30 seconds to L.A.

A few weekends ago took us on our first trip out of Chicago in 2014 for which we are eternally grateful.

We literally *just* made it out. There was snow and surprise champagne and trying to catch a cab on Elston (a serious Chicago no-no).

But we made it to LAX and I immediately started taking off layers.

Here's the thing, normally, 50 degrees and dark is a little bit cold, but to a body that has been stranded in Chicago since the dawn of time, it was basically tropical.

We ended up staying in Santa Monica because all I wanted from this trip was lots and lots of beach time. We stayed at the Inn at Marina del Rey which has a sketchy-sketch vibe, but was a perfectly lovely hotel and even came with a bonus drunk and disorderly possible-prostitute who put on quite the show during breakfast on Saturday morning.

Saturday was BEACH.DAY.

Sixty glorious degrees and all the sun a girl could want.

We walked all the way from Venice Beach to Santa Monica which is pretty far, but felt absolutely amazing. We wandered around the Santa Monica Pier which was pretty lame for anyone over twelve, but we snuck in some arcade games before trying to find some lunch.

Lunch was provided by Border Grill. We thought about doing their all-you-can-eat brunch, but the thought of walking back to Venice Beach on an overly full stomach did not sit well, so we just had some tacos (the al pastor, fish taco, carne asade and chicken). If I had to chose between the Border Grill al pastor, and the Big Star al pastor taco I would probably die. Guys, why do pigs taste so good?

We walked through Abbot Kinney Blvd which was so delightful. I had already splurged on a new jacket within 30 seconds of getting to Santa Monica so I resisted buying anything, but there was so many fun things and it was nice to walk through something that wasn't a Gap, even if I could not really afford most of it.

We got back to Venice Beach just in time to catch a windy sunset and before walking to Chaya because the internet said we should go there. The internet has a very bland palate because it was fine, but not too exciting. There was lots of cheap booze though and that hid the fact that the food was kind of a snooze.

The next morning we woke up with a long itinerary. Here you go:

Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum: My very first Olympic stadium. I tried not to be too down-trodden by how down-trodden it was, but still, there is a stir in my heart when we walked up. I have that Olympic fever fo' life. Bonus excitement when we were pretty sure we were going to be arrested for trespassing. 

La Brea Tar Pits: Underwhelming, but a lovely place to drink a cup of coffee.

Walk of Fame/Grauman's Chinese Theater: I did not know any place could be worse than Times Square, but I found it. It's only redeeming quality was we discovered that we have the same size hands as Jennifer Aniston (me) and Harrison Ford (Boyfriend). There is a really lovely Farmers Market down the block from the theater that only had vegetables and no baked goods. It was this moment that I realized Hollywood was really kind of broken and weird.

Hike up to Griffith Observatory: totally worth the hike for a pretty great view of the city - plus if you make it all the way up without passing out you can eat all of the sandwiches when you get back down.

Travel Town: we ended up here on accident on our way to some other train place, and I hope that one was better because this one was lame. To be fair - we are like three days from cashing in social security - with one or two tots in tow, this place would be amazing. Lots of trains, lots of running around, and a train ride on a tee-tiny train. Don't bother unless you are a super train nerd or like a good excuse for selfies.

The Rose Bowl which just about crushed Boyfriend's dreams of the Rose Bowl, does it always look that terrible? They were clearly doing construction, but it is a sad stadium full of sad Badger losses.

From there it was a quick stop at the Grove to get my Dylan's Candy Bar fix because even when I am not think about it - I crave clodhoppers every day of my life. 

We managed to survive on snacks until getting to The Churchill for the Superbowl. The Churchill would clearly not consider itself a "sports bar," because despite our reservation for 4:30, when we arrived at 3:45 pm we snagged the very last table in the place with a not-so-great view of the TV, but a killer brunch menu that they were still serving. We landed the brussels sprouts pizza and the chicken and biscuits - both far, far better than any football game.

The next day was non-stop-Disney-til-you drop. I could write a whole blog just on how we are the winners of both Disney parks, but I will spare you. What I will say is if you have a choice, always pick Disney World over Disneyland.  The comparison is shameful. The Disneyland castle is weak. The day had its highlights of Boyfriend cutting in front of a kid to get his picture with a storm trooper.


If you are going to eat in Disneyland - we highly HIGHLY recommend the steak gumbo at the Royal Street Veranda and the fried green tomato sandwich (with sweet potato fries!) at the Hungry Bear.  If you are eating a cheeseburger then you are probably also the asshole who doesn't know how fast passes work and so I hate you and your entire matching-t-shirt-wearing family.



To wash that Disney taste out of your mouth, its time for the Getty. The water lilies and eavesdropping on a man teaching third graders about old furniture but mostly just soaking up as much vitamin D as possible in one of the prettiest, brightest spots in the city, also the tram. Double bonus points for the tram.

A really, really good bowl of Ramen for lunch at Tsujita and then back to the airport and back to Polar vortex sadness.

When we started exploring last year, we went in with the thought that this was an audition for a bunch of cities we might consider living in, which is why our travel decisions did not always make the most sense. Of course the one city we postponed is the first one where I found myself with a longer list in the "pro" column than the "con" one. It has its faults (build a light rail or something, guys), but I think we might have found our maybe-second-home. At any rate, this year's travel will mostly be repeats, but enjoy some add-ons to The Year(s) of Exploration.

Be Happy 2014. Eat Well.

I was dancing around this month's mission for a while, but luckily, I have been living it for the past week or so anyway.

I am going to eat good food. Food that makes me happy.

At first I thought I would make this about eating "healthy" food, but there are foods that I love that are not "healthy" and I have no interest in living in a world without dark chocolate (not this month anyway).

So instead, February is dedicated to eating what I love with the bonus of eating things that are Good. No frozen meals, no noodles wrapped in plastic, as few chemicals as I can manage.

I started out the month eating everything amazing in Los Angeles, followed by a weekend full of homemade delights with my favorite potluck ladies. The rest of the month promises to also be full of such treats on the weekends. It's all about keeping the momentum going during the week and figuring out how to eat good things, and doing it before 9:00 at night (which is when most homecooked meals end up on the table in this house).

Last night it was acorn squash with balsamic reduction and quinoa. Today it was veggies with quinoa, tofu and peanut sauce.

We're doing great and we'll do well.

Panda tumble Friday

I feel like most of us can empathize with this panda.



