The Traveling Fish

Zen and the Art of Arguing on the Road.

2011-08-31T21:36:00.001-04:00

I recently went to a bridal shower. For those of you that may be of the "less fair" sex, allow me to explain that any sort of "shower" usually involves some sort of obligatory ice breaker type game. Not usually my cup of tea, but rules is rules, right? At this bridal shower all the guest were also supposed to provide the bride with a piece of advice to help her achieve everlasting wedded bliss. Thankfully, someone from the other corner of the room yelled, "These can be funny, right?"

So here was my piece of not-so-sage wisdom:

Your biggest fights can become you best stories.

Back in early summer of 2009 my husband and I relocated with our pets from Seattle to San Diego. This is roughly a 20 hour drive. We decided it would logistically be best to break the trip up into 3 days of driving. We would stay near the southern border of Oregon (Ashland) and then in San Francisco before making it to San Diego. Now San Diego was just a 3 month stint for my husband. We decided to live in our friend's spare room so we had packed 3 months worth of stuff while all our other worldly possessions went into storage. So to recap:

1 Me + 1 Husband + 1 Dog + 1 Pissed Cat + 3 Months worth of shit = Once packed Mini Cooper.

That's right friends, we drive a mini cooper. And a packed Mini Cooper it was. So packed, in fact that when we got to Oregon we discovered the trunk latch was no longer functional. That is when things got bad.

We were running late and trying to re-engineer our overnight bags into the truck of the car, but couldn't seem to get the trunk to latch. We kept shoving at boxes and shifting the smaller squishy items but to no avail. We are starting to run late. Then we realize that the trunk latch isn't catching. After about another 20 minutes my husband troubleshoots the situation and figures out that if he uses a screwdriver to manually close the latch and we don't use the key fob to open the trunk, but open the trunk by hand, then the latch will work properly.

Something you should know about me. I love rules. I love protocol. I love when things work properly. If they don't work properly I am 100% convinced it is only a matter of moments before they break in a catastrophic way.

Something you should know about my husband. The only time he is ever short tempered in an irrational way is when he gets hot and sweaty when he isn't supposed to be. For example, getting hot while working out, okay; getting hot while trying to repack a car mid morning in June on a beautiful sunny day in Oregon, definitely NOT okay.

I insist that we continue to repack the trunk to try and prevent any extra pressure again the hatch. I just kept imagining driving down the interstate and suddenly our trunk door just giving way while we are driving, leaving a trail of boxes and pets in our wake. I perhaps go a little overboard here. I climb in the trunk and essentially start trying to repack our tetris game of a car. Nick tries to reason with me. There is no reasoning. I am quickly approaching panic mode. Finally, looses his patience and rams the screwdriver he is still holding into a box. I instantly flip out. I accuse him of trying to stab me in the leg with the screwdriver. (The screwdriver was no where near my leg). He accuses me of overreacting (I totally was). And in what is truly my classiest moment I told him I would show him overreacting and proceeded to start throwing boxes out of the trunk and at my husband.

In retrospect, I kinda hope someone was watching otherwise I feel like that little bit of humanity would have gone to waste. I like to think that another hotel guest heard us and started watching what transpired from their window, then called their spouse into the room to watch. I know that is what I would have done.

I ended up storming off and going up to the hotel room and fuming for about 20 minutes and then realized what a jackass I was. The rest of our trip was really nice. There were no catastrophes. Our trunk didn't explode on the highway. We had a great time actually.

Years later now we still reference and joke about that fight frequently. It is one oh my favorite married stories. Few things show love more sincerely than being able to fly off the handle at each other in public and then be able to laugh about a few hours later, right?

I miss my sweaters.

2011-08-22T21:16:00.000-04:00

Fall used to be my favorite season.

However, now I live in a part of the country where fall months are actually just an extension of summer, only with more rain. And hurricanes. A billboard told me today that hurricane season lasts until November 30. What sort of crap is that?

So apparently I need to readjust my thinking and just say that winter is my favorite season. Which just doesn't sound right, but whatever.

All I am really trying to get at is this; it is August 22. It should NOT be 90 degrees and muggy. The weather should be leaning towards this.

Pork

2011-08-17T22:15:00.001-04:00

I almost had a small conniption fit at work yesterday because of this.

Some of you may remember that in October of last year Nick and I randomly went to Prince Edward Island , Canada. Apparently there is just something about the months of August, September, and October that just make me want to get the hell out of town. I would blame the ungodly heat and humidity of South Carolina, but in all fairness, I think most of our vacations have taken place in the fall, no matter where we were living at the time.

At any rate, I was at work thinking about how great that trip was. How nice it was to need a jacket. Then, I remembered we ate at this restaurant, Lot 30. It was pretty much one of the nicest restaurants in town. And I kinda get the impression that isn't saying a whole ton. I am pretty sure that PEI is not really known for it's food culture and during the off season there are whole towns that just don't exist because there aren't tourists to populate them. But this place was really good. So good, in fact, that we went there twice in the 5 days we were in town. The dish that really got us was this pork belly they served. It was a miracle in food. The pork meat was moist while the outside was slightly crispy and slightly caramelized, while the entire thing was swimming in a flavorful au jus. It was life-changing. We talk about it often.

So while reminiscing at work I found their website and noticed they had listed a recipe on their website? Awesome. I mean how many restaurants do that? So I click on the link and it is the recipe for the MOTHER-LOVIN PORK BELLY!!!!!!!!!

Soooooo.......I have a hot date with my butchershop and my kitchen next weekend. I can't wait!

Fruit for thought

2011-08-14T23:31:00.000-04:00

Some months ago I had taken some photos of fruit for a friend's kitchen. Recently, she requested a few more which was great because it was the perfect excuse to try out my new macro lens for the first time.
Check out a couple of the images here.

While I was out.

2011-08-06T23:52:00.001-04:00

A few people (primarily my mom) have wondered when I was going to post again. So let me quickly catch you up on a few of the major things I have done since I have been away:

I went back home for my sister's college graduation.
I tried (and mostly failed) at learning functional Spanish. The only things have really stuck are "Donde esta el banjo?" and various phrases and vocab one would use ordering food/drink.
I planned and took a two week trip to Peru with my husband complete with various delightful travel disasters of the best kind.
I did a little writing/design work for some friends that were changing their business structure.
I photographed a wedding in a semi-professional manner for the first time ever.
I took a weekend trip to Myrtle Beach.
I traveled to the Chicago area to spend the 4th of July with family.
I hosted some family coming into town.
I spent a weekend at a hotel downtown celebrating a friends birthday.
I took a trip up to Washington DC.

And these were just the major things. Needless to say, I am SO EXCITED that (as of right now) I will be spending all of August in town. I plan to spend this month happily getting back into a regular schedule, cleaning my house, and picking up my personal projects again.

Dodging a Bullet

2011-03-29T22:31:00.000-04:00

It has been a few weeks. Yes, I was busy, but more than that I just wasn't quite sure what to write.

The first half of March was abnormally heavy for me. Nothing catastrophic for myself. Nothing that really impacts my daily life. Just a series of quite serious things developing for people around me. It was the type of week that causes one to step back and take stock in where one is, where one is going, and from whence one came. But above all, at the end of the day, it was the type of month where one just can't end up feel lucky. My biggest realization, thus far at least, came last week.

When you move and travel frequently enough the world seems to become both bigger and smaller at the same time. Bigger in the sense that you get to enjoy more of the world's variety. Smaller in the sense that a broader spread network of friends and acquaintances makes the world a little more accessible and a little less intimidating. The world felt particularly small when the earthquake and resulting tsunami hit Japan. Within the past 6 months we had connections that had moved from Japan back to the states, we have connections in Guam, Hawaii and all up and down the West Coast. Thankfully, no one we knew sustained any damage. Although, amazingly enough, we found out a couple days later that a friend of ours had a layover in Tokyo a day before the disaster occurred. Truly a lucky thing that he didn't delay his trip like he had initially planned. It took me an extra few days to come to the realization that, had things gone my way, we would have been in Japan.

We had never wanted to move back to Charleston. Our plan was always to go live abroad when Nick took his shore tour. Japan was our first choice. When Nick was assigned a position back South Carolina I was devastated. Even though we have really settled back into the Charleston, made some great friends and love where we live, I still clung to some of the bitterness I had about moving back. Until last week, when I saw the tsunami footage for what seemed like the 20 time (and somehow each time getting more devastating than the last) when it suddenly dawned on me that, for all intent and purpose, we were supposed to be living there. I am not sure I could have dodged a bigger bullet. I have rarely felt more fortunate.

SIDEBAR: I will be away from posting for the next few weeks as I have a couple large projects that need some attention. I hope to be back to posting shortly after Easter.

Metaphor

2011-03-09T22:16:00.000-05:00

I do not loose things.

I am a very busy person and I get distracted a lot. Our house is clean, but never really tidy because my husband and I are in a constant state of being in the middle of 3 projects each. As a result I have learned to combat all these things by being habitual to the point of crazy. Everything has a place and that place always has some logic behind it. This is the only way I know how to function. Ask me what I ate for breakfast this morning and it will probably take me 5 minutes to mentally back track my day. Ask me where my husband stashed a few cigars that he totally forgot he had, I know immediately. Ask me if I locked the house when I left and I won't remember actually doing it, I merely have to rely on the habit. That being said, I have misplaced 3 things in the past week and a half.

We have been extraordinarily busy. Three weekends ago we were in Kansas City. The following weekend was the local craft beer festival and this past weekend was the Charleston Wine & Food festival, so the past two weeks have been excessive in every sense of the word. It really shouldn't be surprising that I lost a few things.

First, the remote for our bedroom TV went missing. I found that a day later. It somehow got tossed all the way under the bed. Second, I realized that my fleece pullover (which I LOVE) was not in any of the places it should be. We have decided that it must have somehow been left in the hotel we stayed at the night of the beer festival. So a phone call needs to be placed tomorrow and see if they might still have it (fingers crossed). Finally, I had lost a ring.

Not an important one. Just a ring. I had bought it to go with my outfit for the Wine and Food fest opening night party; which is this big, swank, cocktail dress sort of affair. So I had gotten this funky cocktail ring which I, naturally, forgot to put on when leaving the house and left on the kitchen counter. The next day, after the haze of wine and rich food wore off and I had spent a full day at work, I went to retrieve said ring and put it away. It wasn't there. My first reaction was to blame the cats. Something small and sparkly, of course they found it and started batting it across the house. I gave it an extra day to show up, it didn't. Then I grabbed a flashlight and started looking under the washer, dryer, stove, fridge, china hutch, couch, everywhere. Nothing. After being the third item to up and disappear this stupid ring became my last stand. I was going to find the damn thing just on principle. I didn't appear. I was dejected. I was angry. I gave up.

While I was getting ready for bed that night I found my ring. In my jewelry case. With all my other cocktail rings. Apparently when I got home on Thursday after the party, even in my exhausted and inebriated state, I put that ring in it's designated place. The habit is just that deep-seeded.

While I was happy to find it, I couldn't help but feel a little like an idiot. I mean really, who does shit like that? I can't help but feel like there is a life metaphor in there somewhere, but it hasn't revealed itself to me yet.

Needless to say I am very much looking forward to a couple fairly low key weekends before we leave town again at the end of the month.

Airport Karma

2011-03-01T22:14:00.001-05:00

A couple weeks ago we took a long weekend to visit my family back in the Kansas City area. It was awesome. I hadn't been home in a little over a year so it was a much needed visit.

Then, we showed up at the airport to make our way back to Charleston and our flight was delayed by 4 hours. Now, this is the sort of thing that I don't get my panties in a wad about because:

1. I would rather be late than dead.
2. There is absolutely nothing I can do to change the situation.

Regardless, it was annoying and I sort of have to take the grand, universal, karmic blame for it.

I like to think that on any given day I am a half way decent human being. Generally speaking, I am content, have a sunny outlook and I play well with others, so to speak. The one reigning exception to this disposition is the airport.

The airport is less about civility and more about survival. I will push, I will shove, I will shamelessly throw dirty looks. I am exceedingly polite to TSA (because you never bite the hand that feeds) but will unabashedly snake my around families, business folk and probably little old ladies to make it on the shuttle between terminals. I am not proud of this. But every time I swear under my breath at the family of five walking too slowly between gates or I shoot a dirty look at the old couple who doesn't understand the restrictions on liquids at security, because all of these people are standing in between me and the flight I am inevitably late for, I realize that they are probably thinking equally nasty things about me. And I am okay with that. In fact, I encourage it.

So when we flew out to Kansas City my husband and my seats were split up for the first leg of the trip. I am a person that puts a high value on personal space. So sitting next to a petite yoga instructor on a plane would make me slightly uneasy. Sitting in one of those teeny, tiny airplane seats next to someone that is outside the realm of a healthy build makes me full on uncomfortable. When I found my seat on this first leg it was between the window and an older woman who had one of those faces that just naturally looks cranky. I sit down and thanks to my personal bubble neurosis proceed to plaster myself against the window and wall of the plane. The woman I am next to, still looking cranky, proceeds to pull out some random Danielle Steel paperback. Five minutes in and my back is already starting to hurt from the awkward way I am sitting. I am super tired. I am shooting my husband looks from across the aisle as he was fortunate enough to be in the row on the regional jet that has a single seat. The whole nine yards. So I do what "airport Erika" normally does. I start projecting awful things on this poor woman sitting next to me. Not wishing her ill will by any means but just imagining her life as awful, and meaningless. Why else would she look so cranky and read drug store fiction? I brood, read my book, and try sleep for the next 2 hours or so.

Again, I am not proud. In addition to just being the type of person that would totally unwittingly show up with a side of beef to a vegan picnic, I am at the airport. Where I look out for number one. Where self preservation is my priority. This is far from a shining moment for me.

As the plane landed one of the women in the row in front of us turns around and addresses the woman next to me,

"Sister Agnes."

"Yes, Sister Catherine."

"I would like you to meet Danielle (indicates woman next to her), she works for the Diocese."

Well, of course. I had just spent 2 hours being cranky about sitting next to a nun. Of course our flight home was going to be delayed. I totally deserved that.

PS - This week's photo is here.

Yikes.

2011-02-23T21:32:00.000-05:00

I kinda over scheduled my life this week. Go here to check out a photo for this week and I will be back with a written post next week. I wish everyone a relaxing weekend, I know I will need one.

A Little Out of Place

2011-02-15T22:52:00.000-05:00

We went hiking this weekend. At least according to the book we got it was hiking. Turns out Nick was right. Putting on shoes and walking out into something that is 92% wilderness constitutes hiking so I have had to readjust my definition of the term. We went out to Cypress Gardens. There was about a roughly 3 mile loop hike, the ability to borrow flat bottom boats to take out on the swamp, and there we several little educational facilities around the visitors center. I loved it. I had so much fun. It was a great little hike to cut our teeth on and I am ready for more. If you haven't been over to my photo blog this week you can see some pics of the swamp there.

But really, I have a better story than that. Last Wednesday, thanks to Groupon, I was able to score a one-night stay at the Woodlands Inn. It is the only 5 star hotel in South Carolina. It is fancy to the point of absurdity. We choose to use our stay this past Friday. Allow me paint you a picture of Nick and I arriving at this converted, old, southern, previously owned by a rail road tycoon, mansion. We pass the keys to the Mini off to the valet then shove aside all our self reliance and hand the bellman our back packs. Not luggage, back packs. The giant kind that are designed for shoving several weeks t-shirts and underwear in so you can traipse all around Europe, or Australia, or Asia and have no qualms about then using it as a pillow on a train car or tossing it on the inevitably once urine/vomit soaked floor of a hostel. It was these back packs that we handed to the bellman. We don't know how to travel any other way. Oh yes, friends, we were so out of place.

I had also made reservations for their dining room that evening and within 5 minutes I immediately regretted the conversation Nick and I had that lead us to the decision that dressing up for dinner surely isn't an issue. We needed to be comfortable because we planned on eating a grotesque amount of food. So we show up in jeans, nice shoes, nice tops. I mean hell, if we could hypothetically meet the dress code for the bars in down town San Diego then we had to be okay, right? Oh no. No we weren't. While we weren't turned away from the dining room, we were the most underdressed people there.

Whatever. We were there to eat.

Then shortly before our 3rd course arrived Nick kicked me under the table and very urgently gave me this awesome married-person telepathy message of, "Holy shit, you need to turn around and take this in RIGHT NOW."

Nick had a direct view of the little hall that lead to the restrooms and there, in the door frame, braced for dear life, is one very drunk girl in a Pepto Bismol pink chiffon gown. Her poor date, whose evening just clearly wasn't turning out as he planned, retrieved her and brought her back to the table.

When we approached course number 4 I am pretty sure this girl had spilled something. Then, when we reached course number 6 it was time for them to leave. At this point this girl is still very drunk and now truly belligerent to boot. Her date tries to discreetly help her out of her chair and escort her out of the dining room. She is having none of that. Which turned out to be a poor decision.

While trying to tackle the two steps leading out of the dining rooms, she fell. And not the way a person falls while sober; quick and loud. This was the drunk person 20 point fall. The one where they look like a pinball bouncing around in a machine filled with jello. I soon get to embarrassed to watch and look back at my husband who I expect to be red faced and staring at his food because he is very prone to embarrassment by proxy. Instead, he is staring wide eyed and unabashedly. Without averting his gaze he says, "Erika, you need to watch this. This is something you will never see again." I understood what he meant. It was a moment that belonged in a movie where, perhaps Steve Carrell plays the well meaning date and Anna Faris plays the unfortunate drunk girl. I mean, the setting, the costumes, the dialogue that was going back and forth between these two; it was almost artful.

I think it goes without saying, after that, we suddenly didn't feel so bad for wearing denim into the dining room.

You put on shoes and walk.

2011-02-08T21:31:00.001-05:00

A few years ago my husband, Nick, and I starting occasionally looking at each other and saying things like, "We should really be more outdoorsy" or "Dude, we should totally go camping some time." But we always said it the way many people say like, "Wow, we should totally join a gym" or "We really should get to the theater more." You know, just a very vague passing statement that has about as much commitment behind it as Lindsey Lohan has at an NA meeting. That's not to say we, or I, was being disingenuous. I really did want to do those things but just felt like that was something that should be filed under the category of "for other people." People who have the knowledge to deal with nature and not get hurt. People with longer attention spans than mine. People who are in top physical condition. People that have the money to travel sporadically, buy gear, hire a sherpa, that sort of thing. Not me.

Then this past month I both watched and read, "Into the Wild", which you'd think a story about a kid dying (not a spoiler, I swear) in a failed attempt to "live off the land" would cause me to swear off all kinds of nature. But no, despite the fact that the film was so emotionally jilting it actually gave me nightmares and kinda pushed me off center for a couple days, I kept imagining pretty pictures of Alaska. Then, at one point I realized that if this kid can live like a vagabond for like 2 years and spend about 100 days in Alaska with a gun, some rice and not much more, surely, SURELY Nick and I could go hiking.

So one day I turn to Nick and say, "We should learn to hike."

"What do you mean learn to hike? You put on shoes and walk. You've been hiking before."

"No, I haven't. I have just been on like nature walks and stuff. I mean real hiking."

"What is 'real' hiking?"

"Like where we have to take backpacks. And we are gone all day. And we run into a bear, but thankfully we have read up and know what to do and we barely make it out alive...no pun intended."

"You're dumb."

"I know, can we go buy a book?"

So we did. Now I have about 5 or 6 suggested hikes bookmarked. They are all short, just a few miles or so. I am a baby steps sorta girl. They are pretty local so the plan is; (if the weather holds) get up Saturday, work out, then have an outdoor adventure.

If I am not back sometime next week just assume I had a run in with an alligator. Or, more likely, tripped over a log and busted my arm.

Seattle & Me: A Love Story

2011-02-01T22:57:00.001-05:00

Here's a little fact about me. I really like it when things that don't necessarily go together, go together. It is one of my greatest delights in life. Quirky little indie band covering Beyonce's Single Ladies? Love it! The odd mish-mash of colors, styles and time periods in Baz Luhrmann movies? All over it. If you take me to a restaurant where there is something on the menu like a pepper infused fruity martini, or blue cheese chocolate, or hot dogs with mango chutney; I will order it.

I think this might be one of the reasons I love Seattle so much. The honest to god, true, variety of everything and the way it blends together. I could sit here and wax philosophical about the arts and diversity and blah blah blah. But I won't. Because naval gazing is not really my forte and it's besides the point. I just really like the unexpected. The new ideas and odd combinations of old ideas that make the world go forward. Seattle is a pretty good place to find that sort of thing.

A couple weeks ago Nick and I took a long weekend and made our way back to Washington to get our Pacific Northwest fix. We saw some friends. We drank enough coffee to keep a small nation wired for a week. We stopped by several of our old haunts. While walking down the main drag in our old neighborhood we noticed that a few new businesses had moved in. Naturally, I was offended that life could go on and things could change in my absence. How dare they? One these new spots was a Tea Room. I immediately decided we had to go.

Now when I say Tea Room, I do mean TEA ROOM. Nick and I had been walking around downtown all day. A friend that went with us was a wee bit hungover for the previous evening. Collectively, without even realizing what is happening, we walk into this:

That's right. Baby blue interior, toile everything, crystal and chandeliers out the yang and we are loud, windswept and in jeans. Believe me when I say where I live now, we would have gotten at least one disapproving look. However, in Seattle, amidst the crowd of bridal showers, baby showers, and middle aged women playing tea party, no one noticed us as out of place. Then, our waitress walks up. All in black, clearly as per management, but wearing a leopard print apron and donning some visible piercings and tattoos. The contrast between her appearance and the explosion of Victorian bric-a-brac was overwhelming and perfect. All three of us instantly fell at ease. We were still in Seattle, where you can come as you are and frequently strange bedfellows make the best couples. Love. That. City.

P.S. - See a few photos from around my old 'hood here.

Once upon a time....

2011-01-30T16:54:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time I had a blog that I was really dedicated to writing. And I loved it.

Then life got in the way. I starting working full time. I started working out more. I had people come into town. I left town. At that point this blog, amongst lots of other things that brought joy into my life, were pushed to the back burner.

What can I say? I have never had really good time management skills.

So here we go...it is a new year....I am going to make a go at reviving this thing.

Thanksgiving

2010-11-28T21:56:00.000-05:00

I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving....and for those of you who may not be American, I hope you had a wonderful November 25.

I had a great gluttonous weekend and will be catching up on some of the mess for the next few days or so.

However, I did want to stop and say Thanks to all of you who stop by every now and then and read my little space of the internet, especially since my posting has been so spotty for the past few months. Trust me when I say that your readership and comments are much appreciated and frequently make my day.

So, most sincerely, Thank you.

An Open Letter to Jane Austen

2010-11-22T00:43:00.000-05:00

Dear Ms. Austen,

Over the past two weeks I have been listening to all your major novels while at work. I must admit that your books are really a guilty pleasure of mine. I generally don't love things that might be categorized under "chick lit" but your books have always been an exception. I have always loved your heroines. They are frequently some combination of smart, resourceful, and plucky. There is the witty Elizabeth Bennet, the introspective Anne Elliot, and Elinor Dashwood who is so cool tempered and diplomatic she could probably run a country. Even Catherine Moreland, who is, for all intent and purpose, quite obnoxious and immature, is at least well-read and imaginative. So seriously, what happened with Fanny Price? She is feeble, not particularly educated or curious, and is the first to jump on any social grenade that comes her way and play the part of the martyr. Now, I can respect the fact that perhaps you were trying to impress upon the reader the importance of being kind and moral through the actions of Fanny but I challenge that all your other characters accomplished the same.....and had grown pair. So I would like to suggest a few possible rewrites that might help Fanny in her fictitious journey.

1. After visiting her poor family Fanny's eyes are opened to the condescending nature of her two aunts. As a result, her self worth builds proportionally to her indignation, and as a form of subversive vengeance she returns to Mansfield Park where she begins to raid the servants closet, stop fixing her hair and start drinking excessively (all in the name of irony). All the while reading and educating herself (primarily in the counter culture movements of the day) that way she could outsmart her aunts while looking and acting socially beneath them. This movement would catch on. Later, these same people will go a little too far, stop showering, get whiny, and become too self-involved. This group will henceforth be known as hipsters.

