TYOE: St. Louis

One of the sweetest humans I know married another keeper, and now has gone and gotten herself pregnant (actually BOTH couples mentioned in that blog have managed to get themselves knocked up which is kind of spooky, but awesome. Awesomespooky).

To celebrate KChu (who should now go by her married nickname, KHow) bringing a new awesome human into the world (and the end of girlie time as we have all known it thus far), we decided a trip out of town was in order.

I steamrolled everyone's twee suggestions about wine country and lake houses and demanded that we all go to St. Louis, because I have been dying to go to the City Museum for YEARS and I could not think of a better group of people to drag along for the party.

My sweet potluck group is the best. Every month (or so) we get together, make yummy food, and talk about our ever-evolving-ever-changing-ever-new-sometimes-scary lives. There tends to be lots of wine involved.

But we put the pots and pans away and went to the Lou for a quick girls weekend.

KHow and I took the Amtrak down to St. Louis from Chicago. What a dignified way to travel. I will truly believe that America is the greatest country when we get our collective shit together and build a high-speed railway. And then I will never get on a plane again.

The train dumped us and it was a quick walk to Lafayette Park and our amazing mansion-home for the weekend. KHow found this gorgeous house on vbro.com. This was my first time staying in a vbro-type situation and it.was.AWESOME. This house was stunning. Girls never get tired of playing pretend in a dream home, no matter how old they get.

The house was so great, we spent the first day just sitting and enjoying it. Doing work, eating snacks, occasionally going up and down staircases, just because.

Finally our diet of jelly beans and clementines was no longer sufficient and we hoped over to SqWires for dinner. We managed to get seats at the bar (which was great, because the place was packed) and ate a quick dinner. The food wasn't spectacular, but it was delicious and totally hit the spot.

The rest of our companions arrived late that night while we were dozing in the media room (as you do).

The next morning we made ourselves breakfast (you know a kitchen is spacious when seven girls can be futzing around and it doesn't feel crowded) with some help from Park Avenue Coffee and their good coffee and indescribable gooey butter cake before heading out for adventures.

After a few wrong turns and an excellent photo-op by an enormous tire, we made it to a two mile wall of graffiti (if you are looking for the legal two mile graffiti wall in St. Louis  - the best place to access it is at the intersection of S. Wharf St. and Chouteau Ave).

Then it was just a quick walk along the lovely industrial waterfront to the Gateway Arch.

Arch park is gorgeous. If being-up-high isn't your thing, then there is no need to go up inside the Arch. There is plenty to do and see on the ground. As with going up in any tall structure. It's entertaining for about six minutes. You take some pictures, comment on the view aaaand its time to come down. I thought it was worth the
$10, but I am sure there are those who would disagree.

All the best photo ops are on the ground anyway.

With a quick stop for a late lunch, we then (FINALLY) made it to the City Museum just at 5 PM (when the price drops from $12, to $10 - Score! And the place is open until midnight! Double score!). We had strategically planned to come later in the day in the hopes that perhaps there would be fewer children underfoot. Since we weren't there mid-day it was impossible to compare but there were still children evvverywhere. I get it, its a very kid friendly place (and on a kindofwarm early March Saturday, there aren't a ton of options for the kiddos) but, I would have been willing to pay $20 if we could have gotten some sort of adult swim type deal.

Even with the littles running around, we still had an amazing time. Not since my days spent traipsing about the original Children's Museum in Washington DC have I ever had this much fun within a museum's walls. There was very little learning, it was just more go! do! see! climb! crawl! slide! go more!

When you visit:

Play outside! You must trust that all the pieces will stay together and that you can climb out on that airplane wing and through that crazy tunnel. You can. And you absolutely should.

Make art! You'll be tired after the outside adventures. So paint. Get your portrait drawn. Make snowflakes. Create things.

Go down the slides!
There are two that cannot be missed. The monster slide - which is right near the ticket booth and is bright and colorful. And the 10-story-slide which is a little more tucked away. The entrance to it is on the first floor back by the caves. It is a surreal experience to slide down 10 stories (and one that will leave you dizzy and disoriented for a minute) but one you should have in your memory box.