It is Friday. It is cold and snowy and awful. Let's just get through it and eat some snacks.

On the edge of transit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be Happy 2014. Read a book.

So far, my first mission of happiness has been a delightful success.

In honor of awards seasons (the most wonderful time of the year), here are the awards given out for the books I managed to read this month:

Best book that reminded me why my favorite author is my favorite author:

MaddAddam. During this really stupid webinar I listened to this afternoon about marketing strategies, the guy leading it said, "use a photo instead of text. Unless you are Margaret Atwood, your text will never be as good as a photo." Its true. This world she has created are sad and terrible, but I can see them. I know what they look like. Read all three books in the trilogy and think about the world we have created. Then be sad but also happy because good books make people happy and then go ahead and be kind of angry because you will never be that good, but be grateful that someone else is. Margaret Atwood makes you feel all the emotions.

Best book written by someone who once borrowed my hoodie:

The Shining Girls. I spent a Jan Term in Cape Town, South Africa. We had an amazing guide who told us where to go drink and told us to stop referring to it as "Africa" because it made us sound like assholes. After we got back to New York, we became facebook friends (as you do in 2005) and I was able to keep track of how successful she was at just about everything. This is the first book of hers that has been published that I have actually gotten to read, and it is about Chicago, which is always fun. It was gruesome in parts, to the point that I had to look away but worth the journey. Anyway, we went up Table Mountain and it was cold and so she borrowed my very loved Juicy Couture velor hoodie. And then she wrote a book.

Best book that kept me up at night (that was not worth it):

The Bloodletter's Daughter. The problem with the Kindle is it is too easy to buy books for 99 cents. I do not even have to carry them anywhere or open a box or anything. I do not think this book would have made it past the first page flip in a store, but with just the touch of the screen, boom. Anyway, this book is full of crazy historical business that I had never heard of before. Apparently some of it is true and I know I had heard the name Hapsberg before, so I will take it. The history nerd inside me paired with a nasty bout of late-nap insomnia resulted in me staying up until 2:30 finishing it. It was not worth it. The time would have been better spent on Pinterest, but whats done is done.

Best book that mentioned someone I know by name:

Meaty. This also gets an honorable mention for making me giggle on the train. Samantha Irby is amazing. I should have already known this because she is good friends with some of my favorite people. It is a big bummer that the name drop was not wonderful and happy but more sad and wistful. It was real just like the rest of the book. It was real, everything about it. Funny real, sad real. Samantha Irby is a delightful human being and now that I have made her laugh once in real life, I hope I get a chance to do it again.

Best book that makes me so sad I can barely breath (again):

And the Mountains Echoed. It is no Kite Runner and it is no A Thousand Splendid Suns, but even this bronze medal winner in Khaleed Hosseni's "also by the author" list is still so wonderfully sad and good. Kite Runner, while I am comparing the three might have actually been too sad. It was sobbing on a train in Brooklyn sad, which makes me, and the three gentleman on my train car very uncomfortable. This was a more comforting sadness. It nearly perfectly matched my dreary January mood. Nothing would ever be nice again and this book just proved it to me. His sadness makes me inexplicably warm though. Cathartic sadness for January.

Best book that kept me up at night (that was totally worth it):

The Ocean at the End of the Lane. I am trying very hard to train myself how to sleep on airplanes. Nearly every flight I try to force myself to sleep sitting up so that eventually I will be able to do it for six straight hours. Our flight to L.A. last Friday we almost did not make it, but we did so we celebrated with a drink and some complimentary oreos (hey, yo!) I also was reading this new Neil Gaiman and had considered trying to squeeze it in before the end of the 31st, but decided a training nap was more important. Just kidding. This book was my everything. It was perfection. It was the real-ist fairy tale made for the most child-like of grown-ups. Read it immediately. It will take you exactly one flight from Chicago to Los Angeles (a flight you should be on anyway becaus it is awful winter up in here).

This experiment turned out perfectly. Six books in four weeks is what I should be averaging and I am so happy that I managed to luck out with five amazing ones and one that only cost 99 cents (and was not actually thatbad). I only missed The New Yorker just a few days ago when someone mentioned David Sedaris had a new piece, but beyond that I have not even thought about it. More books in February, but something else too...

Happy Teej Marrow Day!

Hey everyone, January 31 is a pretty special day around these parts.

Last year on January 31, my favorite crazy bitchface let some state-school educated doctor root around in her insides, take out her bone marrow, and then hop her up on "recovery" drugs.

Later, some other Doug Ross wanna-be put that bone marrow in a sick little boy. And with any luck, he is still doing okay (although even if he isn't, she gave him that many extra days for his parents to snuggle and love him).

All because T-Bone put a q-tip in her mouth.

This is your now-annual PSA that you can be as brave and strong as my favorite Ben's Chili Bowl companion. 

Take a minute out of your afternoon Facebook break and go to Be The Match to learn more about bone marrow donation. 

If you only spend today learning about it, and then an entire year screwing up the courage to do it - that's fine. People will need your bone marrow next year too. 

Learn a little about T's experience here, and read last year's Happy Teej Marrow post here. 

I love you, T - this is the only picture I have of us from 2013. I do not know which last pair I am referring to, but the tough-broad sentiment remains the same. Also, maybe in 2014, we can take pictures that aren't snap chats?

2014 Truism number 3

I will never, ever pack at a reasonable hour for a trip. Not ever. Might as well utilize that procrastination time for wine and much needed catch up with my favorite neighbors.

Chubchubs gets you full on game day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hazel eats



For Christmas, Santa Claus got Hazel the type of present my grandmother is

 notorious for getting people- the type that you didn't ask for, that you didn't need, and that is making your life way worse than than no present at all.

Her vet, Dr. Danny (seriously) who is all of ten years old told us last year that our baby girl is chubby and if she ever wants to make the cheerleading squad she's gonna have to drop some of that 6 year-old pudge that cats get when they are not required to actually hunt for her food. 

He said she needed a feeding mechanism that was mentally stimulating because that's totally not psychologically messed up at all for a girl who is overrating because she is sad and lonely. 

So we got her this half-moon thing that she hated but eventually it became no longer a challenge for her. Eventually kids learn how to climb up to the top shelf and you have to start all over again. 

So for Christmas, Santa went to Fab.com and got her this thing that basically looks like it should have come with some teenage mutant ninja turtle action figures.

She is still not speaking to me. What kind of terrible cat mother am I? As if wrapping it in Santa paper made if less of a dick move on my part. 

