Pride and Podcasts Part 1

Last week, I crossed a big item off the bucket list.

I got to participate in my first ever podcast.

Like any narcissist worth her salt, I am fascinated the sound of my own voice and re-hearing bits I have already done to see if they make me laugh again.

Thanks to the amazing Mel Evans (who I have discussed ad nauseam on this blog) for hosting us for this first romp of many (I hope). 

Please give it a listen.Your reading or viewing of Death Comes to Pemberley is pretty inconsequential as we will explain all the important points of both the book and the movie while giggling. But here is my review of the book from a few years ago.

Also, you can totally download the podcast on iTunes (or your podcast app because it is 2014), if you want to listen to me "can't even" about most things on your morning or afternoon commute.

Thanks also to Jane Austen for the source materials. The amazing J.Ker_pow for being the calming to my manic. The cats for being an excellent source of entertainment, and the wine for allowing me to relax, maybe a little too much for my first podcast.

All critiques should be left in the comments of this blog for me to over-think and then slide into a deep depression.

Nama-sand

I'm in the midst of one of those first-world, nearing-30, existential white-girl problems.

The struggle is real with me and beach yoga right now.

As you four dedicated readers (who are my family) know, I'm big into yoga and big into it being summer right now. Naturally these forces eventually had to combine to make some sort of lululemon-induced dream come true.

So my yoga dealer roots & [then] wings got me to do a beach yoga with her on Sunday morning. In theory, this sounded like a perfect Instagram picture- except real. In actuality, it was a sandy disaster.

As an oblivious child, sand never really bothered me. It wasn't until we started vacationing with my extra-old-lady-neurotic grandmother who Cannot Abide by sand that I got weird about it. Why she vacations on an island covered in sand is still a mystery- but she passed on her neurosis and now having sand on my towel, my seat, my swim suit is unacceptable.

I am not quite sure what I thought beach yoga was going to be... were they going to just, like, remove the sand to make way for yoga mats? Nope. We just laid our mats down right on top of North Avenue Beach's mess of cigarette butts, bottle caps, and hypodermic needles and set our intentions. 

Mine quickly became to just get through one flow before having to brush off my mat. It did not help that the wind off the lake wind would occasionally flip my yoga mat (and the mats of all my companions) over exposing us to more.sand. Tree Pose with a wily mat was really not the zen experience it is supposed to be.  The deal was really dealt when I watch a number of my fellow yogis take giant handfuls of sand and plop them like little hillocks on the corners of their mats to weigh the mats down.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? You are exacerbating the mat/sand problem!"

At the end of class, I had a long ponder about turning 30 and if this meant that I should step away from my comfort zone, and become one with the sand, or if it was finally time to just accept the fact that I am a crotchety-sand-hater. I never came up with an answer.

I feel like every couple of weeks I come to one of these moments where I feel as though I have met up with a bridge troll who is yelling at me that I'm getting old and it is time to make some gd. decisions about my life. As with many of the other times this has happened, I kind of shrugged and side stepped the question - this time by buying a 10-pack of beach yoga classes on groupon (instead of the unlimited one) - and figuring that by the end of the summer, I'll have decided one way or another. Until then, I'm just going to talk to invest in some "yoga rocks" (which are just regular rocks, but spiritual and more expensive).

Summer Friday

I wish I could bottle all the happiness I have during Chicago summer. I wish I could carry it with me throughout the cold, hibernation days of November and January.

There is nothing better than a patio and a plastic glass and a Friday afternoon stretched until the end of the weekend. There is nothing better than a Thursday night that feels like it will never end up a Friday morning. 

As I crash into this weekend, I want to remember my gratitude for how perfect this all feels and how fleeting it will all be. 

#herecomesthesun, Chicago. Get in it.

Ole, ole, Ole, ole.

Hey guys, you might not have known this about me - but I am a huge soccer nerd. #sorryIamnotsorry.

You grow up with a family of Eye-talians and it is going to wear off on you.

