Adventures in Unemployment: Days 3 & 4-- Also Known as "How I Am (Kinda) Failing at Being Unemployed"

To be fair, I am not failing at being unemployed, in as much as I am still not going to a job in which I exchange hard work, talent, and the occasional joke for monetary compensation and health insurance.

Let's start with the things I have done right in unemployment:

I do make my bed every day. I do the dishes every day. I have contributed to the cleanliness of my apartment every day. These are mostly symptoms of the fact that I am spending a lot of time in my apartment every day. Spend 14 waking hours in your home and it is easy to spare 40 minutes to make the bed, do the dishes, and sweep the bathroom.

I have also managed to go outside every day, between errands and appointments that have beckoned me to leave the house.  These are little blessings in disguise and really break up my day.

Dance parties every day? That's a given. That's what I do in my normal life, who are we kidding.

Things I have done less right:

I think it is physically impossible to actually sleep for 8 hours a night unless I have the flu. The only way this is likely to happen is if I drug myself, and I think that taking drugs while I hang at home by myself with my cat with no job is not a very good idea. Plus, I can't afford gratuitous drugs.

I have made some progress on looking for work, but 90 minutes is a pretty long time. The goal for the weekend/next week? Research the department of the U that has offered to interview me. Read everything they ever wrote. Brand myself as the perfect  poster child for their work.

I haven't gotten a library card, volunteered, taken a class, or gone to the museum. Perhaps my unemployment list was ambitious? I argue (with) myself, that I still have time. My only hope on the horizon is an interview that happens next Friday. That gives me all week next week. There's time.

Where I really feel like a failure is in the kitchen. I promised to make homemade yogurt, but I don't have a kitchen thermometer or milk. I promised to make bread, but I am daunted/am missing half the dry ingredients necessary.

So, I thought I would start a little simpler. Get 'back on the bike' with some familiar recipes.  I was thinking chocolate chip cookies, but I also bought a cake mix and ready-to-spread frosting.

So, when I went to make chocolate chip cookies, I discovered I had no brown sugar and no baking powder. Pantry fail. But, I wasn't too discouraged because I had that cake mix and I bought some super cute sprinkles. Everyone loves cupcakes with sprinkles.

And guess what? Cupcakes require vegetable oil. Guess what I don't have?

Total kitchen fail.

I managed to make grilled cheese and tomato soup. The cheese was pre-sliced and the soup came from a can. I still burnt the bread when I ignored the sandwich in the pan for too long.

Well, here's hoping I don't starve on Day 5.

Heated Seats: A Primer

Pack up your swimsuits. Roll up the beach towels.  Lose the sunscreen behind the seat of the car.  It's about to be winter. Or, at the very least, we are well-seated in a chilled, blustery fall.*

The one feature of the new car that I can find is the heated seat dial.  Heated seats?! Heated seats, friends. The dial seems pretty self-explanatory.  It has numbers from 0 to 5, 0 presumably (and correctly) being no heat. And then each number is a little warmer than the one before, until you get to 5, which in my world seems that it would be bliss.  The warmer, the better. 

It is not so.

The dial is quite misleading.  Today I tested it out, and I have assessed what each number really stands for:

0: No heat. Great for the summer.**
1: Still not really any heat. Wouldn't thaw a rump roast.
2: Things are getting good. Lightly toasted buns. Perfect.
3: Oooh, that's hot. Hot hot, actually. Uh, I don't really like this.  Too hot.
4: Oh dear god, BURNING! Too hot! Turn it off! Turn it off!!
5: [Right, you think after my experience at level 4 I turned it up to level 5?! Who do you think I am?]

If you love your butt, you will oscillate between a 2 and 3. Never higher.



* I have loved the word blustery forever.  From the Winnie the Pooh film Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day. One of the best children's movies ever.
** Ask me about the time I accidentally turned on heated seats in the summer and thought I was dying of meningitis.

Stuck in the Slow Lane

Last week, I upgraded automobiles.  Gone is the 1999 Saturn, affectionately known as the Plastik Vunderkar (let me someday tell you about selling cars on Craigslist. Holy cow). In is a 2004 Jetta, the Green Machine.

Having a car that runs a bit better like an actual car and not like a Barbie corvette Matchbox car made me think I would soon be experiencing the wide open spaces of the crowded city avenues like this:

After all, this car was built for the autobahn!

