guardian angels

I think I just got my first mosquito bite of 2012.

I'm sitting on the back patio on a fold-up chair from the dining room (since we don't have any outdoor furniture) and there is one lone 'skeeter lolling around my legs.  These DE mosquitoes BITE.  Like their probosces are made to be felt when they jab into your ankles.

Anyway, it is a beautiful day.  It's 6:30pm, mid-March, I'm in a T-shirt and shorts outside and I'm not even remotely cold.  We all know I've been needing it.  I don't think it's going to last very long, though; my vicious little friend has just been joined by a wingwoman... or two... or six...

So.  I just read the most beautiful letter from Mary in Kansas City, written in the most beautiful handwriting on the most beautiful paper--heavy, pulpy cardstock from India, classically printed.  She also slipped a little "pocket angel" into the envelope.  I love it for itself, and for the fact that it bears a kiss from Kansas City on its face, but what really struck me was that Ann sent me the same pocket angel, but gold-colored, a few months ago.

This cannot be a coincidence.  Someone is watching me.

I do believe in guardian angels, particularly since my Grammy died back in 2002.  I don't remember if she told me this, or if it materialized as part of my 12-year-old mourning process, but I firmly believed--and still kind of do--that she's got an eye out for me.  Although now I'm a bit more convinced that she is the center of the celestial social scene, frequenting all the same parties as Jesus and other prominent biblical figures.  Not that she can't still think about me and the rest of her family down here on Earth at the same time; she's always been good at not making anybody feel forgotten.

These days, though, I'm less convinced that she is my one and only Guardian Angel.

I think I just snatched the wings off one of the mosquitoes.

"Most people don't know that there are angels whose only job is to make sure
you don't get too comfortable and fall asleep and miss your life." - Brian Andreas

I have never been into current events.  Whenever we had to "do current events" for a social studies class in high school my tactic was usually to dig the past week's newspapers out of the recycling bin and skim headlines for buzzwords and topics I could stretch to fit the given parameters.  I completely missed the start of the Great Recession in 2008, and only found out about it because Tom Williamson brought it up in Anthro Theory one time.  Actually, most of the current events I knew about in college were news stories Tom Williamson shared in my various Anthropology courses.  I've spent years mumbling excuses for not watching or reading the news in any of the various available mediums: online, on TV, or in print media.  And yes, I'm a little defensive about it.

These days, though, I'm pretty up-to-speed.  I listen to NPR in the mornings because I miss having Granpa in the house and it makes it easier to pretend that he just left the radio running while he went to fix my car or something, filling the time before his porridge cools down enough to eat.  I am obsessed with blogs--even other people's blogs, believe it or not, and some of those people write about what's going on in the world.  Current events come up in the office, as everybody has their niche for hot topics: we've got our tech, sports, international atrocities, commercial development, and pop culture people.  Not to mention all the stories that show up in my social media news feeds or get featured on HuffPost's Twitter feed.  And yes, those trending stories and viral content.  If you read Mashable or anything like that you already know that traditional news outlets are allegedly being crowded out by social media, and I Am The Reason Why.

If you've visited Facebook at all in the past week, or listened to NPR this morning, you also know about Invisible Children and their Kony2012 campaign.  (Watch the focal video here.  It's about a half hour long.)  For me it was fascinating to watch the progression of this topic: In the morning, according to Facebook, "12 of my friends had posted this video" with captions like, "SHARE THIS WITH AS MANY PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE!  THIS MAN MUST BE STOPPED!"

I watched it, finally, and from the point the filmographer mentioned his "African friend" I was on edge.  The way the story was presented raised all my little ethnographic red flags, the ones signaling "paternalism," "manipulated information," "colonial residue," so on and so forth.  But the story also hit me in the empathy, which simultaneously made me more skeptical and also got me thinking about alternative solutions.  Mostly I felt like the people telling me the story didn't really have a full grasp of it themselves.

At around 7 minutes, I saw a Facebook post alerting me to "another side of the story," and I'm suddenly riled up: "OK, you're seriously going to take Kony's side on this?!"  But it was actually just questioning the premise of the film.  And suddenly the whole issue gets veiled in greys.

And by the afternoon, people were revoking their posts, posting counterarguments, some very vehement.  By the next morning, the authors of those counterarguments were backing off in response to aggressive backlash against their articles.  And by the third day, the middle-of-the-road, pros-and-cons, positive/negative takes were spreading around the social networks.

My condensed reading list on Kony:

• This one really speaks to my concerns about paternalism, "progress," charity and advocacy:  "Bad development work is based on the idea that poor people have nothing.  Something is better than nothing, right?"  Uhh... well...
• A pretty well-balanced article from a blog I tend to ideologically align with, more or less: A Partial Defense of Invisible Children's Kony2012 Campaign

Invisible Children's Kony2012 video is still in the top 10 trending videos on YouTube, but the sensational reaction has toned down somewhat.  The initial explosion of gut reactions, the desired result of the video, has died down and dialogue is rising from the ashes.  Some of it still gets heated, but it's talk.  It's a little more level.  And while the conversation is far from over, other things leak in to shock us anew for another day or two.

And the thing that is intensely disturbing to me now is the gathering tide of what I'll call dishonorable incidents in Afghanistan.  My friend Alex put it very poignantly on Facebook today:

Can anyone doubt that the "good fight" has ended? That the lines of victim and perpetrator have blurred beyond recognition? That we have at stake something far more important than "justice" "democracy" or "strategic concerns"--that in this fight we are losing our very humanity? In short, can anyone now doubt that the war is lost?

Like I said, I don't normally get into politics, and those of you who know me know this.  We don't really talk about politics or macro-level news items.  But there are some things going on in the world lately that fall into the realm of "political discussion" that I can't, in good conscience, ignore.  I find myself saddened and discouraged by the political weight that falls haphazardly all over what seem to me, simply and irrevocably, human issues.

The angels who keep us from getting too comfortable seem to be doing their job all too well, but I don't believe that I am the only one with a guardian angel.  There is no way I'm the only one shadowed by someone, or something, who cares what happens to me.  Someone who wants my endings to be happy.  Someone who wants my middles and beginnings to be happy.  Someone who wants me to survive another day, another night, another adventure.

Isn't that what a guardian angel does?

But we live in the world, and the world is full of unhappy and unfortunate and painful things.  Guardian angels have a tough job.  Maybe some are more attentive than others; maybe some just had an easier setup from the get-go.

I think my guardian angel gives me, more than protection: encouragement.  My angel--angels--keep me from losing my momentum.  They keep me believing in myself, and believing in good things, and believing in happy endings.  They remind me to enjoy those happy moments instead of dwelling on the Unhappy-Moments-That-Could-Be.  They remind me that not all is lost just because everyone has known since Day 1 that Ben was going to choose Courtney.  They remind me to mourn loss of humanity over political loss.  I'm not at a point right now where I can take action, but I mourn still.

My angels love me in spite of my flaws.  In fact, they love that I am imperfect, and they love the imperfections in our relationships.  They love that I cry at dumb stuff, and at not-dumb stuff.  Angels mourn with us, and angels ache to help us and I don't think they always can.  But they are with us always and sometimes, that is enough.

check-in

Maybe things just get hard at this point in the winter.  The cold gets old.  Maybe I've been here for just the right amount of time to get bored, or comfortable--I can never tell the difference.  Maybe it's hormones.  Maybe I'm in a rut.  Maybe I'm not sleeping enough, or eating right, or exercising properly.  Maybe I'm just stressed out.

Whatever it is, I've been feeling weird lately, a little bit delicate, volatile.  Always tired.  On edge.  And, alternatively, flatline, like things I should be really happy about just show as a little blip on the radar, and I don't get sad about things very often.  I haven't been reacting, really, until suddenly in the past few days, which is maybe why I noticed it.

This is just what I feel like doing right now.

No.  To be honest, I noticed it a few weeks ago, right before I had a lunch-break-phone-date with a friend who, like me, monitors for signs of depression.  She said she needed to talk and said she's been worried about the fatigue, weird cravings, lack of motivation, and failure to be impressed or riled up by anything.  All the things that tend to send us both into a red-flag frenzy.  What we have both learned to do is broadcast, and we have learned where to broadcast, to judge whether these red flags are reasonable responses to the current situation, or whether we are overreacting to the point of not connecting with our mainstays.  Most of the time, we both go through dips at around the same time, so we are easy reference points for each other.  And a few weeks ago, we both dipped.  Must be the winter, we thought.  We need some sun, a change of pace, some vitamin D.

