basebrawl and other enjoyable american pastimes

Another weekend, another trip to Chicago. Forget about it being the second city, it’s more like my second-home city. I’ve been there so much that Christine’s mom has decided to make me an honorary member of the family. This time around we went to a Cubs game, and although the game was nothing exciting, we did get to see someone rush the field before being arrested. We also got to see the Cubs’ pitcher and catcher trade blows in the dugout, before taking the brawl into the locker room and, eventually, the hospital. Now that’s what I call teamwork!

While I was in Chicago, I also rediscovered my craving for fountain soda, due to McDonalds offering a 42-ounce refillable soda for an astonishing 89 cents. That’s right. FORTY-TWO OUNCES. EIGHTY-NINE CENTS. That sucker was so big that I had to sit at a table and eat my French fries and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies (what can I say, I’m incredibly health conscious when it comes to my diet), because there was no way I could carry everything with me and walk back to Chris’s apartment at the same time. Sure, maybe a coordinated individual could have, but this is me we’re talking about, the girl who hasn’t met a drink she couldn’t knock over. Walking AND drinking AND eating? Completely out of the question.

Now I’m back home again, and although it would be ideal to start working on what I need to get done this week, I have approximately 50 hours of Lost at my immediate disposal, Mr. Dangerous having provided me with the DVDs from the entire seasons one and two. It is his goal to get me hooked by the time the fourth season rolls around. He’s off to a good start in realizing that goal, that’s for sure. Maybe he’ll finally help me kick the last of my lingering bitterness towards J.J. Abrams.

I’d write more, but I promised Jende I would get my ass to the post office today and finally mail the package I’ve been meaning to send him for about a month now. I’m heading out now, Jende, for real this time. Your package o’ porn is on its way. Hang in there, man. (Okay, that was mean, because now you’re going to get your hopes crushed when you open the package and find NO PORN. And I’d go back and rectify that situation, but I gotta get it in the mail TODAY! There is NO TIME! NO TIME FOR PORN! I’m on a deadline! It’s gotta GO, GO, GO today! So that means you’re shit out of luck, my friend. Sorry!)

 

because i’m talented like that

So lately it seems that in addition to my already impressive ability to fall down a lot, I’ve also been developing several other highly marketable skills, including the propensity to knock over drinks at will on unsuspecting companions and an ineptitude relating to how clothing fasteners actually work. I’d like to tell you that I work hard at it, but, honestly? It just comes naturally. I don’t even really have to try. It’s nothing to be jealous about–some people simply have it while other people don’t. But, hey, who likes to brag?

Seriously, I am convinced that all of the buttons and snaps on my clothes should be replaced with idiot-proof velcro (and forget about belts–those jokers should be outlawed), that I should wear elbow and knee pads at all times, and that I should only be allowed to take my drinks out of a sippy cup, the kind with the rounded bottom that refuses to tip over no matter how hard you try.

Really, don’cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me? Because I know you wish she was a freak like me. Dare to dream, that’s all I can say. Dare to dream.

 

mmm, mmm good

Somehow my life is insanely busy, even though I’m not plagued by an inordinate amount of tasks, or even a full-time job, for that matter. At any rate, it feels filled to the brim with craziness, albeit ridiculously awesome craziness. I’ve been asked to double my contracting hours, which is great, since I had no idea how I was going to get all of the requested work completed within the limited timeframe I was originally allotted. The contracting work is scheduled to last indefinitely; this, combined with the increase in hours means that I’m going to get to move to my desired city location sooner, rather than later, so I’ve also been busy checking out potential new digs online. In addition to that, it looks like a full-time editing position will most likely be available within the next few months, which would really ease my current job search conundrum, which would namely be a pointed lack of searching. You’d be surprised at how much time it takes to avoid looking for a job. All I can say is, thank god for cable! I don’t know how I would manage to slack without 100-plus television channels at my immediate disposal. (Okay, that’s a lie–of course I know, and it’s called the Internet….)

