New Banner

As much as I like my current banner, I live in bougieville now, and it’s not so fitting. I don’t want to pretend that I’m still on a block that is yet to be fully gentrified when I’m really in super white office worker central. Should I just give in and make it a photo of cheese? Any suggestions?

Hope we can bail ourselves out

So let’s update from the last post. I read about the GRE some more and I. want. to die. Let’s just skip how I had dreams about talking about magical universities with my friends. In happy news, I’ve listened to some good new tunes.

In confusing news, I had an existential crisis today while wandering around the mansions in my neighborhood and listening to Sufjan Stevens. I probably set myself up for that one. Note to self: Sufjan plus mansion tour does not help me solve problems in my head. What if by some twist of fate I end up being a millionaire living in one of those homes? I think this is the problem with me reading so many classics. I assume wealth is just something that comes upon you like a summer cold. Maybe that’s better than thinking it’s something feasible you can actually work for though.

If you haven’t been reading experts’ outlook for my generation, let me frame it for you. If you want an education, you better expect loans to burden you for life. If you expect a creative career, you better be self-employed and okay with starving. If you want the American dream, grow up and lower your standards to never declaring bankruptcy equaling success. I kind of hope that I wake up one day and realize that I was in one of those apocalypse movies. Just kidding! Great free health care for everyone! Affordable organic produce! All the bigots died in a hurricane! Our kids are only taught equality and can achieve in more ways than high test scores! And on and on… I’m afraid that we all have these concerns and I can’t blame it on living in this lawmaking abyss. (Who makes laws these days anyway?)

I wish I could blame this outlook on the lame old Baby Boomers who hate us because we tweet instead of protest wars. Maybe we don’t react the same way as you did. That doesn’t mean we’re all narcissistic, apathetic sheep. Sure we probably have a large sample that are, but I bet a lot of you jerks sold your soul in the 80s. Somebody had to set up this effed financial culture that we inherited, just sayin’.

I swear I meant to write happy things here, but all the curmudgeons are getting me down. Haven’t we done anything so far to impress you people? It’s not like the grown folk are doing such a good job anyway. I bet we can make some of our societal lemons into spiked lemonade somehow. Now I’m off to do something productive…like read online cartoons or Daily Show clips.

Current Concerns

I started writing this list at work…thank you WordPress app for Android! Then I finished it tonight while trying to cram in lots of new music listening. So that should explain the photo and shift in mood. I survived Monday and ate a bowl of cherries, so maybe that’s why life looks better. Do people outside of the DMV has the my-friends-are-too-smart complex? That would make me feel better. So yes, on to my current concerns…

1. Everyone will leave me for grad school.
2. I’m too stupid for grad school. Why didn’t I study math and science? The world doesn’t need more crappy writers.
3. I can’t handle another month of over 90° weather.
4. I still haven’t learned CSS…or anything really in the last few months.
5. I keep wearing these pants even though every time I put them on I feel very fat. In reality I’m just very out of shape and could spare a few pounds off the tum. It’s the pants’ fault!
6. Jane Eyre is losing my attention.
7. I hate dressing “business casual.” They might as well call it frumpy ill fitting oxford and boring pencil skirt dress code.
8. There is just so much good music I don’t have time to listen to.
Solution: my large rockin’ out headphones and working from home?
9. I possibly need caffeine to function at work.
10. I crave more vacations, especially abroad.
11. I need more freckles. JK, just seeing if you’re paying attention!

Kolleen Struggles Pt. 2

You might want a refresher on this one.

I find that every time I go to post something new that I’ve written, I chicken out. Today’s post was going to be about the difference between physical and mental challenges. Mainly how physical challenges are easier for me to bear, whereas mental challenges leave me in a crying ball in my bathtub. This is all relevant to today. The sobbing part is not an exaggeration. The problem is my “mental” issue is something I can’t be specific about at this moment, so it makes the post a little lackluster. So Ghost-of-Christmas-Past Kolleen spoke to me from my files today and brought me this gem. I haven’t read it back to back with the other list, but I think there are many similar items. Yes, that is the original title. The document is named Self-Esteem list, but it’s more 25 reasons why I was a weirdo in college (and was before and am currently) and 25 slightly cuter things.