I think my mom might have noticed it, too, because she checks in with me in a different way when I am being distant.  It's really cute, how she seems to approach me delicately, as if I am a hungry predator and she is about to throw me a bone.  The bone, in this case, is usually a kiss on the head or a shoulder pat, and an "Are you OK?"  Her voice gets softer, too, and less matter-of-fact.  She is great at being a mom.

I think she noticed also because she said something the other night that has been sticking with me like the honey  water on my E-brake.  (Don't ask...)  I think I was talking to my parents about intellectual exercise, in the context of colleges, or something like that.  About how choosing a certain college both reflects and shapes who you are as a person.  And about how refreshing it is, once you've left that, to go back to it and have the opportunity to talk the talk again.

So my mom says, "Well your learning curve, with your job and everything, is really steep right now."

WHOA.  I somehow managed to think that this learning curve had plateaued, that I am totally in the groove right now.  PLEASE.  Remember how long it took me to get into the groove at St. Olaf?  In Amsterdam?  Granted, the curve gets a little smoother the more curves I climb, but it's still steep, and I'm still climbing.

And thinking that a curve has plateaued when it really hasn't is the key ingredient in the recipe for feeling inadequate, exhausted, depressed, anxious, stressed, whatever.  Feeling like you should be in control when really, you would be a little superhuman if you had it all figured out by now, is the first step into the pit of disaster.

Yes, OK, I'm being a little dramatic here.  But this is my check-in.  This is where I officially hold myself accountable.  I got some sun today, and I hereby vow not to start expecting unrealistic things from myself, like having everything on lockdown.  The transition isn't over.  I'm letting you off the hook, self.  And I'm letting YOU off the hook too, readers.  Give yourself a little break for a second.  Or a minute, or a day.  Whatever.  But REALLY, take a break.  Don't just fake it.  I am the QUEEN of giving myself fake breaks.

Here's what pulls me up: After my post the other day where I was cranky and commiserating, I just got FLOODED with comments, private messages, text messages, emails, phone calls, telepathic sympathy cards, whatever.  I am stunned once again at the capacity of human beings to love and care for each other, our capacity to give time and energy and empathy to another person in need.  I don't care WHY we do this, whether we are selfishly motivated or whatever, because the point is that it HELPS.  It helps us to connect with other people.  When we commiserate, the mutual sharing of pain and sorrow often helps to soothe us; and when we share our struggles with someone who is not quite struggling as much as we are, they often reach out a hand to pull us out of the well.  And even if we ignore it at first, we know that it's there.

This is something that amazes me about people, about human society, and about community.  Continually amazes me.  That we have the ability to care.

taking time

When I was growing up, my parents used to not let me go out on Sunday afternoons because they said we needed to set aside time to "just be."

"Be what?" I used to ask, or more likely whine.  "Be-ing is boooring!"

Since moving back home I've brought this up with both of my parents, laughing as I reminded them how frustrated I used to get about it.  My dad said he remembered me giving almost as much input into the "Formula for a Balanced Life," like asking my 'rents to tell me I couldn't go out if I was feeling too swamped or just didn't feel like doing something with my friends.  And my mom and I came to the conclusion that one of the most irritating parts of this institution was that we never distinguished between "family-time" and "me-time."

To this day I struggle to separate "me-time" from "doing-things-I-want-to-do" time.  I'm sure I'm not the only one who spends a lot of my life doing things I have to do, ticking things off my to-do list, things that need to get done.  Whether I want to do them or not.  So when I have a spare moment to recalibrate, do I spend it checking in with myself or doing something solely because I want to do it?  Tough choices.  And usually the things I want to do involve spending time with people I love, including people I live with, people I go out with, people I visit occasionally, and people I can really only communicate with by phone.

The dilemma I constantly face these days is this: I don't have time to love everybody I love in life.  (This dilemma also means I have been known to eat 2-3 dinners in a single evening, sometimes several times throughout a week.  And then I have to find time for an extra-long workout to keep my girlish figure.)

Since I don't have a solution to that problem, here are a few examples of me finding myself stuffed threefold.

So.  Friday.  J's college roommate came up from D.C. to celebrate his birthday, first with a very late dinner at Sushi Sumo.  Most of the sushi was delicious, except the uni (better known in English as sea urchin).  It just had this slimy consistency of too-chewed gum.  Like when it gets to the point of dissolving in your mouth.  Anyway, I'll try anything once.

...But don't quote me on that.

My favorite thing we got was the Dynamite Roll, which came served atop a flashing blue faux ice cube in a kinky-stemmed martini glass.  I forget what was in it, but it was wrapped in soy paper and it was delish.  I also got to try sake for the first time, warm, at the sushi bar where one of the chefs whipped us up a free special sample while we waited for the rest of the party.  Turns out I like sake quite a lot, though it did kick my simmering desire to go to La Ronda for canelazo into second or third gear.  Worth it, definitely.

Calle La Ronda at night (2009)

(Also, hilariously, the adorable hostess asked to see my ID but not Jason's.  He got a kick out of this because he is always complaining that he only gets ID'd when he goes out with me.  As for me, I have mostly resigned myself to being ID'd until I am 55 years old and finally look more than 17.  Optimistic?  Welcome to my life.)

After dinner we hit up Moodswing, quite possibly the only dance club in the state of Delaware, and located approximately 4 minutes from my house.  Convenient.  I felt very underdressed all night--except at iHop in the wee hours of the morning--but especially when the bouncer told me they normally don't let people wear weatherproof boots inside the club.  I still feel a little sheepish about this, but in my defense I really didn't think there was a single nightclub in Wilmington.  But they let me in "just this once," and I pretty much danced the night away.  The photographer from Spark magazine said it was usually packed, but maybe the rain kept everybody in their weatherproof boots and out of the club, because I could probably have singlehandedly counted the people there on Friday.

I slept through Zumba on Saturday morning but, according to tradition, Asha and I hit up the Y anyway.  She definitely holds me accountable.  We're good for each other.

She had made this elaborate plan for all of us to have people over on Saturday night to play Cranium, since Thom had just got home and really needs to meet some people in this state.  Unfortunately none of my friends could make it, but it's always fun chilling with my sibs anyway.  We got a huge box full of Chinese food and read our fortunes "in bed" style, staged rousing Moulin Rouge singalongs and played the penis game.  Seriously, we are just the coolest people ever.

After the game we watched Mulan and I fell asleep about half an hour into it.  Fail.

And then I slept through church on Sunday (I'm sensing a trend here) and in gratitude for everyone who didn't wake me up for church I decided to clean the whole kitchen.  Plus, staying home on Sunday morning usually has good repercussions of the Sunny V Sunday variety, namely delicious french toast, smoothies, good tunes blasting, etc.

The Original Sunny V Sunday <3 

I also watched Legends of the Fall on Sunday, and while I admit it was a pretty excellent specimen of film, I will also admit that I cried throughout most of the second half.  Maybe because I am a certified sap, but maybe because it hit all the right heartstrings, or wrenched them, maybe, in the family/starcrossed love department.  I have been needing a good cry, though, so it's all good.

About 4 minutes after the movie was over J came to pick me up and was a little taken aback that the movie he left for me to see over a month ago left me choking on tears...  But no hard feelings.  We wanted to check out the Newport Restaurant but it was closed so we took a loop around the Newark Reservoir.  It was cold up there, and windy...  But the sunset was to die for.  J tried to take a picture but his phone died right at the key moment.  Oh well.  This is why we have mental imaging capabilities.  And also why I used to sneak my dad's oil pastels out of his desk drawer to do posters of Caribbean sunsets when I was little.

I have been weirdly nostalgic for Quito lately--note the canelazo cravings, and the reservoir reminded me of the reservoir behind my Aunt Lori's house, where Natalia and I used to go running sometimes.  In a flash of brilliance, J remembered this Peruvian restaurant called The Chicken House, which reminded me (of course) of this Peruvian grill a few blocks from the hotel in Quito...  Instead of sending me over the edge into a deluge of homesick tears, though, this place just made me the most happy girl in history.  I ordered the chuleta a lo pobre, basically a pile of porkchop-topped comfort food like rice, fried egg, french fries, and maduros (sweet bananas).  Oh, and a maracuyá pisco sour, and flan for dessert.  Mmmmmmmmm...

I got home after this feast to find the house dark and a single place setting on the dining room table.  SO SAD!  I had meant to leave time to hang with the fam after spending the afternoon with J, but in line with my social dilemma that did not happen.  (And are we really surprised?)  So I tiptoed up to my parents' room to see if they were still awake, because I like to chat with them.  They're cool people.

