Brown is a Bummer.

We will see what happens….

30 Things…

So I’ve managed to make it through my twenties alive… Phew. As I continue on into the next decade of my life I’ve been thinking toward the future. What will the next ten years bring?

I’ve been inspired by several blogs listing 29 things the author wants to do while she/he is 29 etc. I’ve been trying to come up with a list of 30 things I’d like to do in my 30s. The list will not be complete today. However, I do have a start and will keep it up-to-date. Here is the beginning, in no particular order:

 1. Purchase a home

 2. Open a restaurant

3. See a tornado. Live. In person.

4. Have a healthy savings account

 5. Visit New York City

It’s only five, but they are five important goals.

Dear Cooking Blog Writer Part 2

Dear Cooking Blog Writer:

It wasn’t exactly what I was asking for, but I laughed my ass off.

Me

Photo here

An Open Letter to My Neighbor

Dear Folks in Apartment 216,

Hello. This is your friendly neighbor from downstairs. We’ve been living in close vertical proximity for about 6 weeks now, and although we have never met face to face I feel as if we’ve gotten to know each other.

For instance, I’ve learned that when you get home from work you thrash around in your closet for a really long time. I’ve learned that you have an army of little people in moon boots tromping through your living room for at least 5 hours a day. I’ve learned that every wall in your apartment is covered with thousands of pictures, each pounded into the walls with multiple nails (that is the only explanation for the incessant pounding to which I am trying to become accustomed).

On the flip side, you’ve learned that when you cannonball off your sofa onto the living room floor, causing my ceiling and light fixtures to rattle, my dogs bark. And bark. And bark. I’ve tried to explain to them that it’s just our neighbor practicing a diving routine, but they don’t care. You’ve also learned that while I may seem patient and tolerant I do occasionally lose my cool, like yesterday when I pounded on the ceiling using the leg my movers broke off of my piano. I don’t know if you were surprised, but my roomie and my dogs looked at me like I’d grown an extra head.

Neighbor, last week I noticed a couple drops of water coming from the light fixture in my bathroom. I didn’t really think much of it because it stopped right away. Big mistake!

This morning I groggily moved from the bed to the shower and flipped the light switch. Nothing. Damn! I thought. I’m going to have to shower in the dark. I looked up and realized that the entire globe was filled with dirty-looking water. Sick! The ceiling around the light fixture was visibly wet.

My mind raced as I hastily showered in the low-light conditions while staring fearfully at the light fixture. Obviously something disgusting had occurred in your bathroom, neighbor. My money is on a toilet overflow. So basically, there is a glass globe full of shit water precariously dangling from my ceiling.

After my shower as I frantically searched for my dead cell phone I began to wonder why you had not already alerted maintenance of this major problem. Was it a purposeful attack on me as payback for those three unapologetic raps on my ceiling? Or maybe there’s a reason you don’t want maintenance to enter your apartment. Perhaps it’s because you have an elaborate weed growing operation in the closet adjacent to your bathroom. Maybe the army of little people in moon boots are not on your lease…

Anyway, I found my phone, contacted the office, and my suspicion was confirmed. You did not report whatever problem is occurring in your bathroom. Thankfully, the gentleman who answered my call sensed my panic and assured me that maintenance would be here soon.

Neighbor, I’m wondering if you have a suggestion as to how to avoid certain bathroom disaster. I am very afraid that the shit water-filled globe is about to come crashing down, shattering and causing a major disaster. I feel as if I should put something soft on the floor under the globe to prevent any broken glass, however I’m not sure I am willing to sacrifice any of my textiles to raw sewage generated by someone I don’t even know.

I am now heading to the grocery store dear neighbor. I am hopeful that when I return home this issue will have been resolved. I even have a peace offering for you: if this situation can be fixed without me having to come in contact with whatever sludge is filling my light fixture, I will openly accept your couch cannonballing habit.

I’m hoping for the best, neighbor.

Sincerely,
Me

5 Winter Terms Every Minnesotan Should Know

Snow Booger  – Those chunks of dirty snow that hang from your car right behind your tires.  Left untouched, these snow boogers can get so big that they nearly touch the pavement.  There are very few things in life as satisfying as kicking one of these and having it perfectly release, leaving no dirty snow residue behind. However,  it’s critical to consider the ambient air temperature as well as your footwear before kicking off a snow booger.  Failure to do so can result in one or more broken toes.

Spit  – Windshield wiper fluid.  Serious Minnesotans have the stuff that stays liquid even in -20 degree weather.  The purple stuff is the best.