She has started to get the hang of how to eat out of it. What I did not take into consideration was that for the most part her method is to stick her paw in the little bin and then pull it out so as to fling as much cat food all over the floor as possible and then just eat it right from the filthy wood.

Not only is she pissed at me, and covering my floor in passive aggressive crunchies, she now has the table manners of a goddamned raccoon. 

When that method of eating doesn't work she just waits until three in the morning and stands on my side of the bed yowling her displeasure like a hippie on a hunger strike. 

I am not sure why I feel the need to torture this animal in such an elaborate and overpriced way. I really felt like it was in her best interest, which is fairly indicative of where I am in "starting a family," department. 

Seriously, what self respecting animal drinks like this?

The first organizer

Things we take seriously in this house.

Christmas ornament organizers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TBIF: On my mobile

This Thursdays' Best Internet Finds posts comes courtesy of my lovely Mother and her knowledge of all things Frederick County, Maryland.

Two girls I went to high school with are doing amazing, world-changing things. Which is exciting because a vast majority of the news out of my hometown is about pregnancy, or jail time. So, bonus points for the news not being those things right off the bat.

As much as my mother would like to have you believe otherwise, cell phones are officially and completely the future. Especially in developing countries, access to cell phones can literally open the world to women. There are downfalls but the world is not going to step backward any time soon, so we might as well do everything we can to help these women step forward.

Also, bitches love cell phone covers.

Enter Kidogo Kidogo. Created by two girls I went to high school with (who have names, you know) Kim and Kristen Waeber.

Here's the deal. You buy one of these hella cute cellphone covers.

My favorite?

FLAMINGOS! They're perfect and pink!

And then you get a friend to buy one too.  Might I recommend the trees? 

And with those simple purchases ($30 is what I spend on Starbucks in two weeks) a woman in Tanzania receives a cellphone, a sim card, and phone credits to help her start new connected life.

The stories on their site are so simple and amazing. The thing you use to play candy crush is changing lives.

Guys, this is as easy as getting pregnant, but way, way better.

Redventure.

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

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

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

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

Namaste. Bless You.

I think that yoga might be the one form of exercise I can do constantly without getting sick of while still deriving some sort of athletic benefit, but my current house of yoga costs way more than I can justify spending on anything these days. So I recently canceled my membership.

I think of yoga as a workout, it is how I justify eating all the snacks (and yes, I know we don't actually need to justify snacks, but unless you are going to buy me new pants - justify) but I know that for most people yoga has some deeper meaning. 

For the longest time, when I was told (asked?) to set an intention at the beginning of class, it was always, "let's just get through this." Then, when Boyfriend's mom got sick, the idea of dedicating my practice became a habit.  Occasionally it was for someone else, sometimes it was for me.

Today, I had an epiphany in class. Maybe it was because I was the sweatiest I had ever been. So sweaty, I thought I would dissolve into a swampy pile of yoga sweat goo. I just realized that this is as close to prayer I will ever get.

I have never been religious, and it has always felt pretty douchey to pray when things get bad, when I have never once prayed when things are good. Plus, if there is a man upstairs, he is probably actually a lady and thusly hates hypocrites. Lady Gods cannot abide by hypocrites.

When I dedicate a practice to someone it feels like an opportunity to try to take some of their pain or sadness or confusion away. As I sweat and strain I reach out into the universe, find one person and say, "I'm already working hard, give me some of your weariness because I can take it."

It feels stupidly wonderful (and very cliche-y) to have a workout with bonus substance. To not only feel like I've earned that extra beer but that I have stepped out of me and all of my goofy first world problems and given an hour and fifteen minutes of my breath and self to someone else.

Being the dick pragmatist I have always been, thoughts and breath come up short when what people need are medicine and cures, but as I have gotten older and life has gotten more real I have realized that thoughts (and prayers, if that is what you are cooking) are pretty valuable too.

I have about a month of yoga left in my membership before I move into other things and I try to find other ways to devote myself to others but until then, I will celebrate these opportunities to sweat it out for others.

And please, someone remind Boyfriend when I come home just smelling like a hockey locker room that sometimes, I do this for him.

Day Off - Keep on keepin' on.

I forgot I had MLK day off over and over again. Which is kind of a problem because it means I am missing a deadline (oops), but it also meant I had this magical free day with no plans or priorities.

I have a tendency of letting a day like this slip away in front of the TV or (way worse) facebook. The secret is never getting comfortable.

The day started with eggs and planning.

First things first: If you are not cooking your eggs in coconut oil, you are doing yourself a grave disservice. Everything should be cooked in coconut oil, it is so good.

Then I took a massive organizational project. I managed to go through the pantry, the guest room closet, and my closet with only a brief break to sit with Hazel and watch the end of Tommy Boy.

I am giving myself a bit of a respite because I started watching Top of the Lake and it has confused me enough to require a sit down (also because it was time for lunch). I will get through another episode (Maybe it will make sense after another one? Why is British TV so complicated?) and have picked out a dinner recipe before conquering one of our storage closets and the pile of recycling.

The secret is to not sit. The minute I sat down I got sucked into a vortex of being seated. While I kept myself moving it was easy enough to keep moving.

Movies are better than TV. Movies end and remind you to keep working. Finish a project before starting another one.  Drinking tea helps. Take a break every now and then to rub your cat down with a dryer sheet (so static-y!).

Feeling productive feels so much better than sleeping in the long run. Happy day off!

2014 truisms pt. 2

You really just need a good blanket.

Everything will work itself out, a soft warm blanket makes it better.

TBIF: Tee blues

Sometimes you make rules that are rational and necessary. Like "stop sleeping with that guy," or "try to be only a half hour late to work at least a couple times a week."

Right now, my rule is, "No more t-shirts."

There is a t-shirt problem in my apartment. They're everywhere. In every drawer and stacked in piles in my closet. There are t-shirts in bags that I've sworn will go to good will and an even bigger pile that I have double sworn are going to be made into a quilt.

I have been pretty good about no more t-shirts and added the challenge of no more tank tops to the rule. Everything was going Just.Fine.

And then I stumbled on this picture.

This is easily the most badass photo, possibly of all time, and I do not even care if it is photoshopped, because it is that good.

I had to go on a quest for these shirts because hot damn do I love manners and brunch.

