Bigger.

Almost exactly a year ago, I decided I wanted to open up more. I thought about a life that was more than the one I was living. My life needed to be bigger and I knew that I was the only one who could make it happen.

Time to open up. Like for really open up. Be more open and be more connected to those around me. Long story short, it worked. I thought about what I wanted and then it happened for real. My life is bigger and fuller than it was the year before.

I have a new place to live, a new job, and a new person to love. I've celebrated sucesses, birthdays, and even a new holiday. Not to mention, I managed to not COMPLETELY abandon this blog. It's been a kick-ass year.

Today, I'll kiss good-bye to an awesome 2009 and welcome in an even more loving and remarkable 2010.

May your life grow a little bigger this year. Happy New Year!

D-troit.

Happy to be,

back in the D.

That big glass of Vernors

is just perfect for me!

A real badass...

My sister Susan is a badass.

She's a married mom of two small kids who works, has an active social life, goes to grad school and manages to ace her classes.

Way to go, lady!

Peepers

I've been wearing glasses since the 4th grade. It's hard to remember because glasses are kind of cool now. Tina Fey looks sassy in hers and it makes us all feel better about them. Sadly, as a kid they weren't quite so cool. To be fair, it wasn't just the glasses...keep in mind that even as a kid, I have always been on the rounder side of round. Oh yeah, and I had braces to fix my bucked teeth and overbite. (I'm not exaggerating on the teeth. My sisters used to call me "Pronger", because my teeth looked like the pronged end of a hammer.) In short, I was the pudgy kid with glasses and bad teeth. It was an awkward phase...a really awkward phase.

I'm a lot less awkward now and my teeth are pretty, but I still have to wear glasses or contacts to function. My new fancy eye doctor has two different offices. One for glasses and medical stuff and the other just for contacts. It's neat and fancy, but it requires two different appointments in two different locations. The first appointment is where this story takes place.

The office is actually in the hospital. It's a little unnerving to walk into a simple routine appointment and watch people rolling around with IV's with their heinies hanging out of their paper gowns. Is that what happens to people who get the letters wrong on the eye chart quiz?...yikes...


I get up to the office and the check-in process is practically painless and relatively simple. I sat for a few minutes reading an old People magazine (did you hear that Brad and Angelina had twins?!) when a nice normal looking nurse calls me back. We chat for a few minutes, she looks in my eye with a big microscope, and then she puts some drops in my eyes and tells me to hang out in the waiting room and that she'll come back to get me in 20ish minutes. Piece of cake...except that it's me. And nothing is that simple.


A few minutes go by, my eyes are dilating and things are starting to get fuzzy and kind of burny. I'm feeling my way down the hall towards the ladies' room when the nurse calls my name and catches up to me in the hall.

She says, "What's your date of birth?"

I give it to her and she says, "Oh. See, we have the wrong date of birth here. I knew that looked wrong."

I squint at the paper where she's pointing with her pen. "7/1/08?"

Now, I'm not surprised that it's wrong. Data entry mistakes happen all the time. I'm more concerned that she, even for a split second, thought that she had to confirm that the date she had was wrong. That I might actually somehow be 17 months old.

"You'll have to call Registration to get that fixed. We have a special phone just for that."

She leads me to a corner of the waiting room that appears to be sectioned off for just such telephone calls. It's got a partition and a brightly colored piece of paper taped to the wall with the phone number to Registration. It looks kind of like the phone Commissioner Gordon uses to call Batman. This leads me to believe that this happens alot.

I speak to a perfectly nice woman who is completely flabbergasted by this error. She "CANNOT BELIEVE IT!" It is literally impossible for her to take my word for it.

She says, "I mean if this was off by a few days or so, I would be glad to make this change. But this is off by a lot and I just can't make a change like that without some sort of proof"

Up until this point, I've been a pretty good sport about the situation, but this is too much for me to resist. "You want some sort of proof that I wasn't born last July?"

"Yeah, I'll need SOMEthing to prove it."

"You mean the fact that I'm able to dial the phone and speak in complete sentences isn't sufficient evidence that I'm not one and one half years old?"

"No ma'am."

... ..."Umm...ok. What might work for you?"

"You could fax me a copy of your driver's license."

They haven't called back to ask for my birth certificate or anything, so I guess I'm in the clear.

Hello, again.