2. A mystery package shows up for Fanny one day. She opens it. The package contains a copy of Betty Friedan's "The Feminine Mystique." She learns about the "problem with no name". Fanny suddenly starts speaking up. She develops enough self esteem to not only notice that Henry Crawford has the hots for her but that he is primarily attracted to her because she is so submissive and "well-behaved". In response, she proceeds to give Mr. Crawford a tongue lashing the likes of England has never seen. She then moves to London to pursue a career as a motivational speaker.

3. One day while out riding her horse she runs into a gentleman making soap in a field. Turns out, his name is Tyler Durden. Hijinks ensues. Mansfield Park ends up as a pile or rubble and Edmund Bertram leads a battered, but finally clear headed, Fanny to the family apothecary.

Please consider the previous three items as I believe they would add a new, and much needed, dimension to one, Fanny Price.

Thank you for your time.

Most Sincerely,
Erika

Monday, Monday.

2010-11-15T00:45:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow begins another Monday. And I am feeling a little more prepared than last week at this time. I just hope I don't have a repeat of last Monday.

Last week on Monday I had gotten up with the intention of getting to work earlier than usual. I woke right up to my alarm was out of bed and on schedule. As I was making my way around our kitchen eating breakfast and putting together a lunch I noticed that a small packet of Neosporin that had been left on the counter after I had sliced a finger the night prior, was now on the floor. Upon further inspection I found that there were tiny puncture marks, just the size of cat teeth, which left the remaining contents of the packet oozing through the holes. I checked the ingredients....primarily petroleum jelly. But there is a warning saying if it is ingested one should call poison control. So I get a little panicky and wake up my husband and track down the number for the emergency vet clinic to see what they can tell us. All in all, it took us about 20 minutes to figure out, thanks to the interwebs, that our kitten was totally fine.

So now I am behind schedule, rushing around the house to finish up and make my way out the door. I hop in my car. Open the garage door. Start pulling out of the garage and...thunk! I couldn't see anything outside my rear window so my initial thought was that I hit a dog or a child. That's not good. I rush out of the car to find that my husband had left our grill in the driveway the night before and now it had toppled and spilled spent charcoal all over our drive way. As I was already frazzled from all the other drama my brain just stopped working. I could not get from point A to point B. Do I throw the grill in the bushes and simply drive over all the charcoal ultimately making a bigger mess? Or do I wake up my husband and make him help me clean this all up now? My brain kept flipping between to options while my body was frantically pacing back and forth between the front door and the mess in our driveway. The entire time I am muttering to myself and gesticulating like George Costanza.

I finally make it to work only to realize that there is about a 1/2" split in the seam of my skirt right at my hip. Hmmm. So I think, you know, I am a desk monkey now. It's not like I am running laps around a store like I used to. Perhaps I can just discreetly cover the split with my arm whenever I end up standing up. It takes me about 30 minutes to realize that this plan is going to end up as an epic failure as every time I shift in my chair the split gets a little bigger. If left to it's own devices my skirt was going to have a major wardrobe malfunction by the end of the day. Now, I am not sure if you are all aware of this but I am NOT the type of girl to keep any sort of sewing kit on my person. In fact, my ability to quite feebly mend any piece of clothing is just shy of miraculous. So it should be noted that I had no needle, no thread, and no safety pin. After searching my wallet for anything I might be able to McGuyver into repairing my skirt I realized what I had to do. I grabbed my stapler and as surreptitiously made my way into the lobby, past security and into the bathroom. Me, my ripped skirt and stapler. Why yes, I AM the epitome of class.

That was last Monday morning.....here's hopin' tomorrow goes a little smoother.

You Say Tomato, I Say Tomato....

2010-10-20T00:03:00.000-04:00

....That line doesn't work as well written down.

You know what is crazy? The disturbing lack of knowledge I have when it comes to produce. I do a fair amount of cooking and baking, but I am intimidated by all the weird green and yellow and orange things at the grocery store. It's not that I don't like them. I LOVE fruits and veggies. But basically, if you aren't getting it from a can or the freezer aisle and you can't just toss it in a salad, I am, more or less, at a total loss for what to do with it.

Remember Sunday's late night post? All that random veggie based food I made? That feast o' produce was born from this intimidation.

We started doing Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) through a local farm. This Friday will be our third pick up in a 12-week season. This entire program is awesome. I love that it is local, sustainable, and transitioning to organic. I love that giving me a weekly copy paper size box packed full of veggies and herbs is encouraging me to eat more produce. However, it has also been a serious educational experience.

The first box we received I had to do a lot of googling. There was lots of Wikipedia reading and serious scrutinizing over google image search results. I had no idea what a fresh beet looked like. I don't think I had eaten beets since I was like 7, and they were from a can, and I didn't like them. (I like them now, though.) Broccoli Rabe, no clue that was even a thing. You say Swiss Chard and I instantly think of Swiss Cheese and Chardonnay. And all these random winter squashes which I still don't know what they are. All those things have just always fallen into the general category of "winter squashes" aka cute things my mom buys at the grocery store to put out on the front porch with the pumpkins around Halloween. Yeah, NO clue how to prepare those guys. That will be another date for me and the internet later this week.

So yeah, I am open for suggestions.....

It's Late

2010-10-18T00:34:00.000-04:00

I had an insanely productive day including making a feast of a dinner from all the fresh produce we have in our fridge from the local farm. The husband and I made a beet salad, radish dip, Caprese salad, grilled filet mignon, and homemade butternut squash soup. It was stupid amounts of good. But now it is late and tomorrow is Monday. So allow me to cheat a little and merely send you over to my photo blog with a few photos from our recent trip to Prince Edward Island.

On the Road

2010-10-13T00:21:00.000-04:00

Remember last week when I was all optimistic about the weather and the seasons changing. Yeah. Temperatures are back up into the mid to upper 80s and flipped my air conditioning back on today. No good. I fought it, I really did. Thankfully, I believe that out little vacation was just what I needed to ground myself again.

A few months ago I popped "Anne of Green Gables" into the DVD player. A perfect movie for an afternoon by myself, when I am feeling particularly girly and want to multi-task and get some cleaning done at the same time. As I watched Anne with and "e" get melodramatic and run through fields and stand at the edge of red cliffs overlooking the sea I had this vague memory of someone saying that the story took place on Prince Edward Island (and, indeed, much of the movie was filmed there as well). Then, I vaguely remembered that the island was near Nova Scotia on the East Coast. The wheels kept turning and I had the realization that I now lived on the East Coast. Henceforth and thusly, an excursion to the island really wouldn't be that difficult. I dropped everything, did a little internet research, made a call to my husband at work, and within 20 minutes we had planned to go (pending approval from both of our employers).

Normally, I have at least a tentative itinerary for all of our trips. However, this time, we were both so swamped that there was barely anything planned at all. We made requisite reservations (plane tickets, hotel, car rental) and bought a travel book. I remember reading enough of the book at one point to find out exactly how small the island is and thought, "Good, I won't need to plan anything, we will just wing it." And that is exactly what we did.

We went to a winery and went to the Anne of Green Gables heritage center. (Of course I had to drag my husband to that.) Primarily, though, we just drove. We drove to the eastern coast of the Island and saw the lighthouse where one of the first SOS calls from the Titanic was received. Then North to walk along the Singing Sand beach. The sand does, in fact, squeak and it is a little bizarre. Another day we drove West out to the furthest tip of the island where there is a wind farm and a restaurant with plenty of windows so that you can watch for seals in the ocean. Then quibble with your husband over whether they were actually seals or just ducks making up the little dark spots on the water's surface. Then you can bring the waitress in on the argument. Then you can win that argument. There were totally seals.

The peak season for tourism (which is a MAJOR industry on the island) ends in Sept. So we traveled just off peak enough for the island to be fairly quiet and for many of the shops and restaurants outside Charlottetown to be closed. For me, this only added to the charm. Little traffic on the roads. Spotting many little shops with handmade signs saying "Closed for the Season" or "We'll see you next June!" And watching field, after field, followed by fishing village pass my window. It was very much like being allowed into a shop after hours. Everything staged for the following business day and only the employees bustling about doing their own behind-the-scenes work without any regard for you. We were able to simply soak it all in. No agenda. No place to be. Simply driving.

Perhaps I have a few wires crossed, but this is when I am most content. In a car, with my husband (and the pets too when the occasion calls for it). The rearview reflecting all that we have left behind the road ahead leading to infinite possibilities and nothing holding us in one place. Just constant momentum. Constant forward motion.

Turning a Corner

2010-10-06T23:13:00.000-04:00

Back in town after a week in Canada. Swimming through a sea of laundry, trying to settle back into a routine and I couldn't be more excited about it. The weather has FINALLY turned here in South Carolina and it FINALLY feels a little like fall.

I have quite recently discovered I am not one of these "warm weather/beach" people that so many people claim to be. I NEED my four seasons, especially spring and fall. This whole breaking into the upper 80's and 90's through the end of September is for the birds. This morning I had to wear a jacket to work and then on the way home I was able to roll down the windows and blast the radio. FINALLY.

Power Curve-1, Erika-0

2010-09-21T22:29:00.000-04:00

I would like to know who these proverbial self-made accomplished people are. You know the ones. The ones that work highly-competitive jobs, are in a constant cycle of training for their next marathon or triathlon or iron man or climb to the summit of whatever peak is trending this month, stay well-versed in current events and actually work through their reading list. Then get inspired by a fellow athlete, news story, or child they mentor and start some epic non-profit that is eventually featured in an American Express commercial. I would like to know who these people are because today, oh, today, I would consider hunting them down and water boarding them until they tell me their secret. Except I am too tired.

The black hole that is the end of the calendar year has started for me. Right now I am up to my eyeballs trying to play catch up after a truly fantastic weekend with a visiting friend, while at the same time working a couple extra hours every day to build up some extra comp time because next week "pterodactyl" and I leave for a small vacation in Canada. (WooHoo!) Then, whatever reprieve we have between that and the holidays will be filled holiday shopping, home improvement projects, and whatever other crazy stuff we get ourselves into.

In the mean time I am painting rooms, desperately trying to keep up with some reading (and failing miserably), and continuing trying to maintain some habitual running, and going to yoga as frequently as I can (ideally three times a week). Although this week the working out is going to be a major fail too. Last night we had a dinner date with friends and tomorrow we are going to see Jason Mraz in concert so you know what? I am going to take my crankiness as a win and say that I am officially now one of those people that gets all cranky when they can't work out. Yeah, we'll go with that.

Oh and remember how much I adore TV? I am sort of in crisis mode right now cause this week and next week are all my premiers and I have no idea how that is going to work out for me. I have strictly regimented afternoons already.....but I do have my dear friend TiVo. He is a life-saver.

And with that, off I go so that I can, again, greet the morning at 4:30 AM. It is a great time to greet from the backside but and unholy one at which to be jumping out of bed. It truly sickens me that there was a time in my life when I though 6:30 AM was really early, and now, it is sleeping in. Hope you are all having a good week, take a nap for me!

West Virginia, Mountain Mama, Take Me Home.......

2010-09-15T00:52:00.000-04:00

This past weekend was the 9th year since Sept 11, 2001. Now instead of giving you all a story about where I was when the planes hit the towers I wanted to do something a little different. As our country goes through some growing pains (after all, in the grand scheme of things America is the global equivalent of a teenager) I wanted to tell you a different sort of story.

A few years ago "pterodactyl" and I went on a trip with a couple of friends we knew through the Navy. We flew space available (a.k.a- on a military cargo flight, by the seat of our pants) out to Germany. After we landed we promptly grabbed a beer and a brat at some random train station vendor then we went our respective ways with the plan to meet back in Fussen to see the Neuschwanstein Castle, spend a night in Munich then make our way back to the air base in Ramstein to wait for a flight back.

Now this was back in the day when I panicked about vacations. My parents are not huge travelers so I always grew up with the assumption that the opportunity to travel only came along once or twice, so when I got the chance to go somewhere I adopted a "you can sleep when you are dead" philosophy. This was no exception and I over scheduled our trip. So by the time we met up with our friends towards the end of our vacation we were delirious and exhausted, but, in the best way possible.

The four of us went and saw the castle that inspired Disney and it was great. Then, we all headed back to Munich, found a tidy little hostel where all four of us could share a room, and promptly made the requisite trip out to the Hofbrauhaus. We settled into a giant table and ordered beers and let the night begin. Eventually we started chatting with the group of guys that sat at our table, all friends from random places in northern Europe who played cards together. As the night wore on and the beer hall got louder we started to pay attention to the polka band that was playing.

I have known various people who have done an extensive amount of traveling and say that one of the best moments in your travels is the moment you get back, get your passport stamped, and the employee stamping your passport says, "Welcome home." And that is a really damn good moment. However, sitting in the beer hall in Munich, I believe, will forever be imprinted in my brain in a way that outshines that moment you leave the international terminal at the airport.

As we sat there in Munich, in the giant beer hall full of drunk folks from all over the world we heard a familiar tune. The polka band had started playing "Country Roads" by John Denver. And even better, the entire beer hall started singing along. I can't exactly explain why or how, but hearing couple hundred intoxicated Europeans sing a song, heavily accented, about West Virginia made me really happy. Happy that I was there witnessing a positive and unifying American mark on the world (however small and trivial it might be) and happy that, out of all the places in the world, I got to come home to here.

In other news:

New photo post here.

Also, I will be taking the rest of this week off and should be putting up my next post next Tuesday.

I am the Chicken Little of Home Ownership

2010-09-10T00:03:00.000-04:00

One of the most super-awesome things about home ownership is the unholy amount of paranoia that takes over. On any given day I am convinced there is going to be a major home disaster. Not like a major act of god that takes out an entire city block sort of disaster, (at least then I would know it was entirely been out of my hands) but a disaster that would be the home-buying equivalent of using a pay day loan to buy a Rolex off a street vendor.

For example, I am scared that our home might have secret infestations of any and all sorts insects. Today my husband replaced the weather stripping on our exterior doors. There were a couple spots that were big enough to let random insects into our downstairs foyer. We had been finding all sorts of spiders that had wandered in ranging in size from barely visible to "holy crap if I squish that it will leave a sizable stain on the carpet" big. And, as previously discussed, I am generally convinced that all these spiders are lethal, compounding the general sense of impending doom and the belief we will need to hire and exterminator. Last week, we started seeing these mammoth centipedes find their way in, much to the delight of our kitten who spent some quality time batting at them and watching them coil up and slide across the tiles like gross little hockey pucks. For me, it is a logical progression to think that all these insects have formed a union and are amassing forces within the walls of our home, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

I am also scared of mold and water damage. That stuff could be anywhere. There could be one little spot in our shower that isn't sealed off well enough and then black mold will eat away at the structure and weaken the wall. Then one day I will be showering, minding my own business and the walls will fall in on themselves exposing all sorts of mold and giving me life-long respiratory issues and a paralyzing fear of bathrooms.

Or, there is my general fear that the entire unit will just fall in on us and kill us while we sleep. As we have started painting some of the rooms we are noticing tiny cracks in the dry wall, which is natural. This is a brand new unit, we are the first people to live here, it makes sense for the building to settle a little. But I can't help but obsess a little. I will call my husband into the room and look at him with a haggard face and ask if he sees that crack? Does he think that it effects the structural integrity of the home?

And those are just a few of the home-related things. There is always the silly fear looming in the back of my mind about, I don't know, someone robbing the Home Depot down the street or the sushi place turning into a strip club overnight and the property values in the neighborhood plummeting. What happens then? What do we do with our insect and mold infested condo that is 2 seconds from falling in on itself and now located in the combat zone? Do we develop and elaborate insurance fraud scheme, route the claim money to the Caymans and hope for the best? I don't know!

So, I do what any intelligent person would do. I remind myself that I am over reacting (good idea), force myself to examine how unfounded my fears are to begin with (good idea), then I educate myself my turning on HGTV (bad idea). Watching HGTV (I sort of love "Income Property" and "Holmes on Homes") is a lot like researching an ailment on WebMD. You get just enough knowledge to make you dangerously stupid. I have all the same concerns, plus a few extra. Now I just get to sound a little smarter when freaking out about them.

Opps!

2010-09-07T23:44:00.000-04:00

Yikes! The husband had today and tomorrow morning off so he sorta hijacked my whole evening. (Went and saw Scott Pilgrim for the second time....LOVE IT, then ended up watching loads of movie trailers on the Apple TV.)

Will post tomorrow.

We Used to Write Letters.....

2010-09-05T22:59:00.000-04:00

I am not a particularly sensitive person. I like to think I have a pretty thick-skin. My feathers don't ruffle easily. Except when it comes to.....well, I guess, art in general. Photos and illustrations that are particularly moving will get me misty eyed. I have already discussed the ability for books to make me weepy. Movies and certain TV episodes will cause me to break down in such away that "pterodactyl" will look at me, half smiling, and ask "are you okay?" I tell him to shut up and usually throw a pillow at him. (Though I am pretty sure he finds the whole scenario endearing.)

In any case, I am not sure I can put my thumb on it.

Maybe I am just having an emotional little day for no real reason.

Maybe it is because I am just the right age to barely remember when there was no internet and this is so advanced it is mind blowing.

Maybe it is because I grew up with a father that holds a true reverence for childhood and that was passed on to me even while I was just a kid.

Maybe it is because since graduating high school I have moved 7 times (well 8 if you count the month I was in Germany for school) so I have a lot of "I used to"s in my life and my definition of "home" gets hazier and more all-encompassing every year (both a good and a bad thing).

I am not totally sure what it was but this seriously moved me to tears, like REALLY moved me to tears, and I thought I would pass it on.....

The Wilderness Downtown

(Note: There will be lots of windows that pop up on your desktop. They aren't ads or anything. Leave your cursor alone and just sit back and enjoy the show. Also, NPR tells me it must be viewed in Safari or Google Chrome. The linked article also has some more info about the project - but watch the video first.)

P.S. This week's photo is here...

Guest Post

2010-09-02T21:49:00.000-04:00

Hey all!

I just wrote a guest post over at Ramblings of a Singleton, a great little blog about relationships. So if you ever had any questions about how me and the pterodactyl got to be me and the pterodactyl, go here and check it out.

Basements don't fix everything.

2010-08-31T23:58:00.000-04:00

I never thought I would say this.........but I really miss Midwest weather. It is a thought that has crossed my mind over the past few weeks when I would briefly step outside to go to the car and would feel like I was drowning due to the humidity. It was like atmospheric water boarding. But this week is for an entirely different reason.

There is a hurricane scheduled to make it's way up the coast towards the end of the week. I should say up front that by all accounts of every forecast I have seen (and there have been several), right now Charleston does not appear to be in the path of this thing. Which is super awesome. To say the least. I have to admit though, I am both super annoyed and fairly confused about the whole hurricane process.

I grew up in tornado alley so every spring there would be epic thunderstorms that shook the entire house and they actually grew to be fairly endearing. Sometimes they would get super nasty and you would have to keep an eye out your window and check for hail. If things REALLY went down hill you would pack everyone up head to the basement for like an hour or so and hope there would still be an upstairs when you emerged. But you were comforted to know that the sheer probability of that amount of destruction is, on the whole, quite unlikely. That's it. No preparation. The entire thing is over in a matter of a few hours. Wham. Bam. Thank you ma'am.

But I have been glued to the weather for the past few days on this thing. Will it change course? Could I ride it out? Will I have to hightail it out of town? (Which let's just all pause and recognize that there is the possibility that I could get run out of an uber southern city by a storm named Earl. That is far to Dixie Chicks for me to even handle. Totally ludicrous.)

Then I get on the computer cause I have heard that there are emergency kits we are supposed to make up for just such things as hurricanes. We are supposed to have extra water etc. etc. The list, or should I say booklet, made me even more confused cause the emergency item list was like 5 pages long. All of a sudden I am envisioning this bomb shelter we are going to have to build to contain all this emergency stuff, 90% of which we have floating around the house already. (You know, things like: salt, sugar, flour--they were on the list). But the bomb shelter idea is totally counter intuitive cause it would be underground and that would be the first thing to flood. So scratch that plan. This led to more questions: If I have it in my house right now, do I need to buy extra to fulfill this kit? (I am just type "A" enough to be compelled to do something like that) Do I need to stash all of this together in a safe place like the basement (no Erika, no basement, I need to break that instinct)? If I have to evacuate, surely I shouldn't have to bring my salt and sugar with me right? Or will there be a shortage in the Western portion of the state, or wherever I end up? I don't even know!!!

Don't get me wrong we are prepared, well, as prepared as one can really be. It is just the whole experience is really foreign to me. Like I said, tornadoes and severe thunderstorms involved no preparation and had the same rules as the cold war, stay away from windows, duck and cover. I miss that simplicity

The whole thing made me think of the "Slap bet" on "How I Met Your Mother" and the discussion on whether it is worse to get slapped out of the blue, or to know when you will get slapped so you can prepare/agonize to ridiculous lengths over it. I have discovered I prefer the first. This whole, having time to prepare a.k.a having a whole week to spas out, is for the birds.

I hear there is another tropical storm forming that should be moving toward land like next week? So I have to deal with this whole will it/won't it thing again? Cause I needed something else in my life to senselessly obsess over. I can just feel my hair turning even more gray as I type this.

I don't think there is a 12-step for this.

2010-08-30T06:12:00.000-04:00

This past week I developed an addiction to audio books. It's bad. Really bad.

Audio books are not totally new to me. In fact they have frequently been a source of annoyance between pterodactyl an I on road trips. We will pick up a good one before a long trip and no matter how much I like the book I am just not mentally stimulated enough to stay awake. So within about 20 minutes of hitting play I am passed out in the car, mouth hanging open, most likely drooling. I will stay like this for another half hour. When I come to I promptly hit the power button on the radio and ask pterodactyl to summarize what I have missed. Understandably this makes him crazy.

However, a few weeks ago I thought maybe I should try listening to a book while running. I don't like talking to anyone while running but sometimes music makes me a little bored, so an audiobook made sense. So I bought "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo", threw it on my ipod and it was really good. So I thought I would try listening at work being that the projects I have prioritized on my desk right now are little more than glorified data entry.

The workday just flew by. My eyes and fingers and one tiny portion of my brain went on auto pilot while the rest of my brain and my ears took in the story. At one point I had to run to the bathroom so I paused the book, pulled the earbuds out of my head, and then had to remember where I was. It was AWESOME!

Although I have discovered a few flaws in this my new metaphorical workplace heroine. First, it can get a little awkward when the book suddenly takes a turn in a racy direction. "Dragon Tattoo" gets a little messed up at times and I found myself remembering where I was and start looking around to make sure no one was standing behind me, only to remember that I am wearing headphones and no one else can hear what I am listening to. Second, when it comes to books and movies I am kind of a sensitive little snowflake. Last week I also listened to "Water for Elephants" which is the perfect flavor of melancholy to entice the most bitter of sobs from me. So here I am, at work, trying to be all professional and what not, typing away at the keyboard, looking straight at the computer screen, hoping against all odds that my cube-mate will not need to grab my attention for at least another 5 minutes cause I am choking back tears like a champ. I am prying my eyelids open and wide as I can and looking through my top lashes so the tears won't actually leave my eyes. I am carefully controlling my breathing through my mouth so no one will hear how sniffly I have suddenly become. It was truly pathetic.

Now running out of audio book at work is like the worst thing that can happen to me. I get bored and drowsy immediately. I get super distractible. All of a sudden I need to check my email and my calendar every five minutes for NO REAL REASON. I also get so anxious to go home that my skin begins to crawl.

So I did the only thing I could do. I got a library card (I buy lots of books instead of borrowing, hence not having one previously). Sadly, the closest branch of the library does not have a very good selection so I am going to have to relearn how to request book transfers etc. But that also means I need to develop a list of books to "read." So I am open for suggestions. Right now I have some random FBI thriller and "Light on Snow" by Anita Shreve. So that should get me through this week. Any other suggestions? Please pass them on......

Diversion

2010-08-24T23:20:00.000-04:00

We had good friends come into town early today!!!! So instead of writing a post I would like to divert you to my photo blog and a photo of my husband looking all badass.

Who killed Laura Palmer?

2010-08-22T22:59:00.000-04:00

NOTE: My husband started reading one of my posts over my shoulder the other day and decided he didn't like me using his first name in this blog. He said, "Don't you call yourself 'the fish'?" (I don't, I use my first name.) "So why don't you call me, like, I dunno, the pterodactyl." To which I promptly responded with, "Ok, yes, yes I will." To which, he winced and said, "Oh shit." So from henceforth my husband will be referred to as pterodactyl.....well, at least for the next couple weeks.