11-2-08
Why I Am Amazing and Unique:
1. I love words, dialects and colloquialisms.
2. I listen to Otis Redding when I get ready on the weekends.
3. I collect money from other countries, though I’ve never been to them.
4. I am the best bargain shopper.
5. I can carry a tune.
6. I bake really good brownies, cookies, cakes, etc.
7. My mom and I are like the Gilmore Girls, but smarter and funnier.
8. I appreciate the people who befriend my crazy ass.
9. I can admit that I’m a nerd, and I push myself to do well in my classes.
10. I can only listen to a song so many times; I worry about getting sick of it.

Sausage toes

I bet you didn’t think Part 2 would come so quickly, didja? DISCLAIMER: don’t read if the title alone grossed you out.

So my foot was numb for about 24 hours after surgery, which was great. I got scared and popped a pain pill at night when I started to feel my toes a little bit. I got breakfast in bed and read more of Anna Karenina, and felt pretty good save for some phantom throbs in my foot. I don’t remember Saturday. I remember trying to eat at the table like a person and then having to lie down right after.

Sunday I lay around like a queen while the fam put together kitchen organizers in my apartment. To be fair, I was in painkiller side effect zone plus surgery recognition by my body. My mom pointed out that my heel was purple. Yum. We went to order pizza and I had a minor breakdown where I called the pizza place, was told they don’t deliver on weekends, handed the phone to boyfriend and said, “ugh I don’t care. I can’t do anything.”

I felt like my brain just shut off. My synapses held up little picket signs that said: eff you, we are not working overtime today. Like any evil ruling overlord, I had to comply. My stomach was twisted in knots and the arteries around my foot seemed to be putting on a thumping rave. Something was thumping in there and giving me a headache, anyway. Luckily, we watched I Love You Man and due to the TV editing I learned the insult, you’re such an armhole!

Broken foot bones

Hi blog friends,
This should be a fun post because I’m writing on my Droid under the influence of pain, Vicodin, and love.

I had foot surgery Friday and like any self-respecting journalism scholar, I thought of ways to turn my discomfort into fun reading material.

In true worst case scenario loving form, I told the bf he had my permission to date a new hip girl if I didn’t make it through surgery. Apparently that was not the last exchange he wanted before I went under in the morning. So I was like: sowwy, I promise to live long enough so you get to nurse me back to health if that’s reeeally what you want. (I’m such an ungrateful wench.)

Sorry TR!

So Mom and Jimbo, the caretaking duo, came to my new apartment at 7 am. It was a lovely DC morning. I showed them around my new digs and kissed my shoe collection farewell.

In the surgery prep, I had this hilarious nurse who asked if I had eaten anything past midnight. Nope! I said. They tell you not to because it messes with your anesthesia. If there is one thing I don’t want to go wrong it’s the stuff keeping me clunked out while they saw my bones. “No cupcakes, tuna fish, bagels?”
No, I said and laughed. She’s like “well just checking, those are all things people admitted to eating after saying they didn’t have anything.”
I had forgotten to take out my cartilage ear piercing too. That launched the nurse into a comment of how she used to be able to see everyone’s piercings just by looking at them, but now they get piercings done in unmentionable places. You can’t have any metal on your body in case they use a cauterizer, because you might get burned. I didn’t want to think about the grisly tools they were about to use on my bleeding foot so I just said “Ok, let’s roll!”

A Cooking Story

I hate it when my brain becomes my own worst enemy. It’s just like that great song by Lit.

So, I need to cook in order to become a real adult (so I’m told). It’s a good idea because I often skip dinner, or eat cheese and crackers. Cooking dinner is cheaper and provides me with tasty lunches.

Although I love reading recipes on Epicurious, I usually get to the sixth ingredient that is only sold at Whole Foods or is stupidly expensive, and just click off the page and make pasta or eggs for dinner. Today I took the gourmet recipe bull by the horns and opted for Spicy Thai Shrimp with Raita.

