European Adventure Days 1 & 2

So I kept telling myself that I really needed to write things down while I was abroad over the past two weeks (the 10th - 24th of June). I kept reminding myself over and over that I would forget all of my favorite things if I didn't take the time to write them down.

But if there is anyone I have a very hard time listening to - it's myself. So I didn't. I wrote 2 postcards and that's all. Which means now the memories are already starting to slip away. I'm forgetting what things felt and tasted like. Luckily - its Europe, its not too far/too expensive to return to someday. But there is something about your first* memory that is so important. They should really all be written down.

To readers- these blog posts will probably be unendurably long. Due to my tendancy to overwrite. Feel free to not read, or skip around...you won't miss much.

So my vacation started in the airport - as they all seem to do. I hope that when/if I have kids, they are awesome, fearless fliers. That they completely and totally trust in the magic of airplanes. Because I just don't. I hate every second of take off, and every bump of turbulence. As we desend I tend to tear up because I am sure that death is imminent and I've gotten so close to home/this other place it just doesn't seem fair.

But I make it to airport one, and then airport two. Where I proceed to wait. Luckily, my waiting is made less miserable by a Chipotle vegetarian fajita bowl (with guac, no sour cream). Dulles is easily the worst airport in the DC area, but I like that they're trying to win me over with delicious food options.

Naturally because we're flying commercial airlines, and its 2010 - there is a problem with our flight and so instead of spending moments in JFK, those moments will now be spent in Charles de Gaulle. And by moments, I mean actual, countable minutes as we race from plane to customs to security to gate, a race that would have been easier in English, but luckily the French (despite what I'll say about them later - have a very foreigner friendly airport).

Once we land in Rome, Rachel has her first panic about Something Bad. This time its that we did not go through customs a second time after getting into Italy. No amount of reassurance from various sources would pacify me. We were seconds from being deported.

Also we meet our first Cousin. Lei Lei (pronouced exactly like the necklace, except twice). Lei Lei drives like a blind bat out of hell, wears a fanny pack and a gold chain and speaks some English. But most of the car ride is spent listening to Dad and Lei Lei speak the gibberish of Italian while the three kids sit in the back, silently (and not-so-silently) fuming that we don't know the words.

Santa Severa has that wonderful mediteranian landscape of business in the front


and party in the back.
So its gorgeous no matter which way you turn.

Santa Severa is a wee little beach town, but it has its own castle, which is probably more impressive in the US than in Europe where castles are a dime a dozen. This one was nice though.
Our first day (Friday) was pretty lowkey. We got to the house and then went out for lunch. We had radicchio lasagna which was delightfully cheese-y and didn't taste nearly bizarre as it looked. I also had my very first bottle of carbonated water. Mmm. I love that carbonated water is so common in civilized parts of the world. Its such a better addition to the meal.

After lunch we tried to get Bear's and My Eurail pass all in order. This was the first of many times that the Italians were not cool with me wanting to be prepared. My cousin insisted that all of these reservations and validations could be made later, later and I shouldn't worry so much. But I kept pushing - which was good, because I think we may have gotten two of the last bunks for our overnight train to Paris. Everything else, I probably could have been a little more lax about, but that's not really my travel style.

Friday night we went for drinks and which come with various short eats (olives, potato chips, peanuts) which is kind of a nice deal. We drank Corona, which was absurd, especially when they put a lemon in it. But my taste for Italian beer had yet to be developed before dinner and gelato.
This is the kind of gelato that people write love poems about. Its so amazing. This particular flavor (Chocolate Fondant) was so dark and rich. It was easily my favorite part about Santa Severa. It felt so indulgent and hedonistic to eat something so good. Especially when (later in the week) it was combined with world cup soccer and free wi fi.

Day two was dedicated to beach lounging and eating more delicious, yet simple food. Day two's shout out goes to the prosciutto crudo e mozzarella panini we had for lunch. It was just a pre-made sandwich sold by the beach stand near our house, but it was by far one of the best sandwiches I've ever eaten and I have a wicked thing for sandwiches.
At this beach apparently you don't bring your own umbrella and beach chair - you rent them from the establishment, which is pricey but hands-free.

There were far too many kids in the water for it to be an acceptable option for a grouchy senior citizen like myself. So we just sat, and read and napped. And then when it got to hot we went back to the house where it was dark and cool and sat, and read and napped.

I had forgotten how nice it was to be on vacation and not feel like it was necessary to *do* stuff all the time. And the rest of this vacation was so manic, that these first couple days of quiet were, in retrospect, kind of perfect.
Stay tuned for days 3 - 14.

Masters of our domain

I've been taking classes, working and performing at iO for over 3 years, which is like 6 months in improviser time. Most people here are lifers, if they're for longer than just a year. Its a little different for me because my focus here has been on working rather than performing. For many reasons - but one of the simplest is - you get paid to work here, and you have to pay someone else to perform. And I am an economical girl at heart.

When you perform you spend most of your time before the show hiding from people to "prepare" (read: start drinking) and then after its mostly people fawning over you and trying ingest your harold team Aura. My job is all about interacting with people and for the most part, it leaves me wanting to claw my eyes out - but it has it's highlights. Talking to tourists is always way more fun than you think its going to be. And they all take everything you say as the word of God. Also people ask me my opinion, and who doesn't love dishing that out? Improvisers pretend that they like/remember me so that I'll give them free tickets for their friends and put up with their tedious requests. Sometimes I see new friends, and even better - old friends and have a nice opportunity to catch up. And there are long stretches when I don't have to talk to anyone.

All this being said - I love this place. I talk a lot of crap about it, but it was one of the first places that made me happy in Chicago. And it consistently has been a place full of people who get me, and so make me feel comfortable in my own skin...something that happens less than you may think.

So there is this certain subset of people I've noticed when they come in. They're almost always students - most students who have gotten past their third class in level one, understand the student protocol of just going where you want and not actually bothering to pass go. But they're students who are bringing non-students in - and so must stop by my door and buy my wares (not dirty like...I'm just trying to keep my job as vague as possible). While its fun to watch students explain to their muggle friends how exactly buying a ticket works - as if the friend is some sort of imbred ginger... its more fun to watch students bring dates to iO. I don't see it very often because I only work week nights - but occasionally it happens and most nights the crowd is slow enough for me enjoy the show.

These students are so full of pride for themselves, for the performers, for the building. They ask me who is playing and then nod knowingly, occasionally throwing a trivia nugget to their muggle date about someone, just to show that they know everything. The student always pays - even if its a girl. As if to say - "I'm bringing you here as my date, this is a special gift. More special than a V-card. You get to go to an iO show with someone who Knows."

I'm sure throughout the show they lean over and whisper explanations of what is happening. "See how he said that? Its called a callback - and its funny because he's now said it twice, but it'll be more funny when he says it the third time." They'll buy the beers - explaining that iO is superior because of their wide variety of specialty brews and perhaps you would like to try this one, its called PBR - they serve it in a Mason Jar here. Its so funny and improv-y"

At the end of the show they'll stick around and talk to the one person they know who has just performed. And by know, I mean, maybe saw once in a workshop. Or had for a class. Or if they're really lucky, got obliteratingly drunk with at 4 in the morning one time in this very room before a taco bell run and an endless wait for the 22 bus. That celebrity will patiently talk about whatever you can come up with, because improv people (for the most part) are totally awesome like that.

