What Came Out of My Kitchen

I'm going through a phase of exhaustion. I'm not here to point fingers at the marathon or anything, but I desperately need to get myself back in the kitchen on a regular basis. I'm just lacking motivation and creativity and care and everything else that might include cooking regular meals again to do so. When the wave of motivation does hit, I run with it full force. And though I'm not going to say today was one of those days--I wasn't totally motivated--I had enough to carry me through what I needed to finish. This started with going grocery shopping at Costco, Giant, Target, and Whole Foods before even stepping foot in my kitchen. Do away with me now. I may have found a place for myself in the kitchen, but I still hate grocery shopping with every part of my being. Approximately $300 later, I found myself whipping up a variety of things.

Mexican-Style Brown Rice Casserole. This has become somewhat of a staple in our home, after the recommendation of a coworker. I actually froze this dish for a later date in time. Because, again, exhaustion. Chef's Notes: I don't believe in the fat free or low fat this and that; I substitute those items with the full fat equivalent. I also make my own refried beans using the black beans I crockpot on a near weekly basis. Though canned refried beans are smooth and wonderful, I only enjoy them when my mom hides the sliminess that sends those bean sliding right out of the can. Nasty.

Pumpkin Butter. My mom introduced me to Oh She Glows during my wannabe vegan days. I've followed this blog for years now, and I've never been let down. That being said, the pumpkin butter might be the best thing I've made to date. I've added it to oatmeal. I've slathered apples in it. I've made Pumpkin Oat Squares with Candied Pecans (from Angela's blog as well). This goodness is what heaven must taste like. Chef's Notes: This recipe is rather time consuming when roasting the sugar pumpkin(s) is factored in. On the upside, I learned how to roast a sugar pumpkin... and I'm looking forward to trying a "from scratch" pumpkin pie here soon.

Apple Rutabaga Soup. Who doesn't like a million fall vegetables tossed in a pot with butter? Also, a recipe that uses one of the thousands of apples I picked that is not a dessert? This recipe was provided by another coworker. And I knew it'd be delicious after I learned the recipe came from The Inn at Little Washington. This restaurant is continually rated among the best "in" Washington, D.C. In being in quotes because it's quite a ways outside of the city. It's also quite a ways from my paycheck, if you're curious. Chef's Notes: I cut the cream in half. And next time I would consider further reducing the amount by another half (i.e., half of a cup instead of the suggested two cups).

Apple Pie. This pie is no product of my own; it's the most beautiful pie I've laid eyes on. I imagine much effort and patience behind this work of art, which has never been my cup of kitchen tea. Chef's Note: This pie was crafted entirely from scratch in our kitchen with apples picked by us, per my insistence; ya, we're crunchy. I have no idea what recipe was used and therefore cannot provide notes, regardless of my repeated requests (to Boyfriend). An equally tasty, though not nearly as pretty, pie can be found at mine (and Barack Obama's) favorite stop in Northern Virginia--Mom's Apple Pie, for those local to the area.

Vegetable Lasagna. Are you familiar with Cooks Illustrated? If not, it's time you are. Their vegetable lasagna is the best on the planet, despite the amount of work required to whip it up. Also, this recipe does away with ricotta in favor of cottage cheese. That alone makes me obsessed. (I absolutely hate ricotta and am addicted to cottage cheese.) Chef's Note: I mentioned this is a product that requires work, however, the rewards are endless. This lasagna served us twelve sizable meals--away with portion control. When the labor is divided across the number of meals, we have an equation that isn't terrible. This is a definite Sunday activity where I don't feel rushed to immediately follow up with the insane amount of dishes produced by this dish. (That part of the equation is not--I repeat: not--pretty.) By serving this on Sunday night, I've littered the rest of the week with leftover lunch and dinner.

Let's eat.

Free Conundrum

A few weeks ago, Boyfriend and I cleaned out our kitchen. We took every single item off every single shelf, assessed our needs, and cleaned each counter and cupboard before placing items back in a more organized manner. The satisfaction of completing this task, even though it should have been done three months prior, is indescribable. While we buy within our means—and don’t get sucked into too many deals—we certainly end up with excess of some items (e.g., canned tomatoes, flour, Gatorade, etc.) that are not easily stored in a 700 square foot apartment. The biggest culprit is our Costco membership, though we've deemed the bulk shopping savings are worth it. Before The Cleanse we had 'mini pantries' scattered throughout the apartment; I could not survive that way for another second.

The second issue is my willingness to accept anything and everything I come across that is of the "free" variety. Free juice at the blood drive, I’ll take three. Free water bottle at the Toast to Tap event, a 40th Anniversary Celebration for the Safe Drinking Water Act, sure, why not!

(Those who know me, know I only use my liter-sized Nalgene ever. I also have have millions of other previously gifted water bottles stored in a lowly bottom cabinet.)

(Or I did before The Cleanse.)

And it’s not just free food and goodies I accept. At the Washington Nationals Blood Drive, we were given two tickets to a Nationals game. When that day came, I was exhausted, but I also knew it was likely my last chance to see the Nationals for the year. So despite those factors and a poor forecast to boot, I started walking to the game after work. Being the forecast was poor, the game was called minutes before the start and I was able to go home, eat a nice meal, and catch up on some zzz’s. The tickets were free, yet I couldn’t imagine letting them go to waste. I had to be there… and had to make sure I had fun… just because. Just because why? 

In early October, again, we had free tickets to the DC United/Sporting KC game. And I actually really wanted to go. My coworker gave me these tickets in July, and now that Pop's employer is no longer a sponsor, this was my only (free) opportunity to catch a game this season. After staying up way too late on Monday watching the Kansas City Chiefs and even later on Tuesday watching the Kansas City Royals, by the time Friday rolled around, I was beat. I was recently reassigned to a large effort at work, as opposed to my usual sitting around twiddling my thumbs. It’s shocking how much more exhausting work is when I'm "on." Further, it was colder than I had prepared for, with yet another chance of rain. Provided the exhaustion, dinner at Five Guys and an early evening seemed ideal. I ultimately ended up bailing on the game. And crashing in bed, with the television volume high, in case of any exciting action in the world of Post Season. It could have been an all-out celebration of Kansas City—Chiefs, Royals, and Sporting KC, however, DC United came away with the win, clinching their spot in the playoffs. And I (sadly?) can’t name a single United or Sporting KC player, so I think it’s safe to say, the world went on without my being there.

I’m getting better at saying no and avoiding free stuff, there were several accomplishments on that front. For example, the other night I avoided free cups, magnets, and shirts at a Light The Night fundraiser. We're talking b-a-b-y steps that feel like B-I-G steps. After all, I’m 27 with a decent job. I can afford juice, cookies, water bottles, hats, shirts, on-and-on; I can afford more than what I need.

Say no to free-ness. Just Say No. When I think of my uncluttered living space, it'll all be worth it.

NFL Pick 'Em: Week 4

I'm participating in an NFL Pick 'Em league this year, and it's the demise of me. Of course, I paid so I will continue to play through the season's end because I recently discussed my issues with quitting.