Hi. How's it going? That's cool. I've been good. Really busy, but good. Lots going on in my world. I don't really have time to talk right now, but remind me later and I'll tell you about some of the things I've been up to lately.

Drove to North Carolina.
- And solidified her belief that map reading is a dying art which should be taught more.

Saw New Moon and swooned.
- See this movie with young teenagers in tow. It makes it SO much better.

Ate too much butter.
- One recipe contained 3 1/2 sticks of butter. The chef then felt the need to add the caveat, "Add more butter if necessary."

Spent some time with a guy named Mario and his brother Luigi.
- I missed them.

Got a new job.
- It's pretty much the same as the old one, except different...ya know?

Invented a holiday
- 5 more days 'til Thanksmas!

Put a tree in my house.
- I love this part of the season, but I still think it's a little weird to do.

Went to Long Island for the first time.
- I found the island to be a great deal longer than I'd imagined.

Okay, I really need to go now, but it was great catching up with you. Let's not let so much time pass in between visits next time, ok? Seriously call me sometime. We'll do lunch.

Best,
Carolyn

My friend.

Last week, I had the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with my oldest friend, Lauren. I'm extremely fortunate that she's in my world. We live less than an hour apart, which is pretty remarkable considering that we both live over 600 miles from home. We are always getting together to celebrate events and share excitement. This week was special because we got together just to share a meal and talk. Just me and her. Alone together for a couple of hours. This was probably the 793rd meal we've shared together and I absolutely can't wait for the 794th.

As of late...

busy busy busy happy busy happy happy happy busy happy busy stressy busy happy busy happy busy stressy stressy busy happy happy busy busy busy ...

That's pretty much been it lately.

A Matrimonial Hayride

Last weekend, these two people got married.

After the wedding, before dinner,

they took some folks on a hayride.

A real hayride, complete with real hay.

Awhhh....

These two smiling faces were there.

Seeeee, other people had fun too.

A guy named Sam showed us around.

He was really rugged and supremely awesome.

Fun times.

Cheeks McGee

On Friday afternoon, I got the saddest/happiest text ever.

"Susia: Guess who lost her lisp overnight?"

First reaction: Yay!!!

Second reaction: Oh... wait....but...already? (tears)

"She" is my neice Cheeks McGee. She is beautiful and smart and tough. Up until Friday morning, she had a lisp.

One of my favorite memories of her lisp was at Christmas just a few years ago. Cheeks was one and a half. She was in her mother's arms in footie pajamas. And she was pointing in the general direction of the family room. Every time she would see an image of Santa Claus, her sweet little baby face would light up as she pointed and exclaimed, "Thanta Clauth! Thanta Clauth!"

Good-bye baby lisp. Aunt Carolyn mitheth you already.

Chronicle of a bad day.

Woke up late. Everything took longer than it should have.Smacked my head HARD. Wrestled with new boots. Bag of ice for the knot on my forehead. Got out the door. Ran back to get phone. Lonely train ride. Work. Boring work. Hours convincing people to agree with me. Talked in circles for hours. Argued (and eventually won). Funny vibes. Way too hot. New boots hurt my toes. Headache from the head smacking. Hungry. Frustrated. Took it out on undeserving friend. Cried.

Harumph.

Introducing Whatshisname!

This is Cody. C-O-D-Y.

His name is not Corey.

Nor is it Colby

Not Coy.

It's not really Wyatt, either.

His name is Cody.

And, I really like him a really lot.

Coffee break...

I am at work.
I was walking down the hall,
when my skirt fell down.
I am embarassed.
My cheeks are still red.
My stomach is sore from laughing so hard.
The end.

Where did it go?

Seriously, it hasn't been a week since I've posted something! Where is the time going? It's flying by. Way too fast. It's all going too quickly. Seasons change. TV shows come and go. I refer to something as not that long ago and really it was a really really long time ago. In honor of time passing unnoticed, I thought I'd post some fun facts.

Are you even mildly aware that...

- It's been 19 years since the Fresh Prince of Bell Air premiered on network television.
- People born in 1991 can legally purchase tobacco and adult reading material.
- Mary Lou Retton won her gold medal in 1984, 25 years ago.
- Olympic champion Michael Phelps didn't witness Mary Lou's win becuase he was not born until1985.
- Fraggle Rock is "retro".
- Three MC's: Ad-Rock is 42 years old. Mike D is 43 years old. MCA is 45 is years old.
- And, one DJ: Mix Master Mike is a mere 39 years old.
- If Punky Brewster were a real human, she would have had 32 candles on her birthday cake this year.

