I got a job at South Seattle Community College teaching folks who left school and are coming back now.

Friends, I got a job. I get to teach, and I get money.

Here are things I will buy now that I have a paycheck:

-Organic blackbeans

-THE WHOLE WORLD

Congratulations to me!

What? You didn't hear?

Initial emotion: happiness. Later emotion: frustration. Poor, dumb, French dog.

Chef Show 2

You know my second favorite chef show?

IRON CHEF AMERICA! (Say that with an echo. It'll give you a better understanding of the show.)

In ICA, one of the Iron Chefs competes against a guest chef to use a secret ingredient in the best ways. If you're lucky, you won't have to watch an episode with Iron Chef Bobby Flay. Iron Chef Bobby Flay is soooo annoying. I love the rest of them, though. They're sweet. You could make them in the cotton candy machine, probably.

Anyway, here are some ingredients I haven't seen them use but they should:
-Frog legs
-Tripe
-Bacon jam
-Pineapple
-Black tea
-Peanut and butter jelly sandwiches
-That peanut butter and jelly that comes swirled in one jar
-One grape that they have to split up over all their dishes
-The 32-inch rat they found in Papua New Guinea
-Ricky Martin Van Buren Raden (NicUnCool's faaaaaaatty cat)
-Molasses

I would happily be the judge for most of these episodes. And my birthday's in only seven months. Go! Make it happen!

Chef Show 1

Chef shows are the best shows. My pal Baum disagrees. She says, "Watching a food show is like listening to a photography show." That's true, I suppose, but I bet listening to a photography show would be ok. It really would. ("The shadow covers up the man's face, but that's no big deal. I hear he's NOT a looker.")

My favorite chef show is Top Chef. Have you watched it? This is my first season following it religiously, but I consider myself an expert anyway. I pick up things quickly. Like ice cream cones. If it drops, I pick it up quickly. I may or may not continue to eat depending on the cleanliness of the floor.

Here are some of Top Chef's best qualities:

-Tom. Somehow Tom knows how to be boring AND charming. Carson Daly never figured that out.

-Letting me judge people in a mean way. When I meet someone in person, I figure out something to like about them, even if they suuuuck. I don't feel that same obligation with tv folks. It's fun to hate that guy from Jersey!

-Letting me fall in love with four different people and root for them. Red Beard, Brothers, and The Only Good Girl. Those four will be in the top because they are to cooking what I am to blogging - better than almost everyone in the world.

-Food. I love food! I love it so much! And it reminds me of all these things I need to taste - frog legs, tripe, bacon jam, etc.

Top Chef is on in two hours, and already I am so ready I could vomit (to make room in my stomach for their impossible-to-reach-through-the-tv treats).

Backcountry mammal

Once upon a time, my favorite mountain animal was the marmot. That was a foolish time. I've grown up and fallen in love with another: the pika.

I've known about this guy for a while now, but I never got to build a relationship with one (well, one posse) until last night.

We camped in Pikaville. This wasn't intentional or immediately apparent, but after settling into the tent to relax before dinner, we heard "MERH!"s coming from all around. We'd look up and there would be a pika being adorable. Usually that involved gnawing plants and scampering off to their homes where they'd store it. They can stock a pile up to fifty pounds! Oh my goodness!

Our tent was on prime harvesting ground (meaning uncomfortable splotches of grass), but they were like, "Whatever, we'll chomp on grass all around the tent even though it's in the middle of the night and Kelly is totally freaked out hearing animals scurry around one foot from her head." (When you're half asleep, 900-pound bears and 1.5-pound pikas sound alike.)

Because of their ears, work ethic, and friendly noises, pikas are the most precious mammals in the mountains. I want to learn their squawky language, wrap them in my arms, and chat with them about farming techniques.

Backcountry boyfriend

My boyfriend is like one of those TV boyfriends. The good ones. Here are examples from this weekend:

Me: Oh my God, this uphill portion of the trail is the devil.
Drew: Let's take a break. Here is punch. Here is Advil. Here is a granola bar. Let's repack and I will take all the heavy stuff. Let me take your bag up the hills.

Me: Oh my God, I have to poo in the outdoors.
Drew: You can use the hole I just dug, and here is the toilet paper.

Me: Oh my God, life is so hard.
Drew: Here is a snuggle, and here is a briefcase with a million dollars cash inside, and here is a domesticated perma-baby elephant.

