Lo. Siento.

Today, for the first time in recent memory, my intentional actions made someone cry. In front of me. A lot.*

I don't really do tears. I would really rather deal with anything else (except for loose teeth) than someone else crying.

And it's bad enough when they're crying over boys or loss or something involving Colin Firth...

But when it's something I have done, something I had all the power to prevent, to control, to avoid - that's when it makes me feel completely wretched.

Or at least that's what I discovered today. I discovered that my legs shake when I make other people cry with my words and my actions. I find myself suddenly very interested in how my pants stretch over my knee caps.

And I wonder about other people who do this on a regular basis. People who will knowingly say and do things and then watch people cry. And I wonder how they get through it.

Do they eat as much chocolate as I did today? Do they get use to the hole-in-the-belly feeling?

I wish it was all over. That this was the first and last time. It's not. I'll come back this to this topic in another blog post when I have some non-chocolate solutions.

*to be clear, while my words and actions were not intended to be malicious in anyway, they could be construed as hurtful. Occasionally, that is the nature of such things.

Southern Dreams

I am bad at knowing what I want.

When I do find things I want, they are almost always incredibly impractical.

So I have kind of deduced that being a grown-up means wanting things that are practical.

So some day, I am going to grow up...

but until then, I am going to be your most impractical friend.

I am setting my sights on 2013. Which gives me enough time to research and dream and give up for awhile and get down on myself but then go for it anyway.

New goal? Spend my 30th birthday in Antarctica.

Not into me

Now that I am rather settled into my monogamous life style (after being pretty well duped into it a couple years back) - I have had to find new, more ridiculous ways of embarrassing myself in public.

Back in the day, it was easy enough to have one too many quarts of Miller Lite and completely misread any number of social cues from the opposite sex. This often ended up with me either trying to make up a fake phone number that didn't have 12 digits in it or my friends laughing at me for assuming the guy with the fiancée was trying to hold my hand.

Now I just give dudes the old - "see the guy drinking plain bar coke, in the corner doing math problems for fun? I'm going home with him."

So I have turned my social ineptitude on the ladies mainly by professing my desire for friendship far too strongly.

I meet a new lady and rather than just seeing how things go, I decide (way earlier than is appropriate) that I should tell her I think she is the coolest and I want us to be real, real good friends.

Most girls are perfectly nice about such absurd declarations and I leave the situation excited for all the coffee dates and inside jokes in our joint future.

Then several months go by and it dawns on me that my new Bestie really just wants to be acquaintances. Maybe we will see each other at parties, maybe we play some words with friends, but they don't want to get serious about it. They're not going to call me up just to sit around on the couch and eat brownies. We're not going to make collages out of Seventeen magazines and pictures from winter formal.

And while I spend a few minutes being bummed about this missed friendship, because I am of the opinion that you cannot have too many lady friends, I remember that I am lucky enough to have lots and lots of friends who will talk me out of going to yoga and into sharing a bottle of wine.

Finding it.

(guys- this post is officially 2 weeks old. embarrassing. but enjoy)

Easter had always been a holiday about creating new traditions. Some of the new traditions are now officially old traditions, but Easter is an opportunity to create new things to last for a long time.

Or perhaps. Rediscover old things.

This year we had an egg hunt. I have not participated in an egg hunt in about 12 years. Since Easter had been relocated from its permanent position at Granny's house to wherever-I-am-when-it-happens - there have been pinatas and champagne brunches at midnight, but no eggs to find.

This was Boyfriend's first year as an Easter Orphan and he wanted a real deal Easter (except he wanted turkey instead of ham) including a search for plastic eggs full of candy.

Because he's a grown-up now, he wanted to hide the eggs instead of look. Since we only had a 40' x 20' space to hide them in and we didn't want our friends rooting through all of our shit, he had to do a really good job.

Cut to Easter Sunday, when 7 of our friends were cut loose and told to find all the eggs.

I wish I had stopped worrying about cooking for like 30 seconds and had taken some pictures, because it was literally like they were a bunch of 7 year-olds with empty paper bags in one hand and mimosas in the other.

There were a fair amount of eggs at eye level and easily accessible that kept them busy for about 6 minutes and then things got interesting. I feel as though their grown-up senses got in the way of their egg hunting occasionally. While kids would immediately stick their hands into the paper feeder on the scanner, the adults think twice - worrying about the lasting effects of melting chocolate on electronics.