Arctic Polar Vortex – The mass of cold air that usually hangs out in far northern Canada.  When it dips down into our neck of the woods temperatures plummet well below 0, allowing kids to try fun tricks like the banana hammer and the boiling water toss.

The Boiling Water Toss, courtesy of coolantarctica.com

Zero Degrees Farenheit – A true Minnesotan can tell when temperatures are 0 or below using one of two methods:

• The nose hair test: Nosehair freezes at about 0.  This can be a frightening experience for first-time visitors
• The snow crunch test: The snow under foot gets a crunchy feel and sound at 0 degrees

Wiper Flick – When wipers get ice chunks stuck to them we lift the wiper and release it thereby letting it slap against the windshield, hopefully removing at least some of those pesky ice chunks.  We know we’re not supposed to do this, but simply cannot help ourselves.  A variation of this move is the Driving Wiper Flick, in which we reach our hand out the car window and perform the Wiper Flick while the car is in motion.

Christmas Eve: A Tale of Two Injuries

Today is my lovely little sister Sam’s birthday.  In honor of this occasion, I thought I’d share two Christmas Eve stories about us.  For many families Christmas is a blissful celebration of love, warmth and togetherness.  For poor Sam, Christmas Eve brings blood and gore.

Part 1: Ice Skating

Rewind 17 years for the first story.  It was a warm Christmas Eve day (for Minnesota) and since there was no school, Sam and I thought it would be a perfect day to go ice skating.  Earlier in the winter we had cleared the snow off of a drainage pond near our house: the surface was perfect for skating.

To get to our make-shift ice rink we had to walk down a treacherous hill.  Since the hill was so tricky to navigate, we’d usually wear our snow boots while walking down the hill, and then balance on one foot, then the other, while we laced up our skates down at the pond.

Since that particular Christmas Eve day was so warm, I wore a sweatshirt without a bulky winter jacket.  Since I was, at that time in my life, convinced that I was destined to become a concert pianist, I also wore thick mittens to protect my “precious” hands from chill or injury.

Our skating started off fun.  We were trying to spin around, skate on one foot, and skate backwards.  I can only imagine, looking back at it, how ridiculous I must have looked:  lanky and uncoordinated with limbs flailing everywhere.  It didn’t matter:  I felt so cool.  In my mind there was a huge crowd watching.  The amazed onlookers would lean in and whisper to each other that they never dreamed such a tall and awkward girl could become such an amazing figure skater: “and to think, she didn’t start until she was 13!”

Me in my skating fantasy world

I was completely wrapped up in my ice skating fantasy world when I heard a dull thud.  I looked up to find Sam face-first, sprawled out on the ice.

I couldn’t stop in time:  the blade of my right skate sliced right across her small, mittenless hand.

Shit! I thought.  Mom and Dad are going to kill me!  I shouted the only thing that came to my mind: “Why didn’t you wear MITTENS?!”  Nice.  Very comforting.  Not my finest moment (when Sam tells the story she gives me an awful, wicked witch voice when I say that line).

In a panic I scooped Sam up and examined the scene of the accident to see if there were any fingertips I’d have to collect for the doctors to reattach.  I breathed a sigh of relief once I was certain there were no severed body parts.  Now I just had to get her back to the house.

We began our ascent up the slippery, snowy hill.  There was no time to put snow boots back on, so I braved the climb in my skates.  If you’ve ever tried to walk up a hill in ice skates you know how difficult it is.  If you keep your feet pointing straight ahead you’ll just slide backwards right down the hill.  You have to point your toes out as far as possible in a duck-walk (or third position, in ballet) in order to get any traction whatsoever.

Somehow we got Sam to the house.  She was whisked off to the ER to have her hand stitched back together.  I’m pretty sure that’s one of the crappiest ways to spend Christmas.  Thankfully her fingers were mended and she is left with only a small scar.  No matter how small the scar, however, she makes sure to remind me of the brutal finger slashing each time we get together.  “YOU SHOULD HAVE WORN MITTENS!!” has become an ongoing joke between us.  Each time it’s repeated, the voice gets more sinister, wicked and evil.

Part 2: Zip Ties on a Toy Guitar

Fast-forward to the present day.  Christmas of 2010:  Sam and her son came to Dallas to spend the holiday with Dad.  We decided that gift opening would happen on Christmas Eve, in keeping with the tradition from our childhood.  That evening was full of great conversation, delicious hors d’oeuvres, and wine.   Everything seemed to be going well until my nephew opened a gift from me: a toy electric guitar.

