Pop. Obsessive.

We watched 11 hours of House of Cards on Sunday. Not by accident, but because that was what I wanted. Actually, I wanted to watch the whole gee-dee thing, but we both had early Monday mornings.  So we'll watch the last two episodes tonight.

I've listened to the Book of Mormon soundtrack no less than 10 times all the way through in the last four days. Its my cooking music, my writing music, my get all-your-shit-off-the-floor-let's-live-like-grown-ups music.

Last Monday, I was having a pity-me day and found X-Files on Netflix. And immediately watched 6 episodes in a row, despite the fact that I've seen them all and I quickly realized they were not as amazing as I remember, and I had started watching them on the kitchen TV but was too enthralled to move into the living room, so just sat on a dining room chair until my thighs were near-permanently marked with their wicker design.

I now read books by the gallon and an entire New Yorker in a single day.

When I was little (and by little I mean, between the ages of 3 and 16), I would watch movies and TV shows over and over and over again until someone (my Mom) told me to knock it the eff off. Which would mean it was time to go up to my room and pick up a book I had read no less than five times and read it all over again.

When I imbibe pop culture, I do it to excess. Since childhood, I've had this real strange compulsion to over dose on my favorite things. And strangely, after I've gotten my fill, my feelings about them don't change. I still love the book Wise Child, even though I've read it no less than 50 times. When Twister comes on I'll still sit down and watch it, despite the summer where I watched it twice a day for over a week.

I am trying to figure out why. Why I live like this. Instead of savoring Lost, I gulped it up in enormous up-all-night bites. While I have Netflix to blame for being my easy access to the good stuff, there is still a missing reason. How come I couldn't just watch a few episodes of Kevin Spacey being all priggish and Southern and then move onto something else? I let myself get drunk on Downton Abbey not just the first time, but any time I am left to my own devices for more than a day or so. Shouldn't I just want a sip now and a sip later?

I know I'm not the only one who is like this, in fact, the advent of this modern age of technology-fueled hedonism has only made more people just like me. But why? Why do we live like this? Is it because we're confident that something else just as good will come along soon enough, so no need to treasure this one? Is because we're afraid that someone might take this one away, so snatch it up before it goes? Is it because we're bored? Because our lives lack their own excitement?

While I continue to have some free time on my hands, I will ponder why we all take giant bites before we're done chewing what is already in our mouths. But first, I have a hot date to figure out whats going to happen in the last two episodes of House of Cards.

Fruit. Cake.

Sometimes, when you're unemployed, you think up some brilliantly stupid ideas.

At Becky's birthday potluck, I put myself in charge of dessert. With one of our good friends up the spout and craving fruity goodness non-stop, I thought I shouldn't just make a fruit salad, I should make fruit art.

Some notes if you want to make your own fruit art:

Use the biggest cookie sheet you have. Letters take up way more room than you think. I used one that was 19" across - it might have made more sense to use a standard rectangular one, but it wasn't as aesthetically pleasing as the round one. Dumb, but pretty (just like me).

Use the smallest fruit you're working with to craft the letters - blueberries were so much easier to manipulate than the pineapple or the grapes. On a lighter colored cookie sheet/platter they would have stood out stunningly.

Blackberries/raspberries are a waste of time for anything except decoration, they fall apart too easily and are too hard to manipulate.

Cut stuff to make it work for you. I'm not sure why I insisted for most of the process to use fruit as it naturally appears, but once I started cutting grapes in half and quarters they filled the spaces exactly how I wanted them to and didn't roll around which made things so much easier.

Be patient. Its a frustrating process the first time you do it. Guess and check. Next time I want to use cantaloupe and other melons cubed as the borders around the letters. And I'll probably take a better picture before my friends destroyed it in the name of being hungry.

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.

All the things.

I talked about this girl a few months back in a TBIF. And now she has a fancy new blog and a dynamite giveaway.




This blog is practically meaningless. Why wouldn't I use it to potentially score myself some sweet.sweet stuff? Guys, a cookbook? Etsy swag? You KNOW I love Etsy swag.

Kristen's blog is here. Read it. Oogle at her pictures. Give her a virtual belly rub.

So this is me entering her contest. If you go and you enter and you win. Ugh, I'll be so mad, but I'll still love you...but I'll be mad.

Adventures in Messy

Apparently, there's this thing in cooking called "cleaning as you go."

This is not a methodology I ascribe to, clearly.

In other news, the cookies I made were ah-maaaazing.

teej bone marrow

T-Bone got half a blog post back in August celebrating what an amazing and life charging friend she has been (that was supposed to be life changing but my phone autocorrected it to charging and I have to agree. She tied a turbo booster to my 19 year-old social self and stepped on the gas) - but it didn't even mention what a crazy-awesome human being she is in the grand scheme of the entire world.

Today (on what will now be known as T-bone day), she donated bone marrow so that a little boy she has never met will get a second chance at a full, happy, healthy life. She was his 1 UP, his little green mushroom, his 100 coins.

I like to think that when put in the same position any number of people I know would do the exact same thing. My late teens-early 20's were full of self-serving assbuckets, but as I round the bend towards social security, I surround myself with do-gooders and well-wishers and people who write thank you notes and call you when they say they're going to call.

But here's the thing, none of them have given up parts of their insides. No one I know is even in the bone marrow registry (and if you are, let a sister know so I can sing your praises too). I know I'm not. Here's why: I am terrified. Straight scared shitless that my number will come up and it'll be my turn to be the bravest little toaster.

Boyfriend and I have been talking about giving blood for a couple months now and we manage to keep putting it off. Every time the opportunity arises we manage to be busy. One of us is working out for the first time in 3 months (him) or suddenly feels like they really need to focus on the job hunt (me). We cannot even manage to get over our fear of needles enough to do this very basic thing that most people I know have done a bazillion times. My brother practically majored in it.

So the idea of having a surgery, a real honest to god, under the knife surgery is about an ocean away from my comfort level.

And yet T-bone did it. Like it ain't no thang. I am knocked on my ass by how selfless and inspiring she has been. She wins at T-bone Day.

In want of an Obstinate, Headstrong Girl

"For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?"

Today is Pride and Prejudice's 200th birthday. And let me tell you, Lizzie Bennett looks good for 200. Still all sharp and sassy. If they had said it in those times, I feel like this book would have been full of, "you go girl's" (but sadly people only said that 100 years ago, except my Dad, who continually insists its on the verge of a comeback).

I didn't fall in love with Austen until my 20's, when I needed her. I needed beautiful words that made me think and strong women and a few good fairy tales. Now our love affair is serious business, especially with P&P and so: Happy Birthday Charlotte Lucas Collins! And Miss Kitty Bennett! And the Gardeners!

I celebrated by listening to a live reading of Pride & Prejudice (thank you JASNA!), getting there just in time for Lydia and Wickham to run off and ruin everything (per usual).