And then that iO student will take their date back out into Wrigleyville. Occasionally I get a half-hearted wave as they brace themselves for the drunkenness waiting outside. I always wonder what happens to them. How the dates feel about this place. Do they get it? Do they get the magic? Do they know why we come and sit and watch shows until all hours? Or why we sit (or stand) and wait on parents from Rockford or bachelorettes from LaGrange?

I hope so. I really hope that they walk home with their iO catch - and maybe give them a hug (don't give away the milk, people - its just a $12 ticket) and say goodnight. And assuming their iO student is not a horrifying ass bucket in real life...they keep them around. For the how to be funny lessons and the education on imports and microbrews and the opportunity to come back to this place every now and then.

Steps of Knowledge

We're sitting on the couch watching youtube clips of old Nickelodeon shows this evening. A few things -

The hosts of these shows were cracked out of their minds. Kirk Fogg has cocaine dripping out his eyeballs. Also the host of Nick Arcade could not look more ridiculous. He basically spent the whole show wearing Bill Cosby's hand me downs. But more white.

You Can't Do That On Television is maybe the most unfunny thing ever. Like state funeral unfunny.

The aggro crag was really just a junk heap. I used to think it was made of like, synthetic mountain material but its really just razor wire and old CPUs. All those kids had tetanus.

Why were kids so terrible at the wave pool on Global Guts? They were filming this in Florida (California?), one would think they had experienced water with some current to it at one point in their lives.

Seriously - it was like the part of SNL after the music act plays unfunny. So terrible.

I don't quite understand the mechanics of Nick Arcade but 1 - apparently neither did any of the kids and 2 - that show was just a desperate plea for kids to buy video games. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that show is why the kids of today are build like baby elephants.

There was a moment in time where the show was called "Super Sloppy Double Dare." That sounds like the beginning of a very low budget creeper Porno.

Also! On double dare there use to be a challenge where you had to pop balloons?! Ugh.

I would have never taken the physical challenge, because I seem to know the answer to every single question on that show.

Wild and Crazy Kids was just a gratuitous waste of resources. Apparently we didn't really care about the world when that show was on. No need to conserve anything. Just pour it all over each other while people laugh at your misfortune.

Sing sing

Excuse the extended break - I've been trying to be better about posting at least a few times a week but I went home to the land of crab cakes and football (with a quick stopover in the land of moose and lakes) and did not have a ton of blogging time.  My younger-but-not-smaller siblings both managed to maintain the family average by graduating on time from various academic institutions.  Buttmunch from Plymouth State University and the Bear from our local High School.  I am very proud of both of them, mostly for actually graduating and also not puking/falling during the ceremony (our family standards are pretty low).  

After the graduations (which themselves seemed utterly endless.  Seriously - so so so boring listening to people's names) there was the obligatory graduation party.  Thanks to father time and uh, mother tedious there was an obligatory 4 day lull between the last graduation and the party itself.  Which was good- because it gave everyone time to prepare and call maids to come clean the house (the maids themselves should really be their own blog post - maids are awesome).  It also gave me time to see people I love and hardly ever see - also eat crabcakes, play bar trivia, imbibe a little too much and spend some serious quality time with my siblings.   

My siblings and I are exactly 4 years apart in school - which is convenient if you think that it means my parents only paid for one college education at a time, but also craptastic, because it means they're paying for a college education for 12 years in a row.  2 sides to every penny, Amigos.

Since we're this far apart, our friend circles don't overlap at all.  In fact, there are a fair number of my sibs friends that I used to make sweet, sweet money baby-sitting for.  And we've always given each other a serious hard time.  Buttmunch for being a lazy boy, Bear for being the baby, and me for being the bossy (always right) big sister.  But in general, these days, we get along pretty well.  Which is kind of awesome...but there are still some things that give me flash backs to being little.

Once upon a time, millions of years ago (when leggings were cool the first time around) - Buttmunch and I told Bear that she was under no circumstances allowed to sing in the car unless she knew every single word to a song.  This was the law and it would be followed.  Mostly by her.  Not so much us.

And now, my sister knows every word to every song on the radio.  Which is impressive (although not that impressive when you consider the lack of variety on the radio these days).  Its nice that we could give her this gift by being bossy d-waffles.  You're welcome, Bear.

Anyway - the rest of the 10 days back East were also really lovely (there was a zoo and a wine/beer tasting - at the same.time), but that kind of stuck with me.  The fact that my baby-sister is all graduated from high school and still follows my stupid rules.

In other news - My summer is going to be very awesome, and I'm very excited.  Also exciting? Nora Dunn just walked into my place of employment.  I get excited from the weirdest celebrities

Adventures with vegetables

There are very few foods that I feel uncomfortable around. There are some I don't like (water chestnuts), there are some I wish I could handle (mushrooms), there are some that I don't even bother with (organ meats) but there are very few that make me anxious.

Enter the artichoke.
I LOVE the taste of the artichoke (particularly when mixed with spinich and cheese) but I've only ever dealt with the canned heart variety. But these landed on my doorstep and I had *just* had a conversation about how I thought it was kind of crazy that I had never actually had a real, live 'choke. So I decided it was time to rumble.

I went to the interwebs, the answerer of all questions, and discovered there are a whole crap ton of ways to deal with these suckers. Not being one to get down with rules, or directions that are complicated, I decided to just do what I want.
I boiled the shit out of them. Seriously, for like 40 minutes. Because I read that number somewhere, and I figured that if there was nasty bacteria in them, it'd be gone after 40 minutes...of course, its very possible I boiled away the taste or most of the meat but what can you do when you hate rules?

And then I took them out of water and felt very, Now what? I had been told that the meat of them was at the center of all the leaves. So I took off the leaves.
Apparently you can eat off the leaves, but thats tedious and weird, so I just got rid of them. And seriously? So.Many.Leaves. This vegetable is so dumb. Anyway. I got to the bottom of the leaves, and what did I find?
Furry shit?! What is this - an ear of corn? Holy crap. I go back to the internet, because I have no idea what of this plant is toxic and what isn't and at this point this has been about as much work as I put into eating a hardshell crab and there are parts of that that I know are no-nos. So I figure out that the edible part is that teeny part in the middle. Ugh.

So little stuff for so much work and it does not even taste like crab. Sigh. Not my favorite food.Anyway, I mixed it up with some eggplant and red pepper and a little garlic and then ate it with some left over injera bread from Ras Dashen. It was pretty good. But there is a lot of work involved in something you can just buy in a can...

like a big kid with walls

Finally! My own personal nation-wide nightmare is over! There is art on my walls!!

I've always had a serious affinity for stuff on the walls. Which totally comes from my parents, who are huge art people (thanks MomandDad). My art is pretty random. A vast majority of it is pictures I've taken myself. Which is pretty lame, I know, but I like them and that's really all that matters, no? The rest is a mix of paintings my great grandmother created, impulse buys and gifts. The one above was given to me by my first ever roommate in college - D. She bought it because she was a vegetarian and it was a reminder of all the animals I ate and how cute they were and how I probably shouldn't eat them because it made the house smell like bacon.

Well, obviously that plan backfired. But these guys have hung in every kitchen I've lived in for the past eight years. It is originally from IKEA, and their frames are a-not actually glass and b- not really built to last. If you get too close to this sucker, its so filthy from eight years of bacon grease splashing around. But it makes me smile.