The largest contribution to my inability to win are my irrational reasons for picking all sorts of teams. I'm apparently sensitive though; it nearly kills me to pick against "my" team(s), when in reality my only team is the Kansas City Chiefs. Here I encounter problem numbero uno: As might be expected, I can't pick anyone in the AFC-West, the Chiefs' division. I'm looking at the Denver Broncos, San Diego Chargers, and Oakland Raiders. Except, Peyton [Manning], I kind of like him, minus the fact he reigns in Denver.

Then, I move forward, I have Clemson Tigers playing for the Buffalo Bills (and ZERO affiliation with the Bills beyond this), (un)naturally, I feel inclined to pick them. Thankfully, C.J. Spiller and Sammy Watkins came through for me in Week 1 and 2. This "strategy" was unsuccessful in Week 3.

I semi-lived in Atlanta, Georgia during the Michael Vick days, so I feel inclined to pull for him (and, more recently, his New York Jets). And I question my own integrity in even rooting for Vick because he fought dogs(!!!). I went to an ACC school during the Matt Ryan era at Boston College... and also, again, semi-lived in Atlanta, which apparently qualifies me as a part time Falcons fan. For a far less criminal reason, I should also dislike Ryan because he crushed all my hopes and dreams one unseasonably cold November night during my junior year at Clemson University. But I don't because I guess I find him relate-able.

I could go on and on and on.

Pops' whole family resides in Michigan. It's also where both my parents were born and raised. So Detroit Lions, I'm pulling for you. But Boyfriend is a diehard Green Bay Packers fan, and I also babysat for a diehard Packers' fan in college. Are all Packers' fans so nutty? This was a challenge in Week 3 when the two played each other; I ultimately opted for the Lions... for the win.

The Dallas Cowboys are disgusting. I'm unsure of all the reasons why, I just know Pops has said so all my life. On the disgusting front, there is also Ben Roethlisberger (i.e., the Pittsburgh Steelers).

I live in Washington Redskins territory. There hasn't been a second in my tenure here that I've claimed or followed the Redskins. I live on the Capital Beltway side though; I'm Redskins over Baltimore Ravens each and every day.

My former boss was a Cincinnati Bengals fan, so there's that. 

You see? Endless.

The aforementioned is one side of the issue, the other: I'm in a league with 36 people, vastly reducing my odds. In Week 3, four people, including myself, went 13-3. The verdict came down to some bizarre concoction of not one but two tiebreakers, and I somehow ended up in the bottom half of the four (i.e., not the winner). I'm entirely too competitive for this point in my life, which has resulted in Week 1, Week 2, and Week 3 temper tantrums; Week 3 being the utmost painful.

So while I'll endure the final challenges--14 in total, I'm counting the $20 down as a loss.

Thinking Out Loud

There are so many unrelated thoughts floating through my head right now. Let's assume you care.

• Dan Uggla played, as a professional baseball player, for the San Francisco Giants. He went 0-8 with three errors. Dan, Dan, Dan is not your—San Francisco or otherwise—man. Poor Uggla. We—we, the Atlanta Braves, still owe him upwards of 20 million dollars. So while he may not be doing good on the field work, he’s doing alright. (In other words, I would trade shoes paychecks with him.) Please note, I am absolutely not on the bandwagon rooting for Uggla to fail; I hope he finds success again at some future point.
• Boyfriend went for a run (and then another run and one more run after that; he went for three total runs). I am not to speak of such events. He ran all by his lonesome in our apartment gym. And I am still gleaming a full week plus later. I am almost confident this was a three-time thing, though I will remain forever hopeful he will someday enjoy running alongside me (on the easy days).
• The office bathroom is never empty. I am continually peeved by this. This girl appreciates her privacy.
• I checked out I am Malala: The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban by Malala Yousafzai from the library four times to finish it. The entire book is 317 pages. I could not get into the book, until the final third. The message is fabulous. I am inspired by the young activist. I am devastated for the lives of so many of the people of Pakistan, specifically the women and children. I am in awe of the courage of Malala's father, standing out "against" his own people for education. I wanted to praise the book, but found it riddled with far too much history, history complex beyond my own understanding. This unfortunately translated to choppy reading. The story did, however, make me think and challenged me to remember these issues do touch my life—not to mention my heart.

 You can all sleep peacefully at once.

This is the phase that never ends.

I write this post from a bad place. I need to rant. And I need something to blame. I am going to blame weddings for my unhappiness, when I know this funk is a result of my job. On a public forum, I absolutely cannot vent about my current work situation. That would be real dumb. And I have not lost my mind... yet.

So with warning, my head, heart, and mouth are not on the same page--tread lightly.

This weekend I am going to Boston, Massachusetts, hometown to Boyfriend, for a wedding I have (unfairly) been dreading. (Have I before mentioned Boyfriend is from a cultish town where everyone has been best friends since birth?) At one point, I was very excited for this wedding. My own unhappiness has vastly altered my perspective. I will not know anyone outside Boyfriend's immediate family in attendance. I will have to meet a majority of his friends while still allowing him space to have fun. There will be more small talk than I care for. There will be wasted calories on wedding food. And I will be dressed in a 'non-me' outfit, feeling woefully out of place. Though Boyfriend has not been dragged to many of "my" weddings, he has listened too much venting on the front. I owe it to him to attend this wedding. And to put on a smile while there.

Here begins the 2014 wedding series. And a recently engaged friend added a second wedding to the 2015 spring agenda. With each friend taking that next step, my own poor situation is amplified. But, as a result of this funk, now is absolutely not the time for Boyfriend and me to pursue engagement. I want that time to be the happiest in my life, not a Band-Aid on my current situation.

My mom keeps telling me this back-to-back-to-back wedding trend is just a phase. Well, I want to debunk her theory. My first non-family wedding took place in February 2009, my senior year of college, and the “phase” is guaranteed to continue until May 2015.

Some stats:

• I was 21 when I graduated from college.
• I will be 27 next month.
• I have been in two-thirds of the weddings I have attended, estimated to be on the low end.

That is six years of wedding-ing.

Now, some basic math: divide 6 by 27. And we can conclude 22.2% of my life has been spent attending weddings and, for better or worse, wedding related events. The financial burden for these nuptials have been insurmountable. I have honestly enjoyed next to none of it. Sorry, friends.

 

(It is important to note, there will not be a wedding "for" me. The idea is nauseating, in my humble opinion. I warned my mother years ago. And I think we have compromised on a celebration of the life event that does not involved standards or traditions. You are all invited. You are most certainly NOT obligated to attend.)

I cannot count the number of weddings I have been in and/or attended at this point in my life. I am not kidding. I get weddings confused. I often cannot remember whether or not I was in certain weddings. On the upside, I have traveled to Florida, Kansas (twice), Massachusetts (twice), New Jersey, North Carolina, and South Carolina (five times). I am sure I am missing some. 

Next up is another trip to South Carolina in August, Georgia in September, back to South Carolina in April (2015), and New York in May (2015).

And before these weddings, let me fairly account for the three trips to Michigan for the weddings of my cousins. Thankfully, I only have four total cousins. And the last one, well, he just turned 15, so I will be most excited and ready to attend his wedding should he opt for one many, many years from now.

My savings are soon to be depleted soon. This phase continues...