Let’s see, what else? I have a million and one tentative travel plans in the works, including a trip to visit Adi in New York City, a trip to see Shannon in North Carolina, a visit to Rebecca in Washington, D.C., and a trek out to San Francisco with Claudia. Mr. Dangerous and I have also been talking about heading somewhere for a long weekend, including any of the above, plus Las Vegas or Portland. I also want to head up to Laporte to see Robert and Sarah again. And next weekend will mark the third time in less than a month that I’ve flown to Chicago.

In addition to traveling, I’m also gearing up for a host of visitors heading to the Twin Cities in the near future. All of my Peace Corps friends still overseas will be heading home by summer’s end. Jende and Chris will be returning to Minneapolis from Cape Verde and Georgia. Claudia may be moving here, as well. Anna will be heading back to Madison, but she and I have a standing date at Chino Latino to keep, so I know she’ll be in the area at some point. I also expect to persuade both Joy and Christine to head north for a visit by summer’s end.

And, of course, I always make time for food! Vietnamese noodle salad? Check. Greek stuffed grape leaves and lentil soup? Check. Mexican Tres leches cake? Check. This weekend it’s off for more dim sum, which is always good, and a good time, to boot. I’m also getting another serious craving for sushi, so I’m sure I’ll find myself at the sushi bar within the week. And I recently discovered another raw oyster bar in the city, and this one has nightly happy hour specials that I can’t wait to take advantage of. The fact that Mr. Dangerous matches or surpasses me when it comes to culinary adventure only makes it all that much more fun and exciting.

I have to say, life is really damn tasty right about now.

 

something you never want to hear someone say as they are drawing your blood

“Dammit! I think I blew out your vein.”

Followed by…

“Looks like I’m going to have to do this again. Other arm!”

 

welcome to my kingdom, a lovely little place called procrastination

You know, I had so much hope for myself today. I had plans to tackle major projects this morning, projects with serious deadlines. I was going to attack those projects with the ferocity of a rabid dog, sinking my teeth into the meat of the task at hand. So, of course, I haven’t started yet. This is not altogether uncommon. Back in college I majored in procrastination. In one instance, I waited until the last possible moment and then wrote five separate English papers, something like 85 pages total, in a single night and got no less than a solid B on any one of them. I’m pretty talented at this sort of thing, if I do say so myself. Still, I’m thinking that this is not exactly the time to see if I can execute my mad writing skillz on that level again, and I should really get my shit together sooner, rather than later. At any rate, I’ll keep this short and just say that this week is going much better than last week, thank god. Or thank Buddha, rather, since on Sunday I almost got to kick it back with His Holiness, the Dalai Lama, which would have been beyond awesome. Unfortunately, the tickets to hear his speech at Millenium Park (that’s right, I was in Chicago again last weekend, only this time it didn’t take nine hours to fly there) were completely sold out since about 50,000 other people wanted to kick it with the Dalai Lama as well, including a girl behind me who wondered, much too loudly, “What if you had a llama and you named it Dolly, like D-O-L-L-Y? Wouldn’t that be awesome?!” I stood just outside the park gates, but although I could see the Dolly Llama on the projection screen, his words sounded like nothing more than the muffled speech of Charlie Brown’s teacher, so I have no idea what he talked about. However, I do know that he loves to gesticulate wildly and that his laugh sounds like this: “Ah-HA-ha-ha-ha-ha!” He may be exiled from Tibet, but His Holiness is welcome in my homeland of Procrastination any time he wants.

 

this week sucks

Maybe not for me, exactly, but for those I care about. My week hasn’t been stellar by any means, but at least the only drama I’ve personally experienced so far is the dead silence that hung between me and the bakery boy at the supermarket when he told me he didn’t think they sold pita bread. Although, now that I think about it, that silence was pretty damn dramatic. So dramatic in fact, that another bakery boy in the entire next room suddenly burst out of nowhere to correct his clueless coworker. And, folks, that’s about as much drama as I care to entertain for the rest of the night. Tomorrow and the rest of the week? Well, it looks like kicking ass is back on the menu.

