Everything you own in the box to the left

Kelly Clarkson's "What's Up Lonely" is the perfect example of syrupy faux r&b that makes my heart warm this morning. Hey, it can't be any worse than the Milli Vanilli song that randomly popped in my head while making coffee. I have no obvious or simple explanation for that.

This morning I also drank what I sort of dub my 'citrus power drink', which is basically me juicing all the random fruits in the house that are nearing overripeness. Today was 2 oranges, 1 tangerine, 1 grapefruit, 1 lime and half a shot of maple syrup. I contemplated juicing one of the aforementioned pears, but wasn't sure it would work, given I don't have an official "juicer", like, that plugs in for doing things like carrots, just one for doing it by hand.

I couldn't resist posting the results of this generated meme. And generally I find those things very easy to resist. But not this one!!

On the twelfth day of Christmas, raybear sent to me...

Twelve records dime-dropping

Eleven walgreens fucking

Ten cities a-sampling

Nine bears dancing

Eight olives a-cooking

Seven renfairehippienudists a-writing

Six lapdances a-cuddling

Five ro-o-o-oad trips

Four white allies

Three los angeles

Two spontaneous visits

...and a bdsm in an irony.

Get your own Twelve Days:

But if you kissed me now I know you'd fool me again

I had a rather decadent sandwich for lunch -- brie with herbs, brown sugar deli ham, and sliced pears, melted on rye bread. Except I melted it open-faced so the pears were added last and still cold. I'm all about the McDLT effect in sandwiches. Actually in most food. While cutting my sandwich, because it was too unwieldy to eat whole, I was thinking about sandwiches being cut for me as a child, and I can remember graduating up from 1/4 cuts to 1/2 cuts, and how my mom always cut her own sandwiches into triangular wedges, but I wanted mine cut as rectangle. Now as adult, I slice is made in-between the two, into generic trapezoids.

I love that if you add a combination of cinnamon/clove/nutmeg to anything, it becomes "holiday-flavored". Or, alternatively, mint.

I am making oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, my father's quasi-secret recipe and I think...and I know this is kinda sacrilegious but, I think.....they are better with margarine. Not butter.

I read Moby Dick during lunch.

I am busy at work, but its quiet around me -- all the usual suspects have gone home or out to dinner to celebrate someone recently making partner, leaving work behind but without them hovering to have it done. I just dropped off one project downstairs and on the way back up, passed the bookshelf nook by the lunchroom. The shelves contain somewhat worn paperback of the standard airport variety, mostly names I don't know, the second- and third-tier of the mystery and thriller and crime genres. There are a handful of travel guides and half a shelf of hardback biographies, mostly of local people, including sports people. But one book always caught my eye, on the first shelf, two-thirds down the row: George Eliot's Middlemarch. I am always tempted to take it, which is ridiculous because I have a copy. But I always resign myself to just being glad its there, even if no one here will ever pick it up.

Tonight I walked by and there was a hole in the line of books. It was gone from the shelf.

I want so badly to meet the person that took it.