random thoughts on a tuesday night

Style advice from toddlers here.

Being a cheap drunk is a good thing.

Paint color really transforms a space.

Sometimes a Friday night in watching Friday Night Lights while eating pudding in your pajamas is the very best way to end the week.

The idea of having my wisdom teeth removed terrifies me.

Only 105 days stand between me and getting on a plane to Amsterdam with my mom and sister.

I have so very much to be fortunate for.

Being really good at making cocktails is more important than folding a towel in precise thirds before hanging it up, and definitely more important than making the bed every morning, but don't tell Mr. S.

who's hungry?

Dishes and drinks I'd like to learn how to make well. Well enough that Mr. S. gives them a 10 out of 10 on our "How good of a cook am I?" scale, or maybe even dares to rate them very low on our "How does this compare to Restaurant Alma?" scale.

Meatballs. Meatloaf. Panang curry. Split pea and ham soup. Olive bread. Pizza dough. Ice cream. Manhattans. Itchitinis. Homemade pasta. Roasted vegetable breakfast scramblers. Hashbrowns. Buckwheat pancakes. Chai tea a la Kenya. Corn chowder. Dinner rolls. Basil with beef. Breakfast porridge a la Hell's Kitchen. Really good chocolate cake. Grilled fajitas. Goma ae. Pulled pork. Dirty martinis.

honeymooning

Cocktails every night. Reading three books in four days. Oh the seafood. Sleeping in. Staying up late. Never having to look at a watch. Falling asleep to the sound of the ocean in a big cozy bed next to a crackling fireplace after a dinner of pasta and wine. Hot tubbing under the stars. Vodka martinis. Sablefish, crepes, sushi, crumpets. The best (Cuban) sandwich I've ever had. Sneaking into the hotel's saltwater hot tub after hours, bottles of cold beer in-hand. Biking through Vancouver, along the ocean, onto the beach. Free champagne. Whale watching, even if we didn't see any damn whales. Canadian accents. Running through the streets of Vancouver, drunk and laughing, to catch The Hangover Part II. Bubble baths. Raspberry scones, peaches, charcuterie. Two red Adirondack chairs overlooking the sea. Coffee on the pier. Buying fish at the fish market, veggies and the vegetable stand, bread at the baker, cheese at the cheese shop and wine at the wine store... all within two blocks. Cheap Thai food. Sake. Record stores, book stores, pie shops, coffee shops. Drinking wine in the shower. Naps, as many as you could fit into one day. Beaches. Green everywhere. Contentment. A damn good honeymoon indeed.

beer and wedding planning

I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I considered going on a wedding diet and doing a wedding "cleanse." What is a wedding cleanse, you ask? I have no idea. I saw someone on Facebook post that they were planning to give up alcohol and other beverages -- only drink water and one cup of coffee a day -- for the month leading up to their wedding. Then someone commented on their post, "Oooh, the wedding cleanse!" So I thought, "Oooh, a wedding cleanse!" And without further prompting, declared that until the wedding, I'd only be drinking water and green tea. The next night I had two glasses of wine and decided a wedding cleanse was a terrible idea.

Who ever came up with these ridiculous pre-wedding rituals? Why do women, myself included, feel they need to lose weight, avoid any activity that might break a nail, and give up booze to be marriage-ready? Shouldn't you be as much like yourself as possible on the wedding day? I decided that yes, I should be me. Burger- and ice cream-eating, soccer playing, HOPSLAM! drinking me.

So that's exactly what I've been doing. Pigging out at Brasa with friends, getting punched in the face and all scraped up at soccer, and drinking beer. Oh how I love beer. How are you supposed to get through planning a wedding without it? I think instead of a wedding cleanse, society should encourage women to DRINK MORE BEER before their weddings. Beer makes everything better. Seating charts? No problem. Gluing 200 flags onto straws? Easy. No peonies because it's been a shit of a spring? Fantastic! Beer goggles have more than one purpose, I've discovered.

Ladies and gentlemen, spread the word. The new "it" diet for brides is a beer diet. Beer and cheese curds and whatever else makes you happy. Because that's what brides should be, and that's what brides will be, on their wedding day, no matter what they eat or drink beforehand.

