. Or at least I do, because after less than three months with Stella, I already have enough songs about her to make an album. Not a good album, but still.

I didn't realize just how many songs there were until last night, when my husband interrupted a chorus of "Piggly Wiggly Girl" to laugh at me for making up songs. I then began to list them, and the list is pathetically long.

There's "The Peanut Girl Theme," which is a take on the Spiderman theme: "Peanut Girl, Peanut Girl, living in her peanut world. She's so good and so cute. I love her, yes I do. Look out, here comes my peanut girl." There are more words, but they just get more embarrassing.

There's also "Hello, Peanut Girl, Goodbye Heart," an homage to Creedence Clearwater Revival.

I have an original composition I call "Stella Bella Peanut Girl," which is basically the words "peanut girl" repeated over and over. A B-side version of this is "Smooshy Smooshy Smooshy Face." Same tune, slightly different lyrics.

And let's not forget "Beautiful Stella" the tune of which was taken from "Beautiful Dreamer."

I know, I know. I'm certifiable. And I'm quite likely well on my way to becoming "crazy dog lady." Although I think you need at least one dog figurine and a tee shirt with your dog's face on it to truly qualify for that title.

Ah, well. If it's good enough for Mom, it's good enough for me. And for my piggly wiggly giggly jiggly piggly wiggly girl.

On The Eve of the Last Year Before I Turn 30...

My 20s have been interesting.

If I even began to list the highlights, the list would be a mile long. Suffice it to say that I've learned a lot and had a reasonably good time.

But as I close in on my 30s, I find myself breathing a sigh of relief. The 20s, interesting as they were, have been crazy, unsettled and often unsettling. I'm hoping the 30s bring a little more harmony, a little more balance, to my life.

But before all that zen bliss begins, I have one more year. So damn it, I'm gonna make it a good one.

I made a list of 30 things I want to do before I turn 30, and I plan to chronicle the checking-off process in a new blog, Pearly Wise. (Stapling Jello will continue to bring you the same brilliant insights as always).

What's on the list? Will I accomplish all 30 things?

We'll start finding out tomorrow.

Wonder of Wonders, Miracle of Miracles

Well, well, well.

My UPS package just showed up. On time and in tact.

I think they must have my name in a "don't piss off this person" database.

Stella Is A Thoughtful Girl

Today, I received this card in the mail.

The label was typewritten, there was no return address, and the postmark came from Chicago.

Inside, the card said, in swirly type, "Happy Birthday! I didn't get you a gift, because now that you have me, what more could you want? Love, Stella."

And you know what? She's right.

I think someone must have helped her with the card, although really, Stella is pretty technology savvy. So maybe she just did it on her own.

In any case, I was tickled to get this surprise from my little peanut girl.

If It's Brown...

My mother sent me a package via UPS this week.

It's supposed to arrive on Thursday. Well, we'll just see about that.

After last year's Christmas package debacle, I don't feel terribly confident about the folks in the brown shorts delivering anything to me on time. Still, when my mom e-mailed to tell me that she'd sent me something via UPS, I decided to give the company the benefit of the doubt.

Even if they had re-routed my Christmas package three times without my knowledge or consent.

Even if their employees were completely unhelpful and rude.

Even if their idea of making amends was to send me a fruit basket.

Today, my mom forwarded me an e-mail update she had received on the status of my package's journey. In the summary, my name and the name of my company had been misspelled.

If anyone wants a banana or something, let me know now.

Concerned Citizen, or Law & Order Fan?

He's back. Whoever he is.

Two weeks ago, as I wrote then, Stella and I were outside on our 3 a.m. pee break and heard something being thrown into a dumpster and the dumpster lid slamming shut. I looked over and saw a man (I'm pretty sure it was a man -- the person had a mannish build) with shaggy blonde hair. I couldn't see a face. Stella started barking, and I hustled her inside. Whoever the guy was and whatever he was dumping, I didn't want any part of it.

I was definitely a little uneasy about it, but simply being outside at 3 a.m. is not a crime -- heck, I was. I figured he was just a night-shifter taking out his garbage or something.