So raita is easy peasy. It’s just yogurt, mint leaves, and diced cucumber with some lemon zest. Even a lazybones like me can do that. Mint is kind of stupid expensive, but not unfeasible. I decided I could knock out all this shopping on my lunch hour.

For the shrimp, I decided to actually buy sesame oil and figured the red chile paste is normally stocked on the Asian aisle. That was untrue. I know it’s just a Safeway, but what kind of podunk ass grocery store doesn’t have curry paste! This is Bethesda, Maryland not Gillette, Wyoming. (Sorry WY.)

Then the shrimp I grabbed was not the one I thought was slightly overpriced for a Tuesday dinner. It was way more money than I even spend on my organic, cage-free chicken or high quality Trader Joe’s hamburger meat. G’DAMNIT. I could have bought at least two adorable dresses at the consignment store instead. (This is where my true priorities lie.)

It was all a downward spiral for there. I could have just been like whoops, I don’t want this shrimp, and left it for my cashier to deal with. The line was too long to go back though. I could have thought whoops, lesson learned. not going to spend that much money again. Instead my brain went something like this:

You are $%&ing dumb. Why did you not check the $*&^ing price before you @%^$ing bought it! Why didn’t you just make #*&^ing salmon like you were supposed to? OHHH now you want to walk to the Asian market to find the $%&ing chile paste. Too bad it’s a Japanese market and they don’t have Thai chili paste! IDIOT. Now you just carried the frozen shrimp for five extra blocks in the 80 degree sun just for a tiny bottle of sesame oil. WOW. I $%^&ing hate you.*

The cooking beast loomed over me for the rest of the workday. I left work and went to what I will probably refer to as my crappy Giant. I immediately had to retract this because crappy Giant had multitudes of Asian sauces! Even the crazy lady blabbing to her baby in the aisle looked at me a little funny for beaming at oyster sauce. I bought the red curry paste and a garlic chili sauce just for kicks.

Guess what? The shrimp was super yummy on top of some jasmine rice that came out perfectly from the rice cooker. I plopped the raita on some spring greens on the side to make the sauce go a bit further. It was simple flavors, but overall really tasty. I win this time, cooking!!

Side note: I know I use red curry paste and chili paste interchangeably. They aren’t the same thing, but of the Thai Kitchen brand the curry is spicier.

*I don’t normally rage on myself this hard. It was just one of those days.

Clara Lewe Gubbins

My heroine, Clara Gubbins, passed away on December 16, 2010. With Mother’s Day and her birthday in this month (May 12), it reminds me of her a lot. She would have been 94. Sometimes I get really sad and wish she’d come back to teach me how to bake bread, quilt, and make tulips thrive. Unfortunately, you only get so much time, and she certainly wouldn’t want me to spend mine moping. I hope I lead a life as rich as hers.

I sent the following ode to my family and it seems like I managed to create a swift brushstroke that illuminates a bit of who she was. I started writing it before she was gone, because I was so worried I’d forget things. Somehow everyday I realize more and more ways she touched my life. I’m so lucky to have had such a great role model.

An Ode to Clara

Dearest grandma, mom, aunt, sister, friend,

Stringer of famous onomatopoeia

From a crunch-a-munch to a smidgeon of cinnamon.

Lover of ice cream, walks and PBS.

Amateur naturalist, expert gardener.

Baker of bread so moist and hearty

I can’t describe the taste,

Because it digested in my heart, not my stomach.

Devout Christian and charity leader

Whose mere existence makes me believe in God.

Unappreciated inventor

Making Quaker oat containers into baby doll cribs

And turning old tablecloths and scraps into beautiful quilts.

Relentless optimist, though a tough German frau.

Honorary Irish wife, who probably knows more Gaelic culture

Than a full-blooded Irish lass.

Miracle healer,

Soothing bug bites, burns and mental anguish

With salves and a tender, albeit arthritic hand.

Neatnick and clutter-phobe

Who scrubbed floors on her hands and knees beyond age 80.