Last time there was a world cup, I watched almost all of it while in Europe which is basically like watching the Super Bowl from inside Cowboys Stadium (not in-person, mind you, just like, on the big TV over the field).  This year will pale in comparison because I still have to go to work and the prosciutto and mozzarella cheese sandwiches will be sub-par. But my brother won't be dying, soooo win some/lose some.

Here are some important things you need to be a world cup fan. Hop on, folks, there is plenty of room on this bandwagon and it comes with an excuse to drink at 11:00 a.m. on a Tuesday!

This guide gives you all the good soccer bars in Chicago.

If you want an outdoor soccer viewing experience - U.S. Soccer is putting on a money-grabbing "free" soccer viewing party in Grant Park. I am pretty sure you can sneak booze into Grant Park, which is good because watching the U.S. get trounced by Ghana, Germany and possibly Portugal - you're gonna need it.

Also, if you want to be an educated fair weather fan, here is my favorite thing of all time - Drew Magary's Hater's Guide to the World Cup. If I had any wish in all the wishes in the wish bank, I would want my writing to sound like the love child of Drew Magary and Margaret Atwood. What a disturbed and beautiful love child my writing would be.

Soccer (although now I hang out with enough British folks I feel like I should be able to call it Football) is the best sport to watch in the summer, because its easy and you can kind of half pay attention in the sunshine over your almost-finished bloody mary, eat all the rich, European food you love and then shrug when the thing is over in a 0-0 tie and go take a nap.  The people's game!

A Happy Monday

I do not normally invite people out for drinks on a Monday night. Mondays are for bras-off-pajamas-on laptops-on-laps loafing until you can work up the energy to go to bed. 

So maybe it's because it is summer. Or I was on Facebook at the very right moment. Or I just wanted one day of not carrying my yoga mat to work. Or that I love spending time with my new co-workers, and my family, and am always up for a free drink. 

I said "let's go." 

And they all said, "yes. Let's."

Angel's Envy puts on the Monthly Muddle at a swank Chicago bar the second Monday of every month. They find three b.a. bartenders to make three drinks each, then you go and you get to sample some drinks and then buy some more. Then you eat other people's french fries. 

Like so many things, I am kicking myself that I didn't get my act together to go sooner. Check the Angel's Envy facebook page to get in on this next time around.

I am so happy we went out. I am so happy we tried fancy drinks. I'm so happy we talked through big, important things even though I still (forever) feel like "the new girl." 

All Mondays should end feeling this good. One out of many isn't too bad.

To happy Mondays and homemade horrchada. 

Humor in sadness and gravity.

I have so many blog posts backed up in the mental queue. I have all the things that I am thinking about and I haven't told you guys about my stupid strawberries in ages.

Anyway, that all has to wait because I have to tell you how super-bummed Boyfriend and I were last night when all of a sudden our three-peat dreams were dashed and the Blackhawks had to leave their own ice with that walking-on-skates-shuffle of a loser.

It didn't seem fair. All that work, all that coming back from behind, all those goals and on our own ice. Of course, after the first shock and disappoint set in, the next voice was the little one that whispered, "this is probably how the Bruins felt last year,"

So we're off to a pretty sad start to our week. Its hard to be on the losing end, especially when you get so close and the playing is so exciting and good. So we'll take a seat and watch the rest and get amped for 2015.

But, the silver lining to this cloud is very obviously this vine. Every time I watch it I giggle.

Go Rangers.

TBIF: Don't take my word for it

I am 100% over the moon for this Reading Rainbow kickstarter.

I cannot remember a time in my life that I did not love books and reading. I am forever grateful for my parents who encouraged books to be a part of our lives, by making it a part of our entire family.

Now that we are older, books are still a part of our family. They get purchased as gift for someone, as an excuse to read them ourselves, then passed around the family. There are books that I got as gifts that have never actually spent anytime on my shelf (which is fine, I feel completely comfortable taking books of any number of shelves and never returning them - it all works out in the end).

I cannot imagine not having this relationship with books. I can't imagine a life not full to the brim of stories I have read and the comfort that comes with a book in my hand.  While I did not need Reading Rainbow's peer pressure to try books for the first time, it gave me security in knowing that this love I had for books was a great thing.  And I watched it joyously, just as I watched Seaseme Street, 3, 2, 1 Contact, and Ghostwriter (PBS did a damn good job raising kids in the 80's and early 90's. Thanks guys). I know there are kids out there who discovered reading through the show and for that I think the world is a much better place.