Its one of the many pieces I've carried from place to place. I use to hang all my own art, mostly by just sticking pushpins in the wall, occasionally taking a hammer to the bad deal. But now this kid lives with me, and its made me super lazy. He wants to feel all strong and man-shaped. So I let him, which means sometimes things take a lot longer than I want. Empty walls are so terrible, especially when they're white. But art helps. I don't really feel like I live somewhere until there are things on the walls.

Naturally my collection has grown extensively in 8 years - and amazingly its always fit into where I lived. Although, I guess it was good that Boyfriend did not come into the relationship with much in the way of art but his collection is growing as well. So we came to an unfortunate realization on Sunday.

What happens when we don't have a nice, long convenient hallway/gallery to put stuff up?

The best-worst part about working at home

She is quite distracting and demanding of affection...and beyond that, she makes it kind of difficult to type. Particularly when she is pulling these kinds of shennanigans


No, no its cool - I don't need that third of the keyboard anyway.

its like a swirly, twirly circle

So. I easily had one of the best Mother's Day humanly possible without actually hanging out with my Mom.

J-bomb and I went to a bottom-less mimosa all-you-can-eat brunch, and let me tell you, we tested that pledge. And happily, the mimosas kept coming along with delicious food (lox! mac and cheese! chocolate fountain!) We walked into the sunshine and perfect spring weather around 12:30 and were delightfully intoxicated. So, obviously, we went shopping. And then after some clothes shopping I decided I would walk the 2 miles home and enjoy a lovely Chicago day and sweet Sunday Funday buzz.

Thus began a 4 hour solo adventure of lazy (the walk, according to google should have taken 45 minutes). I decided to stop at whatever stores caught my fancy and came away with some vino, a few second-hand books, cute clothes and a feeling that I had thoroughly enjoyed the gorgeous day to its max capacity.

My last stop before home was at the Brown Elephant, one of the best second hand stores in the city where I found a copy of Blackhearts in Battersea (one of the best children's books ever) along with some other stuff. While paying for my stuff I told the cashier to keep the change and put it in whatever donation bin they have. The guy was legitimately excited about the change (I think it was 45 cents) and I felt really nice (and still a little drunk).

Cut to today when I was at the bank for work. I was depositing quarters, along with other forms of currency, but the quarters were the important part, because it was totally ridiculous to be depositing $10 worth of quarters into a business account but welcome to the life of a teeny-tiny non-profit. So I have already filled out the deposit slip and entered everything into quickbooks - and at the very end of the transaction, the nice teller gentleman tells me that I am a quarter short. Twenty-five little cents separate me from leaving for the day. Naturally, I brought nothing with me to the bank except a phone and a drivers licence, because that is going to make this better...

I am going over my options with the teller guy, and its looking rough. Extraneous paperwork or trips to the bank for twenty-five cents. I mean, at McDonalds when you go through the drive-thru and you're a quarter short they just kind of wave you through but not at Chase. Oh no...they will nickle and dime you because they are the.man. So I'm throwing my hands up in "whatever-ness" and suddenly a quarter appears from the nice postal worker lady in line behind me.

"Here you go," she smiles and goes back to the queue.

I hand it to the bank teller, get my receipt, thank the lady profusely and walk out.

In hindsight, she probably just realized her time was worth way more than 25 pennies and she just wanted to get the eff out of the bank, but at the time it felt like a totally stranger doing something nice. Which is pretty refreshing. And feels wonderful.

And now some nice lady at JetBlue Customer Service is making my day even better by fixing my colossal bone-headed screw up while simultaneously restoring my faith in this airline that I have come to have a pretty serious Ike-Tina relationship with.

Its a pretty crazy world we live in, people...so when the opportunity presents itself, go ahead and make someone else's day better.

The world is ending

People. Today for the first time since the mid-90's I am wearing leggings. In public*.

This is huge. I shun leggings. I shun girls who wear leggings. I shun Lindsey Lohan for making leggings (among other things). I have been shunning these things for a long time... at some point when I was in college I found myself in an Urban Outfitters and in the never ending piles of poly-blends I found a pair of grey spandex leggings With Stirrups. I looked around, trying to figure out if some how I had time traveled back to 1996. But no, these were in the present day and they cost $35. This was like 5 or 6 years ago. That was when I decided that I was only going to look forward, not back in regards to fashion.

Until recently, when I noticed that all my friends wear leggings and look adorable and not trashy. And I am one to do exactly what all my friends are doing (see: 5Ks, Crobar, being a Badger fan) so I got jealous and bought some leggings and then never wore them. They just sat, tag on, in my dresser waiting for me to give in to my inner hipster.

And I put them on a couple times with a couple different dresses (please note I said dresses - the reason my friends look so adorable is because they wear leggings with dresses, not with tee shirts. The secret to leggings is that your top must cover your whole bottom - with room to spare- for them to look cute, not trashy) but it never worked out.

Well, I've been rocking this sexy pre-summer cold for the last few days which has left me cough-y and snorffle-y and just generally grouchy and cranky. I tried to go to the gym this morning and ride the elliptical which was a disaster of epic proportions because the motion of an elliptical to a person with sinus issues is apparently akin to the motion of a roller coaster to a person with vertigo. I made it about 30 minutes before I realized that I was either going to vomit or pass out and I don't trust the people at my gym not to just leave me on the floor in a heap of sweaty mess.

So I went home and worked in my sweat pants (work from home Thursdays are my favorite) and started to feel a little bit better until 5:30 when I realized I had to get ready to go to iO for job numbero dos. No part of my being wanted to put on jeans... and my boss frowns upon sweats at this particular job...and it is far too windy for just a skirt...and I had just inherited that adorable sweater dress from L.S...

So I put on the leggings, and the sweater dress and the ballet flats and earrings and hair up in a bun (no actual styling happened today) and I walked out the door.

Its kind of windy today, but just the right temperature for this particular ensemble, which it'll probably only be two or three more days before sweater dresses will become weird and impractical until September. And I feel adorable. I'm not going to lie. I feel very cute in this get up...and what's even more amazing is I feel crazy comfortable. I feel like I'm in my stylish jammies, but its a big secret that my boss doesn't know (shhhh.)

I now remember why I wore leggings all the way until 5th grade (no joke, first pair of jeans in 5th grade. Fun fact!). These things are awesome and comfortable and I feel like I can bust out sweet dance moves or cartwheels at a moments notice (which has always been necessary in my life). While I still have some pretty serious rules about leggings (seriously, shirts should cover butts) I am now way more excited to wear them on a regular basis, at least until its warm enough for just dresses.

And once again, I realize that I judge things on a completely insane-makes-sense-to-me way that really needs to be reality checked. While some of the things I've judged before I've tried have deserved my judgement (crobar) - most of them are actually totally acceptable as things. So maybe I should not be so quick to be a dick about...almost everything. Although, at least I can admit when I'm wrong. Even if it takes the better part of a decade.

* so this ONE time my friends got me drunk and convinced me to wear leggings and a long-ish shirt out for ladies-night bar hoping. I was against it pretty much the whole time, but couldn't really pull anything else together that was to the caliber of trendy and adorable that they were all rocking. So I did it. It was pretty bad news. But it was only for a few hours so its almost like it never happened.