Cumberland National Park

My refusal to use a calendar of any sort lately has led to a series of recent catastrophes. The first occurred two weekends ago, during the first round of March Madness. On Thursday, I planned an after work coffee date at Chinatown Coffee Co, where there are no televisions, instead of a happy hour on the first day of March Madness. And I went with a new friend, one I was trying to make a positive impression by not checking my phone every five seconds to evade total panic mode.

Further then, with my permission, Boyfriend planned a camping trip I was to accompany him on. A nature versus sports dual. A real tough call. If I lived in Big Sky Country or back near the Blue Ridge Mountains—land of waterfalls, or in the Southwest, nature would without a doubt be my priority. And if winter never came again, nature would also be a priority. But alas, I live in The City, or a city, where nature requires long drives and the rewarding views are those of small towns.

The weekend was planned, the cabin was booked. So after the University of Kansas squeaked out a win during the first round of the tournament on Friday, we headed to Cumberland National Park. We arrived just after 9:00 pm, and, exhausted, I promptly fell asleep. And I slept for quite some time, waking up only when Boyfriend decided to shuffle mattresses in the middle of the night. The next morning, after an oatmeal breakfast, we set off for a hike. We hiked and hiked and hiked. I have no idea how long or how far because we did not have a watch for the entire weekend. That proved more challenging than I would like to admit. The hike commenced with a quality sandwich, trail mix, and goldfish. Then I did some reading, some writing… and eventually joined Boyfriend for a nap under the warm sun. But note, while the sun was warm, the wind was biting. And though temperatures were forecasted in the 60s for the weekend, they barely reached 50 in the rolling hills where we made camp for the weekend. It was much colder than I anticipated when I agreed to this adventure. We spent the rest of the evening exploring around the creek, taking an evening stroll to the lake, and preparing and enjoying a late meal. And pretending I was totally fine being disconnected from tournament hype. When Sunday came, colder than the day before, I had to convince myself we should hike because of our proximity to nature. Around 2:30 pm, we got in the car—my fingers frozen straight—to head home, but my car was stuck in the mud I parked it in late Friday night when that seemed like a good idea. I turned on Satellite Radio and promptly found the remaining nine minutes of the Jayhawks would-be pitiful loss to Stanford while Boyfriend shoveled rocks under the tires and pushed and shoveled more and pushed and remained calm. All the while, I continuously cursed the both the Jayhawks and our situation.

This review of the weekend points to a lot of misery—in the form of cold, mud, no sense of time, and losing, but the reality is this time was much needed, filled with much goodness. Boyfriend and I were able to reconnect. We got away from The City and life, especially important now that I’m back to grinding away full time at the office.

An Apple Update Issue

This is a rant. And it might get technical. About a week ago, the messaging feature on my lowly iPhone 4 stopped working. Each time I attempted to text someone, there was no keyboard display to type my message. Rather ingeniously, I came up with a work around. I typed my message into the Google search engine; copied and then pasted into Messages; and hit Send. So you can imagine how long that took to get old? I finally accepted reality and updated my iPhone to iOS 7, five months after it was released.

Prior to updating, I backed up my phone--a precautionary step in the process. The update did its thing. And upon finishing, I was immediately notified that iTunes on my four-and-a-half year old Mac is no longer compatible with my phone. I naturally downloaded this latest--and greatest--version of iTunes. But after downloading, I attempted to install and learned my Mac needed at least OS X 10.6.8 to run iTunes 11.1. From there, I proceeded to do as requested and download OS X 10.6.8. What do you think happened when I tried to install? An alert said I needed at least 10.6 to run this update. I was real good at playing this game until I tracked down 10.6 and learned this convenient upgrade comes at a $19.99 cost.

I pooled my resources for advice. Through research, we learned the latest Mac operating system is 10.9. We also learned to get 10.9, I need to spend $19.99 on 10.6, $19.99 more on 10.7, and equal amounts on both 8 and 9. Further research later unveiled an additional challenge, my "old" laptop is not capable of supporting 10.9. Or running 8 efficiently. It might--at a $19.99--risk be able to handle 7.

So I have reached a cross roads. I could pay to upgrade to 10.6 and happily be able to sync my phone to my iTunes, iCal, etc. on my computer. This is what I will refer to as a temporary fix. I can adjust to living with my phone and computer as separate entities. This is what I will refer to as the likely option. After all, I don't sync the two that frequently. I will need to find another way to back up my phone, namely my contacts. That might be what the cloud is for? Or buy both OS X 10.6 and 10.7, hoping this gets me through this and the next inevitable iPhone update. This is the least likely option.

That is the backstory. Please, indulge my rant. My laptop is four-and-a-half to the day. I was forced to determine the exact age today in the research portion of my update difficulty. I am someone who takes pride in meticulously maintaining my belongings. I therefore feel as though I should be rewarded with product longevity. Most often, this isn't the case; I went through my first three iPods in six years flat. But this time, my Mac has stood the test of time. And because of this, I'm punished faced with a slew of challenges.

I understand Apple wants to make products good enough to hook the customer but not so good that these items never need replacing. Long before today, I decided Apple's line of desktops, laptops, and tablets is not for me. I use my laptop for the most basic of functions. Simply stated, I don't demand luxuries the Mac affords. The Apple look is sleek. But practical? Not so much for me. When this laptop does eventually bite the dust, I will not return to Apple for a replacement.

The latest challenge should not surprise me. History repeats itself. In my immediate family alone, this is the third Apple product update issue. We first had a desktop (and still do) that hasn't been updatable for years. It hit the wall my laptop is near barreling into. These machines, again, are not capable of running the latest--and greatest--updated operating systems... or even the two platforms prior. So we're talking about functioning machines that are unable to maintains their health with updates and therefore render themselves (and the associated capabilities) useless. There was also my brother's iPhone 3, the one he paid all of a dollar for. The features quit working entirely when Apple stopped supporting the operating system his phone was running.  He was ultimately "forced" to invest another dollar in upgrading to the iPhone 4. And, again, after duly updating my phone, I exposed my Mac's inadequacies.

So Apple, why? Why, I ask, if I'm willing to spend the money to continually update my operating system would launching so far ahead of the older machines running older operating systems be smart? I have to believe I'm not alone in feeling as though a machine originally valued a two grand is not worth maintaining in time.  

After investigating, I realize I lost this battle. The fate of my four plus year machine is doom and gloom. I know I have no power to change the beast that is Apple. I do know that voicing my complaints here does me wonders. And hopefully allows another person--if only one--to relate.

Winter Blues

You know what I wish? That every Monday was a holiday. You know what I don't wish? That the Tuesday following the Federal Government would shutdown in anticipation of snow. I can plan a three-day weekend; I can relish in all that it is. I don't need an extra unplanned day. I thrive on routine. My ability to be spontaneous isn't what it used to be. And when the (anticipated) snow doesn't stick until late in the day, my eagerness to play sets with the sun. The three-day weekend allows for the right amount of relaxation and productivity with the added benefit that there are only four days of work following. The four-day weekend adds way too much in terms of lethargy.

(I might be the only one in the history of mankind to be thrown off, and therefore maybe a bit annoyed,  about a day off work.)