 

totally wasted

So, yeah, it’s Monday, and I’m wrecked, despite the fact that I didn’t have to kick any ass after all over the weekend. The past four days were still truly something else, starting with my insane flight to Chicago. You know something’s just not right when it turns out it would have been faster to drive from Minneapolis to Chicago than to fly. No, seriously. There’s definitely a story there that I plan to tell, just not today, since I lack the energy to do anything other than watch reruns of Six Feet Under while in a vegetative state. And even that may be a challenge.

 

blindsided

Sometimes shit just happens that blows your entire day apart. I was all set to write about how Mr. Dangerous, the guy I’ve been seeing, took me to Martini Blu to celebrate my birthday, and how I finally got to order Chilean Sea Bass, which I’ve always been curious about since Chilean Sea Bass doesn’t actually exist and is really a made-up name for the less-appetizing moniker Patagonian Toothfish. Wise move, I’d say. At any rate, it was delicious. I was also going to discuss, once again, the most current issues regarding my tendency to be technologically, er, challenged when it comes to computers, and how it’s really nice to have someone in your life who actually knows what the hell they’re doing so that you can stop fluttering your hands around the keyboard and clicking things at random as you pretend to know what the hell you’re doing. Not to mention my plans to spend the next few days in Chicago for Christine’s bridal shower and some all-around Chi-Town fun.

But now that’s all shot to hell. Nothing’s happened to me, but some serious shit is going down in the life of a certain friend of mine, so it looks like I’ll be spending the weekend taking numbers, kicking ass, and asking questions later. It’s not going to be pretty.

 

xxix

Guess who just entered the last year of her twenties? That’s right, I’m 29 today! It’s a little sobering to think about, but hey, I still get carded about 90% of the time, so that helps. And really, isn’t 29 the new 17 or something? I’d like to think so. Hmm, where’s that prom dress when you need it? At least I have the next 365 days to live up the rest of my faded youth before I hit the big 3-0. Now that’s a sobering thought.

 

hijinks in the sunshine state

Florida was great. I got to see my now four-month-old twin nieces for the first time. They’re adorable and such content babies. When they’re not eating or sleeping, they hang out in their cribs or in their swings looking at everything with their huge eyes, or they sit and quietly watch episodes of Baby Einstein. They rarely cry or even fuss. My two-year-old nephew adores them. I taught him how to eat with chopsticks (well, sort of), and he taught me that I should never, ever reveal where I keep my Tic Tacs. I took one out of my purse and gave it to him, forever associating myself and my purse with Tic Tacs and turning him into Pavlov’s dog. Throughout the day, every day, I’d hear a small voice ask “Tic Tac?” and look down to see his angelic face peering questioningly up at me as he pointed to my purse. One morning Jeremie asked him to say good morning to me. He looked at me and said, “Good morning, Dan–Tic Tac?” And with that sweet voice of his and his big eyes, who could resist? Surely not Auntie Tic Tac.

I spent the latter part of my Florida trip with Joy, my best friend from high school, and her family. Other than Joy, everybody in her family solely refers to me as Captain D, or Captain for short, a nickname that was coined during one eventful white-water rafting trip that Joy, her sister, Jen, and I took during spring break of our senior year. Normally this wouldn’t be anything significant. However, when I say that they all call me Captain, I mean that they never call me Danielle. Ever. At home, in public, directly or in reference to me. A few years ago Joy told her mom that I was coming to visit.

Joy: Danielle’s coming to visit.

Joy’s mom: Who?

Joy: Danielle.

Joy’s mom: Who’s Danielle?

Joy: Mom, Danielle.

Joy’s mom: I don’t think I know her.

Joy: Danielle. Known her since I was twelve? Champion sleeper? Used to stay at our house all the time?

Joy’s mom: I do not recall that person.

Joy: Mom, Danielle! We worked at TCBY together?

Joy’s mom: Oh, you mean Captain?

True story. This time, Joy arranged for her brother-in-law, Chris, to pick me up from my brother’s house and take me to Orlando where they all live. I had to call Chris to give him directions, and although I’ve met him plenty of times, as I was dialing, I wondered, “Does he know my real name?” As you can see, this is a valid question. So when he answered, I opted for the safe route and blurted, “Hey, Chris, this is Captain D!” And of course he knew exactly who I was.