Thanks Sylvia

My loverly Anniebelle posted this. And wow. I have (embarrassingly) never read The Bell Jar, but its now shot way up on my list.

This so very much describes me. I think it describes a whole crap ton of my friends (like Anniebelle, dur) although there are also friends who it does not describe. I have a lot of friends who picked their fig and they love it and are perfectly content to eat it all up.

Anyway, this terrifies me, but also makes me feel better about myself. Things turn out okay for Ester Greenwood right?

A Good Sense about Things

So today - I let a stranger cut my hair. Which, for me, is fairly standard as I am not one of those girls to have a "lady/guy who cuts my hair." In fact, since I started paying for my own haircuts, the only place I've been to more than once is Jo Michelle in Middletown, because she does a decent job and is crazy affordable (although the internet says she might not be licensed, which I realized I don't care about--as long as they don't ruin my head).

The kicker today was, I got my hair cut in this girl's parents' basement. Surrounded by old soccer trophies, framed photos and kitchy suburban wall art she cut my hair and we talked about life. It was a great experience. She did a good job (I mean, I still have some hair, and it seems to be even enough) and she let me pay her tip in fruit.

Before I went to her house though, while getting ready this morning, Boyfriend asked if I was nervous about going to some strange person's house to let her cut my hair.

"No."
"How'd you hear about her?"
"CIN." (that's the Chicago Improv Network)
"Do you know anyone else who has gotten their [sic] hair cut by this girl."
"Uh, there were some names I recognized in her post on CIN."
"So you're going to some girl's house after talking to her on the phone once, based on something you read on the internet?"
"Sure."
"Not worried you're about to get murdered?"
"No."

This was apparently surprising, which reminded me of a similar (sort of) experience in my freshman year of college where I saw a craigslist ad for a guy doing free headshots out in Flushing, Queens. ANY sensible person would have ignored it, but I really needed headshots and had no money, so I figured out how to get to this guy apartment, which required about 45 minutes on the 7 train and a 20 minute tour of lovely Flushing. Which was quite the experience.

Right as I got to the guys house I called my mom.
"Hey Mom, so uh, I e-mailed this guy off craigslist for free headshots and now I'm at his house in Queens and this is the address. If I don't call you back in like an hour, can you call the cops."
"WHAT?"
"No, I'm sure its fine, but if isn't, uh, yeah, please call the cops."

So I am sure my mother spent that hour watching the second hand on the clock. I spent that hour with a totally weird dude, who took some pictures (fully clothed, from the neck up, pervs) and then that was it.

My mom had some choice words for me when I called her back, namely - don't ever pull that kind of stunt again.

But I do. I am totally a go into a situation, back out if it gets sketchy kind of girl. Now, of course, this has not gone wrong - yet. But if it did, it would probably go really, really wrong. But I'm an optimist (in this one very small part of my life).

And normally I can tell just by an e-mail or phone call if something is a good idea or a very, very bad idea. And I follow that intuition, most of the time. The times I don't - I normally get to a place (a few pyramid scheme job interviews come to mind) I just get up and leave, sometimes I don't even bother telling people why. It's a you waste my time, I'll waste your time kind of thing.

Of course, this whole process falls apart when there is free food involved. Because I am a sucker for a free piece of shitty pizza and an ice-less dixie cup of RC cola.

But the thing is - a lot of these ridiculous things I try end up going really well. I've made good friends, gotten free movie tickets and now have a super sweet hair cut. She did an adorable job and the fact that it cost less than like, an adult movie ticket, made it even more worth it. And so now I have a lady who cuts my hair in the City. All because of the internet.

Thanks internet.

Ribbon around the finger

As I sit on my back porch with my free Starbucks coffee, a bunch of deliciously tart grapes and some perfect made-to-order Chicago-style Spring/Summer weather, listening to the cheers at Wrigley Field getting paid to do my part to make the world a better place, I am happy and content and know that I have one of the best jobs in the world.

So in six months when things are rough and I'm grouchy because making the world a better place is really hard and not always fun - I hope I remember this day; when my boss told me to go sit outside in the sun.

Spoke tooooo soon

I'm going to my first Wednesday afternoon Cubs game THIS Wednesday. Naturally, once the seed had been planted and the opportunity presented itself there wasn't much I could do. I have the most amazing boss in the entire world and she is perfectly fine with my 4 hour lunch break.

Hey Chicago Whaddya Say?

Happy Home Opener!


This might be the year I play hooky for a cubs game. We'll see how they are doing towards the middle of the season, but there is nothing better than a Wednesday afternoon Cubs game (so I've heard). Really, there is very little in life that is better than a baseball game on a sunny, warm day. Its like a picnic, with 40,000 strangers. And you get to yell and scream and sing.

And Wrigley Field, I think has spoiled me forever. There is so much history in that park. They still have people who change the score board by hand! And there are men screaming, "cold beer! peanuts! hot dogs!" It is comfortingly stereotypical and cliche. Also, Old Style! Its so watery, but it tastes like a baseball game. And you don't have to get up. They just walk past your seat.

There is alot about me that's changed since I moved here, but one of the biggest things (as most people can attest to) is how living here makes you (well, me) a sports fan. There's something to be said about living 10 blocks from a national sports landmark. And it'll change you, if you let it. Plus, its super fun. Really, I promise. Baseball games are fun. If only because its a large, open air bar with lots of boys running in circles on the field.

mile...after...nope, just one

So I now go to the gym 5 days a week (when I can). This is a change from my usual never ever going to the gym ever policy, but apparently my metabolism has decided to just stop. Like Stop. Food goes in my mouth and directly to my muffin top. The choices were to stop eating, or work out. Obviously option 1 is a horrible choice. I LOVE eating. So I have started working out.

I normally alternate between an hour of weight machines and an hour on the elliptical and I try to throw some sits ups and stretching in at the end. And I have seen some weight loss, which is awesome because I still eat as though its going to get taken away from me at any minute. But I am still having muffin top/bingo wing issues.

Apparently, according to my "trainer" the best way to deal with these monsters is straight up running. So I have made myself start running. On weight days I force myself to run a mile before I do anything else. It is a nightmare. It makes my shins and my feets and my back hurt, probably because a- treadmills are terrible and b- I have crappy shoes and c- I am easily the worst.runner.ever.

Aside from the painfulness of running, the thing that gets me is the delirious tedium of it. I listen to music or watch tv which helps, for sure, but eventually my brain starts to wander and I have an existential crisis and complete mental break down.

Here's how it goes.

Oh, I like this song. This song reminds me of high school. Its weird that I still listen to music from high school. I should probably listen to newer music but I think everything is whiny and there is too much guitar. Oh man, high school. That was the best worst time ever. No not even. It was just lame. Why did I think it was so important? High School was useless. I didn't really learn anything. Well, I mean I guess I learned some stuff. But mostly I just was skinny and awkward and I had bad skin. Oooophf. Man I was weird looking in high school. And then college. College was a little bit better I guess. Well, I mean, college was a pretty sweet time. I really had no responsibility and I ate everything and drank everything and still looked pretty great except for the skin. The skin was always bad. I wish I could be in college again. HOW HAVE I ONLY BEEN RUNNING FOR TWO MINUTES?! Why am I doing this to myself? Why can't I just be happy how I am? Am I ever going to be satisfied with anything in my life? Ugh, is there any other way to lose the muffin top? Maybe I'll just buy bigger jeans. But if you buy bigger jeans the terrorists WIN. I HAVE to be almost done right? Wrong. Maybe I can just do a half mile today because I worked with kids. Oh, come on, that's horse pucky. Lets do this.