I really struggled to find my rhythm this week. Because it wasn't just Tuesday off, there was a two-hour delay on Wednesday. As work resumed, the temperatures remained evil on Thursday and Friday,  never rising above 20 degrees. It might be fair to say I lived in the South too long because I see zero reason to leave the apartment in digits that low.

After a few easy weeks, followed by even easier weekends, I jammed this past three-day weekend full. I wanted this weekend to hurdle me into each weekend for the remainder of 2014. But instead I'm here at home... still searching for this burst of motivation--the one that sends me into the plan, book, live, repeat mode. The more I go, the more I want to go. A 19-hour work week certainly doesn't leave me feeling as though I've accomplished anything.

So winter, I respect your plans. But I'm ready to reach a compromise. This year--2014--and I have plans, plans I intend to live outside the confines of my apartment, albeit warm and welcoming.

The 2014 Budget Crisis

My holiday conversation topics were investment-related. How to. How much. Where. Boyfriend and I left Boston, Massachusetts with a starting point, in addition to a plethora of reading material. While Boyfriend is devouring Bogleheads' Guide to Investing by Michael LeBoeuf... I'm still working up the courage.

I thought a childhood of hoarding money would get me through life. I thought I knew "enough" about saving and budgeting. I thought depositing a large chunk of money into my 401K each paycheck was an accomplishment.

For the past four years, my yearly savings have gone to weddings of childhood, high school, and college friends. This year--without a single wedding on the agenda--I'm planning to save like a grown up.

In order to do so, I sat down and made a real budget. A do-not-spend-more-than-$XXX.XX-on-groceries budget. My budget painted a gloom picture. It will be tough to save even five grand on my meager income. Since that is essentially the cost to lease my car each year, this amount will not go far. This [budget] exercise demonstrated the speed at which my spending habits add up. Not only the save-for-a-big-purchase-and-buy ones but the monthly ones too. The rent. The eating out. The electric payments. The haircuts.
 
From this I have deduced, I am a lifetime behind on education in regards to finances. There should be lessons on budgeting and investing and retirement and saving and topics of those sorts beginning in kindergarten. Because here's the thing: I'm a very frugal person. Or I thought I was until I met Boyfriend. Once he got past buying lunch each day, he became The Cheapest Man Alive. Turns out making purchases on clearance, couponing, eating leftovers, reusing baggies, picking up change on the street, and checking books out at the local library won't make me rich secure a modest future.

Here's the other thing: I have nice taste. I enjoy pedicures. I love J. Crew (on sale). I want all the fanciest kitchen appliances, namely a Vitamix. And with Christmas just behind us, I purchased a Garmin Forerunner 410. Gulp.

(I'm already obsessed with it... though it has yet to arrive.)

So I made my budget. And I made my goal, or dream--to own a home, soon.

But you know what? My credit history is nonexistent despite owning a credit card for eight years and paying it in full every month. And turns out all those bills my roommates had in their names could have been building my credit history. Hindsight.

What else have I learned?

1. Houses are expensive. 
2. They require down payments. 
3. And mortgages. 
4. And getting approved.
5. They also require a place to (permanently) settle.

I must stop writing. I am just so overwhelmed. The end.

Life is tough. Adult life is tougher.

Today I Tackled Showering

I was dreading Saturday with all my being. The stress (i.e., my biggest fault) being I don’t deal well with change. I like routine and stability and control and things of those likes. And I follow a pattern, be this pattern good or bad, of creating comfortable situations and habits. In high school, my parents uprooted our family – exchanging a quiet Midwestern upbringing for a bit of southern charm. This moved was hard to accept for a l-o-n-g time. I recovered, went to college, and proceeded (as most probably do) to move every year, twice during my freshman year. Those college moves were slightly easier – from a dorm to an on-campus apartment to an off-campus apartment to a house in the downtown. So though I stood grounded in South Carolina working my way through the rigors of college, my family remained in motion – switching their residence from Georgia to Michigan and eventually to Virginia; I was never certain as to where I might be spending my summers. Following college, I of course opted for a unique ‘next step’ – forming a home in Africa. That, like the high school move, was an adjustment, though this time one chosen by my own doing. In college, Peace Corps, and my young adult life, I never knew where to tell people I was from… Kansas? South Carolina? Or – being family oriented – where my family happened to be located during that particular moment?

So in all this, moving lost a lot of luster. And while if only me, this past move could be considered one of the smaller ones – one apartment in Washington, DC to another, it was compacted by the fact Boyfriend and I were moving in together. Moving two apartments into one and in doing so melding two lives into one; this qualifies as a big change. And while it’s super exciting, it’s also terrifying. 

For this move, I enlisted my parents’ help. This ended up being a wise decision as the four of us worked from 8:00 am to 6:00 pm without stopping, moving belongings from my parents’ home in Northern Virginia and Boyfriend and my apartments into our new space. For 10 hours we piled heavy boxes and bulky furniture from in our new home. After bidding my parents a thankful farewell, Boyfriend and I returned our borrowed UHAUL from which we had unloaded three full loads throughout the day. Then, exhausted – to the point Boyfriend was called out for being so (at the Uhaul drop off) – we headed to Rice Paper, our favorite restaurant, for a celebratory dinner. And not quite ready for what awaited us, I convinced Boyfriend to go for a post-dinner bubble tea. With the sole goal of getting the bed set up, we paved our way through boxes and built a bed-assembly workspace. Boyfriend constructed while I busied myself elsewhere – out of his way. And that was only Saturday. 

The Red Panda on the UHAUL truck made his day. 

I drove out to my parents early the next morning. Rain fell the entire hour cruise as I relished in my silent, clean car. Boyfriend was left to himself with a million unpacked boxes. After the baby shower, I went to “collect forgotten items” (i.e., hang out with Old Roommate). Upon returning home, I was in a less than good mood. Because nothing says happiness like a disheveled home. While away, I had been to my parents’ cozy, puppy-filled home, my parents’ neighbors decorated, candle-lit home, and my old apartment – restocked with the replacement roommate’s belongings – in the early staging of creating her life there. I loved that little apartment – the oversized windows and the balcony over looking the park; it’s been my favorite home to date. I shall not discount Boyfriend’s effort – our place was becoming more livable; I was pleasantly surprised that was possible for when I left, it was as though we just had too much stuff to make this place work. 

(I admit I was disgusted by the amount of “cherish-ables” I’ve accumulated. I can’t blame this on Boyfriend; my junk is doing the cramming.) 

I forced my sour attitude into action, hoping to give my deserving man some relief.

There was some fun amidst all the work - homemade pumpkin seeds.

Monday was a holiday for me, the irony being that I’ve essentially been on holiday since returning from Lesotho; I do not thank you Government Shutdown 2013 – I am about to lose my mind. I celebrated Columbus in style because I feel it’s what Columbus would have wanted. I kid. I occupied my time organizing and unpacking the bathroom, then preceded to make grand progress in the bedroom. I also grocery shopped and prepared a meal we both love – pizza on my new pizza stone(!!!). And if you don’t have a pizza stone and enjoy pizza as much as we do, go ahead and make that purchase. It makes all the difference. It took 45 minutes for the oven to reach 500 degrees but the pizza a.m.a.z.i.n.g. Boyfriend doesn’t see beet, goat cheese, red onion, and spinach pizza as a complete meal so I whipped up a tortellini pasta salad, recipe courtesy of the Barefoot Contessa, to accompany the dish. After working all day for a company that clearly has zero respect for Columbus, Boyfriend further slaved away trying to get cable up and running. To no avail, though we are able to hardwire Internet. So not all was failed.