Forget the Rules (or try to)! I've become a big fan of rules in recent years. But the thing about the City Museum is there are no rules. or maps. or instructions. You just go. Sometimes this can get terrifying (mostly when oblivious kids are blocking your path and you can't move) but it should be considered liberating to not worry so much about being right all the time.

After a few hours of go! do! see! all of us old farts were exhausted. We veto-ed a Washington St. dinner in favor of heading back to Lafayette Park (mostly because we wanted our walk home at the very end of the night to be as short as possible.

We made it to Square One Brewery for a yummy dinner (and even yummier drinks) before a quick trot home and a night of cupcakes, laughing and falling asleep midconversation.

We all slept late on Sunday and then stumbled back to SqWires for brunch (where there was a man playing piano! and a fireplace! the love is in the details, people) before heading back to Chicago.

I know there is more of St. Louis to see, but for the amount of time we had, it was nearly a perfect trip. We managed to get everywhere on foot! The sun shone down. We slept and ate well - there's really not much more you can ask for in a weekend getaway.

Double Post

Hi!

I wrote a blog about dressing like a fancy regency lady for the Improvised Jane Austen blog.

You should go over here and read it. Then buy nice dresses. You deserve them.

Storycat

JBH is an awesome human being in approximately one zillion ways, but one of my favorite parts is that she can always tell (completely true) stories that make me laugh, out loud, when I having a grouchy time of it.

You should get your own JBH, they can be trapped with lobster nachos and Indiana Basketball.

TYOE: San Diego

For our first on-a-plane adventure, we decided to cross timezones and spend some time soaking up all the Vitamin D our bodies had been missing during this dreary Chicago Winter.

San Diego is Guh-or-geous. We got off the plane and I was already ready to move in. Sure, I'll live in your crappy airport, just gimme all your sunshine.

The weather was in the 50's-60's all weekend with overflowing buckets of sunshine, and people kept apologizing for this! Nearly everyone we talked to was all, "sorry its so cold. I wish you guys got better weather this weekend." Meanwhile, boyfriend and I are walking around with our tongues to the sky trying to catch sunbeams. Sure it was a little cold for shorts, but I got myself a nice bit of color and so forgave everyone for the necessity of long sleeves.

Our hotel (priceline that 'ish, y'all) was right on the Bay and since we only had about 36 hours we decided that that's where we would spend most of our time. Sometimes you want to see all of a city, sometimes you realize that its better to enjoy what is right in front of you, especially in a place that is so easy to walk around in. This meant we had a very touristy weekend, but sometimes (hipsters, I'm talking to you here) being a tourist is Just. Fine.


Where we ate:
Top of the Market - ugh, so touristy. But we were starving and craving super delicious seafood for lunch on the first day. Swordfish tacos? Awesome. Atlantic Rock Crab Club? Kind of paled in comparison to the tacos. But not bad. Bonus Points? We were right on the bay and we got to watch old men in canoes fishing while we ate.

Spike Africa - We were super indecisive about where to eat dinner on Friday night and so walked in huuuuge circles, all over the Gaslamp district and into Little Italy before ending up here. I had the Ahi Mango Poke appetizer as my meal and it. was. perfect. Easily my favorite thing I ate the whole trip. With the Red's Strawberry Sail as my boozy side piece, I was the happiest camper. Boyfriend got the Island Pork Rib Plate (I'm not sure why) and was a little disappointed, but ordering ribs in a seafood joint seems like it would be a disappointing choice. So no pity over here.

Mission Beach Coffee Break - They had acai bowls. It wasn't nearly as good as the one we had with Maimees in Hawaii. But it was an acceptable silver medal acai bowl, enjoyed with our feet in the sand.

Roberto's Taco Shop - Six years ago, Boyfriend had a drunken burrito from this joint and has been dreaming about it ever since. We made that dream a reality, sober this time, which may have been a mistake. A California burrito is serious business. Some beer to line your stomach before the grease and fat train comes to town would not be the worst idea. So delicious and yet, much like jager shots and McDonalds cheeseburgers, something my body can no longer handle in excess.

Sally's Seafood on the Water - We were not super hungry after the dumptruck of burrito, but we needed something. Sally's had overpriced sushi. We ordered two rolls. They were so delicious. We were full and happy.