And then I let myself get distracted by Fox News or Pardon the Interruption or whatever other crap tv is on. And eventually after 10 agonizing minutes I'm done. People say that it will get easier which, at this rate, will happen in 10 years. There is something to be said about the sadistic nature of making yourself run so you look better in jeans. I try not to think about it when I'm not running though.

If people have any good music recommendations, they would be appreciated.

tradition

I thought that I didn't really like Easter when I started writing this post, and then I realized despite its flaws (ham, not as good as lamb or turkey) its got some serious bonuses (Peeps! Robin's Eggs! Cute dresses!). I think my favorite part of it is all the traditions that my family has discovered, lost, and rediscovered along the way.

This was the first Easter I spent with someone else's family (as opposed to with friends or alone with a 104 degree fever which was Easter 2007). I was somewhat terrified about the proper etiquette when experiencing a new Easter. Do I teach everyone the egg game? Do I sit quiet and hope that some else brought an Easter Pinata? Should I tell someone that its not actually Easter if you don't have a mimosa?

Because I am so very awkward in social situations I told everyone else (ie - all the people I would have been playing with if I was at home) I really wanted to play the egg game but then once I was sitting at dinner I got shy and realized that my traditions are mine, and no one else actually has to care or participate. So I kept silent. Until Boyfriend insisted we play. So we played the egg game. His family was willing to oblige although I think they filed this in their "weird East Coast girl" file (which is probably pretty thick at this point).

Everything was fine after this. I had gotten my Easter goobs out and felt like the holiday had actually happened (although it almost made me miss my family more, also -- still no mimosas). I was happily eating food that was eerily similar to all the food I am used to - and so I was happily making myself a ham and potato roll sandwich, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I hear,

"Are you making a sandwich?"

All of a sudden all eyes are on me. I look down at the sandwich in my hand with a face of guilt.

"Um, Yes? Is that all right?"

My family has been making ham and potato roll sandwiches for years. Its not just an Easter tradition, its a forever tradition - is it rude or completely inappropriate to do in mixed company? I was PANICKED.

"Yeah...its fine," I was told hesitantly.

I looked around at all these faces that are still somewhat unfamiliar and put me a little on edge. I quickly finish my sandwich and eat grab for something else to eat, something I know how to eat correctly...

But suddenly my world is upside-down because if you can't put sliced honey ham on a potato roll, what can you do?

I eat slowly, so as not to draw attention to myself. Once again insanely self conscience. Is there a wrong way to eat a deviled egg? Potatoes?

About five minutes later, boyfriends Brother takes ham, and a roll and makes his own sandwich.

Its nice to start a new tradition.

Can I just say...

Sarah Palin scares the ever Manolo Blahnik loving crap out of me...

I'll expound on this later, but for right now...I am afraid. I am more terrified of this woman than driving over the Bay Bridge. And that, my friends, is saying something.

Its here! Its here!

I just bought my first Cubs tickets of the season, which means Spring is FINALLY here. This winter was actually surprisingly less painful than winters past... maybe because I spent so much of it indoors. And I'm sure the trip to Hawaii helped somewhat.

But it doesn't matter anymore because I have cubs tickets for April 26! And they're playing my beloved Nationals!! Horray!

Cutter

For the past week I've been teaching at a school. Its actually kind of awesome, there are some kids whose parents have to work during Spring Break, so they bring us in to give the kids something fun to do during the break. I really like it, and the kids (on a whole) are fairly awesome. Some of them remembered me from last year which is impressive because I meet people and six hours later have no idea who they are. And they're all about hugs. And who doesn't love hugs?

Anyway - they are a rowdy group, which is to be expected. They're 1st-4th graders, they come from rough home lives (some of them) and they're on Spring Break which is when they're supposed to be getting the nutty out. So normally I chalk up their insanity to you know, being kids. But there is one thing that drives me completely bonkers.

They have some SERIOUS issues with lines. Primarily the whole standing in them and the proper etiquette that surrounds that. We work with 60 kids most days, divided into 6 groups of 10. So at least six times a day (if not more)- I hear, "He Cutted!!" or some variation therein. For some reason, this bugs me far more than anything else they do including stuff that might get them super hurt or super hurts me.

I have developed my own way of dealing with it, which is to say that the "line" they are in doesn't matter - I am going to call on the person who looks like most interested in participating and is being the most respectful. This works for the most part, but they still find ways to get REAL.EMOTIONAL about the order in which they get to do skills (this is also so bizarre to me, because they all are going to get to go the exact same number of times no matter what and if it were me, I'd want to go last so I could make sure that I did better than everyone else...but I am pretty neurotic for a seven year-old.

Anyway, today I was thinking about this and how totally ridiculous it is but then I got to thinking about me, right now, and how I would lose my ever Pat Benatar loving mind if someone cut in line. Not so much for fun things, but like the bank. Oh man, if someone cut at the bank, I'd lose it. Not out loud, probably, but under my breath and for sure in a text message to someone. Its weird how focused we are on lines, and how I am probably jacking these kids up for life by rocking their world with this whole, "there is no line" thing. Because lines are an essential part of our culture - and not just dbag Americans, but people stand in line all over the word.

In retrospect, I should have just taught them all a valuable lesson about how cutting in line is wrong and its going to get you a lot of dirty looks when you get older...but instead I just make my own life a lot easier on a day to day basis. Which is probably a much more valuable lesson about the future.

Pie in the sky and other things...

As promised - here are some tart pictures. Like I said before, it was surprisingly easy although the raspberry topping I thought was going to coagulate, but instead it stayed really runny and got everywhere and made everything sticky. When I make it again, I will just put raspberries on top and have the sauce on the side. Anyway here it is before raspberry sauce:
And after I poured the sauce but before it got all over everything.
Everyone said it tasted really good, which is all that matters.

And in non-Suzy Homemaker news - my March Madness pool is OVER. All of my final 4 picks are out of the tournament all ready - this is shocking and depressing especially after years past. When my baby sister is doing better than me in picking college basketball teams I hang my head in shame (although, she is about to go to college and I am long out of it - so I guess she should be better at it than I).

This was my social weekend, which was lovely. I have become quite the homebody in my old age, but I still know how to get down. I think the homebody-ness comes from wanting to save money and having something pretty phenomenal to come home to and watching my weight and all sorts of other things. Also, I just was looking over Boyfriend's shoulder when I saw an atrocious picture of me recently posted on facebook. And I want to cry. Its awful. Not cute or funny awful, just really unattractive and I can't untag it. I have to wait 2 more weeks before it will disappear. I know this isn't an actual sad thing like world hunger but for me, its pretty miserable. Does that make me totally self centered? Yes. But what can you do?

And with that, I am done blogging for the night. I just got really depressed really fast.

Peter Pan

So I recently made a tag cloud for this blog (you can see it down below, on the left). And I realized that while probably only about half of my blogs are tagged at this point - growing up is way out in first place. I never realized how much I talk about growing up on this sucker - although I'm not surprised. I am growing up, y'all. Every day and in every way.