Long story short, I ended up squashed in my parents' bed with all three of my siblings and both of my parents--a really adorable family puzzle which fit together a lot better when more of us were under four feet tall and 100 pounds.  OK, when any of us were so pint-sized.

But, this is why my family is the bomb-dot-com.  Seriously.  It is always some raucous good times with us.

So what is the difference between me-time and love-time?  I pretty much consider blogging me-time, but I'm doing it in Maria's room under the guise of "helping her with physics."  (This is our code for "sitting together while each doing our own thing"--an activity I love more than almost anything in the world.  Is "sitting together while each doing our own thing" me-time?  Or love-time?  ...Or both?)

Here it is, I really think so: me-time is Sunday morning, and love-time is Sunday afternoon.  Family time is Sunday night all crammed into a queen-sized bed, or any time a few of us spend around the dining room table.  And all of it is important.  And home is where -time happens, where my heart is the clock.

my life be like

Whirlwind as usual.  There are some interesting progressions going on these days, as my lifestyle continues to be shaped and to shape itself like wet sand, or something like that, something that has a mind of its own.

Let me follow up on my promises from last time.


Wanderlust was hilarious.  One, because I love Paul Rudd, and his awkward super-deadpan.  Also because the wild hippie parties remind me of certain parts of my life, or of a mishmash of different parts of my life.  Like a combination of our family Christmases in the Canadian wilderness when I was little and my sophomore year of college, which involved a lot of pink lights and guitars and spinning and people suddenly becoming vegetarian.  (The vegan thing didn't really pick up steam 'til junior year.)  I also can't knock the whole "enjoy your life, roll with the punches, and don't take the people you love for granted" overtones.

My friend Carly (the first person my age I met in Delaware) regularly uses the hashtag #iworkinanoffice, which I love for the same reason I love meeting Kristy after our 9-5 jobs to do grown-up evening things like working up a sweat at the Y, checking out a new happy hour, or looking at home decor and beachwear at Burlington Coat Factory.  (Foreshadowing!)  It makes me feel capable, independent, successful, and mainstream--satisfying my thinly-veiled inner meta-hipster.

ANYWAY.  One thing that I kept forgetting to use the #iworkinanoffice hashtag on this week was our new office percolator!  We used to use one of those single-cup pod coffeemakers but recently decided to backtrack out of the space age in favor of a more economical, if retro, coffeepot, and this week it has been the hub of activity and excitement in the office.  So here I am, once again coerced into a minor coffee addiction for social reasons.  My mom tells me the proverbial water cooler plays more of a social role in the life of an organization than a hydrating role.  Ours has a stimulant infusion, sometimes pushing OD-levels of caffeine sludge, and I'm told this is bringing me more officially into the World of PR.

All of the numerous "you-know-you're-in-PR-when" lists feature some version of the "caffeine-alcohol-repeat" mantra (it's #20 on this list), so in the spirit of fully experiencing my career path I also experienced my first-ever happy hour this week.  The only reason I planned to go out on Monday (usually my designated Night In) was because it was Jess' birthday and she told me on Friday she wasn't doing anything to celebrate.  Naturally I couldn't let this happen so I invited her and Kristy out to happy hour at Shellhammer's, where J. goes a lot with the guys he works with.  As it turns out, Jess had a date with her boyfriend, but Kristy and I decided it couldn't hurt to go anyway and check out the venue.

Note that the specials board I linked to boasts $3 Captain Morgan drinks, but they're now $4.  No big deal, really, but we went for Absolut, bartender's choice, since like good girls we usually go for the fruity stuff when we go out together.  This will change come summer, when I wean Kristy onto beer, but for now she is encouraging me to ask bartenders for recommendations and suggestions.  Next step is asking them what exactly they've made us, because we had to play a guessing game this time, which I won with the peach Absolut in grapefruit juice combo.  Surprisingly delicious, and light.

Definitely not light, but still delicious, are Tuesday night nachos.  Klondike Kate's on Main Street has half-price nachos every Tuesday, so every other week the That's-What-She-Saiders get together there, thanks to Craig, O Great Organizer.  The in-between weeks are yoga nights.  I'll bet you can guess which kind of Tuesday makes me feel less like I need to go to detox.  I might have to go for a salad next time, even though the BBQ-Ranch pile of chips and whatnot is delicious.  Plus, even the small takes care of my lunch the next day.

I eat out all the time these days.  It's getting out of hand.  After eating leftover nachos for lunch on Wednesday, I dropped Maria off at band practice and met up with J. at the co-op, which featured half-price organic chocolate bars through the month of February--and Wednesday was the last day in Februrary.  As if by divine intervention.

Unfortunately they had run out of the kind I wanted so instead we got all-vegan sandwiches from the cooler for supper.  Only because there weren't any non-vegan options.  Jason got a falafel wrap which I think he quite enjoyed, and I got an avocado "chickn" wrap.  The quotes were included on the label, fyi.  There was no chicken in the wrap.

I know I'm supposed to be a hippie, and I will pretty much inhale several giant vegan chocolate chip cookies, but I straight-up distrust things that claim to be something other than they are.  At least the wrap was up-front about lying about its identity, but still.  Why couldn't it just say, right out, "avocado soy product wrap?"  By all means.

After reluctantly enjoying our well-balanced, earth-friendly sandwiches (OK, OK, after I reluctantly enjoyed mine; J. wasn't that reluctant about it) we headed out to Maryland to State Line Liquors, which is the most giant and heavenly place I have ever been.  It's kind of like my beloved Firehouse in Northfield, but bigger and with a warehouse-level selection of wines and beers.  Plus it's family-owned, which is cool, and everybody there knows their shit.  I found my fave, Old Dominion Oak Barrel Stout, and found that it has the COOLEST caps: they look like Harry's Patronus.  They will make some baller earrings.  Jason also helped me pick out a few good options for Kristy's beer-weaning.  More to come on that.

Also, it's weird how close we are to Maryland.  And Philly, and Jersey.  Small state.

Takeaway messages from this week:

• It's good to have good girlfriends.
• Also good to have traditions, like Zumba & Applebee's Thursday nights, 1/2 price nacho Tuesdays, and watching ABC on Monday nights with the fam.
• I do pretty much everything for social reasons: I drink coffee when it suits me socially.  I like drinking certain drinks because they remind me of someone.  I think of the Sunny V Summer every time I get BBQ-Ranch nachos because Ann and I ate ranch dressing on EVERYTHING.  It's easier to work out with a buddy.  Easier, and more pleasant, to do almost everything with somebody else.
• BUT I really need to remind myself that I desperately need to take time for myself.  DO THIS CLARA.  GO.

Pumped now to go out tonight, and when I get back my brother will be home for the week!  Look for more fun to come.

damn, girl

I am tired.  This is mostly because I am a woman about town.  I'm struggling to frame this post as more than just a sort of dazed review of what I've been up to lately.

Thursday nights have turned into Zumba-and-Applebee's nights with my girl Kristy.  We get our dance on, and then cart our sweaty selves up Kirkwood for half-price drinks and appetizers after 9pm.  It's great.

This week, though, Kristy was in Ohio, so I went to Zumba solo and then went to the late show of This Means War with J.  The movie was pretty much exactly what I was looking for: sexy, funny, mind-numbing enough but with some satisfying original twists and well-placed explosions.  The relationships and character motivations could have been more satisfyingly developed but the movie pretty much did its job so I can't really complain.  Here's the trailer, if you're interested.

Friday night the youth group at church had a lock-in.  (For legal purposes I must clarify that we were not actually locked inside the church; it was pretty much just a sleepover.)  It was actually a lot of fun.  Strange, though, that I am now officially a youth chaperon rather than a youth group member.

(Also... is chaperon really spelled without an 'e' at the end?  I never knew...)

I was really tired from being out so late on Thursday and working all day Friday, and dinner took forever to cook...  So I kept trying to get everyone to sit down and watch a movie so I could casually pass out.  But everyone wanted to play games, which ended up being way cooler and a riotous amount of fun.  One of the best games of Cranium I have ever played.  Also, C for Cool was the best team.  Way to go Chris!

Finally we staked out our sleeping spots (everyone, of course, trying to claim the couches hours in advance) and put in Secondhand Lions, which is a great movie.  Unfortunately our copy is a little scratched and the DVD player is old and missing a remote, so it was tough to get it going; finally I managed it (who put me in charge of running any kind of technology, I don't know) and promptly passed out.

An hour or so later, 15-20 minutes from the end, I got up from my slumber, turned off the TV power, and immediately fell back asleep -- leaving my dad, Andy and Roberto sitting in the dark saying, "Um... I guess we're not going to see the end of the movie..."  I didn't remember this in the morning, but I won't be forgetting it any time soon seeing as they will never let me hear the end of it.