Brought up as a lawyer, but with the curiosity and patience

Of a teacher.

Mystery fan, knitter, athlete, bird watcher, whistler, eater of a record number of baked potatoes, pioneer of the DIY can-do spirit, and one of the greatest people to ever walk the Earth.

No aspect of my life is free of Grandma’s touch.

I rip up and re-sew my clothes with unhindered determination.

I collect leaves and marvel at nature’s gifts.

I pass on interesting historical facts and retell parts of books I’m reading.

I bake pies and cookies to show my love.

I drink tea with lemon and honey and eat bananas like they’re going out of style.

I insist on forever being just one of the kids.

I am inherently interested in any subject and keep my mind open for learning.

I always carry a sweater just in case.

I volunteer because I know ever soul makes a change in this world.

I hope to be a fraction of the woman that is Clara Lewe Gubbins.

Northwest (DC) Bound

I start blog posts in my head a lot. That sounds incredibly sad, but I mean that I start little essays that I want to write down and this is the place they often end up. They also end up in word documents on my computer where they grow digital dust and inevitably die. I’ve been saving up quite a few, so this thing is gonna need some subheads.

Tico* Times

First up, Costa Rica. Wowzers. I almost felt bad posting pictures because I think I did a pretty good job of capturing what an absurd wonderland that country is and in turn made everyone jealous. For example, view this waterfall below. We happily dove in the crisp water without knowing how deep it was or what kind of friendly creatures lived there. Everything I’ve come across in CR is “at your own risk.” It was worth it in that it was an oasis from the hot, dusty field surrounding it. No one believes me that Costa Rica has arid parts, but my peeling shoulders can tell you differently. Also the heinous picture I posted (and was asked to remove) of my dirt-coated feet is a good representation. As my brother’s girlfriend aptly put, “wow, now I understand why having your feet washed was such a big luxury in Bible times.” Amen, sistah.

I recently became obsessed with juice. Thank you, Latin countries. One amazing discovery I made on this trip was watermelon juice. Isn’t that the most obvious choice of a fruit to make into juice? C’mon, United States! When we got to our first lodge outside Rincón de la Vieja park, we were greeted with fresh watermelon juice and a little splash of cacique, another sugar cane alcohol. Also, there were a lot of resident pups who were used to being greeted with endless affection. In my next life I’m coming back as a Costa Rican hotel dog. My other favorite part of the trip was horseback riding and a 400 meter long waterslide they built in the side of a hill for no apparent reason. I could brag some more, but you should just book your trip already.

*Tico is the local way of calling someone a Costa Rican. It’s like if we had a cute form of the word American.

Movin’

Pura Vida, suckaahs

I realized I left this bloggy on a downer note. Sorr.

So I’m headed to Costa Rica on Saturday. Who wants me to smuggle back some tropical fruit/monkeys for them? My dad wants me to take only a carry-on bag and I’m seriously contemplating if I can do this. The problem is I am American and last time I wore one pair of jeans to ride Rosita, my horse friend, then hike through some sandy, jungle trails and trust me, no one would want me to wear those suckers back on the plane. Also jeans and tropical climates are not friends. I shall bring my super crunchy cargo pants!

As a little kid going on camping trips, my family would always be amazed at how many outfits I managed to pack in my bag. I’d just say hahaha my clothes are smaller, so I put in 10 outfits for 10 days. Duh! So, I was always looking fly and stylish in my teal and hot pink matching hiking clothes.

So pray that I don’t get sunburned, bring any ticks home this time, and that I finish a lot of books! Yay for reading time!

I got another, “you should be a writer comment” today. AHAHAHAHA sure. In the meantime, I will try to keep a trip journal so I have some good stories to transcribe.

P.S. Moms pointed out I never explained the title. Pura vida is sort of the national motto of Costa Rica. It literally means pure life, but it’s translated more like how we say “the good life“. They even use it as a greeting. Sort of one of those awesome phrases that doesn’t quite make sense in English. Being the word nerd I am, I love that shit.