Hot damn I can't wait to be a happy bride. Ten days and counting.

lol

This is the funniest thing I've seen in a long time. Of course it would have to be something related to the Royal Wedding to bring me out of blogger hibernation. It's embarrassingly fitting.

friday favorite

Artichoke nesting bowls. Love.

meat raffle

It is officially a life goal of mine to attend a meat raffle. What is a meat raffle you ask?

"A meat raffle is a tradition of raffling off meat, often in pubs and bars, common in Britain and in the USA in Minnesota and Wisconsin. In most parts of Britain a meat raffle is known as a 'meat draw.'"

How have I never been to one of these? Oh the anticipation. Drinking beer at a local VFW (lovingly referred to as "The V" by the mail lady at work) or Knights of Columbus while eyeing up hunks of packaged raw meat. Yes please.

Not only am I going to make it a Life Goal to raffle myself some meat, I'm going to make the bold move of putting it on my list of Things To Do In 2011.

You heard it here first.

lots to do

Work, work, work. Run, run, run. Plan, plan, plan. That's about all I do lately (it makes me sad that Blog, Blog, Blog is missing from the list...) But I got to head to my favorite U.S. city for work; running hasn't been as horrendous as you'd think, considering the temps here in Minneapolis; and wedding planning is So. Much. Fun. Really and truly. I love it. So many ideas, so many possibilities! The trick is just figuring out how to work them all in to The Big Day in a cohesive manner. Below are just a few things I've stumbled upon that have made the process oh so enjoyable.

I wish I would have thought of this.


Love this style, love Anthropologie.


Mr. S is going to be oh so dapper in his not-yet-found suit and tie (if I can carry his drink...)

And I can hardly wait to spend four uninterrupted days here in June. Pure wedded bliss in the Pacific Northwest. (And yes, I specifically asked if those chairs were still in the cabin before I booked. They are.)

artillery punch

With many holiday celebrations on the way, who doesn't need a recipe for Artillery Punch in their back pocket? I just might make some tonight to help me power through addressing our Save the Dates (that counts as a holiday celebration, right?). Maybe it will take away the pain from my bruised palm -- the result of a two-hour return-address-stamping ordeal. Uff-dah weddings are a lot of work. Thank goodness for inventive cocktails, Etsy and tutu tutorials.

this is not what our bedroom looks like

For work today, instead of combing through food blogs, I'm being spoiled by having to look through home design blogs. (Yay!) I used to be an avid reader of said blogs, but then life got crazy, I got engaged, and the only blogs I find myself reading regularly are those of friends and Style Me Pretty.

But now I'm being reminded of why I used to read home design blogs, and why, when I moved in with Mr. S, I decorated the sh*t out of that place. I was inspired; I had so many ideas floating around in my head. And now, instead of tables and lamp shades and rugs, those ideas consist of wedding shoes and centerpieces and chicken versus pork (or both, why the hell not, it's our wedding!)... not really home design material (though inspiration nonetheless).

Anyway, the place that got the least attention when I moved in was our bedroom. I did purchase new lamps, two new nightstands and two dressers (which I said I was going to sand and paint... more than two years ago...) and a mirror. Sounds like a lot, but really, it didn't transform the space. The carpet needs to be replaced (or deep cleaned, though I think it's past the point of no return), the walls are blah, I don't love the lamps, and our duvet cover is just okay. No headboard, no fun colors, nothing to perk up a space that can at times be quite dark (old loft = no bedroom windows = sad!). It's fine, but very uninspired and uninspiring.

However, check out this bedroom from Making it Lovely and these heavenly rooms from sfgirlbybay. Some day, when we have a house with bedrooms full of light, I will have a bedroom that looks like one of these, complete with a big bed with a feather top mattress, down comforter and a pile of pillows. *Sigh*

the race

It wasn't the perfect race, and yet it was.

I thought I'd feel great until Mile 22 -- that all of my training would make the marathon seem almost effortless and I'd glide across the finish line, a trail of negative splits blazing behind me. Instead, my hips and quads started hurting at Mile 10, something that never happened in any of my training runs, and a big red flag I've learned to associate with oncoming cramps. I knew if I was going to qualify, I couldn't cramp up -- there wasn't time to stop and stretch, to deal with spasms or walk it off. I had to find a way to keep my legs moving for 16.2 more miles.