But this morning, I saw him again. Stella and I were outside at 3 a.m., I heard the dumpster lid, looked over, and saw his silhouette and the blonde hair (there are lights over that way, so while I couldn't see his face, I definitely saw that the hair was light). Once again, I didn't want to be alone in the dark with a stranger, so Stel and I went inside. My unit is on the wrong side of the building for me to be able to see the area from my window, so I couldn't keep an eye on him from inside and see what exactly he was doing.

When I took Stel out right before I left for work, I realized that standing where I had been overnight, and two weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to see the guy if he had been in the residential dumpsters. However, just behind them are dumpsters for a medical center which is directly behind my building. From where I was standing, I could (and would) have seen someone standing by those dumpsters.

It is possible that the mystery guy was just part of a cleaning crew throwing out garbage. However...of all of the possible reasons I can imagine for someone to be in a dumpster at 3 a.m., that is the only one that doesn't cause me concern. If he wasn't part of a cleaning crew, he was either dumping something illegally or looking for something he shouldn't be looking for.

I called the police department's non-emergency number today, to see if I could talk to an officer, but the person who answered the phone told me that they won't take reports over the phone and won't even talk to you unless you come in.

So I will pay the cops a visit this evening. I feel kind of weird about it; I don't have much to go on except "guy was outside at 3 a.m." And I kind of worry about coming across as someone who watches too much TV. But I would rather have the police think I'm a sensationalist than be afraid to take my dog outside.

Soy and the Sneaky Wife

My husband is fairly open-minded when it comes to food. Like me, he enjoys trying new recipes, and he will usually at least take a bite of something that is unfamiliar.

The one exception has been soy. For some reason, I can never get him to try any dairy-like products that aren't actually dairy. I'll admit, some of them are kind of gross, but the soy ice cream isn't bad, and soy milk doesn't taste any worse than regular milk does.

Ever since I gave up dairy, cooking has been tough. We've constantly been looking for recipes that either called for no dairy or could be made in two separate dishes -- one lactose-laden, one not -- so that I could avoid the curse of the cow. I still eat dairy about once a week, but when it's not dairy day, meal planning can be a challenge. I've tried to get my husband to agree to make things with dairy-free milk and butter, but my soy-shy sweetheart has always refused.

On Saturday night, we were both hungry for chicken marsala, which we always have with mashed potatoes. It had been a busy day, and a busy week, so rather than messing with two versions of the same meal, I volunteered to cook, directed my husband to play with Stella and got to work, cooking the chicken in soy butter and adding soy butter and milk to the potatoes, all the while looking over my shoulder to make sure my secret ingredients went undetected.

As we sat down to dinner, I didn't say a word about the fact that this was a dairy-free meal, figuring I'd wait to see if he said anything before I confessed. I didn't feel good about my deception, but it was the only way I could get him to try the dairy-free products to which I have resigned myself. If he hated them, I told myself, I would never make him eat them again, but if he didn't, perhaps this would be the dawn of a new era in our kitchen.

I was nervous -- not only because I thought my husband might be upset but also because butter is part of what makes chicken marsala so good, and I was afraid our dinner would taste bad with a soy substitute. I took a bite -- and it was actually very good. I tried the potatoes, and they were good too. I could hardly tell the difference, so perhaps my husband would be fooled after all.

He was. He complimented me several times on the meal, even saying that I "always make the best chicken marsala." I beamed, and when our plates were clean, confessed what I'd done. His reply was completely predictable.

"I knew it."

Yeah, right. If he had had any idea, he would have asked as soon as he took one bite. But he insisted he'd had an inkling that something was up. I didn't believe him for a second, but I can't roll my eyes too much, because my little experiment proved a success. The next morning, my sweet husband made omelets for the two of us -- with soy milk.

Lesson learned: Never ask your husband to try something. Trick him into trying it and strong-arm him into admitting that it wasn't so bad after all.

Guacamole: Check

It's official. I have done it. I have reached the one goal I wanted to meet before I turned 29.

I have made guacamole.