It did not take too long to find Buy Me Brunch and decide that I wanted nearly every single shirt they sell. It hurts me. It physically hurts to not already have the "Buy Me Brunch" tank on its way to my house. 

Every single shirt I see has people who I know need it in their lives. My brother? Absolutely needs a snuggle monster tee. 

Most of my friends from high school (and some of my friends from the rest of my life) need the Surprise I'm Drunk tee.

If it had not literally just been Christmas about six minutes ago, and if I did not spend my life in everything except t-shirts, ugh, it would be mine.

I'll see if I can wait until February before I bend because my will power is actually nothing. For those who do not make arbitrary rules, buy a shirt. Immediately.

Plan it out

I asked for a planner for Christmas.

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

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

But now, it is how I make the sausage.

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

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

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

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

Bounce for Joy

I get really, really excited when Target sells fancy clothes that I can afford. My Jason Wu black cocktail dress continues to be one of my most favorite pieces of clothing. I wear it at least four times a year.

I am hella pumped for the Peter Pilotto for Target collection. It gives people like me, who like to play it safe in the colors and patterns department, an opportunity to branch out and try new things without spending approximately ALL of the dollars.

I am not wild about the separates, but I love the dresses in the collection.

 

Refinery29 has the whole look book for your lunch time browsing pleasure.

 

What I love even more than these two dresses, which I will get dirty and fight to the death for, is the fact that when I searched Peter Pilotto Target, this is what came up:

 

Dude makes real fun printed dresses and trampolines. I'm sold.



Juan at a time

This blog post was supposed to be about the Bachelor because I just watched my first three hours of it ever and I have some Things. To. Say.

But instead its about a sick boyfriend who needs pats on the head and gatorade with-a-straw.

Boys are quite possibly the most pathetic of the ill. I am pretty terrible at being sick, but stoicism has never been my strong suit. Boys puff up their chests and show us their tail feathers until they have a temp-a-ture and a yucky tummy. Then it is all sleeping and wallowing in the biggest ocean of self pity that can be found.

So tonight its disinfecting the entire house, keeping the cat from making too much noise and putting the ginger ale on ice.

On the bright side, I got to be a part of this conversation:

After telling me he didn't want anything besides a single piece of bread, he looked at me for a minute, "Um."

"Yeah, what do you need?"

"Um. Are there, like, stomach flu shelves?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, you know, to sort things."

"To sort things?"

"Yeah, to, you know, sort things for your stomach flu."

"To sort things where?"

"You know. In bed."

"Oh."

"That's a thing?"

"No. Sorry. That is not a thing."

Work friends

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

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

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

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

TBIF: for Bros and Creepers.

Mel Evans might be the funniest person I know in real life. Its real creepy and weird how much I like her and not-so-secretly would like to be her friend. Its mega strange and if she is reading this (which, lets be real, she isn't.) she would probably be hella uncomfortable and rethink all those cat pictures of mine she liked on instagram.

At any rate. She is a contributor to the perfect on-the-clock time-waster Bro Jackson which is basically if Deadspin was like, "Fuck you, Nick Denton, we're in charge. Jezebel, you can come too. Be cool."

Her columns, introducing bros to the finer, loved-by-the-ladies, things in life, are consistently hilarious and worth a read. This week's installment about Flowers in the Attic was particularly eloquent and on point as it discussed why girls in 8th grade are weirdly into incest and inappropriate boinking of other varieties.

I, myself, did not read Flowers in the Attic, though I have no idea how I missed such an essential part of adolescence, though I am sure this rationally explains my fears of commitment and twins.

What I did read was Return to the Secret Garden which had to have had the same effect. My mom purchased it for me in an insane error of judgement (seriously, do not judge a book by its cover unless you want your child's favorite childhood stories being beat up and kicked down a flight of stairs).

The Amazon page for this book is really quite spectacular. The summary has a bulleted list of facts. And those facts are mostly about the original. Also, everyone in the comments section is mad. The Amazon page might be more entertaining than the book itself.

There are some passages to that book that I read so often as a ten year-old that I still have them committed to memory despite my insistence on killing of brain cells at an alarming rate in the interim.

The book got passed around my middle school like the new Green Day CD. By the time I retired it, the spine had been taped back together numerous times, so exhausted had it been lying open for the young, impressionable girls to learn about the intricacies of marrying your cousin (spoiler alert) and the complications that arise after illicit garden sex.

I cannot in good faith recommend this book. I can tell you that if you should find it for sale for under a $1 then sure, let me know how it goes. I can in good faith tell you to be really, really awkward around Mel Evans and read Bro Jackson around 11:30 a.m. when you have already given up on the day.

truism 2014 v.1

A night where I can be in bed by 10 p.m. with a book in my hand feels like a good day. Even though it actually means I am ignoring all the work I have to do and avoiding all the cleaning my house needs - it feels good which has to be enough sometimes.

Doc Tuesday

After surviving our journeys to work amidst the arctic vortex today, we came home to bowls of soup with a side of Blackfish and then Bully.

And we reached the conclusion that humans are the worst.

But soup is good.

Polar Vortex Day!

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Place like it.

I had such an amazing time while I was home for Christmas. One of the best adventures being the day that nearly everyone on my Mom's side of the family went into D.C. for a day of museums.

This is how I feel about being home.


Thanks to my baby sister, 'Bear for shooting this amazing vid.

Be Happy. part 1.

My actual "resolution" this year is to spend all the gift cards and gift certificates cluttering up our junk drawer. It took about four of them expiring for me to decide to do.something about it.

My Intention for 2014 is to be happy. It seems simple enough, but my default feeling is anxiety and frustration so it is less simple than it would be for normal people. Naturally, to be truly happy, I would have to come into some independent wealth, so I could just live on fanciful whims all goddamned day but with that not happening anytime soon - I am going to make a conscious effort to do and find things that make me truly, legitimately happy.

We're going to do one thing a month, because I gotta go slow with things that are unfamiliar and scary like happiness.

Month 1.

For the past seven years, my dad has very generously provided me with an annual subscription to The New Yorker to make sure I do not lose touch with my superior, erudite East Coast roots while surrounded by these midwestern yokels.

Without The New Yorker, I would know nothing about artificial food flavoring, the Miami Marlins, the favelas of Rio De Janeiro, and would not have read my three favorite articles of all time: Max at Sea, Trial by Fire, and the one that ALWAYS comes to mind when people ask what I've gained from getting the magazine for the better part of a decade: The Itch.

