And one more...

This weekend had so many fun amazing things happen.  The very most fun and amazing is the introduction of the newest member of the Grandipants Team.

Miso came to us all the way from Tree House Humane Society (which is conveniently located around the corner) where she was named Pockets. We have been talking about getting a kitten since Boyfriend bought the apartment, and finally we had a whole Saturday to spend picking out our favorite and helping her get adjusted.

She is hanging out in our guest room and when she is not hiding under the dresser, she can be found hiding in the carrier or under the bed. She is doing better about coming out and visiting us when we go into say Hi and she is a big fan of lap sitting, just like her big sister.

Big sister, Hazel, knows something is up because she is being extra adorable and snuggly since we brought Miso home. She spends a lot of time looking intently at the guest room door and trying to stick her paw under it. With any luck she will realize that Miso is her mini-me and they will be best friends.

This has been a fun experiment if for nothing else, it is giving us a small sneak peek into how we are going to do with parenting - cutthroat competition for who can be loved the most by the baby.  We are both trying to be very cool about it, but we are absolutely counting how many minutes the kitten spends in a lap before moving to the next one. I have taken most of the snuggling duties while Boyfriend is in charge of cat-toy usage.

The people at Tree House are the best. Their cats are the best and you can even watch the kittens on the internet - Kitten Cam, it is like Panda Cam, except you can totally take one home with you. They will try to convince you that you take maybe two or three, but stay strong - the cats may not outnumber the people, no matter what Sydney the cat lady tells you.

We are super excited for Hazel to have another non-human companion to keep her company, we just hope she is as excited as we are. Miso has been practicing being adorable to win her over.

Summer of Strawberry. The beginning.

Last summer was an epic gardening experience but at, like, a third grade level. When it arrived, everything was already actually a plant. Mom did most of the repotting for me.  All I had to do was not kill them for a summer.  Something I just barely managed to do.

This year, Cougar thought it was time to take it up a notch and sent me basically a pile of stringy dirt (which are apparently roots) -

And a fancy jar.

And I was like, "erm."

Luckily, the internet has its uses, which are to tell you how to do things your mom thinks you are capable of (but you are not even close to being able to do).

Here's a solid video, although this woman gets zero dirt on her pretty blue shirt. Zero.  How is that even possible?

I found a new use for the green wellies I can't bear to part with. They're mah gardenen' boots! I cannot manage to go 30 seconds without completely covering myself in organic potting soil.

This whole process of planting teeny tiny strings of nothing was incredibly stressful. And what will make it even worse is I have ages and ages before I know if I did it right or wrong.  Despite my mother's insistence that strawberries are hearty plants and basically weeds - I cannot help but feel an enormous amount of pressure for them to survive.

If you are planting your own strawberry pot, and are wondering what they're supposed to look like when they're all planted - I have no idea.  But Mom said this was "good enough" -

At any rate, it was a gorgeous Spring Sunday, and I am happy I got to spend it in the sunshine. Its the summer of the strawberry!

An introduction to Quinoa

I gave up carbs/sweets/breads/starches/all that is good and wonderful in this world for Lent.

There was a part of me that was thinking I was making a bid deal out of nothing.

Five days in and I am going through what I can only imagine is a heroin-esque like withdrawal. I think about bread all the time. I want cookies, I want chocolate, I would give up my entire family for a half dozen cupcakes and a loaf of french bread.

But I've stayed strong, because I am quite the stubborn little mule and impressively enough, my baby brother is still in it to win it too.

Since he is just getting started in the carb-alternative game, this post is for him.

Why quinoa is your new best friend.

Quinoa is rice's better for you, more yummy cousin. It takes the same amount of time to cook and can be eaten with anything. Anything. All the benefits. None of the carbs. Plus bonus protein, iron and fiber (mmm, you love fiber).

Tonight we ate it with some cuke, red bell pepper and feta cheese. Easy Cheesey. Here is a list of some other things you could mix with it and make a crazy delicious side (or main course):

-sweet potato, kale, and chicken
-avocado, black beans, tomatoes
-bell peppers and lemon juice
-carrots, edamame, and cranberries
-spinach, pomegranate seeds, and walnuts (with bonus steak if you're feeling crazy)
-strawberries, goat cheese, and arugula
-broccoli and cheese

Mix and match any of these things or literally anything you want. When making a bowl of food, add this. If oatmeal is your jam in the morning, switch out the oatmeal for this, add in some brown sugar, a few nuts and berries and a banana if you are playing like a champion - and BOOM, breakfast. Bye.