However, this new-to-me car has a lot more bells and whistles.  More accurately: things most modern drivers think everyone has, but in fact, everyone did not. For example: a sun roof, power locks with the little hand held remote so I can "meep meep" my car from 20 feet away, power windows, an automatic transmission.  In addition to the new things, I am still working on finding all the standard things.  It took me 3 minutes to figure out how to turn the lights on.  We had a light drizzle here the other day and I had my windshield wipers on "Hyperspeed Go-Go-Gadget NO RAINDROPS EVER" mode because I could not get them to slow down. A check engine light came on for an issue not even remotely related to the engine.  Yesterday I accidently hit the panic button in my pocket while walking crutching loudly away from the car, scaring the dickens right out of a handful of delightful senior ladies out for a walk. 

Today, the whole drive in to work, the "door ajar" light was illuminated, and I figured this was just like the check engine light. So it says the door is ajar, I thought, but I can see that no doors are, in fact, ajar.  What else could it be? Is it because there is condensation on the back window? I'll turn on the defroster.  Wait. How do I do that? Oh, here. Good.  Nope, some non-door is still not ajar.  Hmmm. 

After a string of button mashing operations that included opening and closing the windows and sunroof, unlocking and relocking all the doors, turning on the hazards and then turning them off, it dawned on me.  Yesterday, when I hit the panic button, I probably also hit the trunk release button!

When I got to the parking lot, that truth was confirmed. Luckily, the trunk requires some strength to actually open even once the latch has been released, so I wasn't that idiot who drove all the way to work with their trunk all gaping.

Still, I have downgraded my expectations of the new-car-driving experience.  Not because the car isn't great, but because it is likely smarter than me. This is a more accurate visual representation of my life on the autobahn:

Q: What's Less Fun Than Running a Marathon?

A: Going to the Emergency Room because of it.

No worries, though friends. Turns out to just be a fracture.  There was some concern it could be Compartment Syndrome, a 'limb and life threatening injury,' but it's just your run-of-the-mill stress fracture.  

If any medical professional tells you they are going to do a 'striker' test for compartment syndrome, put your big girl/boy panties on. That's a doozy. 

I Don't Even Know What 'Hyponatremia' Is, but I Do Not Want It

Part of being a well-prepared marathoner is the physical training. Up the hill. Down the hill. 8 miles. 10 miles. A half marathon. 16 miles. Wind. Rain. Beating sun. You gotta get used to all of that.  Plus, learn to love blisters. 

The other part of being a well-prepared marathoner is to know as much as possible about race day.  What time do I need to be at the start? Where can I park? How many racers are there? When can I expect to see a water stop? How many satellite bathrooms are available and where? And most importantly (I think): what do I do if I get into trouble?

It is no secret that running a marathon is a bit stressful on one's body and the need for some medical attention on race day is common.  In order to prepare myself, today I read Twin Cities in Motion's medical procedures for the marathon. 

I found most of the information to be super helpful.  For one, I love a good color-coded system that tells me how the weather conditions may affect runners.  Also, it is good to know that there are over 300 medical staff and they are wearing orange.  This is important.

But some of the information, I found a little more amusing. Or maybe ironic? I am not sure.  Below, in the bolded text  you can read the policy and in the red italicized text you can read my thoughts on that policy.


"Runners who are ill should not start."
You cannot convince me that there is a single person who signed up for a marathon that is even close to being in their right mind.  All these runners are 'ill.'

This next part is in reference to their Impaired Runner Policy.

To be allowed to continue the race, a runner must:

a) be able to proceed in a straight path toward the finish line;
This would be easier to do if the race was a straight path towards the finish instead of weaving all over the Cities to add up to an obscene number of miles. I know the distance between Minneapolis and Saint Paul is not 26.2 miles...
b) be able to explain who they are, where they are on the course, and what they are doing;
In the best of health and clarity of mind, I would probably be able to tell you who I am.  But in the middle of a marathon there is no way I am going to know why I am on that course or what I am doing. I am going to think I have lost my mind a long time before any medical professional suspects it. I might already be thinking I have lost my mind.
c) look clinically fit to proceed with good skin color and body appearance
d) be able to maintain a reasonable running posture.
Both (c) and (d) assume you started the race with these things... which just might not be totally true for all of us.