So instead of the race plan Andy and I had discussed -- going out slow, then making my way down to 7:45s and really throwing down the last few miles, maybe even coming in under 3:35 -- I knew I had to run as slowly as I could knowing I could still qualify. I needed to save my legs, keep steady and try to relax. I settled into an 8:20 pace and fed my legs positive thoughts -- I imagined my mother and grandmothers and great-grandmothers running behind me, pushing energy my way and giving my legs strength; I pictured Andy's hands on my hips, loosening the muscles and giving them warmth; I consciously sent my energy to the tightest places, imagined my legs strong and graceful. I refused to visualize anything but crossing the finish line in less than 3 hours, 40 minutes and 59 seconds.

I also popped some Advil, then a little more, and then a little more. I kept hydrated, kept loose, kept moving. And I had the best cheering squad in the world.

My parents drove more than five hours to watch the marathon. To wish me luck; to wake up early, groggy-eyed, to kiss me and tell me they were proud of me; to be there to scream and cheer and send me strength.

And Andy's family was there too -- both sets of his parents, his sister and brother-in-law and their two kids. They cooked us delicious, nutritious, pre-marathon meals; they bought us post-marathon recovery foods (and treats); they drove us to the start of the race; they took pictures and pumped their fists in the air and gave us love.

They were all waiting for me at Mile 12, then again at Mile 22 when I needed them the most, then at the finish line, front and center. And Andy, my coach and so much more, after running his own (very fast) marathon, walked back to Mile 25 to bring me on home, to shout "dynamite!" at me and lie about how good I was looking.

And I did it. With one minute and 25 seconds to spare. It didn't feel good, and yet it felt incredible. I ran for hours with aching legs, was determined as I've ever been, channeled all of my training runs into one big race, met my goal. I started crying with about 100 meters left. Big, gasping sobs without any tears. The relief, the exhaustion, the pride, the pure joy and exhilaration of crossing the finish line knowing I'd done what I'd set out to do oh so many miles ago.

And there were my parents, waiting with cameras and open arms. They hugged me and smiled through their tears with me and shared in my joy. My mom claims it was one of the best moments of her life. It was for me too.

And now I have the Boston Marathon to train for. Through the dark, cold, tundra that is a Minnesota winter. But I'm ready and excited, still coasting on a running high (even though I've only run four times since the marathon). I'm resting up, recovering, preparing to wake up in the blackness of a February morning, put on my thick tights and running mask and throw down a 2-2-1-2-2 before work.

Running rocks face.

words i'm learning to listen to

Decide what to be, and go be it.

yerba

While researching NYC food blogs today, I stumbled across this post about yerba-mate flavored ice cream. Yum. Mate isn't for everyone, but I loved drinking it in Argentina (and Uruguay! especially in Uruguay) and am not sure why I haven't busted out my mate gourd here in the States... maybe I'll bring my gourd and thermos in tomorrow and start sipping away on my little bombilla. I'm headed to NYC on Sunday for a few days and might have to see if I can make a stop at this ice cream shop for a little taste trip back to South America. Man, I'd move to NYC for the food alone...

holy crap

After nearly six months of training, I'm less than two days away from the Milwaukee Lakefront Marathon. I woke up today with a nervous stomach -- I wouldn't say I'm nervous, per se, but it's just that feeling in my gut of something really big coming up. I also get goosebumps on the backs of my legs every time I think about it, which I always have before big races (though I suppose I wouldn't call filling in for the 4x4 team on our mediocre high school track team a big race... nor would that title go to my last two marathons, for which my goal was simply to finish... which means, this is my first big race??).

Anyway, this is a BFD. A Big F*ing Deal. So many miles, so many early mornings, so many entries in my running log. So much energy gu, body glide, and gatorade. New shorts, new socks, my first pair of racing flats. One hell of a coach. One hell of a support team. I'm getting all teary eyed just thinking about it.