I am tickled pink that the Reading Rainbow Kickstarter has already blown itself out of the water because there are so many people, like me, who recognize the value of reading as a joy rather than a test-able subject in school. People who are nostalgic. People who love LeVar Burton (he is so very, very lovable). People who love a good coffee mug (I am way too excited about this mug).

I also know there are people who more skeptical about this whole thing. People who do not trust the internet, or celebrities, or crowd-sourced anything. And I completely understand and respect that.

To those people, I say, give your money that maybe would have gone to this to Open Books. My favorite literacy program in Chicago. Open Books give kids the joy of reading with bonus joy of writing included at no extra cost. They make living life better for kids in Chicago. The programs are focused on reading and writing as a thing to treasure rather than one more thing to worry about failing.  And if you feel like you are being scammed if you don't get anything in return for your donation - go down to the Open Books Bookstore and buy yourself something nice. All the money from the store goes back into their amazing Chi-city programs.

I feel like there are so few things left in this world that we can just enjoy without worrying about how its going to kill us (food, the water in Lake Michigan, hugging people) that reading should be something that is pushed for its capacity to make the world a better place.

Friendly Ground

Today we are skipping town to go watch my baby sister 'Bear graduate from college. Obviously, this makes me incredibly old and I'm working through all my old-person emotions.

The best way to do this is with booze, obviously.

When I was ordering this balanced breakfast, I asked the bartender if I could take this back to my gate to enjoy while stealing the wireless from Boyfriend's phone.

"Of course, young lady, you can take this wherever you want. Welcome to the South Side of Chicago."

My heart bubbled with Chicago pride. We booze when we want (8:30 a.m. on a Wednesday), where we want (the gate because airport bars are sad) and how we want (it was only 40 cents extra to get Kettle One. Hell. Yes).

As I reflect back on my college graduation which was EIGHT YEARS AGO OMG. I am so grateful for the opportunities I had and the choices I made that led me to such a great town.

Cheers.

Train Talk.

My love for public transit is strong and everlasting. Despite the requisite transition to Ventra (which was so lame), the overcrowded red line and the vanishing Damen bus, I love it until the day I die.

However, I am never, ever interested in engaging in conversation with strangers on public transit. The train is for sitting quietly. The bus is also for sitting quietly. Its for books and music in headphones and playing on your phone.  If you happen to be on the train with people you know, then some idle chatter is fine. If you run into someone you know, then a catch up session is fine too (if only because it makes excellent eavesdropping fodder for those of us around you). 

I do not ever want to talk with you on the train. I do not care if the train stops, or is crowded, or if it is raining. The exceptions to this rule are if there is something so insane, so crazyballs that it needs to be addressed to ensure that neither party is dreaming it up. 

"Oh my god, is that a freaking BIRD on the train?" (this is my favorite worst story still)

Beyond that, no talking. When you talk to me, I assume you are trying to steal my stuff, hit on me, or are perhaps an unhinged lunatic. 

This, of course, says more about me than it does about you. It says that I spent my prime commuting years in a city full of unhinged lunatics hitting on me and trying to steal my stuff on the train. It says that I am not trying to make friends. My transplant status means I continue to lack the folksy midwest standards you all were born with. 

Of course, I am completely #sorryIamnotsorry because seriously, if I wanted to make friends, I would hang out at Mad River until girls sat me down and told me they had talked it over and told me they wanted to be my friend. Or, I would go to Girl Scout sleep away camp. Either way, on the train I just want to get from place to place and perhaps do a little reading or facebook stalking and that is totally normal.

Think of the train as just a giant car that we are all in separately. Feel good about yourself for not destroying the planet, but don't feel the need to tell me all about it.

Truism- about 7

Lake Shore Drive is the perfect drive for a late night cab ride.

Hockey Stress

I don't often believe in myself, but I rarely say I can't do something. I can almost always find a way to makeitwork. It comes from a lifetime of being the oldest sibling and years and years of working in hectic situations with not nearly enough support and a crowd people always saying, "It must be done."