Downed runner procedures:

When a runner goes down during or immediately after the race, the medical team will assess for cardiac arrest, exertional heat stroke, hyponatremia, insulin shock, and exercise associated collapse; begin first aid; and transfer.
Please also assess me for the common medical ailment "Worn the eff out."

The medical response plan includes advanced life support ambulances and bike teams with automatic defibrillators.
'Advanced life support?!' Dear god.

All runners are encouraged to provide family and friends with their race number in case of a medical emergency.

When my race number is assigned, you will likely be able to find it here, in some sort of email with paragraphs upon paragraphs of emergency information, as well as posted to social media sites such as Facebook and Twitter.  I just want to have all my bases covered.  In case something happens. Which it won't.

Honestly, I am not too worried-- I feel healthy, I know my limits and if I get overwhelmed during the race there is no harm in leaving the course. A finisher's medal is not worth losing my health or knee joints.  And it's comforting to know all this effort is going in to making sure every racer that day has the healthiest marathon possible.

Home Makeover: Modern Mugwump Edition

Did a little makeover to my living room this weekend, courtesy of nice-guy-who-didn't-turn-out-to-be-an-ax-murderer who was selling an IKEA television stand that just happens to be, like, the missing piece from my collection. Seriously, so perfect.

I know I just moved in a few months ago, so you are probably wondering why I felt the need to rearrange.  When you figure out that answer, let me know because sometimes I really would love to just leave things as they are, omigod stop MOVING AND CHANGING EVERYTHING. Creative minds cannot be contained (see: selling my art, running a marathon, inventing "dream life scenarios" that mirror every single real life scenario I have, but flashier) and thus the furniture got all shifted around.

Before: messy and cavernous. Way too large for Cat and I.

After: messy still, because I live here (duh.).

Photos are a little hard to get the whole gist, but simply: one huge room is now 2 functional spaces. Move. The. Eff. Over. Martha Stewart. Eat my zen furniture dust (and boy was it dusty under that couch! whew). 

Unfortunately, Cat was a bit skeptical of the changes for a while.  I am not totally sure why but I can guess a few reasons:

1. He cannot both chew on the blinds and get his claws stuck in the couch at the same time.  

2. I spend more time in the seating area, but I put his toy den in the other half. He may think this is foolish oversight on my part, but I can assure you I am happy to have the stupid mouse with the freakish light up eyes somewhere where I don't watch scary movies. 

Anyway, he spent most of the day "hiding" from me.  He's real stealthy, see? 

But it didn't take him long to get back to his ol' self.

And he even warmed right up (literally) to the sunshiney place his perch is in.

25 Things of Importance from My 25th Year

I kicked off the 25th year by going to the Red Bull Flugtag in Saint Paul.  Grown adults, about 6-8 per team, build falling flying machines and throw them into fly them over the Mississippi river.  Very fantastic way to celebrate one's birthday!

Brewhouse Triathlon in Duluth, MN.  This trip also included my first time swimming in Lake Superior and a chance to see the beautiful tall ships in a special event in the Duluth Harbor. 

The Muddy Buddy Race, where I learned that ski slopes are for skiing and mountain bikes are heavy.

A pop/rock concert with my grandma at the Target Center (American Idol on Tour).

Two lovely camping trips to the North Shore with two lovely friends, one of which who has a gift for cooking over a fire.

A trip to our nation's capitol, which I think should be called the City of Learning.  You cannot possibly be seeing Washington, DC right if you do not learn something.  Also got to see an exhibit by one of my favorite contemporary American artists, Chuck Close.

Defended my Masters thesis on a sunny Tuesday afternoon.

(So I am using my calendar to make sure I don't miss any important events) I wrote "Christmas Tree Extravaganza" on a weekend in December and at first couldn't figure out what on earth that meant.  But then I remembered: it means even as an adult, there is something very safe and a bit magical about getting to go to the home where you grew up, even if it is only 15 miles from your current home.

Right away into the new year I met someone who weekly reminds me to 'chill out,' taught me to play frisbee golf, also has good taste in beer, tells wonderful stories from around the world, routinely emails me "must hear this" music, and provides a lot of perspective when things feel chaotic.

The ladies of the family took a clay tiles class.  The lesson? Canvas and paint just makes more sense to me, but I did walk away with at least one awesome coaster and a cool trivet.