If this important event didn't make it onto your google calendar, here are some ways you can celebrate Pride and Prejudice all year long.

Get the book. I guarantee you can find it at your local book store for anywhere from $2 - $50, depending on just how fancy your pants are.

And read it. Fall in love with Mr. Darcy all over again/for the first time.

Get real drunk, and then the next day nurse your hangover with Colin Firth jumping in a pond.

Read my blogs on P&P and some junk.

Read people who write better than me (and P.D. James). Like this. 

Watch this Wishbone episode:

(Side Note: holy shit! I didn't really think this was going to exist when I started writing this blog but it DOES. The internet is the BEST.)

Then come see the Ladies of Improvised Jane Austen do it up all proper and ladylike, except when we play dudes, then watch us put one foot up on a chair so our balls can hang out.

Get one of these iphone chargers. I'm obsessed, I want one so badly. How classy can your bedside table get? Seriously, everyone go buy one and tell them you heard about it from me so I can get one for free (that's how blogging works, right?).

Wear this shirt, or this scarf (which I own and love) or some other random etsy doo-dads  and show off your lit nerd love with pride.

Finally, if you want to your lady friend to do....whatever - one night, when she's feeling all moody and sad (so, like, every night amIright?!) lean over and whisper,

"My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." 

Oooooh, you're gonna be giving out high fives tomorrow.

And remember, as Lady Jane herself said, "The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid."

Stop and Tell

After observing their behavior for over five years, I have really gotten to know the midwesterners as a people.

I've discovered a new favorite tell that 60% of the time, works every time.

When a midwesterner gets on a train or a bus (and I am talking about a corn-fed, directional-college-educated, cell-phone-holder-on-his-belt real Midwesterner, not one of those big-city-livin' Chicago types) - they will sit down and look around, not with the quick glance of "is there a goddamned pigeon on this train," but the slow and easy gaze of someone surveying the surrounding prairie, or soy bean fields or whatever you have out here.

I used to think they were scanning the train for any sort of unsavory characters who might give them a one way ticket to pick-pocket town. But, now I'm realizing that is the East Coast skeptic in me. What these people are eyeing for is some one to chat with.

They want someone to talk about the weather (here versus there), how noisy/bright/crowded/expensive things are, how proud they are of their son/niece/grandbaby for moving out to this big old city and how they just ate Ethiopian food for the first time (imagine that! with your hands and everything!).

Occasionally they'll catch the eye of someone who has a "kind soul" or who forgot their headphones at home and strike up this predictable dialogue other times, they'll just wait patiently with their companion (these folks never travel alone, that'd be asking for trouble) and eventually, if the fish aren't biting, they'll just spend the rest of their ride talking about at what stop they're getting off and how people in Chicago sure do keep to themselves.

Where have you been, Young Lady?

Ugh! I was doing so good with the once-a-day blog posting and then I tumbled off that wagon and into the waiting arms of some real bad shit.

So far 2013 has been less than spectacular on the things-to-get-amped-about scale. In fact, there hasn't really been a day when I haven't been forced to imbibe some bad news with a chaser of red wine and left over Christmas biscotti (the shining light in this crappy ocean).

The problem is - none of the bad things have happened to me, per se (except the broken toes. I'll talk about them at some point). They've all happened to people I love or people who are loved by people I love. Whatever. The point is - its not my right to put their business out there. So I won't. But let me tell you, if God is real, he is kind of a dick.

Even though I wasn't going to write about these bad things, it felt stupid and shallow to prance about writing about...whatever it is this blog is about (nothing, basically). So I struggled with that, and then I ate too much (as you do).

So now, I am saying - my bad, for ducking out on you like that - it was uncool of me. I just can't promise every day blogs anymore, because some days this year will be too full of sadness.

...AND! Some days will be too full of happiness because while life is straight-up garbage right now, I KNOW of some amazing events coming down the lane that are going to change liiiives. Seriously (again, not my business to talk about but, good things!). And on those days I am going to savor the everyloving stuffing out of the happiness and love that will be in the air and I'll get back to talking about pigeons and my inadequacies in the kitchen the next day.

Gone Girl

Oh Shit, Gone Girl, Oh Shit.

That was what I said, out loud, in text messages, and in my head, no less than 80 times while reading Gone Girl.

Some of the times (while babysitting) when I couldn't contain myself, were less appropriate than others (in bed at 2 in the morning, loud enough to freak out the cat at my feet).

In conclusion. I should read thrillers more. I remember learning at some point the "tricks" that go into making a thriller one of those page turner, couldn't-put-it-down books and then I judged thrillers. While I am humbled to admit that I got played like a teenage boy's acoustic guitar...I did. And I'll admit it. And it was awesome. 

One of the best parts of being unemployed is that I have had the time to inhale books. I'll sit down at 4 PM and won't get up until I am good and finished with a book. It's so satisfying to have enough time to read all the words I want every day. I am so spoiled. Ugh.

Gone Girl, while a thriller in every sense of the word, was so fun to read (although, as an unemployed woman in the midwest, also sliiiightly terrifying). It was also an interesting book to read right after The Light Between Oceans, so many different ways of dealing with marriage. Yikes. Best to stay away from that shit show.

Apparently Gillian Flynn (who wrote Gone Girl) lives in Chicago. I wonder how often she saw people like me on the red line, my face buried in the book, occasionally looking up to mouth,

"Oh Shit, Gone Girl. Oh shit."

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.

Cup of Change

Sometimes, nowadays, this is what Sunday Funday looks like.

With six friends, and a bucket of catching up to do. It's a nice change of pace.

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.

A Latter Day

On January 26, 2012, I put the following query out to the world of Facebook:

 

A little less than one year later, I saw the Book of Mormon sitting with 26 friends and +1's.

While, it was not the ideal way to ensure that I would be able to see the show, it worked out perfectly. If only because I rarely get so many hugs on a Thursday night. 

And like my facebook blog from earlier, literally, it was so crazy to see all these people from my past five years sitting together getting their musical on.

If you get a chance to see Book of Mormon (and really, you should). I highly, HIGHLY encourage you to do whatever you can to go into it without hearing any of the music of knowing any of the plot specifics before hand.

As someone said to one of my friends before the show, "I would kill to be hearing the soundtrack for the first time live."

Which is pretty much how I feel about all theater all the time. Seriously folks, just spend $50 and go see the show. I promise it will be worth it.

If you remember that this show is written by the same guys who did South Park who are no longer confined by FCC regulations, you will not be too shocked by the things that are said on stage.

Happy is a girl who gets to witness song & dance created in front of her eyes.

Birds

I have been using public transportation as my sole way of getting from heretothere for over 10 years. And if you include the years that I was a proud Metro Bus baby in DC, we're looking at almost half my life spent trusting civil servants to get me from place to place and the general public to not screw it up too much.