The last egg needed to be found, we gave a hint or two and then without saying anything, KK climbed up on a table in the living room and plucked the egg from where it was hiding in plain sight on the window, hopped down and held it aloft victorious.

Very few times will one of your fanciest friends abandon decorum and stand on your furniture in the hopes of winning something out of the grab bag. The laugh and sense of nostalgia you will get from that moment will be worth all of the hours you put in to cooking the turkey. Enjoy it. Make it a tradition.

whaaa happen?

So, I disappeared from the internet for a while. Whoops. Sorry about that.

A friend made a comment in passing that wasn't meant to be mean, but made me feel self-conscious about this blog. Which is dumb, because this is the internet, its my job as a human to fill it with garbage. But the sensation of doubt was hard to shake and has left me tentative to fill the non-existent (and yet still there) void of internet I have.

Anyway - I promise, I will finish writing about Alinea. For those who are interested.

And I will blog about taking on Easter which will be epic.

And eventually, I will blog about something that isn't food.

Until I do - go download the new Of Monsters and Men album. Its real, real good. I do not consider myself a "music" person. So I am excited to be the first of my friends to have listened to them. They were amazing in concert and I cannot wait to see them again.

My Mouth's Most Happiness (part 2)

So, where did we leave off?

Oh yes - caponata. Or as I like to call it, the eggplant game changer (go read about courses 1 - 9. It's cool, I'll wait).

After the thing most resembling an entree came and went (with all of it polished off and the consideration of stowing the fish head in my purse for Miss Hazel) we came to the physical challenge part of the meal.

We were given a wax cup full of liquid with a little metal spear holding some unidentified squares dangling above it. At the word "go" we had to pull the spear very carefully out, depositing the squares into the liquid. We had to be very careful to this in a timely, yet gentle fashion while under the very judgmental eye of one of our waiters. Naturally, all this pressure got to me, and I nearly failed, but I managed to get my squares into my liquid and shoot it back with a quickness.

It was hot and cold at the exact same time while also managing to be simple and delicious. So many adjectives. It is called "Hot Potato, Cold Potato" which is pretty much exactly what it was. According to my limited internet research this has been on the menu for a really long time, which makes sense. It really encompasses everything Alinea is about. Its totally off the wall, requires tableware you cannot find at Sur La Table, and is very delicious.

The next course comes with a pillow full of juniper air, which I am seriously considering purchasing for my own at-home use. I forget how amazing juniper smells until they are putting a pillow of it in front of me, with a plate of mushrooms on top.

If you know me, you know I do not eat mushrooms. The texture of mushrooms makes my skin crawl. Just thinking about the way they feel in my mouth gives me a fit of the shivers. But I had a funny feeling this was going to happen, and I told myself long before we even got to the restaurant that I was going to eat everything put in front of me.

So I ate the mushrooms and once I got over the mushroom-y-ness, all of the other flavors were amazing enough to keep the texture-based goosebumps at a minimum.

Pillow of juniper deflated, we got to make our own venison goulash roll-ups in cabbage leaves. I was not anticipating spending all of the dollars and then having to eat with my hands, but I went with it. I know there is a part of me that is country girl (its smaller than the part that is Italian but it exists), and this country girl loves her game meat.  Mmm, venison. I probably will never be able to have actual goulash without being severely disappointed.

Difference between Alinea and McDonalds? At Alinea you get a warm towels after you eat with your hands.

Towels removed it was time for an explosion (Fun Fact, the word explosion will always makes me think of the Madhouse Comedy Explosion and Summer 2004, good, drunken times).  The black truffle explosion was a single ravioli served on a spoon and with a warning to eat it all in one bite.

Boyfriend summed it up best with, "Wow, I think I need a cigarette." They do mess around with hyperbole at Alinea, just black truffle oil.

For most of the meal, things seemed to be how they were just because... but the next course was apparently based on Miro's Still Life with Old Shoe.

Image (via)

What does a course based on this look like?