I think I have previously mentioned how exhausting pterodactyl's work schedule is. It sucks, it really does. Out of every month, he has two legit weekends off. And by that I mean, not only are his days off actually on Sat and Sun, they are also days where his primary goal isn't to shift his sleep cycle to accommodate his next rotation. So every couple weeks, like clockwork, two days before his first weekend off, he gets exuberant. There really is not other word for it. It is just like the most ornery, sugar coated, high-as-a-kite optimism one could ever have. You could probably punch pterodactyl square in the mouth on that one Thursday every month and he would thank you, hug you, and tell you how good it feels to be alive. It's ridiculous.

As a result, he takes all this joy out on me. Which, if that meant he cleaned the house, cooked me dinner, learned various DIY projects, developed a 12-step plan for world peace, or found a cure for diabetes....that would be super. Instead, like a kid that pulls the hair of the girl he has a crush on, he develops the quickest and most efficient ways to get under my skin. This past week, that included trying to scare me. (It should be noted, I grew up with a father who was a notorious prankster as a child, and would frequently jump out from behind open doors to scare me when I was about 3 years old. To this day, when coming home late in the evening, I steal a peek in that small crevice between the door and the hinge to make sure no one is waiting for me......I do not scare easy.)

So let me paint a scene for you.......

On Thursday I came home late in the evening, fairly-zened out after yoga. We eat dinner and I want to hit the rack early. As per usual Nick beelines it upstairs while I buzz around playing slave to what constitutes my late night, borderline ADD and OCD. (Is the stove off? Where are my glasses? Did the dog go out? Is there water in the Brita filter? Is there still wet laundry in the washer?) After running around the main floor of the house for 10 minutes I round up the 2 cats and one dog to make our way upstairs. I walk into our bedroom and out of the corner of my eye I see pterodactyl, standing stalk still in the corner behind a dresser, eyes like that of a deer caught in headlights, eating a drumstick ice cream cone. After quickly checking over my shoulder to make sure there were no red curtains or little people speaking backwards, I critically looked at him, "What the hell? It's like a freaking David Lynch film in here."

"I was gonna try and scare you....."

*sigh* He's going to have to try harder than that.

I know I won't, I know I won't, I know I won't.......

2010-08-17T21:49:00.000-04:00

My husband Nick finally broke down and joined the gym that our good friends go to. It is a CrossFit gym, and for those of you who may be unfamiliar with that particular line of gyms you will generally get two responses from people who go or know someone that goes. 1. "Oh my gosh, it is so awesome. Just incredible, you wanna go?" or 2. "Oh my gosh, that shit is crazy." And on occasion you find someone who will combine both of those responses into one like, "It is totally awesome. I almost die every week."

The gyms, from what I gather, are designed around minimal equipment, a good deal of personal training and developing a social culture and a healthy competition between the people that work out there. Which is awesome, totally up Nick's alley. The second workout he attended caused him stumble out of the car once he parked outside our place and promptly vomit. I called him from work later that afternoon and he was an odd blend of super pumped (that he worked so hard) but also really embarrassed (that he puked in our parking lot in broad daylight).

So now that he has joined I have had to dodge another round of "So when you joining the gym?" Which I just can't make myself do. I could barely get up the guts to use the YMCA membership we had a few years ago and work out in front of the overworked moms and senior citizens. Can you imagine me trying to saunter in and count out loud the number of squats, push ups, dead lifts, or whatever I manager to do in the allotted amount of time? Hardly. I once looked Nick dead in the eye and said, "Nick if I ever went I would stop half way through and run out crying." He laughed, cause he knew I was right.

But that is really only half of it. As I have gotten older I have realized that I kind of have an issue with authority. Not across the board, just in particular circumstances. For example, if you are paying my salary, hand me an assignment and say have this done by next week and then leave me the hell alone, we are fine. In fact you might become my favorite boss ever. However, if you in any way shape or form make things personal, as in you presume to know and understand exactly what I am capable or incapable of doing, I don't handle that well. It doesn't even matter if you are yelling at me or cheering me on, the second I hear "You can...." and the sentence doesn't end with permission to get a piece of cake, then I start putting forth less effort on purpose. It is like my basic mode of operation is, "Oh you think know I can do what? I'll show you what I can do, I can stop" and then, in the most passive way possible, regain control and authority over any situation.

Moral of the story. Any sort of boot camp would be the end of me. I would get pissed and just to be spiteful go home, eat everything in my freezer, and not leave my couch for 3 weeks. Basically, I would turn into a Cathy cartoon and no one wants that.

Stop what you are doing, read this book.

2010-08-15T23:17:00.000-04:00

I grew up in the Midwest. Well, in the Kansas City area to be specific. Growing up I really did not like it. It wasn't cool, there wasn't anything to do, it was totally lame.....insert generic whining of a 15 year old here.

Then I attended college at a small liberal arts college in Northern Iowa (Wartburg, for those of you who care to stalk me later) which was in a pretty college town surrounded by farm communities and the fairly, industrial city of Waterloo 20 minutes away. When I attended school, the town had a 24 hour Hy-Vee and a WalMart that closed at (I think) 11pm, maybe 10pm. I became the girl that came from a city to many of the kids who grew up on a farm or perhaps one generation away from one. I occasionally went home with them on weekends and learned how to catch chickens and run in cornfields (which, if you have never wandered in a cornfield in the fall, I highly recommend it).

Then I got married and moved away. Since then, my husband and I have buzzed up and down both coasts like a 5 year old that has had too much soda. Some places we have fallen in love with and have landed on our "let's consider retiring here" list. Other places have made us angry, subversively, hostile individuals that will fantasize about shanking you bic pen should you rub us the wrong way.

But one thing I never expected was how terribly defensive I would get about home. And not home, as in tarnishing the good name of Kansas City, truth be told it is a GREAT city and all but we have the Royals and the Chiefs, that doesn't leave much room for bragging rights. I mean home in terms of the Midwest as a whole. Cause, well, I am just going to say it. To many people on the coast the Midwest is America's redheaded step child. Seriously.

I once had a janitor in Waterford, Connecticut condescendingly say to me upon finding out that I was (at the time) 23 and married, "Oh, God bless you, they do marry young out there." You know, cause apparently no one in Connecticut gets married until they are like 35 even though there is a GIANT MILITARY BASE in Groton which means several married 18 year-olds?

Or, my fave, a gentleman in Seattle that found out I was 25 and married (maybe I need to start lying about my age, seriously, what is it with guys asking how old I am because I wear a ring?) who said, "Oh well you are from a small town, right?"--"Well I grew up in Kansas City"--"Well that's a small town"--"No, not, really"--"Yeah, it is." On the off chance that you are laughing at me and agreeing with the numb nuts that argued with me in Seattle, I would like to refer you to this Wikipedia entry. No, we are not New York, LA, or Chicago, but you can hardly refer to us as a "small" "town".

So here's my point. Despite the fact that the first time I was ever on a working farm was in 6th grade on a field trip, despite the fact that any goat or sheep I ever touched before that field trip was at the zoo, despite the fact that I grew up within walking distance of a sizable mall, and despite the fact that my parents can barely grow the most low maintenance of house plants much less anything resembling actual agriculture, I am still lumped in with a whole small town, farming culture that was never my own. Why? Because I grew up in fly-over country. I grew up in a part of the country that is frequently dismissed as a bunch of undereducated, under cultured, hicks that should be hidden away in the prairie and forgotten about. And frankly, it pisses me off.

And FINALLY, here is a book that stands up for us. In addition, to being super interesting, probably one of the creepiest (not like Stephen King creepy but more like they blended the movie Traffic and The Green Zone creepy) books I have read in a long time. The author, Mr. Nick Reding, is and incredible writer who seamlessly weaves the argument that what happens to middle America happens to the rest of America and as such the Midwest and it's problems shouldn't be swept under the rug.

So do me a solid. Check out this book!

LOS LINKS!

2010-08-10T23:28:00.000-04:00

While I was on hiatus from writing we accidently got another cat. This is him.

We named him Bingley. Which, naturally, has been shortened to Bing when we are yelling at him not to scratch the couch, jump on the kitchen counter, scale the curtains like a ninja, or blitzkrieg our other cat, Lizzy. "Bing" in turn, then lead us to calling him "Los Links" due to this commercial...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=33FVUJJyJqA

So please, go ahead, imagine my husband and I shaking our fists in the air, exclaiming, "LOS LINKS!!!!" while this tiny little orange cat immediately drops what he is doing, gives us a WTF look, then prances off. Never a dull moment here I tell ya.

I say we accidently got him cause, in classic Nick and Erika fashion, we never intended to look for another cat. In fact, we had talked about how we had the freedom to get another pet, now that we owned the condo, but maybe it would be best to simply leave it at two. So much for that.

I had taken our cat, Lizzy, to the vet and here was this little orange cat in a cage behind reception. In passing I asked about him fully expecting him to be waiting to be picked up by owners or some such thing when the receptionist said that he was the last in a litter of strays that was adopted out and that he had been the last little guy for a few weeks. Cue the sound of shattering glass that was my heart falling to my feet.

Ever the rationalist, though, I left him there only to immediately put on pouty face and little kid voice (you know the one, every girl has her own version) when Nick got home. And how does Nick respond when I tell him about this cute little kitten? Does he reinforce my mature decision? No. He looked at me with a great deal of scrutiny and said, "Well, why didn't you bring him home? Major fail, Erika." The next morning, he looked at me and said, "What was the name of the other guy in 'Pride and Prejudice' cause you know the new cat will have to stay in theme with the pet names. Oh! It was Bingley, wasn't it? So when we going to go get him?" And as soon as Nick had named the cat it was only a matter of hours until we were back at the vets office filling out adoption paperwork.

And that is why my husband and I might be good people, but really shouldn't be taken seriously as adults.

Today I am cheating.....

2010-08-08T23:03:00.000-04:00

Today, in lieu of a new post I would like to redirect you all to a new blog I am starting. I will still be writing this one, however, I am also adding a photo blog to the mix.

Please stop by and let me know what you think!

http://thefishalsoshoots.blogspot.com/

They are testing the perimeter.....

2010-08-03T23:46:00.001-04:00

This is our first full summer living here in Charleston part deux and I have clearly forgotten what summers here are like. To give you a bit of an idea my runs are miserable due to the fact that I just plain over heat. My legs are fine, my lungs are fine and I am sweating like a pig but it doesn't help because running in South Carolina during the summer is like trying to run through a steam dryer. It is so stupid humid that my little herb garden is getting mildew and I am hoping against all odds that my little basil and rosemary will pull through. But as cranky as the heat and humidity makes me that is not my biggest issue.

I had sort of forgotten what it is like to live in both a part of the country and a part of town that facilitates the growth of devil spawn, mutant-sized insects. Seriously. We live right off protected wetlands. And when I say we live right off of them I don't mean that they are like across the highway, I mean you head to the back of our building and there is 4 ft of grass then, BAM! Trees, brush and, presumably swamp, or something, I don't really know, you won't catch me heading back there. My friend, Amy, as nicknamed our complex Jurassic Park. If you hang out at the pool (which faces the wetlands) it doesn't take much imagination to see the trees shake a little then T-Rex spring from the woods with Laura Dern in his mouth or something.

Needless to say, this whole situation has turned me into a giant moron. I look like a fugitive every time I step out my front door. Eyes darting everywhere, hyper alert, doing everything but carrying a mirror on a stick to peer around corners. I took the dog out a few days ago and a frog jumped on my (oh yeah, there are frogs and lizards too but they don't gross me out as much) and I just assumed the frog was a moth (basically my kryptonite) and I screamed, loudly, at like 11 pm. That wasn't the first time something like that has happened either.

This has also caused several odd phone calls to my dad. Growing up in the Midwest I have a very justified paranoia of spiders. Not scared of them in principal, but convinced that each and everyone I see is a brown recluse. Some of you out there should be familiar with that. The ritual of shaking out your boots the first time you pull them out of the closet each season to make sure there weren't any recluse spiders hiding in there waiting to take off your foot.

There have been two great variations of these phone calls. The first where I wouldn't get out of the car due to the fact that there was an unrecognized (and still unknown) spider the size of a damn golf ball in my garage. Car door open, pulled in the garage, totally hot outside and I freeze. You know cause spiders are like T-Rexes, their vision is based on movement. And with my eyes not leaving the spider I reach for my phone.

Then, after meeting up with the Andre the Giant of spiders in my garage the smaller ones that made it into my house lost some of their intimidation so I now whack them with shoes. But I am still convinced that they might be poisonous so I do they only sensible thing and carefully collect the little spider corpse in a bag so that I can text a photo to my dad and/or save it till my husband gets home to verify that no, it is not full of deadly venom and no, we do not need to have the condo fumigated.

Oh, I am so, so ready for fall....

Crime Report

2010-08-01T23:40:00.000-04:00

I had planned to pretty much never write about my job, but this was too good to pass up.

Now, it should be noted that I really like my job. It is flexible, low key and frequently challenging in one way or another. One thing it is not, though, is exciting and ripe with great stories the way it was working in retail. So when I stumbled across this little gem last week it pretty much made my day.

Last week my boss had asked me to poke around on our server at work and search out a document that he needed and had trouble finding. Now the server is frequently cleaned out with the exception of a few folders, our tech writing folder being one of those. So I am running all sorts of searches in one window and in another window I am absent mindedly sifting through the titles of documents when I come across a document titled "Crime Report" which has been stashed away on the server since like 1999....this is obviously not what I am looking for but my interest is piqued nonetheless. I open it up to find a short anecdote written by, what I can only imagine, is a former employee.

I quickly minimize the window and glance around making sure that no one is lurking in the aisle behind me. Instantly became thankful that my cube mate was out that day. I then pulled the window back up and began reading as quickly as I could.

"Crime Report" is a simply story. It is a narration of an employee (the author) who is clearly disgruntled, going out to eat Chinese food and then upon return finding the project manager's car parked illegally and then somehow running into the car! The rest of the "story" is diatribe on how worthless and out of touch the author thinks said project manager is. And the best part? Names were named, kids! There is a byline for the story, the project manager is called out by name, and then it was saved on the networked work server. Seriously? Has anyone else ever stumbled across something like this at work? I couldn't even believe it. How dumb can you be?

Needless to say I did what anyone would do. I very quietly closed the document and kept it on the server. It is always good to know that it is there in case I have a bad day and need a laugh.

Home

2010-07-27T22:15:00.000-04:00

For the past few weeks I have wanted to post. Thought of posting. Planned out topics to write about and noted them in my planner. But I haven't been able to actually make myself sit down and write on this blog. If you had asked my why not a few weeks ago all I would have been able to give you is a vague, "Ehh, I don't really feel like it." Truth is I have been feeling like anything I would end up writing would be disingenuous. Like I was forcing someone else to write an anecdote I quickly related. That seemed so silly though, until last week.

Last week my husband hit the nail on the head. (This is why I married the guy.) Out of the blue he looked at me and said, "You know, we have been living in this place [the new condo] for a couple months now and I still don't feel at home." Then clouds parted, there was lighting striking a light bulb above my head, a big booming voice, the pets started talking the whole nine yards and I knew he was right. We are still barely unpacked and for two people who know, maybe enough people in town to count on two hands, we are stupidly busy. For crying out loud we somehow were socially double booked this past Saturday evening. Which sounds like it should be awesome, right? Not particularly, friends.

Little known fact, I am a pretty closeted introvert. If given the choice of going out in a large group or going out with one trusted friend I will always choose the one friend. If invited on an outing with several people, I will probably go, cause I feel socially obligated to. I will very likely have a good time. I may even be with people I adore and I may have a great time, but secretly I will also be thinking of how nice it would have been to spend the afternoon at home doing whatever I want. (There are a few exceptions to that rule.) So with the bombardment of summer activities, cause Charleston just rolls like that, I am beginning to feel like I am a double agent in my own life. I don't even know who I am working for at the moment. I have just kept going through the motions to avoid getting caught in my own lie and it is making me a very cranky and unhappy individual.

But things are on upswing. My brother-in-law just moved into his own place after staying with us for a month. While I adore the boy and he was the best house guest ever, you never stop playing hostess no matter how long someone stays in your home, and that is exhausting. Plus, you never realize how much you love time on your own and the independence to walk around your own home in your undies until you can't do that anymore.

In addition, I am taking serious ownership of my own time. I am now going to yoga three times a week and I have started running again. The running is miserable, thanks to the 90 degree weather combined with the like 3,000% humidity down here but I figure that starting to run in this crap will set me up with a solid base for fall. I have also started cooking again. Which for those of you who know me or have been following this blog for any decent amount of time, you probably understand how insane things must have been around here for me to stop cooking. I still haven't started all the reading I used to do but I think tonight might be the night for that too.

Right now I am planning on trying to set a blogging schedule for Tue and Sun evenings. We will see how that works out. I am also considering putting together a photo-a-day blog. Perhaps next week. So here we go. Charleston part 2 subpoint B: Life as Homeowners and both employed full-time. Ready, go.

Because I like TV a little too much....

2010-06-09T23:18:00.000-04:00

It is that time of year again. All my season finale's have aired and now the weather is nice, so I will probably end up being a better person for the next few months, maybe. Nonetheless, I miss my TV friends. Although, to truly be honest, several of this years finales were missed due to my lack of cable and total distraction with things like employment and home owning. But I was able to watch the REALLY important ones. (Was it just me or was the "How I Met Your Mother" finale a little weak? Not bad, just weak.)

I did want to share some thoughts on one show in particular, and that is Glee.

Glee shares a very special spot in my heart for reasons that I could not fully describe to most of my close friends, let alone, a blog (but I will try). I am sure everyone has had a show like Glee. A show that appears when you need it to.

For me, Glee's pilot teaser was aired right about the time my husband moved to San Diego with the Navy before I joined him there a few months later. At this point I was 100% burnt out at my job and to be frank, was barely going through the motions at work. And anyone who knows me will tell you I am happiest when I am working and feeling productive. Being as such, I knew I was moving to a temporary situation where I would definitely be unemployed for about 3 months (and for an undetermined amount of time after that, once we made our move to our new duty station). I found the prospect of having zero commitments both relieving and daunting at the same time. The most daunting part being that I had no direction for what I wanted to do with all that time and in what direction I was going to steer my life once we had settled down a little.

Then along came this show. It made me think about the crazy, relentless, optimistic, fearless, can-do (if not frequently angsty) kid I was in high school and in college. You know, back in the days when we did what we were supposed to do AND what we wanted to do. And, for me at least, many times those things were one in the same. It really made me wonder where that girl had wondered off....I needed to find her number again.

She was the girl that if she wanted write, she wrote, she had a computer, right? Or if she wanted to sew, she would try and sew, after all, her best friend had a sewing machine. Instead of this adult who got totally emotionally winded by the end of the day by a job that made her feel two inches tall and whose logic was, writing would be such a waste of time, no one would read it. Or I can't do (fill in the blank with virtually anything) because it would: cost too much money, take to much time to learn, or clearly if I can hire someone to do it for me then that means you need to have a skill set I don't have and then I'll screw the whole thing up.

Then, I realized, that I actually had it better than the sleep deprived high school kid I was cause I was making way more money than I was in high school, I was legal, and I didn't have my parents around to subversively influence every decision I made (look up overachiever in the dictionary and I will be pictured in my high school cheerleading uniform, National Honor Society pin, speech trophies, play programs, etc. etc. etc.). I could actually do whatever I wanted to do.

So the short end to all that is, yes, Glee has a special place in my heart. It had me at the show choir version of "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. Which, when pressed, I would have to say if Nick and I had a song, it would be that one. I can hear my mom rolling her eyes from half way across the country. Yeah, I realize it isn't romantic, but we are kinda ornery like that.

With that being the longest intro to what I really wanted to get at with this post some thoughts (I will try to remain spoiler-free) on Glee.

1. My biggest concern is that this is going to jump the shark soon. One of the most charming things about the show for me was that while there is a lot of exaggeration the show is fairly down-to-earth which I saw it start to lose and go the route of "Ugly Betty" towards the end of this season. In the same way that "Ugly Betty" started out as a cute fish out of water story then turned a little to telenovella with everyone in and out of prison or comas, the bit with Rachel Berry and her mom, toed that soap opera line a little close. And while I really appreciate the fantastic little bits of really solid dramatic acting (that usually end up in Kurt story lines) I really hope the show lays off of some of the Public Service Announcement themes and lofty mature speeches made by high schoolers. That only worked once and it was on Dawson's Creek. Those kids could wax philosophically, but they weren't funny, I can tell you that.

2. I really hope they keep Idina Menzel as a recurring character....and make her sing more.

3. High school girl Erika has a major crush on Phinn. Could you pass him this note and have him check yes, no, or maybe?

4. Can someone let the kid who plays Puck sing more? That guy has a voice.

5. How has Josh Groban guested on this show twice now and "acted" (which, god bless him, he just can't do) but not sung. How is that even possible?

6. I heart every scathing and wonderful line that leaves Sue Sylvestor's mouth.

7. Can Neil Patrick Harris come back too?

And on a final, totally tangential note.....

Dear Matt Damon,
If you are the type of celebrity to randomly google your own name and sift through references for hours and hours and finally arrive on my blog, I implore you, come back to 30 Rock. That half hour season finale of 30 Rock was simply not enough wacky, airline pilot, Damon for me.

Much appreciated,
Erika

A little like the prodigal son....only not as epic.

2010-06-06T21:15:00.000-04:00

You all like how last time I mentioned that I was going to get back into the routine of posting regularly? Well joke was on you all....and me. Cause I meant it, but that didn't happen.

We moved on the 14th and the actual moving process too like two weeks. It was finally on the 25th of May that we got the last box of stuff out of our old apartment. I guess that is what happens when you move yourself. And we are still unpacking and shuffling a few pieces of furniture around, but everything is actually functional. However, it took like two weeks to get our cable and internet transferred. I REALLY hate our provider but we live in a one provider neighborhood and I just refuse to buy any sort of mini satellite dish....doesn't really jive with someone that moves every 2 - 3 years. So we had no choice but to wait. (We did however go out and buy an HD antenna so that I could catch the finale of LOST....if anyone wants to chat about it I will be more than happy too. It is one of those things that I sit around and just hope someone brings it up in any conversation.)

All that being said, I am finally in a place that I can start developing a routine again. So bear with me, I will be back, I promise.

The past few weeks have somehow felt like a primetime office sitcom, only not as funny, and more me pulling out my hair.

2010-04-27T21:40:00.000-04:00

Here I am, kids! Alive and well. I apologize for my sudden, unexplained hiatus. The past few weeks have been wacky to say the least so I want to try fill you in a little before I try and resume a regular posting schedule.

Let's start on April 8. That is the day my husband and I decided to impulse buy a condo. I really wish there were a way to say that without making us sound like we have more money than sense (which, believe me, we don't) or like we are just total idiots. But when push comes to shove, by definition, I guess it is an impulse buy. The way Nick and I have adapted to the military lifestyle of moving with the frequency nomads and orders changing at the midnight hour has been to simply fly by the seat of your pants and always keep an eye out for opportunity. Then, be ready to make the plunge cause you never know when you will get a second chance. So when we found out that we could by a really nice and super affordable townhome, essentially across the street, have the builder's pay our lease break and foot the bill for a large portion of closing, in a town that has a large transitional population that would lend itself well to keeping property as a rental once we move, and at a time in our life when our family unit plus possessions is small enough to fit in a space that is both small enough AND big enough to be super desirable to future renters. Well, you see how it would have been hard to say no to such a proposition. So there has been lots of phone calls, emails, and paperwork with that.

Skip to April 11 (mind you, 3 days after the decision to purchase the townhome) we get a random letter in the mail from a collection agency saying we owe about $1000 in back taxes for property tax on our car from the state of Connecticut for 2007 and 2008. Which is odd because we lived in CT for 3 months in 2006.....hmmmmm. I did a little google search and found out that this particular collection agency is known for being rather harassing too......super. I won't bore you all with tax law info from the state of CT, but I will tell you we were right and they were wrong (HA! Triumph!). But nevertheless, that meant ANOTHER round of panicked phone calls and emails to our lawyer friend, an official visit to the legal office on the airforce base and ANOTHER dubious pile of paperwork. (If anything can be said about me, it is that I am organized and diligent to the extreme when recording things.)