Also, I checked and Price Chopper totally carries quinoa. So no complaints about it being too fancy for your neck of the woods.

Some reminders:
-always, always rinse it in cold water before cooking
-let it cool for a minute and then put it in a bowl before making it all fluffy with a fork. It will stick together if you leave it in the pot/microwavable bowl.
-a cup of dry quinoa makes a shit ton of cooked quinoa so plan on throwing it in everything for a couple days. You won't regret it and it will make you miss rice that mich less.

One week down, six to go.

The first organizer

Things we take seriously in this house.

Christmas ornament organizers.

After casually mentioning that perhaps tossed-in-a-box-with-some-newspaper might not be the best way to store all these very fragile Christmas ornaments we have acquired (although, to be fair, that is how it has been done in my mother's house for hundreds of years), I then tossed all the ornaments in a box. But I was told a new solution was being workshopped.

Two weeks of intense research by Boyfriend followed while I completely and totally stopped caring and moved onto other things like eating all the cheese I could find.

Last night the organizers arrived.  Three of them. With bonus wreath organizer. All attempts to help with the set-up process were brutally shot down as this was "important."

Eventually I was given permission to put some ornaments in the newly constructed organizers, and then was told I was doing it wrong. I do not think of myself as particularly skilled at anything but being told that I could not handle this task was a little much for my dignity so I went to bed.

I awoke this morning to find a completely organized Christmas situation in my home. Things that already kind of home had a new and better home that was color coordinated and built to last.

For the record, the ornaments of my childhood remain stored in the shirt boxes that they have been in since the early 80's. Most of them pre-date my 21 year-old sister's existence on this planet.

It is a strange thing combining lives and traditions and finding your joint way through life. You are probably doing it wrong. But it will be okay.

Plan it out

I asked for a planner for Christmas.

I don't really know why I put it on my wishlist, but in theory I had problems with the fact that my calendar was a slave to "the cloud," and things could disappear on a whim in a way they can't when you write them down with pen and paper. 

I got a day planner, just exactly how I asked and it just kind of sat around getting water damage and being generally one-more-thing in my bag. 

But now, it is how I make the sausage.

I have always wondered how people make the blogs work. How do they come up with something to write every single day and get it done with all the other things they need to do.

As I think more about blogging the question that has been at the forefront is "how?"

So for the moment, this is the recipe for success. One sharpie pen (the.best), one Mac book and one planner full of ideas of what to put out there on the Internet.

I am grateful for this system of knowing what to write. I am excited to finally figure out the Why. 

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. 

40 cases of anxiety

40 cases of water are being delivered to me today. They will have my name on it and I will be responsible for finding a place to go. Last week it was 10 boxes of bags and 12 boxes of frisbees, Tuesday it was 20 boxes of water bottles, yesterday it was 8 boxes of chips.

My life exists in bulk now. Everything I do and buy is for me and my 1500 newest friends. 

There are only 9 days left of this - it's so close and yet, I would give anything for just a few more days. A few more days to give everything a chance to arrive on time instead of at the last possible second. A few more days to figure out a marketing strategy. A few more days to illegally post one or two more posters. 

I would not wish this dull ache of panic that I walk around with on anyone. But it's almost over. And it's Friday. And this was my breakfast. #donutart

Fall Madness

It has already started.  A fall unlike any other. One that will leave me so grateful for any free moment I find myself in front of a television on the weekends.

It started with celebrating Wedding #1
now its onto trying to keep the luck of the Irish
then the biggest, scariest, work thing I've ever done
followed by getting our wedding guest on back-to-back Maryland style
with a week-long M'town trip snuck in on the tail end
chased by a trip down to Charlotte to see the incomprable Chellis.
then its Birthday Trip 1 LasVegasHooverDamGrandCanyon
with Birthday Trip 2 SeattleTeenytimeTreeHouse right behind it.
a weekend in Madison with one of my favorite baby Badgers and her delightful parents
time to try on a taste of famous with our third trip to Cali this year, L.A. style
(shhhhh, I have one weekend with no plans, donotjinxthis)
a turkey-time adventure in Orlando
my second big, scary work thing (significantly less big and scary)

Then there are two weeks until Christmas Vacation.

On.your.mark.get.set.go

Not into me, part 2

I have talked before about the fact that since entering the land of monogamy, I have started flexing those underutilized awkwardness muscles on the ladies (hey, ladies).

This is still happening, and now I am recognizing an additional phenomenon - Girls trying to politely and quietly break up with me and me not getting the hint. 