Last night was girls' night.  Kristy survived the trip back from Ohio and Carly managed to make it up from Dover to go out with us.  We are the perfect trio since all of us are perpetually late for everything.  So no pressure.  After our divine classic Charlie's pizza, we rock-paper-scissorsed to see who would drive blindly toward Trolley Square, which none of us had ever successfully visited before.

After a bit of aimless weaving through dark downtown Wilmo streets, we managed to find Trolley Square, and, more specifically, Catherine Rooney's, an Irish pub apparently featuring two dance floors.  And we'd been told there is no real dancing in the entire state of Delaware.  I mean, it wasn't a rave, but it was a lot of fun.  None of us have gone dancing in forever, but we've definitely still got it...*

*See title...

The weird reality check was that we got 3 rounds of drinks for about $60.  We're not in Northfield/Newark anymore, Toto.  (So hold the line -- because like Kristy, Carly, and myself, love is almost never on time.)  We're in a city, at a grown-up bar.  And this grown-up bar featured a startlingly wide range of ages.  A middle-aged couple pretty much gettin' it on on the dance floor, for example.  Lots of meticulously curled hair, too.  I think our trio was pretty well-matched as far as badass, down-to-earth, really cute and fun girls go.

Ever since Audrey's and my encounter with the Santa Crawl back in December, I have been wanting to do the Wilmington "Loop" -- where school buses are provided to take patrons to bars all over downtown Wilmington.  Somehow I have managed to never do a pub crawl, and our Rooney's adventure only reinforced my desire to do one.  Even if the drinks are $8 apiece.  Shamrock Shuttle, here I come!

Maybe.

Back at Kristy's we decided to make some Ghirardelli chocolate chip brownies to go with our G&Ts that only got strong down at the bottom.  I guess I didn't stir them well enough.

We slept well enough, though, and in the morning discussed our different family structures, passed around the cats, and conceptualized a few memes all before breakfast.

Breakfast, just the way I like it at the Marsh Road Diner.  A classic diner for a classic Sunday brunch, classically decorated with posters of Italy, Italian art, and other proud specimens of Italian heritage.  Delicious omelet, peanut butter/chocolate chip pancakes, home fries, scrapple, tea, endless coffee refills...  I love my Sunday mornings.  Love my diners.  Love my girls.

Coming up: Wanderlust tonight at People's Plaza (another first-time venue for me), Jess' birthday tomorrow (not getting out of that one, girlfriend), and nachos on Tuesday.  We'll see if I can keep my head.

5 ways to banish anxiety

This week feels like a boulder strapped to my ankles, dragging along behind me no matter how frantically I try to shake it off.  It's just driving my heart rate up, and not in a good way: I sit at my desk feeling anxious, triggered by dumb little issues I can't fix right away.

Which is a problem, because I am a problem solver.  I like to fix things.  I hate sitting around and watching things malfunction or dysfunction and not doing anything about it.  And although this sounds like a useful personality trait, it isn't always that constructive.

Today, for example.  And yesterday, for that matter.  It leaves me at an uncomfortable and incredibly frustrating impasse.

And now you, dear readers, are most likely getting sucked into the maddening conundrum.  So I'll tell you what Problem-Solving Clara has come up with to counteract the anxiety.

1. This video:

Top 10 on YouTube yesterday, I clicked it once in the morning in my routine scan of the trends...  And couldn't STOP clicking.  Seriously.  I hit replay probably literally 50 times in the past 2 days.  I would feel myself falling into a slump and hit replay and BOOM!  There I go, smiling like Tour Guide Barbie from Toy Story 2, for at least 3 minutes and 25 seconds.  The video is really just delightful.  Don't pretend like you don't think so.

More inclusively, if you're here for answers, just play some tunes you like.  My friend Steve plays Van Morrison when he needs some soothing.  Whatever floats your boat.

2. One of my die-hard anti-anxiety tactics is gum-chewing.  This was particularly true before some litigious asshat decided to sue Wrigley for making unproven claims about cardamom on the package of my all-time favorite flavor of gum.  I've settled for Orbit Sweet Mint flavor now, but I'm still fuming.

Anyway, some people are pack-a-day cigarette people?  During finals week, or on the last day for grades to be turned in maybe ever in my life when I had a 16-page research paper and 8 hours to write it in, I am at least a pack-a-day gum chewer, and also avid techno listener.  This is how I get things done.  It also keeps my head from blowing off or my heart from bursting out of my chest and running across the street without looking both ways first.

3. I also have spent some time recently clearing out my email inbox.  You see, I have never been one of those "28,975 unread messages" people, like certain professors I could name, or my dad.  It bugs the shit out of me.  Unfortunately, I am not the most technologically adept person to ever live, so I merged my .edu email with my gmail.com email in the wrong order and ended up, the summer after graduation, with several thousand unread messages, that in fact I have read at least one time each, that just need to be processed.  And I never want to do it.

Anyway, I was running through some of them and stumbled upon an email I wrote to my counselor almost exactly a year ago, with the subject line "bad night--just a heads up."  This is interesting, as I don't remember having a night that bad just a year ago, but I certainly remembered that night when reminded of it.  Anyway, her response was the bomb as always.  "Just allow yourself the leisure of feeling what you feel about this situation, so you can process.  Also, don't forget you can talk it out with somebody you trust."

On top of the satisfaction of zapping my "unread" messages to under 2,000 (finally), her characteristically insightful advice brings me to #4.

4. I like to commiserate.  Or, put more delicately, connect with other people I like.  These days I do this most often in the form of a barrage of text messages directed toward my girl Ann in the faraway land of Minnesota, but anyone who happens to send me a Facebook message is also in danger of being thoroughly whined to.  Fortunately today my messaging partner was also struggling to some degree so the bitching was mutual.  I like it best that way.

5. The cherry on top today was the sudden discovery that it just so happens to be National Chili Day!  You have no idea how excited I was to discover a.) that there IS such thing as National Chili Day, and b.) that it is, in fact, TODAY!!!  It could not be better timed.  Chili is probably one of my top 3 foods, definitely a comfort food.  Plus, the world's best chili can be found a mere 3 minute drive from my place of work.  And when you can find the world's best chili and a boy that you kind of like in the same place, within 5 minutes, you can kind of consider yourself a very lucky girl.

There is nothing like a holiday to pull me out of anxiety.  Even the most depressing Valentine's Days have been pick-me-ups for me.  Because merely having something to celebrate is sometimes all I need to remember that the world isn't necessarily such a terrible place after all.  And while there are things to mourn and things to stress about, and that is all well and legitimate, there are at least as many reasons to party.

And speaking of partying, I must go to Zumba.  (Bonus banisher!  Boom.)

10 things i may or may not know about post-grad life

Yesterday afternoon I sat down to write a post that I've been planning for at least a week, but haven't written because current events got in the way.  Also, it's one of those posts that could easily get out of hand, given my propensity to wax poetic/philosophical/wordy.  It was inspired by an article by Lorra M. Brown on PR Daily: 10 things you should expect in your first PR job, which has more to do with life in general than with PR, I think.  I love/hate the idea of that: what you should expect.  Because really, we all know that things are going to happen as they happen whether we expected them to or not.  Hindsight is 20/20, right?

I won't go into the complexities of that axiom, but here's what I could have expected, in terms of Brown's 10 categories of things to expect out of adult life.

1. Fatigue. Really, who expects life not to be exhausting?  You WILL be exhausted "after the commute, work, lunch at your desk, and more work."  (And you might be surprised at how tiring a commute can be.)  You will be exhausted after going to church, hanging out with your sisters for a few hours, sitting down to write a blog post when your phone rings and you spend the next hour talking to a really important friend you haven't spoken to since June, and never actually getting around to blogging before you have to leave for dinner with a bunch of other adults that you don't know but feel like you have to make a really, really good impression on.  You will be exhausted for a good portion of your life.  This is not different from college.  The key is to get fatigued by events and activities that you want to fill your life, because they energize you at least long enough to get everything done, and to enjoy yourself while you do it.

2. Stress. PR Daily's article says the stress of an adult career far overshadows the stress of final exams and schoolwork, but I disagree.  Yes, I still feel stress from deadlines and conflicting demands on my time and energy--but get this: no homework to finish on Sunday nights!  The luxury of compartmentalizing work tasks from life tasks!  (Assuming I don't dream about work, which happens far too often...)  I will say, though, that it is absolutely crucial to work out a solid work-life balance.  Part of that, as Brown aptly suggests, is pinpointing coping mechanisms that will "help you avoid a first-year meltdown."  So far I have managed to avoid a meltdown by working out, setting up social activities that I can look forward to (both in the immediate and far-off future), lunch break phone dates with long distance friends (or Sunday afternoon blog break phone dates), and blowing off steam with my really awesome sisters.