Have you ever tried to get a really cool toy out of the packaging?  It’s impossible.  That guitar was secured into its packaging with at least 20 heavy plastic zip ties.  There was no use in trying to rip it out.  Each plastic tie needed to be cut.  Dad tossed Sam a pocket knife so she could free the toy and allow my nephew to commence noise making.

With the skilled flourish of an expert Sam flipped open the pocket knife and we saw it: she nicked the palm of her hand.  Everyone in the room held our breath, hoping there was not a serious injury.  “I’m fine,” Sam said, and we breathed a collective sigh of relief.  Then it happened: three drops of rich crimson blood hit the cardboard packaging of the guitar.

I sprung into action: perhaps this was the opportunity to redeem myself after my less-than-supportive behavior the last time we had a Christmas hand injury.  Sam and I rushed to the kitchen sink and rinsed the cut off with cool water to examine the damage.  It was more than a nick.  It was a pretty big cut, but it didn’t appear to be too deep.  We considered whether the injury warranted a trip to the ER.  We decided that it would be okay to just clean it up and bandage it at home.

We got Sam all patched up, finished opening the guitar, and everything seemed fine.  See?  This is Sam just a few minutes after the accident.  Everything was fine.

Sometime in the night as the Chardonnay haze wore off, Sam decided that everything was NOT fine, and in the morning she asked Dad drive her to the ER to have the wound checked out.  When I heard this I felt terrible!  Causing one major hand injury on Christmas Eve was bad enough, but now the gift I’d given to my nephew had caused a second round of Christmas carnage.

Four stitches later, Sam was all patched up.  Or so we thought.  After Sam and her son returned home a few days later, she went to have her stitches removed.  This should have been a quick, simple affair.  Needless to say, it wasn’t.  The doctor determined that Sam had actually severed tendons in her hand and surgery would be needed to reconnect them.  All this from a measly pocket knife cut!

The damage is still painfully obvious.  While the surgery was successful, Sam’s hand is still in a splint.  Everyday tasks like putting hair in a ponytail, fastening jeans, and even opening the bottle of prescription pain meds have become insurmountable tasks.

I feel terrible about directly or indirectly causing two Christmas ER trips for my dear little sister.  One thing is certain: we will always have great Christmas stories to tell our family and friends.

The moral of the story:

If you end up spending Christmas with me in the future, be warned.  Ridiculous, unexpected injuries may happen at any time.  Your best defense against such bad fortune?  WEAR MITTENS!

 

Update:

I have just been reminded that it actually wasn’t me who gave the toy guitar.  I’d had it in my hand at the store, and ultimately decided on a toy motorcycle instead.  Then it just so happened that my Dad gave him the same toy guitar I had almost purchased.  So we can blame Injury #2 on Dad instead of me!!

Phew.  Off the hook

Challenge: 28 Days to a Healthier Life

Do you want to feel better, look better and get healthy?  Have you tried to get healthy on your own and ended up slipping back into your old ways?  Do you want to be part of a group that’s dedicated to becoming healthier and supporting each other?  Then you’re in the right place.

During the month of February I’ll be writing a series called “28 Days to a Healthier Life”.  Each day there will be a simple new tip or trick which I’ll be implementing to improve my health.  I’d like YOU to join me on this journey.

What’s in it for you?  By participating in this challenge you will:
– Choose healthier foods
– Have more energy
– Join a group of readers dedicated to improving their health
Implementing small changes over the course of 28 days will make your lifestyle transformation feel much easier.  And being part of a group with a common goal will keep you accountable and on-track.

Ready to sign up for a healthier life?  Here’s how to do it in 2 easy steps:
1. Subscribe to this blog. You can do this by following on Facebook, Twitter, RSS feed or an email subscription (there are buttons for all options on the right-hand side of this page)
2. Leave a comment below letting everyone know that you’ll be participating in this 28 day challenge

I’m looking forward to getting healthy together!

BONUS: For those of you who are participating in the Biggest Loser Minnesota Challenge, this 28 day challenge will help you earn points!

7 Easy Steps to Gain 20 Pounds

1. Skip breakfast.  Coffee counts as breakfast, right?  Just drink that coffee then.  In fact, have two cups.

2.  At 10am when you realize you’re so hungry you could chew your arm off, hit the vending machine.  Choose the Cherry Cheese Danish because it’s breakfasty.  Notice that the Danish has 450 calories.  Ignore that fact.  Eat the whole thing on the way back to your desk.  -OR-

3.  Skip that 10am vending machine trip and try to holdout until a reasonable lunchtime.  At noon, head for Subway to get something healthy.  On the way to Subway, realize that Subway is totally inconvenient because you have to *gasp* get out of your car to procure your chow.  Hit McDonalds instead.  “#2, no pickles, no mustard, and sweet tea to drink”.