I will try to make plans with a lady and she will either a)not respond or b)respond with a "hahahaha, sure lets talk next week." Rather than putting my thinking cap on and realizing that this means she wants nothing to do with me - I wait awhile and then reach out again. Nearly always with the same result. 

It's always hard to be the one who wants it more and especially as I work hard to make friendships count - it's hard to let go when you want someone to be a part of your life.

Recently, I had a run-in with a girl I think is great and at the end of the day I realized that she doesn't want to be my friend. And I think that knowledge, more than the unhappy results of the day's event, bummed me out to the max.

 I am not in anyway complaining about my lot in life. And menfolk - please do not think this in anyway means I pity you. You get to stand up to pee and make more money than I do. You're fine.  

I think I just need to be more grateful for all the amazing friends I have that I don't need to try out for anymore.

Sleeprov

Last night capped a summer experiment that will continue to resonate until at least 3:00 this afternoon.

I got cast to perform in the Genisis League at ComedySportz Chicago (which happened at the exact same time as my new job started and I had a house full of visitors and was without a bed - it was an intense beginning-of-Summer this year). 

It was really exciting. Short form improv has always been my number one girl, and the people at ComedySportz are easily some of the best in the universe. 

When our rehearsal schedule (which, since its improv - it should really be practice schedule) was announced my heart sank. Tuesdays 10 pm - midnight.

Think about what you're normally doing on Tuesday nights that late: You're either getting into trouble or you're getting into bed.

I didn't want to say no, but I also knew this summer was going to require more of my brain capacity than ones in the past (never get a real job, kids, it will get in the way of your socialimprov schedule).

So I said yes. And so for the past twelve weeks I have crawled into bed at 12:30 on Tuesday night, only to be awoken at 6:30 and required to be a real, high functioning adult for 8-10 hours the next day. Then on Wednesdays we got to be goofs on stage, an event that was always supposed to end around 9 or 10 and tended to actually end around 11 or 12. Making two late nights in a row. On school nights no less.

Please don't get me wrong - I am not complaining in anyway. I am so happy I got to have this experience and meet these people and do this thing that I love So.Much. 

But I am realizing what a late night does to my body and mind now. While I have really not changed externally-physically in the past seven years - the internal changes sometimes shock me. My own body's incapacity to survive on two hours sleep and a diet coke is frustrating and unnerving and I really felt it this summer.

Gone are the days when a rehearsal that ends at midnight would be followed with a drinking session that ends at three. The four post-show drinks have now become one-or-two. The one night this summer I got coerced into doing shots, lead to a next morning of wishing the ground would swallow me up whole. I used to be able to do this and still get to work at 8:00 am*

I'm proud of myself for making it through this summer and having a great time. I am also proud of my own recognition of my limitations. I miss 23 year-old Rachel's stamina, but I am grateful for 28 year-old Rachel's common sense, even if it makes me feel humiliatingly old.  

*Please note: this applies on weekdays only. I can still play like a champion on the weekend. Sometimes. 

How to do it: paint something.

I have been on a She-woman-can-do-it-herself kick recently and Labor Day weekend was the perfect excuse to tackle another project and learn something new.

Here's how you paint something (for example, this random shelf that you use for towels in your bathroom):

 

1-Clean it. Really good. Get some fantastick and a paper towel and go to town. Clean the whole thing. Twice. Get even the bits that you don't think you need to, because guess what? You do. The worst thing is finding a giant tumbleweed of hair as you are trying to paint. 

2- Prime all the edges.

"But my paint has primer in it!"

"Stop talking. Prime it."

The whimsical painting of furniture that you are getting yourself into probably involves painting surfaces that have no business being painted. You're way better off just getting in the habit of priming.

3- Prime the rest of it. With a roller. Like the grown ass lady you are. This is not third grade art class. You need a roller even for a job that seems small.

4- Wrap up your brush & roller very tightly in plastic bags (grocery is fine). You want the paint to stick to the bag & for it to get as little air as possible so that they don't dry out during the next step. 

5- Watch an episode of Orange Is the New Black (or two episodes of Arrested Development, depending on where you are in life).  

6- Reprime everything in the same order (edges then everything else). You want the original color to be kind of a mystery. Wash your brush and your roller really, really well or you will be sad later.

7- Go hang out at your friend's pool. Feel real fancy. 

8- Draft a mediocre fantasy football team because there are some things you can only care so much about. 

9- Figure out where you put that Oops Paint you bought on a whim a few months ago.

