Week Ending Feb. 12 - "Always Look on the Bright Side"

This week I learned to never, ever doubt my husband.

Not that I normally do. Dude is awesome, an absolute prince and I'm damn lucky to have him. But several months ago when they announced that "Spamalot" was coming here in February, I told him that this would be the only thing I'd want for my birthday. I know the tickets are expensive and, frankly, we have enough stuff in the house without adding to it. So that was my one and only request.

Every now and then in the months that followed I'd drop a hint to remind him, hoping that he wouldn't wait until the last minute to buy the tickets. Because lord knows I've procrastinated on this type of thing. And sure enough, last month the performing arts center's website had a big "SOLD OUT" banner across the show's listing. So the neurotic idiot in me wondered if he had indeed procrastinated and we'd be out of luck. It wouldn't have angered me - he has always been one of the most thoughtful gift-givers I've ever known - but I've wanted to see this show for years and it would have been a disappointment at the very least.

But on my birthday he told me to close my eyes... and presented me with tickets to the show. Orchestra seats. Purchased more than three months ago.

Love. That. Man.

Week ending Feb. 5 - Someone needs driving lessons

This week I learned that, despite what my parents always told me, I do not have the biggest wise-mouth in the world. That honor goes to Giselle Bundchen, who tried in vain to keep her yapper shut last night after her husband, Tom Brady, and the Patriots lost the Super Bowl to my Giants.

For those of you who either don't give a flying fig about football or live in a cave, Giselle was on her way to comfort her husband after the game. At first she was able to ignore potshots being shouted at her - including the rude-yet-quite-hilarious, "Eli owns your husband" from one Giants fan. But at that point she turned to her friend and, loudly enough for recorders to pick up, said:

My husband cannot f***ing throw the ball and catch the ball at the same time. I can't believe they dropped the ball so many times.

Oh, honey. I feel your pain. I've let shit come out of my mouth that never, ever should have left the depths of my pea-sized brain. I appreciate how you stand by your man and support him in his work. And quite frankly, you're right. One catch by Welker and we'd be looking at a very different blog post here.

But you should also know that wide receivers cannot f***ing commit intentional grounding while in the end zone, thereby costing their team two points on a safety. Wide receivers cannot f***ing throw a pass into coverage, ripe for the picking by Chase Blackburn.

Only quarterbacks can do that. Losing quarterbacks.

Not to mention that even if I weren't a Giants fan, I'd have a hard time feeling sorry for Tom Brady. I know, I know... athletes are competitive, they take losses personally, blah blah blah. But he led the Patriots to three Super Bowl victories in four years, and now he goes home every night to bang a supermodel. Feeling bad for him losing last night's game is like feeling bad for Warren Buffett if he lost money on an investment.

You'd figure that Giselle would have calibrated her mind-to-mouth filter when she called Tom's child by Bridget Moynahan her own child, or perhaps when she said that "There should be a worldwide law, in my opinion, that mothers should breastfeed their babies for six months."

But some of us have slower learning curves, I suppose. And curves are hard to navigate when you're driving the big bus you ran over your husband's teammates with.

A midweek question

Can someone please tell me what the hell this is about?

They're called "Superfan" suits, and in the past couple of years I've seen them in the stands at college football and basketball games.

But to me it looks more like someone is searching for a green screen. Or perhaps a super hero got a world-class wedgie in which his tights were pulled up and over his entire body. And it has to be terribly inconvenient if you get hungry or thirsty. Not to mention... NO FACE. Does nobody else find this creepy?

Please, enlighten me. Because I was a crazy college kid myself a couple of decades ago, yet I never felt the urge to dress like this. And this is from someone who willingly wore a full-body band uniform in 100 degree heat.

Feb. 1 - The inevitalbe change in plans

Today I learned that my aspirations simply run too high.

I made it a month with blogging almost every day and I'm pretty proud of that, but that much thinking is really hard there's only so much I can write about while keeping it entertaining for everyone.