4.  At 6pm head home and collapse onto the couch.  Think about dinner options.  Your day was so terrible you just want comfort food and you’re in luck: YOU’RE A FOODIE!  There are so many options to choose from.  You can cook them or you can go out for dinner.

5.  Crap!!  You “forgot” to go to the gym.  Oh well.  Tomorrow is a new day.  Pour a second glass of wine instead.

6.  9pm and you’re hungry.  Look past those healthy snacks in the fridge (they always seem to go bad and get thrown out…) and go straight for leftover fried chicken.

7.  If you wake up hungry in the middle of the night eat half of something ridiculous and feed your dog the other half.  If you sleep until morning wake up and REPEAT.

Voilà!  Your clothes no longer fit so you’ve bought a new wardrobe, you wouldn’t be caught dead in a bikini, you have no energy so the gym is completely out of the question, and you feel pretty shitty about yourself.

Life on an Air Mattress: 3 Lessons I’ll Never Forget

My twenties began and ended on an air mattress.  Not particularly glamorous.

I entered my twenties having recently moved out of my dad’s house into a downtown Minneapolis apartment.  The place was absolutely fantastic and, admittedly, a little out of my price range (even with roommates).  I spent the first several months there sleeping on an air mattress while I saved up to buy an actual bed.  I’m sure many of you entered your twenties in a similar situation.

What I wasn’t expecting was for the ending of my twenties to also occur on an air mattress.  After all, during the course of the past 10 years I’ve earned my bachelor’s degree, worked my way up the corporate ladder to a management position, and even hustled to work additional part time jobs from time to time.  The second air mattress experience never should have happened.

In November of 2010 I was living in Dallas, TX.  I was missing my hometown of Minneapolis more and more, and my job kept getting worse and worse.  Late in the month, several signs started popping up that I should really go back “home” to Minneapolis.  It was one of those situations in which everything was lining up just right and it was hard to ignore what the universe was telling me.  After much discussion with my roommate (also a Minneapolitan at heart) we decided to take a leap of faith and move back home.

We started planning.  We applied for jobs in Minneapolis, got an apartment lined up, and hired a moving company.  My roommate got an offer and accepted a position.  Things seemed to be going very well.

On December 26^th the movers arrived to pack us up and move our belongings north.  This is where things started to go wrong.  The team of movers showed up 7 hours late.  The estimate we received hadn’t included packing supplies, and the pricelist we received (after the movers had already started boxing up our things) was outrageous.  Our initial estimate was based on pounds and the movers switched it to cubic feet telling us it would be a better deal.  All in all, our new estimate after all of our belongings were loaded onto the truck was over $1,000 more than our initial estimate.  OUCH.

We planned to leave town the next day (I had a face-to-face interview coming up in Minneapolis and my roommate’s job would be starting in just a few days), and we understood that it could take up to 10 days for our belongings to arrive in Minneapolis.  We were each prepared with suitcases containing several days worth of clothes in case the movers took the full 10 days.  We also had air mattresses so we could avoid sleeping directly on the floor until our beds came.  I thought we were pretty well prepared.

Ultimately, our belongings were not delivered within the 10 day window.  10 days passed, then 15, then 20.  We researched the moving company (a step we should have taken before the move) and discovered multiple complaints against them, a BBB rating of F, and problems with their license to transport household goods across state lines.  We read accounts of consumers having their belongings held “hostage” by their movers, and moving trucks full of household goods being impounded.  We began to wonder if we would ever see our things again.

We had very few comforts during this time period.  Air mattresses, a TV and a DVD player.  The air mattress was my bed, my sofa, and my dining room table.  The floor was freezing cold and the air mattress seemed to suck up the cold and deposit directly into my back.  My roommate actually slept in her winter coat one night.

Finally on January 21^st the moving company delivered our shipment.  Most of our furniture was broken, our Wii and our vacuum cleaner were missing, our boxes of dishes (marked “fragile”) arrived upside down and banged up and the movers were utterly unapologetic.  I didn’t care:  the drama was over and I knew where my possessions were.

While there were a lot of lessons to be learned about how to choose a reputable moving company, those were the least important things I took away from the experience.  My life on an air mattress taught me far more important lessons in life.  It was a truly humbling experience on many levels.