But reading the New Yorker leaves little time for reading anything else. My subscription stopped unexpectedly at the end of November and I found myself cruising through three books in four weeks. So when Dad offered it back up yesterday, I said no. Because I want to read books. The books above and the unseen ones floating around in tubes of my (still in its packaging because I am waiting for my cover and do not want to take any chances) Kindle.

Reading the New Yorker is wonderful but it also kind of feels like work. Its a weekly assignment I feel guilty about not finishing on time. Reading books just makes me happy.  Right now I'm knee-deep in And the Mountains Echoed and its amazing. I am deliriously satisfied to be reading something so good.

To books and happiness in 2014.

New things!

I've been thinking a lot about blogging and this blog and the Internet and the meaning of life over the past few weeks and months and I have really decided that it is time to shit or get off the pot.

So, it's time for something new. New Year, new focus, new intentions. I was hoping that like magic that the new would just appear overnight. Instead it is all still up in my head where I left it. 

So, hang tight. Think about your intentions for this year and finish up all the Christmas cookies. They are not going to eat themselves. 

Happy 2014.

TYOE: Las Vegas

I may look 29, but my mental age is far closer to late 80's. I like sleeping and breakfast and things that are quiet. I used to be all in for late night parties and making questionable choices but now when I do that I wake up the next morning wishing for a black hole to crawl into to sleep forever.

Las Vegas was a place I figured I had aged out of at this point.  With the exception of perhaps an outlying bachelorette outing, I thought I might never make it.  But it turns out, I was going to spend the anniversary of my birth in the city of... something (lights? bad choices? whatever).

Here is how to do Vegas if you are old and grouchy like me:

Stay at the Elara. It has no casino inside, which is nice because no one who isn't staying there is wandering around drunk and it never smells like cigarette smoke. It is technically "off the strip," but it is a very short walk (less than a block, inside or outside) to put you smack dab in front of the Bellagio.  The rooms are great, the pool is great, and it does not have a resort fee.  Stay there.

Go see "O." People are not joking when they say this is THE show to see in Vegas. It was perfect. It was two hours of pure magic and delight.  I found myself just wanting to watch it again and again. It is absolutely worth every penny you spend to see it. 

Eat one all-you-can-eat brunch. My vote? Le Village buffet at Paris. Brunch is the preferred buffet meal because you get the best of all worlds. Eggs. Cocktail shrimp. 47 million macaroons. Eat at 11:00 a.m. and then you will never have to eat again. 

Cocktails at Parasol Down at the Wynn. We only found it because we spent most of our time in Vegas just exploring, but it was my favorite. An outdoor bar overlooking a gorgeous waterfall where you forget you are even in Vegas. 

A birthday treat from Jean Philippe Patisserie. You only turn 29 once. 

Here are some other ways to pass your time (if you hate gambling):

Slots and video black jack. This might sound like gambling but if you do it right, you can make your money last the longest and get the most free drinks (coming out kind of ahead at the end of it all).  Also, it takes so long to lose your money (if you make the lowest bids possible) that you forget how time works and find yourself stumbling back to your hotel room way past 3:00 a.m. patting yourself on the back for being a real gambler without the devastating heartbreak of losing your entire life savings. 

Another show.  We saw Penn and Teller which feels like the obvious choice.  They are super political these days though. I do not know if they have always been the Libertarian magic show, but yikes stripes personal freedoms, we get it already.  My vote would probably be for Absinthe if we ever go again.

Play arcade games at Excalibur. When you're sick of losing money for no reason, switch it up and lose money because you are playing arcade games.  Boyfriend crushed a game of Indiana Jones pinball so hard. It was the best fifty cents he spent on the entire trip.

Sit by the gd. pool. It is 80 degrees. Do it. Stop rushing around and just enjoy your vacation. 

We also ate at Lotus of Siam, The Peppermill and Fleur - all of which were also super delicious and worth it. 

If we can get to Vegas and stay there for under $300 a person, I would totally go back. I love anywhere I can sit by a pool in late October but honestly, it is kind of overwhelming and sad. You are having a good time and then you realize this is basically a giant resources suck in the dessert that steals peoples' money with their permission. The free drinks are nice, and the nice architecture is nice, and as a place to just walk around and enjoy it is fine - as long as you can forget that basically this is a place where sanity and good choices come to die.

Nine times? Nine times!

Guys.

I am announcing right now that this will probably be the penultimate novel marathon I do. Who knows how I will feel next year, but this year was pretty rough. 

If you look at this handy graph that the lovely NaNoWriMo people provide:

This was really more of a write a novel in about eight days (for the record, on day 23, I was at 6,000-ish words). Once again, it felt absolutely crazy, but completely normal to hammer out 10,000 words in a day. 

I found myself writing best on the train before and after work, any time that might be spent playing on facebook was spent writing novel in the past week. I turned facebook, and pinterest, and gmail off on my computer so that I could focus. I wrote instead of going out to have fun with out of town guests, I wrote instead of getting any of the fun things done I wanted to get done. I wrote when all I wanted to do was go to sleep. And then, I was finished. 

This year was hindered by the fact that I had no idea what I was going to write about for a long time. And then I decided what I was going to write about, and I realized very quickly that it was going to go nowhere. So instead I just changed, about four thousand words in, to make my book about something else. Then there was the fact that there was always something better to do. Something that needed to be done sooner, or something that was more interesting or something that stressed me out more. It was not until last weekend that I realized that Thanksgiving was not the second to the last weekend, but the LAST weekend of November and it was time to hustle. So I hustled. And now it is done.

Next year is ten years. That feels like a good stopping point. Ten years of unreadable novels feels like a good amount. They're stretched over three laptops (one of which does not exist any more, which may mean those novels are gone for good, quelle domage) and ten most different years of my life. Ten years ago was 2004, which was New York, and college, and whirlwind of having absolutely no idea what was going on in my life or anything else. This year's novel is kind of a tribute to that feeling and that year which feels quite appropriate for the second to last one.

Thanks go out to:

Dbudz for always believing in me, even when sometimes he was all, "you do not have to do this you know? You can just stop." But then when I said no, he was all, "okay, I will go make some tea."

Dbudz's family for also being fine with my Thanksgiving being spent on the computer for hours and hours at a time. Also, sorry I am not sorry for smoking all of you in Apples to Apples.