I very rarely have complaints about this way of life. Its much cheaper than owning a car. I could not care less what gas costs and so make much more interesting dinner party conversation. And what with all of the folks I see on a day to day basis, I have plenty of fodder for said dinner party conversation.

And while I have seen quite the cast of characters - nothing has ever really affected me. I've watched people get sick, use the train as their bathroom, use the train as their crack den, make out, break up, I've had people eye my wallet and my cellphone, I've been stuck due to a fire, a person on the tracks, a derailed train. People have said things, done things, and brought things on to trains and buses without me doing much more than momentarily lifting one eye from my New Yorker.

Until Yesterday.

Yesterday, I was on the brown line. I got off at Belmont and immediately onto the red line training waiting for us.

As the train left the station I was suddenly aware of unfamiliar movement. It took a second longer than it should have for me to realize that there were two pigeons on this train with me and the 15-or so other CTA riders. And in the next second, after I realized what was happening, I flipped my shit.

The woman next to me said in a calm voice that indicated that she had recently taken some sort of mood stabilizer that the birds were, "much more afraid of us than we were of them."

"Well, since I can go ahead and guarantee that no human is going to poop on a birds head on this train, I am going to have to disagree with you."

And then I was left with the Sofie's choice of what am I going to let this bird poop on? My hair? No. My favorite scarf. Hell No. I ended up going with my purse which I figured would probably be the easiest to clean and disinfect.

The scariest thing was that occasionally they would stop flying towards you. Like they would just stand on the floor and you would think that they had figured out how to ride the train like normal people. But then they would freak out again and come raging down the corridor.

The distance from Belmont to Addison has never felt so far. Finally we got to the station and everyone got up to the exit. I was standing with three other women, our faces pressed against the door. When, of course, there was that extra moment of the doors being closed when the panic renewed itself as we were now sitting ducks. Or whatever it is that pigeons hunt. So we all screamed and cursed and for that extra second, I felt closer to my Chicago brethren.

The doors opened, I raced to the adjacent car and sat down, thankful that the bird-poop-on-my-stuff scare had abated. I was catching my breath and running my hands over my head, trying to ensure that I really and truly was not covered in bird crap when the man next to me rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly at the crazy girl next to him.

These 7 days

I should have known on Monday at noon,  when the 7-month-pregnant woman next to me kicked my ass in headed yoga...

... And there were two pigeons in my train car this afternoon...

that this was going to be a really bad week.

It's Tuesday and so far all my premonitions have been right on the money.

If I don't get a Wednesday or Thursday snuggle fest or dance party this week will be the first worst one of 2013.

Laces Up

How do you prepare for a football game you've been hoping and waiting to watch since you were three?

By making shamrock candy and oreo pops way past your bedtime the night before. Obviously.

Poke nation

I have been told that I have a serious facebook problem. And while I like to think that I spend a healthy amount of time browsing the lives of close friends, random acquaintances and people I used to hate in high school - its probably healthy like only smoking Capri 100's is a healthy smoking habit.

But! I think there is something amazing about facebook (and all social media) that will keep me on it for far longer than necessary.

On Saturday night, Boyfriend and I were at the grocery store getting necessaries for the most important night of Boyfriend's life (also known as the BCS National Championship game) and while he searched for the perfect crackers, I stumbled across these gems.

So I put this picture on facebook and asked the universe if anyone had ever heard of or experienced such an amazing feat of modern technology.

I got answers from people from 5 different states: one family member (hi Mom!), one ex-roommate, one good friend from high school, two people I've done theater with, my current favorite neighbor, a guy I baby sit for, and my best friend's husband.

That, to me, is the coolest thing about social media (mostly facebook). All these people just came together and explained that my attraction to these comes from my mildly white trash roots and affinity for salmon dip. That never would have happened. Even if I had bought them and asked just my close-all-the-time friends, I probably would have gotten a positive response, but not one that showed that clearly these crackers live in grocery stores all over the world and everyone thinks they're awesome.

Thanks global connectivity for the excellent cracker hook-up.

Book 1 - The Light Between Oceans

Guys, I am reading books again this year. Neat, huh? Books are the best.

image via

As an after-thought, I added this book to my amazon wish list right before Christmas because its our book club book this month, but I wasn't anticipating getting a chance to read it. I lucked out that Boyfriend's Dad did their Christmas shopping late this year and that he is good at following instructions and so it arrived under the Chicago tree.

I started reading it on New Year's Day-night, post-Rose Bowl. I got about 10 pages in before I fell asleep. I was sure that, despite my friends words to the contrary, this book was going to be slow and boring.

On January 2nd, what with no job and no prospects and it being only the day right after 2013 started, so no motivation to get either the former or the latter, I sat back down and opened up to page 11.

Five hours later, with tears streaming down my cheeks so much that I could barely see the words on the page, I finished the book. 48 hours in- I had my first ugly cry face of the year, that's some sort of personal best.

I think right now (in my life) is maybe the best time to have read this book as I am smack dab in the middle of the babies-and-weddings portion of the journey. I cannot imagine getting through this book as a mother. The amount of actual physical pain I felt was incredible, if I had a grown/raised a baby, I assume it would be akin to some sort of invasive, unanesthetized surgery. And while I know I would have loved the book in my younger years, the questions of what sort of sacrifices you make (and don't make) for the people you love probably would not have resonated as strongly as they did.

That all being said, the wonderful writing and vivid imagery make up for any emotional wringer it might put you through, so read it anyway no matter where you are in life.

Unlike so many books I like, I am actually willing (and dare I say, interested?) in seeing the movie version of this. If they get the right actors involved, the words of this book lend themselves to a solid script and if the western coast of Australia is anything like she describes - its going to be landscape porn best viewed on the biggest screen you can find.

Let's all go live in lighthouses and/or Australia.

First position

If you happened to be on State street between Lake & Randolph tonight and looked up, you may have seen me attempting to reclaim a small piece of my childhood.

Last year, on a whim I bought a groupon to the Joffrey Academy for 5 classes. And of course, it is expiring in two weeks so I figured I should probably use it.

I didn't have tights or a leotard, but I did have my shoes. I've easily had these shoes longer than I've had most people that read this blog. Dating back to the late 90's these shoes have traveled through many states and even to South Africa with me. I haven't worn them probably since 2006 or so, but they travel light and there was no reason to throw away one of the very last pieces of my childhood.

I kept meaning to take a dance class in Chicago, but circus class sounded like way more fun, and then improv was something I was actually really good at (rather than something I just loved) plus I got to drink beer afterwards. So it was put off.

And now I am in a place of grouchiness where my body is concerned. Turns out you can't live on cookies and pasta for two months without working out and not gain all of the pounds. So this was not the ideal way to get back in the game. But I toughened up and did it.