Sweet.

It's time for tights!

A couple of weeks ago someone inquired, "Was Carolyn raised Mennonite or something?"

That question's not as strange as it may sound. I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but I rarely wear pants anymore. A couple of years ago, I kind of gave up on pants. Mostly I just wear skirts.

Short skirts.

Long skirts.

Dresses.

Fancy skirts.

Plain skirts.

Casual skirts.

Lounging skirts.

Beach skirts.

Ruffly skirts.

The weather just turned a bit colder this week and I got really excited because it's once again time to wear tights with my skirts! Yay for Fall! Yay for tights!

Happy Philaversary!

Happy Philaversary to me.

Happy Philaversary to me.

Happy Philaversary, dear Carolyn (and Sarah)

Happy Philaversary to me.

Round about 2 years ago, I moved to Philadelphia.

Round about this time of year, Sarah and I host a party called the Philaversary.

Good times.

Heavy Heart.

It almost feels contrite to say that we all remember where we were on September 11th, 2001. Of course we do. Every year people tell their stories. The consistent profundity of their stories amaze me. It seems like everyone was doing something important or ironic when they heard the news.

My story isn't any more or less profound than anyone else's but it's mine Somtimes with traumatic events, it helps to say it outloud. In part to remember and in part to make it feel real.

I was working at a domestic violence shelter in mid-Michigan. Driving to work was a little harder than usual that day. It was around 8:00 AM. Working at a shelter is hard, but it's uplifting and rewarding and worth every minute. It wasn't my job wasn't dragging me down that day. That morning I was going to talk to my boss and tell her that I needed to take a leave of absence to go home and be with my family while my mother was dying of terminal cancer.

She'd been sick for three years and I'd known this part was coming. It was time to stop my life and face the facts. She wasn't going to get better and we didn't have much time left. Saying it out loud, taking time off of work meant admitting that it was real. She was going to die...soon.

Needless to say, I pulled into the parking lot with a heavy heart and dragged myself out of the car. It felt like I was wearing magnetic shoes walking across a metal floor. I was half-way across the seemingly endless pavement when a client called out to me. "Thank god you're here!" The next two hours were a blur. In addition to the woman shouting for me in the parking lot, there were three more women waiting in the front office to see me. Four women in desperate situations needing help. I chose not to even bother going upstairs to my office. I comandeered a room on the first floor and helped put out fires, offered some empowering words, and soothed a crying baby. While in the office, I'd heard murmers that something crazy was going on, but at the time all I could see were the women and children in front of me trying to find peace in their own violent worlds.

It was after 10 AM by the time I made it out of the front office. I thought about going directly to my boss Susan's office, but thought better of it. Maybe I'd just go to my office, put my stuff down and breathe deeply a few times before I told her about mom. Maybe I'd just steal a few more moments of peace before my world changed forever.

I turned the key and pushed open the door to the suite of offices I shared with a co-worker. Rather than being tucked away like she usually was, my co-worker was planted on the sofa in the main room looking shocked with tears in her eyes. "Jude, why are you crying?" Just then, I saw it. She was staring at a small television on the coffee table watching as a plane struck the second tower. It was a replay. Silently, I dropped my bag and sat down next to her. We watched in horror as the replays stopped and we watched the second tower fall.

We stayed that way for a long time. After a awhile we decided to self-medicate with milkshakes and french fries. It didn't help. We sat in silence for a long time. It felt empty and cold. I felt out of place in my own skin.

Finally, I said it outloud, "I'm going to go talk to Susan. I need to go home to be with my mom for awhile. Things aren't looking so good." She barely looked at me and in a flat voice, she said "You might want to wait. Her brother works in the World Trade Center and she hasn't been able to get ahold of him this morning. "

There I was fretting over the prospect of having to say good-bye to my mother, while another woman was wringing her hands over the possibility that she might not ever have the chance to say good-bye to her brother.

A few hours later, he called. He was running late that day and hadn't yet made it to work. He was safe. Their good-bye would wait for another day.

If I learned anything from the morning of September 11th, I learned that life is precious and the opportunity to say good-bye is a gift.

Shortly thereafter, I went home to say good-bye to my mom. We had a month together to say good-bye before she died. While she was able, we talked and laughed. When we had to, we cried. The night she died, I held her hand for the last time, kissed her forehead and said good-bye. When I think about September 11th, I can't help but think of the nearly 3,000 people who didn't have that chance to say good-bye.

