Last weekend was SO exciting. So exciting in fact, that I spent the whole week recovering from it. So exciting that I couldn't even describe it.

Or, I just didn't feel like typing it.

It involved these things: friendship from the QCA folk, my mom, one of my favorite movies in stage format, Harry Potter, day drinking, doggies, more day drinking, more HP, sushi, cosmos and wine, Modern Family, night frights from friends, a corn maze, a naked golden statue, a corn maze, mailboxes in the maze, and a one pound hamburger (the gunderburger).

I did all of those things. Seriously. It was just great. I must, however, describe to you the one pound hamburger.

My friend Jenna and I first went to the corn maze. Excuse me, the Maize Maze. :) Which might have been a great choice, because I don't think I would have survived a post burger maze.

Goldie Sicurash in the Maize Maze. Jenna and I won her. At a dance competition.

We get to the Irish Shanty at about 4:30 p.m. We walk in. We get beer. We (for like, three seconds, ok? Barely even counts) contemplate getting one gunderburger. Yes, we came to our senses very quickly with the realization that we are strong, beautiful, intelligent women. We can eat one freakin pound of meat. No problem.

So. Much. Meat.

Our waitress was totally impressed with us. (several minutes later). The gunderburgers arrive. The plate is mostly meat. No matter. We've got this. The burgers--deeeeelish. Seriously. Great. A quarter of the way through, we're making great time. We feel like we have set a nice pace. Halfway through....things slowed down a bit. Realizing that if we slow down, we won't make it through, we decided to plow on through a little quicker. (Note: we definitely had fries to. Come on, you need a palate cleanser when you are planning on eating that much red meat!) A little over halfway through, I start sweating. Conversation dulls. I'm starting to feel a bit ill. Jenna looks at me like she is in pain. I'm sure my face says the same. At this point I put my nose to the grindstone and the blinders up and just went for it. Until the last three bites. They just sat there on my plate. Looking at me menacingly. I mean, I take pride in the fact that I know how to eat. Really eat. But never before was I in a heated sweat nearing a meat coma with a horrifying fear that one pound of ground beef was not going to stay in me. But I really REALLY really wanted a picture in the gunderburger hat. So somehow, I still am not quite sure where exactly it fit, but somehow I got that last three ounces of beef down. (Yes, yes, I know, that's what she said.) I swelled with pride at my accomplishment, and Jenna was right behind me. Ok, maybe the swelling wasn't so much pride as much as an excess of meat. (For real though, one of the most delicious burgers  I have ever had. Just....a lot.)

I put my game face on for this picture. There is a one pound burger, fries and beer in my belly.

The waitress asked if we wanted dessert. The thought almost made me toss my burger. We rolled out of there, pants unbuttoned, each bump on the road making me question my ability to keep food in my stomach. I got home and pants off lay in a meat coma watching Parks and Rec. But I totally ate a donut at 9:30 p.m. Because a chocolate donut seemed like the only reasonable item to end the day with. Even thinking about a burger makes me a little ill, a week later. But we did it. And it was glorious. And we will never do it again.

The week when I thought Tuesday was Friday.

I keep a pretty strict calendar. I'm not sure what I did before Siri came into my life (or, as I like to call her, Jessica). I may have had two paper planners. Plus a google calendar. Now, it's all in one. I always know what day of the week it is. I always know what number day it is. Even though I am one single person, I have to have color-coded events listings, just to ensure I get to where I am supposed to be. I think this comes from the fact that my family was chronically late. To everything. To parties. To the school bus (that picked us up in our driveway). To church--which WAITED  for us. Seriously. My mom was the church secretary, and apparently church could not start without us. So Sunday mornings...in we roll....fashionably (not so much) late, and Pastor would say OH great, they're finally here. We have some questions that only you can answer.

Honestly. They say that you can't label God's timing....but he will certainly wait for the church secretary.

.....(why did I write that....I'm not sure where I was going with...OH. YEAH.)

Calendars. So, I know what days are what. Except this week. I made it pretty solidly through several hours, at work hours, of Tuesday thinking it was Friday. The crushing blow when I realized it was not Friday was awful. Just. Awful. I think it's because I have a pretty firm grasp on time, and I am rarely caught off guard.