Different sized utensils, all with bites of food on them. While most of the other courses came with strict instructions, this one was the "there are no rules" course. All bites were eaten in whichever order we preferred. Of course, I have no idea what was on most of them except deliciousness. I wish I could be more specific. There was for sure a spoonful of jam, and a spoon with a bit of vinegar and oil on it, a bite of foie gras, some crunchy business and a fork of squab.

Having had utensils to eat with for 2 courses in a row, it was time to go back to eating with our hands and/or a smouldering cinnamon stick.

Most of the things that I ate during this meal I would never dream of recreating, but at the end of the smouldering cinnamon stick was a ball of brie cheese, caramelized onions and anjou pear with a crispy outside. While I will probably leave the fire hazard out of it, the rest of this dish sounds totally doable (and we all know how I feel about brie).

After I explained to Boyfriend that that cinnamon stick was his birthday candle, they brought out another torture-looking device. This one with five long, thin metal fingers sticking out of a solid base. On the end of each finger was a bite no larger than the size of this O (okay, maybe a little bit, but not much bigger. Maybe this O). Each bite was a different type of Hawaiian ginger, garnished with completely different flavors.

This is the moment where Rachel learns the lesson that it is not the size of the food but the size of the flavor that makes all the different. Each bite packed a wallop that had me reaching for my sparkling water. One of the pieces of ginger had a single cell of grapefruit on it. A single cell! These were some of the most flavorful things we ate all night. Ginger means business, everyone.


After letting ginger blow our minds a little bit, we got geared up for dessert which I am saving for another blog because it deserves at least this much description if not more.

My Mouth's Most Happiness (part 1)

Sometimes, I write blogs for me, you guys. You can read them and everything, but I just need to remember things and so I write them down on the internet. This is one of those times. I need to remember everything about my meal at Alinea and writing it all down will help me (although, I cannot imagine ever forgetting it, but we all get old sometimes).

Please feel free to read the next two blogs and live vicariously through me (that happens so rarely I am kind of excited for the chance of it).

However.

If you think that you might ever eat at Alinea (especially if that could be happening sooner rather than later), I think I would actually caution against reading this (at least until after you've gone and then we can compare stories).

One of the best parts of the meal (and there were quite a few best parts) was the surprise element of everything. There was no menu, no warning about what was going to happen next. I was even a little bit bummed that from my seat I could see other people's tables, so some of the surprises were ruined for me. Boyfriend's seat meant that he couldn't see anything before it arrived on our table and his glee from some of the dishes made me a little envious.

So, just...think before you read. If you don't think that you're going to get to Alinea in the next six months or so, than please - feel free to read away. This experience totally made my life.

I will start with the fact that this is the most I have ever spent on anything that wasn't a vacation and wasn't an actual, tangible thing. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think of it as a little 3-hour vacation. Probably the most expensive one I will ever take on a dollar-per-minute basis, but still worth it. I celebrate the fact that I currently live a life, where, with a bit of savings, an adventure like this is financially feasible for me. Can I do it every month? Nope. But once a year to celebrate something as awesome as Boyfriend's golden birthday? Sure.

So we get to Alinea. And it has a crazy, magic door that automatically opens as you get near it (its basically a grocery store door that is solid metal, which makes it infinitely cooler and more future-y looking).

Once you're there, its basically like a very well decorated town house with an enormous kitchen full of people, but then you go upstairs and its just a pretty, minimalist house, for antisocial people who don't want to talk to or eat with others.

And then they ask if you want wine. And you can say no. Because I cannot imagine the food would be that enhanced with wine. Boyfriend and I both just got single glasses which we managed to sip on throughout the total meal and it was totally satisfying as a between-course amuse-bouche (and way, way, way less cheaper. I am made of money, but not, like, that much money).

(this is going to be the longest two blogs ever. With no pictures. Sorry guys, I am trashy, but not trashy enough to take food pictures).

So then the first course comes and it looks just like regular food.

Its Char roe with carrot, coconut and curry. I was surprised by how normal it was. It was just food on a plate. It was delicious, with salty and sweet and lots of flavors but for a moment, my heart sank. I was expecting madness and here was just some food. But you don't put on your A game during warm-ups. Duh.

Then. Drift wood logs covered in seaweed were placed on the table in front of us and I was like, "Hell. Yes. We are not in Kansas anymore."

On this log with seaweed there were 4 shells. And no silverware. Eat with your shells everyone.