The following week my husband and I got the worst stomach flu I have had in YEARS. Like I lost 7lbs in 4 days sort of sick. Like I bunched up the rug on our bathroom floor and used it as a pillow while I covered up with a random dirty beach towel cause it was the closest thing sort of sick.

Then the following Tuesday I started my new job. Which, by the way, is kinda freaking awesome. But has also been a giant black hole for time even before I started working. I am working as a technical writer for a big company you have probably never heard of that has their hands busy in a gazillion different things. But the department I work in primarily deals with software development. As such they are, like, break your kneecaps serious about nondisclosure....hence my super vague description. And yes, I might be making the kneecap thing up. It would really just be serious jail time and/or a heavy fine. Either way, consequences serious enough to warrant 5 hours of background check paperwork and THAT is no exaggeration. (What I say about eating up time?)

So, my friends, if you have been wondering where I was, fear not. I had not forgotten about you. I was merely in room somewhere with a pen and piece of paper filling out my last name, first name, middle initial, current address, current phone, social security number, addresses for the past 7 years (FYI - legally I have had 9), so on and so on and so on.......

Twilight: A tale of love and ridicule

2010-04-12T01:37:00.000-04:00

Ok, I can just hear some of you totally losing respect for me on the spot but hear me out.

I am one of the millions that have gotten sucked into the Twilight book series. I am not proud. I am not going to try and argue the literary merit of books, cause let's face it, 50 years from now the Meyer estate will be lucky if the social phenomenon (much less the books themselves) are noted in history.

What I will say is Stephanie Meyer wrote some serious literary candy, made me read 4 somewhat lengthy books in record time, and probably tricked some little tweens out there into reading Romeo and Juliet and/or Wuthering Heights. So good for her. But this is only tangential to where I want to go with this post.

This is my husband's Kindle. You know, the one he took with him on the sub when it was going out for sea trials.

I can tell you that he hasn't read Moby Dick, that download was just a decoy. The decoy didn't work. He was still given an endless amount of shit by all the other members of the crew.

This is why I married the guy. He never fails to surprise or amuse me.

I started reading the books back in March of '09. I remember the month I started reading them (and plowed through them faster than I thought I would)because it was right before Nick relocated from Seattle to San Diego. I wasn't able to make the same move until three months later, so yes, I was looking for a little escapist literature. And if you didn't know, Nick and I were high school sweethearts (pause for obligatory "awwww"...I know, it's cute, whatever). So both of us have a soft spot for high school themed crap. On top of that I am on a constant mission to try and get Nick to read, cause the guy just doesn't and it makes me sad. So, after I finished the first installment I was all like, "Nick, I can't tell if you would love this or hate it so just read the first chapter." This was the last we discussed Twilight....Until a couple weeks later, after he left with the boat. Then, I started getting emails from him while he was underway, talking about the characters in the book as if he were 15 and they were kids in his class. So crazy!

Now it's become like this bizarre bonding activity for us. He'll make some reference to the books out of the blue (most likely just to get chuckle out of me). And I will look at him sideways and all squinty-eyed and say, "Really? That is really where your mind goes when you hear this Killers song?" And in return I didn't have to drag him kicking and screaming to the midnight showing of New Moon. (Oh, yeah, we are also avid people watchers and there is no better place to people watch than a midnight showing of some super hyped premier.) We ordered tickets at the giant screen theater in Charleston, got a six-pack of beer at the concession stand, and sat back to watch all the people crazier than we were. Great fun.

One of my more favorite moments happened last month when we went down to Target to procure our copy of New Moon....don't judge.....they are great movies to pop on while multi-tasking like a champ, plus we have developed drinking games around them (if you like I will post the rules later). Target had conveniently placed several copies of the movie at the register. Standing next to the display in line was some poor schmuck of a guy, clearly picking up a copy for his wife, girlfriend, niece, neighbor he wants to hook up with, or what have you. Nick spots this guy and remembers that I am with him, so he has a scapegoat. He shoots me a knowing look and quite firmly says, "Well go grab it, I'm not going to." I roll my eyes and move the three feet over to the display and right as I start to stretch my arm out to grab the movie I hear another harsh, panicked whisper behind me, "Make sure to get the blu-ray!" Which didn't help his cause as I immediately doubled over laughing at that comment. Man, I adore that guy.

FINALLY!

2010-03-31T00:15:00.002-04:00

This weekend we went to visit my in-laws in DC before they evacuate the east coast and head toward the Midwest and a better job for my father-in-law. Which meant Nick and I made the drive up I 95 again. Which also meant that for, like, the umpteenth million time in my life we passed this.

I can't tell you why but I have always had a love for roadside attractions and the like. (Need me to talk more on that? Check out this OLD post from way back in the fetal days of this blog....I promise it is worth your time. Or you can ask anyone on my college speech team that was with me when I coerced our coach to take us to the "World's Largest Frying Pan.") So naturally every one of those umpteen times Nick and I have passed "South of the Border" I have begged to go. No dice.

I don't know what was different about this time. Maybe Nick felt like since his parents were moving we may not make this same trip again soon. Maybe it was because we was rewarding me like a 3 year old for getting up in the morning and actually leaving the apartment before 8 AM. Maybe he just thought I looked super cute while sleeping with my mouth hanging open in the car (as per usual). All I know is after a nice snooze I was roused by the sensation that we were pulling off 95 and onto an exit, and I opened my eyes to pure joy.

I honestly can't tell you the last time I have been so giddy. Nick said I looked like a kid on Christmas morning which I totally believe. Rubbed my eyes, grinning ear to ear, bouncing up and down in my seat and talking about 2 octaves higher than normal, "Oh my gosh really, really? You aren't joking? Are we really going?" So without further ado, some pictures from "South of the Border":

That's me standing between that mariachi's legs.

Look how excited I am!

How did it get to be 1:30 AM.....I need to learn to sleep like a normal person.

2010-03-24T01:25:00.002-04:00

In case you all were wondering....pending some paper work etc. I should be employed and working by the end of next week. Woo Hoo! And to add to the perks and excitement of this past week I was given the prolific blogger award by Patrick Tillett. He appears to be quite the trouble maker (in the best way possible) and most certainly a great writer....always a good combination.

Here are the rules:

1. Every winner of the Prolific Blogger Award has to pass on this award to at least seven other deserving prolific bloggers. Include links to their blogs.

2. Each Prolific Blogger must link to the blog from which he/she received the award. (That would be me.)

3. Every Prolific Blogger must link back to this post, which explains the origins and motivation for the award

4. Every Prolific Blogger must visit this post and add the links of those they awarded, so that we can get to know the other winners.

And here are the winners!

1. TattyTiara - Always an interesting read. She is a very clever writer.

2. I blog your profile/I Read your blogs - Written by father/daughter team Aion and Nicole. Probably some of the kindest and most supportive people out there AND their blogs are all about blogging, so if you are looking for more to read they are the people to go to.

3. Lady of 'the Arts' - Lady Ren posts some really great stuff relating to 'The Arts' as a whole, which means there is always something different.

4. Not Worth Mentioning - Copyboy consistently makes me laugh, or cringe, or laugh and cringe every time I stop by, and really, what more could you ask for?

5. Sadie - I don't know where this girl gets her energy but she has her hand in so many cookie jars I don't know how she always manages to always have a new post on her blog. She also has some fun themes for her posts, like touring her home or the menu for her evening meal.

6. Tales of a 4th Grade Nothing - I am pretty sure this girl and I had the same sort of childhood. And that really should speak less to our similarities and more to her ability to tell a great story and make you go, "Oh, something just like that happened to me!"

7. Non-Review - I am pretty sure I have rewarded TS before for some random thing or other, but he totally deserves it. His posts are smart, funny, AND 100% children of his own mind and I greatly respect that.

Enjoy the links!

This is longer and more profane than usual, but believe me, it is both justified and worth it.

2010-03-19T01:18:00.000-04:00

Those of you who know me personally may already know this story, but it is a story that bares repeating.

When we first moved to Seattle back in December of 2006 I was desperate to leave the retail job I transferred with and find a job "within my field" (whatever the hell that actually means for a person who studied communications). Now it should also be noted that as a military spouse the cards are sort of stacked against me. First, I am dropped into cities where I don't know anyone or anything about the local economy and hence have no leads. Second, my resume reads like that of a fugitive....3 months here, 6 months here, cross the country, cross back. (Since July of 2005 I have worked on both coasts and in 3 different states, lived in 4 different states, and had 5 different addresses.)

So when I landed an interview with a "marketing" company in March after the holidays had slowed and I had started searching in earnest, I was thrilled. I went online and studied their website. It was a little vague, but claimed they worked primarily in print-based marketing and boasted some heavy hitting clients including the local sports teams like the Seattle Mariners. So it had to be legit, right?

At this point my husband and I only had one car. Being as his commute involved crossing the Puget Sound in a trip totaling about an hour and half, he got the car and I relied on public transit, which was great for downtown. However, this place was in an industrial park south of the city. So off I went on a bus with two transfers and a total transit time of about an hour to walk a few commercial blocks, trudging across parking lots and past several storage units until I finally reached this "marketing firm." I sat down in the waiting room of a shockingly small office that hadn't been updated since about 1977. But I was here for an interview, along with these other people wearing suits, so it was okay.

My entire interview with the office manager, from beginning to end, went something like this:

Manager: Do you see yourself as a self starter or someone that requires micro management?

Me: Self Starter

Manager: Do you see yourself working in an environment that is casual or competitive?

Me: I can be competitive, but I also work very well with others.

Manager: Would you prefer working for a small company or a larger one?

Me: A smaller environment would be preferable.

Manager: Do you see your self working best in an office, with people, or with computers?

Me: All three together.

Fade to black. End Scene.

I was invited back for an observation day. Which, despite my confusion about the four question interview, I decided to accept. I hadn't seen any reason NOT to go, no one at the office was wielding an axe or wearing pedophile glasses. Plus, it would be a full day away from my current retail gig peddling lingerie and looking at the breasts of middle aged women.

I showed up on time at 8 AM and was assigned to the account manager I would be shadowing. For the sake of this story we will call him DB (as in douche bag). DB was also training another account manager at the time who also joined us that day. We will call him FM (as in freaking moron). So DB and FM chat me up about how much they love their jobs and how we were going out "in the field" today and so on. However, it was only after I was safely strapped into DB's totally shit-tastic Mitsubishi Eclipse (circa 1993) that it is explained to me that we are driving to Auburn (another industrial region south of Seattle) to sell coupons for a local garage. Say what?!? Isn't this something that should have been explained to me before I was driven away from the office in the personal automobile of an employee? Being as we were already on the road, I had no idea where I was, where I was going, or how to find a bus back home, I figured I was in for the long haul.

So before getting this totally stellar "marketing" job FM had been a used car salesman (and apparently a really crappy one at that). And being as DB was itching to upgrade from the lady killer that was his dented up Eclipse, EVERY time we passed an auto dealership the conversation went something like this:

"Dude, bro! Check it out! That's my car man, that's totally my ride, tell me about it!"

And then FM would respond by sauntering up to the car in question, reading the specs of the sticker in the car window and finishing with, "Now how about you and I go inside and work out the details."

And trust me, friends, there are a lot of mother 'effen car lots in Auburn, Washington.

Once we ran out of businesses to hustle we started approaching apartment complexes and single family homes. DB would douche his way through a pitch, then at the next house FM would stutter his way through the pitch. Then DB thought he would try and put me in my place and let me pitch, which I did flawlessly. So much for him trying to intimidate me by giving me the reigns...jackass.

As it started to get dark we approached this darling little cookie cutter neighborhood and as I was getting sad that we were going to interrupt the dinners of so many innocent families, DB was getting frustrated that no one had purchased any booklets. (Seriously, who buys a booklet of oil change coupons for like $100 at some random local garage no one has ever heard of?) After several no thank yous, and a few unopened doors we hit two very special houses.

At the first house a woman tells us her husband handles all the money and he wasn't available. So DB explains to me, as if explaining a scientific fact like the process of photosynthesis, that she was a total COWS...for those of you wondering what that is, that would be "Can't Operate Without Spouse." This, in contrast to the man we ran into a few doors down who said his wife handled the money. As we left DB says regretably "Man, I wish I had the balls Spence had (the boss and leader of this not so pyramid scheme), he would have said 'Bro, don't tell me you let your wife handle the money! You gonna let her tell you what to do?!'" A part of me died. Perhaps I wasn't "held against my will" but there was certainly some coercion and deception on their part, and now I had to put up with this chauvinistic bullshit because these two bumblef*cks were my ride home! REALLY?

Thankfully, this was also the last straw for DB. We piled back into his car and started to make our way back to the office. DB turned on the CD that was already in the player. He and FM start jammin' out to the generic sound of boys and guitars. Then FM pipes up from the back seat. "Hey, guess who this is." I name the first one-hit wonder, current top 40, guy band I could think of. "No, not them, guess again." I name someone else. "No not them either, think really hard, they should sound familiar. You should totally get this." I gave up and stopped playing at this point. FM gets all butt hurt I stopped guessing and blurts out "It's DB!" Apparently, DB was in a band at some point during his recent history, according to him they got some "air play out east" and clearly he thought they were good enough to jam out to in his own damn car. Who does that?

We finally rolled into the office park again at about 9:30 in the evening. My husband was already waiting to pick me up. They offered me the job on the spot and I turned it down as politely as I could, although I don't think I could totally hide the bitchy and triumphant edge in my voice that said, "Shit no, Morons. Even my godless retail gig is better than this!"

On the way home I told Nick all about my day and couldn't decide if I should laugh because it was the most ridiculous day ever, or cry to mourn the 8 hours I would never get back.

I am ok with my choices, but I still hate checking the box that says "homemaker" cause it sounds condescending.

2010-03-15T16:33:00.001-04:00

The latter part of last week was weird. Well, maybe not weird, but distracting. Hence the lack of a weekending blogpost. There was just too many things that made me drop everything and go, "Oh something shiny." Then wander off like a toddler running after a puppy.

First, I got a new smartphone. Upon the high recommendation of Ian @ Daily Dose of Reality, I ended up getting a droid. There was a lot of time dedicated to figuring out how to use it. Then, that morphed into like 3 days and counting of stuff like, "OMG, Nick, look at this awesome new application I downloaded. It makes my screen steamy and I can wipe away the steam and then when you blow on the phone it comes back...like real steam!" If my husband were a lesser man I would probably be lying in a pool of my own blood right now.

Then, Nick had two days off AND we got our tax return at the same time which meant a fair amount of eating out and running around town to start tackling our tax return wish list.

But the biggest distraction, by far, was the job interview that sprung up out of no where. There were lots of mini freak outs and proofreading my resume and updating said resume and then proofreading again. Here's what you may not know. I have been unemployed since June. I wasn't laid off. I quit my job because I was moving and my job made me an awful person. (I worked retail full-time, a job I never intended to have after college.) It made me so exhausted I frequently came home to our apartment, walked the 6 feet to our living space, and face-planted in the couch still in my coat and holding my purse, and passed out for 3 or 4 hours. Some of you may know how inclined I am to use hyperbole. I assure you this is not the case in this situation. My husband can vouch because, on occasion, I would still be passed out on the couch when he got home. In addition to the exhaustion it brought me to a place where I hated meeting people and automatically assumed the worst of everyone I was forced to become acquainted with. So we move to California for three months and I had the first work-free summer vacation I have had since 1997.

Then, we moved to Charleston. Charleston, whose economy runs damn near solely on restaurants, hospitality and retail. Aw, hell no! Suffice it to say, after much personal struggling and grief, I resigned myself to the idea that I would not be working, in a traditional sense, while we lived here. (I feel I should note that I harbor a stupid amount of personal baggage on the subject of employment and this was as much of a nutshell I could force it into.) So last week was when that resignation really settled in. I even busted out my journal and wrote about how I was finally "ok" with the fact that I wasn't working and that I finally accepted the lack of employment as my choice and that I was in control of it and that it wasn't in control of me or my self worth. So naturally what happens? The very next day I get some email about a job opening that isn't retail management, has nothing to do with financial planning or selling insurance cause that is just how shit happens to me.

But really, that is all besides the point. The whole ordeal has made me reflect on all the job hunting I did in the past, and I have had some really awkward/downright appalling things said to me during interviews. Is that normal? Is there so much information on how to prepare for interviews floating around that employers feel the need to try throw you off your game by saying ridiculous things to you?

I have been told, "I can't really turn you down for a second interview because you are really what we are looking for, but, by looking at your resume, this doesn't seem like the job you want." (Admittedly he was right, but still, WTF? It's like the professional equivalent of "It's not you, it's me.")

I have also had an interviewer straight up say to me, "Oh man, you are going to have a hard time finding a job here. This town still runs on a Good Ole Boy system, so if you don't know anyone here to pulls strings you are pretty much screwed." (Really? Is there really a reason to use this sort of intimidation?)

I have also sat politely while an interviewer informed me about how dedicated he was to the Latter Day Saints church and while it didn't matter what religion I practiced, I should know that was the kind of corporate culture they adhered to (way to sidestep all those laws about asking about religious affiliation in the interview there, buddy). He then proceeded to let me know that they also "play hard" and he firmly believed in rewarding yourself for good work. "That aquarium is my reward. Every time I make my quarter, I buy I new exotic fish to put in it. Right now I have about $10,000 wrapped up in that aquarium." (Gag. And my mom would have labeled such discussion as "tacky.")

I had also interviewed with a newly expanding recruiting firm. The small staff consisted of all men and one woman, all of whom were under the age of 37. So I guess when the interviewer asked, "How would you feel about working on a team full of men? If you were hired you would be the second woman on our staff," it was a legitimate question, sort of. But it probably would have been more straight to the point if he'd have asked, "So, your boobs will be stared at, your ass will be grabbed, someone will call you a bitch, and someone will ask if you are on your period should you ever be cranky, but you're not gonna make a big deal about that, will you?"

But all of these pale in comparison to the interview in which I was kidnapped. That, my friends, is a story that deserves it's own post, so check back later this week!

If I had only known about Cirque du Soleil when I was 5, I could have been a wealthy gal by now.

2010-03-09T01:53:00.000-05:00

I have started taking a Yoga class on Sunday evening and I love it. I even have a small girl crush on my instructor. Really, I am just terribly envious of her. She is super petite, but not in the obnoxious go eat a burger sort of way. She is just very graceful and nymph like; and while I have had many adjectives thrown my way, "graceful" has never been one of them. She also has the mass of super curly hair (as a kid I always wanted curly hair). And we are talking like the semi-crazy, natural curls. Think Sigourney Weaver, back lit and levitating in the movie Ghostbusters. Best of all, and I think this is why I like the class so much, she seems like a real person. She doesn't come across as too zened out to go grab some damn coffee.

It is a Yin Yoga class so the practice is all about releasing tension and opening up connective tissue etc. etc. which is great cause it is a nice balance from all the running I do (or more likely find excuses not to do) during the week. AND (here's the best part) this is like the only physical activity I am naturally inclined to excel at. I have always been flexible. Had I been born in a different era my parents may have made a good profit off selling me to some greasy man with a handle bar mustache running a circus on Coney Island. Sadly, while being able to throw my both feet behind my head may have made me the talk of my 4th grade class for like 15 minutes, as a grown ass women I feel that it might be slightly inappropriate to throw that talent out in order to make friends and impress people.

That being said, a few times I have, perhaps, over done it in class. For example, a couple weeks ago we worked our way into a modified pigeon. Pigeon looks like this:

In this modified pose the left leg, for example, is extended behind while your torso leans forward and is supported by your forearms. The right foot then is parallel and just outside of the right forearm. And in my case the instructor comes around and makes note that I am really flexible in my hips so I should just let my right leg fall open to the floor. So then, my right shin is now perpendicular and outside my right forearm. I am sure this is hard to just imagine so go ahead and step away from your computer and give it a try. It's cool. I'll wait.....

Yeah, it's a little hard but it feels kinda good, right? Ok, well I stayed like that, with some minor adjustments and twitches for about 3 minutes straight. You know, cause "I'm a total badass" and "going easy is for whooses." Then our instructor, in her uber calm spa voice, lets us know we should make our way into the next pose and for a brief moment I am stuck. Seriously stuck. Muscles all stretched out like a sweater left on a hanger to dry, in a position that doesn't provide any leverage or ability to gain momentum to roll out of the pose. I start imagining the pain I might experience the next day. I start to panic and have images of the class trying to move me but my body is totally frozen like Hans Solo in carbonite. At this point my nerves kick in and send out just enough adrenaline that I am actually able to move. It was the longest two seconds I have experienced in a while. Serves me right for showing off, especially in a class where people keep their eyes closed.

A little self disclosure.....

2010-03-05T22:24:00.000-05:00

I have a confession. Television is my crack. I am not proud of it. But in my defense, I do not watch just any crap on TV. Ok, maybe some of it is total shit, but not all of it. And because there are few things I enjoy more than learning random facts about people and trying to determine personality from those little things, (that's right, kids, I profile stalk you all) I thought I would put myself on the line and tell you what will keep me on the couch for the next few months. Let the judging begin!

Monday

Hoarders on A&E - I am fairly certain this (although well checked) runs in my family. Watching this show is my way of rubbing my nose in it so hopefully, when I have kids, I won't start keeping their fingernail clippings.

No Reservations on The Travel Channel - My husband and I both have huge crushes on Anthony Bourdain. The places, people, and food the show features are always awesome and very interesting. But more than anything the man can write. His narration is always the perfect blend of truly jaded but still hopeful and a little sentimental. I would highly recommend anyone read his book "The Nasty Bits" which is a collection of his essays both before his series started and during taping of earlier seasons.

Pawn Stars on The History Channel - It's like antique roadshow for young people.

How I Met Your Mother on CBS - Legen....wait for it.....dary.

Tuesday

LOST on ABC - I am a sucker for stories that are actually puzzles and make you try figure out what the hell is going on.

Wednesday

Criminal Minds on CBS - Gruesome murders and psycho analysis? Sold.

Glee on Fox (New episodes in April) - As a former theater and speech dork I love this show with every ounce of my soul

Thursday

CSI on CBS - Yes, I realize this show has probably long since jumped the shark but I have watched it for too long. I am past the point of no return.

The Office on NBC - This show is just funny and I am in love with Jim.

Friday

Ghost Adventures on The Travel Channel - Nick and I actually call this show "Douchebags on Parade" cause the hosts of the show are just such fantastic tools. They know they are running a TV show and as such, are great showmen. Terribly entertaining to watch. Also I LOVE old buildings and the history behind them. This show actually does a decent job of discussing and telling anecdotes about the locations they visit.

Finally, should I ever end up channel surfing on the weekend the TV will inevitably end up on one of the following: CNN, Food Network, HGTV, Travel Channel, History Channel, or A&E. And if anyone should ever find out who I need to petition, shank, or sleep with in order to get the show Pushing Daisies back on the air, let me know.

Have a great weekend everyone! And hopefully the weather will be in support of my finishing my rocking chair this week.

Hey! Did you guys know that there is a soapbox in here?

2010-03-03T01:52:00.000-05:00

I meant to get this post up yesterday, however, my day ended up revolving around cleaning up dog vomit and an impromptu trip to the vet. Thankfully, Bennet is on the mend so here we go -

I went to Brewvival this weekend! But in order to understand what a big deal that is you must first understand a little bit about the area in which I live. Charleston's nick name is the "Holy City" because of the number of church steeples that dominate the downtown skyline. It is an area that is steeped in history and tradition. As such the liquor laws here are a little antiquated.

In 2003 Charleston approved the 24 hour sale of wine and beer in grocery stores. So when Nick and I moved here for the first time, in 2005, we were excited about that. Then two weeks later when we wanted to get some rum. We realized that we hadn't seen a liquor store anywhere. As it turned out there was one right next to our grocery store. However, since it was referred to as the ABC Package store (as liquor stores in SC are state run) we thought it was a package store, like a Mailboxes etc. sort of thing.

When we moved back in Oct of 2009 we were surprised to see some changes. While I don't know all the specifics I can tell you there seem to be more "red dot" stores (the required logo for liquor stores) as well as limited Sunday hours for those stores. In 2007 the ABV limit for beer increased allowing the sale of some higher octane imports and microbrews. The most notable change, though, was the ability for bars to serve liquor from actual bottles, a great leap forward that happened shortly before we moved in late summer of '06. Currently, there is a bill waiting approval to allow on-site beer tasting.