So from here on out, "What I Learned Today" becomes "What I Learned This Week" - with occasional mid-week sidebars. Check for the first installment this Sunday, either before or after the Super Bowl. I'll have had a decent amount of beer by then, so it should be pretty entertaining!

Jan. 31 - "Is not a kiss the very autograph of love?" ~ Henry Finck

Today I learned what the most awkward kiss in the world looks like:

(Photo from Fame/Flynet)

This is just all sorts of weird - and I'm not just talking about the pairing of Elisabetta Canalis and Steve-O. I'm wondering what exactly they are doing at this moment. Do they have really shitty aim? Or was he still hungry after lunch and decided to slurp the crumbs off of her lower lip? Because even when my love for my husband was new, if he had a little something on his face I'd just tell him so or maybe throw a napkin at him. I didn't make a second meal out of it.

I'm not sure how this hook-up happened, but it doesn't really matter. We could be looking at Brad and Angelina in the same pose and it'd still be gross.

Jan. 30 - Patience, young grasshopper

Today I learned to never completely rule out doing something again until I've finished it the first time.

I've had a longtime dream of making a great loaf of bread. It sounds kind of silly, I know... but I'm a foodie. I can cook a lot of things, but I have never baked a good loaf of yeast bread. A few years ago a friend of mine gave me a Williams-Sonoma baking cookbook. I have tried several recipes from it and liked them, but the bread section has always intimidated me.

Today, however, I decided to face my fears and try it. So I cracked open the book and turned to the recipe on making baguettes.

And I learned. I really learned. I found out what a sponge is (in regards to bread, anyway). I understood what proofing your dough means. I saw the proper way to knead bread, and got a great arm workout in the process.

I started at noon, figuring that I'd have a warm, toasty baguette to go with the pasta I was serving for dinner tonight.

But kneading dough is freaking hard work. And rising time, apparently, varies from kitchen to kitchen. Two hours here, 40 minutes there... I lost patience. I kneaded the dough forever, waiting for the moment when I'd get that "window" (when you can stretch a piece of it and it becomes translucent), but that moment never came. I waited for the formed loaves to double in size, but I don't think it really happened. And I figured that there was no way I was pissing away that much effort and time again, when Publix will do it all for me - for about $3.

But a short while later I looked in the oven and saw three beautiful, golden loaves that were just about done baking. In a few minutes I took them out and could not believe the aroma. I let them cool, slice them, and my family and I devoured one loaf almost entirely in one sitting. Everyone raved about them, and I have to say they were quite tasty. They were a bit dense in texture, apparently the result of insufficient proofing. I will fix that next time.

Yeah. There will be a next time. Patience pays off.

Jan. 27 - Down to 60 degrees, you say? I'm breaking out the sweater.

Today I learned that I don't miss this:

Nope. Not at all. This afternoon it struck me that I did my grocery shopping in flip flops and shorts, and then I washed the pollen off the pool deck. And it's January.

The longer I have lived in Florida, the more I've come to appreciate the hot, oppressive summers balmy weather. Those of you who are fellow transplants might agree that this change comes in stages.

Stage 1: When I first moved to Florida I was shocked to meet people who had never touched real snow. Granted, I loved that you could be outside year-round down here. But I missed the colder weather during football games and being able to wear cute sweatshirts on a regular basis (a staple of my late-80s wardrobe).

Stage 2: Within about five years I saw the merits in the shorter "winter" we have here. I had also gotten a bit more used to the summer heat; marching in 90 degree weather wearing a full-body band uniform will do that to you. But I still lamented the absence of truly cold weather over the holidays, and I wished it would snow a few times a year.

Stage 3: About three years ago I turned on the Weather Channel to see that they were broadcasting live on Christmas Day from Key West. They showed people wearing bathing suits and Santa hats, enjoying beers and boat drinks on the pier. I turned to my husband and said, "You know, that looks kind of nice..."

Stage 4: Now I bitch if I have to wear socks.

This year I'm making holiday flip-flops. The way I see it... the first Christmas was in a desert. Why should I have to suffer in the name of authenticity?