Yesterday I was performing in an improv show for kids at an elementary school's literacy night. There I was dancing around like a fool and I had a flash back to my days in elementary school watching people do the same kind of cockamammy-bull honkey and thinking about how much I wanted to do "that." I wanted to be up on a stage performing for people. And what's really funny is that it was only later in life (when I got to be moody and 12) that I decided I wanted to be a movie star. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a d-bag on stage. And now, I am. Which is kind of awesome in a bizarre twisty way. And I think that it is the reason that I keep doing this show even though it eats up a lot of my time and energy, because little kid me wants to do it.

And today - right now actually, I am making a tart. Not a pie. A tart. A raspberry and lime tart. Right now it looks like this:
Boyfriend went out and bought me this 8" tart pan with a removable fluted rim. About 2 months ago if you had given me a quiz and asked me what I thought a fluted rim was, I would have given you an honest answer but I really wouldn't have seen myself owning one.

But then it was time to decide what I was going to make for this week's upcoming pot luck and I had a memory of Cougar making this tart and how I thought it was incredibly fancy and grown-up back then and I still do. So now I'm making it. Its much easier than I was anticipating thus far. And it was an opportunity to buy a new kitchen toy.

Kitchen toys, btw, have replaced barbies (of my very young years), American Girl accessories (of my somewhat young years) and dance clothes (of the rest of the years in my Mom's house) as the thing I collect. I know that if I wait to get married people will give me this stuff for free but this seems to make more sense at this juncture in my life.

And don't worry - I'm not too grown up. For dinner yesterday, I had this:
Yes, that's right, a Shamrock Shake. For dinner. Like a grown-up. And also, you might notice if you check the time stamp - I am writing this at 11:30 PM. I am making a tart at midnight. Because I didn't have time earlier today and tomorrow morning I'm going to watch rugby and I'll be too drunk to be able to make it in the afternoon.

So I'm growing up and I'm getting more okay with it. I was talking with a friend about how we know people who are a few years older than us who are still acting like 23-year-old disasters and how if we grow up now we might miss out on some stuff. But I look at all the older friends I have and the people who seem to be heading in the best direction(s) are the ones who know how to cook and who do grown up things like own property. Those are the people I want to be like when I grow up.

Luck o' the Italian

I'm an idiot - obviously yesterday's blog and today's blogs count. Making my total 25 out of 30. Pretty impressive...

Anyway - today is St. Patrick's Day which happens (despite my co-worker Eli's arguments) every March 17th. And, as someone who has NO Irish blood in them at all - I think I've developed an affinity for the culture.

In elementary school - today was dominated by the Irish Jig Contest which.was.FIXED. I swear. I never won, which is ridiculous because I am/was/will ever be a Phenomenal Irish Jigger (which is not something you should say quickly as you will raise eyebrows of consternation).

Anyway, some years I would make it to the finals and then lose. Because, see, the preliminary round was judged by the teachers and high-school teacher helpers, who tended to be fairer judges as they were so burnt out they didn't really care that much. The finals were judged by the Specials Teachers (who we should have just called The Russians to get it over with) and they picked the same two kids every year. It was such bull crap. And the winners got these ceramic shamrocks that the art teacher made, and I coveted one of them with my whole heart and never won. And believe it or not, that probably had a more profound influence on why I am the jaded bitter d-bag I am today, that you think.

St. Patty's Day didn't really matter again until college (duh). My first two years of college I didn't drink much due to my lack of friends and lack of proper identification. My junior year I cleared all that up and became a raging st. patty's day lunatic.

It wasn't until my senior year that there was any photographic evidence though. I'm not going to lie - I miss the age where digital cameras were a rarity and posting photographs on the internet even more so...at least back then when I did dumb stuff you had to be there to witness it.

Now let me be straight - in case you're reading this because you want to offer me a job or marry me or something in the future - I never did anything illegal. I mean, I probably jaywalked, but that's it. Everything else was totally above the bar/wire/thing that keeps you from getting arrested.

What happens is that the rules of proper social conduct go out the window. I tend to find it acceptable to take (normally with some sort of verbal permission) people's clothing or accessories. I have a habit of throwing things- mostly in celebration. I have no qualms about demanding that people give me things, or do things I think would be entertaining.

This is a very broad overview of my behaviors- and if you want more details - feel free to email me (as most of my SPD stories are hilarious but totally inappropriate for a blog my parents read).

I shall give you one example - last year, St. Patrick's Day itself was fairly tame - we went to the South Side Parade the weekend before which really demands its own personal blog due to its enigma-ness. And then the night of, Boyfriend and I were just trolling the streets of Wrigleyville looking for some cornbeef and cabbage (for him) and a salad/cheeseburger (for me).

We finally found a place and many of the people around were wearing the Chi-rish beads I had been lusting after most of the week.

Those Miller Lite marketing people are flipping geniuses. This is a fantastic ad campaign. Hats off.

Anyway, there were mardi gras-esque beads with the Chi-rish emblem on them and at no point did I see them passed out. People just had them. And I wanted them.

So after we had eaten dinner and are still relatively sober, we're heading to our next destination, I find a cop on the street outside the bar wearing one of the Chi-rish bead necklaces.

Rachel: Excuse Me. Where did you get those beads?

Cop: I don't know, someone just gave them to me.

Rachel: Can I have them?

Boyfriend: about to die from embarrassment

Cop: Sure. Happy St. Patrick's Day.

And with that, they were mine. On a normal day - I don't ever walk up to cops unless, you know, I'm a victim of a crime OR they're Chris Meloni. But because of the date, this felt perfectly acceptable.

So now I have Chi-rish beads which aren't quite a ceramic shamrock necklace, but then again - I'm Italian, so I'll take what I can get.

No-book Update (Hyperlink-tastic!)

So, tomorrow is the end of the blogging challenge. I don't know how Anniebelle feels, but I feel like while I did not achieve my goal - I came far closer than I thought I would. This was a weird time slot to try this little game. Between moving and vacation these 30 days have been pretty insanely full and not particularly blog-worthy. I posted 23 times in 30 days (some of those were duplicates, so we're just going to count them as extra credit). That's a standard Rachel score.

Anyway - I am getting more in tune with my blogging muses and am enjoying getting into a blogging habit (which tends to be think about what to blog about all day and then write it at night, although there have been some midday blogs when I'm afraid I'll get distracted and forget what I want to write about). So I am extending the challenge to Anniebelle once again - another 30 days. Winner takes all. Pow! You in?

Also in these past 30 days I have not once logged into my facebook. And, while I know this is probably disappointing to some out there - I totally miss it. No less than 5 times have I missed out or almost missed out on things because people facebook invited me and didn't remember (or remembered at the last second) that I wasn't checking it. I miss pictures. I know there are new pictures up of me (I have sneaked a peak when other people have been on the book - I am only human, people) and new wall posts and while I haven't read any of them yet (my willpower is growing) I want to.

I also don't know if things are happening. Like weddings and engagements and babies, mostly. But also birthdays and new jobs and new adventures. My friend, LS, went to Paris a week ago and I texted her a few days after the trip to find out how it was, and then realized it was possible that she was engaged now and I had no idea (luckily, she wasn't). Facebook is the communication tool of the present/future. And I miss it.