The nice part about Tuesdays is that I get to go to tap class, so that was nice. Even if it wasn't Friday.

Bad news: I kept thinking it was Friday for the next two days. Which is not fun.

Why do I want it to be Friday? STEPH IS COMING TO VISIT! My friends don't often make the trek to the northland to visit me. Honestly, it's not that I don't want them to, but I think it might be better that they don't en mass. Which is terrible for me to say, since I work in the tourism industry. But...my friends, when we get together...are a lot. Which is great. But the much-ness of my social circle already here...plus the a lot-ness of my visiting friends may very possibly make this little hamlet explode. Maybe it's good that we are a lot in other places, bigger places where we get to be more anonymous.

They can and should (hint hint) come visit me in singles or small groups. That's super cool. And Steph is! And Steph, well, she's super neat. We are going to See a Play and go on Adventures and watch HP7 (maybe twice) and The Office and play The Office Trivia and Eat and Bake and Eat and be Fun. And probably throw in a lot of walks to balance out the eating. It's gonna be zoppity.

It's pretty clear why I'm ready for it to be Friday, right?

Brother is not allowed to give compliments.

Last weekend was full of family and life events in epic proportions. Serrriously. It started like this:

Friday: Co-parent some puppies. That was pretty great. And cuddly. And furry. And happy. And cozy. Co-parenting dogs is probably harder than co-parenting kids, especially when they're not yours. At least at 5 am you're not the only one who has to get up out of the cozy bed and let some furry monsters relieve their bladders. Ah, who am I kidding. I totally didn't get up. I let co-parenting partner handle that.

Sidenote: Watched "The Artist" on Friday night. LOVED IT. I think silent films really are my kind of thing.

Saturday: Wake up with doggies. Craft show. Kolaches. Go to craft show. Get yelled at by co-parent for taking their shoes, which clearly wasn't my fault, as I didn't even wear shoes home. I had on footie pajamas. Shoes weren't needed. The dogs took the shoes to play with, so it wasn't my fault anyway. Go home change clothes. Go to funeral for great uncle. Say lovely goodbye's to Uncle Bob. (*Sidenote: my fondest and most vivid memories of Uncle Bob are nothing of what my family shared and spoke of. Rather, I remember him tickling me, shouting "Chicken leg chicken leg" and me running screaming from room to room.) Spend time with family I haven't seen in years.

Drive to parents house. With Brother and Brother's Girlfriend. Insert most insulting thing brother has ever said to me (also included in this post...hold your horses...). Brother tries to make it up to me by fixing broken rearview mirror on car and almost makes us late. Drive to wedding reception. Listen to speeches and take advantage of open bar and great caterers. Drive home. Change into layers and layers and layers of clothing. Make tea. Drive to Aunt and Uncle's 25th Anniversary party. Outside. In the frozen. Watch small humans interacting through the window. Wish that they were on all the time, as they were far more entertaining than TV. Drive home. Collapse. So. Much. People. Time.

So...the awful Brother insult (NOT a compliment like he thinks): Brother, Brother's Girlfriend (henceforth known as BG) and I, are in the car. Brother continuously criticizes my driving. I say something about my friends, or lack of social life or dates or romantic possibilities and he says..."You are like an orange. The outside is kind of ugly. It's edible in case of an emergency, and sometimes it's good for spicing it up, but no one really uses it. BUT, the inside is great, and delicious and everyone loves it."

BG and I had horrified expressions. I saw them in all of the mirrors (even the broken one). I used some choice phrases including but not limited to: "We look exactly alike, so you're ugly too...Nobody loves my outside?...Why are you awful?...I hate your face asswipe...YOU'RE A GRAPEFRUIT BECAUSE NO ONE EVEN LIKES THE INSIDES OF GRAPEFRUIT.."etc. BG told Brother he was a big jerk. Brother retorted, "It was a COMPLIMENT. I was saying something nice." He tried to make it up to me by fixing the rearview mirror on my car for free. Which really was very nice. And I appreciated it immensely. You better believe that I did continuously bring up the orange comment. All night. And he continued to argue his point. Jerk.

