Breakfast for Dinner - Sunday Night Dinner

Zach's rockin' the pink knife.

It was the boys’ turn to make dinner this week, so they did the next best thing: breakfast. A little scary at the start (would you like some egg with those eggshells?). But they surprised us all and pulled through.

Look at all that multitasking!

That's right, I like those hash browns well done.

Get excited for a future post about my only slightly less successful breakfast-for-dinner attempt - a giant blueberry pancake made on a George Foreman grill.

Be a Nomad - Adding to THE LIST

I’ve always thought it was bizarre that we humans return to the same place (almost) every night. I suppose it’s natural for all mobile creatures to want a constant home, even if it is only for a few months; birds make nests, outdoor cats return to their owners’ garages, my dog won’t leave my driveway without a leash.

I'll use any excuse to brag about my puppy.

But I’m not sure this is the best way to live. Not only does a permanent residence carry a lot of baggage (affectionately called junk. Sidenote: it's taken me five months to finally get settled into my new house), it makes a person easier to track.

Suppose you’ve just committed a nasty crime, like triple homicide (you claim it was in self-defense - they were threatening to starve you of your nightly ice cream sundae!). You’re on the run, and you obviously can’t go home because the police will find you there. You're torn between the proverbial rock (going back but getting caught at your home) and the hard place (needing to clean out the evidence that would undoubtedly lead the police to learn everything about you, including your hiding place). Sorry dude, it's over.

Cavewoman Audrey (and step-twin Rachel) in our natural habitat.

As a nomad, you would have none of those problems. The po would have no address to search and no clues as to where your hideout may be. They probably wouldn't even know you existed (don't get emo on me, that's supposed to be a good thing).

In my perfect world, I would be a hunter-gatherer (you can call me Pocahontas), following the bison as they roam and chasing the seasons as the berries ripen around the world. Maybe I threw my sharpest spear at a fellow hunter, but how will you ever find me? I sleep in a different cave every night.

Pocahontas (and the Queen of Hearts). Now where is that John Smith?

Translate that into the 21^st century. Not so easy. Nonetheless, I want to attempt living a nomadic life just to try it out. (I might add here that I would prefer doing this non-permanent home thing voluntarily, rather than being forced into it by national security.) Timing may be difficult – college is probably not the ideal – but when the opportunity arises, I will be ready with my bow and arrow.

ButterGirl Baking - Cookie Hunt

“Best when eaten within 72 hours” – my favorite kind of cookie. The company is called ButterGirl Baking. I'll let you make what you want of that.

The cookie was interesting. ButterGirl tried to make it fancy or something by adding a dash of salt on the top. Can’t say that I’m a huge fan of salty stuff in my cookie (Uh, bacon chocolate? Don’t listen to the cashier. He just wants your money.).

Don't you love it when your housemate brings home cookies?

But a cookie is a cookie, and in the end, it's always good. There was a chocolate chip overload (in the best way possible). And ButterGirl makes cookies in the shape of the alphabet so you can send a sweet and edible message to your boo, or to me :)

Parkour - Adding to THE LIST

I confess that until yesterday, I thought it was called “hardcore.” I mean, it makes a lot more sense – hardcore is hardcore, what is “parkour”? I’ll let Michael, Andy, and Dwight explain it to you, in honor of The Office premiere tomorrow night.

It’s all about location. A giant soccer field wouldn’t quite make the cut. I’m thinking I’ll set a final goal of parkour along the top of the Golden Gate Bridge. Until then, I’m going to perfect scaling walls and climbing fences with grace (that means not ripping a hole in my pants in an inconvenient location or getting a gash in my head that needs stitches).

Answer to last time’s Name That Movie: Noah Calhoun in The Notebook.

The Birdmen - Adding to THE LIST

They’re called the birdmen. Don’t you worry, feminists, because after I’m done with them, it’ll be called the birdwomen, if not the birdAudrey, or maybe just birdrey. It gets better - when I get the birdsuit, I'm going to double as a flying squirrel this Halloween.

Fast forward to the good stuff at 1:30.

Kudos to Charissa and her fam for discovering my new #1 freefall.

We’ll conclude with a little game called Name That Movie.

“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”

I’ll give you a hint. I’ve basically only ever seen 7 movies (on average, 12 times each) in my life. That’s counting each of the Twilights and High School Musicals as separate movies. Tune in next time for the answer!