First, I felt like a dbag for showing up in gym capris and a tank top instead of my black and pinks, but I felt slightly better that I was the only one not committing this terrible, terrible fashion faux-pas. Also, I wasn't late. So basically, we're even-stevens in the faux-pas department.

I made it through class. And more heart-filling, I found myself smiling in the middle of class, smiling for messing up the degage in the back, for a perfect inside pirouette, a high grand jete, and doing 36 changements in a row without stopping. All these things I didn't think my body was capable of doing and I was managing it, despite my busted, janky shoes.

I have four classes left on my groupon - all that I'll do in the next two weeks (next time read the fine print, dummy) and after that, we'll see if I still love it as much as I did tonight. But one thing is for sure, its time for these shoes to go. Good-bye childhood, you hurt my feet.

In my bones

I feel like finding validation is nearly impossible in my life. I don't do enough stuff that can be measured for there to be a quantifiable, "you done good, kid."

Today at the Storytown show at the hospital there was a young girl and her mom who were pretty much our only audience members (most of the kids watch on TVs in their rooms). At one point we pretended that the girl and her mom were Woody and Buzz from Toy Story and then, because sometimes we're jerks who like to make our own fun, we asked the mom to say, "To infinity and beyond," for us (some movie lines never get old).

The mother who was super embarrassed put her head in her hands and hid from us (as much as you can hide without going anywhere). One of the cast members assumed that she was crying and apologized for making her sad.

"She's not crying. She's laughing. Y'all are funny." pipped up the little girl.

The show went on and at the end we all laughed about how sweet the little girl had been. And while it was cute, it was also incredibly rewarding. Kids are honest, and real and they don't have time to say nice things to you just because you're doubting yourself and your choices.

That little moment of pure childish honesty was enough for me to keep doing this to infinity and beyond.

Undutch

I've decided to take the month of January to come up with my resolutions for the new year. Honestly, my resolution should be to get a job and becoming a functioning member of society again, but I've kind of lost interest in all that what with all the free time I have now. Jobs are for suckers.

Anyway, resolution number one is pretty simple. Anytime someone offers to buy me food or booze or pretty much anything and I have no reason to believe that this offer comes with some sort of ulterior motive, I'm going to take it. You say that dinner is your treat? Cool. This rounds on you? Sweet. An ipad? Awesome.

Now that I'm basically a hobo with an ideal living situation, I'm fresh out of cash and I'm also fresh out of nonsense. Over the past few weeks, some of my most-favorites have been sweet and kind enough to buy me delicious things. I've protested and then finally relented every time and now I'm wondering why.

Why do we go through this who act of, "Oh this is on me" "What, no, you're crazy." "Your money is no good here, you old broad." "Oh, you crazy coot. You're a nut, you hear me." (apparently all conversations when replayed in my head sound like the old west as seen in Back to the Future part III).

Its a weird game that when extrapolated out is so much of what is wrong with society. Why is everything so fake? Why do we have to fight nice gestures? And when I say we - I mostly mean me, because I am the worst at this, just ask my well meaning but often downtrodden boyfriend who can't even buy me Christmas presents with out me getting real, real emotional about it.

Anyway. This is the first step. In 2013, if someone wants to buy me dinner and its not going to end up with them making a Lifetime Movie about me. I'm down. So bring it on. Mamma's hungry.

In & Outtie

The 2013 In/Out List - The Washington Post

There are very few things I look forward to with this much anticipation every year. The in and out list helps make my year the best it can be. Which, tends to be not so great, so there you go.

Some notes on this year's list:

St. Germaine (out) / Sherry (in). This is one of the classic frustrations of this list. I only discovered in 2012 what a fucking delight drinks made with St. Germaine and champagne can be, and now I have to cast it aside for Sherry. Which, let me tell you, I had a bottle of sherry in my house for four years, and for those of you playing along at home, that means, that I moved said bottle of sherry four times. It wasn't until I made Boyfriend chug it with club soda and regret that I finally got rid of it. It's easily the worst.

Can't I'm going to Iceland (out)/Can't I'm going to Antarctica (in). This is a sign that I am on the right track. I already did Iceland. And while my tentative trip to parts south wouldn't happen until 2014 - its at least a good excuse for any weddings or wristband parties that might be planned for the next year.

Leica (out)/Lytro (in). The best part of the In/Out list is learning about new things. For example, how bad ass is this Lytro camera? So. the answer is So. bad ass. While I will not (probably) purchase one of these guys, the fact that I know they exist makes me feel way better about myself as a member of society.

Mason Jars (out)/Growlers (in). Further proof that my godmother is trendy long before her time. She introduced me to Piece growlers back in 2006. And they've always been better than mason jars due to the fact that they can fit more beer (duh).

Fred Armisen, Seth Meyers & Jay Pharoah (out)/Aidy Bryant, Kate McKinnon & Cecily Strong (in). Part of being part of the improv community in Chicago (I have discovered) is watching people you know go off to do bigger and better things. This is the first time that someone I know has been actually listed BY NAME on the In/Out list. Which is pretty amazing. Thanks for that free TV Aidy! And thanks for covering my box office shift that one time Cecily!

Having it all (out)/Halving it all (in). This is the year of getting healthy. So there is that kind of metaphorical halving. But also - for Christmas, Boyfriend got me a companion pass which means we essentially get BOGO air travel for the rest of the year. This is the year to be one half of an amazing, adventuring team.

two brilliant ideas (regarding food)

Since starting unemployment, I have been eating very well. My reliance on things that come in boxes and bags has been lessened now that I have all kinds of time to cook and grocery shop.

And of course, the added bonus is when you cook actual food and there are only two of you - you get tons and tons of leftovers. Double Win!

Sometimes though, you get too many leftovers and you have to get creative. So here are my two creative ideas, for you to take and use in your own life. You're welcome.

1 - Meatloaf and fried egg sandwich. I made a 4 lb. meatloaf by accident last week (I didn't really comprehend what four pounds of meat was until I was handmixing it. It was mildy excessive, but crazy delicious. Anyway - I was getting sick of just meatloaf and had run out of mashed potatoes, so I warmed the meatloaf, toasted bread, fried an egg and put the ketchup betwixt the egg & 'loaf so as not to soggy up the bread before enjoyment.

2 - Omelets full of Dip. It's the holidays, so I am sure you have some sort of cheese-and-mayo based dips lying around your house. And if you don't - this is an okay excuse to make one. Start making your omelet just like normal and instead of throwing veggies or meat in there, just dump some spoonfuls of dip (I used artichoke and crab dip). Fold that monster up and eat it. Boom. Delicious.

I wanna dance.

I am having booze problems these days. I assume it has something to do with being older (and therefore lamer). The last few times I've been trying to get all cray-cray, I've just gotten really miserable and sick and its been the worst.