The Oyster Shell - which had an oyster leaf in it. This was a leaf that had the awesome saltiness of an oyster without the slimy-eyeball-sliding-down-your-throat sensation of an oyster. aka - amazing.

King Crab - with passion fruit, heart of palm and allspice. I am not going to say the meal peaked at this moment, but oh my crab meat. I put my finger in that shell and got out all the crab meat. Classy? Not me. There is crab on the table. I will have visions of this particular dish dancing in my head for the rest of time.

Mussel - I will now always be disappointed in mussels for the rest of my life. They are ruined. Unless everyone else starts serving them with saffron, chorizo and oregano.

Razor Clam - The sauce of this one (made with shiso, soy and daikon) made me lick the razor clam shell. I could have cut my tongue off. It would have been worth it.

After they removed our logs they put down a fancy device that used a Bunsen burner to make soup in a very science-y way where the water boiled and defied gravity then soaked up flavors of lots of yummy veggies and then came back down. This was a little side show happening while we got our next course.

A long, thin metal shish kabob stick stuck vertically into a metal paper weight was put down in front of us. This was the "no-hands" portion of the meal. At the end of that stick was some squid and woolly pig with a little orange and fennel all put together in something you could eat in one bite, but still had some serious squid tentacles happening. It was salty and strange but so delicious and now I kind of want all my food to be served in a way that I don't need to use my hands. Why? Because.

Our 7th grade science class soup was done, and so it was poured over a piece of scallop that looked (and inexplicably tasted like) tofu. But also tasted like scallop? Let's take the two funnest food-words to say and make a dish that puts them in the exact same bite. And lets pour some crazy delicious broth over it. Ohhh. Kay. And just for funsies, lets make teeny-tiny veggies garnishes in the bowl too. Like a carrot shaving curlicue the size of pencil shaving. Yep. Science Soup. Mind fuck scallop. Doll house veggies.

This whole time there has been a block of ice the size of a six-pack on the table with some red liquid suspended in it. At this point in the meal, they hand us some glass straws and tell us to go head and drink the red liquid. It is not some sort of animal blood, as I was slightly fearful of, but some beet juice with hibiscus and black licorice. If I liked beets, it would have been delicious. But I don't like beets enough to make up for the fact that I was terrified that I was going to have to consume blood.

The ice cube is taken away and then the closest thing to an entree is put down in front of us.

A Scup (which is a Sicilian fish), some chick pea fritters (which probably aren't Sicilian but are delicious), and caponata (which is the best goddamned thing that has ever happened to me, also Sicilian). The fish and the fritters were great but the caponata was so perfect. Like the sugo at The Girl and the Goat, it spoke to a part of me that I don't even know existed. The deep, soulful Italian part. When it was over, I was looking longingly at my plate and Boyfriend said, "Wow. You loved that stuff. You have never looked at me like that." I am so excited to try to make it. It probably won't be as good as it was last night, but even if it is 1/10th as good, I will be so happy. Forever.

And with that, I leave you to guess at what you think the next 10 courses might have in store.

March Awesomeness

March tends to be kind of a throwaway month as we all sit on the edges of our seats waiting for Chicago Summer but for some reason, this March is going to be amazing.  More details to come once all these totally amazing things have happened.

Tonight - This (to eat)

Next Thursday (through Monday) - This (to experience)

Then bright and early the next Saturday - This (to get ridiculous)

Then the next Friday, at 10 PM - This (to watch)

*edited to add* how could I forget?! - This (to watch as well)

And then to round out the month, on the 30th - This (to listen to)

This month is also going to have a lot of challenges and some tears as I try to work through a lot of stuff. But knowing that there is something awesome happening every. single. week should give me the motivation I need to get through all the crappy stuff.

Happy March!

Crap comes to Pemberley

Oh man, this may be the last time I try to read one of these books-based-on-books-that-I-already-love.

Image (via)

The first chapter or so of Death Comes to Pemberley was awesome. The rest was pretty much crap. First boring crap where nothing really happened and then implausible crap that made me want to punch P. J. James (who is apparently, NOT a man, as the Southwest employee told me rather emphatically as I was telling her about my opinion of the book) in the throat.