10- The primer should be dry enough now, go ahead and paint, in the same order you primed.

11- Stop being such a weenie, you probably won't run out of paint. 

12- Once it is all painted and you haven't missed anything and you've checked four times, give the cat a quick talking to about not getting near the paint. Wash all the things.

13- Wait a day. Find all the spots you missed. Paint one more time. 

14- Be so impressed with yourself it doesn't even really matter that you kind of hate the color now.

 

A new season

While I did not love this book about friends, it has made me incredibly thoughtful about how I spend my free time. Recently, a mantra has been running through my head:

                                 

For the past few weeks I have jammed my schedule full of people who I don't always get to see. It's the last weeks of summer and patio-seated, margarita-drinking, out-too-late living. We're all about to crawl into our caves and hibernate until Spring, only peeking out for the occasional football game. And I am trying to make the most of it. 

But sometimes it means making choices. It means sometimes saying no to what has always felt like the obvious social invitation and saying yes to the one that requires a little more work.

It always feel better. Every time. It feels better to spend that time with people that matter to you.

I am finding myself being more thoughtful about what I plan, working harder to reach out to people, and grateful that I am surrounded by so many great people who want to be my friends.

Let's just call it a midlife resolution.

TYOE: Michigan Wine Country

How to get Wine Drunk in Southern Michigan:

1- Make some friends-of-a-friend. It helps if they are a group of awesome ladies. This should not be too hard, since, as you go through life, you should only surround yourself with awesome people. It helps if at lease one of these friends-of-a-friend live in Michigan.

2- When one of these friends-of-a-friend invites you to go on a vineyard tour of Michigan say yes.

3- On the day of the wine tour, bum a ride from one of the other gals who is going from Chicago. Be sure to not get her phone number so that this random meeting on a street corner at 7 am can be as stressful for your Type-A personality as possible.

4- Get to Michigan. Hop in the van that was rented, meet your DD - who is one of the girl's mom. Present her with a Mom of the Year award for driving a bunch of drunk 20&30-somethings around on a Saturday.

5- Drive SO far to the first vineyard. Take time to get to know all these women who you've only seen a handful of times. Celebrate the fact that making friends at the age of 29 is rare - you're doing it!

6 - Get to the first vineyard and freak out - you did not even know that Michigan had gorgeous vistas. Try the wines. When the nice man behind the counter forgets how many pours you've had, do not remind him. Buy wine. Get a glass of champagne to celebrate the morning. 

7- Get lunch. Be grateful for the invention of the tuna melt.

8- Go to So. Many. Vineyards. Some are not great (but give you free wine glasses). Some have Bob Hope wine.

9- Find a vineyard with a good patio and have another post-taste glass of wine. Eat a cupcake because not only did your friend plan this whole amazing trip - she brought cupcakes. Remind yourself to write her a thank you note later.

10- Gear up for the grand finale. When you realize you are more that justalittle sauced, give the rest of your sangria to the girl with two kids because she is playing like a champion today.

11- Eat dinner. Be real dramatic when you think you might miss your train. 

12- Get to the sketchy New Buffalo train station. Make friends with whoever is waiting with you. Do that thing where you are so excited and surprised by dumb coincidences. ("You work in downtown Chicago? That's crazy, me too!")

13- Sleep the whole way home. 

Snaps.

So I'm about 8 months late, and 10 years too old for this party but I am currently obsessed with snapchat.

One of my coworkers, who I think of a classy southern girl who knows where the party's at, introduced me at a post-work function. Desperate for her approval and perhaps slightly over served, I signed up and connected with all my friends.

I was surprised by how many people I knew on the site. Then I had a sudden thought, 

"Is everyone sending dick pix without me?"

If they are, that's fine (gross, but fine). But my knowledge of snapchat was it was just the newest, trendiest ways to send pictures of your junk (oh, technology, you're the best). Junk pictures, I thought were reserved for politicians and sixteen year-olds who don't quite understand how the internet works.

Turns out, while this is all probably incredibly accurate - snapchat is also just a straight communication tool and useful for taking pictures of things no one cares about (snap chat- for when instagramming will just take too.long) and the ugliest pictures of your own face imaginable.

Perhaps it's just my tribe, but most snapchats look like this:
 

And include text that could just as easily be provided via text message.

Granted, it is primarily my baby sister (who, at 20, is exactly who snapchat was made for) who communicates like this, but my fraaaaands do it too. 

My question is why? Why do we take pictures of our faces/computer screens/doodles/drinks/sketchy fellow commuters? Is it because they aren't permanent? Ugly faces are okay as long as they are temporary? Or we just don't like to waste the precious memory on our phones? 