Last night was my chance to redeem myself at the annual Andersonville Bar Crawl. Its the best party of the year. It deserves a yelp review its so good. I didn't want to puss out before the big finale dance party. I kept reminding myself to pace myself and listen to myself and drink water...myself.

It was strange, to be listening to my body rather than just trusting that its been down this bumpy road before and knows how to come out on top.

At bar one, it was time for a Little Sumpin' Sumpin' (no more Miller Lite over here folks, we're grown-ups), I drank. I kissed and hug all the friends, who if I don't see them once a week, it feels like I haven't seen them in foreeeeever. I saw people from the past. Stories were told. More beer please. I asked my friend to explain to me what his rap lyric, "Louie on my booty" meant (answer: he doesn't really know). More Beer. I'll show you a little sumpin, sumpin.

By bar two, those beers had kicked. in. So. I did what I was supposed to do. I drank water. I still felt a little sick. I drank more water. I ate pizza. I felt sick. I cursed the gods who made getting older a thing. Talked about feelings. More water. Maybe its the water making me drunk. Sick. Pizza. Pizza. Water.

At the third bar of the night, I felt ready to drink again. I ordered prosecco. Dumb choice? Maybe, but it came in this adorable little quarter bottle. I like small versions of big things.

Drink Prosecco. Wish aloud that I could get some orange juice up in this piece. Little bottle! Wax poetic on all things East Coast (typical). Prosecco. Mmm. Bubbles. Bravery followed by immediate cowardice. Declaration that my friend Laura's nickname was los tostadas. Clapping and demanding attention.

I knew that the clapping meant we were in trouble, so at the final bar (the dance party) it was water. Water. Whitney Houston. My favorite girls. a troublesome strapless shirt. This being my jam. Water. Not quite enough air in the room. Fog. Miley Cyrus. Water. Dancing in a circle. Knowing all the words. Being a little embarrassed  Not giving a fuuuuu. Carly Rae. Water. Stage time. More water. Spilling the water everywhere. Giving up on water. Dance party. Dance party. Dance Party. Whoops, its only couples left? Peace out.

This morning I woke up to no voice and a sizable hangover for what amounted to four drinks in seven hours. This from a girl who used to drink Miller Lite by the gallon and then take a fifteen minute nap before working for seven hours. Its a strange adjustment to be making - this whole not drinking until it comes out my pores - but a good one I am sure. Anything to make sure the dance party doesn't stop.

Eight times.

Guys. Sometimes I feel like a douche for doing this:

But I did it. Again. I wrote 50,000 words in a row and they are all kind of about the same thing.

Remember how I promised (all those years) to be super vigilant about writing every day, 1,667 words a day. It was going to a slow and steady trudge to the top.

Turns out that is not ever going to be the case. Or at least, it was not this year.

This year though. This year, I took NOTES. One night in early October I took a little nugget of an idea that I have had forever and I made it grow. I took a notebook and a pen and sat quietly late into the night writing down everything I could think about the idea. I answered questions that came to mind and  then just decided things that were not even questions that I had.

I told a few people about the idea. They all had questions. So I answered their questions as best as I could and the questions I could not answer I kept in my head until I could figure out an answer.

But even all that planning was nothing compared to actually writing the monster. This was the first time  I ever took on a world that was not identical to our own. It had all of its own rules and there was no one around to make up those rules except for me.

Sometimes I would forget that I was in charge and I would get frustrated by something I felt was restrictive. But then eventually i would remember that not only did I get to make the rules, but this was a first draft and I could change the rules mid story and no one was going to come after. Not the fiction police, not anyone.

This has been a weird year because I have been sans job all month. And, as I mentioned earlier in the month, it possibly made it harder to carve out the time to write. When you have nothing but time you always are able to put things off.

And lets be honest, this whole monthly thing has become, for me at least, how long can I put this off and procrastinate and still get things done.

Keep in mind everyone, with 10 days left in this party, I only had 6,000 words written. That is just over 10%. With 10 days left. I am a big fan of the last minute. Big fan.

Thanks go out to all the usual suspects with a big round of sound for

Boyfriend for being everything and anything that I could need. Except for that moment when he said the book was dumb.

The people I talked about this with and who were willing to ask questions instead of just saying, "that sounds dumb."

This one

for being the best moral support a girl can get.

Bring on the holidays. See you next year.

Thankful.

For cookies.

And sweet neighbors.

And for still getting to play pretend sometimes.

NaNoNards

While every year I talk about putting off writing longer and longer, this year I feel as though I am truly sinking. This might be the first year that I don't make it.

Here are a few excuses.

1- I am not working right now. I am keeping myself fairly busy with random things, but ultimately, my time should be purely dedicated to writing. Which isn't going to work. Writing is the thing I do to distract me from real work. When writing is the real work, I find myself distracting myself from my distraction. Food. Internet. Trips to the Caribbean.

2 - I gave myself a purpose. Unlike most years, this story had a plan. It had a "narrative arc" and its a good one too. But I didn't think too hard about how to make it work. So I am struggling with how to put the words down without just literally typing out all of my notes verbatim and then just crying.

Tomorrow is the beginning of the end. I need to have 40,000 words by the 25th, or its all over. Which means at least 7,000 words a day. I need to remember that it isn't about a full story. It isn't about a complete and perfect story. Its about getting it done.

Pep talk over. Back to work.

Words.

Words.

Words.

WORDS.

I am struggling SO hard with all of my words today. I have this endless basket of them in my brain and today for some reason, the ones I want prove to be as impossible to find as the matching sock at the bottom of the clean laundry.

Its proving to be nearly impossible to write when I have no other responsibilities requiring my attention.

How stupid and selfish to have all this time to write and yet the inability to produce something of a quality equal to the gift of all this time.

So today.

I will.

make cookies.
write thank you letters.
go to yoga.
watch people attempt to be funny.
eat mac and cheese.
do laundry.

I will fill my day up with the hopes that the distraction will allow the words to sneak back in.

I will also try very hard not to get more frustrated than I already am. It's a long month. I have plenty of time.

The need for heroes

oh. Hello, blog.

A few days ago I had a discussion with a lovely person about children's books. She dropped a serious wtf-bomb when she mentioned casually that she had never read, nor knew anything about The Hunger Games books. She's a sweet girl, but apparently the rock she lives under is both spacious and all encompassing, because I feel like dead people at least have some semblance of the plot of Hunger Games.

After reviewing the entire plot (but leaving out the good bits) she shrugged and said she just didn't really connect with childrens/young adult literature.

Believe it or not, I did not just get up and walk out of the room at that kind of egregious and failbomb-y statement.  But I was slightly taken aback and a little disheartened, though it took me a few days to figure out why.

There are SO many reasons that I personally like The Hunger Games, the Margaret Atwood-y dystopian-ness, the struggle to come to terms with what romantic love is and how to react to it, the deep-seated need to provide for the ones you love...granted, we aren't really in the same place in our lives, but Katniss Everdeen is my kind of lady.