And today I tackled showering. There is something about showering that makes everything real. I can’t shower in a new place until I’m in the beginning stages of sure. Tuesday, being four days in – ready or not – it was time. The shower did not sell me on this place. No, not even one bit. But Boyfriend claims, it’s gets better with time – he’s taken at least six showers, including two on move-in day. I’ll hold on to the hope he’s given me. So there you have it, 1000 words on my accomplishment – showering. 

Southern Exposure

Before you realized you’ve lost half your day, I'll give you fair warning. This is an epically long play-by-play of my weekend down South. If you’ve just got a minute, I won’t hold you up. Here’s what you need to know: The preseason ranked No. 8 Clemson Tigers defeated the fifth ranked Georgia Bulldogs at Memorial Stadium, more popularly known as Death Valley. That’s a win for this girl in the brother/sister rivalry. On Sunday, the Atlanta Braves let me all sorts of down at Turner Field. And Monday I got to spend with two folks I adore – my brother, C.D.H., and his girlfriend – and don’t see nearly enough. Along the way, I introduced Boyfriend to my past – friends, college town, etc. – and that meant… a whole lot of Southern exposure.

On Friday night, I met Boyfriend at Union Station for the quick train ride to Baltimore Washington International Airport. He insisted on being eight hours early for our 8:15 pm flight,  for fear of missing the last plane bound for Atlanta, GA of the evening. He really had nothing at stake. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand the urgency in being HOURS early to the airport. As far as I’m concerned, arriving while the plane is boarding is ideal. But I guess that’s a difference the two of us will have to work on. Being extra early meant we had time for a five-course airport meal. I can honestly say that’s the first time in my recorded memory I have had food from the airport. Alas, the sub-par food was made up for in lengthy conversation. It’s really sad that I’ve allowed my schedule to get beyond my control, and now have to consider pre-departure time as 'date time'. So – no surprise – we arrived it to Atlanta late, got our rental car, and arrived at Brother’s place even later. This was opening weekend of college football; I could hardly contain my excitement – the Bulldogs were set to play the Tigers in Clemson. And I was going to be there to kick things off right.

Flashback: This was College GameDay’s second trip to dear ol’ Clemson. Their first was in 2006, during my sophomore year of college. My friends and I camped throughout the night to be front and center inside the magic GameDay parameters. And when I use the term “camp”, what I actually mean is we stood on our feet… in a single file line waiting for the 10:00 am show. To validate all my hard efforts, my then 83-year old grandma saw me on television multiple times during the span of the two, now three, hour program. I’m glad I have her to document my big break the patience I exhibited. J.L.W. and I – shockingly – couldn’t walk after 22 hours on our feet. So instead of tailgating and further amping up for the 8:00 pm start, we found ourselves recovering in bed. By game time, we were ready to take on the Ramblin’ Wreck from Georgia Tech… and another four hours of standing. Ahhh yes, those were the days.

When you stay up too late, morning, especially early morning, comes quickly. And that it did. Before the clock struck eight, Boyfriend and I were on the road to Pendleton, SC for brunch with the R.L.’s before tailgating. My charges – now five and eight – have certainly sprouted in my absence. I could tell you tale after tale of my time with that tribe; they’re brilliant bubbles of goodness. (I’ll spare you a second flashback, for now.) My time with them was cherished. But now I have to focus on recovering; I miss this family oh so much. From there, Boyfriend and I laced up our walking shoes and proceeded to Clemson. To embrace the Solid Orange spirit, we stopped off downtown. There he saw it all – five bars and 13 sub shops. The newest addition: Jimmy Johns. The town of Clemson is clearly moving up, Up, UP. The next stop: Tailgating. Our first mission was to find J.M.M., her husband, and crew in the sea of orange near Doug Kingsmore Stadium. It rained, so we stayed awhile longer than intended. But this ended up being a win as Boyfriend found a fellow Bostonian, from his neighboring hometown, to talk him off his the-South-is-scary ledge.

Then it was on to tailgating with J.L.W. and gang. This was a moving tailgating... allowing me to give Boyfriend a through-campus tour as we migrated back downtown. The insanely overpriced tickets I had seen before my departure were hardly available outside the stadium gates prior to the game. I was not wasting time with the ridiculous price tags and lack of tickets any further. And while it pains me a little still to have missed the opportunity to see the Tigers live, downtown ended up being a lot of fun. Until the bar closed before the end of the game. And we had to evade an oncoming riot.

Flashback 2: In Clemson… on Saturdays – all bets for bars and booze are off at midnight.

(I do think for this particular occasion, all would have welcomed the idea of an open bar serving only water and beverages of the non-alcoholic variety. I suppose that’s not profitable?)

The R.L.’s had us for the night… and graciously Grandma J cooked us yet another elaborate breakfast. We sort of took things easy that morning. And that was OK because it rained all morning/afternoon anyway. In fact, it rained so hard I almost cried behind the wheel (once we did make a move back towards Atlanta) because I was oh so scared navigating the 22 nonsensical lanes of traffic heading South on 1-85. But then when the rain cleared, I still wanted to cry because I kind of missed the South for the epic thunderstorms. I just don’t get that kind of shower in Washington, DC.

Sunday, for a late lunch, we met with E.L.P at Ormsby's. The food was delicious folks, I highly recommend this establishment for those of you in the Atlanta area. After that, Boyfriend and I headed to Turner Field because duh. S.M.S., the darling girlfriend of my brother, got us THE BEST seats. So that was awesome. But not so awesome was the Braves being shutout… by the Miami Marlins… in nine painful innings.  And worse, they gave up – none of my favorites even played. Oh well. The seats were excellent and we dodged (more) rain. Despite Clemson’s win, we were welcomed back in Brother’s apartment… where we did some serious rehashing of Saturday’s events. C.D.H. was slightly comforted by Liverpool’s win over Manchester United but otherwise wasn’t handling the loss so well.   

The final day was a touristy one. We started the day by watching the rain. Because, that’s right, it was raining again… for the third day in a row. Raining hard. My brother lives in a loft with gigantic – I’m estimating 16' x 12' – windows, so I opened them right up and relished in the rain. Then we walked to brunch at Java Jive. That was tasty (and quite filling). And from there, we went to Starbucks. That was an unlikely move considering this was Boyfriend’s first trip to Atlanta… but my brother’s Starbucks is one of 500 of 18000 Starbuck’s with a Clover machine. Have you experienced this yourself? Heaven. In a cup. This joy had a strong and oily depth my coffee-sensitive taste buds had never been exposed to. I'm not going to lie – watching the barista construct your made-to-order cup is half the fun.