Labor Day

Labor Day is an underrated holiday if you ask me.

On Memorial Day, someone always ends up exclaiming, "I can't believe it's summer already!" It's early in the year and it sneaks up on you. It's usually too cold to do anything genuinely summer-esque.

4th of July's a good one. It's usually surrounded by a lot of extra vacation taking. Summer's in fully swing and it always feels like it ends too soon.

Labor Day's a different animal altogether. By this time in the summer, you're in your groove. Summer days are numbered and you know it. You appreciate what you've got and as such, you're not likely to let it slide by uncelebrated.

Of the three major summer holidays, Labor Day is, in my opinion, the most relaxing. Ironic, no?

It's Britney, B*tch.

For my 25th birthday, I got a very special birthday present from my friend. It was an orange and pink beach bag that I'd been secretly wanting. I was pretty stoked when it showed up under my Happy Brithday tree.

"Thanks, Sarah! This is the one I wanted. That's great!" I exclaimed.

"I'm glad you like it! But, there's more inside," says Sarah

This girl knows me well. I like presents within presents. She knows it. She surely saved the best for last. Inside the beach bag were a couple of little things, which the years have erased completely from my memory, but I remember loving the little treats and surprises. Being an experienced present openner such as myself, I knew to save the envelope for last.

I gently tear the corner of the envelope, careful not to damage the contents. Savoring the anticipation. Fantasizing about the golden ticket that lies inside. Where am I going? What am I doing? It could be plane tickets. It could be a gift certificate for a massage.

It's... It's.... It's....

"Britney Spears tickets? You bought me tickets to see Britney Spears?...I mean..! " (shit), says the really genuinely surprised and confounded birthday girl.

"Look at where they are, silly." Says a remarkably patient Sarah.

"Darien Lake, NY?!?!?! Holy smokes! You got me tickets to see Britney Spears in a concert venue just outside of my hometown in Western New York?!"

Now that was something to be excited about. Correction...something to be genuinely ecstatic about! I haven't been there in years. It's a quirky reason to go on a road trip. Yay for fun!

This was Britney's Onyx Hotel tour. The year was 2004. Does anyone remember what happened to Britney Spears in 2004? I'll help...Kevin Federline happened to her in 2004. The tour was cancelled due to her knee injury and subsequent spiral into a steaming heap of dysfunction. Shortly thereafter she became Mrs. Kevine Federline and permanent foder for the tabloids. No Britney. No roadtrip. No fun. Period.

Ever since then, Britney's been kind of a running joke for me and Sarah. We joke about the "music' and the drama. Most of all, we joke about the Britney concert that never was. This is why it was my distinct pleasure to surprise my dear friend Sarah with tickets to see Britney here in Philadelphia 5 years after the concert that never was.

The show was pure fun. (She's in a cage...'nuf said.)

We wore glitter.

It was worth the wait.

Knock on Woody Allen.

"I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose." ~Woody Allen

"I am thankful for laughter, except when it is gurgling out of the hyenna sitting next to me at a Woody Allen movie." ~ Me

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times...Sorry. Wrong story.
Ah, yes, the beginning of THIS story goes like this...

I love movies. Good movies. Bad movies. Happy movies. Sad movies. Pauli Shore movies, (Son-In-Law was funny and you know it.) My favorites are gangster movies, heist movies, and movies with good dialogue.

Woody Allen is kind of in a class by himself when it comes to movie making. He's got a way with dialogue and honest absurdity. He catches me off guard and makes me laugh more often than not.

I was thrilled to see his most recent movie come out. Perfect thing to do with a visiting guest whom I like very well, but don't know how to talk to. Let's face it, I'm charming for a bit, a couple of hours tops, but he was coming for D.A.Y.S. Woody Allen is a great way to pass some time. Then, we'll have a commmon topic of conversation for at least a half an hour afterwards. Perfect.
We head out to a local artsy theater, which is usually pretty quiet and chill. But, it's Saturday night and it's just the kind of place where nerds like me go for the opening of the new Woody Allen film. The place is packed. Long line for tickets. Longer line for popcorn. The line at the ladies room is ridiculous. By the time we make it into the theater, the previews have already begun. We trip our way through the dark, over a row full of people and wedge ourselves into the last chairs in the corner of the back row. It's a relatively small theater, so there is no such thing as a bad view, but it's a little too cozy for comfort.