But beyond my personal preference, I love these books for what they provide to girls: A real, true-blue, honest girl hero.

As I think back to the books I read as a kid (when you pull "The Baby-Sitter's Club" weeds away) there were some amazing women. Calico Captive, Witch of Blackbird Pond, The Wolves of Willoughby Chase and even the Little House in the Big Woods books, although Laura Ingalls Wilder was a big fan of rule-following. Lame.

But ALL of those books were books that my Mom also read. The world was desperately in need of some new females to carry the torch - and what did they get? Harry Potter and Twilight.

Don't get me wrong, Harry Potter is some solid business. But the girls are relegated to the sidelines and to waiting around for rescuing. Even though they seem to be the smartest ones. What kind of message is that?!

And DON'T get me started on Twilight. I could write for centuries about why Twilight is the worst thing to happen to girls and the publishing industry - if for no other reason than we have it to thank for Shades of Gray (so now women of ALL ages can read books about emotionally abused women with some sort of twisted masochistic streak...awesome).

We needed some girls who are in charge without big brothers to save the day. And I am not saying Katniss is the perfect girl. She is super flawed and kind of terrible a lot of the time, but that's a GOOD thing. Find me a male hero who doesn't have a problem with the drinking or the ladies (Jesus doesn't count).

I am glad Katniss was around to open the door and I hope, for girls (both big and small) everywhere, that there is a long parade that follows behind.

How we do

Rachel emailaddress@gmail.com
to Boyfriend

For lunch I have had 4,000 snap peas. I am about to turn into a snap pea.

Boyfriend		boyfriendemail@gmail.com
to me

Poof.


Babies in costumes always make Wednesdays more bearable. 

Thursday's Best Internet Finds! Stalker Edition

I spend far too much time on the internet. We could go into the why of this - but you're not my therapist, blog reader, and if you were - we would have waaaaay more important things on our metaphorical plate.

In my decade and a half of time spent in the internet tubes I have uncovered a lot of really amazing things and discovered some super cool people. Here's the weird thing - the people I've discovered, don't know I exist.

Its one thing to follow people who are asking for a following (Dear Baby Blog, I am looking in your direction). But there are others who have a super awesome thing going, but are not quite internet celebrities or are celebrities with personal blogs that don't get the same type of attention.

Internet stalking, yo. Don't knock it til you try it.

But today I am taking off the creepy black ski mask and letting my freak flag fly free.

Here are three of my favorites:

Army Pants and Flip Flops. This one is kind of cheating because this girl and I kinda-sorta travel in the same circles. I wouldn't know her if I saw her on the street, but my brother, my mom and probably my sister would - so...there's that. Anywhoodles, she is getting married to your Grade A type Army dude and so of course (because it wouldn't be a romantic comedy any other way) she is your standard Renn Fair loving theater geek. And he's deployed to Afghanistan. And there is a wedding to plan. And she's just trying to figure this ish out. The internet is a great place to get your Ish together. She makes me giggle out loud sometimes and she won Boyfriend's heart by confirming that you can in fact make a wedding registry on Amazon.com (not that Boyfriend is looking to register for Aneee.thing. He just really, really loves Amazon).

The Enjoy Project. Okay - Kristin is pretty darn close to famous. She has a business taking amazing pictures and so she probably racks up the hit counts. I found this blog through T-bone's wedding photographer Lydia Jane (check out T-bone's wedding! Lydia is ah.mazing) who is good friends with this Kristin, who (because Maryland is very, very small) photographed the weddings and engagements of some people I know from high school. Kristin's blog really caught my attention when she started blogging about how she met her (spoiler-alert) now husband. She and I operate on different wavelengths, but it is interesting to watch someone deal with doubt and fear and figuring it out because it makes you feel better about your own doubt and fear and challenges in figuring it out.

Please Note: I did not PLAN for this to be a TBIF all about shmoopy love business. I am not breaking away from my she-man-man-hating club. But I cannot be held responsible for the fact that girls who are increadibly talented and captivating writers tend to get boys all hot and bothered (I mean, duh, Boyfriend, case.in.point).

Dancing Brave. Heather is famous. Sups famous. I was obsessed with Heather back in 2002 when she was recapping for TWoP and had a sweet diaryland blog (guys - Diaryland was the real deal back in '03). Its weird to think that she was younger then than I am now. All making bad choices and being awesome. I thought she was so cool. I still do because she runs Go Fug Yourself (which I will proudly say, I've been reading since Day 1). But she also has a personal blog where she talks about raising twins (!!), and her love for all things Notre Dame (shake down the thunder, everyone). It is fun to see the dichotomy between her glamorous Fashion Week writing and her kids-at-home-how-we-do writing.

The internet is full of funny, smart ladies. The End.

More Sunday Thoughts

A few thoughts before bed.

1 - It took me almost two and a half hours to watch a streaming version of the one-hour-and-six minute series three premier Downton Abbey (oh, I am back down that dark alley with no regrets). The streaming was terrible. It kept stopping and skipping and I thought my laptop was going to spontaneously combust it was working so hard.

Consensus: Worth it. Oh my worth it. Guh. Sometimes you wait a billion years for something and it delivers. I cannot imagine waiting 7 more days, forget 4 months.

2 - I started a new class today on a whim (well, it was a whim about 2 weeks ago - now its a reality). Its weird to be in class again. I haven't taken a real improv class in about 3 years. Its weird to be learning for learning's sake again. But I guess its good to get my feet wet if I am seriously going to go back to actual school.

My Mouth's Most Happiness (part 3) (...Finally)

Sooooo, like, 7 months ago, I had a crazy delicious meal and started writing about it (check out the first couple courses, and then the middle couple of courses. Annnnd finally, I got my act together to finish it tonight. Enjoy the third installment of our Alinea adventures.

After all the real food - it was dessert time.

They brought out Winter. Like the seaweed log before it, this was basically some designer's wet dream, with 4 bites of food on it. In this case - another log, with pine needles, and rocks that had been cooled to -80 degrees and adorned with peppermint flavored snow. Resting on top of the snow were bites of different fruits (including persimmon) and a nutmeg marshmallow.

Then there was the deconstructed hot chocolate, that was water but of course, it was actually hot chocolate. Okay, Harry Potter, you win.

The snow was realistically cold and fantastically delicious. I scraped it off the rocks with a fork until Boyfriend said that, really, that was quiet enough.

The penultimate course was one of the ones that I wish had been a surprise for me (but was happy was a surprise for Boyfriend). It was a balloon, full of helium, made of something akin to Apple Fruit by the Foot (but, you know, a billion times more delicious and flavorful). Dangling off the end was a silver implement that we were instructed to use however we wanted - with the end result being eating the apple balloon.