I am not sure why I thought that this wouldn't be disappointing, maybe because they advertised it on the back of the New Yorker, maybe because Lydia is secretly my favorite Bennett sister (I am a big fan of doing things just for the story, as is she - trust me). But this was a mega let down.

Speaking of Lydia, for some reason as I read this book, I was not picturing Colin Firth or Kiera Knightly or anyone EXCEPT I could pretty much hear Jena Malone reading Lydia's dialogue in my head. Say what you will about her as an actress, but clearly she leaves a lasting impression.

Of all the things that pissed me off about this book (and there were MANY) - the thing that got my goat the most? The cross over business between the books (I won't ruin it and tell you how it affects the story, but I feel like you have a right to be warned against such atrocities). I am not quite sure who died and named P.D. James queen, but there needs to be a coup d'etat. Pronto. You cannot just wave your magic freaking quill pen and connect imaginary dots between Emma, Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion. You. Can. Not. I do not care how many old ladies think you're really great.

Thank goodness it was over quickly. And for the record, I knew who did it all along.

From the Unpublished Archives: Do it yo' self

Sometimes I start blogs and then get distracted by something shiny and abandon them. Often times, I pick up and finish them eventually but other times I cannot figure out where I was going with those thoughts. But I want to publish them anyway. This is one of those times...

I miss New York City subconsciously pretty much every single day of my life. I miss the street food, the pace, the feeling of confidence I used to have just walking down the street.  But what I really, really miss is access to all the good shit.  New York has all the good shit.  Good cupcakes, good delivery food, really good theater.

That's all I had written when I first started this blog.  Clearly I was going to make a comparison between Chicago and New York because I spend far too many waking hours making comparisons between these two cities.  I do not know what in particular where I was going with this.

New York does seem to have the best shit. And perhaps it is because, in New York I felt as though I was always in the center of everything. No matter what neighborhood I was in, I felt as though I had access to all the best parts of the city at my fingertips. In Chicago, I do not always feel this way. Even though it is all there, something about this city just feels sleepy when compared to New York.

Maybe its because I cannot manage to get street food in the neighborhood where I work (come on, food trucks, show Uptown some love) and maybe its because I had to get 15 people to come see Book of Mormon with me, because the run is going to be so short in Chicago, that it would probably sell out before I could get individual tickets or maybe its because it just is. sleepy. It will never be New York and after 5 years, clearly I have decided that that is okay for now. But I don't know if it will be okay for forever.

Everyone Love.

Same-sex marriage bill approved by Maryland Senate

I could not be more proud of my home state right now.  While I am frustrated that not all states allow people who love each other and want to be together forever announce it proudly with some flowers, rings and good food - knowing that the good people of Maryland (or at least their elected officials) think that it is A-OK has me jubilant.

My thoughts on marriage as an institution are for another day, but today I feel like a proud Mama watching my little state make all the right choices (we will ignore the fail bombs my particular county is dropping for the time being).

Thank you Maryland for being a great place to grow up. Right now, I am incredibly proud to call you "where I am from."  The sprinkles on this sweet, sweet news is the editorial the Frederick News Post came out with in support of this bill.  Frederick is a backwater of conservative assbaggery (as proven by the link above) and coming out in support of this bill lost the FNP some of their subscribers. But they did it anyway. And I love it.

I am also incredibly happy that I surround myself with loved ones who agree with me on this particular topic (as I am seeing by the responses to my facebook post on this matter). I am willing to debate many things, but on the topic of Love, there is my way, or the way of people who are wrong and who want others to be just as miserable as they are.

Go Maryland. Two points for love. And two points for the crabcakes I had last weekend. You win again. You always do.

edited to add - Apparently I have already written about marriage. Right here!  I still feel exactly the same about it (and babies) as when I wrote this post, if you are interested. But I still think everyone should be able to do it if they want to.

Thursday's Best Internet Finds! The Fun Facts Edition

I only have one Internet find for you, because I have been working more and internet-ing less in the past few weeks. But this deserved a special nod, if only because with any luck this nod will turn into a nudge and she will update more.

Today in History

Kelsey came into my life at the most opportune moment, meaning - I was looking for a roommate and everyone I had met had been batshit crazy.  Way, way too crazy to share a kitchen with. But Kelsey showed up in a pair of green ballet flats and a kicky scarf (she will hate me for saying kicky - I am not quite sure what to call it though. Jaunty? Fun?) and saved me from a year of living of living with any of the lunatics who came marching through before her.