Cafe 222 - It's pretty hard to screw up brunch. And Cafe 222 held up their end of the deal by serving us eggs and carbs in a timely and delicious fashion. Just a warning: their website is obnoxious. Its almost bad enough to make me take away an imaginary star.

What we did:
The USS Midway Museum - So. Bad. Ass. Give yourself so many hours here (like >5), because even if you consider yourself disinterested in military history (me), you will be drawn to all the how-life-was intricacies of this place. Go up in the island. And all the way down to the engine rooms. Then think about how you walked around for five hours non.stop and still didn't see the whole thing. Wonder how something this enormous manages to float in water. Give the concepts of buoyancy and density some high-fives.

Mission Beach - We picked it because of its proximity to the requisite burrito stand. It was a little cold (and we a little didn't have towels) for beach sitting, but there was a grassy spot with palm trees that was perfect for reading and digesting said burritos.

Seaport Village - What a vortex of time wasting. I'm cool with being touristy but this was one step away from a fanny pack.

Mission Brewery - We did the beer-then-burrito thing a little backwards which made me feel pretty wretched. The beer was super good and the building was airy and wonderful. Even though my poor little stomach was about to explode.

Took public transit - The fastest way to my heart is an easy to use public transit system. The light rail and the buses were efficient and cheap and got us to exactly where we needed to go. Bonus points? We got to eavesdrop on some guy put out a hit on someone while on the bus. We felt dangerous, but safe.

Despite some crazy-expensive food and getting hosed in the hotel room department (no balcony?! weak), it was the perfect escape-from-Chicago-winter weekend. AND, it was my first time on the west coast! Ever (with the exception of some extended airport layovers)! Which means we got to fly over big Rocky Mountains and crazy flat Nevada! The East Coast will always be my number one boo, but I am diggin' on the rest of this fine land pretty hard these days.

In the Kitchen: Lavender Cookies

I'm not much of a baker. Sweet stuff is better left to my better half, mostly because its way more science than cooking and I'm a little too free-form to be constrained by measurements and rules (also, I tend to over-indulge in the licking-the-cake-spoon department). But occasionally I'll pull out the flour and sugar and do the damn thing.

Once upon a time, a little while ago, my amazing Godmother made amazing lavender cookies. I don't know if there was a specific occasion to go along with them, but they were there and I ate them and they were so.good.

I've thought about them on occasion since that day. And since I now live in one of the only neighborhoods where you can buy lavender without too much struggle (oh, Middle Eastern Bakery, you are The. Best.) I knew it was only a matter of time before I was having enough of a bad day to know I needed to make some soothing, smellgood cookies. 

Lavender Olive Oil Cookies (adapted from a Lemon Thyme Olive Oil Cookies recipe)
Recipe courtesy George Duran (by way of AEM).

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ginger  
1 tablespoon lavender
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons milk (I ended up using about 6 T. by the end)
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon of salt 

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper or use silicone baking sheets.

Put the flour, sugar, baking soda, ginger, lavender, and salt into a bowl and whisk together to combine. In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, milk, vanilla. Add the liquid ingredients to the dry ingredients, stirring with a wooden spoon until you form a nice smooth dough (my dough was super crumbly, so I kept adding additional tablespoons of milk, and ended up using about 3 additional table spoons before I got a consistency I was okay with; even after the additional milk they still required a little bit of TLC to be made into ball-shapes, but once cooked, they tasted perfect).

Roll heaping teaspoonfuls of the dough into balls. Place them about 2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets. Bake the cookies about 12 to 15 minutes, or until they are browned around the edges. Let the cookies cool for a few minutes and then transfer them to wire racks to cool completely.

They were just as awesome as I remembered them. After taking an informal poll of all the people who got to have a few, the boys all said they tasted like soap. The girls, however, said they tasted like a delightful secret garden experience in yo' mouth. I am inclined to agree with the girls. Lavender is such a strong scent, that it can be over- powering, but the olive-oil seemed to neutralize it. Make them, and let me know what you think. 