So I do.

But I have uncovered something I cannot do.

In these weeks of stress that I am just completely drowning in - I cannot watch playoff hockey.

Playoff hockey gives me an anxiety like nothing else. I get physically ill - I can feel the stress balls clogging up my heart until I'm pretty sure they just cut off all oxygenated blood cells and I fall down.

Do the Blackhawks know that it does not have to go to overtime. That we could just end this madness in three periods and everyone can get to bed at a normal hour? Do they know they can just score all the points right away so we can all go home?

I need the Blackhawks to make it through the rest of this week of playoffs before I can reclaim my spot on the playoff bandwagon. Just a few more days guys. You can do it.

Friday five: great things about this week.

This week has been terrible. Icky bad nasty sad terrible. I wanted to spend most of it crying, but it was not the kind of week that could be spent hiding, it was the kind where I had to keepittogether, keep my head down and just get through it.

That being said. Here are five things that were wonderful and amazing this week:

1- My coworker friends introduced me to Protein Bar, if I had the audacity to call myself a lifestyle blogger, I would eat here at least twice a week and just cover my instagram in pictures of it happening. Oh my buffalo quinoa bowl. It is so good.

2- It was flip flop day! Thursday was my favorite day of the year. The day I finally wear flip flops. Oh Chicago warm weather, I missed you so much. Don't ever, ever, ever leave.

3- I got to celebrate the last friday-before-good-friday by eating fish fry al fresco with some of the nicest people in Chicago, with special guest appearance by my favorite Chi-town baby who charmed us all with her blowing raspberries and bouncing and giggling and snuggling until my heart almost burst. That little bundle of love is the cure for nearly all my sadness.

4- Boyfriend liked it so he put a down payment on it. He officially owns our apartment. Its his celebration, but I am excited for him. He is part of the landed gentry! So classy and fancy. Let's hope nothing ever breaks.

5- Tomorrow I am going to forego spending my entire day in the beautiful 75 degree weather for an amazing IOP Political TV Festival at the University of Chicago. Six hours with some of my besties including Josh Lyman, Toby Ziegler and Cyrus Beene. Its tots sold out, so just hang out in the sun and be jealous of this crazy line-up.

That was not that hard, although it was heavy on the end of the week. I am thankful I got through the first three days because the rest of the week was pretty nice. And after a great Saturday, Sunday is going to be pretty amazing too.

Him and Her.

It embarasses me to admit that I do not see enough live theater.  I live in a city chock-full of theater opportunities and yet, when I am not a person on stage, I am rarely get myself together to sit in the audience.

Which is mega frustrating because when I do go to the theater, it is always So. So. (So!) worth it.

One of my new, lovely Improvised Jane Austen companions, Kate, told us all about 2 for $20 tickets for the traveling party called Tristan and Yseult going down at Chicago Shakes.

(Brief digression, this deal might still be good if you get tickets for tomorrow - Thursday.  Get thee to the Chicago Shakes website and buy tickets for Thursday, April 3 and use the promo code "CST20" during checkout.  I cant make any promises, but it is worth it if you do not have Thursday night plans.)

Guys. This show was the tits. It was so good.  Which I feel dumb saying because everything I see there is good.  Just like how nearly everything I see everywhere in the city is good. Why don't I do it more?! (PS. It's not this month, but some month of Be Happy will be dedicated to theater, this is just a teaser).

Seriously, even if you cannot get $10 tickets to this show, get some rich sugar momma to buy you the $60 version. It is worth it even that price.

Apparently Kneehigh Theater's jam is they take things that already exist and make them super awesome. And then sometimes they hop the pond and all of us dumb Americans get to oogle them.

Here are some things this show reminded me of.

1- I like British Accents.
2- I love trampoline bits.
3- Balloons are more fun when you don't knot them.

All of the actors in this show played at least two parts, played a musical instrument, sing, dance, use multiple accents, light fires, stage fight, and could probably solve crimes or perform open heart surgery if it was in the script.  British theater-trained actors are amazing.