I went the direct route and stabbed the balloon right through with the silver tool. This left me very, very sticky, but satisfied.

Boyfriend managed to find a way to eat it slowly enough that he could suck out minimal amounts of helium (but enough to make his voice high pitched) and keep the balloon afloat as he ate it. He's an engineer, people.

The final course was easily the most amazing thing that happened throughout the entire meal, and will continue, probably until the end of my life, to be the best show I've ever seen. I don't know how they managed to keep this course a surprise - but they did and holy.crapballs. was it worth it.

One of the chefs came out and asked about our meal. I was in such a place of pure bliss already, I could barely talk to him. He put a dark chocolate fishbowl on the table and filled it with liquid nitrogen (poured out of a dainty white china pitcher). And then as he chatted with us, he started using various sauces (butternut squash, lingonberry and stout) to draw designs on our table.

I know that I should not be impressed, as plating and presentation is a fairly basic component of culinary arts, but the designs were so beautiful and smelled so amazing. It was art more than food. Boyfriend's birthday present was not so much the meal, but me restraining myself from taking a picture of the final design.

The beauty was either heightened, or short lived, depending on your opinion - when the chef picked up the chocolate fishbowl and unceremoniously dropped it back on the table where it broke open, full of treats like the fanciest pinata this side of Mexico.

The liquid nitrogen had frozen bits of cotton candy, toffee, sweet potato and magic in the fish-bowl-pinata-of-delicious. We were handed spoons and left to enjoy as much of this amazing last course as we could.

If you know me, you know I don't leave food on my plate (or...table? as the case maybe). I think about the starving kids in Africa, the fact that I am paying for this, my Italian grandmother who was always telling me to eat more, my friends who use leaving food as a weird dieting mind game that I will have no part of, and the fact that I may never have this chance again, and I eat until its gone.

So I ate as much as I could fit inside me. There have only been one or two times where I have truly eaten to the point of near stomach explosion (our feast in the Italian countryside comes to mind). And even when it got to the point where I could literally feel my stomach stretching uncomfortably inside my beautiful Jason Wu dress, I kept eating the delicious chocolate scooped up with amazing sauce and real (real!) magnolia petals.

I don't think I would have stopped without Boyfriend telling me I was under no circumstances allowed to throw up in the cab ride home. I would have sat in that restaurant for hours letting the waves of hedonism wash over me if given the chance.

But eventually, sadly, it had to end. They brought the check and cleaned up the end of the beautiful chocolate mess. While we waited for a cab, we got to sneak a peak inside the kitchen which was surprisingly normal looking (I am not sure why I assumed that they would be like, cooking with flame throwers and wearing those crazy super magnifying glasses - I have a very active imagination).

We got in our cab, and went home - and like any vacation, there was that crushing realization that we were very much back in the real world, where you eat on plates with regular forks and all of the food is just normal and boring.

Boyfriend bought me my own Molecular Gastronomy At-Home Kit which I am waiting for a really special occasion to play with. The next time I eat crazy stuff, it'll probably be of my own making.

Do I recommend Alinea? Absolutely. If you el-oh-vee-ee LOVE food and are not going to be scared off by a price tag akin to a new computer, then absolutely. Do it. Or find some other amazing restaurant and eat there (and then tell me about it). The thing about living is that you should really enjoy it as much as possible.

4 Summers Later

Four summers ago, I was 23. And Barack Obama and all his friends, let me live out my wildest dreams.

I got to go to the Democratic National Convention and not just as a guest, but as a photographer - a career I had almost not even dared to dream about because it seemed so out of reach. It was one of the most exhausting, inspiring, eye-opening, amazing 4 days of my life.

Childishly, it let me, if just for a few days, believe in my dreams. I got to believe that I really could DO anything. And I realized that that was the theme of 2008 election for Barack Obama supporters. Hope. Change. Dreams.

Its been four years and I have been watching this year's DNC and I am flooded with both nostalgia - and a solid reality check.

This summer, the summer of 27 - has been much more bleak. I am not crushing hard on a boy I barely know. I am not enjoying the hedonistic life of a part time job and a city full of adventure. And I am most certainly not living out any dreams.

This is a summer of cold, hard reality. And watching this convention has made me realize that the election is mirroring that again this year. Its not about far-fetched dreams anymore. Its about keeping things real.

And if I have to live in this country for the next four years, I want Barack Obama's reality. The reality that will let my friends marry whomever the hell they want, that will maybe raise my taxes - but will raise everyone else's too, and the reality that will not only make health care accessible, but let me make all the decisions about my own body - no matter what.

I'm all grown up at 27 - I am willing to put my dreams aside because I know things are busted right now. But as I sit listening to these speeches - I am determined to live in the reality that the President has offered us. With any luck - we'll get back to the dreams soon.

Outside and Off.

Sometimes I get home earlier that Boyfriend. Earlier enough that it doesn't make sense to start dinner yet. And occasionally I manage to make it home without feeling the heaviness of work that must be done before the sun goes down. On those days I have made it my mission to turn everything off.

I leave my phone and my laptop inside. I take a book and a glass of something delicious out onto the deck and I read. I know this doesn't seem particularly luxurious, but it is my favorite part of my week.

If I am awake 15 hours a day, I probably spend 13 of them staring into the soulless brightness of a screen. And its totally my own fault, I will admit that. Between having a job, looking for a job, and Dance Moms - I find it hard to tear myself away from them.

But for, like, 40 minutes, twice a week - I make a decision to just let it all go. Its wonderful. Its amazing. Its all the adjectives. Four out of five Rachels agree.

So my new goal is to do it more. By the end of the year, it should happen almost every day. Granted- if I am unemployed by that point - it shouldn't be too much of a struggle, but jic - let's enjoy the world beyond the internet.


***bonus points if you can figure out what book I am reading...

Sunday thoughts

Here are two thoughts for this Sunday night.

1 - I could listen to The Civil Wars forever. They make my brain stop running so fast. There is a soothing to their music that affects me unlike anything else. Perhaps it was because the first time I really listened to them was in a field surrounded by about 4,000 of my closest personal camping friends. Anytime I hear them, I am taken back to the calm and delight I felt that first time.

2 - Lucy Steele is kind of a see you next tuesday. Misunderstood, my balls. She is the worst.

An Update: The Witch from Next Door

A while back I wrote a little piece about Kathy Afzali (and get used to seeing that name a LOT. I know how google works). You can read my first Kathy Afzali piece by clicking Kathy Afzali.

And while I am sure most of you are friends with my mom on facebook (who isn't?) and know how this all went down- for the rest. Here is how the people in charge of the government act sometimes:

Finding Kathy Afzali's original note to be incredibly rude and disrespectful, my mother asked (face to face, like a grown up) if she would reconsider. Kathy Afzali SAID NO.

Kathy Afzali literally said that our family was not allowed to use a driveway that had been shared for over forty years.