Had an article I wrote about going to ASA Fastpitch Nationals as a young teenager published in the ASA Softball magazine.

Weekend trip to Fort Myers, Florida to watch Twins Spring Training, hang out with two fabulous ladies, and eat delicious seafood at quirky restaurants.

Moved into my first "on my own" apartment in a quiet Saint Paul neighborhood.  Quickly discovered how expensive that is. 

Celebrated Mom's first 5K finish at the Get in Gear 5K at Minnehaha Park!

Toured local brewery, Surly, and fell in love with their story (I was already in love with the beer).

Bought a kitty.  Rescued a kitty.  I already can't remember what my home was like before he walked under my feet, meowed constantly, and left little bits of shredded [fill in with: paper, cardboard, styrofoam, flowers, spider plant]. 

Celebrated the graduation of 2 lawyers, a dentist, and a physical therapist.  My friends are freakishly smart.

Traveled to Decorah, IA for good beer and a lot of potato salad, good friends, a trombone quartet in a farm garage (as deer ran across the field- no kidding!), and 5 people in a tent.  Oh, and a dog the size of a horse. 

A long and trying few weeks responding to the North Minneapolis Tornado.  Today, I am proud to have been a small piece of the puzzle that helped bring the needed resources to those affected and hopefully in the coming months we will see a stronger Northside. 

Personal best time at the Buffalo Triathlon. Thank you, less hilly bike course!

Hung my first art show at the Minneapolis Skyway Senior Center.  Apparently drew a lot of opinions from some of Minneapolis's most experienced citizens...

Went to several Twins games (finally seeing Target Field) but the highlight had to be watching one from a suite.  Nothing makes me a fan like free food and cushy seats.

Enjoyed the Ordway's production of "Guys and Dolls" with Mom and Kim for Mother's Day/Kim's birthday.

Accepted and sponsored to present my work at a national summit in Atlanta, GA.

Started selling artwork on Etsy.  Sold 2 so far, although only to people I know...

It's been a good year.  I am feeling ready to head into the next quarter century!

Drugging Your Cat and Other Thursday Night Things To Do

A few weeks ago-- maybe even over a month now-- I became the owner/feeder/keeper of this charming orange ball of fury kitty.

This model of cat (who I named Jasper, after Jasper Johns who is a famous American artist) comes complete with 20 extremely sharp claws, a mouthful of needle sharp teeth, and one giant attitude.  Unfortunately, right after I got him, I was involved in the tornado response in North Minneapolis and any sense of regularity and schedule he and I had started to develop was totally destroyed.

Since then, we have had a series of minor, but no less annoying, owner-cat issues.  Some hyperactivity, some aggression, some attempts to destroy things that I would rather not have destroyed thankyouverymuch.  I tried feeding him more, and then less, and then different. We have reestablished a schedule, as much as possible.  We play for no less than 15 minutes every morning and every night.

And yet, the following things have happened this week:

1. At one point in the evening, I found him completely underneath my area rug in the living room.

2. He climbed through the blinds.  And then got stuck.

3. He wedged himself in the space between the storm window and the inside window. And then got stuck. 

4. He jumped onto the shower curtain rod. And then got stuck.

5. He spent 45 minutes at 3 AM jumping on the wall after a dead bug and letting the pads of his feet squeeeeeak all the way down the wall on his way back to the floor, where he landed with a thud! and a MEOW! before promptly jumping again. 

6. My feet have been attacked while I was doing the following: sweeping, sleeping, stepping into the shower, stepping out of the shower, coming into my apartment, leaving the apartment, sitting on the couch, feeding the cat.

And the truthiest truth  is that I love him for his quirks and the strange trouble he gets himself into. But tonight I was at Petco and I saw these treats (he loves a tuna treat!) that help calm cats.  Like, uh, kitty Xanax.  I had actually been told about this once before-- some herbal supplements to basically get your cat to just chill the eff out.  And I was totally against it! I wasn't going to drug my cat! I was simply going to love the bad behavior right out of him! 

At the moment I was walking away, I remembered a story a grad school classmate told me about traveling when she was a child.  When she was little her parents used to give all their kids Benadryl or some other drowsy-making medication that made them all zonk out for the duration of a flight or road trip.  So the kids basically had no recollection of traveling-- just being in new places.  It's not that these parents didn't love their kids, they just also valued their own sanity.  So for $5.99 I thought I would just try it, and if I ended up with some doped up, tuna treat addict for a cat, we could stop. Enter him into detox, and then stop, really.