She is the friend with the best clothes, good hair and enough talent to make you totally jealous, but in a way where you still want to get drinks with her on the regular. 

She started this blog where she is teaching us all about history! And she has fun designs to go with it. And her commentary is hilarious.  You should learn from her, and then protest when she doesn't update for days and days (the days where she is not posting and Jon Stewart is in reruns are the worst for learning in my mind).

I too have a tumblr. It can be found here. It used to be about losing weight but I managed to crush that pipe dream under a pile of double stuf Oreos, so now it is just random thoughts and pictures. It is updated sporadically. If you combine the updates here and there you almost get one per day.

Princess Organizer

This past weekend I got to spend some quality time in Maryland. It was a very under the radar trip, without any sort of extensive planning or promise of social engagements - which was exactly what I needed.

I still got to eat amazing food and see some of my favorite people AND I got to do amazing, practical things - like organize Mom's wrapping paper closet.

I spent most of my life being a horrible slob and then I grew up, had a roommate who was the Felix to my Oscar, and realized how much less likely I was to break/lose things if I kept them tidy.

So now, I get a huuuuge rush out of cleaning and organizing. It helps to have it not be my own things and to have it be things with little sentimental value, but either way - it is immensely satisfying and I wish I could do it professionally.

Anyway - we started with this.

This is even after a whole bunch of the stuff fell out as I was trying to get enough light for the picture. I started by taking everything out, there is really no point in organizing if you are only going to do it half way.

This is maybe 3/4 of the stuff. The rest is on the floor and on the chairs.

Then I organized like with like. All the boxes together, all the Christmas bags in one pile and the "various other holidays" in another.

A dining room table is a perfect place to do this because you have the added benefit of having chairs to put your piles on. If a pile cannot fit on a chair, it is too big and needs to be reevaluated.

Throw things away. Anything that was kind of broken or dirty and I didn't think I would want to present to someone as the wrapping for their gift automatically went in the trash. I probably threw away at least as much as I kept, if not more.

And then think critically about how you are going to use things. My mother mostly wraps presents at Christmas, so those things are the most prominently featured (the bag on the right and the paper at the top of the pile). Everything is easily accessible, the boxes are full of other boxes - the goal is to not have to take out more than one thing to get to what you need.

The only caveat to my brilliant plan is the shipping supplies (big boxes, peanuts, etc) are behind all of this. I wish there had been a way to make them more accessible but since they are always used in conjunction with everything else, it seems like it won't be too tedious. We'll have to see how she does.

Anyway, please let me come organize your house. You will have to pay me some money, but it turns out that, for now, I work for brunch and peanut butter M&M's.

dead things

We're 0 for 4 on getting flowers for Valentine's Day.  It is totally my own fault. I have made my thoughts on flowers and other cliched 2/14 gifts Very, Very Clear, but it turns out, sometimes I get to be a softy. Maybe its a distance thing.

It just goes to show that you probably shouldn't be so vocal and forceful about hating flowers to the guy you think you'll just be dating casually for the next three or four months...

I did get an over-the-sink strainer and some socks from Cougar. Moms tend to be the best Valentines.

loneliest cupcake.

1 DAY. I made it ONE. DAY.

Someone offered me an amazing, homemade cupcake with PINK frosting that had been baked for a small child's birthday party.  And I took it because I hate denying myself nice things.

That's really what it comes down to, I suppose. I don't want to turn down pink-frosted cupcakes. So today (since I'm already going to be boozing it up later), I won't.

See you tomorrow, faux-diet.

Sad cake

Boyfriend is sitting next to me and eating cake and ice cream. Cake AND Ice Cream. Those are my two favorite foods and I am not having a single bite. Despite my craptastic day, despite the fact that I am legitimately hungry, and the fact that I really, really love cake.

This will be an interesting challenge as my favorite arms to run into are those of sweet, sweet simple carbs. I did have a jolly rancher and a bite of extra dark chocolate. And a banana? Is that okay? (T-bone, I might need more guidance).