Seriously, go see this or go see something else. But you should probably go see this.  You're welcome, Chicago.

Number 23, please.

My love affair with football has been well documented here and on other parts of the Internet.

While I think that this love would have grown with any batch of players on the field, I cannot help but recognize that my first year of Bears was also Devin Hester's. He made our hearts beat faster. 

So to know now (or to assume based on what the Internet has told me) that he will no longer be a Chicago bear fills me with sadness and so much nostalgia.

You might say that the Indianapolis Colts were the winners of 2007 Super Bowl, but I stand by the fact that D. Hest. won that game in the first 10 seconds. The rest of the game was a nightmare but I would not trade the win for that kickoff return (I mean if I did, Rex Grossman would probably still be the QB, big picture here, people).

And to know that he might break the return record with another team? Fairly irrational devastation. You're going to get so close to this moment with a player and then just shrug and move on. Clearly, I am not thinking so much as a football coach, but a very sentimental little girl - which is why they don't let me make choices.

This Friday I raise my glass (that is currently full of earl gray tea) to number 23. I will never hear the Soulja Boy song without thinking of the time that I saw liveandinperson one of his returns. It was magic.

I have never created a meme in my life, but the fact that this didn't already exist made it necessary.

Bear Down.

Past lemon squared

I am thankful that I have so many opportunities to return to one of my favorite old work sites.

My experience of working in this amazing Chicago institution is one I treasure and only left because someone else pulled the trigger on the magic words (health insurance) first. 

Tonight getting to be the +1 of my most favorite as he did me proud representing for the collections team and as a dynamo volunteer captain was the perfect way to revisit the old haunt. 

Drinks and stories and ghosts and lemon squares - it made me so happy and reminded me that the reasons we work so hard not to burn bridges aren't always abundantly clear in the moment.

We put on a good face and smile when we would rather scream because eventually it will all make sense in its roundabout way. 

Never burn a bridge that might eventually have lemon squares and champagne at the end. 

On the edge of transit.

I love public transit. I really, really do. I am a life-long supporter of buses and trains, and I would be the happiest clam if I could live the rest of my life without ever owning a car despite the birds. 

But there are some days where I just cannot even handle how awful other people are and how bad they are at being on the train.

Please note this car is not even close to crowded. It's got that nice, 6:30, everyone-gets-their-fair-share-of-oxygen feel to it which is why there is NO REASON to be this close to me.

If you cannot read and hold onto a bar like a normal human then leave. You are fired. 

Also if you are going to be the most leeringly, creepy creeper that ever leered how about not reading a book with a terrifying face on it. And if you don't want to be labeled as a creeper, take one giant step back for mankind. 

How I wish I had the courage and the forthrightness to tell this man to back the truck up, but I cannot. I do not have this power. All I can do is take subtle pictures and write about it. Which makes me slightly creepy too, but in a justified way, right?

Chubchubs gets you full on game day

This is the first year in recent history that Boyfriend and I will not be on our couch surrounded by people we are lucky enough to call our friends, getting Sunday tipsy and eating as much as possible on Super Bowl Sunday.

Instead we will be in sunny L.A. and #sorrywearenotsorry. I need to go out of this frozen barren tundra of sadness so hard. It's time. In seven years here, the only thing I have learned is that once February hits it is time to get out. BYE.

Anyway, since we won't be around to make them, here are our two favorite game day treats (one savory, one sweet):

My fave: Buffalo Cauliflower Dip (with optional upgrade to pastry wreath).

This brought me around on the cauliflower fad. Mother Thyme is the one who hooked me up with the recipe. I'm not going to bogart her page hits - so get there, and get the recipe. My notes are:

• You think you want to put the cauliflower in the food processor with your grating blade, and you can - but it is going to end up with more of a grated cheese like consistency, which is not my preference. I hand grate most of the half-head it is much smaller pieces, leaving some bigger chunks (like the size of a lemonhead or smaller) of cauliflower when my arm gets tired. It depends on how lazy you're feeling. 
• I do not know why we live in a country where greek yogurt is only available in 5.3 oz. containers or Costco-sized mega gallons. This recipe calls for 6 oz. because free market economy. The 5.3 oz version is totally fine, but if you have people who are picky about their spicy, you can either stop being friends with them (my vote), or adjust the amount of Frank's you use.
• Use Frank's. My mom tried to convince me that some sort of weird off-branded business in Maryland would be fine. But it isn't. Don't be weird or judgy. Use Franks.
• This travels really well, and lasts for days. I make it, throw it in a pyrex (still warm) with a lid and take it to where I am going. And I've been known to eat it a week later. I'm not proud.

