happy pooper bowl

I sent myself home early from work today (thanks, Britt, for staying in my place) and, in the hours that I'd normally be using sizzle words, defending our inferior-to-Friday's combos, or getting tired of taking shit from four douchebag twenty-somethings because I refuse to serve beer to guys with clipped, not-them IDs (see also: yesterday), I got a haircut and went grocery shopping.

Tonight's menu is sausage, spinach, and white bean ragout with multigrain bread and butterscotch walnut blondies. (Shut up, I read Cooking Light on the plane[s].) I don't even necessarily feel like watching the commercials. Maybe I'll (gasp!) plan my lessons for tomorrow.

The bread's store-bought... I haven't yet met my resolution of learning how to make good stuff from scratch. Oh, Anskov, when will you be home to show me how?

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Don't even know how many of you out there have short hair anymore, but I'd definitely recommend both Redken's rewind 06 and ShortSexyHair's Quick Change pastes. The Redken in particular smells so good I find myself hot.

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Finally, KY went smoothly (oh, ha ha). The entire twelve hours or so were very relaxed and informal and... fun. It's a tiny department and obviously very close, so most of the time I spent sitting at lunch or in the dean's office, talking about Comp and CW and the fact that her cat has taken to spraying all over her house, but only on red items. The overriding impression is that they care about teaching, and their students, and it would be a great place to work.

Hello, I'm the toilet at O'Hare International Airport. I am the most uncomfortable thing you will ever sit on to go number two. You will actually find yourself longing for the fallen pine log you once sat upon way out in the woods during a cabin party your freshman year of college.

I should hear back sometime this week or next, and in the meantime I'll amuse myself with a recent Hayden's Ferry acceptance. Merry Pooper Bowl indeed!