I had a lot of fun hanging out with Joy, since this was the first time in more than five years that I’ve spent longer than twelve hours with her. I got to meet Jen and Chris’s nine-month-old daughter, Layla, an angel who is serious competition for my nephew and nieces as the best baby ever. We went to the beach, stopping at Steak n’ Shake to takhomasak or two (seriously, if there’s one thing I miss about Florida, it might be cheese fries and a cookies and cream shake). I found out that although I tend to fall down if I drink too much, I can still tell you exactly where the car is parked, which helps when your sober friend cannot. I also tried rock climbing for the first time with Chris, who was excited to have a game partner, since Joy and Jen have absolutely no interest in it. We went to an indoor center to climb while Joy, Jen, and Layla watched for purely entertainment purposes. After learning how to tie knots and belay, I climbed my first wall successfully. It was fairly easy. It was also slightly angled instead of absolutely vertical, which helps more than you know. Then I tried a vertical wall. Things went well until I was halfway up the wall without a feasible hold for my right foot. I stood there, clinging to the wall in an entirely unnatural position, realizing that I had absolutely nowhere to go. And then I started laughing. Not good.

Jen: Go, Captain! Rock on!

Me: I can’t go any higher!

Chris: Captain, there’s a hold for your right foot if you lift your leg up near your waist.

Me: [attempts to lift right leg to waist level while balancing entire body weight on left foot placed on another tiny, shallow hold] I can’t!

Chris: I told you not to wear jeans!

Me: Listen, if I had absolutely no pants on whatsoever, I still couldn’t get my foot up there!

By this point, all of us were laughing hysterically (as well as some of the staff), except that all of them were on the ground, while I was trying not to fall off the side of a vertical wall. The harder I laughed, the more my muscles burned as I tried to dig my fingers and climbing shoes into the slippery holds. And the more I tried to hold on, the harder I laughed. So I laughed and clung and laughed and clung and laughed and eventually had to give up and let go, as Chris lowered me back to the ground. Then I belayed for him as he raced up the same wall in less than two minutes. Show off. I climbed one more inclined wall, and then I had to stop. For the next two days I couldn’t turn the pages of a magazine without my hands cramping up and my forearms aching. Of course, I have practically no upper-body strength at all, but even Chris’s arms were shaking when we left. Rock climbing is a serious workout. And, according to Jen, watching it is a seriously entertaining and worthwhile experience. Then we went to an amazing Polish restaurant for borscht (beet soup) and pierogies (potato and cheese dumplings) and blintzes and cabbage rolls. I had no idea Polish food was so incredible. It was probably the best meal I had during my entire trip.

And then it was over and I had to get up at 5 a.m. to make my 8 a.m. flight. Now I’m back home and getting ready to return to work part time next week and then head to Chicago on the 26th for Christine’s bridal shower. I feel like I’m somehow shirking my maid-of-honor duties, since I’m not doing anything for the shower other than showing up. I’d call it laziness, but Christine insists that it’s not practical for me to plan since I live in Minneapolis, so I’ll side with her on that one. In the meantime, I should probably try to figure out what else I should be doing that I’m not.

 

exercising restraint

In celebration of finally finishing my taxes, I really, really wanted to splurge on one of these:

However, I decided this might not be the wisest decision to make, since I don’t currently have a job and just spent $80 on a strapless bra to go with my bridesmaid’s dress. For that price, it damn well better record my favorite TV shows and have the ability to translate phrases in three different languages. Comprende? Anyway, I responsibly decided that I can’t really afford to get a swanky MacBook Pro right now. But I can afford to splurge on these:

I saw them a few months ago at Nordstrom and somehow refrained from taking them home. However, I couldn’t get them out of my head. I thought about them constantly. I pulled them up online, just to get a glimpse of them and their utter fabulousness. I described them in intricate detail to my friends. And then I happened to be back at Nordstrom yesterday and, with Niki’s adoring approval, decided to go ahead and get them, even though they cost twice what I’d normally pay for shoes. But, really, can you blame me?