But why is all of this important? As Americans are beginning to pay more attention to what they eat as a matter health and/or politics people are relearning how to appreciate food. If you want proof of this just look at the success of films like SuperSize Me, or Food Inc, and shows like Top Chef or Hell's Kitchen. Need more evidence? Check out this article from Business Week. With this new appreciation for the meal, naturally follows a piqued interest in the drinks that pair well.

Beer happens to the be "it" child of the moment. I can only speculate as to why. I imagine it is because there are no rules or rituals to tasting beer the same way there is to tasting wine. I suspect it also has to do with the fact that beer is easier and cheaper to make and doesn't involve super finicky grape vines. I would also not be surprised to find that it stems from some good old American vindication after Budweiser was sold to a Belgian company.

Now for locals, at least, Charleston has always been a pretty food-centric city. The only thing that rivals the number of churches downtown is the number of restaurants. Brewvival was another wonderful indicator of the forward momentum and continual evolution of food in Charleston. For example, still lots of great fried chicken and soul food but now (more than ever before) also lots of french, fusion, and even more sushi. In addition to being such a win for food lovers in the area it is a great win for the local economy as the city has always heavily relied upon it's restaurants and it's tourists (many of which make the pilgrimage here for the food i.e. the Food and Wine Festival in March). Brewvival was another great showcasing opportunity for one of the greatest activities this city has to offer, eating.

And now if you will allow me to step down from the soapbox on which I didn't intend to stand I would like to share with you a few of my favorite pics from the festival.

First taste of the day

The crowd

Checking stuff off the list

These guys totally beat my husband at a game of cornhole

Lip Balm from New Belgium Brewing

In case you thought I was crazy for making bacon cupcakes....this, my friends, is a bacon brownie, and it was DAMN good.

Lunch in the form of a BBQ sandwich from Ted's

So none of us generally drink stout beer but there was plenty of it to be had, and it was good, this one even tasted like coffee. So stout beer, I apologize, I take back all the bad things I ever said about you.

Some Housekeeping.....

2010-02-25T21:24:00.001-05:00

Today's post is dedicated to various bits of blog housekeeping. First, I want to acknowledge and pass on a couple of awards given to me by two fantastic bloggers during the course of last month.

I'll start with the "Kreativ Blogger" award from Betty @ Cut and Dry. Betty is a lovely individual and her blog is always insightful.

I would like to pass this on to:

Kait @ This American Kait - Her blog never fails to make me giggle

Nikki @ Simple Travels - She always has randomly useful info and I love her "Frugal Fridays"

Meg @ The Way I See It - Because her blog is just charming

The second is the "Beautiful Blogger" award from Sadie @ Sadie. She just started touring her apartment via blog on "Touring Tuesdays" which I think is awesome. AND she makes tutus, how cool is that?

I would like to pass this on to:

Joanna @ Fool in the Rain - She is a dear friend and has the best taste in music of anyone I know

All the Ladies @ BonBon Rose - Because with every post they tap into my visions of a dream closet/apartment

Pissy @ Southern Circle of Hell - She is subtly snarky and I love that in a person

Continuing with the blog housekeeping.....if you note to your left I have added another book. This month I read "Why Kerouac Matters." It was not a page turner but I wasn't expecting it to be. After all, it was 25% biography and 75% literary analysis....that's right, I am one of those people that will read literally analysis and such for fun, you wanna make something of it? I didn't think so. Though perhaps a little dry it was a very interesting read and for anyone who has ever read On The Road I would recommend it as it adds another dimension to the book.

Along the theme of housekeeping something odd happened today that I want to share with you all. A couple days ago a dumpster appeared extending over a few parking spots in front of our building. Not too weird. Then today my husband and I took the dog out for a walk and a portion of the screened in patio of the apartment down a floor and caddy corner from us was cut away forming a direct path to the dumpster which was now full of stuff. But not normal dumpster stuff. There was blankets and furniture and at least two mattresses. It was bizarre. I remembered that the apartments patio was really cluttered but nothing ever moved and I don't remember ever seeing anyone go in or out of the unit. I am at home a lot and I haven't seen cops or paramedics by our unit so I don't think anyone died. While out with the dog I did a quick survey of the immediate area and it didn't seem like there was any evidence of a TV crew from A&E's Hoarders. So seriously guys, I am confused. Did someone just abandon their place? Nick, slightly in jest but also not said, "We should talk to the leasing office and see what happened." I said I was sure that they couldn't just tell us about that, privacy laws and all, to which he responds with, "Well if someone died we deserve to know if there is a chance our building is haunted." Thanks Nick, such tact and discretion......but not a half bad idea........Oh I have no shame.

One last housekeeping item. Remember my resolutions and one of them was to refinish this rocking chair? Well, this is the chair in question.

We inherited it from my in-laws, I don't really know how or why. But this week I am going to start (and hopefully finish) fixing it up. That means I will be using power tools, specifically our drill with grinding and sanding attachments. If I don't post for a while just assume I have lost a thumb.

But first, this weekend it is off to Brewvival. I have had my tickets for over a month and I couldn't be more excited for a day dedicated to sampling craft beer and eating BBQ!

I Miss Walter Cronkite

2010-02-21T16:55:00.006-05:00

Let's get it out of the way now.

Boy, Tiger Woods can sure put one in the whole.
What do golf fans and millions of ladies have in common? They all want to take a swing at Tiger's balls.
Wow! Tiger mates with cougar. National geographic? No. People Magazine.
Oh and some reference to his name, cause seriously, first name Tiger last name Woods. Come on.

Now that we have a few sophomoric puns out of the way, can we talk about Friday?

My husband had Friday off so we slept in. On days like this we have this little routine. He gets out of bed and turns on CNN while he grabs breakfast and then he turns on Modern Warfare 2. I stay in bed because I have discovered sometimes if I stay in bed long enough he will bring breakfast to me. This past Friday was a little different.

While sitting zombie-like with my hair sticking up like a had shoved my finger in a light socket and a little drool falling out of my mouth trying to fight my way to consciousness I overheard the TV talking about Tiger Woods. How could this be? Nick is not an ESPN sort of guy. And even if he were, neither of us have any use for golf. It is about as entertaining as watching grass grow or paint dry.

I climb out of bed and shuffle the 10 feet into our living room, note that the TV is tuned into CNN and promptly ask: "What the hell is this?" Much to dismay Nick explains that Tiger is on every news network at the moment. What the, what?

I sunk into the couch long enough to realize no one had died, Tiger hadn't inadvertently discovered a cure for AIDS while eating take-out with a classy lady in a classy hotel room, nothing of news relevance had happened at all. Tiger was simply making some scripted "sorry I got my hand caught in the cookie jar" public apology. Now I ask you, why did this monopolize time on our news networks? Do we not still have troops all over the Middle East? Aren't the Olympics still happening? Was there not a tragic Luge death that should be reported and discussed? Do we not still have tenuous relationships with other players on the global stage?

I understand that public apologies are, well, public. But I am fairly certain things were not always THIS publicized. I mean if they were then I am pretty sure the Dallas Cowboys would have just launched their own network during the 90's so all their players could apologize for their various arrests and social faux pas.

Is this where we are going? Will Anderson Cooper soon be announcing the arrival of Angelina Jolie's new addition to her ethnic kaleidoscope of children? Will Wolf Blitzer be hosting a new "Stars are just like us" segment on The Situation Room? In that case, I politely decline. I will exclusively sift for my news online and dedicate myself to watching my locals.

On another note, who was Tiger apologizing to? I didn't see anyone in power suits holding big microphones chomping at the bit to ask follow up questions. All I saw were a bunch of pissy looking 40 something women with no obvious press passes. Who were these ladies? Mistress moms perhaps? Maybe Elin's lawyers. I'll go with that.

My husband is a funny freaking guy, PLUS a bonus recipe!!

2010-02-16T16:42:00.008-05:00

Allow me to introduce you all to my husband, Nick. This is his George Clooney "peer through your eyebrows, deliver your line, peer through eyebrows again" look. He looks devious, doesn't he? Well, that is because he is devious.

This past weekend our favorite little wine shop turned 3 and there was a birthday party. Nick and myself went with our friend Mike and Amy. No sooner had we arrived than we all shot humored but slightly panicked glances at each other. The guy was there.

Some months earlier the four of us had attended a function at the same wine shop and there was this guy. We never learned his name, but for the sake of this story we will call him Jerry, due to the fact that he may as well have stumbled out of an episode of Seinfeld. Everyone knows a Jerry. Jerry is the guy that has the confidence to talk to anyone but lacks the tact or self awareness to be a good conversationalist. Which, under normal circumstances, I would sympathize. Except Jerry is also offensive. Upon this initial meeting Jerry cornered Mike and Nick and tricked them into a one-sided conversation that ended in his disclosure of, well, some sexual encounters involving some miniature bottle-shaped chocolates filled with liquor.

The second we realized Jerry was at the birthday party this weekend the four of us spent a fair amount of time in graceful social choreography to avoid getting caught in a conversation. However, as more people arrived later in the evening and the small shop started to get packed we let our guard down a bit. We found ourselves in the back of the shop, outside, where there was food, a keg, musicians, and a fire pit. Nick and Mike went to warm their hands at the fire while Amy and I grabbed plates and started to wait for kabobs to come off the grill. While munching on tabbouleh Nick comes up to us and innocently says, "Hey, did you guys see the chocolate covered strawberries inside? They are really good. You will have to check them out. Although, you know, I really wish they had those little chocolate bottles with the liquor in them." And as soon as the last word left his lips, Nick turned on his heels and walked the short distance back to the fire. Before Amy and I could even giggle at the little inside joke we heard a voice from behind us, "Was he just talking about the little chocolate liquor bottles?" We turned around to face Jerry. He proceeded to tell us about two different places we could get the chocolates, and what time these places would be open, and give us recommendations about what else to look for at these shops. Amy says nothing. I say as little as possible. We are both shooting glances over to our husbands who are still at the fire, facing away from us but still in earshot, their bodies shaking with laughter. Well played, Nick, well played. We will call the photo posted of him as my small vengeance.

On another note, as part of the birthday party the shop ran a cake competition where Amy and I debuted the bacon cupcakes. Haven't heard the results of the competition yet but all the cupcakes were gone before the evening was over and we heard some good things so my fingers are crossed. As promised here is the recipe:

*Note: These are best made as mini-cupcakes as the ratio of cake, to icing, to bacon is crucial.
Butter Cake Recipe:
1 1/4 cups cake flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/8 tsp salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup whole milk

Preheat oven to 350℉ and line your mini muffin tin. Sift cake flour, baking powder, and salt into bowl and set aside. In a large bowl use and electric mixer on medium speed to beat the butter and sugar until smoothly blended and creamy. Add eggs one at a time, mixing until blended. Add vanilla and then beat for about two minutes. (The goal is to get the egg whites all whipped up and get the batter fluffy.) On low speed add the flour mixture in 3 parts and the milk in 2 parts, beginning and ending with the flour mixture. Mix until flour is incorporated and batter looks smooth. Fill the minis about half to 2/3 full. Bake for roughly 17 or 18 minutes. Until tops are golden brown and a toothpick can be pulled cleanly from the center of the cake. Cool for 10 minutes in pan then put on a wire rack.

*Note: This recipe is adapted from the book cupcakes! by Elinor Klivans. I love, love, love this recipes are easily conquered with a little take charge attitude.
While your cupcakes are baking start the bacon. Cut into pieces first and then fry in a pan until the bits are on the verge of burning. This way it is nice and crispy and you have rendered as much fat from the bacon as possible. Move the bacon bits to a plate lined with a paper towel and pat with paper towel. Allow bacon to cool while you make frosting.

Caramel Frosting:
1 cup butter (2 sticks)
3/4 cup caramel ice cream topping
1 cup powdered sugar
1/4 tsp salt

Gently heat your butter. You will want it extremely soft and partially melted. With a mixer beat the caramel and butter together until blended. Add salt. Blend again. Finally gradually add the powdered sugar until completely blended.

*There are recipes online that include how to make your own caramel and then use it in icing. I am not well-versed in candy making and get lazy sometimes...hence the ice cream topping.

Frost your cakes. Top with bacon. And you are done!

For the Tree-Huggers in my life.....

2010-02-11T20:32:00.005-05:00

It should be noted that I love the thought of going green in my own little way. I truly respect and admire those who make "being green" a way of life and a total overhaul sort of thing. I, however, don't feel that sort of urgency on the subject and don't plan on trading in my car for consistent use of my bike anytime soon. Of course I don't live in an area that facilitates a practical use of a bike AND I drive a fuel efficient car, so there, rationalized. Nonetheless, I most certainly hold a philosophy that blankets the rest of my life in that I believe in not being wasteful and being respectful of your environment etc. However, tonight I think I found a cause I can truly get behind.

This evening I went to a wine/chocolate tasting at Ted's Butcherblock co sponsored by Charleston's chapter of Slow Food USA and featuring chocolate from Christophe Chocolates. It was super delightful, I heart Ted's, the wines were great, yada, yada. What you really need to know is that Christophe and Ted heard about this pig called the Black Guinea Hog which produces amazingly fatty and henceforth amazingly tasty bacon. They got a hold of some of this bacon and played around with it to find some new uses for it. They came up with bacon dipped in dark chocolate with either black pepper or cayenne dusting the top. It was really, really, good. But that is beside the point....The interesting thing is that the Guinea Hog has been dwindling in numbers. Red Guinea....extinct. Black Guinea needs some help. And this is how us people who love to eat are helping. Rediscovering the deliciousness and hence encouraging the breeding of the Guinea Hog.

So yes, I would shout if from the rooftop, but I don't have access. So I shout it via the interwebs, let us save the Black Guinea Hog!....cause it is so tasty!

What can I say? I am a lover of irony......well, that, and bacon.

I Might Be the Female Taylor Lautner

2010-02-09T17:35:00.007-05:00

Something you may not know about me; I am built like a 13 year old boy that holds great promise for his high school wrestling team. I am of average height, maybe a little on the tall side, fairly average build, close to flat chested and, as I am discovering, I pack on muscle. Who knew?

I am still running and recently decided that perhaps I should throw some basic ab work and free weight work into the mix. Don't be impressed, we are talking about a few sit ups and some random curls with my 8 lb weight (yeah, 8lbs, I'm a total hoss, right?). I would like to be able to tell you I have become a workout junkie but that is not the case. I still rationalize my way out of working out as much as I possibly can. Things like "Oh it's raining" or "I just worked out yesterday" or "Well, I'll run tomorrow" or "I have to be at (fill in the blank) in 2 hours so that really isn't enough time for me to get a good pre-run meal, let it digest, work out, shower and be at (fill in the blank) on time" are still rolling around my inner monologue a lot. I am trying to fix that but right now I am averaging I would say 2 good work-outs a week.

From just that little bit I am not losing weight and developing a dainty toned figure, oh no, I am starting to pack on muscle. Which would be totally cool if I dug female bodybuilding. I would be stoked, like, oh, here's the thing I am good at, the thing I am supposed to be doing with my life. But no, I don't even like my guys that ripped. During my several years of not working out I was kinda hoping my quads from 6 years of cheer leading would atrophy a little, they didn't, and now they are coming back all big and angry. Like getting the hulk mad, or feeding Gizmo after midnight and getting a Gremlin. Man, I would love to shank the guy that decided there was not enough money to be made in wide leg jeans and that skinnies were the way to go this decade.

I have basically come to terms with the fact that holding to my resolve to get fit and overcome my aversion and insecurity surrounding physical activity will lead to me looking like a damn gymnast by the end of the year. But a gymnst without all the cool coordination and the ability to do flips. I'll be a gymnast that walks into doorways and trips over her own feet.

Until that day I will just keep working out and coming back feeling a little more and a little more like that once scene from Benjamin Button only not as bony, and in a sports bra.

The "Happy" Post

2010-02-06T17:17:00.005-05:00

So a couple days ago Aion over at I Blog your Profile awarded me with the Happy Award. Which was very exciting cause when I started this blog I had little expectations of it actually even being read, but, delightfully, I have been proven wrong.

With this award I present my list of 10 things that make me blissfully happy and I pass the award along. Here's the thing though. I am going to cheat a little. As I am still pretty new and very persnickety I don't yet follow very many people, so instead of 10 I will be passing it along to 8. I apologize for breaking the rules.

10 things that rock my socks off:
1. Being in the car and screaming "Party in the USA" (by Miley Cyrus) or "Summertime" (by New Kids on the Block) at the top of our lungs....cause we are dorks like that.
2. The Wagyu Beef Sandwich at Ted's Butcherblock
3. Exploring someplace new
4. The surprising mobility of my life thus far
5. Learning a new skill
6. Great weather, a good book, a decent glass of wine, and my porch
7. Taking pictures
8. Craft Beer
9. Being the first to find out about a great restaurant, bar, shop, festival, etc. and being able to introduce someone else to it
10. The incredible feel of home I have with my husband and little pets, no matter where we are.

Passing the torch:
1. TS @ The Non Review
2. Amy @ Listophelia
3. The Office Scribe @ Asleep Under My Desk
4. Betty @ Cut and Dry
5. Moonflower @ Here and There
6. Annie @ Keeping it Cheeky
7. Michelle @ TheMuseFactory
8. Lord Demonico @ Monopoly Money

(I also unofficially pass this back to I Blog your Profile, but I think givsies backsies is breaking the rules) These Blogs never fail to put a smile on my face.

So it's come to this.....

2010-02-04T23:48:00.005-05:00

So Nick is now in full swing of his rotating schedule and has been on graveyard shift for the last 7 days. What does that mean for his currently unemployed, naturally a night owl wife? My schedule goes down the tubes with his. Last night was the end of his rotation as a result we both slept until noon then got up and puttered around the house from a sleep hangover until about 10pm when we both were WIRED. End result, we both look up from our knitting/crocheting and cupcake eating at 4:30am and decide we were sleepy. Let me spell that out for you. Two, perfectly decent looking, intelligent, no longer in college, late twenty somethings are staying up til the wee hours of the morning to bake from scratch and practice hobbies traditionally saved for frumpy seniors with 12+ cats (although I guess yarn work has had somewhat of a little hipster revival, so I am holding on to that). Ridiculous? Yes. How we roll? Fairly routinely.

Ever since we moved I have been baking with a fair intensity. This has started to become a somewhat inebriated tradition of ours when friends come over. We will have a few drinks and then Nick will look at me and sheepishly ask, "Will you make cupcakes/cookies?" And, provided we have the ingredients on hand, who am I to turn down a chance to throw back a beer and lightly dust the entire kitchen with flour or confectioners sugar? No one.

Last night's venture required some serious sobriety though. I have recently been obsessed with the irreverent mixture of salty and sweet things. So I had been sitting on this idea of a bacon-caramel cupcake. The cake itself was a butter cake recipe, the icing, caramel flavored, then topped with real bacon bits. Last night was the first attempt, and while the icing (which I had to BS my way though) didn't get quite the consistency I wanted, the flavors showed serious potential, so I will call it a success. I mean really, how delicious do those look: The yarn work has had a resurgence in our house this week. As part of my new years resolution (#7) I decided I was going to teach myself how to crochet, legitimately. So this week I busted out the book I bought and jumped in head first. This inspired my husband to start knitting again. Wait.....oh......you didn't know that the Lieutenant knitted? Great story. A girl I knew in college taught me how to do a single crochet, a very basic stitch. I called my husband (then boyfriend) and mentioned that I learned and he decided to one up me by going home and asking his mom to teach him how to knit. That Valentine's day we both gave each other handmade scarves. To this day it remains one of the most endearing and nauseating things we have done. So we picked the hobby up again and yarn has just exploded all over our living room and the cat is running around like addict locked in a pharmacy. You can basically hear Lizzy's inner cat monologue running a mile a minute, "Holy crap, you guys finally picked up a good hobby. There is so much string for me to play with.....AHHH!"

It is now a little after 1am. We have both yarned 'til we went crossed-eyed and promised we would be in bed by 2am.....here's hoping.

An Ode To Fish That Tastes Like Ice Cream

2010-01-31T20:46:00.009-05:00

Something unfortunate happened the other day. I was disappointed in a restaurant.

I am a Midwestern girl through and through. I grew up on a very strict diet of baked chicken, casserole, and 5 ingredient crock-pot recipes. I have no business gettin' all snooty over the offerings of a wine bar! Hell, I didn't even know what a wine bar was until a few years ago. "Nice" meals out for young Erika meant we went to my family's favorite Mexican joint, my Dad ordered soda and if my Mom was feeling particularly fanciful she would order a domestic beer. It was good, stand up food. Always a tasty meal that put you into a solid food coma an hour later and still provided you with leftovers. Was I content with that? No. Of course not.

Growing up, there were years of my parents prodding me to try everything on my plate. (I still remember the tantrum I threw when my mom had the unfortunate idea of trying to feed Okra to a 7 year old, which was additionally confusing because my Dad kept telling my it was Oprah.....why would someone name their little girl after such and awful vegetable?) Now, I will try nearly anything put in front of me. In the process of trying all that food I learned to appreciate the magic that goes with it.

Last week Nick and I made our way out to a wine bar in Charleston. We were really excited cause the menu looked great, they served flights of wine, and the photos reminded us of Purple. Purple was one of our favorite places in Seattle. We only went there a few times cause every time our bill would magically grow into this document that could also pay my student loan installment for that month....and maybe the following month too. But I promise you, to this day if you see my husband and I, then mention Purple, it will immediately be followed by one of us saying to the other, "Oh my gosh, do you remember the fish that tasted like ice cream?" Followed by a moment of silence as we recollect our mental faculties.

The wine bar here did not have ice cream fish. Instead, it served it's Pinot Gris too cold; it's pear, goat cheese and bacon salad with a dressing that was distracting and over powering; it's scallops ever so slightly over cooked; and it's Kobe sliders with a bun 2 sizes too big and with out any sort of sauce, like say a Wasabi mayo, to help marry the flavors. That's right. Go Ahead and say it. Erika, you sound like a whiny little jackass. If I were you I would want to verbally sucker punch me as well. But truly, this meal was the Pandora's box of Gastronomy. The point of no return.

The good news. I am actually a decent and adventurous cook. Also, there are a plethora of great restaurants here that don't disappoint. The bad news. Whenever any offspring come along, I will make them eat things weirder than Oprah....I mean Okra. Things like moldy cheese, and chicken liver mousse (seriously, it's so good).

PS - I way dig Okra now. Fried Okra is my side of choice when eating good, honest, comforting, southern food.

Booze should be served 24 hours at airports

2010-01-27T23:18:00.010-05:00

This past week a spent a couple nasty days at the airport. I flew back to my Alma mater this weekend to visit some friends and help out with the annual speech tournament. This, of course meant flying out of Charleston International. As far as I am concerned, despite the title, it is regional airport. I flew into another regional airport in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. For my flight out I opted for the lowest rates possible and that meant during the course of my journey I set foot on the ground in 5 different states; South Carolina, North Carolina, Kentucky, Minnesota, and finally Iowa.

Airports are just a bastion of turmoil. I don't always remember it being this way. I'd like to blame it on 9/11 but in reality prior to 9/11 I traveled as a dependant of my family, never having to concern myself with arrival times, luggage, the expense of airport food, and so on. The cloud that hangs over airports for me now is merely a matter of perspective. I believe if there is anything on earth that creates a painfully accurate vision of purgatory it is an airport. Waiting, looking out windows, watching people arrive and leave again, little to do but pull out your cell phone, dick around on facebook, and reflect on what you have left undone at home. Perhaps you grab dinner but it is an expensive and insulting, tasteless replica of what you could be enjoying elsewhere. All the while waiting for the airplane gods to determine your fate. Change of gate? Flight delay? Cancellation? Overbooked? And really, no matter what your layover, you can't leave. You've checked bags or, at the very least, passed security. Now your only option is to wait.

As always I ran into a colorful cast of characters as one always does in the airport, starting promptly with my arrival at the Charleston airport at about 9 on Thursday morning. I decided to grab a muffin to munch on before my flight and right before I approached the cashier to give my order a little woman in her mid 70s dressed in slacks, a blazer and a scarf slipped in and tried to order a Bloody Mary. She was promptly told that the bar was not open yet. She went away grumbling. Part of me loved her for it.