My personal problem is I always want to write too much and the thing only allows for like 100 characters. Clearly, my words are worth more than my face.

Bike bits: change in the air

On Saturday, I managed to give my bike a flat tire about three miles from my house. It was so lame, mostly because I knew I still needed the exercise after eating my birthweight in guacamole, so I hoofed it home.

During this seemingly endless walk from Lakeview to Andersonville I had lots of time to think about life and the future. Naturally, this was a disaster. But I did determine that I would change this bike tire all by myself.

Bike maintaince is Boyfriend's wheel house, but in my quest to be a well-rounded, capable lady I knew I had to go it alone, at least once, so I could say I could. 

I found these two videos superduper helpful:

Some notes:

-you will get messy.

-you will get frustrated.

-it is harder than it looks.

-sometimes your brakes don't have a quick release, try not to panic.

-how much air pressure you are supposed to have in your tires is written on your tires.

-do not give yourself a time limit the first, second, ninth time you change a tire. Deadlines are jerks.

-the sense of accomplishment is worth a broken nail and a dirty tee-shirt.

Shiny happy people.

Today, I #treatyoself-ed to the extreme.

I bought a brand new laptop.

I spent way too much on it. Although, not as much as I could have - because sometimes knowing everyone pays off in the best ways.

And I wish I wasn't as excited as I am. But it is literally perfect. Its light and fast and oh-so-shiny.

I've loved the almost-seven years I've had with Bunny the original verybest Macbook but she now is on her very last legs and so, like the terrible person I am - I put her out to pasture. She'll live on my desk and be useful for when I need to look at old pictures or find old documents or do other old things. Sorry, old girl, you're old.

The past few months have been chock-full of new things. New wallet. New dresses. New yoga. New babies. I'm trying really hard to enjoy new things and not feel bad about enjoying them. I deserve nice things and I'm going to work really hard for them.

Starting with this sweet, sweet baby who is in desperate need of a name.

type, judge, type

I am in the midst of my first legit (paying) writing gig in years. The first writing job that isn't journalistic or completely self serving. And this is the first time that I am writing about things that I do not understand (business analytics. what the whuuuut?).

I am terrified. Terrified. I've never been this scared about failing at something that I always considered myself pretty dang good at doing.

I needed to take a break and write about myself for thirty seconds so I could feel the accomplishment of having words come easy, of knowing the definition of everything I am typing, of knowing I am saying the things I want to say.

I've never taken such a giant shot in the dark. Despite all my swagger, I am completely doubtful of my technical writing ability.

In other news: musicals are the best writing music, Dunkin's pumpkin spice coffee is no joke, and I now have a clementine tree growing in my belly.

Two- nip

Oh! And I dealt with a turnip for the first time. It would have been way less stressful if the Internet had just told me that a turnip is basically a carrot playing Turtle from Entourage.

Doughy

Phyllo dough is a completely unfamiliar art form. We've had it in the freezer for ages and I finally found a recipe that sounded delicious and healthy.

Turns out I did it wrong as the dough is uncooked in some places, and apparently twice as thick as it needed to be.

Lesson learned, leave the fancy business to the Greeks. Though, as an Italian - I would say I made it look good.

Nameste

"eff you in the mouth, crow pose."

This thought came into my head in yoga class after a pretty bad crow-pose related tumble and it stayed there, right up until final nap-time pose.

Inversion poses (ie - poses where my head is below my heart) make me incredibly dizzy, and combining slight vertigo with a suckerpunch to the pride was enough to make me the most vulgar yogi.

My goal this year is to do 100 yoga practices (so far, I'm at 4. Trucking right along). If I make it, I get to buy myself overpriced yoga pants. This is pretty much all the motivation I need to do anything - excuses to spend money I don't have.

We'll see how I feel later in the year, but right now - yoga makes me frustrated and sweaty. I hate being bad at things, but being bad at things while teeny-tiny women tell me that its not about being good or bad, its about being at peace (or whatever) is WAY, WAY worse.

(so why are you doing it, dummy?)

Because, I cannot get myself to run and gym memberships are dumb expensive. Its too cold to bike and I'm out of options. Also, because despite how it turns my inner-monologue into that of a sailor - it's the only thing I can make myself keep going to. Maybe it's because of the free nap at the end - but when class is over, I want to do it again.

Anyway, 100 yoga practices in 365 days is resolution two for 2013. Let's do it for the pants.