I size up the woman to my left, whom I will inevitably fight for armrest control. She's in her early 50s. Well put together outfit of a well pressed khaki skirt, red blouse and an elegant string of pearls. Hair is a brown bob, which compliments her wire rimmed glasses and the cardigan she has painstakingly arranged over her thin shoulders. She looks like her name might be Lorna. When our eyes meet, she submissively folds her arms over her chest and smiles awkwardly. Confident with the knowledge that no one named Lorna can assert control of an armrest, I smile back wrly.

People are settled. Cell phones and pagers are off. It's now time for our feature presentation. The movie starts and pretty much right off, the main character breaks the 4th wall. (Tricky Woody Allen). Most everyone in the audience gasps a little and giggles as Larry David addresses us directly. I say "most everyone" because Lorna doesn't gasp and giggle...she does something else entirely. At first, I thought she was having a very private moment very loudly in the middle of a movie theater, (a la Meg Ryan in 'When Harry Met Sally') but then I realize that's just how Lorna laughs.

The laugh can most succinctly be described as frantic panting followed by a series of inordinantly loud guffaws with a few wind down sighs at the end.

It begins with a period of extra breathy hyperventilation "heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh."

Then burts into, "CAW! CAW! CAWH! CAW! CAW!."

Rounded out with, "eih. eih. eih."

After the first round, I did what I like to call, "Stop, Drop and Roll."
STOP whatever I was doing.
DROP my jaw wide open.
ROLL my eyes up into my head.

Every joke. Every mother-loving joke, she goes through this process! It's apparently an uproariously funny movie. I should note, I don't personally know if it was funny because I didn't hear a single punchline. Here's what the movie sounded like to me:

"So a rabbi and a pilot walk..heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh"

"The pilot says...CAW! CAW! CAWH! CAW! CAW!"

"And the Rabbi says, that's becuase Rosebud is a ...eih. eih. eih."

At first it was annoying. Then it was maddening. Eventually, it was just plain old comical. Adding to this scene was the fact that the man in the yellow shirt sitting next to her had an almost equally annoying laugh. Quite a pair. :)

So, the movie's over. While I missed 30% of the dialogue, I decide that it was a good film and I liked it quite well. It's about love and serendipity and the wacky ways in which people come together. I smiled while I was watching it, so that works for me.

The movie ends and it's time to go. The credits roll and we sit and watch. The theater is emptying. Yet, Lorna and the man in the yellow shirt are still sitting and talking as if they think there might be an encore. I'm thinking, "Alright kids. Let's get a move on. I'm burning through all my material before we even leave the theater." But, unless I want to jump over them, my only reasonable option is to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Man in the Yellow Shirt (YS): No, I'm not actually from around here.

Lorna: No? How long are you in town?

YS: Actually just for the night. I'm taking a little train tour of the east coast. Thought I'd see a movie. You?

Lorna: Um, no I don't live in Philadelphia, either. I live in Wilmington. I really like Woody Allen and it wasn't playing anywhere by me. So, I came into town just to see the movie.

YS: How about that?

They get up. Quietly exit the theater.together to walk down a bustly city street and into the steamy night. (Fade to black)

Woody Allen couldn't have written it better himself.

Campfires and "Food"

I like Food. No, I mean, I really like Food. I like it so much I eat it daily. It's true.

Here's my dirty little secret. I also like "food". You know the stuff that's chemically enhanced and had the bejeezus beaten out of it so much that it actually behaves like Food. Examples: twinkies, hot dogs, double-stuffed peanut butter creme Oreos, american cheese, the entire Dorito family...

I just got back from a week and a half in Michigan. For those of you who are not so familiar with the Great Lakes State, let me tell you that the Food there is fabulous. Seriously, check the labels on your produce. With the colder climate you get a later growing season, which means Michigan acts as America's fruit basket in late summer.

In August, Michgan is positively bursting with sweet corn, blueberries, and raspberries. It's unbelievable. In a measely week and a couple days, I nearly ate my weight in fresh produce. The creameries are incredible, which to me equals 10 solid days of ice cream. Let's not forget the greatness of Michigan breweries. Summer brews from Bells and Arcadia kept me smiling. (Honorable mention to Goose Island 312, not from Michigan, but Chicago's close enough to count.)