Clearly, he missed the session on how to actually give someone a compliment. It makes me wonder how he ever got a girlfriend in the first place.

I will admit: I have gone through this week in slight emotional distress. What if I am like an orange? If your family really knows you and call you out on things, is Brother right? Should I start tanning to really get my complexion to match my demeanor? Am I only good for an occasional zesting? DOES NO ONE LOVE THE OUTSIDE OF ME? Thanks to my brother. And his backhanded compliment. He is not allowed to compliment me ever again. Ever.

Words you should never see in a text from your sister: Sex. Mom. Print.

It may have said "Mom wants you to print off the recipe for the Better than Sex cake and bring it to her."

I shouldn't read my texts so fast. I got none of the actual message the first time I read that. Here is a sampling of texts I have received this week. I'll protect the guilty by not calling them out on what they say to me:

"Skateboard your face." (ok, from two weeks ago.)

"I can get drunk alone in the comfort of my own home."

"B told me you live in a department."

"We can chip carve a dragon into it. I learned how to do that on "Wayne's Woodworking" on the Create Channel."

"I have to figure out how to configure my desk so I can lie down."

"**pictures of them with their cats.**"

"Get in my bed."

"Pow pow pow. *Banana Gun.*"

"I can only recommend drowning."

"I've determined 1 tap dance stalk is worth 5 window stalks."

"Do you have a microwave? Do you want elbow macaroni?"

"Can I drop off the robes?"

"We should male plans when I'm home."

"Chill calm time, totally cranky-uterus friendly."

"Also...what is patchouli? A lover...or a tyrant?"

"Freshman yes!"

"Wait, do you have to wear underwear with that?"

I don't think I really even need to share some of the things I texted back. Next time.

Neat Days, Goodbye to a friend and getting my smile back

Yesterday was a neat day. It had everything a day should have: nice weather, doggies, laughter, tears, friendship and a whoooole lot of carbs.

The day didn’t (admittedly) start great. I didn’t want to get up. My head still hurts. Seriously. Still. Hurts. I have a wayyy high tolerance for pain, and this is getting ridiculous. Especially since I very very rarely get headaches. Maybe I have the plague.

So, the day happened. Work was weird. Here’s the thing about my job: when I have a to-do list, it doesn’t EVER get done. Yes, my work is all about people, and whatever happens, happens. I do have actual other things with deadlines though. That combination is very very tricky. It depends entirely on when the phone rings, who walks in and how needy people are. I have been known to shout from my desk when I see tourists wandering up. The glass must be relatively soundproof because my pleas of “GO awAY! We don’t want you here. No one really wants you to visit. You don’t need to know where that one restaurant that used to have that one thing on the menu that moved down the block many years ago and used to be run by the kid next door’s uncle. I really don’t care if you find the bike trail. NO you won’t get lost. Only 8200 people live here, it’s not big enough to get lost. The eagles are really not that exciting. Frankly, that one that got fried on a pole had it coming. You couldn’t find our office? Really? THEN HOW ON EARTH ARE YOU STANDING HERE TALKING TO ME.”

They really must not hear that. They certainly act like they don’t. It’s only on crabby days that I shout. I don’t shout every single day. My co-worker does give me a piece of advice on my life every single day. Yesterday it was “I think you need to make better choices in terms of friendship and bedfellows.” I’ve decided I’m going to incorporate her daily wisdom into my blog.

She’s a wise lady.

It's so beautiful it makes me want to throw up. And I  get to live here.

Post work: Walk some dogs. Not my dogs. Some dogs that belong to some friends. I watch them regularly. We play games. We have good talks. The walk was long. (The poor doggies have short little legs. They were troopers.) The leaves were amazing. It was a simply perfect fall day. Simply. Perfect. Things have been a little rough lately. Well, more than a little rough. I’ve been kind of a mess lately. Most things have been a mess lately, and I’ve been trying to claw my way out of this hole.

What a handsome little nugget.