T-bone and her family for not batting an eye when I said, "yeah, I am not going out to dinner/a show/fun things with you, I have to sit at home and write my novel." T-bone does lose a point in the thanks column for introducing me to Scandal, which ate up an entire weekend of writing because sadly, I could not figure out a way to incorporate text messages consisting of "Ohmaaahgaaaah, what just happened, I am about to die." into my novel. It's okay T, I still got it done and Scandal is my most favorite. So its all just fine.

Happy December everyone.

Inner Demons and Good Feelings

I shot out of bed this morning, wide-awake with anxiety at 5:15 a.m. A full hour and fifteen minutes before my alarm was set to go off.

For the longest time, I just lay there, letting the anxiety wash over me again and again until I thought it would explode out of my fingertips.

And then as if some sort of fairy godmother was whispering my in ear, I thought, "what am I panicking about?"

I am panicking about things I cannot control. Things that will get done when they get done. Things that are partially my responsibility - but my portion is done. Things that are so far in the future, I can barely put them on a calendar. Things that will require a late night, but only because I sometimes take on more than can fit in your standard day.

I was anxious about things that did not require the rapid heart rate, the sweaty palms, the near tears. I was anxious, because anxious - due to years and years of having too much to do and a huge helping of fear of failure - is my default position. Anxious is how I am.

While I wish I could say that this revelation made the anxiety magically disappear and I am reborn a calm and zen human being forever rational - that is not the case. The anxiety never left. It stayed as I lay there waiting for the alarm to go off. But somehow, the knowledge that the anxiety was unwarranted, helped make it okay. It was still bad, but Okay Bad.

It was as if instead of chasing off the demon, the good feelings just sat with the demon and they started working out a peace accord.

I don't know where this bold moment of clarity came from but I hope that by announcing it to the internet, someone else finds one as well.

TYOE: Charlotte

Charlotte was the perfect city to visit on the tail end of a week-long stay in Maryland, and right before we brought out the big guns: Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon, Seattle and the Treehouse.

We stayed with one of my longest-time friends C-sea, who has lived in North Cakalacky for almost 10 years. This is my first time getting down there, so clearly, I'm the worst friend.

She and her main squeeze, E (together they are known as Chellis) - own the cutest, pinkest house at the end of the lane. It was so fun to get to see how they are decorating - and since C-sea is a Pinterest queen - it's pretty amazing. She should probably blog about it. 

We had two requests for this trip: good North Carolina BBQ and their favorite brunch. Otherwise we wanted to drink and sleep. This is not how this trip would have gone five years ago when it just would have been up in da club for 48 hours straight. But an old lady knows what she wants: good food and an early bedtime. 

Chellis totally delivered in both departments. Our BBQ was courtesy of Mac's. Despite a flighty waitress and an inaccurate beer list, it was crazy delicious and far less biker-y than the exterior would have you think. It was an arm and a leg above most places in Chicago. And I'm always happy to have a choose-your-own-adventure BBQ sauce experience.

Brunch was courtesy of Heist. I normally am hesitant to jump into an all-you-can-eat buffet breakfast because I feel like its a quantity over quality disaster. Not.the.case. Everything was so amazing. Most amazing? The giant waffle that Danny topped with baked French toast?! What?! What?! In second place was the endless train of mimosas maxing out my daily intake of bubbles. Mmm. Bubbles. 

We also snuck in a meal at Loco Lime because I was craving a margarita. It was Mexican food which is pretty much the same in Chicago and Charlotte.

In two days, we had three meals. And we were satisfied. That's how delicious and filling everything was. God bless the South. 

Charlotte has a crazy brewery infestation - we let Chellis pick a couple favorites and ended up at Triple C and Birdsong. In a cage match, my money would be on Birdsong, but go to both and you can be the judge. 

We ended our weekend at Whiskey Warehouse for more mimosas. Because I was lying before and there is no such thing as too many bubbles. They have a killer roof deck that would have been perfect except you can still smoke on bar patios in Charlotte, which truly was the only tick mark in the con column of this trip.

That's it. Food and drinks and playing catch up with some of my favorite friends- Chelsea, Ellis, and sleep. Thank you for a perfect lazy weekend. 

Good morning

This is the view I woke up to this morning from my treehouse. The city girl in me will never die, but I could get used to this. 

Deep down in my gut I have that sinking Monday morning feeling but right now I could not care less.  

So it begins

It was a little ironic that this week I could only describe my mindset as Zombie.

Get up, go to work, work, work, work, come home work, work, go to bed, get up, go to work, work, work, brains, brains, brains, bed.

Halloween passed with absolutely no fanfare beyond a caramel apple and cupcake. I almost forgot that after Halloween comes all the writing. 

Last year, I did NaNoWriMo with nothing else on my plate. I was unemployed and had a schedule chock-full of free time. And I couldn't make myself write.

This year, I'm in the middle of wrapping up one event and planning two others - which involves a constant stream of words and numbers, and to add insult to I-can-never-say-no-to-work, I'm in the middle of a writing project that will last well into the month. Plus, we have four trips left to take, including tonight's to Seattle. And I haven't even told you jokers about Charlotte, Vegas or the gd Canyon I hung out in. 

But I signed up. Because I always will. 

So we'll see if no free time creates more writing time in one of those inexplicable equations of the universe.  Either way, I'm sorry for the radio silence. More blogs later...whenever that is...

Things I made - the orange and pink edition

Our bags are packed (again) and we're rushing off to Las Vegas (with bonus Grand Canyon visit) after work today. I have one billion things to get done, so no real blog today. Just the promise of updates from Vegas, Charlotte, being 29, and my garden.

 

Speaking of my garden. Look at this gorgeous monster.

 

No filter (why would you filter perfection)

                              

 

My dahlia looked totally dead in mid-August, but with some serious patience and love, I came home to this gorgeous bloom on Monday. I am not often proud of myself, but I am seriously pleased as punch about this gorgeous lady.

TYOE: Maryland (part 2)

More eating recommendations for any time you might spend in the Fredneck/MoCo area.

Isabella's has an amazing lunch tapas special. 3 ladies x 3 plates each = all the fried asparagus. Their plates are generous and delicious anytime but lunch seems like a no-brainer.  

Bonus points for popping into Muse, across the street, and buying a beautiful handmade stuffed animal for one of your besties, or any of their other amazing locally created trinkets and delights. 