3. Unsupportive friends. According to Brown, "going out for cocktails on a Tuesday night is not in your reality."  Truth be told, I go out for cocktails on way more Tuesday nights now than I ever did in college.  So suck it.  Or, more graciously, loosen up and join me.  Just one drink, maybe a plate of nachos, and some good stress-busting camaraderie.

More importantly, though, I'm upset that people have unsupportive friends (I find all of mine very supportive, thanks guys) to the point of having to "let go of friends who don't support your drive to succeed during your transition to the professional world."  Yeah, we can't hold onto everybody forever; but I for one continue to hold on stubbornly to people I love who find themselves at different points in their lives than I am.  Friendships take work, and we need each other to help navigate this strange life.  On top of that, working through rough patches in those relationships and the process of negotiating the interplay between our independent and interdependent selves help us develop crucial life skills like resilience, self-discipline, and the ability to survive and thrive in human society.

Not that I'm trying to force it if it's not working.  But I'm not trying to put my personal success ahead of relationships that are important to me.  That is where our communities and societies splinter and crumble.

4. Money. I've been promising a post on post-grad financial life for months now.  The article basically says, "Don't worry, you will be able to make it rain within a few years if you grind your nose off on the grindstone."  Not that I have any problems with the grindstone.  I'm just not that into the Sphinx look, if we're being honest.

Anyway, the elusive "money" issue, as far as I'm concerned, is secondary to #5 below.

5. Budget. Once you factor in student loan payments, rent, eating out 24 times a week (hyperbolic representation of my Wilmo A-list lifestyle), and smartphone data plans, you don't actually have very much money.  Most of my friends right now are [a little] tight on cash.  College doesn't teach you how to budget, which is unfortunate because like I said, budgeting is key.  So the "disposable income" thing seems pretty unrealistic.  More realistic would be a diet like opportunitarianism, for example.

6. Accountability. In my ideal world, this would be old news.  Hold yourself accountable, find someone else to hold you accountable, keep your new year's resolutions, you know the drill.  I would add integrity to this heading.  Brown, though, uses accountability to talk about keeping track of your time, your work, and the value of both of these things.  While I wouldn't really use the word "accountability" to talk about reporting habits and timesheets, I can't deny that learning to value my own work and justify it to my superiors has been a crucial lesson in my post-grad working life so far.

7. Digital skills. I know, I know, social networks are supposed to be social.  But really, that's not all there is to it.  I know--or at least, I hope--I'm not saying anything you don't already know: People that might hire you will probably check out your Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, whatever.  And they will probably Google you.  So be real, but be aware.  Be kind and interesting and be smart about it.  Also, nobody really understands social media even though 3977344257 people around the world get paid to spend their entire lives writing social media strategy and theory.  Pay attention and you're already a few steps ahead.

8. Multitasking. I've already mentioned that I am now officially a double-monitor, 7-window, 13-browser-tab profesh (professional).  This is not generally conducive to getting things done, especially if I'm already struggling to focus.  I make micro-level checklists of my tasks for the day/week, roughly prioritized.  It kind of helps.

9. Criticism. Here's the thing.  People mess up.  Especially when you are a noob like we are, you don't know how things are done around here.  You weren't born knowing how to walk in high heels.  Heck, you weren't even born knowing how to walk.  So, take baby steps.  (I know, I'm biased toward that method.  But if you're trippin', it doesn't hurt to try.)

OK, enough with the touchy-feely stuff.  The point is, you're going to screw up at least once, and somebody's probably going to get mad at you, at least once.  People who ask you to complete some kind of task don't always know what they are asking for.  In fact, if they asked you to do it chances are they don't know what they want.  Just do your best, and learn from your mistakes.  Refine your work, hone in on the characteristics of success, whatever that means.  Show "professional development," and trust that you have the basic qualities you need to get the job done right, however long it takes.

10. Validation. Brown says you shouldn't expect to hear any praise.  I find this both untrue and in a lot of ways unconstructive.  I am fully aware, for the record, that I have been spoiled blind by praise.  We can get into a parenting theory discussion later (no rush, though, seriously) but I do think that the praise I received pretty much constantly from my parents and teachers growing up has given me the confidence to do a lot of the things I am proud of today.  I am also lucky enough to be working in a firm whose leaders give a lot of constructive feedback and encourage the same positive attitude in our constant teamwork, and again I attribute a lot of my really productive job-related confidence to this philosophy-in-action.

I'm not buffing my fingernails on my good fortune here, because not everyone was brought up that way.  Instead, I try now to deploy a healthy combination of #9 and #10 (i.e. constructive criticism, infused with a healthy dose of "what you did right" and "what could use work") toward other people, especially those who need a little boost to reach their personal goals.  I've seen it make a world of difference.

***

"The first year out of college can be tough," Brown writes.  Hear, hear.  "But your ability to navigate the challenges of your professional launch will set you on a positive course for a meaningful and rewarding career."

Ahem.  Yes, the first year out of college is undoubtedly tough.  The first year anywhere is tough.  Maybe it's just my eternal tendency to try and take on the universe in a single masterpiece, but I propose a more holistic approach to post-grad life.  I propose we take this time to construct lifestyles for ourselves, to eke out what is most important to us and seek to embody those things every day.  My wish for all my peers is that we do not lose steam and do not lose hope; that we can keep our momentum and hold onto the invaluable collection of experiences, tools and traits that make us who we are and that allow us to contribute uniquely to our communities.

Now.  Brush away those tears while I point you toward a few online examples of post-grads navigating the strange territory of the "real world" (what a dumb buzzword, by the way, used by college admissions departments nationwide).  My peers are really creative, intelligent, thoughtful human beings and I respect them a lot for sharing all that with the world.

• From St. Olaf to Saint-Brieuc: My St. Olaf classmate and good friend Stephen is now teaching English in a small provincial town in France (yes, we all think it's exactly like Beauty and the Beast).  As it turns out, though, he struggles with a lot of the same dilemmas in France as his stateside classmates do.  (He also goes on delicious pan-European vacations and takes gorgeous photos of them--reason alone to follow his blog!)
• Gator Don't Play No Shit: Written by a guy I went to school with from 4th grade 'til high school graduation, and his friends.  Their tagline reads, "Hard-hitting commentary from a couple of post-grad dudes."  I'm not going to characterize Gator as a "processing" blog like mine and Stephen's, but it definitely does document a "holistic approach to post-grad life."  And a really amusing one, at that.
• slubs in the city: More St. Olaf classmates, living together in the Twin Cities.  This is a total lifestyle blog.  They post awesome recipes, realizations about life that surfaced through a job experience, things they're excited about, and things they're not so excited about.  Super down-to-earth.
• the nebulous ponderings of a wandering lover: My good friend Liz took off to Portland, OR, after graduating from St. Olaf in May, without a plan or any real trajectory at all.  This is most definitely a processing blog, and while she doesn't post often, her posts do lay out some tough stuff for readers to slog through with her.  She's smart, thoughtful, and self-aware--good fodder for some serious pondering.
• lindsayinrussiaround2: Another classmate teaching internationally, in Russia this time.  She wouldn't likely write a post like this one ("things I've learned about life" blah blah blah) but she does talk about the ups and downs of her independent life.  Also, she has a wonderfully dry sense of humor.

So, creative, intelligent, thoughtful peers (and mentors) of mine, anything to add?

5 reasons to date locals

You have probably figured out by now that I am at least 75% mushy, even though I pretend to be tough, impenetrable, flighty, brash, lewd, and other non-mushy things.  Yes, I like kittens and ballads and Dove chocolates and I'm part of the royal line of RomCom Queens.  I also have been known on more than one occasion to make gagging noises when people are being cute in my vicinity, especially my sister and her boyfriend, or my parents, or Mary & Zach.

Double-kitten cuteness: Stella chomping my first-ever Beanie Baby, Snip.

That being said, how about we agree that inconsistency is a human condition, that Valentine's Day kind of makes everybody want to puke, even if what we want to puke is rainbows and carnations, and that I will try to spare you the obligatory mushy-gushy V-Day post and will not entirely succeed.

My intention here, so you can hold me accountable, is to err on the side of unromantic practicality: One major benefit of dating, especially as the new kid on the block, is the opportunity to explore new places and activities that I wouldn't normally look into or even know about.  This is also why it is a good idea to date locals.*

*J., this is not why I go out with you, I swear...