And what have I done with my time these past few weeks? Well, I would say I got marginally more work done than I had in the past, which has been good. But mostly I've just found other things to read. Anniebelle turned me onto Dear Baby which is an adorable blog that will speed your biological clock up to warp speed (although you realize after awhile that you only want a baby right now if you get Her baby and Her life to go with it - do not worry Dear Baby Blogger - I am not planning to steal your life/baby).

I also spend an absurd amount of time on Texts From Last Night (always funny, always. But worrisome, as these are the voices of our future), Awkward Family Photos, Go Fug Yourself, This is Why Your Fat and any of the other blogs along T-bone's side bar.

I've wikipediaed a fair amount, which doesn't really count because I did that even when I was on facebook. I love wikipedia so hard. Recent wikipedia reads have included: Supernumerary body parts, Foie Gras, and List of Aircraft Hijackings

And mostly I have stalked the crap out of people. I have read archives of peoples' blogs (some are people I like, some are people I know, and some are people who just write well/have interesting lives), I've googled people (could you imagine that if, 13 years after the fact, when you were googled, your wedding announcement to your now-ex husband was the first thing to come up? I'd be pissed).

And as for those hours away from the computer? Well, those aren't materializing quite how they should, but its been cold and rainy outside which hasn't helped. Again, I am a victim of timing.

So the blogging will continue and once its gets pretty (if it gets pretty before Easter) I will go play outside. But also, I am stalking you, so get cool with it.

tighty Tyrannosaurus

So, I try not to get too graphic on this blog but there has been one thing on my mind all day.

My underwear is too small.

I am only kind of snobby when it comes to underwear. I'll wear whatever is bought for me, and if I'm buying normally there has to be some sort of deal involved. I tend to buy at Victoria's Secret or American Eagle because I'm consumerist and blah blab but that is not the point of this blog.

I will occasionally purchase underwear else where and, about a year ago, I bought some cute lil boy shorts at Urban Outfitters because they were like $3 and adorable.

I bought the size I always buy because, well, its the size I always buy and have always bought. And I get them home and after wearing them once I realize that while there is coverage everywhere there needs to be, the elastic around the leg holes is not elastic-y enough. This is tedious, so I buy a pair of the size bigger as an experiment (this was back when I had an absurd amount of expendable income). The size bigger fit great and they are in the constant rotation of underwears.

And the smaller pair? They still live in the dresser. I hardly ever wear them because I tend to remember, before I put them on, how uncomfortable they are. But this morning I was sleepy and it was early and its been awhile since I've done laundry. And so at around 11:30 AM I remembered and it for sure affected my mood (negatively) for the rest of the day.

So why not throw them away? Well, that's probably about to happen now because I am grouchy, but before? Because they are adorable. White with a pink waistband and a floral pattern. And intersperced within the flowers are teeny pairs of tyrannosaurus rexes. So little and they (would) make me so happy were they not restricting the blood flow to my lower extremities.

Anyway, thats my underwear story.

I picked my bracket this morning - I couldn't even tell you who I picked, its hard to pick basketball teams when you haven't watched a single game all season.

All Done.

So Wheel Weekend is over, and I learned a lot. But mostly I hurt myself today and so became well aware of the fact that despite my best efforts I am not eight or twelve years-old anymore.

The injury was simple enough, I was told to keep my arms straight no matter what, and then of course, when I fell down, I kept my arms straight and didn't bend them to brace for the impact. Dumb, but I was following directions.

Thankfully, I did not break anything, just jammed up some ligaments. And I'll be fine in a few days, but for now I can't really lift things, or push or pull anything heavy with my left hand. It could be way worse as the left-hand is the writing, page turning, and fork holding hand in this body. So right now there is just dull pain that gets sharper when I forget that its there and try to do anything.

I feel kind of like an idiot because as much time as I spend convincing myself that things look easy and accessibly, I spend as much (if not more) telling myself that I can still do all of these things and push my body like I could as a kid. And its frustrating when I am (painfully) reminded that I am old and brittle.

Wheel weekend was fun and I'm excited (once healed) to keep learning more. There is a wheel weekend with a show in October. I would really like to perform in the show, probably not by myself and for no more than a minute or so, but I haven't done anything choreographed on stage in awhile and it would be lovely to return to that.

And until then, taking pictures is just as good.
And in exciting news - it is going to be in the 50's this week! Hooray! Flip flop weather!

Big Wheels Keep on Turning

Today I did this:


And this:

And a lot of other stuff that is going to leave me sore and bruised.

Its "Wheel Weekend" in Chicago (what, you didn't get the memo?) and this is my first year of participating. I'm doing a coaching session since I'd only ever spent about 30 miserable minutes strapped into one of those suckers before 8 AM this morning (ergo - was not quite ready for a workshop).

Have you ever seen a Gym Wheel? Chances are - probably not. But they are incredibly cool and the rarity of them in the US makes them (to my elitist self) even cooler.

Anyway - youtube some gym wheel. Here. I'll Help.

So here's the thing with me and gym wheel (and really anything I decide I want to do) - I convince myself that it is really easily. Like absurdly easy. And I sleep soundly at night, nestled in my insane delusions of the simplicity of life.

And then of course when I try gym wheel/mini golf/painting/sewing/figure skating I realize that I am a major idiot and of course these things are some what challenging (except mini golf - that I am just terrible at for no good reason).

The thing with Gym Wheel is I think I know a lot about it (because I see it every day) but in reality, I know very little about the logistics. The people I see doing it most of the time are fantastic and have been practicing almost every day for years. So I've been watching it for a year now and so I think that I could do all these things in a year if I started working at them now, conveniently forgetting that that is not the way this works.

So I tried it today. And I held my own for my very first day. I was successful in all of the beginner skills even the vaulting (which was my fear). And I tried spiral! I was being spotted the whole time, but I tried it. Which is a big step for me. But still I was honestly disappointed in the fact that I didn't get on that sucker and whip out some crazy shit like naturally.

I have two days of workshop left, plus an open-ended opportunity to mess around when I want to, so I'm hoping this is a beginning, not a...middle.

gigglechat

I spend a lot of time on gchat/AIM at work because interaction with the outside world helps keep me from going insane. While there are those out there who wouldn't consider these dialogues "writing," I am going to have to disagree. Its writing and its funnier than most of the rice pudding crap I put up here. Especially because I have some funny friends.

Currently I am trying to help my friend J-dog take over for me at one of my jobs when I leave at the end of the month.

me: from your resume I can see you are totally over qualified for the position how do I tell her that is not the case
J-dog: i know, that is my problem for everything it's like I should enter an objective & put: slacking

Sunflower Pose Off

One of the sweet things about one of my jobs (which at the end of the month will become my former job) is that they offer a free yoga class for employees on Wednesday nights. Its one of those things that I try to take advantage of, but because its free I don't put enough intrinsic value in it, so I skip it most weeks.

I managed to go yesterday and it was nice and yoga-like until we were doing "sunflower" where you stand in second position (so with your feet wider apart than your hips) and your feet turned out (so that your toes are facing the corners of the room instead of the front) and then you plie (bend your knees but keep your heels on the ground and chest up) and do a port-a-bras (make outwards semi-circles with your arms meeting at the top and the bottom).

While we were doing it, the yoga teacher, who has the voice of a Splenda packet, keeps telling us that it is okay to stick your butt out a little bit to get a deeper stretch and I rolled my eyes. IN YOGA. Which is like the opposite of everything that Mr. Yoga wanted this to be about.