In other news I have already done 40 push ups. 10 more before bed.

chubchubs

I told myself I would stop talking about food & dieting on the internet, because its super boring BUUUT I am getting headshots done next Friday morning and so I am going on a crash diet of insane proportions.

Starting tomorrow - No Carbs (except for booze on Saturday, which is totally cheating but there are birthday celebrations that I need to be a part of) not even for breakfast. Boom. Seriously.

50 push ups a day.  I am moderately satisfied with my body, but I want me some of them Michelle Obama biceps. Besides, arms are always the worst part of any picture I am in.

Besides that I am just going to try to wash my face every day and think really photogenic thoughts.

Anyway, we'll check in in a few days to see if I can actually go 7 days (Friday - Thursday) without carbs and with push ups. It'll be interesting. I'll probably learn a lesson about how crash diets don't work.

Books, y'all

I recently met a new person who I have been getting to know.  In one of our conversations she mentioned her insulin pump.  I, of course, asked if it had a name - because I am socially awkward and the only other person I know who has an insulin pump has named it (Needy T. has named most electronics though, so perhaps it is the person, not the pump...I digress).

She said no to the naming and mentioned she has been dealing with diabetes since she was three which is crazy to me. A child of near-perfect health trying to fathom dealing with anything chronic for such a vast majority of a life is always mind boggling. So again (due to the social awkwardness) I announced, proudly, that I had diagnosed my friend with her diabetes.

Being a patient woman, my new acquaintance allowed me to tell the story of how Needy T. came to visit me on Nantucket and she was drinking tons and tons of water and peeing, like, ALL the time. I mentioned several times during this trip that her symptoms pretty much exactly matched those of Stacey from the Baby-Sitter's Club and she should probably go to the doctor before she peed all over the bed during a slumber party.  Needy T. got off the island, went to the doctor / who gave her the news / that she had a bad case of the diabetes.

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"Well, thank goodness you read all those books."

I think she was just trying to get me to stop talking about it - but it totally struck a chord with me. Of ALL the books I've read in the past 27 years (y'all know I could read when I was born - Recognize) the baby-sitters club have been the only ones that have given me practical, Life-Saving knowledge.  The others have been good for lameskis, bourgeois meditations on society, and trivial pursuit domination - but these books saved a LIFE. Not just any life, this life:

Pre Diagnosis, Post Awesomeness

Anyway, when you have children and they want to read crappy tween books - First - thank the little baby Jesus that they are reading books. Second - Remember that most medical knowledge that your child will posses (unless they become a medical professional) will probably come from those books.

Trashy teen literature saves lives.

off today.

I spent most of the day in my pajamas today and it was glorious. I so desperately needed it. I was tired and stressed in every inch of my skin. I spent most of yesterday on the verge of tears - not because anything particular that had happened but just because I had not had any real minutes of just sittingandbeing in weeks and weeks.

I am trying not to complain because my life is quite nice but there is just too much of it sometimes.

So I needed a day off. And now that I have had it, naturally, I am dreading a return to real life. But I will. And I just need a reminder that a day of quiet and solitude can be extremely therapeutic.

City Love

I think about moving all the time, but as I ponder adventures in new places - one thing remains.  I have to live in a city.  Here's a perfect example of why.

My eyebrows are out of control.

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Its totally inexcusible because there is a fantastic spot near my office that will fix that business for $10 (including tip!) but they are only open until 7 - and believe it or not, if I am still up in that neighborhood at 7 PM, chances are its because I am still working.  Every effort to get there by 7 PM this week has been thwarted by meetings, teenagers and the stupid win $250,000 game at the Jewel-Osco.

But I live in a city. And there is a salon in the first floor of my apartment building.  Its more expensive but what it lacks in fiscal responsibility it makes up for in the fact that I don't have to spend a 45-minute commute looking like a terrifying red-faced alien.

What's even better? I go downstairs (without anything besides a credit card & a house key), she says it'll be about a 20 minute wait.  I tell her I can come back down whenever, just let me know what time works.

"Why don't I just buzz your apartment when I am done with this client?"

So now I get to sit in my apartment with my cat, my 30 Rock and my glass of wine and wait until the second I can get my face fixed.  Then when its all done, its just two flights of stairs back to all of my things.

This is why I live in cities. Because they don't always require cars or schedules to work out.  Because they thrive on impulse and tend to have better snacks.