There are definite ethnographic benefits of getting close to the natives for purposes of becoming more familiar with the culture of interest.  Here are a few:

1. You get the inside scoop on local lore.  One night in New Orleans on Spring Break, I picked up a Bourbon Street bartender, born and raised in 9th Ward Nawlins.  When I told him I had never fallen in love with a city so hard and so fast, he asked, "Have you drunk tap water?"  I said I had, and he assured me I would return.  "You'll be back," he said.  "That's what they say: you drink the water, you'll come back someday."

As it turns out, I'm on the books to head back to NOLA this summer--as a chaperone this time.  Are you scared?

OK, moral of the story: There's magic in the water.  Be warned.

I realize that story is not Delaware-related, but I'm pretty proud of it, and the principle still stands.  Although I have heard that Delaware water isn't really potable.  And also that the nuclear power plants across the highway from my house were built in the 70s and are now breaking down.  Straight into our 'hood.

2. You have someone to drag along with you to check out venues.  At work I click a lot of Twitter links to Delaware events and attractions.  (If anyone is interested, follow the #netDE hashtag for all that good stuff.)  Anyway, I often stumble upon awesome activities or features and I can just share links to things I want to check out.  Dates are not likely to say, "No, let's not check out this incredibly cool activity."

3. They can recommend venues.  They tell you what's good, because they know.  They can show you all their favorite places, the places they've been going for as long as they can remember, the burger joint with the best fries because they have really compared most of the fries in Wilmington.  They usually have backstories too, like, "That's the place I went when I had just turned 21 and my cousin almost started a barfight so I've never been back."

In that vein, they can also tell you where not to go.

4. You know how to get there.  Locals know their way around better than a GPS or even an atlas, which especially south of Wilmington are often glaringly 10 years out of date.  Better yet, locals know shortcuts and back roads and beautiful scenic routes like the proverbial Valley.

And best of all, locals sometimes like to pick me up and take me to the destination, so I never actually have to figure out how to get there.  Ever.

5. You know what to order.  Back to Twitter.  The Wilmo Visitors' Bureau (@VisitWilmington) often posts links to at least one really excellent food blog, which is/are torturous to read at work because of the utterly delicious eateries and entrees they review and recommend, NONE of which I can eat at work.

Anyway, that blog recently featured this awesome-looking café called Lucky's, and when I caught myself drooling on my keyboard I sent the link to J., who messaged me back, "I go to lunch there all the time!  They have awesome..."  Now I don't remember what he said was awesome, but he was gung-ho about it and will definitely tell me what's good.

***

Update: Since starting this post I have been to Lucky's Coffee Shop and I can safely say the grilled ham & cheese sandwich, the turkey club, and the banana cream pie are all delicious.  Also, good jams (the 60s Sirius station).  And super cute place in general.


However, I have to revoke #4 above: Locals do NOT, in fact, know their way around.  I mean, it's not a given.  Sometimes you might drive around for 40 minutes or so looking for the interstate, or US 202, whichever shows up first.  In the meantime, you might hit pretty much every other highway in the state while driving in unclosed polygons across the whole northern half of Delaware.


You might.


It's not so bad, though.  After all, you learn a lot about a person when you're driving down unlit back roads in a car with them, "looking for the interstate"...

"toothbrush, wisdom and love."

Back to my roots: I am rockin' the grunge right now.  Thanks to a wonderful, extensive, and somewhat haphazard series of events, recounted here.

*Note: Some important theoretical discussions also went down, and I will skim them in italics at the appropriate chronological narrative moment.

The Plan: Karin would finish work in Manhattan around 10pm.  Audrey would catch the 7:30 train from New Haven.  I would leave Wilmington by car around 8, and the three of us would meet up at Karin's convent-home in Astoria by 11.  We would then head out on the town.

The Wrench: On Monday my oil light came on, so I made a service appointment for Friday and in the meantime poured a few quarts of oil into my engine over the course of the week.  The best part of this is that my designated oil-buying time is approximately 8:45 on weekday mornings, on my way to work...  Which means I'm demanding (politely) a quart or two of 5W-30 and a funnel, declining (also politely) any help or expertise, and pouring oil (delicately) into my engine in heels and tailored trousers.

Despite the unfortunate conditions forcing me to perform this task, the scene never fails to amuse me.

Because we all know I like to make a scene.

Friday afternoon, around 4pm, I find out out my oil pan needs to be replaced, because the entire engine is splashing around in several quarts of motor oil.  The car should not be driven, and if it must be driven, it should only be driven locally in Wilmington, until the pan can be replaced on Monday.

So, feeling somewhat defeated and wildly desperate, I check train tickets: no way I'm going to spend that kind of $$.  The time is ticking.  Greyhound's got my back, but I have to be at the bus station in half an hour, it's 15 minutes away, and I haven't packed yet.

The New Plan: Audrey, Karin and I converge on 42nd Street, Manhattan, 4 hours from ticket purchase, ready to hit the town, with only a purse each.  Thus the grunge.

The Run-down: I saw the lady behind me at the Wilmo bus station get nabbed for check fraud, and fought for a phone-charger outlet as my phone was conveniently and extremely dead.  Love the bus, baby.

After a series of long, mid-sidewalk group hugs, we headed to E. 14th Street for free-pizza-when-you-buy-a-beer at the Crocodile Lounge.  Immediately upon entering Karin disappears from in front of us into a deluge of screaming hugs from none other than Britta and Andrew, notable Jersey City Inhabitants, St. Olaf Class-of-'11-mates, and Good Friends.  (Also Joe McGo of Northfield freestyle fame.)

WWR**. Too excited to make a normal face.

Crocodile Lounge was hot and deafening, so we decided to head back to the street in search of a slightly less overwhelming venue.  Karin had been wanting to check out a place nearby called, what else, Professor Thom's.  As die-hard anthropology grads, could we really pass up a bar kind of named after the illustrious Tom Williamson?  Not a chance.

It turned out to be the best decision ever.  Thom's is a Boston bar, which is probably only interesting to me since my brother goes to school there and I love it.  And possibly interesting to New York City residents who want to watch Patriots or Bruins or Red Sox games.  The decor looks like colonial Boston, brick-walled with red and gold accents, lots of polished wood.  More notably, we took our first round, of Thom's Olde Ale, upstairs to the Loft, where we found a side room full of large couches and a small dance floor pretty much owned by two gorgeous ladies in LBDs and tall boots, rocking out to 80s dance hits.  Needless to say, we eventually joined them.

*Note here the social phenomenon of taking turns buying rounds of drinks for our companions, a theory first introduced to Karin in Professor Tom's Modern Elixirs class back on The Hill.  Sociologically, the proverbial "round of drinks" is a ritual that shapes the social experience of drinking culture.

When things seemed to be petering out up there, we left to find drunk food and found it around the corner at a Taiwanese joint called Baohaus.  To find out what bao are, you are better off just clicking the link and looking at photos, because I really am at a loss for descriptors.  I got an oyster po bao, mostly because I thought the name qualified as amusingly poor wordplay.  It was very oystery, which I didn't mind.

True to CAKE-in-New-York form, we made it back to Astoria roughly around 5am.

Also true to form, we headed over to the nearby Brooklyn Bagel for breakfast the next morning.  Now New York is famous for its bagels, and Brooklyn Bagel's mindblowing array of creamy, any-flavor cream cheeses and fresh bagels does not disappoint.  They also have one of those fresh orange juice machines, which I love.

*Enter the Cream Cheese Theory.  If, hypothetically, Karin went to Brooklyn Bagel on Day 1 and had a whole wheat everything bagel with lox & scallions cream cheese, and fell in love with it, should she try some of the other delicious options on a later occasion and risk dissatisfaction?  Or should she continue to enjoy her old standby, lox & scallions?  Analogically, should we settle at this early point in our lives in a place, or with a person, that we love, when the theoretical maple walnut could potentially be our new favorite if we only tried it?

Next stop, Central Park Conservancy's Tavern On The Green ice sculpture exhibit.  This was a cool stop, and as a matter of interest you can become a member of Central Park Conservancy kind of like you can become a member of public radio, old-school-crowdfunding-style.  The free hot chocolate was a major perk.

We didn't stick around too long because the Chelsea High Line was calling our collective name.  This former elevated train track has been turned into a park, like a raised greenway popular in cities like MSP and Boston.  Audrey was excited to catch a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty off in the distance, and a rather extensive glimpse of Jersey across the river.  Actually, the High Line provides a pretty sweet vantage point of the big city.  (In the future, keep an eye out for a photo of the building-side Diane Von Furstenberg ad featuring tons of lips, which it turns out I love with a weird intensity.)