So we ignored her. Because, sometimes when you ignore a gnat - it goes away.

But no. Kathy Afzali came back and dropped some legal bizness on mi madre. She was going to take my mom to court. Over some pavement. That she, herself, personally, does not actually use.

Let me repeat that. Kathy Afzali, delegate to the Maryland House of Representatives District 4A, threatened legal action over a piece of asphalt that is, literally, 10 yards long and that has been shared for half a century.

I'm sorry, but shouldn't a delegate to a state as amazeballs as Maryland have better things to do with her time than threaten legal action against her constituents? ...but I guess trying to pull a fast one on women, gays and minorities takes less time than I think it does.

The end of the story is that after meeting with some people, my mother was told that she could probably take Kathy Afzali to court and win - but she would need to pay a lawyer and legal fees and take time out of her actual job to deal with this woman. And really, who has time to deal with Kathy Afzali?

So Mom is throwing in the towel on this. But I'm not. I am not bound by any of the moral ethics my mother tried to instill in me.

Kathy Afzali - I find you to be a wretched person. Truly. I have such high hopes for women in politics - even when their opinions differ from my own. And you have confirmed my suspicion that there are some people out there who are really just mean. And awful. You are all the worst things about suburban sprawl, the real estate market and "my-way-or-the-highway" modern conservatism. And you're bothering my family.

To all those reading this. Please feel free to tweet at Kathy Afzali (@Kathy_Afzali). Or write on her facebook page. I would - but I've already been blocked (her little busy beaver interns are on their game). Or write her a letter. Give her a phone call. Ask her why she has it out for her own neighbors and constituents. Feel free to share this with people who vote in Maryland. Make copies, pass it around. People should know the real Kathy Afzali.

Dumb Stuff I Do: two wheels edition

Since we moved up north, I have been a bicycle riding monster. If a monster still gets panicky making left hand turns and is terrified of the day they get a flat tire three miles from home.

Overall, it has been awesome, but since I can't do anything right - it hasn't been without its spectacular mishaps.

The best one so far is that I cannot manage to bike to Target without coming home with over 10 pounds of Target on my back. I feel like I should blame Target for being so g.d. tantalizing, but really - I should learn some frickin' self control.

I am too terrified to slip bags over my handlebars still, so everything has to go into my backpack. And then my backpack looks like this:

While I am pretty good at the biking, I still struggle on big roads and with making left hand turns. So of course, this particular journey - no matter how I slice it, will always include at least both of these things.

And the problem with biking with a bodega on my back is that my first concern switches from "keep yourself alive" to, "don't spill yogurt all over the ground." Why I put spilled groceries ahead of my own well being, I am not a hundred percent sure, but the fact is - its Chobani before skull all the way these days.

Here is all the stuff that was in my big ole backpack (that pink rectangle is my computer which should maybe lose some weight if it wants me to carry it around all the time). And yes. That is a giant tub of animal crackers. Perhaps in the future, I will wait to buy ALL the animal crackers until I have an automobile at my disposal.

And seriously? Bread, bananas and yogurt? I managed to find the holy trifecta of things that should be delicately transported. What an idiot. Although the bread was the only thing that got ever-so-slightly damaged in the trip (no, that's not a glare on the photo, that's a dent in the loaf).

I like to think that I have learned my lesson and will just stop going to Target when I am on my bike, but no. I'll just get one less yogurt next time.

crystal ball

I am not particularly good at "the future." It is a long, scary hallway where its really dark you know there are spiders but you don't know where they are, just that they're waiting to eat your face.

I don't know if I will ever be ready to face the future.

But I do know that right around 1 PM, every day, I am overcome with a very serious want. I want to make dinner, eat animal crackers and complain our days with you.

That's as much into the future as I am willing to go, for right now. In six hours, I want to be with you. Everyday.*



*Except on the day where JBH takes me out for lobster nachos. Then I just want to come home and tell you about it.

island life.

It smells like burnt toast.

And mildew.

It doesn't have enough "things to do."

(as if you would want more to do than sit around and read a book).

It's full of cars.

And jerks in silly clothes.

But its my favorite. Favorite. Favorite. 

Pictured:

1. The boat at Something Natural. Docked in the correct spot for a midday cookie.
2. The window of the chapel in 'Sconset with mandatory hydrangea.
3. Sailboats.
4. A Provisions sandwich and a Nantucket Vineyards cranberry sangria. Perfect after a 3 mile walk.
5. The harbor from the ferry. Its a crime to leave when the sky is this blue.

the wonder friends

Today has kind of been the BIGGEST day for many, many reasons.

This blog is only going to talk about two of them.

Specifically these two.

They aren't friends anymore. But in honor of the fact that they are both 30! YEARS! OLD! on this Monday, they get a joint post. Sorry ladies, its Monday night, and I am drunk on red wine and tuna melts, I only have one blog post in me.

Once upon a time, I was 19 and I had no idea what was going on. I grew up in a small town where everyone knew who I had been since the age of 6. I couldn't shake off 3rd grade memories no matter how hard I tried to redefine myself. And then I moved to New York, where I could have redefined myself if anyone had given a shit. Which, surprise, surprise, no one really did.

And then! I got to move to a small little cesspool of insanity (known as summer stock theater) where no one knew my business, and I got to be whichever version of myself I wanted to be. I managed to spin the wheel and land on a version of myself that seemed to attract some really great people.

And thus began, 8 years ago, the silliest summer of my life. I try not to dwell too long on the past, but the summer of 2004 will always be ingrained as the best, worst summer of all time. As I reminisced about it today:

"...we made some really astoundingly bad choices. And we only ever had enough money for booze. And we kissed boys who made us cry. And we had the literal definition of dead-end jobs. And we ate week-old crabs. And yet we were still the happiest of girls..."

And these two amazing women, who have pretty much knocked life out of the ball park in the past 8 years in their own ways, were the two people who bought my new personality, hook, line and sinker and wanted to keep me around - even after the dream summer ended, and I went back to my real life, 15 pounds heavier and so much more aware of the kind of person I wanted to be as a twenty-something.

These girls taught me that its acceptable to do things just for the story. To write it all down. To get your heart temporarily broken for a night of fun. To play the "let me tell you about yourself" game. They taught me that people will love you even when you pour candle wax on their chests. And almost drive their cars into a clothes line. That its okay to be made fun of when you deserve it. And its okay to cry when it all gets to be too much.

When I first met these two girls, they were fresh-faced college graduates and I idolized them. I could not believe that these two people who seemed so much cooler and more grown-up than me wanted to be my friend. And even though I have never had an iota of true self-confidence, they made me feel like I was an awesome, hilarious person. They are both also awesome and hilarious.

So thank you. Thank you for 8 amazing years of self-discovery and debauchery.  Happy 30th Birthday!