Then we traveled up the street for some pretend shopping at Paris on Ponce, a fancy oddities store. Basically, we all wanted everything. And could afford nothing. By this point, the rain has subsided enough for us to take a stroll on the Atlanta Beltline. C.D.H. has been dying to reveal this masterpiece to me for some time now. In a city that demands a car and has 65 streets with Peachtree in the name – not at all confusing, this revitalization efforts exists to connect all of Atlanta's neighborhoods. I was surprised by the number of people out, even on this not so nice day, as we moved up and down the the Eastside Trail. The many bizarre art exhibits lining the pathway provide ample conversation starters. And smells radiating from restaurants backing up to the trail give a happening vibe.

Not having walked enough, we wandered around Piedmont Park’s niceness. That was lovely… and provided us a stopping point for a picture of the Altanta skyline. The last stop was Little Five Points for some window shopping of the Bohemian variety. We paused for smoothies at Arden’s Garden where I proceed to slurp my spinach intake for the year. The four of us made one last pit stop at Publix for subs in route to the airport. So yummy!

It was whirlwind. And there was definitely a lot I missed. But... here's to hoping the Braves make a statement in the playoffs... and I just can't resist making my way down South again real soon.

Say Something #22

So many milestones stick out in my mind. Little has been forgotten. So much has changed. Little has remained the same. This season is a new one. The depression seems far gone… a blissfully wonderful feeling. Except lately, a cumbrous weight of a different variety keeps trying to sink my ship. It is ugly and most commonly referred to as anxiety. Throughout my many revolutions around the sun, I have carried burdens that do not belong to me and taxed stresses more heavily than necessary. That being said, I am generally stable person. In lieu of all the 'real life' bad, this problem is hindering a better me. See this is going to sound absolutely ridiculous but, let me reassure you, oh so accurate. The "greatest" part of depression is the ability to hide behind it. Even with a sound family structure and incredible friends, you can fake your way through much of life. I thought of it more as seeing life through a different lens. That choice is yours. Depression will give you grief--exorbitantly lonesome times--and you will inevitably falter. But mostly you will succeed at keeping this heavily stigmatized diagnosis from the big wide world of judgment. And that, my readers, is a glorious thing. You get to be a quiet person for a while… nobody comments… and life does eventually pick up.

Well… anxiety is an entirely different battle. Let me reiterate: Entirely. Different. The most noticeable distinction is everyone and their pets notice it. You are pretty much a walking mistake without a barrier to hide behind. You mess-up time and time and time again because you are so spun out. Then you get called out for it(!!!). And before you realize the problem(s) you have created, you are trying to collect your ideas and the unpredictability of life, which is no easier than trying to box a cyclone. There is continuous anxiety compacted on top of nervousness and angst--what will be the next blunder? As in crazy, I am mad.

It really has been a jovial couple of weeks.

The Commute

Yes, another post about the oh-so-exciting life I am leading. And you have heard it before, I am a functioning piece of the corridor of 9:00 am – 5:00 pm working America. I feel the need to repeat myself; I find this helps legitimize my situation—makes it feel real. For the record, this is not the first time I have held a job, believe it or not. Aside from serving as President of Human-sitting, I was in the Peace Corps—totally real job—for that short stint. Together, those with ample travel, sum up the past three years. (I never thought I had the capability to do that in a single sentence.) Yes, in May I will celebrate three years freedom from Clemson University—my graduation into reality, which I see as technically postponed with some life choices until now.

Though my prior totally real job as a high school math and science teacher in Thaba-Tseka, Lesotho never survived long enough to become resume caliber, it impacted my living resume in a grand way. For the sake of my upcoming point, let me recap the perks in a teaching position, more specifically my teaching experience in Africa. The school day began at 7:00 am sharp, the sole timely event in Lesotho, and ended around 4:00 pm… not so sharply. Because, like any high school in America, the learning was proceeded by activities, sports, tutoring and sometimes an after-hour meeting (I never approved of). I usually dodged out around 5:00 pm, unless I could convince running club to end at my place, more than three miles from the school grounds. On average, I worked a standard 10 hour day. My classroom time while at school extended around four hours a day. So during this time period, I was on my feet standing or pacing. And then there was the commute. 

In Lesotho, I commuted 47 minutes to school, morning and night—hot or cold, rainy or barren, energized or exhausted; I made my walking way in either direction. Three days a week I was in charge of collecting the mail from the post office I passed on my way to school at lunch. This meant a 40-minute round-trip additional "commute" because of limited post office hours. The point is I had ample “on my feet time” throughout the working day. And the thing is, I loved it. Some days I would greet everyone, including animals, especially pigs, on my way… extending the commute by over 20 minutes. Some days I would zone out to my overplayed music. Some days I would run to or from or both ways, avoiding thrown rocks along the way. Some days I would walk with Middle Sister. Some days I would walk in silence, pondering my place in this world. Some days I would stop to watch a soccer match being played on an unimaginably rough surface. Some days I would test out a new route. Some days I would time myself, attempting to best the time on the way home (without running). Some days I would stop at my host mother’s restaurant for the leftovers. (I could keep going.) My commute never felt grudgingly long because of these variances. 

This brings me to today, over three weeks in to work in cubical land, where I find myself with a Lesotho-like commute and a much different means of transportation. I have music. I have podcasts. I have books on tape. And I have a neighbor to converse and share the ride with twice a week.  It is America—I can have anything I want. There are food hubs buzzing along the way. There is a Starbucks tempting me at every turn. There is a cell phone, with unlimited minutes, begging me to return calls. But what I want more than anything is to be out of that car. To be away from the congestion. To be free from poor food options. I want to be walking the streets (of Africa, but I would settle for America). 

Why the desperate need for relief? Well... I hate the required weekly trips to the gas station. Oh the environmental suicide I am committing. I hate more time sitting and less time for being outside during daylight hours. I hate the being in traffic, watching my life tick off the clock motionless. And the thought of a minimal guarantee of 10 hours sitting, commute included, five days a week... makes me restless. Each new day my commute, following the same route, traffic patterns, and nonexistent scenery develops a more ancient feeling. I am not complacent, I will seek alternative solutions until I am satisfied. Biking to work? Breaks on the hour for cubical jacks, knee lifts, and tricep kicks? Public transportation? The obvious solution: RELOCATION. I refuse to find my sitting place in this world; we humans were made to move. In the meantime, I am exceedingly grateful it took me slightly under three years to get here.

Matapalo, Costa Rica (Day 9: January 19, 2012)

Reflecting on the trip as a whole, Day 9 in Matapalo, Costa Rica ranks highly among the rest. I slept in... then gobbled up a plate (or two) at Costa Linda breakfast... then read a couple pages of my book... and then became productive, by first helping to pack the truck, the mode of transport for this adventurous day. Fully stocked, after opting for a food and fuel pit-stop in Quepos, off I continued, with Uncle J and K.F.A., to Matapalo. Timing our arrival with the tide, which we "raced" all morning, we wasted no time tossing our paddle boards into the lagoon where we propelled ourselves alongside the dense population mangrove trees. (I wish wish wish I had a camera equipped for water sports.) The fresh water lagoon seemed an idyllic spot for crocodiles--I spotted nada one, however, the fear swam through my soul. At one point, adrenalized, I was doing push-ups on my board. Then sit-ups. Then deciding paddling would progress me furthest away from said crocodiles I hallucinated.