But yesterday, I got my smile back. After the most amazing walk, I went home, got myself into some great new fall clothes, and had dinner at one of my favorite restaurants with a dear friend. Ms. Elizabeth is leaving. For a long, long time. For an island in the Pacific. With the Peace Corps. With no internet. And potentially no running water. Last night was the last time I’ll see her until 2015. 2015. Justin Beiber will (maybe) have gone through puberty by then. OH, how good it was to spend one last evening with her. We drank some beer, we ate some bread, we ate some hummus, we ate some pasta, we ate some cake…we talked about everything. We just got to be. I just love her, and I wish her so much love and light on her journey into the ocean. She’s one of the bravest people I know, and I will miss her so very much. Send that girl some love and strength, world!

So, yesterday was great. I’m still fighting some battles, but I got a little victory. Today I played at the park with two of my favorite small beings, (humans) and one of my favorite large beings (also human). And, I got to go back to tap class. Yes, tap class. Oh, glorious day, tap class—and ballet is coming on Thursday! And, my friend made me chili and complimented my life-sized stuffed sherbert colored winged toothed dragon. I think today was a neat day, too.

Some of my favorite humans.

Do It Herself: The Toolkit

My family is big on practical gifts. Each Christmas my Gramma gets me a big box filled with necessities, things like toilet paper, toothpaste, tinfoil, cans of soup, crackers, chapstick, cleaning products…you get the point. (I’ve finally figured out in the past couple years that if I give her the list of products I prefer a couple months before the holidays, things work out pretty nice for me, and I don’t have to buy much of anything until at least June. Which is when my birthday is, so that’s pretty neat…)

So, we’re that family. The family that buys Mom a spatula every year because inevitably my father/brother/sister has lost all of them/broke them/left them outside and the dogs chew on them. The family that buys Dad new wrenches for his birthday because his are lost somewhere in the hayfield from last August when he was fixing the baler and didn’t put them back on the tractor. One Easter I found underwear hidden in the eggs during the egg hunt. I have very unrealistic expectations from Easter eggs to this day.

One of the most practical gifts of all time came when I was in second grade. I think, probably second. About that time-ish. Let’s just all agree it was second grade. It was a toolkit. A “Do-It Herself Toolkit” to be exact. And because my parents didn’t buy into the whole gender-roles thing, it was BLUE. It had a hammer, a mini screwdriver set (which came in very handy during my clarinet playing years), a regular size screwdriver set, a needle-nose and regular pliers, a crescent wrench, a tape measure, miscellaneous fasteners (lame, still haven’t used those), and three other cool things that Mom thought I would do too much damage with: a scissors, a chalk line, and an exacto knife. Why she let me keep the hammer and not the scissors, I will never ever know. The chalk line I entirely understand.

99 pc. Minus 3.

At the time, I thought it was cool. There were things I needed tools for. Things like building birdhouses and breaking my brother’s stuff, and just basic carrying-around so I looked like I was being helpful. However, these tools have come in unbelievably handy over the years. Example: today, I used my hammer to put up a shelf, and a screwdriver to fix my chair that I tripped over when I was trying to sweep but didn’t want to actually pull the chairs out from the table and sweep under it but attempted to sweep around it…then--trip. The fall happened in more time than it took you to read that. An oh-no…uh oh…this might…wait…oh, crap..yep…shit…this is going to fall and I’m going with it kind of fall.

That practical gift has more than paid for itself. Especially because the name “Do It Herself Toolkit” makes me giggle out loud every time I see it, (hehehehe, seriously. Do It Herself.) but I that little toolkit comes in handy on a weekly basis. (Crap. Now I feel the need to type “That’s what she said” after every sentence about the toolkit.) The chalk line and scissors would be nice though. Mom broke the scissors. Or maybe it was brother. It was probably him. I’ve since bought other scissors, but they don’t match the set. The chalk line…well, Mom said she lost that. (I’m sure she’s kept them for herself. I still could do some serious damage with that.)

So thank you parents. Thank you for the year that you got my brother a Barbie and dress up clothes and me a toolkit. Thank you for practical gifts. This year I wish for a kitchen aid mixer, a serger for my sewing room, a pet monkey and new vacuum. Those are all very practical.

Friday Night Supper: To Ryan

To Ryan:

On Friday night, I had three glasses of wine, an egg and cookie dough for supper.

Good talk.