I walked into the apartment at 5:47 PM and the moment of truth occurred just before 6 PM.  And guess what? He wasn't doped up, he didn't just crash and sleep the whole night.  In fact, he still got in a little bit of trouble.  But he wasn't on the verge of psychosis.  More importantly, I was not on the verge of psychosis. He was playful and he even bit me once, for old time sake.  But now, as we wind down for bed he is actually winding down.  Let the choir sing.  

The packaging says I can give him 1-2 per day.  $6 per pack, 21 treats in the pack = $2 per week for a happier household that I think we are both appreciating.  I can handle that. 

And Then There Were Nine (Again)

6 months ago, I regaled you with the tale of the first marathon training casualty. A little right pinkie toenail that disappeared into the night. Later, I gladly reported the little guy's return and a once again full set of stubby toenails.

It is with a heavy heart (but lighter foot?) that I report today the loss of the left pinkie toe toenail.

When I first decided to train for the ridiculous impossible foolish challenging marathon, the first piece of advice I got was "Read. Read. Read. Read everything and try everything." So I created some bookmarks, got a subscription to Runner's World, and starting amassing as much knowledge as possible. The first article I read? "101 Ways Running a Marathon Will Totally Destroy You and the 1 Single Way it Will Be Cool."* Way at the top of the 101 Ways This Will Be Miserable was the loss of toenails. And it was followed by all these phrases that tried to make the disappearance of a body part seem normative: 'It happens to everyone,' 'don't be alarmed' blah blah blah. Don't be alarmed when part of you is completely missing?! Please.

In my mind, I envisioned this bloody war between running shoe and human body, complete with the stained socks of battle, weeks of taping the toe in hopes of saving the nail, and finally the literal agony of defeat (de-feet?) when the little guy finally lost his will to be on my pinkie toe any longer. It was destined to be a battle that I was prepared to fight, even though I knew the end result would be the same.

But it didn't happen like that at all. No blood. No savagely bruised foot or toe. No futile efforts to save it. It just quietly slipped away. Less heroic and more like the little nail said, "Eff this, I am sick of being rubbed by this damn shoe all the time. I'm out."

In a lot of ways I am glad it went this way. Realistically, running socks aren't cheap and I didn't want to ruin a million pairs in a daily battle for toenails. Also, I bet most of you cringed more than once reading this because severe toenail pain is totally one of the worst kind of pains. I don't need that. But there is something about having this great battle story, the "mind-over-body, woman-goes-all-out-to-save-nail" epic that I feel I didn't get. I was prepared to fight for it, and my body didn't give me the chance.

Luckily, I have some MONSTER blisters to battle. Sexy.

*I mean, this could be a tiny bit of an exaggeration, but hardly.

Put That in Your Instant Queue and Shove It

I have been responding to a tornado that hit North Minneapolis for 4 days now.*  The stories are heartbreaking, the work is grueling, and I am physically and emotionally exhausted.  Tonight I got home to watch a movie to unwind a little and Netflix suggested I watch Twister.

Twister? Twister?!

Fuck you, Netflix.  I want to cancel.

*I am not terribly comfortable expanding on the tornado given the heartbreaking stories and the fact that once something hits the internet, it never dies. 

A Literal Boatload of Lawyers

I am sure you have been checking back on my blog every day for the last nearly-month and imagined all the wondrous and amazing things that were keeping me away from the keyboard.  Did you think mountain climbing? Drinking sangria in the south of Spain? Breaking the world record in Olympic hurdles?

Well, you were close. But even more fabulous than all those things, I have been attending fresh-lawyer parties*!

Ingredients for a Fresh-Lawyer Party

8-60 Fresh Lawyers**

1-5 Unsuspecting Victims Girlfriends

54 High Fives

5 Discussions about Bar Prep Courses

22 Toasts boasting "Dude! We're done!"

Alcohol in quantities unmeasurable

Optional Ingredients

Paddleboat

A Sidewalk chalk drawing of Martin Van Buren

A deck of cards with, um... 'clothing optional' ladies

A half-naked Wisconsinite fresh-lawyer arguing the constitutionality of the Amish
Mashed potatoes served in a martini glass***

Throw all that in your martini shaker, add a dash of admiralty law, and top of your Martini Glass Mash with some broccoli and you are ready to... party! talk about the law.  Well, maybe it is more accurately a mix of both and it is surprisingly fun in a way only fresh-lawyer parties can be.  In fact, in legal speak, I could not be unaware of the amount of fun I had at all these parties that kept me from you.