1.  Food is a valuable commodity.

If you know me or have ever read my blog, you know how much I love food.  I love going out to eat, trying out new recipes, chopping mountains of vegetables, and being able to cook whatever I’m craving.  This behavior changed drastically during my life on an air mattress.  As we began to realize that we might never see any of our possessions again, we tightened our belts and cut back on our spending (after all, I didn’t have a job yet, and there was a very real possibility that we’d have to buy all new clothes and furniture).  For me, that meant grocery shopping on an extremely restricted budget, something I hadn’t done in a while.

I became acutely aware of the cost per serving of my favorite foods.  I read up on how to stretch food and make sure nothing went to waste.  I learned how to cook all kinds of meals with just a Dutch oven (a Christmas gift which had been left in my car rather than packed up by the movers), plastic utensils and aluminum foil.  No microwave, fancy knives, frying pans, baking sheets, cutting boards, flatware or plates.  I realized how difficult it would be to feed an entire family on a restricted budget.  It was really hard!

2.  Be prepared.  (If you’re not sure whether you’re prepared, prepare more)

I’m a little bit ashamed to admit that I do not have a savings account.  I mean, I guess technically I do.  It has something like $10.00 in it: whatever the minimum deposit to open the account was.  Of course I had watched the bits on Today and The Early Show about keeping at least 3 months’ salary in savings in case of emergency, but I just figured I’d start that after I paid off all my debt (God, I hope Suze Orman never reads this).  Besides, since I turned 16 I’d NEVER been without a job.  Why should I start worrying about being unemployed now?

Unfortunately there are plenty of my peers who are in exactly the same financial position.  What comes in goes out.  We need to change that.

Preparation goes beyond just being financially ready for disaster.  Being mentally prepared is equally important.  When embarking on this move, I thought that the worst case scenario would be 10 days without my clothes, furniture and kitchen equipment.  I also thought I was a shoo-in for the job I wanted.  I was banking on starting a job and having everything I needed within days of arriving in Minneapolis.  Needless to say, life doesn’t always go as planned.

My lack of mental preparation sent me down a shame spiral.  I was furious with myself for failing to get the job and failing to have even considered that I might experience a moving disaster.  I didn’t even want to get out of “bed” (air mattress).  What was I going to do?  Get up, shower, change clothes and sit somewhere else on the floor to watch TV?

I felt awful about myself.  Being mentally and financially prepared could have stopped the self-pity before it even started.

3.  True friends show up for you when times are tough.

Our friends are absolutely incredible.  When word got out about our moving disaster, we received the most incredible showing of support I could have ever imagined.  Although we insisted that we were fine and didn’t need help from anyone, we had people offering us blankets, gift cards, pots and pans, microwaves and cell phones (oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that shortly after our arrival in Minneapolis my roommate managed to dunk her phone in a glass of Dr. Pepper.  The phone was fried).  Our family was calling us and offering moral support and our friends were constantly checking in with us.

The remarkable generosity of our friends and family forced me to examine myself.  Would I have been so generous?  I hope so.  Going forward I certainly will strive to give as much as possible when someone I know is in need.

While my experience living on an air mattress was certainly a short-term challenge, I realize that there are millions of people out there much, much worse off than me.  In fact, just having a roof over my head and something to eat (Ramen Noodles or otherwise) means that I am incredibly well-to-do.

While spending the final month of my twenties on an air mattress was certainly not part of my plan, I am confident that the lessons I’ve learned will stay with me in my thirties and beyond.

This is Table 110. Welcome.

Table 110:  It doesn’t have a great view.  It’s not particularly spacious.  It’s not in a quiet corner, in fact there are constantly people walking by.  When assigned to the section which includes table 110, servers feign illness, try to trade sections, whine, cry and protest until they finally give in and and take the section. When a customer willingly stays seated at table 110, the server treats them like gold.  He or she is so happy someone is actually sitting there!

When customers are no longer being seated at table 110, a whole new set of activities begin.  Servers who are finished with their shifts count their money at table 110.  Staff members who are famished after a 14 hour shift collapse into the booth of table 110 to eat.  During the slow hours, the managers sit at table 110 to make next week’s schedule.  Annual performance appraisals happen there as well.

Relationships are born and die at table 110.  Servers, hosts and bartenders grab a seat there to have important conversations with each other away from the rest of the staff.  They get each others’ phone numbers, discuss their families, wait for each other at the end of the night, have fights and fall in love at table 110.

Many times customers seated at table 110 can be seen gazing wistfully at the rest of the restaurant, wishing they had a better table, then realizing they are content to be seated with their family, eating a warm meal.

Table 110 is where life happens.  It’s not glamorous, roomy, exciting, close to anything, or particularly fun.  But it’s real.  Welcome.