These are not all 100% accurate, but close. He really did dig a toilet for me!

If anyone else were my trail guide, I would be reflecting on the past four days with thoughts like, "My muscles are sore and I'm not sure it was worth it," but instead I'm thinking, "I want to go on more multiple-night backcountry adventures with my boyfriend!"

Now I'm afraid I've revealed the secret treasure to the world and you connivers are going to steal him away for YOUR backpacking trips. Shoo.

Backcountry trail

"Kel Bel, I called you like a thousand times to tell you how good-looking you are, but your phone was off! Why?"

Friend, the boyfriend and I backpacked. We slept three nights in the great outdoors with the threat of bears, rummy losses, tent breath, etc.

We completed 70%ish of the Teton Crest Trail. Thursday, we moseyed up a few thousand feet with the help of a tram. (It moseyed up the mountain so our feet didn't have to! What an angel.) Then we hiked down and slept.

Friday, we walked down a huge hill, up a huge hill, saw a nice lake, hiked up another huge hill, and then back down another hill into a sweet camping spot. Friday, I was grumpy. My blisters developed. The boyfriend was, like the tram, an angel. Unlike the tram, he did not physically carry me up the hills. I forgive him for not being a big, red, people-carrying machine.

Saturday was easier peasier. Again, we went up a hill, down a hill, and then up a hill, but this last hill was the tip-top of our hike! No more big hills after this one! Ninety-eight percent of my body felt glad as we moseyed down switchback after switchback and I saw miserable souls trying to get up the pass we had just conquered.

This morning, we woke up knowing we were the best at everything in the world. We hiked out of the canyon. A bull moose conveyed his message of, "Goodbye! We enjoyed having you!" by sitting in a field and not making eye contact.

And that, palios, is why you couldn't reach me these last few days. And why I have blisters. And why you shouldn't come over if you don't want to see them.

It has been FOREVER since I shared a Cuteoverload photo with you!

Timer gone wrong? I don't know!!!

Transportation II

My car stinks. Some people think it's a bad thing. These people include my boyfriend and roommates. They fail to identify benefits of stinky cars. See, until now, my car didn't have a name. I called it "The Lumi" or "Whaley" or "My Hot Car", but it's obviously none of these things.

Heretofore, you should call my car The Stinkmobile. Variations are also acceptable, such as Stinker and Stinkfest '09.

Why the stink? Magnificent question, reader. The answer is boring. I leave my windows open in the morning because it's hot, and then afternoon thunderstorms roll in and drench my seats. They begin mildewing immediately. Then, distraught, I roll up my windows to protect the interior from further moisture, and the mildew begins to bake.

Want to ride in Stinko? Yeah, you do! Stink! Stink! Stink!

Transportation I

My new bike cuts through the air like a spoon in one of those Argentinian steaks - that is, it cuts well. (This simile would work better if I were trying to show how cool the air [or "steak"] were instead of the bike ["spoon"], but I don't care. It's nice knowing that somewhere in the world, the steaks are tender enough to be cut with a spoon, and that somewhere in Wyoming, I have a new, fast, adorable bike.)



I am still figuring stuff out, like my favorite place to rest my hands and how to efficiently put my feet back in the strappy pedals after I have stopped to pet a Bernese Mountain Dog. I will learn these soon. Until then, I will be a semi-master of speed and cuteness.

Timeline of my phone

November 2007: Phone arrives in my mailbox. Makes chirpy "incoming text" sounds that charm me

August 2008: Phone annoys me a little because every once in a while, it freezes and won't let me call, text, etc. I give the phone the stink eye. It doesn't respond, because electronics don't have feelings or facial expressions.

February 2009: Phone lazily sits around in a desk drawer because it's in Norway and who wants to pay all the money to call the United States from Norway? Only crazies. Phone does not figure out a way to be useful. What a loser.

May 2009: Phone sucks. Phone battery dies in, like, six minutes (or 1.2 days, cadav) and does the freezy thing more often. Doesn't get replaced, though, because I am poor.

June 2009: Phone falls in a ecofriendly hotel toilet. Survives after phone version of CPR.

July 3, 2009: Phone tumbles into a tupperware filled with ice and water. I don't notice because I am DESTROYING THE COMPETITION at dodgeball. Phone cannot be resuscitated.

July 4, 2009: I get a way better phone and though my vault of money I swim around in like Scrooge McDuck is less full, I am happy and reachable.