Then, on my flight from Charlotte, NC to Louisville, KY, I sat next to a domesticated cougar. Not a large cat but a well-kept woman a little past her prime with a face of chemical injections and hundred dollar creams. While she was dressed well, she was dressed appropriately and clearly not for prowling, at least not that day. And, you know, good for her. She looked good and not offensive, she was having fun with the ladies she was traveling with, and I would judge by the trade journal she was absorbed in, that she was successful. Plus she didn't try to talk to me. Most good. But then she started to doze a little while reading architectural digest, leading to her Venti-sized hot drink to slip and splatter all over me. Really annoying. If you are going to bring on a big, hot drink like that AND try read just pull down your damn tray and set things up properly. She apologized but then, a few minutes later proceeds to ask the flight attendant for more hot water. Then I realize that she actually has two Venti Starbucks cups, one stacked inside the other. She gets her hot water and proceeds to pour the water from one cup to the other, re stack, then reaches into her purse to sprinkle loose tea into the water. Now lets just ignore the fact that she has no tea bag or diffuser for her beverage, who does this on a plane? Seriously!? And after she already baptized me with about 3/4 cup of her dreggy tea? Thanks, lady.

While I remained dry for my flight home it was even more touch and go. I spent a little extra cash for only one layover on my way back to South Carolina. However, that layover was only about 40 minutes long AND in Chicago O'Hare. (When I asked the gate agent what my options would be if I missed my connection she sympathetically and with a certain amount of surprise stated that, after searching all airlines, the next flight I could take was 6 hours later. Thanks, Charleston!) So I decide to head out to Cedar Rapids early to try get on a standby flight. The flight on which I intended to fly standby had a mechanical issue and ended up leaving later than my scheduled flight. During the 3 hours I waited in the airport to get on the plane I texted my husband and kept eyeballing the bar in my corner of the airport. The fact that it served breakfast was just insulting. Bars shouldn't serve breakfast unless they also serve breakfast drinks, which is what I wanted. Yes, since it has orange juice in it, I consider a screwdriver a breakfast drink. I played it safe and guessed that no one would serve me a stiff drink at 9:30 in the morning. Really, I didn't want to ask for a drink and get shot down. Unlike the older lady in Charleston trying to order a Bloody Mary who looked like a badass old chic who wouldn't think twice about yelling at kids for playing on her lawn, I would just like a pathetic lush in my late twenties. I would be embarrassed and then feel obligated to buy a $10 breakfast sandwich that tasted like cardboard and cat food. Then I would really be pissed.

Things didn't get better when I got to Chicago. Another mechanical issue delayed my flight for 3 1/2 hours. The only redeeming thing was that it gave me time to actually get lunch; an over priced imported beer and mediocre polish hot dog. After 12 hours of airports and airplanes I got home, munched on leftover airport snacks and promptly passed out in my own filth; travel clothes, greasy hair and all. Nick got home from work to find me on the couch startled, disoriented, and wiping drool from my mouth. He recalled the moment, laughing, telling me how much I looked like crap, a lot like a raccoon rummaging through garbage and then getting caught in the headlights of a car. Good thing I had already tricked him into marrying me.

Somewhere an Olivia Newton John song is playing......

2010-01-18T15:12:00.000-05:00

My friend Rachel just left this morning after a quick little weekend visit here in Charleston. Naturally we acted like complete gluttons all weekend; wine, cheese, craft beer, sweet tea, pecan pie, grits, cocktails, fried green tomatoes, boudin eggs benedict, ridiculous Mexican & Italian, margaritas.......it was bad. My body will be punishing me for the next week and a half which means today, Monday, was a perfect day to really recommit to this whole physical fitness sham I am trying to buy into.

I took a small hiatus from working out right before Christmas. We had revolving door of guests from the 21st through New Year's and I just wasn't going to kid myself by saying I was going to keep up the routine through all that. Then I got a nasty little cold and one of the symptoms I always develop every time I am sick is total abject laziness. So last week I started by making my way into the cardio room and hitting the elliptical to prepare myself for the shit show that was today.

I went on my first run for the first time in a few weeks today. I knocked it back a notch from where I was before Christmas and I completed my little circuit, but it was miserable. Towards the end I started feeling like those old guys that go out jogging in pleat-front khaki shorts, undershirt, and ball cap with their little headphone radios that have the antenna sticking up. Of course they don't really jog, they just shuffle, and while you admire their pluck you are also concerned they are biting off more than they can chew and you might have to call 911 any moment. That was me, I shuffled.

In addition to running I am going to start throwing cycling into the mix of things. Nick bought me a bike for Christmas. I am pretty excited about it. We took it out for a test run this past Thursday. That was painfully awkward. I am the type of person that is constantly tripping of my own feet, walking into furniture or doorways, or falling downstairs. I have also not been on a bike in over a decade. While I have yet to eat some pavement that whole phrase about "riding a bike" is not something one should cling to for reassurance. I hopped on my little Schwinn like it was nothing, wobbled a little and suddenly realized I didn't really remember how to turn. How much to I lean into it? What's the turning radius on this thing? Is it like a car to I need to brake before executing the turn? More wobbling, I may have almost run into a car, pulled off the turn, then got nervous and braked a little to hard and almost went flying over the front of the bike. I believe this was the point where Nick started to regret the gift. He spent the next 3o minutes critiquing my mount and dismount of the bike, shaking his head a lot, and muttering "This was such a bad idea, you are going to kill yourself" to which I promptly responded with, "Will not, shut up."

Clearly, I have also matured a lot since the last time I was on a bike......

Freaking Tannins!

2010-01-11T22:43:00.000-05:00

I am taking a wine class with my friend, Amy. It is awesome. I mean really fantastic. It is held at this great little wine shop along Ashley River Road about 7 - 10 minutes from my house. Not the same wine shop we have been tasting at previously but another delightfully local shop with a constantly present and very educated shop owner. She runs the class, her name is Jacki and she loves her job. "I will do this until my liver gives out or I find something better." Love. it.

So yeah, I am learning how wine is made, how to taste it, what bottle shapes indicate all stuff that would have been really, really 'effin helpful when I lived California 4 months ago. But what can you do? But now, at the end of January I will be able to look like and sound like one of those asses swirling, spitting, and saying things like, "This Syrah is delightful. There are hints of Cassis, Coffee, and a little tobacco. I find it elegant but a little Hedonistic." And after saying that through my nose I will drop my monocle and call my driver so he can drive me to.....

THE MOST AWESOME BEER SHOP I FOUND THIS WEEKEND!!!! That sentence is in all caps for a reason. About a month ago Nick and I made a failed attempt to find a European style bakery. Nick had heard of a place downtown and we drove there on a whim only to find that it was some sit-down place with, vinyl covered menus and individually packaged creamers that also sold baked goods. Think glorified Tippins, or Denny's meets Einstein Bros. We left, kicking pebbles in the parking lot, totally dejected. As we were pulling out of the parking lot we ended up behind a car with a sticker from "The Charleston Beer Exchange." I screamed, "Holy crap, do you see that? That can't be bad." And it took a few weeks but we finally made it there. A thing of total beauty. This shop treats beer with the same reverence people give wine. There are bottles of Rogue beer I have never seen and we lived in Washington for nearly three years, there is a beer made with Muscat grapes (which is the closest thing I have been able to find to the "beer wine" from the Briar Rose Winery in Temecula, California), and I even heard them respond to other customers with, "Uh, no. That is a very rare beer. We are lucky to have it now and if we are lucky enough to get more, it won't be until next year." Needless to say we purchased a growler and are chomping at the bit to go to our first "Rare Beer Tuesday."

It is so nice to start developing my palette and learn how to pair drink and foods and learn to have even more discerning taste. And that is what this is. If I start touting what a revelation Bud Light Lime was to the entire industry then I give everyone permission to stage an intervention.

Not taking 2010 while sitting down

2010-01-05T18:21:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year to All!

I would like to start this, my first post of 2010, by giving you all my most sincere thanks. I have truly enjoyed writing this blog and I like to tell myself I would still write it even if no one read it, and maybe I would, but it would sure be less motivating. Every time one of you mentions that you are reading and enjoying my little corner of the Internet it makes my week. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday and rounded out 2009 in high spirits. My 2009 was nothing if not a crazy and delightfully challenging year all the way through to the very last days of 2009. Really my Christmas is quite aptly summed up in this photo: Cluttered coffee table full of cookbooks, random items used in some homemade gifts, crackers and cheese, and the all too important half-drunk bottle of wine. But I do my best work under deadline.

Today, though, instead of looking back on 2009 and all its quirks and triumphs and moments that made me want to light my hair on fire....and lord knows there were PLENTY of those moments....I would rather invite you to look forward with me.
I have never really been one for New Year's resolutions primarily due to the fact that I was usually to tired to think of good resolutions, much less follow through with them. But now that I have all this free time and I am lacking employment in a.....yeah I'll go ahead and say it......completely degrading and soul sucking industry (well,degrading and sould sucking for me, at the very least) I feel I can safely come up with some specific and reasonable goals for 2010. I share them with you as, hopefully, a preview of somethings that will be up and coming for this blog this year. So please join me this year as I try to tackle, very likely fail at, then whine and kvetch, try again, and with any luck succeed at the following:

1. No TV Tuesday. I haven't devised concrete rules on this yet cause I am going to be honest with myself and say I can totally go the whole day with it off, but I need to break the habit of just keeping it on for company. Seriously, I am like dog, the dialogue makes me comfortable. Now, caveat here. If ABC decides to suddenly air the last season of LOST on Tuesday nights all bets are off.

2. I will read one book a month, if not two depending on the length of the book, and maybe 2 months of Atlas Shrugged. That is one mother of a literary work, I won't kid myself with a 30 day goal.

3. This year I will train for and run a 5k. I am laughing at myself as I write this, but it is out in cyberspace now so I can't take it back.

4. I am going to start a potted herb garden once the weather warms. I am damn sick and tired of spending money for fresh herbs. This is probably going to be one of the bigger challenges for me as I don't have a green thumb. Scratch that, I have whatever is opposite of a green thumb. This is the girl that consciously killed a poinsettia plant in college cause she simply got bored of watering it. Thankfully dogs, cats, and husbands are cute and do tricks and will try remind you when they are hungry otherwise they may have been led to the same fate. That being said if you have and tips see comment box below.

5. I will pick up my camera more. No witty, snarky statement here. It is just something that needs to happen.

6. I am going to refinish the rocking chair on our porch. We have had this rocking chair since we got married. It was one of those things that just showed up with our stuff from Nick's house, which basically means my mother-in-law wanted to get it out of her house, and hell, who am I to turn down a free rocking chair? But we haven't really done anything with it cause it's all dirty and stuff cause it's been sitting in a basement or a garage for the past....I really don't know how long. So, I am determined to clean it up, sand it down and repaint it. I might loose a finger in the process but it will all be in the name of learning a new skill...well that and having an awesome chair for our porch so I can sit out on a summer day and like sip a mint julep or something ridiculous and pretend to actually be southern for 15 minutes.

7. I will learn to crochet for real. I learned very basically in college. That means if you need a potholder or a scarf or a blanket or anything else that is square or rectangular in nature I am all the heck over. White on freaking rice. But really, one can only have so many knit scarves. So I bought a book a month ago and haven't gotten to pick it up yet but it is on the list now. Gauntlet has been thrown.

8. This is the big one. This is the one that is bound to cause multiple meltdowns this year. In fact, I am willing to put a number of 50 bottles of wine going to self medicate me on this one issue. Being as it is January. I am no longer moving. I am no longer having to deal with the holidays and cooking and going out of town and having a revolving door of guests in my apartment, I have to decide what I am going to do down here. Job? Volunteer? Start vacuuming in pearls and pick up a Valium habit? Take random classes and hope we don't run out of money? Start and underground cock-fighting league? Really the possibilities are endless and I am open for suggestions....see comment box below.

So let's go. 2010, it's on!

Why my Cat Hates Holidays...

2009-12-19T00:45:00.000-05:00

Have I mentioned that I have the best cat ever? I realize that is like a parent saying that they have the cutest baby, but still. Look at that! She is the equivalent of the guy that is so secure in his masculinity he can dress impeccably, discuss feminist literature and then rush off to ballet rehearsal. She is such a sass bag but never feels the need to prove it.

We finally decided to get some pictures with the pets in their holiday get-ups. Really, what is more funny than animals in people clothes? Nothing. Bennet was a little confused and annoyed by the Santa hat but that was only cause there was an elastic strap under his chin. Once it was on and settled he was fine with it. Lizzy, on the other hand, is always the tricky one. She struggled at first, but after the second attempt she realized that we weren't going to give up. You could see the wheels turning in her little cat brain.

It was like she said, "Fine, if this is going to happen here is how it's going to go down. Get this stupid thing on my head. Put me down where ever you want cause it is throwing off my equilibrium, and I will stand still for 5 seconds. No more, no less. Then I am peacing out and we won't speak of this again. Understood?"

And that is exactly what she did. I swear that cat didn't move. It was almost unnatural. I am not sure she even took a breath for those 5 seconds. She just sat there looking as irked as a 13 year old forced into an ugly Christmas sweater. I got 3 or 4 shots off my camera, then she shook off the antlers and we didn't see her for 10 minutes.

A Post of Plugs

2009-12-14T13:18:00.000-05:00

I have been in the kitchen a lot. There has been excessive amounts of cooking and baking in our place. For example I made from scratch chocolate chip cookies in record time Saturday evening. I went from pulling ingredients from the pantry to on the cooling rack in less than 20 minutes, total, bake time included. So between that and the new running habit Nick and I came to the realization that we should probably be paying a little more attention to what we eat.

This made me a little nervous. Total red flag. You see Nick is an avid Internet researcher AND a scientist at heart. So when some guy who claims to be a doctor provides theoretical data supporting his new book and this book outlines some unique concept that sounds like a could potentially be healthy, like, I dunno, the benefits of steamed cabbage or something silly, he eats it up. All buyer beware out the window he just sees an interesting experiment to be tested. Plus, so much of what you find are actual weight-loss diets. I am not obese, I do not have major health issues, I do not need some dramatic life change sort of thing. It would be like giving chemo to someone with a sunburn. I am pretty sure if I started putting dramatic restrictions on my diet it would do me more harm than good. Also, I can imagine nothing more annoying than counting carbs or calories or fat grams or whatever on everything I eat.

So Nick does his Internet research and I don't particularly encourage him. He finds some information on raw diets that he gets all excited about. He explains to me that when you cook vegetables all the nutrients get cooked out of them and there is a certain percentage of raw food some Dr. suggests you eat. I explain to him that he makes a valid point and that I could have told you the same thing and I am not a Dr. so perhaps not that informative and not very well-rounded.

Then yesterday he is like, "Hey can we go to Barnes and Noble? There is a book I read about that I want to get. It was written by a Dr. and it is called Eat Right for your Type" The word diet wasn't used and it sounded like "type" might refer to body type or lifestyle so I was intrigued. Once we got to the bookstore Nick explained that it actually referred to your blood type. He said the Dr. that wrote it had some interesting ideas on how your blood chemistry effects how your body processes food and exercise. He's all lit up with the idea of learning how to eat to benefit your body on the molecular level. I am just thinking this sounds like a kernel of truth wrapped in a bunch of crap, wrapped in hard binding and an embossed book jacket, then sold for $30. We find this book, which is hardbound by the way, and Nick asks what my blood type is and starts reading. He learns that, based on my blood type, instense exercise won't benefit me as much as yoga and meditation. I find that hard to believe but something I could jump on board with. Then Nick says that according to the book I should be a vegetarian. Now I am a Midwestern girl that refers to bacon as nature's candy and would probably slash some one's tires for a good steak. In fact, I don't even order steak unless it is at a reputable steakhouse to avoid the risk a being offended by a less than pee yourself good steak. So yeah, that book got the axe. We did however find two other books that I am super pumped about.

The first is Healthy Cooking for Two (Or Just You) by Frances Price, RD. Ms. Price is a dietitian who was also a food writer and restaurateur. So think well rounded meals that don't taste like cardboard and are complex - pg. 199 is Fettuccine with Lemon-Walnut Scallops & Asparagus. AND in portions that don't leave us with leftovers for the rest of the week. How delightful! I plan on trying it out this week.

The second is a book by Dr. Gillian McKeith called You Are What You Eat. Dr. McKeith is a holistic nutritionist who has a TV show by the same name as her book in Europe. From what I can tell it sounds like What Not to Wear only she invades your fridge and not your closet. I started reading it today and, I will admit, it is a bit much. Since she is holistic there is a sort of food as medicine paradigm, which I can accept, but my first thought was "Holy Smokes, as much as I would love to learn to cook with algae, I cannot afford to shop at Whole Foods this much." But it has some really great and really thorough information in it. What I really like about this book is that it appears to be very well-rounded, she explains how it is healthy to eat complex carbohydrates, and proteins, and fatty acids. I am totally OK with anyone that says nuts and avocados are good choices. Also, she encourages you and gives you guidance on getting to know your body and hence learning what nutrients your are lacking and what you should be eating. There are like 3 pages of poop analysis, I crap you not. Pun intended.

Finally, while on this series of shameless product plugs I have one more to make. Several people have asked how the whole running thing was working out for me. While it has become a little harder to be as committed due to the holiday and all the rain that has past through the Charleston area recently I am still running. However, I am sure I would have lost interest by now if it weren't for the GPS watch Nick and I purchased back in June when I actually started running a little. For as much as I criticized Nick earlier in this post, I have a similar hang-up. As incompetent as I am in the arena of all things mathematic, I am a total sucker for statistics and analysis. I came fairly close to failing honors algebra 2 in high school cause no one could explain to me a practical application for the quadratic equation so I became confused and bored, but I totally aced my physics class a year later cause I could analyze the equations as they happened. So when my friend Stephanie told me about the Garmin Forerunner (I have model 405CX) I had to look into it. This thing has a heart rate monitor, stop watch, calorie counter, pacesetter, and GPS which means the watch also tells me how far I have been running. Then I can come home wirelessly transfer all that information to my computer and see my run plotted on a map, graph my heart rate and speed and then archive all the info so I can track my progress. It was expensive, like buying a Garmin and a watch at the same time, but totally worth every penny.

The Annoyances of Being a Nomad

2009-12-11T12:04:00.000-05:00

Generally I consider myself as a "glass half-full" sort of person. Someone who really is willing to put up with a lot, and I do mean A LOT, of crap. Did I mention that my husband lost his debit card by leaving it in an ATM machine AGAIN last week? So yeah. I am patient. And if anyone asks about my little stint as the wife of a naval officer I generally respond with an impassioned speech about how awesome it is. The pay is good. I get to travel. They move all my stuff for me. If Nick leaves I get to have time to myself, act independently, do whatever I want. So it's like a the Hannah Montana version of single vs. married. But in all seriousness, there are some major annoyances. This is one.

Two years ago we bought our car shortly before Christmas, so now we have moved to Charleston and we get our invoice from the state of Washington for the renewal of our tags. Here is where things get confusing. You might want to get a sheet of paper to start a flow chart. Nick, being a member of the military gets to choose his state of residency AND his license doesn't expire. So he can legally drive around with his Washington license as long as he likes. BUT since somehow his paperwork got lost or was never filed, for tax purposes he is still listed as a resident of Kansas. Now, rumor has it that we can keep our car registered in Washington based on Nick's status. But I am not sure how one goes about doing that when we no longer have a Washington address. Also, since I cannot legally keep my Washington driver's license and since we have both our names on the title they ask for both our license numbers and I feel a little weird and confused about listing my new South Carolina license number on the tag renewal for Washington. So I am all like let's just get South Carolina tags cause, I don't know, that just seems like the right thing to do. We live here now, no jerk cop is going to pick on us for having out of state plates, AND since our mail had to be forwarded from Washington, to California, to South Carolina we didn't get this invoice until like two weeks before the tags expired so time was of the essence.

So I start the process of getting this all taken care of. I go online and find a form that exempts Nick from property tax. Super. Then Nick comes home all jazzed about this new act Obama just passed, which to the best of my understanding states, if Nick is a "resident" of Washington then I can be too cause, hypothetically I am only moving around to be with him. Get it? Ok. It's a federal act, so basically a general law that states are left to enact however they see fit. So I go online and find an information letter from the Dept of Revenue of South Carolina that states as a part of this act South Carolina says that any property owned by spouse or jointly owned with service member will be given the same treatment as if owned by the service member. So that says to me I should be exempt from property tax as well. Cool. Then I note the a caption at the bottom of the image of the document stating that South Carolina hasn't posted this on their official website yet. Awesome, just awesome. AND the document image is good enough for me to clearly read it on the screen but not good enough to print out. So now I have to go down to the treasurer's office with no documentation. (And, by the way, this is like day two of this whole ordeal cause I went to the DMV only to be told that I had to pay property taxes at the treasurer's office which is all the way across downtown.)

So we get our exemption form all signed and head to the treasurer's office, who tells us we actually need to go to the auditor's office down the hall and THEN come back. So we head there. We confuse the girl behind the desk with this mystical form with a notary style stamp on it from the legal office on base and then I mention this new act. And I don't sound like an idiot. I mention that I found a recent document, from their department, it wasn't posted to a website, part a new federal act, mentioned the act by name, yada yada and these office trolls look at me as if I have just told them that I can talk to fish and I have decided to start worshipping kitchen appliances as gods. The gal helping us just explains she doesn't know anything about it but she will call her supervisor only in time for her cubicle neighbor to speak up and tell her to get off the phone and assure me that I am wrong. She thinks there is an act that protects me from property tax when he is deployed. That must be what I am thinking of. I assure her that this was a very new act passed within the past month. She, again, snidely assures me that I am wrong. At this point I am fuming. I had wanted to bring some paperwork with me but I wasn't aware that it was totally my job to inform them on what was new at the state department of revenue. I can tell we are getting no where so we paid our $90 dollars and then go all the way back to the DMV to pay another $40 to get our plates. The DMV? Shockingly friendly and efficient. The tax offices? Can totally eat it. And I mean it. Makes me really motivated to figure out this whole new act and move my "residency" back to Washington so I can remain a "non-resident" here. Seriously couldn't give a rat's ass about my $90, I just hate being treated like an idiot riding on the coat tails of my husband.

The real fun of all this is I have yet to find some major concrete source of information on all of this. I am certain it is written down in some policy book somewhere. But I don't know where that is AND I am positive it is written in some crazy legal jargon that I could only manage to choke down with a bottle of tequila but then I wouldn't remember any of it so what good would that do? Thankfully, I have a wonderful lawyer friend who has helped me through some of more confusing points. (I love you, Stephanie, please be patient with me.) As well as a veritable barrage of really awesome and equally snarky wives who have had to deal with even more crap by virtue of being around longer.

So in case you are keeping score at home. Nick pays taxes to Kansas, has a Washington license, physically lives with me in South Carolina where I am a resident and have a driver's license. We have one car plated in South Carolina, one plated in Washington, insurance for South Carolina and somehow still receive a friggin' tax booklet from Connecticut every year. Freaks us out every time. We haven't lived there for like 3 years! We don't owe them any money. Why do we still get booklets! Damnit! Obnoxious, right?

Now hopefully I haven't accidentally admitted to some tax fraud or other infraction I was totally unaware of on the Internet. If I don't post next week, just assume that I have and that I am imprisoned somewhere.

Calorie Overload Euphoria

2009-12-08T00:29:00.000-05:00

When we started looking for places to live in Charleston we had given up the ghost on finding a location like the one we had in Seattle. And we haven't. However, with every week that passes I feel a little more at home and a little more convinced that we made the right choice in where to live. Tonight was one of those evenings.

As it is Monday Nick and I met our friends Mike and Amy for Monday wine and fondue at the little shop in Avondale. We are regulars there now. That really is the great thing about that neighborhood. There are neighborhood regulars. People that show up for the wine tastings, I am just as likely to run into at the coffee shop and so on. One of the ladies we run into every Monday brought in pumpkin bread today for no reason. There was wine and free melted cheese in a pot. Really, how can you ever go wrong with dipping bread in melted cheese? That's right, you can't. Then we overheard that the girl who works with the shop owner every Monday (her name is Nikki) also works at the Glass Onion, which is this little local restaurant about 4 city blocks down the road. We had already planned on getting dinner there so we asked what we should order. And does Nikki tell us about signature dishes. No. Cause they don't have any. Cause their menu changes daily. Instead she tells us about the dishes for that day, which meats were the best and the freshest etc.