Here's the thing. After 20 years of thinking about movement in regards to ballet, sticking your butt out while bending your knees is Unacceptable. For SO many reasons. First of all, it looks atrocious and its not good for your back and it goes from being a good stretch and a pose that can almost be flattering to something looking akin to a dog dropping a duece.

So I flat out ignored everything she said and continued to do grand plies in second, knowing that I was right and she was wrong. And that brought me inner peace.

Stopwatch

So according to Oprah (pretty much the most reliable source out there) - one of the most important parts of eating "smart" (please note that that is "smart" not "healthy") is not eating after 9 PM. It makes a ton of sense when you think about it - your metabolism shuts down at night which means you just let crap sit in there blah blah fatty mcfatpants.

I have been trying to be fairly vigilant about this whole Cinderella-esque thing. Please note, I still eat cookies for breakfast and icing on a spoon - so I am keeping a fairly level head about losing weight.

The problem is my life is completely non-conducive to this most nights unless I pack like a flippin' squirrel or spend an absurd amount of money on out-there-in-the-world food. Most nights when I leave my house around 7 or 8 AM I do so with the knowledge that I won't be home before 8 PM. If I eat breakfast at 8 - there are still 12 unaccounted hours in that day. If you're a Wookie like me, that is at least 2 meals. I do pride myself on small meals, but still that is a LOT of food storing and when you also factor in the gym clothes and the laptop and everything else.

So I only eat one meal in that time which leaves me grouchy beyond belief (no seriously ask anyone who hangs out with me) and then I come home and its like 8:52. Sigh.

So I don't eat, because Oprah SAYS. SO. and then I sit and do work and watch Lost and I'm starving.

Thanks Oprah.

mmmm. .

The best thing about Frozen Pizza Sunday, is cold pizza Monday.

Delicious.

today

Today was weird.

So long kid

Today we celebrated Boyfriend's birthday at his parent's house with suburban Mexican food and cake with icing roses (my favorite).

Before we were allowed to watch him open presents we had to watch him sort through his childhood, which was about the same level of entertaining just a little dustier.

His parents have made that quintessential parental move of subconsciously telling you how much they don't love you by turning your childhood bedroom into a guest room instead of keeping it a shrine to you. Not to say that Boyfriend's parents don't love him, but still...

So we got to the house and in the living room were stacks of boxes and piles of old stuff, most of it has been in Boyfriend's bedroom for the better part of 15 years and so he dutifully went through his childhood and threw away the memories that were less important and valuable.

While its true that no one should keep EVERYTHING they obtain over a lifetime (although without these people, the show Hoarders wouldn't exist, which would be sad) it is still hard to get rid of things. So many things from childhood are hard to remember anyway, mostly because of the booze and the TV plot lines that come up later in life to take their place that I feel like we need trinkets and photos to help us, and so having to decide which of those memories we toss in the goodwill pile is difficult.

And lets be real - 3 or 4 boxes of stuff were saved. Some of it is practical life stuff and some of it was stuff I demanded be saved (namely a boy scout uniform that is going to make a sweet Halloween costume) and then the rest are the most valuable memories.

In Boyfriend's case there were the obvious things like photos and college graduation stuff but then there was also:
About 20 trophies and plaques talking about how amazing he was in high school both academically and sport-ily
An official paper with his SAT scores
Letterman jacket (no seriously - with his name and captain stars and everything. Sick)
A tee-shirt signed by Billy Joe from Green Day
A Colts poster

This is an interesting cross section of someone, I think. The things they think are important from childhood.

My sister kicked me out of my childhood bedroom when I went to college and all my stuff got put up in the attic for the most part so its been out of sight/mind for a good eight years but eventually (read: May of this year) I am going to have to start the process and I'm curious what I will keep with the proverbial gun to my head. What was the most important part of my childhood?

No idea. Lets just hope it doesn't come to that.

And then...

I think one of the things I find hardest about daily blogging is coming up with crap to talk about.

I easily have one of the most mundane lives, ever which is de-pressing, but is probably not going to change anytime soon. Pair that with the fact that I am now hyper-sensitive to what I put on this thing (because apparently I am the worst person in the entire history of the whole universe ever hyperbole) - I am left with not much to talk about.

I have been reading blogs for a long time. Tomato Nation, Pamie were my two first favorites. These people are complete strangers and yet I feel like I know a lot about them, but would never ever know them if I met them on the street. And now I read my friends blogs and strangers blogs and people who I used to knows blogs just because I like learning about other people's ideas.

Most people I've met or rather have read things I've written have said I am a good writer, which is a compliment I've always taken with a grain of salt - surely it is much more difficult to be a bad writer - being a good writer is just about writing how you would talk and about things you care about (or can pretend to care about for money) and taking it from there.

But now I've realized how easy it is to be a bad writer. This is bad writing. This whole blog challenge thing has back-fired in a truly spectacular way to make me a WORSE writer. Take that 6th grade English - it is not just about how much you do it. Its about being willing to write about things that matter and on this blog I am just not willing to do that anymore.

The things I should be writing about are things I don't really think the world a-cares about and b-really needs to or should know. Back when I was young and the internet was trendier than leggings (good times...) I had no qualms about putting my business out there because I felt as though, while I didn't know who was reading this thing - I for sure knew who wasn't. And that was nice.

Now I am second guessing everything, wondering what is being misinterpreted or taken to mean something its not. So my new goal is to write better blog entries - even if they are one sentence long - I want it to be like the sickest sentence ever (PS - sentence has no "a's" in it?! No way! Thanks red spell checker line).

This will not be a rehashing of my day or a place to dump my emo-baggage (which there is way more of these days then I thought possible for the age of 25) it will be where I write. For-realz, y'all.

And now I'm stressed about my first sentence...too much pressure.

Dark Chocolate Macadamia Nuts - are pretty close to perfect even with the disturbing addition of protein to an otherwise blissfully empty caloried snack.

Abysmal...

Back, baby

Okay - sorry about the blog drought. I just realized that my Hawaii posts were extra double lame because I was trying to write them while watching Lost, and if you have ever watched Lost, you know that doing anything while watching that show is pretty damned near impossible.

But I am back! And I am jet lagged! And I am sun-burnt! And I am bruised!

It was by-far the most active vacation of my entire life. Where I come from the most aerobic activity you get while on vacation is turning over so you tan evenly. This time I hiked and climbed and got beaten up by surf and hiked and climbed some more.

It was amazing, even though I am pretty sore all over, both from the climbing and the falling down a volcanic rock face. I did not fall far, and the damage wasn't too severe, but man are these bruises serious.

And we Lost-nerded. it. up. Like Whoa. Let's be real folks, if you let yourself get into this show, it will get you. It will take you in and beat you up like a Pimp named Slickback. And you will crawl back begging for more.

I spent a lot of my time wondering why in the world Maimees would ever even consider moving back to the Chi, but then I remembered my life in Nantucket...and how having true, amazing friends is what it takes to make an island a home.

And now some more pictures - the rest will be posted on Picassa in a hot second -

Luau and Ohana

Lost locale searching, and Hawaii experiences continue. I went to THE swap meet, and A Luau today both were amazing. Blogging seems like a waste of my time as I have a lot of other things I want to spend my time doing - like sleeping and watching Lost.