I graduate in two months and two and a half weeks.

It’s all very exciting.

Doesn’t he look excited about my upcoming graduation party? (Yes, I’m planning the party months in advance. It’s nice to have things to look forward to – dontcha think?)

The thing about graduating is that when you graduate, you sort of have to find a job. Tomorrow I have my first interview. Today, I did a lot of prep.

I spent some time with my computer, reviewing the company’s website and my resume.

I painted my nails. (I realize they’re not as beautiful as they could be, but this was before I cleaned up the edges. And also I don’t intend to let anyone get this close to my hands tomorrow – instead I shall keep them at a distance where they are like ‘ooo pale pink how nice’).

I picked out my outfit.

(That’s it, folded neatly (ha) onto my dresser under my mini bedroom art gallery.)

I had to do all of this while Crockett packed for his Tahoe snowboard vacation. He’ll be gone for five days, which is fine, except he won’t be here to debrief me from my interview.

He tried to make up for that by pre-debriefing at The Empire. He tried something new:

pan roasted chicken with potatoes.

I went with the usual:

calamari salad.

I know, I’m predictable. I plan to list that as one of my strengths during my interview.

Yesterday I got a (the last!) spot in my favorite parking lot.

It was obviously a sign.

I had a little snack while I walked to my car, so that I’d have enough energy to go to…

Since I had such good luck on campus, I thought maybe I’d try my luck after school at Target. Perhaps they would be restocking the Missoni zigzag sweater coat for the Saturday shoppers!

What. It could happen.

Sadly, the Missoni coats were still MIA. I did get the groceries and stuff that I like to get at Target though – cream cheese (always cheaper there), cotton swabs, stuff like that. Not produce. Never produce. (Why do I feel that Target is less reliable for produce than, say, Albertsons? No idea.)

Also, yes, everything in that picture that isn’t in a Target bag was in my car prior to my shopping trip. It’s all school papers and clothes (eventually) headed for Goodwill.

When I got home I stirred some rice and soy sauce up with an egg in a fry pan. I wanted a little lunch because last night was…

Oktoberfest!

Yeah, I know yesterday was September 16th. Since I’m not entirely sure what the history of Oktoberfest is, I’m not sure that’s wrong, but doesn’t it seem like Oktoberfest should be in October? Silly Louisville.

We ended up heading over there later than I’d expected, so I had a nectarine that had been in the fridge so long it was all wrinkly. It was so amazingly sweet – it literally tasted like I’d dipped each bite in honey.

Maida wanted some too.

Unfortunately, I forgot my camera. I did, however, remember both my phone and the always crucial ID. Dale’s Little Yella Pils for me thank you very much.

The band that was playing when we got there was (were?) The Beloved Invaders.

They’re surf rock.

I sort of feel like Louisville was phoning in the whole Oktoberfest thing.

The food choices were pretty limited.

Along with bratwurst and pizza by the slice, there was this guy – frying up Oreos and funnel cakes like there was no tomorrow.

Since we didn’t feel like sausages, we headed to The Empire for dinner after we’d had our Oktoberfill.

(See what I did there?)

Crockett had a BLAT.

I ate half.

I had a calamari salad.

Crockett ate half.

I guess, if you have someone to share dinner with, the white whale (or Missoni sweater) isn’t that important after all.

I can’t believe that I forgot to give public credit for some of the happiness that befell me last week.

I don’t really know if that sentence made sense.

Doesn’t this look like calamari salad, from The Empire?

But doesn’t this ALSO look like my kitchen table?

Oh – I just realized this probably isn’t confusing at all unless you know that The Empire does some takeout, but only a limited amount, and calamari salad isn’t included. They say it doesn’t travel well.

Thank god Crockett is a regular – he busted out his status to get me a salad for when I was finishing up my term paper last week.

I let him have a couple of bites.

Because I’m generous like that.

I give credit for the last five pages of that paper solely to this salad.

I woke up at my mother’s house yesterday morning and did not immediately find oatmeal.

I almost had a panic attack.

Fortunately, after walking her dogs I was able to head home to my kitchen where the oats run free and brave and sometimes even seem to be reproducing and are frequently made into muesli. This particular version was the same yogurt/oats/water mixture as Thursday, topped with sliced almonds, honey, and a segmented orange and its residual juice.

Well fortified, I went for a run (half marathon in three weeks, yo) and then proceeded to go to the doctor so they could make me want to cry.

There’s really no good way to explain why I was there without oversharing – let’s just establish that it was nothing gross and wasn’t something that a man would ever have to deal with. And it hurt a lot.