After my husband and I gobbled the Trader Joe's guac that I bought last week, he not-so-subtly hinted that he would like some more. So on my way home from work on Thursday, I stopped and bought some ready-made guac. But with my Oct. 19 deadline looming in front of me, I thought it best to get started on making my own, and I picked up some avocados as well.

At this point, I still had no idea what good avocados looked or felt like, so I just grabbed. A few days later, Marla called and detailed for me exactly what a good avocado should feel like (firm, but with a little give) and look like (I forget) and how she prefers to smash up the avocados (just smash them, which is what I did, although I like my guac a little smoother, so I think next time I'll try the food processor).

After a hectic weekend, I decided that last night would be the big night. One of my four avocados had gotten really squishy, but the others were fine, so I sliced, gutted and smashed them up, added red onion, lemon juice, garlic powder and salt and reached for the tortilla chips for a taste test. The guac was a little bland, so I played with it, ultimately adding real garlic and a tiny bit of cumin. If I had had cilantro, I would have thrown that in, but unfortunately, I was fresh out. Next time, though.

It felt good to accomplish this goal. It felt good to stuff myself with homemade guacamole. And it felt really good when my husband told me he liked my very first attempt at homemade more than the store brand.

So what goals will I set for myself before I turn 30? I guess we'll find out in 10 days.

My Heart On My Sleeve, My Mind On My Chest

Someone sent me a link to an online store with this T-shirt design available. I really think I need one. The message embodies one of my most fundamental beliefs.

If I am ever chosen to be on a magazine cover, I think I will wear this. Not that there's much of a chance of that happening, but I figure it's good to have something ready, just in case.

iDiot

I suppose it was inevitable, but it is no less annoying.

I wasn't entirely surprised to see this story about a lawsuit filed by Dongmei Li of Queens, New York against Apple for slashing the price of the iPhone and discontinuing the less expensive of the two models of the phone. Li purchased one of the less expensive phones for $499 sometime between their debut and the announcement of the price cut and discontinuation.

Li, who is seeking $1 million, alleges in the suit that by cutting the price of the more expensive model from $599 to $399, Apple injured her and other early purchasers of the product because they are now not able to sell the phones they bought at the same price as those who bought them after the cut.

First of all, Apple doesn't make and sell products so that private citizens can buy them and make money off of them. People have a right to do so, I suppose, and if they can get a little cash, more power to them. But I don't think a corporation should be held responsible if it doesn't work out.

I also have to wonder how much Li thought she was going to get for her iPhone, as they aren't that difficult to find in stores, and people can order them right on Apple's Web site. Why would someone buy something a private citizen was selling for an inflated price when the company had the same product readily available for the retail price? I know that several people did resell the phones when the product first came out, but I have my doubts that Li could do the same for a profit at this point anyway, price cut aside.

But apparently, given the terms of the lawsuit, she thought the going resale price was $1,000,499. Yes, I know the award in a lawsuit covers legal fees and things like that, but as far as I can tell, this is not a class action suit at this point; once the piper is paid, Li would be the only beneficiary of the spoils.

Apple has issued an apology and made amends with people who bought the phone up to 14 days before the price cut, offering a $200 refund and, for those who bought the more expensive model, a $100 credit to be used at Apple stores. In my opinion, that was a pretty kind gesture; anyone who buys a product when it first comes out has to know they'll pay more than those who wait will. If you want to be one of the first kids on your block to have the new toy, it's going to cost you.

Consumers argued that they felt jilted because Apple cut the price so quickly after debuting the product, and I suppose if I had bought an iPhone during that time, I would feel slightly irked as well. I wouldn't want to buy a 4GB phone for $499 only to find out that I could get an 8GB model for $100 less. But I think in situations like this, a strongly-written letter to the company would do more good than a $1 million lawsuit.

Sometimes I'm not sure if people file these lawsuits because they truly believe they've been wronged or if they just want their 15 minutes of fame, even if it comes at the expense of their dignity.

It's Time For Saying Goodbye

A part of my history will soon be gone.

I was saddened to learn today that my former newspaper and its sister publication will merge next month. The news is not surprising -- it's been rumored to be coming since long before I began working there five years ago -- but it's disappointing nonetheless. And my disappointment is not diminished because I no longer work there. That place is like my alma-mater; I learned and experienced so much during my time there.