After I shared my batch, someone told me that apparently Princess Kate over there in jolly ole England is apparently big into lavender biscuits (which is what they call cookies over there, I guess. Probably because Pillsbury hasn't really gotten into the UK market). They were instrumental in helping to sooth her yucky preggo tummy in the first trimester. While my friend was not preggo, she was having some of the bubble guts and apparently these made her feel surprisingly better. So not only are they crazydelicious, they're medicinal too! 

Also, in other news, I've decided I hate the lighting in my kitchen. Everything looks so harsh and unappetizing. As I continue to spend more time than expected barefoot and in the kitchen, I'm also working on how to make the pictures of food I take look not gross. Any insight into how I can do this (without becoming a photoshop whiz) would be greatly appreciated.

TYOE: A Saturday in Milwaukee

2013 will be The Year of Exploration or TYOE.

For Christmas, Boyfriend gifted me the gift of adventure within the continental United States (just like on Double Dare!). Due to the absurd amount of flying for work he did last year, he earned enough miles to get me a Companion Pass on Southwest Airlines. And while many airlines would make you give up all your hard-earned miles for such a fancy piece of plastic, they let him keep the miles and the girlfriend-in-tow. So this year will be all about exploring as many of the places Southwest flies as we possibly can. The Year of Exploration (*trumpet noise*)

Well, our first adventure did not even require a plane ticket, just some gloves and a full tank of gas.

Boyfriend has been talking about this Spy Restaurant in Milwaukee forevvvvver, and we got the braintrust-y idea that we should go explore it in the middle of February when Milwaukee was a balmy 16 degrees ABOVE freezing.

I've discovered that when Boyfriend and I travel, we focus most of our energy on eating and drinking and walking around. We'll wander into a museum every now and then but we love food, we love booze and we love walking around burning off all those delicious, delicious calories. Are there awesome museums in Milwaukee (and the other cities we will visit)? Absolutely. Will we visit them? Meh. Maybe. We'll see.

The day started at Trocadero for brunch. We picked it for its proximity to the Lakefront Brewery - and in that regard, its awesome. We were told we had to have a Milwaukee Bloody Mary. I don't know how The Frenchie compares to other Bloodys (since I don't drink them on the regulars, being a mimosa girl myself), but it was spicy and delightful. The beer chaser felt unnecessary but I mean, when in Wisconsin... The food was fine, but I feel like its pretty hard to foul up brunch. The service wasn't great, but since we were only walking across the river to get to our next destination, we weren't in too much of a rush.


Then! After brunch, we discovered that the Holton Street bridge has both a convenient pedestrian walkway AND a sweet teeny-tiny little playground. Full of brunch and a little tipsy, in 16 degree weather, is not quite picture-perfect swinging weather, but we gave it a shot.


We mulled over which brewery to go to (Lakefront vs. Milwaukee Brewing Company) and ended up at Lakefront because that is where Facebook told us to go. It was a great experience, but now we want to try out Milwaukee for comparison's sake.

By 11 AM we had both had about 1.5 beers and were feeling AWESOME. Day drinking is the BEST, winter, summer, don't care. I like my beer while the sun is shining. The tour was fine, the beer was good (although we were disappointed in the lack of variety in the brew pub) and we walked out with two complimentary pint glasses (just what every household needs more of - pint glasses).

Three beers in and feeling buzzed to the max, we meandered down the riverfront path. I bet in the summer it is super gorgeous and full of fun things, but I have to say, with a snowy river and literally NO ONE around, it was kind of perfect.

We made it to the spy restaurant (with a quick stop at the statue of the Fonz which is sort of meaningless to me as I have not ever seen a single second of "Happy Days." But I love a good photo op).                 

The spy restaurant at 4 PM lacked a little of the required ambiance. It needs some darkness and to be less full of screaming children. But we had some fried cheese curds and ice cream (Lunch of (drunk) Champions) and a fancy martini and explored all the fun spy bits. If you really want a Super Spy Experience, get your ass to the Spy Museum in Washington DC and do the Spy training thing. I know its expensive but it is WORTH it for the James Bond power trip. 

We made it down to the Public Market which eeeeeveryone said we had to visit. Not knowing what it was, I was up for it. Until I realized it was just a giant, uber-trendy Whole Foods. 