I do not spend a ton of time in Charlestown, West Virginia but my favorite little monsters (ages 4 and 6) live there, and I have it on good authority that they are pizza experts, and they eat Papa Johns. So, clearly Papa Johns is the best in the biz, with a little Yellow Tail Shiraz blend for the grown-ups, hello Tuesday night.

Side note: this was the first time I have gotten to hang out with these kiddos in about three years, just us and not our entire enormous, loud, crazy pants family. It was so wonderful even though they are quite simply, the rottenest. 

I have a crafted a theory about the restaurants Voltaggio after having eaten at all four.

If you are looking for a fancy, lets impress everyone meal - you go to Volt. If you want to do this and have it not be an incredible strain on your wallet, you do it for brunch. 

If you are looking for a delicious dinner that will make everyone happy - you go to Family Meal. You make sure you have at least one order of duck fat fries for the table (maybe two if some people skipped lunch), and you order the fried chicken. Let your friends make their own choices, but don't mess around with this, it's fried chicken or its pack it up and go home.

If you need a sandwich, go to Lunchbox (duh). 

If you are just looking for some short eats and a craze-mazing cocktail, you go to Range. Having eaten dinner at Range, I can tell you it is not worth it. The price tag on a meal that makes you full is steep, and for the quality of food, impractical. We had some amazing bites, but that only made the bad ones all the more obvious. Get the rockfish, and the sunchokes, and anything that you can smear bacon relish on. Get a drink, be brave and order something with at least one word you don't know, and then be done.

When Congress continues to deny you buttermilk fried alligator bites, Good Stuff Eatery is getting all the sloppy seconds by way of some realdecent cheeseburgers. Get a milkshake, because you only live once. If you see Barack Obama there, tell him Rachel says hello. 

Pacifico has sangria. Apparently they have food too, but after all that cheeseburger, sangria is all you need to spend an afternoon catching up with your friend-who-is-family.

When you find out your 21 year-old sister has never eaten Greek food, lament her entire childhood being spent in Western Maryland, and then head to Ayse (pronounced Eye-shay). You must get the Brussels sprouts. This is not a negotiation. These are world champion Brussels sprouts. They are so freaking delicious. Get two, who cares, they're a mystical, magical vegetable. Then whatever other Greek food you need, which is mostly just lamb and cheese on fire.

For your final meal, you convince your Granny to take you out to lunch, and really the only acceptable place is Clyde's. Cross your fingers for seating in the hunting room and enjoy the bizarre placement of this kitschy Adirondack lodge in the middle of sterile, boring Montgomery county. Get whatever you want (a crab cake). Thank your grandmother for lunch and for telling you about all the ways you could be a better granddaughter. 

And then as you're leaving, get Chipotle at the airport, because there is a chipotle at the airport. God bless you, BWI. 

TYOE: Maryland (part 1)

When in Maryland, you should:

Make sure your flight is as late as humanly possible so when you collapse at the Hyatt House (which is technically in Virginia) it's the best bed you've ever been in. Bonus points for the free breakfast including omelet bar.

Go when the government is shut down, essentially ruining all of your well-made plans (to go here for the best lunch and here for the cutest panda). 

End up driving around historic Annapolis just enough to be mad that its raining and you can't find parking. Get your perfection-on-a-bun crab cake sandwich and some cookies at Chick & Ruth's. Take them to the movie you are 15 minutes late to (in Maryland, crab cakes can be brought in anywhere).

Try to get on the Bay Bridge at 4 pm, on a Friday, before a three-day weekend. Take back roads, feel like chump (yeah, a chump that didn't sit in two hours of crawling traffic).  Arrive at your lovely Aunt & Uncle's house for amazing BBQ from Em-ings).

Go to a backyard Maryland wedding, one chock-full of love, and family, and bliss. One where a flooded backyard is not a cause for crisis, but just moving the tent across the street. Get muddy, drink a little too much, eat all the crabs. Drive through a foot of water (the tide is in, duh) to stay at this crazy lodge. Celebrate two really fun people and the villages that made them so great. Steal sea glass off all the tables at the end of the reception. 

Drive forever. Listen to as much Mike and Tom Eat Snacks as you can. Make sure you get stuck in beltway traffic ruining any nap-taking plans you might have made.

Watch one of your forever friends get married. Be rescued from a stink bug by your 8th grade English teacher (who is also the mother of the bride). Sit at a table with people you've known for almost 20 years. Be overwhelmed at the amount of love you have experienced. Eat a cupcake. Ponder all the delicious cupcakes eaten in the past 48 hours. Feel lucky that you know people with good taste in baked goods. Dance. Sing. Skip the after party. 

Crush the free Holiday Inn Express breakfast buffet. Twice. Day drink and reminisce at RFD. Drink more at Del Frisco. Break into some National monuments. Take pictures with the nice police officers who won't let you break into others. Sit on Einstein's Lap. Celebrate the city that feels like it has always been yours. Eat a pretty good eggplant sandwich with your Dad. 

(This trip was 8 days long, which is too long for one blog, more yummy food recommendations tomorrow).

Quick note on routine

I haven't been on a train in a week, which is one of the reasons for the sudden absence. When you make a routine, all parts of the routine are required. For me, writing blog posts, in the morning, on the train required all of that.

Instead, I've flown into Virginia, criss-crossed the entire state of Maryland, regained my rightful title as Best Cousin in West Virginia, and had several boozy, slightly illegal adventures in DC. 

But today feeling the overwhelming need to commute (and wanting to get into DC without sitting in traffic) I took the train and had my first routine blog. 

It looks a little different here: 

It makes for a nice change. 

Real blogs start again on Tuesday. 

Don't Pull

I hit my wall.

After running on Dr. Pepper Ten fumes and my all-consuming fear of failure for the past three weeks, last night, I could not do it anymore.

So I went to bed, hoping I would wake up magically better or magically with all my tasks complete. 

Quite obviously, neither of these things happened. So I am force to keep running up against the wall, pushing it with my weak, flabby arms and the promise of being nothere in just 48 hours. 

Push on.

Five years of this.

We don't celebrate anniversaries.

We celebrate sandwich Tuesdays 

and Bike Accident day

and the weekends when all our favorite teams win.

We don't do presents.

We do far away adventures

and close to home adventures 

and drive through the night because we forgot to book a hotel room adventures.

We don't do flowers.

Because if you tell a guy once that you don't like flowers

You will never, ever get flowers

(Lesson learned).

We do:

Late nights on the couch.

Breakfast in mugs.

Bad fights that end in huffs.

Silence.