Next week is midterms, so after I got home Crockett fried me an egg for lunch while I studied.

Yesterday was first Friday, and due to the aftermath of my doctor torture I didn’t really feel like walking around in Denver. We went to the Empire (it’s ok, you can go ahead and be shocked) and I had wine (I know, again with the surprises).

Crockett had an old fashioned (is the thing where I pretend you’re shocked getting old? Yeah?) and I really did think I was focusing on it, but apparently I was focusing on the gorgeous copper bar instead.

The last time we were at the Empire, Crockett gently suggested that perhaps, once or twice, we could share something instead of me having a calamari salad and protecting it from his intruding fork like I’m a mama wolf and my calamari is my adorable wolf pups.

That I’m going to eat.

Yeah, that simile got gross fast. Sorry about that.

I acquiesced and we ordered a tuna burger and a calamari salad. The tuna burger shown here did have a bite taken out of it. It’s done medium – they’ll do medium rare but I have tuna issues so Crockett kindly let me determine the cooking temperature. They serve it with wasabi aioli, and that was damn delicious.

Also, please note the plate of calamari salad in the background.

That there is proof that I did share.

I kept some for myself, though, too.

Obviously.

Afterwards we hit a couple of Louisville galleries (there are actually four, I think) and were not moved to be patrons.

Happens.

I’m not a good sick person.

I spend a lot of time declaring my imminent death, and time starts to blur together.

Friday night was first Friday, but in the war between art and whining about my cold, whining won. We ended up going downtown Louisville, where we actually saw some art anyway – which basically means that my cold is some kind of magic eight ball.

Crockett had butternut squash risotto. It was delicious.

As if there were any suspense to be had….

I had the calamari salad.

Saturday morning I woke up sick and ravenous.

Is it feed a fever starve a cold? Because if it’s that way I’m definitely doing it wrong.

I filled the bowl up as full as humanly possible.

I was watched. Or my cereal was watched.

It’s so hard to know what’s going on in the head of a puppy.

Friends of ours had a co-ed baby shower yesterday, so we got nibblies for lunch, and then Crockett took off in the middle of a snowstorm for a mountain weekend with the boys.

What’s a sickish girl to eat when she’s all alone with snow and her puppies?

Butternut squash soup from a box, of course. With a little (ok, a lot of) hot sauce, poured over a spoonful of yogurt (invisible but there), and topped with some toasted pecans.

So yummy.

I do have a perfectly good office somewhere in this house, in case you’re wondering – I just choose not to work there.

See? Snow.

Just in case you thought I was lying.

The day before Thanksgiving is a happy happy day. A day filled with pie crusts and cereal.

With challah cubed for stuffing.

With sweetened flaked coconut rinsed and dried to become unsweetened flaked coconut.

With gingered cranberry fig chutney, bottled for the fridge.

Once all those preparations were out of the way, the girls and I went outside to enjoy the sunshine.

Which was gone. Allllll gone.

I don’t know what these are, do you? Are they edible? You’re not supposed to eat red berries, as far as I know. And even if I did know what they were I probably wouldn’t eat them. Still, I’m curious.

Then Crockett remembered something very important that I’d forgotten.

Wine Wednesday at The Empire. I always forget to write down the wine, but I happen to remember this one – Parducci Sustainable Red. I’ve had the white before and I like that they’re growing sustainably, although I don’t know that regular grape farmers are following a slash and burn approach.

I enjoyed my wine with a happy hour sized calamari salad. Because, really, why the hell wouldn’t you?

Crockett had himself some pulled pork sliders. These things are delicious. Were I the kind of person that could eat two meals, I would have had me some of these too.

Properly fortified, we headed back to Crockett’s to continue the Thanksgiving preparations. Two things – 1) I know it looks like my hair is touching the turkey; it isn’t. 2) Touching a turkey makes me laugh. Like, a lot.

Doubled bagged, soaking in brine.

This Thanksgiving was the second that I’ve hosted, but it was Crockett’s first. To celebrate that, he embraced another first – his first pumpkin pie. I brought over the crusts I made in the morning and then stood back and took pictures (while he wasn’t looking).

He was amusingly shocked by how much sugar went into the pies. “Do you always use that much sugar?” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that a batch of chocolate chip cookies uses twice as much.

He thought that the pumpkin and evaporated milk looked like a latte. He’s not wrong.

This is serious business.

And look! Smooth, perfect, speckled brown gorgeousness. He’s got a knack, I think.

The important part of Thanksgiving covered, we went to bed.