And on Sunday, as I'm pounding through mile after mile, I will be chanting, "Go legs go! Go legs go! Boston here we come! Boston here we come!" I'm confident I can do it, but I also know I've done all I could have done, and however it turns out, I'm one lucky girl. I'm in the best running shape I've ever been in, my legs are made of steel, my mind is clear, and I had the privilege of spending so many beautiful mornings running around lakes and along rivers and breathing in my beautiful city. Running has given me so many gifts... hopefully it will throw one more (big one) my way.

So, my faithful readers, if you're awake at 8am on Sunday, send fast thoughts my way. So far the forecast is perfect -- high 40s, partly sunny, a slight wind out of the north -- and as Mr. S recently told a friend, I'm "fit and ready."

I told you once
Now I told you twice
We gon' light it up
Like it's dynamite

I came to move move move move
Get out the way me and my crew, crew, crew, crew

I throw my hands up in the air sometimes
Sayin' AYO
Baby let's go

eleven

I've been in a wonderfully blissful state the last eleven days... no work, no work emails, little online activity or thinking at all. Just enjoying California and Mr. S's company, celebrating my brother's wedding with my entire family, eating good food, taking lots of photos, lounging in the sun and waking up without an alarm. It was everything I dreamed it would be. Sigh. But now it's back to reality. Back to 263 emails, back to alarm clocks and schedules, back to spreadsheets and using my brain. But I suppose without all of that, an eleven-day vacation wouldn't be as sweet...

Photos yet to come, but for now, highlights for each day I was gone:

Day 1: Running around Lake Merritt. Family dinner with my and my brother's (now) wife's immediate families -- the first time we'd all met. Eating Korean BBQ together as one big family.

Day 2: Enormous burritos. Seeing my mom's cousins for the first time in 15 years. Lots and lots of laughing.

Day 3: My brother's wedding. Chinese tea ceremony, rose garden commitment ceremony, rockin' 10-course dinner followed by lots of dancing. So much happiness. Too little time.

Day 4: Wandering through the hilly neighborhoods of San Francisco. Clam chowder, sea lions, boutiques, wine. Rehashing the wedding with my parents over dinner.

Day 5: Big Sur. Oh Big Sur, you stole my heart immediately. What a beautiful drive down the coast, what a great training run along the cliffs, what a cozy dinner in a little restaurant in the redwoods on a cold, clear night. What a treat to fall asleep to crashing waves, snuggled in our tiny tent.

Day 6: A slow breakfast, a windy beach, a peaceful run. Drinks overlooking the coast at sunset. Dinner in a lodge. A campfire, s'mores, a cozy tent. Waking at midnight to drive back down the coast and sit in hot springs overlooking the ocean lit by the full moon. Crawling back into our sleeping bags under the redwoods, warmed to our cores.

Day 7: The most beautiful beach. Jumping photos in the surf. Another sunset, delicious burritos, again falling asleep to the sound of waves.

Day 8: Running in Golden Gate Park. Walking through Berkeley. Dinner with good friends.

Day 9: More walking through Berkeley. Lots more. Greek food, coffee, fresh squeezed orange juice. Used book stores, record shops, reading in the sun on the grassy campus. Thai food. Band of Horses at the Greek Theater. Frozen yogurt. Beer. So much happiness.

Day 10: Coffee and crepes. A farmers market -- oh the produce! Saying goodbye to California. Sadly, oh so sadly, packing our bags and traveling home.

Day 11: Sleeping until noon, back in our own bed. Cereal for breakfast. A run around the track on a crisp fall afternoon. Four episodes of Breaking Bad. Velveeta Shells and Cheese and root beer floats. Staying up late just to hold on to the last sweet moments of One Of Our Best Trips Ever.

csa champions

This year Mr. S and I joined our first CSA (Community Supported Agriculture). We're lucky enough that my place of employment serves as a drop-point for our weekly fruits and veggies (though we've seen very few of the former), so all I need to do is bag up our goods and carry them home every Thursday. Easy enough.

Not as easy, however, has been making it through our weekly load before the next one arrives. A bag of green beans, some squash, a bunch of cabbage and the occasional cucumber have ended up in the trash. I hate, hate, hate throwing away food -- especially fresh, organic, delicious veggies. But, considering the Veggie Wasting Tales I've heard from CSA veterans, we've been first-time CSA champions.

