Pie

When I wed I will have one requirement and one requirement alone of my man candy: that he bake me pie. 

 That's what I'm talking about. 

Oh, Ned the Piemaker. You are so dreamy.

Now friends, Pie is the perfect dessert. You can pretty much have any type of pie. Fruit Pie. Cheese Pie. Fluffy Glorious Meringue Pie. Pudding Pie. Meat Pie. Nut Pie. Squash Pie. Now I don't want to be the fat kid here, but I will eat ANY. TYPE. OF. PIE. God. They are all so perfect and delicious. If I could, I would eat pie everyday. And regardless of what my dearest KelKel says, I would eat it each and everytime warm, with vanilla ice cream. The kind with the little black specks in it.

One time I was at the farmer's market with a dear friend of mine and we saw a dude who looked like this man

standing behind a large table COVERED in pie. I jokingly asked him, "Did you make all these?" He sheepishly responded, "Yes." To which I not so jokingly said, "Will you marry me?"

Okay. So I didn't actually say that. But I did become so enamored of the Kevin Youkilis look-a-like pieman, that I stalked him every time I went to the farmer's market, so in love, that I could never actually speak to him or even buy a pie. Sad for my heart and my stomach indeed.

But this is why I am now going steady with this woman.

Do you see what she's holding? Oh yes. That's a HOMEMADE APPLE PIE. She woke up super early to make it. And though she probably was actually thinking of this woman when she made it

I still got to eat it. 

And it was amazing. Duh.

If my boyfriend ever asks any of you about advice in terms of what engagement ring to get me, tell him, diamonds are whack. I want a pie.

OK? OK.

Musics, Part 1

Is it lamesauce (or as the glorious EQ would say, queer) to say I love music? Of course. But I do have tendencies towards lamesaucery.

 Duh.

Here are the reasons I love music today:

 

 He is my alarm clock.

 I listened to these tasty dudes while getting ready this morning. ("Funeral" to be exact.)

I heart Old Dudes.

And slightly crazy ones.

This mans also has lots of feelings. And lots of tattoos. And he's drinking a beer. That's hot.

But let's be honest. My heart belongs to this man.

Forever

And Ever

Amen.

Lastly, I love that I get to share my musical loves with this lady...

...even when I'm sucking at life.

Man. What I just said paired with that slightly gay picture makes EJ and I look pretty gay.

Whatevs.

Things Jan loves...

HELLS. YES.

Things Deb loves in a rather inappropriate way...

Jake Gyllenhaal's not normally my thing but... holy god... those shoulder muscles...

Dogs Wearing Bandanas

This morning while walking to work I saw a dog wearing a bandana and I thought to myself, "Why do dogs look so great in bandanas?" To which I responded with another question, "Why don't I have a dog, so that we could wear matching bandanas?" To which I responded with a bout of spontaneous weeping and breast beating while shouting, "MISTER WAFFLES!!!!!!!!!!!! MISTER WAFFLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Anywho, dogs in bandanas look like little farm hands. Or messy eaters. Or bee keepers. Little hairy bee keepers.

Look at how pissed this dog is. He is thinking, "If  you don't take this bandana off my  neck I'm going to poop in your bed." Too bad. Cause he looks pretty freaking adorable. He looks like a wee bandit. He will roam the wild west highjacking wee freight trains and shooting up wee banks. 

This is a fancy bandana. Almost like an ascot. Cause Lassie is fancy, okay. You can tell by the way her paw is folded under her that she thinks she better than you. And she would be right.

Everytime I see a boxer, all I can think is, "FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCE." This friend got his bandana from Etsy. Clearly. I wonder if she'd let me borrow it cause it's kind of cute.

As a side note, one time I tired the dog sorbet at J.P. Licks. It was okay.

Harold the Plastic Dinosaur

Ten people who follow my blog, Harold. Harold, ten people who follow my blog.

Now that we have all met, let me tell you about Harold. Harold is a very special dinosaur. When he and I met he was living on top of a birthday cake. I tried to move in with him on top of that birthday cake, but alas, I wouldn't fit. And it probably wouldn't have worked out as I would have eaten the foundation of our home in 10 hot seconds. Anywho, we had a birthday party at my old job for my big boss who was turning 60 and Harold was one of the cake decorations. I stole him off the cake. It's true. There were other dinosaurs, and I left them all on the cake, but I stole away with Harold, washed the cake off of his wee dinosaur feet, and named him the most beautiful of names. Now Harold lives on my desk at work. At night when I leave, he makes sure that no one steals anything from my office. He also keeps me company when I am lonely up here on the 13th floor. He's pretty awesome. Kind of like this:

Boston Weather

Well, friends, it has been many weeks since I shared with you some things I love. You might think it is because I started a new job at fancy Harvard University and, by proxy, have became too pretentious for silly things like feelings. Well lets be honest. Now that I work at Harvard University I just feel super entitled and self-righteous as a RESULT of my many feelings. And my $26 year-long gym membership to ALL SIX Harvard gyms. And my rockin' health benefits. But this is neither here nor there.

You might also be thinking, "Maybe Deb hasn't had time to blog because she met a delicious, beardy man and has been too busy having sexual relations to blog." In my dreams.

Perhaps you thought, maybe Deb has reverted back to her Senior year at Redlands/Grad School/BU Job/Tanglewood Summer of '09 days and is drunk all the time and so cannot blog because she is nursing a consistent hangover, and is in the process of becoming a functioning alcoholic. Alas, this too is not the case. On Saturday I had two sips of wine and almost fell asleep. If my mom is reading this (which if you are, Mom, when you call me and I miss the call and then I call you back two seconds later, why don't you ever answer the phone? I mean really. In two seconds, have you put the phone down, put it on silent and sprinted into another room of the house?") she will find this very familiar.

But since I have now dis-proven all of these theories, perhaps you are now thinking, "Oh no. Deb is sad and depressed and hence loves nothing." Not to fret!

Really what I was doing was waiting for the ultimate thing to love to return to a more frequent blog schedule. And here it is. Today, on Monday, September 6, 2010 Deb loves...

Boston Weather

I mean it COULD NOT have been more beautiful the past two days. It is almost unreal. We were supposed to get a hurricane and instead, what do we get? Three dry, sunny days. I mean, COME ON.

On Saturday I walked outside with Penny for about 9 hours and every hour on the hour we would say, "This is the best day ever." Then I sat on a bench by Jamaica Pond with my friend Nicole and said, "This is the best afternoon ever." And then on Sunday, my other friend Nicole and I wandered around and bought fake eyelashes and ate sushi, and I said, "THIS is the best day ever."

And then today, the day of labour, where in fact no one has to labour at all (except my dear hetero selling her fancy yoga pants), I will be riding in a swan boat with my Sies and my Mologna and probably about 30 tourists in a man-made pond so shallow I could probably wade in it with my half-calf hunter boots and still have dry feet.

But my boots aren't shaped like swans. And I like sitting down better than wading.