Forgiveness.

Joint travel anxiety.

Cake.

Walking far.

Staying in. 

Being scared.

Providing comfort.

Beer with fruit.

Shoes everywhere.

Bad photographs.

Good bits.

Here's to five years of whatever this is, and whatever it will be. 

Sunday Wellies Love

On Sunday, my green Wellies and I made it through the rain and the last minute sprints across the quad with a ribbon fluttering behind me and the volunteer scramble and the medal ceremony where we unceremoniously switched someone's gender, and the out-of-tshirts and the too many bagels and the moment where the sky got blue and everything was great and the "thank yous" and the "you did it's" and "how does it feels" and all the mud that ever was.

Thank you green Wellies. For a final hurrah, we knocked it out of the park. 

Another Year Pt. 1

Its my birthday month! I don't like to celebrate my birthday as much as I just like to take time to think about how amazing it's been to take yet another trip around the sun. Here's the unfinished post I wrote last year. It is absolutely still true. Get ready for a weekly birthday post for the next few weeks as I prep for the last year of my 20's. 

I feel like I talk about traditions a fair amount. I don't know why, per se - but as I grow up and my life extends outward, I have found that traditions, both old and new, help keep me centered and inspire moments of reflection of how lucky I am in this little life of mine.

Sappy? Yes. But true.

Today is my birthday. I am 28 years old. Its a mellow birthday. I am easing into my late twenties slowly and quietly to avoid pulling a muscle. But luckily - slow and mellow is my favorite part of my newest birthday tradition.

For the past few years I have had the luxury of knowing when I wake up on my birthday that the day is mine and I can do whatever I want with it. If I want to carpe it. I can. Or I can curl up with a good book and let it wash over me. Most years it's been a little bit of both. But the rule is - no plans and no requirements beyond being happy.

So this year it was free donuts (guys, Beaver's Donuts gives you a free half dozen on your birthday if you can track them down. Fo' realz. Plus they give you a hat!)

...and coffee with Boyfriend who had raced back from a work trip to Kansas to spend the morning with me before giving me a kiss and promising dinner and presents.

Then a trip to anthropologie, a visit with one of the most important people in my Chicago-life, and now a moment at home to eat eggs and toast and be happy for all I've got.

Thursdays best Internet finds - the grass is greener edition

When I say my life is at Def-Con Bravo stress levels, that is only a gross over-exaggeration in that my job has very little impact on the world. It is stressful because I am bad at managing stress. I am particularly bad at managing stress that comes from things out of my control. I am stressed, but only because I am terrified of failing and I am leaving my success up to others.

That being said! One of the ways I deal with stress is thinking about all the other things I could be doing. I dream about other places, other careers, other whimsical things that strike my fancy. 

One of my favorite stress-relieving day dreams is here- at Longest Acres.

Reading this blog is like talking to the coolest girl you know who also happens to be the kindest and the most badass. Except she is a stranger. But I think we would be friends. Right? How creepy and stalker am I? I want to steal your life and be your friend. Yikes.

Her life doesn't sound perfect, in fact it sounds like it comes with all it's own stress and anxiety, but at the end of the day, when I have been sitting at a computer for 12 hours trying to make bagels appear out of thin air- it's the simplicity of her life that makes me so envious. 

It's not something I could sustain but to escape to a place where you get to control everything and find pride in that sounds pretty awesome. 

Brain waves

I have said it a million times, but I am not being facetious when I say that Boyfriend and I are up most nights until at least midnight working. And there are bonus all-day-Sunday weekend additions too.

When there isn't football on, and we haven't devolved into being too zoned out to turn it off, the TV is on, to give us some semblance of just being two normal not-overachieving people. 

For the past month or two we've been watching Arrested Development, from the beginning, six or seven episodes at a time. Last week, on the orders of all of my Facebook friends, we added Broadchurch to the mix.

You should watch both of these shows. They're both amazing. If you're like me and never got around to AD when it was on- carpe the Netflix.

Broadchurch may require your local Internet dark alley, but it's so worth it. A stunning sea-side, small town with gorgeous cliffs and vistas is really the only place to set a show as gut wrenching as this one. So that people can have the mixed emotional response of, "I am so sad and this is so awful, Oooh I really, really want to visit this, why don't our sad things in real life have beautiful ocean-reflected sunset lighting them?" 

For a few days we were watching both Arrested Development and Broadchurch back-to-back because variety is the spice of any life that is devoted to spreadsheets. 

Those were the nights of the most bizarre dreams. In a weird, sick way, my brain found a way for these shows to fit together and the result was unsettling. 

So, for me, it's back to eight hours of West Wing back to back when I need to get my work done. 

My childhood with Marcella

Once upon a time. When boyfriend was not quite boyfriend yet, just a boy who made my chest hurt, he was trying very hard to impress me.

We were swapping memories and I told him I was going to make him one of my favorite meals from childhood - pasta with bacon, peas and ricotta. He said it sounded gross. To which I replied, you sound gross. 

In an attempts to win my affection, boyfriend went to the store to purchase all the things I said I needed for this meal.

"Why did you get black-eyed peas?"

"For your thing. You said you needed peas."

"Yeah. I need peas. Actual peas."

"Oh."

In an attempt to look like I handled crisis and change well, I went ahead and made the dish with the (eventually very incorrectly cooked) black-eyed peas.

When we sat down to eat, I could barely hold back my emotions.

"This is kind of ruining my childhood."

He stoically ate all of it, leftovers included.

Eventually, I must have made the dish correctly for him, and he was not impressed. He said he couldn't really taste the difference between this and the other version. 

Once again emotions rose up in me and I tried very hard not to punch this still-not-boyfriend in the nose.

This dish, and many others that came from the pages of Marcella Hazan's kitchen were such huge parts of my childhood happiness, it was hard (still is hard) for me to understand how they don't evoke the same emotions in others.   

The food of Marcella Hazan is the food of my favorite memories. This dish of everyday-excuse-for-bacon joy, rice salad of Nantucket summer nights, pasta al forno (with homemade bolognese) for birthdays and welcome homes. Any and all of these things, eaten the next morning, a bonus dinner for breakfast treat.

Boyfriend managed to stick. So did these meals. Every one now cooked in my kitchen too. 

Thank you, Marcella, for a delicious life.

Other people wrote about her too: In the New York Times, and the New Yorker.

Pictured: my first ever made all-by-myself pot of Bolognese.