Had we not just stuffed ourselves with sweet, sweet cheese we may have been amped for artisanal pickles and fresh halibut but it was just noisy and smelled funny so we left to find some non-food third ward adventures.

We found an amazing antique shop (in the same building as Paintball Dave's) and spend an hour or so convincing ourselves that we did not need a whole bunch of garbage (despite how bad we might have wanted it).

By that point, buzz worn off and cold starting to seep in, we made the choice to be done with Milwaukee. Was there more to see? Sure. But going to a museum at 5 PM is dumb and we live close enough to find comfort in the fact that it will always be there, hanging out, waiting for another day of drunken stumbles.

Celebrate your local adventure! Visit a small city within driving distance today!

Thursday's Best Internet Finds - Fancy Photos

I am a huge photography nerd. I like taking photographs, looking at photographs... all the other things people do with photos (its kind of just a two step process, I guess).

The internet is cool because it makes looking at photographs way easier. Thanks Internet!

I was talking with a friend this past weekend about maternity pictures, as she is up the spout and I was wondering if she was going to pay someone a whole bunch of money to capture her glowy, round self for all eternity.

She isn't, because we both agreed its kind of silly. The professional photo industry is exploding, largely thanks to social media. I give photographers a wholebunch of credit, they have made quite the little niche industry for themselves. We spent some time wondering which event will trend as the next photo-worthy moment. My guess is secret proposal photos (which is already blowing up) followed by "Pictures-in-our-first-house."

Please don't think I am knocking photographers, or people who chose to have these photos taken - I am not at all. I totally understand it, and I really enjoy looking at the end result.

However. That is not what this blog is about. (holy tangent, batman).

Badass, creative photo projects are my number one fav. And here are three awesome ones.

Back to the Future - my naraccistic self so totally wants to be part of this. It combines my two favorite things: vintage photos and adults looking kind of ridiculous.

Toy Stories - children from all over the world (kids are the best subjects) and their most prized possessions. So wonderful and simple. The preceding article has some interesting anthropological tidbits but really when you look at these photos, in the back of your mind you are only thinking about what your possessions would be. I feel like that if I was captured at age 3 - 5, it would have been a cabbage patch doll, some legos in a yellow bookbag and a book or two (although one of my parents would probably answer that question better), anytime after 5 and before 10 - it was books, and barbies, and my Samantha doll and probably some dress-ups.

you are my wild - children (I was not kidding about them being the best subjects), photographed by their amazing parents. Parents (if they are lucky enough to be talented in this field) are the best at capturing everything that is wonderful about childhood. These photos make me want to be a parent. But only if I can also be an amazing photographer.

Heart Dagger

Me: I really, really want to go to a Blackhawks game.

Boyfriend: Me too. I'll take you. We just have to wait...

Me: yeah

Boyfriend: ...until they lose.

Writing this blog post feels wrong. Posting on social media seems stupid. Turning on final score notifications on my phone was absurd.

Logically, in the verysmall logical part of my brain - I know that my actions have no effect on the Blackhawks season.

BUT. The rest of me. The Italian part, the Chicago-transplant part, the unlucky-in-most-things part, the part that is currently full of cake and chocolate chips and extra spoonfuls of ice cream - is so sure that when the Blackhawks lose, its going to be all my fault. I will have done something wrong. Gone to the game, worn the wrong underwear, been in a bar (instead of in my house) watching it, started watching too early, been too sober/too drunk/too hungry.

When the Blackhawks lose, I will feel really bad about it. And while I recognize that that makes me a total lunatic - I can't help it.

And I know I'm not alone. That sound you hear, during every game, around the 18-minute mark in the third period is the city of Chicago holding its collective breath. Although, to be honest, I don't know if anyone has entirely let it out yet.

I'm mostly glad that after an entire Notre Dame football season with the same emotions and tendency to channel my anxiety into spinach dip binges - Boyfriend finally understands how it goes.

And if you think I am Not wavering on pushing the publish button, you don't know me. Or my insanity.

Dance about it.

You've seen this, right? I just want to make sure that everyone in the entire universe has seen this. Its too good to be missed through an internet hiccup.

What will be your Space Jam?

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.