Also, there is a lesser-known benefit of being a semi-regular attendee of fresh-lawyer parties: you yourself can win your very own fresh-lawyer!

*A "fresh-lawyer" is an individual who has just completed three grueling years of law school and has had (or is about to have) the degree of Juris Doctor conferred upon them.  They are easy to spot in the wild, as they often refer to themselves as "Dr. Talking About Myself in the Third Person." 

** A ripe fresh-lawyer is pale in color (from weeks in the library) and slightly soft when squeezed (grad school is rough on anyone's diet).  
*** I am serious.  And these were professional caterers that served a mashed potato bar in martini glasses.  And perhaps rightfully so.  What else says "legal professional" like a plastic martini glass overflowing with mashed potatoes and broccoli cheese topping? Nothing, that's what. 

Committing Fungicide

Remember when I said I would try mushrooms in 2011? I did it tonight with pizza from Savoy's with my parents.  And guess what?!

[Sorry, this isn't a fairy tale where I tell you I have been wrong about mushrooms all along and "oh gosh aren't they delicious?!"]

No. They are still a fungus and they taste like slimy feet.

Luckily, the pizza was saved with my delicate lobotomy skills, carefully disentangling the fungal infidels from the delicious melted cheese.

F*#% the Fitted Sheet

Scene 1: Fitted sheet (not belonging to me) left in the dryer. Attempt to nest the corners and fold.  Unfold and reattempt. Lose patience. Try one more time. Grab something resembling a corner in each hand and spin arms around one another real fast, making tight ball of sheet. Look at ball of wrinkled fabric.  As folded as it gets.  Done.

Scene 2: New sheets! Yay! Bring them home and put them on the bed.  In removal of current sheet, one corner permanently attached to mattress corner.  Tug until corner loosens and elastic of the fitted sheets whaps! me in the face. Awesome. While putting on new sheets, corners 1, 2, and 3 go on without hassle.  Get to corner 4 to discover sheet cannot possibly be big enough.  Sideways? Remove sheet and reaffix to mattress.  Success with only corners 1 and 2.  This orientation is more wrong than the first.  Reattempt original orientation.  Corners 1, 2, and 3 successful! Borrow Jaws of Life from local fire department to affix corner 4.  Corner 4 success, until... pop! from corner 1.  Shit.  Tug on corner 1... almost there... pop! from corner 3. Guh.  Go around bed, tug on corner 3... pop! from ol' corner number 4. Repeat for ten minutes until you promise your first born son to the 200 Thread Count Gods and all corners stay put.

Scene 3: Sleeping in new sheets and pop! from corner 4. Unreal.

Scene 4: Look up on YouTube how to fold a fitted sheet.  Women in the video is IRONING the sheet. Decide she is batshit crazy and life is too short to fold fitted sheets.  Repeat folding method used in Scene 1.  

You Can't Always Get What You Want, But if You Try Sometime You Find You get What You Need

Update: I got the apartment in St. Paul.  Turns out, no one else in my life had any doubt that I would pass the rigorous application process ("Please list the first and last name of both your parents.  Please list all debts you have ever or might ever consider having.  Please rank your toes in order of favorite to least favorite.")  Okay, maybe I didn't have to rank toes, but let us remember that I am now in my dreaded mid-twenties (omigoshwhathappened?) and have never applied to live in an apartment by myself.

With having never truly lived on my own, I have never had all the things one needs to completely fill an apartment. The time I did live alone in college was in a campus apartment, which was pretty much all set up with the things one would need to survive.  in 2008 entered Best Roommate Ever who owns (and uses beautifully) every kitchen gadget known to man, has furniture and decorations, rugs and plates, silverware and vintage records.  All I ever had to do was show up and we were ready.

Now that I am approximately 45 days from Step 1 to independent, mature adulthood, I realize there are things I really need for an apartment.  But for every 1 item I add to the list of things needed, I put about 2 to 4 items on the list of things wanted.  It goes like this:

Kitchen Need: Microwave.