Michigan is also home to some of the greatest "food" ever made. Faygo Red Pop is a sticky sweet strawberry flavored soda. Hudsonville's Superscoop Ice Cream. The entire right side of a National Coney Island menu, inlcuding but not limited to chilli cheese fries and a sandwich made with fried chicken, fluffy pita bread, mayo, and lots and lots of cheese. It's called a Hani and it's ridiculous.

Some of the best "food" isn't native to Michigan, but is synonymous with Michigan summers. S'mores, for example, gooey marshmallows, melty chocolate, crispy graham crackers. Good old fashioned Hot Dogs roasted over a campfire. Delicious!

So here's where it gets complicated...I'm Polish. My family is Polish. This means we don't just eat Food or "food". We eat "FOOD!" Bet you thought S'mores were good. Next time try it with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups instead of chocolate bars. We put peanut M&Ms in popcorn. We add butter and fried onions to just about any savory dish that sits still long enough.

This weekend, my sisters and I committed the ultimate crime against the arteries. We made a new favorite "FOOD!" called 'Angels on Horseback'. Here's how it's done:

Step 1: Find a poor unsuspecting hot dog.

Step 2: Slice it down the middle and stuff it with cheese

(No picture...I was covered in raw bacon by the time I thought of it.)

Step 3: Wrap the newly cheese stuffed hot dog in BACON.

Step 4: Skewer the little bastard.

Step 5: Let the Magic Campfire do its thing.

Step 7: Slather with ketchup and eat it up.

Step 8: Proceed directly to the Emergency Room to seek medical attention.

Curling up with a good book.

I wouldn't recommend the book for reading.

Lula, however, recommends it for napping.

Dear Diary,

Do you keep a diary?

I do. I don't call it a diary anymore. It's a journal. That sounds more grown up, but essentially they're the same thing.

When I was a little girl. I kept a diary that was a chronicle of events and worries. Now that I'm all grown up, I keep a journal that's mostly a chronicle of events and worries.

The words that go into a journal aren't any more grown up than the words that go into a diary. Sure, some of them are longer. Journal words are typically spelled correctly with higher frequency. But, my journal handwriting is almost exactly the same as the handwriting in my diary from when I was 10.

I write about the same kinds of things in my big grown up journal that I used to write about in my little girl's diary. Things that I love. Things that make me smile or cry or laugh or just want to write. I write about people and places I love, the air I breathe, and the way sand feels between my toes.

For me, writing in a journal is like taking a nap under a tree on a brilliant summer day. Not too long ago, I had the great good fortune to actually write in my journal, under a tree, next to a big river, directly after taking a nap under a tree. It was quite possibly the best hour of my summer. (Except for the hours that I've spent with you...obviously.)

Hi! My name is...

Hi! My name is Carolyn and I'm a slacker. Sorry, my lovelies, but I've been willfully neglecting this blog. Boo! Hiss! On the upside, I've been busy and having fun. I should be able to catch up in the next couple of days. I'm lame and I know it.

Knock on wood.

I'm not a superstitious girl. Nope. Not me. Not. At. All.

Knock on wood
Knock on wood
Knock on wood

Who am I kidding? I knock on wood. I throw salt over my left shoulder when it spills. I think it's a good thing if I pour a fizzy beverage into a glass and it overflows. And if I ever have a dream where a baby shits on my face, I'm playing the lotto. What can I say? I'm a crazy old Polish lady living in young, vibrant, rational skin.

There have been a lot of changes going on in my life lately and I'm seeing signs pretty much everywhere I look.

Last week, after the big move to the new house, we order Chinese food. A yummy meal with hungry friends is a good way to break in the new dining room. This is a good idea.

Chicken Lo Mein. Crab Rangoons. Seasame Chicken. Vegetarian Beef with Broccoli in Suspiciously Meaty sauce. Egg Rolls. Fried Rice. How could this possibly go wrong?

This is how...What do you see? Better yet, what do you NOT see?

If you said to yourself, "Self, why that there looks like a fortune cookie with no fortune!" DING! DING! DING! You would be quite correct.

That's right, there's no fortune in that cookie. NO FORTUNE. None. Not even a lame one. Just nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch.

From here on out, no more fortune cookies. I'm leaving my fortune to the real experts...Mystic Terry and a Magic 8 Ball.

White stones.