Feeling hungry, and in search of a restroom, we descended toward the Chelsea Market, where one can find the impressive Amy's Bread, started by an Ole grad like ourselves!

Let me just say that Valentine's Day weekend was a fantastic time to visit the city.  Audrey and Karin were somewhat taken aback by my uncharacteristic displays of emotion at the virtual cornucopia of flowers saturating the city.  Also at the babies and little kids all bundled up in their tailored New York best.  A few quick vignettes: A flushed, apron-clad server at a Queens diner dashes out of a florist two doors down with a single rose clasped behind her back.  A sort of nondescript grey-haired man emerges from a subway station with an explosive bouquet in hand, emanating distracted determination.  A little girl in a perfect black pea coat and matching beret flounces along before her parents holding a bright yellow tulip over her heart.  Beautiful.  There is no other word.

Lunch break hugs. I LOVE these girls.

Back to the Market.  I was most excited by a stall boasting "Craft Beer To-Go!" but my sighting of it was poorly timed.  We hit up Hale & Hearty Soups for three-lentil chili and a delicious Tuscan white bean soup with spinach, and talked about our professional ambitions as though we are real, live adults.  Our real-life adult alter egos also hit up a wine & chocolate tasting of wines and chocolates I somehow managed not to write down, but the chocolate had lip prints on it (!!!) and was filled with rosé champagne cream.  The tasting also featured a beautiful, rich port, which I would love to drink again but alas, I am remiss in my name-jotting.

Quick aside: I am a sucker for shoes.  Another enthusigasm I had (haha, see what I did there?) was a direct reaction to a Chelsea store called Shoegasm, where I got stuck on a delightful pair of bright purple Dolce Vita "Notty" pumps.  Today, between Chinatown and SoHo, I was hypnotized into a store called Necessary Clothing by a gorgeous pair of red Breckelles Kansas-12 boots.  Step 1: I wholeheartedly own the fact that I have a problem.  Step 2: I have retained my willpower and bought neither pair of shoes.  Kind of a sad victory.

Now, Shoegasm happened while we were vaguely en route to meet Andrew, Britta and Joe for happy hour, and we ended up stepping into and back out of several West Village bars before we found The Slaughtered Lamb in Greenwich Village, on W. 4th and Jones Street.  It caught my eye because of the Slaughtered Prince in Stardust, and also because I'm super into that dark-windowed pub exterior with neon beer signs in the window.  The embellished nameplate was a successful kicker.

*Here I went on a passionate rant about intelligent design, or better intentional design.  (Here Karin chimes in, "Purposeful design!"  And Audrey adds, "Conscious!"  Context being the heated disbelief of a person this summer who insisted that intelligent design couldn't be possible if we consider all the ways our bodies break down and stop working, and all the individual imperfections in our bodies and in the natural world.  My argument is that intelligence does not presuppose perfection, but that the flaws and failings of what I call Creation make it all the more beautiful, that I, intelligent though I may be, could not begin to create something that works better.  That the intricate workings of our bodies are beautiful and I prefer to imagine someone bent over them late into the night, working out the kinks, putting pieces together with agonizing care.

The Slaughtered Lamb boasts over 100 bottled beers, the world's smallest bathrooms, the world's best whiskey sour, awesome music and ambience, and a weird larger-than-life spinning statue of a werewolf biting a young maiden on the neck.  We were sitting in its shadow, which really freaked out Audrey and Karin, but we had a good time there anyway.  Even though the water tasted like liquid plastic.

The water at Veselka, though, where we went for supper, was delicious.  The guy who refilled our water glasses was also very skilled at aiming the pitcher stream straight into the glass from a substantial distance.  I was impressed.  All of us were impressed with the pierogies, which come in about 9 different delicious flavors.  The arugula & goat cheese, sweet potato, and sauerkraut & mushroom were favorites.  The place was packed, so we were kind of rushed out, but we took a piece of cheesecake to go and ate it on the subway back to Astoria.  It was divine, and all the more so because of the setting.  I admit we made a bit of a splash with our savoring antics.

We ended up staying in and watching YouTube videos on Saturday night, so we could get up early and head to Chinatown's Jing Fong Restaurant for dim sum--Chinese brunch in a HUGE banquet hall where we sat at a table with a small Chinese family and chose delicious delicacies off carts pushed by staff through the hall.  Let me just say that eating out with vegetarians is consistently an interesting experience, especially since I was craving meat for a lot of the weekend.  I'll sum it up in a quote from Karin: "This is great because we can just pick whatever looks good, and Clara can be our garbage disposal for all meat!"

Awesome.  I am a garbage disposal.  For meat, no less.

Feeling well-satisfied by this traditional Chinese brunch, we set back out on the street, which had filled up with cherry vendors.  I LOVE cherries.  And they were so cheap!  So we bought a pound and pretended like we weren't going to eat them as we walked along.  We didn't pretend like we weren't going to practice tying knots in the stems with our tongues, though.  Never gets old.

We were going to try and cram a Staten Island Ferry and a mysterious "cute thing" Karin had planned into the day before I had to catch my bus back to Wilmo...  But I voted we put off the ferry 'til next time, and we headed up toward SoHo to Openhouse Gallery, currently Park Here: The Indoor Popup Park!  Basically, this open gallery has been landscaped with fake grass, trees, bushes and flowers, and even a little gazebo.  We parked it on the ground and sat to chat for awhile, watching the Mommy Morning turn into hipster afternoon, full of trendy twenty-somethings reading poetry and drinking coffee.

We didn't fit in at all, not our skinny jeans or several days' worth of greasy hair.  We decided to hit up the Grey Dog on Mulberry Street (inspiration for the childhood favorite, And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street? I don't know) for "lunch."  "Lunch" being Mexican hot chocolate for Karin and hot spiced wine with almonds and raisins floating in it for Audrey and I.  Oh, and we split the world's biggest brownie.  Wholesome, I know.

Also, the host kept frantically changing his mind about which table we would be sitting at, finally settling on "The Ideal Table for you guys, it just opened up.  There've been some people sitting there but they just left...  So you're going to be up in the back corner."  Turns out it was The Ideal Table, a little round one nestled in the corner of the bench wrapped around the whole café, which featured a surface map of Philadelphia.  The way the table was oriented, Wilmington fell right into Karin's lap.  Not a bad place to live, I'm sure.

I won't say I almost missed my bus, because I really didn't, and I did a pretty amazing job not getting anxious about it.  But they shut the doors about 2 minutes after I boarded, and I was so stoked the whole way home that I didn't even try to sleep.  Really the bus is the best way to go, and I plan to get up there wayyy more often from now on.

Seriously.  Spending time with Audrey and Karin was so refreshing, so intellectually stimulating, so much like coming home.  Considering that New York City has often been a source of stress in the past, this is saying a lot.  But I appreciate our shared prior text, and how utterly and unconditionally comfortable we can be together, and how they take for granted all the parts of my personality I struggle to convince my new friends of.  Plus, we got reallllly grungy together.  (A true St. Olaf flashback!)

The day before I left I texted Karin asking her what I needed to bring.  She texted back,

"toothbrush, wisdom and love."

super (bowl) weekend

Idiotic of me to try and write tonight.  I've been going full-steam since Friday--Thursday--Wednesday...  Yeah.  For weeks.  And I have finally hit the extreme point on the homeostasis sine curve (see Figure 1) where I remember that I need to take time for myself, to clean my room, for example, do my taxes, start up another vocational project, or write some letters.  Because the great thing about writing letters is it's nice on both ends: Everybody loves getting a handwritten letter in the mail, and it's cathartic and constructive to write.  So this is on my agenda.  Among approximately 2497573523957 other things.

Figure 1: Graphic representation of the Search for Normalcy

One thing that makes the Quest for Normalcy difficult, or at least complicated, is that I do not live in a bubble.  (Believe it or not...)  There are always other people involved in my life and the way it plays out, other obligations, desires, and demands on my time and energy.  And I would have it no other way.

Here's an example which has been killing me slowly all weekend:

I came home on Friday having just received a phone call from yet another friend recently engaged.  This makes at least 3 or 4 of my inner circles now engaged or married, and I mentioned this fact nonchalantly to my mother, who responded, "Oh, honey, I'm sorry!"

Seriously?!  "Mom!  I'm not sad about it!"  In fact, I am unfathomably excited for all of them and of course I wish them all the best with a passion that beats at the borders of my heart.  Mostly it's just strange that I've reached that point in my life where, not only are my peers getting married, but they're actually kind of ready to get married.  I most certainly am not, and I'm just as pumped about the state of my own affairs as I am about theirs.  The last thing I feel is left out.