Kitchen Want(s): Ninja Bread Men cookie cutters, fruit infusing pitcher, life vest for my wine.




Living Room Need: A Rug.



Living Room Want(s): Green head planter, metal owl, bird bookends.



The list of needs goes on: toaster, broom, garbage can, bed skirt, etc etc etc.  So you can only imagine what the list of wants looks like...

Current Situation: Extreme Anticipation

"I've been sitting, waiting, wishing..." -- Jack Johnson

I cannot fathom why, one whole hour into the work week, I have not yet heard about the position I applied for with a metro county (which closed at 5 pm on Friday) nor have I heard about the apartment I applied for Saturday afternoon. 

I'm just kidding. Of course I understand.

But logic doesn't make me stop compulsively checking my phone in case I missed a call which is impossible because the phone is practically surgically attached to my body at all times. All times.  Logic doesn't keep me from constantly logging in to the application I submitted to see if the status has changed in the last... 5 or so minutes.  Logic isn't keeping me from excessive chair swiveling, toe tapping, pen clicking, or speaking of little except a new job, a new apartment, and a new cat (which apparently 80% of my friends will hate/be allergic to).  It doesn't keep me from replaying this worst-case scenario over and over in my mind: I do not get the apartment, my sister kicks me out, the county laughs me right out of an interview, and I end up mopping floors for $6.00/hr and returning to a windowless basement apartment in which the toilet is in the kitchen. 

My imagination gets the best of me often.  Particularly when I am stuck waiting for something.

So here I sit, trying to focus on work, and instead bouncing back and forth between worst-case scenario and daydreaming about where I will hang art in a tiny not-yet-mine apartment in St. Paul.  And pondering why no one seems to think it is appropriate to name a cat Michael...

BONUS: I was looking for a word that rhymed with 'anticipation' for the title and also came up with these other possibilities:

• Anticipation Infiltration
• Anticipation: Fire Station (only to be bested by 'Anticipation: Space Station!')
• Crustacean Anticipation
• Anticipation Mutation (this happens when you change what you are waiting for)
• Anticipation Taxation
• Anticipation Activation (you're just starting to get excited!)
• Anticipation Cancellation (I hope this does not happen to me)
• Anticipation Confirmation
• Anticipation: Population 1
• Anticipation: Taste Sensation!
• Anticipation with Speculation
• Anticipation by Experimentation
• Anticipation: Guilt by Association
• Process of Elimination Anticipation

Really, the list goes on and on... but if later you check back and find this post has been renamed Anticipation: The Space Station do not say you weren't warned.

Maybe I'm Too Busy to Title This One

Burning the candle at both ends?  Not really.

Strapping the candle to a firecracker and exploding it into a million sparkling bits that rain to the ground in a spectrum of brilliant colors?  Yep.

So maybe I am up at 5am and to bed at 11pm some nights.  Maybe it sometimes takes 2 big cups of (sinfully delicious omigodiloveyou) coffee for me to reach baseline function in the morning.  Maybe I spend my train ride home trying to architect a night that uses every minute perfectly.

Maybe tonight I mistakenly thought a peanut butter sandwich would fuel me through 20 minutes of silly playtime with a yellow dog, a devilish carving session in the clay studio, and a 3 mile run.  Maybe I put my running pants on backwards and didn't notice until mile 2.  Maybe I forgot headphones.  And my gym card. And to check the mail.

But maybe, just maybe, last week I turned a corner in my marathon training and I am finally feeling confident that I will cross that finish line in October. And maybe today I was invited to showcase my artwork in June and I found just a moment to call Mom and Dad (between clay and backwards-pants running) to share that news.  And maybe in all the driving around I was able to sing to Florence and the Machine's The Dog Days Are Over at the very top of my lungs and even squeeze in a little dance at a stoplight.  And maybe in between all of this running around I managed to convince another person that I am interesting and worth a goodnight phone call.

Maybe I am vaporizing the fabled candle before I can even think about lighting it.

That's maybe definitely okay.  Life is definitely extremely good.

Casualty #2 (Or #1, revisited)

An update on the toe with no toenail.

Now it's broken.  Not the toenail.  The whole toe.

And before you go judging my ability to self-diagnose, let me just give you the list of symptoms and allow you to make your own conclusion-- which I am sure will be the same as mine.