Then this morning I received a contract writing position with my former company, so it looks like I’ll be heading back to work on a part-time basis as soon as I get back from Florida in a few weeks.

Which is good, because I think I might have to get another pair in gray:

Until then, I’ve got plenty to do. Tonight I’m headed to Beth’s for Shannon’s baby shower. Shannon and I met in karate about six years ago and have been friends ever since, since we can actually spar with each other without wanting to deck the other person. Unfortunately, Shannon now lives in North Carolina, and I haven’t mustered the courage to venture back to class without her. Also, because my instructor would die laughing if I currently attempted a side kick in front of him, but that’s beside the point. Beth and I went to the same junior high, but didn’t meet each other until Shannon introduced us, as Shannon and Beth were college roommates. Beth and I quickly bonded over Harry Potter, popcorn, and margaritas (although not necessarily in that order) and now Shannon’s having a baby and we’re all getting together to celebrate her upcoming addition.

Then tomorrow I need to get serious about packing before my plans tomorrow night, because I fly out on Saturday afternoon. The rest of the week is going to fly by, I’m sure. That’s okay, though, because now I have a superswank pair of siren red pumps at my disposal. Life is good.

 

oops, we did it again

Gators win!

 

food porn: it’s what’s for dinner

Last night I had raw oysters for the first time, and if they aren’t pure sex on a plate, I don’t know what is. I can’t even describe them in detail without sounding obscene. Briny, slightly sweet, the tender, glistening meat sliding around in their shells before slipping down your throat–see? I’ve had steamed oysters, but trust me, they aren’t even in the same league as the raw version. I thought that the sake nigiri I had with Robert at Kikugawa last summer was the best single piece of food I have ever eaten, but I think those raw oysters might have that beat.

Today I headed to David’s Bridal to find a bridesmaid dress for Christine’s wedding. The store was filled with teenaged girls shopping for prom dresses, reminding me of the time I was at the mall with my mom on my 24th birthday and a saleswoman earnestly tried to sell me a prom dress. I couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad birthday that year, especially since my mom giggled about it for the rest of the day, “‘What kind of prom dress can I help you find, dear?’” At any rate, nobody tried to sell me a prom dress today, which I actually might have welcomed, seeing as though my 29th birthday is a mere three weeks away. I did try on a gazillion dresses, though, and managed to find three that I liked (Chris is letting me pick my own dress, lovely girl that she is). They’re all fairly simple and elegant, and they could all double as prom dresses, should an invitation be extended my way anytime soon. Hey, I’m nothing if not prepared.

Tonight it’s all about the Final Four. I’m not really a basketball fan, and I don’t know any Florida players except for Joakim Noah, but I’m still going to watch and see if the Gators can pull off the national championship again, especially since they just might be facing Ohio State for the title. It’s not football, but it’ll do.

 

monday, monday

I was planning to look for a job today, but then Milo and I started a series of impromptu staring contests, and let me tell you, he’s nobody’s fool. He locks onto you with a steely gaze that says “I am the master, and you are going down.” Either that or “I want to lick your nose!” Still, I won every time, and not just because I was the only participant who had any idea what was going on. Then I fed him apple slices and he zoomed around the room like a dog possessed before falling on his side and pushing himself in backwards circles with his front paws, like he always does when he’s feeling a bit whimsical.

I did manage to do some spring cleaning, since the 70-degree sunshine really highlights how slovenly one becomes during the dark winter months. It’s amazing how new and shiny things look once they’ve lost that dull layer of dust.