Maybe I read into it too much (it wouldn't be the first time, nor the last) but my interpretation of this hilarious exchange plays into the beautiful burden of Legacy which has been haunting me for years now.  Like Christmas dinner, senior year of college, when Grampa said pointedly, "Well, Clara hasn't brought home a boy yet.  And if she hasn't I think it must be because of Clara, because I sure met a lot of nice St. Olaf boys when we visited there."

AHEM.

The point is, Grampa and Gramma were married at 18 and still are madly in love, nearly 60 years later.  Grampi has loved and still loves to a degree that is agonizing even for me.  Mutti and Papa are definitely, disgustingly in love 25 years later.  It's a beautiful thing, but none of them really get why I'm not jumping on the bandwagon.  After all, G&G had 2 babies by the time Gramma was my age, and Mutti was newly married and doing missionary work with her new hubby.  She actually said this weekend, in a really fascinating conversation about vocation I had with my parents Saturday morning, "We didn't really have a plan, we didn't know what we were going to do with our lives.  We just knew we were going to do it together."

Puke.

I know I've written about this before, emotional detox and this awesome chance I'm getting right now to figure out what I like and what I want and who I am.  This is a completely different way to start my adult life than figuring out what we like and what we want and who we are.  Really, though, it is a lovely legacy and I am fully aware of how lucky I am to have it.  Unlike a lot of my peers, I wholeheartedly believe in everlasting love.

Speaking of everlasting love, one thing I have been throwing under the bus with my wild schedule lately is girl time.  Oh travesty!  I of all people, author of a study on girl talk, should know how crucial female community, company, and support is in a woman's life.  And I have not been getting enough of that good solid girl time.

So Thursday my Delaware wingwoman and I went to Zumba at the Y and followed our intense sweat session with drinks and apps at Applebee's, because we both love it and neither of us is ashamed of that fact.  Plus there's half-price appetizers after 9pm.  This is key.  We also planned to spend pretty much the whole weekend together.

Now, let's be clear.  I like guys, I like hanging with them -- one in particular, these days.  But there is just something refreshingly awesome about spending an entire weekend attached at the hip with an awesome girl friend.  Which is what I did this weekend.  Or with multiple girl friends, I guess.  We ate pizza and read trash mags and watched chick flicks (Friends With Benefits consistently takes the cake over No Strings Attached in the hookup movie category).  Our mixed drinks were lumpy because I bought creme de coco instead of coconut milk.  (Take heed!)  We discussed goldfish psychology at 3:00 in the morning, and polished off almost an entire bag of inspirational Dove chocolates.

And then we headed over to Craig's for the Super Bowl.  I know, since when do I watch football?!  (Since when does my family watch football?  I swear my jaw hit the floor when I came home and both my parents asked what I thought of the Giants' win.  ...Whaaaat?)

I admit I spent most of the time giggling in a sleep-deprived delirium, and heading to the kitchen when the game came on to grab more snacks or another beer.  Lots of snapping going on, and "that's what she said."  I had even watched most of the commercials online at work over the last 2 weeks, since they have all been trending videos lately.  But I did watch the halftime show and the fourth quarter, and I was actually really into the end of the game.  It helped that Kristy is a die-hard Giants fan, but that wasn't a hard wagon for me to jump on seeing as at least part of my heart is and will forever live in New York.  I even said "Blockbuster" in my Amsterdam voice this weekend, without thinking about it.

Incidentally, Blockbuster has apparently copycatted Redbox with Blockbuster Express kiosks, or perhaps kiosk, since I have only ever seen one: tucked on the edge of the Food Lion in Claymont.  I am also dead over the Food Lion and the medieval logo: 

I've had a fantastic weekend and tomorrow I'm taking the evening to myself to check some things off my list and do my own thang.  Or, you know, catch up on the sleep I missed out on this weekend and last week and the weekend before...  I'm also pumped for a lunch date with my dad this week, and visiting Queens next weekend to spend some time with my girls up there.  It's been too long, and we all know my last (barely overnight) excursion up there was a flaming success.  In a more vague sense, I've decided to start more actively looking for a community of writers in the Wilmington area, or figure out how to do some coaching.

Right now, though, I'm about to pass right out.  True to form, I couldn't be more pumped about it.

a not particularly cohesive, but perhaps somewhat enlightening, post.

I am continually amazed at the resilience of certain relationships in my odd and scattered life.  Some, too, surprise me.

You would not be surprised if I told you that, although I no longer live in the same room, suite, building, town or even state as most of my mainstays, I still manage to stay in fairly good touch with most of them via a mindblowing number of mediums.

But you might be surprised to hear that the bulk of my daily conversation, outside of the people I see on a regular basis, happens with classmates I graduated with but barely talked to while we were at school together.  A lot of this is witty banter, small talk, or sharing funny stories, but we hit on a really fulfilling amount of serious shit together.  Like relationships.  Vocation.  Philosophy.  Social issues.  Life goals, greatest fears, and daily struggles.  These are really important conversations, and I am continually amused at the fact that they are happening now, now that we are 1000 miles apart.

One thing I've been doing quite a bit is workshopping, which is cool because one of the top 3 things I'd like to really do with my life is coach writing.  Workshop.  So I've been working with a friend on a lot of different kinds of stuff, and working through a lot of hangups in the process.  Today we brushed the surface of a potentially heated discussion about an element of a piece he wrote.  We disagreed, but while I try not to do the passive-aggressive thing, I don't find outright disagreement the most constructive way to work through an issue  like that.  When I alluded to this philosophy, he responded, "I'm continually amazed at how openminded you are."

I laughed out loud.  Open-minded?  Me?!  I am one of the more impatient, stubborn people I know.  While I don't do a whole lot of broadcasting, I have some pretty rigid ideas about how the world works and what I think about it, and I don't feel very receptive to the idea of change most of the time.  I reacted pretty strongly against my friend's stance on the issue at hand, I just didn't come out that strongly to him with it because I wasn't prepared to make a case.

The amazing thing is, I'd call him at least a little stubborn too; but we can talk for hours and hours, coming at an issue from very different sides, and verrrry gradually I can see these sides shifting, a little farther into the grey area, looking a little more alike.  I think it's safe to say we both enjoy learning from each other.  And it's a fascinating, fulfilling example of how we (people) change each other's lives.

Because despite all our disagreements, I'd most likely catch a grenade for that guy without thinking too hard about it.

Not to mention some of the people I bear closest to my heart, who have some key things in common with me but by and large rub my sensitivities in completely the wrong direction.  Which, now that they are scattered and flung, is actually a little soothing.

Here is a returning theme: Resilience.

I am finding myself lately struggling not to approach situations too cerebrally, but to give myself a moment to step back and say, "What is my stance on this, really?"  And I check in with myself, try to just talk it out, and then chill out.

I am learning so many new things it's a wonder my brain hasn't reached capacity.  Isn't learning supposed to slow down as we start getting old?  I'm faced every single day with a situation in which my instinctual or original approach needs to shift to make room for other input or adjustments.  This is difficult.  But I am finding that ideas have incredible elasticity.

This is a bit of a rant -- my thoughts are disorganized lately, or too organized, perhaps.  There are things I'd love to talk about that I'd feel weird writing about here.  Like the awesome ob-gyn I saw today.  For example.

Anyway, speaking of resilience, the longest, slowest train in the world sometimes likes to cross my morning commute.  Not on a schedule at all, mind you.  But more than once I have spent longer waiting for it to pass, or waiting while it comes to a full stop in the railroad crossing, than it normally takes me to get to work in the morning.  I was wildly unamused, and even more unamused at how unamused I was about it.  Trying the entire time to just let myself roll with the punches.  Speaking also of the cerebral vs. holistic dilemma.

On another note, happy Groundhog Day!  Let's be honest, has there ever not been 6 more weeks of winter?  I'm as superstitious as the next guy, but let's be real.  It's February.  And it seems to me Groundhog Day is just an excuse for every weather-manipulating deity to get together and laugh at our folly.  It's like the Super Bowl of the gods.  Maybe global warming will change things next year, give those suckers a challenge.  Make winter hard for once.

Minnesota has a hard winter every year.

I want to tell you what I'm most excited about right now, regardless of how relevant it is to any of the aforementioned topics.  It is: red velvet cupcakes with lime green frosting.  I'm going to make them tomorrow and I could not be more pumped.  And the reason I want to make this particular kind is because I got stuck (after the train) behind a magenta landscaping truck with lime green accents.  And for some reason it made me want cupcakes in that color scheme.

Makes sense, right?