Naturally, when we arrived we could do nothing but order everything she suggested: Grass-fed beef fillet with green beans and mashed potatoes, spinach salad with fried oysters, scallops with fennel gravy served over grits, and a bottle of Tempranillo. Let's just say, at this juncture in my life there are few times where I feel compelled to eat to the point of pain. Tonight I got home and sat, almost moaning, on the couch for about 2 hours. Worth. Every. Second. Let's start with the grass fed beef. I have never particularly bought into the whole organic movement. Sure, it is a nice thought and all, I understand the health arguments and the economic arguments, but in terms of taste, unless it is a tomato you just plucked from your garden, there isn't much of a difference. Grass-fed beef is a whole different ball game. Maybe it is just the grass or maybe you are tasting the happiness and freedom the cow gets from grazing. Either way grass fed beef is like the quarterback to the standard beef's towel manager. The salad included spinach that was hearty and fresh as well as oysters, that were fried, you just can't go wrong with that. Finally, the scallops were nothing but three tender medallions of sweetness that almost cured every hang up I had in life. They sat upon a bed of gravy and the creamiest grits I have had. Really, the texture could have been confused for mashed potatoes. It was like eating a cloud. We finished with a chocolate pecan torte that was prepared that morning by our wine shop girl. Something really nice about knowing who made your food, right?

Best part? The restaurant is run like a cafe. Totally low key. No fancy menus or plates or waiters. No lighting that is too dim to read the menu. No expectations to keep your voice down when you are all but screaming about how good your dinner was and no judgments when you gorge yourself to the point that you are leaning back in your chair moaning like a victim of a stabbing. There were even crayons to color the butcher paper on the table. Score.

These are the things I was worried I wouldn't be able to find again. Between the tourist infested downtown with all the boutiques I can barely afford to step into, much less buy from; or the restaurants downtown, which I love but can be crawling with moms from, like Missouri, with their embroidered sweatshirts, grumpy kids, and husbands wearing trucker caps (and not in the ironic sense) who just want to go eat where Rachel Ray ate; and the strip malls in the suburbs that have the grocery store, target and that one random Chinese restaurant that may be good but you are a little scared to try; it is very easy to loose sight of what a little urban space can feel like. It is the businesses that are doing what they do out of a vocation and doing it well enough to be successful in a place not buzzing with accidental business. It is the people that you run into frequently enough to rate a smile of recognition, or know what their usual coffee order is. It is the feeling of actually being a useful cog in the motions of economy instead of mere drop of gas in the tank. I feel like we have found our secret Charleston and I couldn't be happier about it.

Accidental Acquaintance

2009-12-04T23:25:00.000-05:00

I met and chatted with one of our neighbors the other day. I had just come back from a run and was taking Bennet out really quick before taking a shower when our neighbor, Jeannie, noticed Bennet and had to come say "hi."

Now I have always had a somewhat, um, modern approach to having neighbors, with a few exceptions. That approach is basically this. I will give you a courtesy wave in passing, make small talk with you if we are caught together in an elevator, learn your name when the time and place requires it, and if it appears someone is breaking in I will call the cops. It wasn't always this way. These behaviors, like so many of my behaviors, have progressively gotten more introverted and anti-social while I was working retail. Few things will make a general disliking of the human race the rule, rather than the exception, faster than watching a mom ignore her kids running laps around the store because she is too busy on her bluetooth (I realize the irony in being to busy with the little device that leaves your hands free to...I don't know....watch your kids) or helping another mom find a runway look for her teen daughter who is clearly tanning herself to death with mom's encouragement. Now that I am no longer in that environment I am trying to turn over a new leaf.

I only talked to Jeannie for a few minutes but I am already intrigued and, in a way, humbled by her. Even though she is the proverbial older lady that just wants to talk. I am, seriously like catnip to that genre of older folk. I don't know what it is about me but if I go to church and there is an old lady there that wants to mumble incoherently about nothing of consequence they will just gravitate towards me. And I will smile and politely nod and even enjoy the conversation until I have smiled and nodded to one too many statements that I didn't understand even after saying "Pardon?" two or three times. Then I get nervous, like there is going to be a comprehension test later or something, and I start looking for a way out. Jeannie is not like that.

She caught me while she was outside paying the guy that comes by every week to wash her 1998 black Cadillac. How perfect. And she is in this zip front nightgown with sea creatures printed on it and a terry cloth turban style wrap on her head. Then she started to speak and, my gosh, this woman sounds like she just walked out of the "Garden of Good and Evil." I could listen to her speak all day. To get the full effect of this dialogue you really need to read this out loud and when you do really open your throat and speak from your throat and not your nose.

Jeannie asks me, "Is that a cohrgi. Why my fihrst huusband and ah had a cohrgi yeahrs ago when we live in England. Ah cahn still hearah the lahdies now with theirah british accents saying, 'oh thoose are the dogs the queen has.'"

I felt like a mint julep should have just magically appeared in my one hand and a paper fan in the other. We continued chatting for a few moments. For me it was small talk, for her it was a very TV digest version of what must have been a very eventful and, in seemingly many cases, tragic life. For example, there was a husband who was killed in a POW camp after like, I think she said 7 years, longer than McCain at any rate. Amazing. What is even the appropriate response to hearing a story like that? What she must have gone through! And that was just her first husband. My mind just reels at the idea of where she has been and what she has seen. Cause someone who was married to an Air Force pilot and lives in England doesn't just settle down into everyday housewifery, right?

But, I guess, that is the thing with people. The really interesting ones, the ones that can really teach you a lesson are not in a secret location. They are hiding in plain sight, you just have to be willing to listen.

A Von Trapp family Thanksgiving

2009-11-30T23:30:00.000-05:00

I hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving. Nick and I finally got back from Maryland last night at about 12:30. Worst. Traffic. Ever. Seriously, a trip that was supposed to take 8 hours took almost 11 hours. It should have taken longer but I was past the point of nagging my husband about his tendency to speed and merely kept my mouth shut.

We had a great weekend with Nick's family though. I love visiting my in-laws but I am always just totally spent by the time we get home. They are not restful people, but that is why I like them and, in a way, why I married my husband. There is always screaming and chaos and confusion and changing plans and completely hysterical laughter. It is quite a pleasant shock to my persona of ruthless German efficiency.

On Wednesday we were about 2 hours away from the DC area when Nick just starts giggling to himself. I, of course, inquire about this. He responds with, "Well, you know how my mom sorta gets the jump on us when we show up," (Which is absolutely true. I don't know how she does it but every time we visit she is outside screaming before we have even turned off the car.) Nick continues, "well, I was thinking about how funny it would be if we could sneak in."

So within a few minutes Nick is on the phone with his brother (Mathieu), who is out at the moment so Mathieu calls the house to have one of Nick's other sisters stealthily unlock the door leading into the basement. Then at about 8:30 my mother-in-law calls Nick to check our progress on the road and Nick starts in with this huge melodramatic, "Oh Mom, there is so much traffic. I think there has been an accident or something. We are totally stuck it is going to be a while." Which, true to form, she immediately checks traffic on the Internet and calls Nick back within about 10 minutes explaining that she "found the accident" and they had just cleaned it up and surrounding traffic was starting to move again. Nick started to get a little nervous about being able to pull everything off.

My mother-in-law is pretty much a maternal mystic. She is the type of mom that could simply wake up in the middle of the night and know one of her kids, no matter where they are in the world, are in trouble. Nick joked, "I don't know if we can pull this off. I half expect her to be at the basement door when we show up and I'll ask 'Mom, what are you doing here?' and when she is done screaming about us being home she'll answer, 'I don't know, I just had a feeling I should come stand by this door.'"

About 30 minutes later we arrive in their neighborhood and very carefully pull up to the culdesac, lights off, all Von Trapp family style and park a few houses away. We open our doors just enough to turn on the dome light and just in time to see my father-in-law cross the street. We both freeze and slowly duck behind the dash. As soon as the coast was clear I grabbed the cat bag and Nick grabbed the dog and we dashed across the pavement and out of view behind the house. We tiptoed around back to the door leading into their basement and carefully snuck in. With Nick leading the way we made our way to the stairs and Nick crept to the top unleashed our dog, Bennet, and let him slip through the door. We heard my mother-in-law start to scold their dog for barking when she stopped mid-sentance and screamed "BENNET!!! How did you get in here? Where are they?" At which point she comes tearing around the corner, laughing her head off, to find us and scream and laugh some more.

Chemistry at home

2009-11-24T00:22:00.000-05:00

Last night Nick and I made chocolates. I had been preparing for this all week, well, sort of. I had been doing some Internet research on the whole process, ingredients, etc. However, I did that really cool thing where you read "make sure you don't get baker's chocolate" but somehow in imprints in your brain as "you must get baker's chocolate" so I end up grabbing like 2 packages of it. Bottom line is my kitchen now has like 10 cups of unsalted stick butter, 3 packages of bakers chocolate, 3 bags of chocolate chips, a quart of heavy whipping cream, chocolate flavored almond bark, white almond bark....basically my kitchen is a diabetic nightmare....and it is awesome.

So last night, being as I don't have the skill or equipment to start tempering my own chocolate, Nick and I decided to start by using the chocolate almond bark as our shell...totally idiot proof....and focus on experimenting with our filler.

I stress Nick and I due to the fact that Nick is really getting into this whole thing. The kid was a chemistry major so he is just eating up all this information I am getting on the Internet about the make-up of different types of chocolate and how it reacts to heat and so on. His eyes are just lighting up with the idea of playing with heat, melting solids into liquids, trying to maintain a certain temperature, and the idea of not just blending things together but altering their essentials.

This first round we decide to try filling our shells with nutella, straight up, and experiment with a dark chocolate cointreau truffle. Results were promising. While the nutella proved to be delicious it was a little hard to work with so next time we plan on trying to develop a nutella truffle. The cointreau truffle, however, was damn good. So good, in fact, that Nick took a finger of it while I wasn't looking and just screamed, "SHIT!" I was startled and thought he had lit something on fire or at least spilled the whole saucepan on the floor. He just looked at me wide-eyed and said, "Erika, this is really awful and you aren't going to like it. I am just going to have to take this whole thing to work tomorrow and I'll just take care of it myself."

So here's how we did it:

You need -
1 pkg dark chocolate chips (get the good stuff - check the ingredients and make sure they use cocoa butter and not vegetable oil)
2 Tbsp unsalted butter
1/4 cup whipping cream
1/4 cup Cointreau

Start by heating the butter and chocolate chips on low heat, stirring constantly until completely melted and smooth
Stir in cream cream and liquor then stir aggressively to thoroughly blend.
Leave on heat and firmly stir for a few additional minutes to burn off a little of the alcohol
Remove from heat and move into fridge to cool for roughly 30 - 40 minutes.
Check truffle and stir frequently.

For filling chocolates you will want to use the truffle while still malleable. If not filling chocolates the truffle will set into a moldable solid form. While I haven't tried this yet I have a little extra in the fridge I intend to form into balls, dip into Cointreau then coat in unsweetened cocoa powder.

Surprisingly easy.

Safari

2009-11-19T22:03:00.000-05:00

Well, I am still running. I realize that it has only been like 3 weeks, but that is still an accomplishment for me. Usually by this point I have already gotten bored or frustrated and given up, or at the very least have started rationalizing my way out of running on 5 of the 7 days in a week. It isn't habitual yet. I still usually stall my run by like a half hour or so and I really have to make myself do it, but they are happening. I think, for me, this is all the power of structure. AND to add to the accomplishment we have finally hit the point where Nick is spending entire days at work so I have to make myself go run solo. Which, I know for some people, sounds like a total drag. I have friends who run and gossip at the same time and that is not how I work. I throw my ear buds in and then completely zone out and if you try talk to me, well, lord help you cause my wrath with reign down on you like fire. Nick learned that the hard way:

"Hey, Erika, how you doing? You feeling ok? Is this a good pace?"
"Shut the hell up and leave me alone."

Thankfully Nick doesn't take things personally and he has a great learning curve. I also got new running shoes. Here they are: They are so deliciously gaudy. I love it. I mean really what is better than running shoes that are primarily a shade of pink that totally assaults your eyes, right? They actually make a difference too. I really thought that this whole emphasis on the right shoe was just you know, Nike propaganda or whatever, but I really noticed a difference with the new kicks vs. my old worn out sneaks that were to wide for the nubs at the end of my legs most people call feet.

I have been running a circuit around our apartment complex which is actually built on a nature conservation area. There's a bald eagle that lives here so, boom, nature conservation, no more building. I actually have this secret fantasy that they were planning several more buildings and the powers that be were out surveying when suddenly this majestic eagle just flies in and lands in a tree and just hangs out there like a squatter in an old building and everyone just looks at each other and then the complex owner screams, "Damnit!" and throws his blueprints on the ground in a rage.

So, yeah, there is way more wildlife I have to deal with while running than I ever experienced near our place in West Seattle or downtown San Diego. The other day I noticed a dead squirrel in the road. Just dead, not hit by a car but like he had a little squirrel heart attack. So then every time I passed that part of our complex I had to focus on controlling my breathing and not puking or going into one of those little girly squirm-seizures I get as a result of seeing something gross all the while chanting in my head, "Don't look at the squirrel, don't look at the squirrel." There are also two small ponds with fountains on the property, both have signs warning that alligators MAY live here. It took me like two weeks to get over that and not slow down completely eyeballing the pond every time I passed half expecting some giant 10 foot gator to make it's way stealthily out of the 20ft pond to attack me on my jog. However, my biggest concern presented itself early this week.

As I was making my circuit I came upon the eastern portion of the complex and lo and behold I spot this mythical eagle that lives on the grounds. It is up in the air, soaring, looking all patriotic and like something out of a video designed for a civics class. Then I realize that this thing is circling. Now I don't know much about birds of prey but what I do know is that falcons are smaller than eagles and you still have to be trained to keep them and wear protective gear cause they could maim if not kill you. My logic was that this eagle is much bigger than a falcon so it could probably do me some serious harm. And, let's be honest, I am in the middle of my jog, an activity at which I do not excel. So I am still jogging, although I have slowed my pace, and I have my eyes on this bird the entire time. What does one do? I am already winded and this thing has friggin' wings so I certainly couldn't out run it. If it came at my I wouldn't have the first clue as to how one defends oneself from a bird of prey and then on top of that it is an endangered species so if I killed it, even out of self defense, how much trouble would I be in? I aired this concern to Nick when he got home and he laughed and promised me that I was to big for the bird to attack. I don't trust it though. Hitchcock could have been on to something.

Today the eagle wasn't out. There were no wildlife sightings until I saw a little lizard climb our mailbox. However, something else happened to me while running. I was running my last set and Vampire Weekend's song "A-Punk" shuffled up on my playlist. For those of you who may not be aware this particular song by this most awesome band is on guitar hero 5 which Nick and I have been playing excessively. So here I am jogging and I hear the beginning riff of this song and like Pavlov's dog suddenly my left hand is on the fretboard and my right hand is on strings with my thumb plucking the rhythm. So sad.

Erika shakes her fist a little.......

2009-11-15T22:39:00.000-05:00

Ok, I really didn't want to go this route on the blog but this week really laid the final straw. So here goes:

Now, it should be said that I don't hate Charleston out of principle. In fact, I would recommend a visit or even living here to almost everyone I know. I, however, feel like a fish out of water here. There really is no other way to explain it. It is a like being in another country for me. The culture, the social expectations, the dress code all make me feel like a foreigner in my own country. And I think that is what makes it so hard. This should be "home" to me, but it isn't. And I had hoped that maybe we would move here and I would be pleasantly surprised to find that I love it here. That it was simply that our first year of marriage was hard cause it was our first year of marriage. That I was so upset cause I could barely land an interview the first time and when I did the guy interviewing me told me point blank I was going to have a really hard time finding a job cause, "Charleston runs on a good ole' boy system and if you don't know anyone here you are going to have a hard time." (No seriously, that actually happened.) Or that we just didn't make enough money to enjoy ourselves. While all of those things are true, and certainly effected our first year here, I maintain that I am a square peg being hammered into a round hole.

As such, there are a few things I need to get off my chest. First, as crazy as it sounds, I felt more comfortable driving in California than I do here. California drivers are as aggressive as they come but at least they have their head in the game and (for the most part) aren't too thoughtless or inconsiderate cause you never know who might have a serious case of road rage. Not so with Charleston.

Evidently, Charleston has not caught up with this whole "no cell phone while driving" thing cause it is perfectly routine to get caught behind someone exiting onto the interstate 10 miles below the speed limit cause they are texting or have their phone glued to their ear. But that isn't even the worst of it. There is a startling lack of traffic signals in general so it is like vigilante justice on the roads. A couple days ago I went to grab some groceries and got caught in line for a stop light in the right hand lane. Now I drive a Mini Cooper so the front and back end of my car are very short so I usually end up leaving extra room between myself and the car in front of me. Well, during this particular stop the two old bats pulling out of the drive at Walgreens (on my right) decided that there were just enough INCHES to sneak between my car and the SUV in front of me. (So few inches, in fact, that I had to throw the car in reverse.) Then they stopped in front of my car and waited for a window to turn left. Now everyone close your eyes. Imagine you have just caught your child trying to stick a fork in a light socket. Now imagine your face as you yell, "What the hell are you doing?" This was the face and the words I was mouthing at the two old ladies as they passed me. And I know they could see me cause no one had tinted windows and they were close enough I could tell you what prescription glasses they were wearing.

Nick came back from the standard Navy brief outlining the basic tenets of don't drink and drive and don't drive like a moron and was SO creeped by THIS presentation he point blank told me, "Umm so basically don't drive anywhere unless you have to."

Point two: shopping carts. Seems petty, but really is exemplar of attitude toward customer service. This has become a pet peeve of mine within the three weeks we have lived here. Few people put them away. It makes me crazy. Driving through the parking lot at Costco is like taking on an Olympic ski slalom. Carts everywhere. There are cart corrals. They are clearly visible. NO ONE USES THEM. This isn't just a Costco thing either. I went to the grocery store last week and people were just leaving their carts in the middle of the exit, 5 ft away from the cart line up. Really? How hard is it just to slip your cart in with the others. So I took my time while balancing my grocery bags on my arms to put a couple up, audibly huffing and puffing as other people walked through the exit. Yeah, that's right. I have become that chic. Oh, and in the past month I have had to send Nick back to two separate grocery stores to exchange dairy products that had been left on the shelf too long. (After which I deduced that all the employees were too busy putting carts away to take those expired items off the shelf, of course, of course.)

It feels good to get that all said. Phew. And I will admit, maybe...if you get me liquored up and in a really good mood, that I am saying all this out of frustration. Like the kid who hates his math teacher cause he doesn't understand the subject.....Or maybe not.

Despite all my kavetching it shouldn't be said I am not having a good time, cause I totally am. (I just have to shake my fist once and a while.) I have totally retreated into the kitchen. I have been cooking up a storm. In the past few weeks I have made re fried black beans from scratch. Tonight we made deep fried zucchini. I have also started on my quest to learn to bake in a way that would just blow the minds of you and the person sitting next to you. I made cupcakes from scratch and even rocked myself some lavender icing. That's right. I own a mortar and pestle and I kicked some lavender into gear and made some of the most delicious icing you might ever have. Up next, I am tackling home made chocolates. I am just waiting for my molds to come in the mail.

Beyond my own resourcefulness Charleston has more than represented. I have found two really delightful wine shops. One has wine and cheese tasting on Mon and Thur for $5 and the other has wine tasting for $1 on Fri and Sat. (For those of you doing the math that leaves Sun, Tue, & Wed without a cheap tasting.) Remember sometime last month I mentioned the truffled tater tots? Yeah, they were everything I would have hoped for and more. I will be learning to replicate those at home.

Now that I have vented a little off to bed. Tomorrow I run, design some address cards (fingers crossed), do some laundry, plan some meals, then hit Avondale wine & cheese for some wine and fondue...mmm wonderful fondue......

Dead Bug

2009-11-10T17:29:00.000-05:00

I was going to write some random little post about my weekend today but then something huge happened today. I killed my first roach.....ever.

Since I got married and have frequently been without my husband at home I have forced myself to learn dispatch flies, spiders, silverfish etc. Thankfully though I never had to kill a roach. We didn't have roaches in our place in Seattle (between that and the lack of mosquitoes it only further verifies my conviction that Seattle is one of the best cities on the planet). We did have a few roaches in our first Charleston apartment however I had either let those run back into the wall and then buy roach baits later or I even let our cat kill on once and then I made Nick discard the little roach remains when he got home. Otherwise I just ask Nick to kill them and I don't have a history of asking very gracefully.

One evening after we had been married and living in Charleston for several months Nick had gone to bed and washed up to hit the rack about 20 minutes later. As I was washing my face I saw what looked like a hair on the counter next to the little toothbrush holder. I went to brush it away but it wasn't there anymore. So I moved the holder and found that the "hair" I saw was really the antenna of a roach. I full on screamed. Like the type of scream straight out of a horror film. Then I ran into the bed room. Nick had already leaped out of bed from a dead sleep. When he tells the story he explains that my scream was so blood curdling that he fully expected to see me dead or at least without an arm. I told him there was a roach in the bathroom so Nick, still in nothing but his undies after being in bed, pulls on his black work socks and combat boots, grabs some raid, another random aerosol can, and heads into the bathroom to put some hurt on the roach. It was classic. We talked about it later and I said I understood the Raid and the boots but I didn't understand the other can of cleaner. He said he thought he could use it to beat the roach if things got real bad.

So skip some years later to this past Sunday. We are getting ready to hit the rack again when I step into our kitchen with the lights off to put a water glass on the counter when I see something scurry across the counter out of the corner of my eye. I suck in this huge gasp and Nick comes running again and I head into the bedroom to try and forget that I just found a roach on my KITCHEN COUNTER. Sadly the roach was to quick for Nick and it retreated to the cabinet from whence it came. Naturally, I called the leasing office and luckily for me their pest control guys was schedule to come by today. So this morning he came by and sprayed the kitchen and seriously no more than 10 minutes after he left I spy a roach crawling out of my kitchen. I froze. Do I try kill it or do I let it go about it's business? Maybe the cat will get it? Finally I scrambled to grab our can or Raid, took a deep breath and started spraying. Little jerk was fast but finally after about 4 or 5 missed shots I got it once. But it just started running in circles cause it was stunned and disoriented. So I went in for the final blow and unleashed holy hell on that little bug. Once it flipped on its back and its legs stopped moving I promptly squealed like a little girls and danced around in circles shaking my hands like I was trying to shake water off them and immediately called my husband. He didn't answer his phone so of course I called my dad. I didn't even say "Hi" I just blurted out, "I just killed a roach, what do I do?" He just laughed.

After staring at the little corpse for a few minutes I finally gave up the ghost and grabbed a dustpan, gingerly scooped it up and made my way to the trash. Here's hoping that the one roach was a fluke and we don't see anymore.

I Heart New Mexico

2009-11-06T23:13:00.000-05:00

Let's start this post by explaining that since, I would say college, I have been traveling with the fervor of a nutritionist's child discovering candy for the first time. My parents, for reasons of their own, never really did the family vacation bit. (Which I always found a little odd considering they both came from a generation of road trips, campers and national parks.) However, as an adult now, I will totally go out of my way to see some place new. Nick and I once traveled space available via the air force and actually opted for a flight that was both longer and landed in a different state because we could score a 4 hour layover in Iceland. That's right. I said "score a 4 hour layover." Cause my thought was, why opt not to go to Iceland when we could go, even for four hours on a military base that was being shut down. That layover is easily one of the most memorable and impressing travel experiences to this day. But that is a whole post worth for another day. My point is, with travel, as with life, it is so important to be open and conscious of the opportunities that fall before you. To know that, even though it may be hard, it may be unexpected, and it may seem a little odd, it is an opportunity that could pass you up so you best buck up, put on the big girl pants and hit it head on.

This past weekend I went to Santa Fe, New Mexico with a good friend of mine from college. Her name is Nicole. The reason we went there really boils down to nothing more than we had never been to the southwest. (Although, I must give serious props to my mom for recommending it.) It was amazing. And as with so many of the trips I go on I find that, against the background of a new place, I grow a little as a person and become a little more grounded in who I am and who I want to become. And because I really can't think of an eloquent way to link these anecdotes together here are a few highlights in list form:

1. I heart Georgia O'Keefe. Lady was original and amazing. If you want to know a little more go here. AND, according to the docent at the museum, she never felt totally at home in South Carolina either, nice to know I am not the only one.