We plowed through stir-fry after stir-fry early on in the season (I don't ever want to see cabbage or summer squash again), made it through bowl after bowl of green beans, and managed not to waste a single bit of a vat of cabbage-cucumber-dill salad. We've tried new recipes (that even used the tops of the carrots and that Mr. S actually liked!) and have fallen into a weekly routine of eating the most delicious caprese salads I've ever had straight out of our big yellow mixing bowls. It's been a delicious summer indeed.

The low point was near the end of Cabbage Mania, when I found myself saying out loud "I don't want to do the CSA again next year." But, now that we've moved on to sweet corn (oh heavenly sweet corn, I've never tasted any corn so ripe or delicious as you), basil and six kinds of tomatoes (and started baking the zucchini into bread instead of eating it raw), I'm thinking I want to sign us up again next year.

I mean, when else am I going to eat rainbow chard and kale and discover that the inside of a purple cabbage, when cut just right, looks like a Christmas tree???

the things runners do

Look what running's done to my toe. Have you ever seen anything like it? I haven't. I'm obsessed. Nearly every day I examine it and exclaim about how it's morphed into an even more horrendous iteration of the Most Disgusting Toe Ever. I mean, a month ago, it looked like this:

And a couple weeks ago it looked like this:

Not bad at all, but I was equally obsessed. How naive I was! At least then it still resembled a toe -- now it's just a blackened stub of unidentifiable tissues.

But you know what? I think I'm obsessed because secretly (well, not so secretly anymore) I'm really proud of that toe. It's one of the few outward signs I have of all the miles I've been putting in. A battle scar of the 6am alarms, the 95-degree-heat-index workouts, the sore muscles, the chaffing in places where you least want chaffing, the hours of pounding the pavement.

I've truly enjoyed training for this marathon, and I love running now more than I ever have before. I'm proud of my long runs, my faster times, my hill workouts, and my determination to run every run, even if it means pushing through shin splints and tight quads and sleep deprivation to do it.

I just apologize to all of you who have been, and who will become, victims of this pride as I show off my rotting toe to friends, family and coworkers alike. Thanks for humoring me, thanks for your support, and thanks for not threatening to vomit on my feet if I make you examine The Toe one more time.

You're the best.

friday favorites

Oh Friday Favorites, I've neglected you. And not for lack of favorites, because I have many. Life is good indeed.

- Cruising through the countryside of southern Minnesota with the windows down, Mr. S. in the passenger seat and Wagon Wheel blaring out of the speakers
- Training so hard that I find myself eating lunch at 10am... and again at 2pm... with snacks in between.
- Researching readings and poems and lyrics and sayings, and brainstorming how they'll work themselves into our marriage ceremony (which will take place just ten months from yesterday, by the way).
- Hearing Nathaniel Rateliff at the Turf Club, after Juicy Lucy's at The Nook.
- Having my brother and future sister-in-law in town and sitting around the dinner table with my entire family.
- Knowing that in SIX SHORT DAYS I'll be standing front and center at First Ave as my mind is blown

cactus emergency plan

In my parents' house lives a very large cactus. Seven feet tall and so girthy I can't get my arms around it. My dad drove it home from California about thirty years ago when it was just a wee cactus, not the monstrosity it is today. At Christmas my mom puts red velvet bows all over its prickly branches. It's a special plant.

It also tends to fall over once and while, when it gets too fat and sassy to hold itself up. Then commences a laborious, well-practiced ordeal of wrapping it in a sheet, rolling it outside, trimming it down, re-potting it, rolling it back in and admiring its slimmer self. The best part about the trimming? Lots of baby cacti, all given away to friends and family. Oddly enough, at the ripe age of 25, I've never been on the receiving end of one of these special plants. Until now.

My parents came home from vacation a couple weeks ago to a toppled cactus, and when I went to visit last weekend I brought one of its unruly offspring home with me. It's a wee version indeed, but still required a cart to haul it upstairs, and was met by an inquisitive look from Mr. S. But now it sits in our living room, soaking up the sun, awaiting the day when it will follow in its mothers' footsteps and require us to invent our own Cactus Emergency Plan.

I can't wait to decorate it with little bows come Christmastime.

undercover

Covert grilled cheese delivery? Why can't Minneapolis have something like this? Or, undercover pie delivery? I love food.