My job at that newspaper was my first as a reporter, and it was there that I really learned to write. In fact, it was there that I realized I even like to write. I had wonderful editors who encouraged me to be as creative as I liked, and I took every opportunity to pursue my own story ideas. Because of that, I learned about much more than the things I routinely covered; I learned about the world around me, about things I never would have given a second glance otherwise. I learned to be inquisitive, to be bold.

As my first job in Illinois, it was my true introduction to this state and has had an impact on every single aspect of my life here. I now live just a few miles from the office, in the very town I used to cover. I know the government leaders and business owners. I know my way around town. I know all the good places for lunch.

I made many friends while working there. We got to be a pretty close staff; every day was fun, even the bad days. We went to lunch together every week, went out for drinks at least as often and traded war stories about our beats. We had our issues, as every workplace does, but as long as the plastic Halloween pumpkin (kept out all year round and periodically re-decorated to be seasonally appropriate) was full of chocolate, no problem seemed unbeatable.

The newspaper was also my safe haven when I went through a rough patch of major and difficult life changes. During that time, it was the one constant in my life; no matter what chaos was happening elsewhere, I knew I could count on that place, and my friends there, to keep me from tearing my hair out.

And I can't forget the most important effect that job had on my life -- I met my husband there.

I know there are those who have much more to lose with the end of this era; some are bound to lose their jobs, including the editors who have given their entire professional lives to that place. I feel for them and for their counterparts at the soon-to-be-former sister paper. Even if the change has been a long time coming, I'm sure today has been no less of a sad one for them.

The whole thing is a shame. Necessary and inevitable, but still, a real shame.

Closing In On 29, And The Quest For The Perfect Avocado

October is my birthday month, and I tend to celebrate all month long. But this month, I also have some work to do.

I tend to make my New Year's resolutions on my birthday, for two reasons -- first because it's a new year for me, and second, because if I slack for a few months, I can remake the same resolutions on January 1 and pretend the whole birthday resolution thing isn't true.

Well, I have to confess, I've been a slacker with the one and only goal I set for my 28th year, and it's not even a hard thing from what I hear. (I figured planning a wedding was hard enough that I didn't have to add a long to-do list and complicate things).

Now I am left with only 17 days in which to learn to make guacamole.

Everyone I know tells me it's easy, as long as the avocados are good. Exactly how to know an avocado is good, however, is something no one seems to want to divulge; all I've been told is, "they can't be too hard." But how hard is too hard? And once I somehow identify and acquire the perfect avocados, how do I actually smash them up to make the guacamole? Marla tells me that the Magic Bullet is not a good choice, but what is? A food processor? A potato ricer? Or should I stomp on them grape-style?

I suppose I could just do trial and error; it really can't be that hard to figure out. After all, my special area of cooking expertise is dips best served with tortilla chips. But every time I think about it, I am either not at the store or not in the mood.

So yesterday, to get myself in the mood (and because I was craving it), I went to the store and bought some ready-made guacamole. I still plan to learn how to make my own, sometime in the next 17 days, but I figure the Trader Joe's brand can serve as the "control guacamole," so I know if I'm making it right, or at least close to right.

But believe you me, I will reach that goal. I can't afford to get behind, because I've got some big plans for next year.

Apple Pecan Crumb Pie

In celebration of October's arrival, here is a must-have recipe for a fabulous fall treat. I made this last night -- I didn't eat any because of the butter, but I heard it turned out tasty.

Filling:
1/4 chopped pecans
6 cups apples, peeled and sliced
1 cup sugar
2 tsp. flour
1/4 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
2 tbl. butter

Crumb topping:
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup butter
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
1/3 cup flour
1/4 cup chopped pecans

Sprinkle pecans in an unbaked deep dish pie shell. Mix sugar, flour and spices and toss with apples. Heap apples in pie shell, dot with butter. Blend crumb topping with fork until the size of peas, then sprinkle over pie. Bake at 425 for 40-45 minutes.