2. Chocolate is like mother's milk to my friend, Nicole. Leave it to her to find the Chocolate walking tour in Santa Fe. First night day we are in Santa Fe we are all crazy jet lagged and ate dinner super early so I thought we should go find some chocolate for an evening snack. There is only one place left open after 6. It is called Kakawa Chocolate. Being as we have been in town for about 4 hours and have no idea where anything is I called the shop and reach one of the owners. His name is Peter. He explains to me that he has never given on foot directions and it is a little confusing to find on foot. I won't toy with anyone's intelligence by going through a play by play of 20 minutes of wandering, but I will tell you that I made several phone calls to Peter, he actually called me AND texted my phone, and at one point he was telling us to head down and alley and across a parking lot at which point I started to wonder if he was hunting us down to shank us in some dark corner of historic Santa Fe. But I am trying to have more faith in people, cause generally people are guilty til proven innocent in my book, and I don't like giving up. So on we trudged. Cold, tired, jet lagged. Finally, we found the place. What a gem! The chocolate was worth every wrong turn. Peter graciously gave us cups of chocolate on the house and a fantastic suggestion for lunch the next day.

3. Sunday we visited a couple national parks. The first of which had several old Native American cliff dwellings. So gorgeous. Went through a guided hike with a park ranger then continued the hike on our own. Now the ranger had explained there was a spot called the "alcove house" that was very pretty but up a series of ladders so if your are out of shape or have issues with heights, probably not the thing for you. Now my friend has a paralyzing fear of heights so she was like "I'm out" right away. And I thought man, that sounds like a lot of work and I'd have to do it by myself. Maybe not for me. But as we got closer there were little informational signs with artist renderings of the spot and you could see the ladders and the hike up. All I could think was man, I am going to be so pissed if I pass this up cause I was a little nervous. So on I went. Lone wolf. First ladder of like 20 pegs. A few feet rounding the cliff face in steep stairs cut into the rock and 8 inch wide "trail." Second ladder of about 30 pegs, another wind around the cliff face. Third ladder, about 45 pegs. Another small trail and finally the last ladder about 10 pegs. While the view and the native site above was beautiful and impressive in it's own right, it was made more special by the effort required to get there. With each ladder peg you are sort of forced to think about the age of the cliff, and what it must have been like to live there, and how damn athletic these people must have been. I will totally admit to being winded at the end of the climb and despite having no pre-existing qualms with heights I almost freaked on the way down the biggest ladder. My hands were shaking and I have very slight bruises on my shins from clinging to that ladder for dear life.

Overall, a wonderful little getaway. Very much needed, in fact. Originally, I sort of felt like a crazy person throwing together this vacation so shortly after moving but as we have unpacked and Nick has started going to work I was having trouble grounding myself. A new city that wasn't really all that new, no real plans, no idea where I am going to be tomorrow much less next month, really easy to loose your sense of self amidst so much uncertainty and traveling has always made me more comfortable in my own skin. This time, like all the others, was no different.

Running as a Metaphor

2009-10-30T23:27:00.000-04:00

It finally happened. I had that day. The day all twenty somethings (and I guess maybe a few thirty somethings) have where they realize their bodies are not what they used to be. You find yourself thinking things like, "Remember that one time in Germany when Ashley and I totally took out that whole bottle of Jager in one night and it may as well have been water?" or "Gee, there was that one time in college I finished a whole pint of Oreo fluff in like 2 minutes, after lunch, and I was still hungry." But now you find yourself looking at a single shot of Jager and thinking, "man, I will probably regret this in the morning" or you finish off that Oreo fluff and not only are you stuffed but you also know the Oreo fluff will add to that mysterious fluff that has been sneaking over the waistline of the designer jeans you bought about a year ago. This is all clearly hypothetical of course. Yes my friends, those days are gone. Those beautiful days when all your calories were eaten away by the mere fact that you were young, busy, and going off an average of 5 hours of sleep a night, maybe. Which brings me to the heart of this post.

As a person that has always believed in prevention and nipping things in the bud I thought, well, I have two options. I could start dieting and counting things like carbs or calories or fat grams or whatever but my sincere love of food and my lack of basic math skills ruled that out immediately. That left option two. I need to become one of those people that work out and like, really work out. As in not the way I have been working out for the past, oh, ever. Traditionally, I have been about as good at working out as a cat is at opening a screw top jar. I'll bat it around with my paw and knock it over. I may even bite the jar a few times, but the end result is always the same. I get bored, find a blanket, and take the world's most awesome nap.

So Nick and I have started running. Why running? I really don't know if I can answer that. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that it is free, or because it is solitary activity that prevents me from having to elliptical race the guy next to me in the gym, or because its the cool thing to do (all the celebs are running marathons now), or maybe it is because I have this uncanny knack to choose the hardest possible option and then beat myself up when I don't kick ass the first day as I have always hated running (the term every fiber of my being comes to mind) and I have always sucked at it.

(Ok this is a total non sequitur but it needs to be mentioned immediately. For the past two weeks my darling husband has been playing some really awful "Star Wars" game for PS3 obsessively. Just now he hit pause, sighs deeply and throws his head in his hands. I asked him what was wrong. He throws his fist down on the coffee table and says, "There is no way they could have that many storm troopers in reserve. It's just not realistic." There. It needed to be shared with the internet.)

So, running. In true Type A form the first thing I do is go online and find running nutrition information and a whole program for beginners to build a running base. "It's great to learn, cause knowledge is power!" So we started on week 3 of the program, which puts me at about the same skill level that I was when I was in 5th grade. And it should be noted that I was a really slow 5th grader. (I was the kid that stomped everyone in the flexibility portion of the presidential fitness test but virtually failed at everything else.) Thus far we have completed two runs successfully. I say successfully because with the first run we tried to start on week 4 of the program which was, evidently, more than I could handle. It was bad. There were tears. It was one of those really great moments where the running simply becomes symbolic for everything that could be wrong in your life at that very moment. It quickly spiraled from "I can't even run a full mile" to "I don't have a job" to "I have no direction" to "We are back in Charleston and not Italy or Japan or Hawaii" and I can't be sure but I think "I never got a pony for Christmas" probably ended up in there too. Nick, in his totally unconscious quest for sainthood, talked me back from the metaphorical edge and reminded me that all the embarrassment and the feeling of failure just comes with the territory of doing something new. Then he made me dinner.

So what have we learned? This move still blows and I am still dealing with that in my own repressed sort of way. And being all motivated about the move was great when I wasn't in the trenches. But all that motivation is pretty hard to find when you are "in the shit" so to speak. But like running, I think the key is getting over that first hump where you are convinced all the neighbors coming home from work are watching you run and thinking about how pathetic you look. After that, it is all downhill and I may not get my college metabolism back but I'll probably end up a better person for it.

Do you have to be a jerk about it?

2009-10-26T14:35:00.000-04:00

This post has been a long time in coming. And I have a feeling that there will eventually be more posts just like this one. You can file this under, "Hey, you don't need to be a jerk about it!"

As an individual recovering from 7 years of working in the retail industry I have become a little particular about customer service and exceedingly empathetic towards employee abuse. The latter being far worse than the former. Let's face it, if you get awful service somewhere you at least get to speak with someone in charge, get a company phone number to call, or at least know you can take your business elsewhere. However, if you are the employee being verbally abused all you can do is take it. If you get lucky you can call over your boss to take the heat. If you are unlucky you are the boss and the person who is angry doesn't understand the structure in corporate America and wonders why they can't speak directly to the owner of the business. Then they get really upset when they learn the only way to speak to corporate is through a 1-800 number with a teleprompt menu. All the while they are still yelling at you over something that you either can't fix, you can fix but would get you into trouble, or was simply a miscommunication and an honest mistake. There really is no quicker way to ruin a perfectly good day and squash your basic human dignity by knowing all you can do is lay back and take it like the proverbial whipping boy.

Yesterday Nick and I went grocery shopping. As we were checking out I happened to overhear.....well no there was no happen to overhear about it........cause it was that obnoxious level of loud you use when you are just on the verge of yelling but you don't want to cause a scene, so you pull it back a little but your voice is still loud and forceful enough that everyone around you hears anyway... So as we were checking out I hear the woman behind me talking about Baby belle Cheese. I love cheese so my interest was piqued. Sadly, the frumpy crow and equally squawky husband behind me were not touting the deliciousness of the snack-sized cheese wrapped in wax. Instead, they were berating the poor cashier for how expensive they were. They claimed to have found the same cheese at a competing grocery store for $3 less.

Now I appreciate frugality just as much, if not more than, the average 20 something with an armload of debt. But would it really have been so hard to simply say,"Oh I am sorry, we don't need the cheese. Could you please take that off?" and then wait til you were on your way to the car to say to your husband, "Hey, this was clearly more expensive than the other store. We should just shop there from now on." I mean really. How hard would that be? Instead this woman kept going on and on about the damn cheese. And violently rummaging through her purse. Then hurumpth "this place is so expensive it is just ridiculous." Then more rummaging. "It's how much? Well, I don't need that cheese. Take it off. I am never coming here again." Then her yappy purse dog of a husband pipes in with, "Did you get the Capri Sun at the bottom of the cart? I told you about that as soon as we got up here." Well off course the cashier forgot the Capri Sun you asshat! You and your wife have made this poor little 16 year old with the minimum wage, mind-numbing job so uncomfortable that if this same scenario played out in her bedroom this morning she probably would have forgotten to wear pants. I understand that your groceries were more expensive than you wanted. Ours were too. We too plan on doing our shopping somewhere else. But really, do you have to be a jerk about it?

Home

2009-10-20T17:47:00.000-04:00

WE MADE IT! We are here. We have an apartment. We have stuff. We have cable, Internet, a new TV console, wine, beer, a limited amount of food in the kitchen and a new sleeper sofa being delivered tomorrow. And for those of you reading this blog I am rewarding your patience for this newest entry with these photos:
Now, I realize that these are far and away not the highest quality photos I have ever taken. The battery on my Canon is going dead and it is on the list of important random things we have yet to find in boxes. (Also on that list is the turntable for the microwave. All our kitchen boxes have been opened....can't wait to see where that thing ended up.) But seriously, how awesomely pissed is that cat?

So lets talk Charleston, shall we? Nick and I get into town late on the 14th. We have a room reserved at a Sheraton in the northern part of town. Now, while the northern part of Charleston is not generally regarded as a "garden spot," the hotel we are staying at is near the fairly new outlet mall and the airport. So it is one of the nicer pet friendly hotels we have stayed at. We check in, find the closest entrance, park the car and start to unload the overnight items and the pets. As I am scurrying to the door with our dog, Bennet, I am approached by this guy that looks like Jeff Daniels circa "Dumb and Dumber.

"Jeff Daniels": "What kinda dawg is that?"
Me: "It's a Welsh Corgi."
"Jeff Daniels": "Ah've neever seen a dawg laihk that beefore. Wee've got our dawg heere too. Hee's a peet buul. Man, hee's only seven months old and hee's aready fiftee pounds."
Me: "Wow, umm, have a good night!"

As I hustle through the door I realize he is following me to the elevator. I walk faster hoping against all odds that I could make it to the elevator fast enough that I can call the car and hop in before he can join me. No such luck. As he slips in with me his kids, a pudgy blond boy with glasses and a frizzy haired girl wearing a belly baring tye-dyed tee, join us. They are holding take-out bags. Bennet is sitting at attention in his non judgemental dog-like way hoping someone will notice him and give him a scrap.

"Jeff Daniels": "Hee's smellin' yer dienner. Eef that were our dawg wee'd just hafta let 'em go tuh town"

I suddenly have images of snots the dog from "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" having my little dog for a snack. Thankfully, I got off on the 4th floor and they stayed in the elevator for a longer ride. My first thought was, "Well, shit. We're back."

I will admit, despite a good showing by the local color on the first day, I was still happy to finally be here and get in our apartment. In fact, after we finished with our apartment paperwork and got our keys one of the leasing agents said, "Welcome Home," which is a tactic I am sure is in every playbook for leasing agents everywhere, but I still caught a very small lump in my throat. Under normal circumstances that lump would have been a little bit of vomit, but this time I had been without a place of my own for 3 1/2 months. So I feel the Oprah moment was deserved. And, in case you are wondering, our new place is a 2 bedroomed, lots of cabinets and counter space, tons of closets, kick-ass screened in patio, thing of glory! Of course that also means we have to readjust to living in suburban Charleston. For example, our home in Seattle was two blocks off the main drag in West Seattle. Shopping, coffee shops, bars......well here: See that picture? That is Nick cleaning off mystery spots on our couch. We had no idea they were there until we got our couch back from storage. What are they? I don't know, but I have a few ideas. We will just say some stuff went down in that wonderful little 1 bedroom in Seattle. (And Crystal, in case you are reading, you should know it all went down on our furniture, rugs, and easily cleaned linoleum.) That stuff went down because we were the people with the city apartment and therefore frequently had had overnight guests after we stumbled home. Those days are gone. Nick and I did a timed coffee run yesterday. HALF AN HOUR!!!!!!! It took us half an hour to reach the nearest Starbucks, not even get out of the car but do the drive though, and get home.

To also be filed under readjustment is learning how to get anywhere. Yesterday we went out an bought a Charleston Road map so we could study it. I realize this seems silly but you wouldn't think so if it was you who spent the last 3 days making a turn on a road you thought was the correct state highway but wasn't. To add to this confusion Charleston apparently likes to honor their dead by naming streets after them but then ran out of streets so they just started renaming portions of streets. This has lead to us shaking our fists screaming "WTF, Charleston?" on more than one occasion. For example, hwy 61 is also Ashely Rivers Rd. Off that is Paul Cantrell Blvd which turns into Glen McConnell Pkwy. Intersecting with Paul Cantrell is Tobias Gadson Rd which turns into Orleans St......I think. This is all from memory. And the best part? These streets are all in our part of town, which is fairly underdeveloped, which leads me to believe all these names happened after the rest of the country discovered the ease of use of the grid and numbers system. Thanks, Chucktown!

While on the mention of underdeveloped. There is also a startling lack of highway lights in our neck of the woods resulting in the mini cooper doing a little off-roading last night. A good portion of suburban Charleston commerce is built off a system state highways and frontage roads. So the ability to make a good u-turn in this town is a must. Last night we were trying to hit a grocery store and Nick takes a wrong turn. The speed limit is like 55 mph so all the locals are going like 70 mph. So the combination of the speed and zero lights on the road means we miss the first two turn around points and turn too late for the third putting us squarely in the grass. Which, I guess is still a step up from the first time we got lost in Seattle and Nick ended up driving over a corner of sidewalk.

All those annoyances aside I am really optimistic. We found a great locally owned coffee shop (dirty chai is my new favorite drink), a lounge that looks like it fell out of downtown Seattle (it serves truffled tater tots), and a liquor store with a GREAT selection of imported and micro brews near by.....well a 15 minute drive, but that is our new "nearby." Now all we need to do is find a good bakery (I have high hopes for this place we have been passing called "Rococo") and we will be in business!

We Visit Home and Have a Dramatic Coffee Trip

2009-10-08T23:34:00.001-04:00

Still making it across the country. We have been staying with my parents for the past few days which has been really nice. My parents have never been the type to make a huge ordeal out of us coming home. A few days before hand my mom calls and asks us what kinda of deli meat we want and, "Oh yeah, Nick likes pumpkin pie, right?" My mom and I make at least one obligatory trip to the mall five minutes from our house and discuss what shops are new and what went out of business. Every time we go I always can't help but feel like she is a little disappointed when I don't buy anything, despite all the discussion on being thrifty and saving money. Should I purchase something, the flood gates open and she repeatedly goads me, "You could always buy that throw pillow, it would look perfect with the painting you just got." But, in all fairness I do the same thing to her too. I believe in most "anonymous" programs this is called "enabling."

Nick and I were also able to meet up with old high school friends and their respective spouses, who I consider high school friends as well; not only for the ease of categorizing the people I know, but also because they are that damn cool. Few things in the world are better than having drinks with people you have known since before you were old enough to drink, legally or otherwise. It is one of those things that makes you realize that getting older may not be so bad because there are a few things that don't change, they merely become variations of the past events. And yes, this becomes particularly clarified when you all gather and have a drink while watching "Dawson's Creek." A show you remember watching with your best friend and turning to each other afterward and comparing each plot twist with your own life(although devoid of the copious sexual escapades...we were good kids). No, I am not above admitting that. There is one of these shows for each generation, at least ours had overly advanced vocabulary and syntax. So there.

Lastly, something awesome happened this morning. Nick and I had an imaginary standoff with a slim Asian family. Let me explain. My husband is one of the most offensive drivers in the history of things with wheels. Had he been around during the days of horse drawn carriages he would have taken the blinders off the horses and trained them to attack oncoming buggies. This morning we went to Barnes and Noble to procure some coffee and an audio book for the last half of our trip. We found a woman getting into here car to leave at the end of the first row of the whole lot. Nick approaches but is a little late in turning on his blinker so a tan Volvo approaches at the same time. Nick starts strategizing out loud the best angle to swoop in and snag the spot before the Volvo can even hit the gas. Because Nick would probably have the skills to drive an SUV through the narrowest alley in Europe while breaking the sound barrier and come out without so much as a scratch; he snags the primo spot with ease. As we reach for the door handles the Volvo stops and idles behind our car for a few moments. Shit. We pissed off the wrong people. We sat still hoping there wouldn't be some over-caffeinated, over-empowered, and over-stressed guy in business apparel rapping on our window to scream at us for 5 minutes. The the Volvo moved on, to park, in the loading zone adjacent to the store....facing.....us. Double shit. At this point we are both convinced that some overweight guy in a trucker cap and sweat stained t-shirt is going to hop out, grab the baseball bat from his trunk and start huffing and puffing his way towards us. We sat. We debated whether we would have time to make it to safety inside the populated book store. We sat for probably about 5 minutes. Finally, two skinny Asian kids with glasses and laptop bags hopped out of the back seat and walked past our row of cars and hopped into the car they were meeting two rows behind us.

Tune in next time when the Roas run scared from leaves blowing in the wind.

Of Truckstops and Knick-Knacks

2009-10-04T01:19:00.000-04:00

Nick and I have officially started our trip out east. Today ends day 3 of travel. Really, this is our favorite part of the whole process. Something about just being in the car and on the road just works for us. There really is a romance of simplicity to it. You have one goal, few ways to procrastinate, the necessity to cooperate with your travel partners, and an endless number of unforeseen obstacles that could find their way into your itinerary. And really, let's be honest, it is inevitably those obstacles and surprises that make our trips memorable.

Currently, we are in Dallas ending the pioneering portion of our trip. Starting tomorrow our trip the rest of the way east will revolve around visiting various family and friends. However the past three days we have been on our own rockin' it out from San Diego across the desert of the southwest. Probably one of my favorite regions in the country. Just beautiful. And while I was fully aware that I was in "desert" region I did not realize that there are parts of this country that have full out desert dunes. Yeah, like no joke I just fell into the Sahara, giant velvety foam looking dunes. Amazing! I made us pull over at the nearest rest stop to take pictures. It was here at this truly primitive rest stop with no picnic tables or running water that I also stumbled across this little gem: Yes. That is a sign reminding your that car theft is wrong and includes a hot line. I am sorry. I could have sworn there was already a hot line for reporting car theft. I learned it when I was 3. The phone number is 9-1-1. "Hi, police. I need to report a car getting jacked." Having a separate hot line just seems excessive and confusing, doesn't it?

We continued passing through Arizona and started coming across these billboards for "The Thing". Now I am a huge sucker for roadside attractions. You heard right. If there is a huge jack-a-lope, or a potato chip that looks like the Madonna (or one that looks like just Madonna for that matter), or the world's largest collection of garden gnomes within 10 miles of the highway I will beg to go. AND it is a well known fact that the farther out the billboards start the more awesomely bad the attraction will be. So after an hour of: "The Thing: see the desert mystery", "The Thing: and get a Dairy Queen Blizzard", "The Thing: and Handmade Pottery" and finally "The Thing: and Southwest Jewelry" I was dead set on exiting at #322. Admission was a $1 for my husband and I; it was worth every penny we paid to the two old cashiers with 10 teeth between them. Spoiler alert: The thing about "The Thing" is there is no thing but instead, several things. Three long, open, aluminum shacks encompassing the trailers behind the truck stop where, I'm assuming, the employees lived. These shacks were filled with an extensive collection of stuff that defies description of genre or value. A few favorites of mine included: an antique Roles Royce that Hitler may (or may not) have ridden, a collection of torture themed sculptures, and a mummy with no description of how old it was, where it was found, or even if it was real.

However, the climax of our trip thus far happened late last night. At about 10PM we were working our way through western Texas. We had gone through one last border inspection station about 30 minutes earlier and Nick decided that he needed a caffeine fix so we pulled of the next exit to a truck stop near Van Horn and "The Plateau." Now I have procured gas and taken a leak at various truck stops all over this great country of ours. And while cleaner than some this stop took the cake by being the SKETCHIEST TRUCK STOP EVER! As we walked in we were greeted by a $54 three foot figurine of a cougar across from a relief in reverse of Jesus. I got nicely ogled by a big, burly, guy with a sweet 'stache, trucker cap, and a ponytail that was longer than I have ever been able to grow my hair. He was playing a virtual slot machine as he watched me walk into the bathroom and I thought, "Great, tonight is the night I get Jodie Fostered." However, upon entering the ladies room I was distracted by the sign above the sink noting that there was no potable water...charming. Then as I entered the stall I spotted a nice little scribble: "For a good time call your mom so that she can slap some since into you." JACKPOT! I couldn't wait to tell Nick about my little find. As soon as we are in the safety of our little car and turn to him:

"Guess what I saw in the bathroom!"

"A guy shitting out little balls of cocaine? Cause that's what I saw in mine."

Guaaahhh.....Whhaaat? "How do you know?"

"Some guy was in the can with an empty grocery sack set out at his feet. I don't know what else he could be doing."

Checkmate. Nick wins. There isn't a possible bathroom wall typo that could compete with that.

Mulligan!

2009-09-29T14:10:00.000-04:00

Ok, so here's the deal. Today is my second to last day of living in San Diego. On Thursday my husband, Nick, and I will pack ourselves, the dog, the cat, and more things than you thought possible into our mini cooper and trek across the country, back to Charleston, SC. I say back to, because we lived there 4 years ago.

I won't lie and say I am ecstatic about the move. Yes, 90% of our worldly goods are in storage and we have been living in a friend's condo for the past 3 months so I am really excited to have all that back. But moving back was never a part of our plans. I will go ahead and say that we did what we could to avoid moving back. The job Nick will be taking has some of the worst hours known to man. As for me, our previous year living there was so financially difficult and personally ego crushing that despite the wonderful food and beautiful buildings the city left a bad taste in my mouth.

However, as with most things in life, I find the minute you learn to embrace something and accept it for what it is, you can move past it. So I am choosing to view this as the world's biggest Mulligan. In moving back we are doing things our way. We aren't taking unsolicited advice and we are harboring no expectations. We have an apartment leased but beyond that our only plan is to show up and shoot from the hip. Which is, in truth, the only way Nick knows how to do things.

I, on the other hand, have always preferred the safety of plans, itineraries, graphs, and flow charts. As a proactive move against that I have a growing list or pet projects and rediscovered interests I am delving into in order to keep myself from stumbling back into really bad, old habits; like obsessing over the cleanliness of the house (and I do mean obsessing), graphing out and nitpicking at our checkbook until every superfluous expense is the end of the world, and the big one: the panicky need to get a job, any job, no matter how much it makes me miserable, or how much it conflicts with my husband's free time, or how much it pushes me in the opposite direction of where I want to go, because we don't have millions hoarded away yet and because getting a job, any job, is what adults do.

And that, my friends, is the intention of this blog. A small way to hold me accountable for the things I do or don't do. Not in a moral sense but in a not sitting around and being a total piece sense. If all goes well I will be outlining our journey across country and the misadventures we have in Charleston and beyond, cause damn it, there will be misadventures, mile markers, and lots of stupid decisions that I am not above posting on the Internet.