And I can’t believe I keep forgetting to mention this, but my old college roommate Christine is getting married this June and has asked me to be her maid of honor. Of course I said yes. Christine is getting married! I’ll admit, I guess I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about weddings, because it took me a few days before I remembered that being the maid of honor means you actually have duties and responsibilities to perform. I was thinking about what I need to do (namely, buy a book that tells me what I need to do), when my stomach dropped as I realized, “Oh. Shit. This means I have to give a speech.” I hate giving speeches. I’ll do it, but I hate it. At least I have some time to write it. Because when it comes to giving impromptu speeches, I am The Worst. Total deer in the headlights. With all eyes on me, my mind goes blank, unless I already know what I’m going to say. But now that I’ve got time to prepare, I can plan to stand up at the reception and tell everyone about how Christine and I once went to a Florida-Florida State game in the Swamp and blithely sat in the middle of the visitor section clad in orange and blue, throwing out the Gator Chomp in the middle of the Tomahawk Chop. Or how jealous I was (and still am) of her ability to stay up until 3 a.m. writing a paper and then wake up at 7 a.m. totally refreshed and ready to go (bitch). And how she may look sweet and innocent, but she once tried to cram an Oreo down my throat using brute force. Really. I’ve got the picture to prove it. Oh, wait…actually, I just found the picture, and it looks like I’m the one trying to force her to eat the Oreo. Well, hey, how can one NOT want to eat a cookie? I’m just saying. I was simply helping her accept the fact that she really did want to eat it. Because that’s what friends do. Right, Chris? Aren’t you so, so glad you asked me to be your right-hand woman? I thought so.

 

in which i attempt to catch up with life

My job ended a little over a week ago, and you think I’d have tons of time to lounge around, lazily dropping ripe grapes and silky chocolates into my mouth while ordering the scantily clad pool boy to pick up the towel that I’ve dropped yet again. Unfortunately, this is not the case, and not only because I don’t have a pool, much less a pool boy. Life without work is somehow busier than it might seem. I ventured back to the restaurant of my ethnic demise for a second try at dim sum. This time the meal was great, not only because my chopstick inadequacies were overlooked by all the non-Asians at the table, but also because I didn’t have to worry about anyone proposing to me while I tried not to flip a shrimp ball across the dining room. That night I ate my first fried shrimp head (eyes, feelers, and all) at Fuji Ya, and it tasted surprisingly like nothing. A few days later, I tried a new Thai restaurant with someone who opted to sit and stare at me the entire time, instead of actively engage in any sort of mutual conversation. Not long after that, I was shocked to discover that, despite my initial negative assumptions, Sushi Tango has the freshest sushi and sashimi I’ve tried in the metro area. Somewhere in there, I also tried a great new pizza place in the ‘burbs and another decent one in the city.

Apparently, my life is all about food.

In other news, I ventured up to the Leech Lake area to visit Robert and Sarah in their cozy new digs, where they moved to in January for Robert’s new job. We hit a wine tasting led by a local sommelier and bantered with the town bartender on the best pizza in Chicago (he says Pizzeria Uno, I say Giordano’s). I introduced Robert and Sarah to the wonders of St. Andre cheese while we watched Marie Antoinette (which I found even more boring than the previous night’s Cemetery Man, a considerably notable feat). I found piri piri at the local supermarket, which brought me back to Cape Verde and suddenly reminded me that as of today, March 20, I’ve been back home for exactly one year. I spent this year’s St. Patrick’s Day in an Irish bar reflecting on this as Robert ate corned beef and cabbage.

Apparently, even on vacation or in reflection, my life is still all about food.

Sarah and I shared the bed while Robert camped out on the couch, warning us not to engage in any nude pillow fights without him, a statement that was made even funnier when Sarah politely said to me the first night, “I’m a heavy sleeper–you can do anything you want.” I think I laughed myself to sleep that night. After the nude pillow fight, of course.

Now that I’m back home, I’m trying to find the inner strength to do my taxes, which, as far as I know, must be done by hand, itemized deductions and all, due to all of the complicated Peace Corps taxable allowances. I have to do them soon, though, since I’m headed to Florida in a few weeks to see my adorable new nieces. I’ll be staying with my brother and his family for six days, including Easter, and then spending the rest of my time with my best friend from high school, the only person with whom I’d takhomasak. I think I’ll just turn on some tunes (maybe a little Frou Frou or The Postal Service), grab the trusty calculator, take a deep breath, and dive in. While I’m at it, I should probably, oh, I don’t know, look for another job or something.

Or maybe I’ll sit here and watch American Idol. Life. It’s nothing, if not a crapshoot.