You feelin' FANCY? Then upgrade to a Buffalo Cauliflower Crescent Ring (adapted from this Tablespoon recipe).

Just replace her chicken dip with the cauliflower dip. And bake until golden and delicious. Some notes:

• Some of the liquid will cook off (obvi) making this significantly spicier than just the dip. Adjust as needed. 
• You only need about half to three-quarters of the above recipe to fill the ring. 
• Check to make sure there are no gaps in the pastry or you will have gooey business flowing out of the ring's nether regions and the aesthetic will be ruined.
• This travels less well. This is the shelter-in-place version of this dip.

For something sweet: Boyfriend swears by these Oreo Footballs. People request them, even at parties that are in no way football related.  He uses almond-chocolate bark instead of the Baker's semi-sweet and you can't even tell.

These are food processor friendly and do not really take any time at all. When dipping into the chocolate, he prefers to dip one half of the football, let it cool, and then dip the other half. The fork dipping method is unreliable at best.

Happy Football! Now we just need a recommendation of a L.A. restaurant/bar to watch the game.

Redventure.

Last fall I gave my green wellies a spectacular send off with six-hour romp through the rain and the mud and the discarded, half-eaten bagels.

Finally, in early January, I bought a new pair of boots.

Grown-ups don't wear red boots. Grown-ups wear sensible boots in sensible colors like navy or charcoal. But if I am going to have to traipse around in vortex-like temperatures in a colorless, bleak Chicago winter, the least I can do is bring some good ole fashion adventure boots along for the ride. These boots are made for snow drifts and mucky, grey sidewalks. They are made for spur of the moment escapes from hibernation and the mindless trudging to my warm, but ultimately stuffy and very-grown-up office building. They have been my mostly companions for the past three weeks and I love them.

They are me. Sensible and impractical. Fun and safe (look at those reflector lights!). Warm and yet, always in need of another layer.  If I have to spend my winter anywhere other than under the covers, I'm glad I get to spend it with you.

Work friends

Since moving to Chicago, I have had only had two opportunities to make work friends. The first was people who I would have made friends with already because we all improvised together, it was just an excuse to get paid to hang out.

This new job (how long does it get to be new? Six months? Twelve? Eighteen?) is awesome because its people who I never would have scampered across who make my life feel more full. I am grateful for their experience, I am grateful for their insight, I am grateful for their willingness to be silly in an environment that does not reward silly as much as it should. 

These are the first set of people who make me realize how fun it is to work in an office where we work hard and then drink hard and then nap hard.

I left many of them to their own devices at a rainy bus stop tonight and I solemnly swear they are up to no good, but I am happy they are mine. 

Polar Vortex Day!

I am very grateful that my current work schedule requires me to take one day off every week. It came in very handy last year when we were running all over the country and it came in even more handy when people started talking about how Chicago was going to turn into northern Canada by Monday morning.

I curled up Sunday afternoon, buzzed and joyous that I didn't have to wait for someone to tell me if I had to bundle up like an Eskimo and trek downtown.

Polar Vortex day included saying good bye to Christmas, folding approximately ALL the laundry, discovering the Good Wife on the Hallmark Channel and the Evil Apple app for iphone.

Evil Apple was perfect for a whole herd of friends with a grown-up snow day. Although it is taking one million years to get everyone to be checking their phone at the same time.

And now we'll finish off the night with a delightful boozy toast to Chiberia and having to bundle up for work tomorrow morning.

We're not actually stranded on the surface of Mars, but we might as well drink like we are. Super grateful to have had these things on hand, although, like any good WASP, I would never run out of booze during inclement weather.