Alice in Wonderland is one of my favorite stories ever. I even read it in Spanish, "Alicia en el pais de las Maravillas." I pretty much like every retelling of it that I've ever seen. The weirder, the creepier, the better. It's good stuff.

Tim Burton is one of favorite storytellers ever. I stopped counting how many times I've seen Beetlejuice after the 57th time. I pretty much like every story he's ever told. The weirder, the creepier, the better. It's good stuff.

So, did you hear that Tim Burton is retelling Alice in Wonderland? (I am completely aware that this is old news, but I keep getting excited about it and had to say it out loud.) It looks like it's actually going to be an amalgamation of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. Divine.

Behold the majesty!

Still spinning from the move and all the excitement around here lately. But, high-speed internet is finally up and running again, which means that I can finally share the majesty that is the new living room chandelier.

BEHOLD!

At first I thought these were cherubs, but they don't have wings.

More creepy pint-sized porcelain children.

Pretty roses.

It really is quite remarkable.

GIRL INTERRUPTED

This girl just moved and only has limited Internet access. Please continue to hold through this brief interruption. Your regularly scheduled blogging will continue when all her pots and pans are in the right places. Until then...XO XO XO

Silly Philadelphians, soft pretzels are for ballparks.

Here's the scene: it's a Wednesday morning. You've heading out for a nice leisurely commute. You take a train, so you stop off at a corner store to pick up a paper and breakfast for the ride. Philadelphia Inquirer under your arm. Hot cup of coffee. You move to pick out your breakfast. Perusing your options you go for the obvious choice, a nice big salty mustard covered soft pretzel. (...insert record scratch sound effect aqui...)

Straight-up, I think this is weird.

Philadelphians eat soft pretzels for breakfast. You know how in the rest of the country, people might get a box of donuts or a some bagels to bring to work in the morning? Around these parts, we get a gigantic box of soft-pretzels. As far as pretzels go, they really are exceptionally good, but I don't think I'll ever think of them as breakfast food.

I like to run.

It's true. I like to run.
I'm not particularly good at it,
but I really like it.

Running makes me feel strong. I'm not one of those people who like to do things just to spite others. Some people find a little bit of negative feedback motivating. It pisses them off. It gets their blood going. It really makes them want to stick it to the 'man'. Let me repeat...I am not one of those people. I am potentially the least competitve person on the planet. I lose pretty well. When I win, I'm positive it's because my competitor threw the fight. Negative feedback usually makes me go..."Eh, that's probably about right."

I can now remember specific instances
when people told me that I couldn't run.
Friends. A coach. Perfect strangers. Even gym teachers told me I couldn't run. (One actually openly laughed at me. Why? Because middle school needs to be a little more difficult.)


Too fat. Too short. Too lazy. Not built for it. For a select few, I think they were trying to make me feel better about failing. Trying to somehow prevent me from humiliating myself.


Sometimes it was just implied,
but you might be surprised how many people
feel obligated to, either:
a) tell you you're going to fail
b) actually encourage you to fail.















During a heart to heart conversation
with someone who loved me very much, I confessed in a hushed voice, "I think I want to run. I mean try to run. But I've always dreamed of being one of those people who can just, you know like, run." He stopped. He thought. He spoke, "Babe, I love you, but... You. Will. Never. Be. A Runner. That's ridiculous." I believed him, too. I was scared. It was easier to believe I couldn't, rather than I wouldn't.





Then I tried it. No, I really tried. I'd tried before,
but the goals were too big. I wanted to learn how to run before I learned how to walk...literally. I thought it was something normal people should just know how to do really well.






It took a few months of other less intimidating cardio work.
Exercise bikes. Stability balls. Weights. Elliptical machines. Yoga. Then...it was time to try the treadmill.

The first couple tries were a little rough.
It was awhile before I could run a whole mile without stopping. But, I didn't give up and it got easier. I am constantly surprised at how much more I can do.



Last month, I turned 30 and ran farther than I
have ever run in my life. It was 3.4 miles from my front door to the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It is also, undeinably, the most well documented 3.4 miles in human running history. (My lovely Sarah, drove a car along my route and took over a hundred pictures.) Today, I ran 4 miles. Tomorrow, who knows?






I've learned how to run fast for a little while.
I've learned how to run slow for a long while.
I've learned that it's most important to run when
you think you can't and the only way to cheat is to quit. Most importantly, I've learned that my friend was wrong; I. AM. A. RUNNER....a slow one, but a RUNNER!