When it came time to test the big waters, I was swallowed up by a vicious rip tide. Round and round, I swirled, no arm strength left to free myself. I love a solid endurances challenge... eventually my non-panicked spirit won out. I climbed ashore, ate some humble pie, and absorbed myself in the pristine scenery--surrounding a full 360-degree vantage point. (There might have been a photo shoot.)

The tide was not behaving, so we opted to saving the ocean for later. We re-loaded the truck and took off on a hunt for coconut water; along the way, K.F.A. went flying off the back of the truck. Safely first(!!!). I sadly missed her fall and honestly noticed she was missing far too late, allowing her to make a gracious recovery... literally running after our crazed driver. Her ankle would later hate her for attempting such a feat, with passenger number three now buckled in we feverishly traversed the network of palm tree framed trails in search of the the perfect coconut tree.

Once there, we stocked up on coconuts and pictures--seriously miles upon miles of isolated p-r-i-s-t-i-n-e beaches--in a second photo shoot.

Our next stop was the abandoned lemon, lime, and orange orchard. Hello fallen fresh fruit heaven. I chomped down on a lemon as we traveled the distance to a beach shelter, apparently built just for our afternoon picnic lunch. Tomato sandwiches were on the menu, dessert was a prime watermelon.

I eventually braved the pacific, starting my paddle board venture past the crashing waves... where I caught sight of a large school of HUGE sharks fish swarming my board, while stranded alone in the depths of the ocean. Hush conscience, must you be so loud. I came barreling in right before one of the most spectacular sunsets of the journey. The sky looked to be on fired--low-flying clouds of red and purple, lit from below with dark gold. This day was called to an end much too quickly. I could have easily adapted to my largely uninhabited surroundings... where the wildlife sighting opportunities were excellent and the beaches were reflective of their mountainous, palm lined borders... for life.

The sole reason Day 9 did not walk away with the 'top day award' was a result of my subjection to dinner duty while my travel-mate was sidelined with bum ankle. This was ridiculous, K.F.A.'s ankled swelled much slower than my appetite... I wanted to join the injured reserve list. And even worse than kitchen time, my co-chef, Uncle J,  was way into the art of cooking and wildly concerned with presentation, more so than this perfectionists was with her science fair displays. The dinner preparation extended to a total time of 1:37:28 and can only be compared to torture. When the masterpiece--mushroom potato pancake with sauteed beet greens and heart of palm salad was (finally) ready, I consumed my portion before K.F.A. photographed hers; my taste buds never discerned if the meal itself was actually delicious.

Two hours late to bed, I recalled a quote from one of my favorite women, Eleanor Roosevelt, who stated, "The purpose of life is to live it, to taste it, to experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for richer experience." Eleanor would have been proud of my ninth day.

Travel Day

I would be failing you, dear readers, if I did not include the occasional lengthy day of travel. This particular combination land-water-land excursion exposed me to Costa Rica's diversified terrain as I made headway from Mal Pais back to Montezuma, from there to Jacó, onto Quepos, and eventually to Manuel Antonio, the final destination on this travel day.

By sharing this day I will have more time to, first, re-dwell on the fact K.F.A. and I shared a twin bed the night before take-off. And because of this, my day started deceptively early, circa midnight. I must have been up every hour waiting for the night to end. When I was finally "up" I packed my belongings, and had and easy conversation over email and breakfast. The first leg of travel was a shuttle from Mal Pais to our previous home in Montezuma. No hiccups in this pre-arranged transportation. Smile.

Upon a re-stocking trip to the ATM, I noticed funds from my account had been misplaced. The discomfort settled in... realizing I was many hours from internet. I forced myself to enjoy the scheduled boat ride from Montezuma to Jacó. This bumpy boat trip was worth every penny--I spotted some of the best views waving goodbye to the Nicoya Pennisula. I have about twelve attempted shots of me riding in this janky puddle boat; I tried to capture an image that would cast light on the rough water experience. (I am not sure I succeeded, but for the record, when I awoke in Manuel Antonio the next morning, I could not figure out why on earth my back was painfully sore. Geee.)

Seasick and safe, I wandered the streets of Jacó--the quintessential rapidly developed Costa Rican city, more thankful than ever this was simply a one-hour stopover. And by sharing this day I can, secondly, further expound on the transformation from village to city when dollar signs are involved. In Jacó, moneyed ex-pats aimlessly lurked in the streets of this city built-up nastiness. In a game of "What came first, the chicken or the egg?" I ponder if the beaches were cleared for the high-rise hotels, the land was leveled for the paved road, and the fast-food chain came before the Western retiree? Oh boy! With the unending creature comforts... I almost convinced myself to stick around.

The 60-minute stopover had a highlight: BATHROOMS. Yes. That was Jacó's highlight. Tourism perk?

Next I boarded a hot, crowded Quepos bound bus where I used my devil eyes to secure a seat after standing 20 minutes too long. I opted out of the countryside landscape for an afternoon nap, Dispath playing in my iPod doubled to soothe my restful eyes and tune out the bus banter. I cannot adequately describe the aggressive, reckless driving style that the developing world practices despite hairpin turns over the narrow mountainous roads. I do not generally dwell on the negative possibilities of life. And I do not necessary want a safe life. I want a real life, a full life. But... that being said, every once in awhile my heart needs a break from each precariously close multi-car collision... even if it means skipping out of the naturally lush scenery.

This ride ended and I transferred to my final bus of the day, a short ride up, up, up from Quepos to Manuel Antonio. The evening began with an ocean-dip to the background of a setting sun; the drinks flowed generously as I was carried into the morning.

This is a sample of the ease of Costa Rican travel.

The Result

This is what happens when I have company. The is what the aftermath of the holidays look like. This is the result of two straight weeks of socializing. This is what happens when I return from a week-long trip. This is what happens when I devote three hours a night to bowl-game season. This is what preparing for a five-week Central American vacation is like.

I have a mile long, or three-page, chicken-scratched 'to-do' list. And, quite magically, it is growing. There are tasks within each task. It is maddening.

And while I would like to accomplish the works of this list before my Wednesday morning departure, I am not fretting. I am relaxed--many praises to exercise, first-rate friends, and the clean-slate of a new year.

Tis the season of a whole lot to accomplish... and far less time to write. Sigh.

Unwasted

I am in the middle of re-settling into my routine succeeding recent travel. There are letters to write, cookies to be decorated, phone calls to return, blogs to post, runs to eliminate Thanksgiving stuffing, pictures to edit... and some might add, a job to find, if entry level openings in fact exist.

Then, a minute late, Mom casually mentions The Cleaning Ladies are coming today. This announcement sends me into an immediate downward spiral of depression. Things get crazy chaotic when The Cleaning Ladies show up three hours sooner than expected... and Mom was out walking Louis. Fails: Mother 2; Daughter 0. I am left to finish turning the house upside down in preparation while The Cleaning Ladies begin doing the cleaning I mistakingly thought I had been doing all morning. The required work deepens my depression. I am infuriated and flustered, which lends itself to a basic algebra session. Nerd, I know, but I think we have already established that fact. The calculation: How many days--The Cleaning Ladies to blame--have I wasted? The answer: 474. Grrrrreat.