Symptom #1: While running, I heard and felt a pop in my pinky toe followed by immense pain.
Symptom #2:  Swelling of epic proportions.
Symptom #3:  Hot to the touch, indicating some pretty gnarly inflamation.
Symptom #4: Bruising.  Pick your shade, pick your intensity.  I got it. 
Symptom #5: Pain.  And a lot of it, for a while.

On the plus side, there is a nub of toenail coming back! 

Three Amigos Weekend

Animal/housesitting for my jetsetting parents this weekend.  The dog and cat would like to share with you how that is going so far.


The Dog's Day


8:00 AM:  Oh wow!  You're awake! Yay! My favorite thing!

8:30 AM: We're going outside! My favorite thing!

9:00 AM: Running around the yard! My favorite thing!

10:00 AM: Cuddling on the couch with my person! My favorite thing!

12:00 PM: Lunch! My favorite thing!

1:00 PM: A nap! My favorite thing!

2:00 PM: Playing ball! My favorite thing!

5:00 PM: Dinner! My favorite thing!

6:00 PM: A back rub! My favorite thing!

8:00 PM: Outside! My favorite thing!

11:00 PM: Treats and bedtime! My favorite thing!


The Cat's Day


It's Day 3 of my captivity since the people left and their Youngest Offspring has inhabited the home.  I make my displeasure in the changing of the guard clear at irregular but frequent intervals. I get the best reaction when I 'discuss' the matter with Offspring between 0200 hours and 0400 hours.  Especially if I enhance the conversation with my claws.

On Day 2, at 1400 hours I caught Offspring dining on fresh packed tuna while the other inmate and myself were left to attempt to stomach some sort of dry protein nuggets.  While I make my contempt for the inadequate rations perfectly clear, I reluctantly eat the offerings.  I must maintain strength.

I was almost successful in an assassination attempt this morning by weaving around Offspring's feet while she was walking on the slick kitchen floor.  Will try again tomorrow, earlier in the morning to capitalize on the pre-coffee fog the Offspring often seems to suffer.  And at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the Offspring has brainwashed the other inmate.  The dog is a totally flunkie.  He is occasionally released, but seems more than willing to return.  Obviously retarded.  But also seems to be entitled to special privileges, including periodic treats for completing idiotic tasks.  Perhaps I will 'consult' with him later on his strategy.

When I sleep on the Offspring's shoulder, she seems to find it endearing and talks to me in the most obnoxious voice and fails to use complete sentences.  I endure, and continue to keep my friends close and enemies closer...

First Casualty

It is with great sorrow that I am here tonight to report to you that marathon training has claimed its first victim: my right pinkie toenail.

It went peacefully and without pain.  No blood, no bruising.  The nail has simply disappeared.  In fact, I can't even pinpoint exactly when it happened.

One down, nine to go.  It's gonna be a closed-toe-shoe summer, I think.

Slumber Party

Host: Myself.

Guest: Willow.  A 50-something pound poop-eating, lefse-stealing, ball of anxiety shaped like a yellow dog.

10 pm: Dog so exhausted she cannot even stay on the couch with the rest of the family.  Must get on the floor and sigh heavily to ensure that all family members realize she is tired and would like to go to bed.

10:20 pm: Confusion of epic proportions when "Willow's people" go upstairs (where she would normally sleep) and dog is being herded into basement bedroom with perma-squatter (co-owner of dog and home's younger sister-- yours truly).

10:30 pm: Dog must pace like caged lion and blow air and dog snot onto every item at dog level in the room.

10:31 pm: Whines at door.

10:31 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.

10:31 pm: Whines at door.  

10:32 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.

10:32 pm: Whines at door.  

10:32 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.

10:32 pm: Whines at door.  

10:33 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.

10:33 pm: Whines at door.  

10:33 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.

10:34 pm: Whines at door.  

10:34 pm: Jumps on and then immediately off bed.

10:35 pm:  Dog is told "That is quite enough of that!"

10:35 pm: Dog makes sad eyes, lays on the floor.

10:36 pm:  I foolishly apologize to dog for asking it to behave and getting results. 

10:45 pm:  I post photo of Neurot Dog to Facebook, wondering via the internet if this was really a good idea...

11:05 pm:  Dog gives in, decides it is tired, and hops into bed.  Curls up behind my legs and gives a "happy ending to a happy day" sigh.  

11:06 pm:  All is peaceful in the kingdom.