Come nightfall I will jump into a bed of crispy clean sheets... and all will be forgotten, that is, until Wednesday, two weeks from today. (End Prelude)

On the 'waste today' list was Target, Starbucks, Bed Bath & Beyond (Is there a store stocked with more unnecessary goods?), Bank of American't, the ABC Store, and Bloom. Somewhere between purchase a gift for S.M.S., girlfriend of C.D.H., and deposit check for C.A.H. we (Mom + me) came across Occupy Chick-fil-A.

Tomorrow is the grand opening of the town's first Chick-fil-A. 

The registration for the "First 100" began this morning at six. To claim your free Chick-fil-A for a year,  your presence is mandatory for the 24-hour stretch prior to the official opening. The daytime high is 42 degrees. This is a glimpse into the parking lot with seven hours down, 17 remaining:

And it gets better:

And better (for the omnivore)...

This jovial Cow Girl donated her earned free lunch to us... just because. Her generosity inspired me; Cow Girl has passion, and I am charmed by spirited people, undeterred by the fact her enthusiasm is, after all, for fried chicken. (My take on Chick-fil-A: Despite boasting a mean milkshake, increased business would result from the end of religious music in the bathrooms and more vegetarian menu options. Never lacking an opinion.)

Now, lest I remember this as a wasteful day. Eat Mor Chikin' America, eat on.

(And for those of you Southern born and bred, who know "First 100" recipients because Chick-fil-As pop up around you left and right, this experience was a first for me--do not take away my glory.)

September 27, 2011

The day for follow-up had (finally!) come; I proactively made the first of what would become several additional phone calls. Had everything gone according to plan, none of these phone calls would have been necessary. For all intents and purposes, I patiently waited the entire 10-week processing time prior to follow-up. Shame on me for being fooled twice.

My copious notes recall the first phone like this:

Automated Voice gives a grandiose introduction and continues with a multitude of options. "Press one for _____, two for _____, three for _____, ....., twelve for ____." My question most definitely required a teller for an answer... and teller was not option one, seven, nine, or 12. After careful instruction from Automated Voice, experience with _____ has taught me there is no cutting in line. I listened to all twelve options and punched a number at random because, again, the take-me-to-teller-now button was nonexistent. The number eight, my random choice, gave me eight more to chose from--still no teller. This time, selecting the most appropriate choice, 13 options followed. The 'select superior option' method was repeated. This is when I almost hung up...

but persevered because today was about being proactive(!!!). And, thank goodness I did--option six was getting me somewhere... that is, to nine more choices. Applying my successful line of thinking I picked number four to guide me through minute 17 of my time with Automated Voice. I'm partial to the number four; it rarely lets me down. Sound effect. The words "service representative" were listed. Hope. Light. An end! I was checked-out (understatement of the year) and missed the number though. SOOOO all seven options were read again--my prayers were with the Service Lady behind number five.

If you are ever dealing with _____ and you want to speak directly to Service Lady. The code is eight-three-six-four-five. Write it down; you'll be glad you did.

You're completely lost. You do not even know what I'm talking about. Two. 14. Six. Three. Seven. Yes, favorite numbers.

Not. Being. Funny. Trying desperately, maybe?

Service Lady tells me all the paperwork has been received but not processed. Hmmm, 10 weeks for processing... wasted. Yes. Okay. No. My organization needs to complete the remaining two pages of the document. Long, awkward, speech-composing pause. "Ummm, like, could you contact them? You see, like, they are over me and this might be more efficient if you touched base with them? Like, I really do not enjoy communicating with them, and you're could be the third party solution to the ongoing saga. You could do this great big favor, be rewarded by the heavens, for doing this. This is the difference between me and my next ulcer. Help a sister out. There would be extra please and thank you and everything, from now until forever if you took a step to prevent me from hating life more than I already do. Pleeeeeeease!"

I actually said all those words in an equally desperate tone. The conversation was recorded. You can request it from _____. She hung up on me. I hit a low point. I can forgive her for thinking I had lost my marbles... but hanging up! Not acceptable.

I grew up and called headquarters. Bless Jane Doe on the other end of the line for answering her phone.  Ms. Doe confirmed my worst fear--this isn't over.

This conversation lead me to another call with _____. When I had to call back, Automated Voice and I only exchanged words a total of four minutes before I was back with the endearing Service Lady. This time, before hanging up, she directed me to the next level of help--unable to answer my original question. See folks, I am better than Automated Voice. Next Level did not answer my phone call or call me back within four hours, which is greater than the extent of my patience.

HQ suggested I re-fill-out the 40 page packet, fax it to them from the office I don't work in because I'm still unemployed; they will take it from there.

And then they will request I give them 10 weeks to process. And I will not. I will call daily to ensure paperwork is being moved along. In the midst of yakking with Service Lady and chatting with Jane Doe there was much revealed. The paperwork, my end perfectly filled out, has been sitting incomplete at _____ since the 17th of July. During the processing period ZERO people called to tell me there was a missing component in the file. This is after additional paperwork was submitted a month later.

This is a serious case of my being ill-informed. This is a serious case of my having faith in humanity. This is a serious case of an awesome day.

In the midst of all this... it rained for the the 100th day in September. Figure that math.

And the Braves are lost by six to the Phillies.

This is my life. It is not a sitcom.

Blog Spam

Spam, in any form, is awful.

These bits and pieces, complied into random postings, tell my story. The casual, real people feedback has been and is always welcomed. Having "an audience" forces me to continually work on strengthening my writing, reminds me to capture events normally undocumented with photos, and encourages me to share honestly the emotion of each season... I am, however, over the spam comments that come along with blogging.

The millionth repetitive, non-relevant comment by a automated stranger exposed a new level of rage. First their was one, then there were many. Such is spam. Well, recently, all on my own--a technological feat--I altered the settings of Explore. Dream. Discover. to prevent future spammers access. As an added bonus, removing spam ensures I see each new comment almost immediately.

Nothing will be overlooked.

Bank Of American't

This morning during my routine monthly bill paying session I was alarmed to see a 12 dollar 'monthly maintenance fee' withdraw from my checking account. Twelve dollars? This is the first of what I expect is several to come. Joy, 144 dollars a year I.don't.have. Thanks to my pathetic status of unemployment, entitling me to a payroll monthly direct deposit of approximately zero dollars. I, already poor, will become poorer.

Do you know what kind of interest rate my savings account earned in this very same month: 0.0000529 percent(!!!). At least I know how to make myself laugh. Even I am old enough to remember the day when banks were picked based on interest rates. Both accounts linked at Bank of America, it's clear to me who the profiteer is.

Bank of America is "the nation's leading financial institution and home for all your financial needs," that is, if you are willing to pay exorbitant fees. Further research led to the discovery Bank of America suffered an expected nearly nine billion dollar loss in the 2011 second quarter. I'm using the word "suffered" very loosely. And the natural follow-up to that: why? In order to, according to the New York Times, "dole[d] out huge payments to settle legal claims related to it's troubled mortgage division."

Our beloved Bank of America messed up, made costly mistakes; we all do, except we hopefully right-the-wrong ourselves; they instead chose to leave you and me, the consumer, to pay. Literally. Tell me that isn't the best news you have heard all day; it topped my list.

I now worship the devil because that is all I can equate this corporation too.