The Christmas Cookie Story

Beginning to decorate...

the chunky frosting

The (ugly) Christmas Cookies

Max and his gingerbread man

  Me and my (oval) tree...

Baking isn't in my future. Three nights ago, I was busy in the kitchen mixing together sugar cookie dough to take over and make with this little boy I hang out with once in awhile, not to be confused with babysitting...right Max? Anyways, I was all prepared; Cookie dough, cookie cutters, and decorations all set, and the butter, vanilla and powdered sugar were in a Tupperware ready to go.  All I had to do was mix together to make frosting. 

Now my sister Sarah used to hang out with Max last year, and cookie making was a highlight for him. In fact, he has brought up baking with Sarah in conversation on several occasions. I knew I had big shoes to fill. The pressure was real. Palpable. 

With the oven preheating, Max and I began cookie cutting. He decided he'd like to make the nativity scene out of gingerbread men, and I planned to make as many shapes as I could. I placed the sheet on the middle rack for 7 minutes, and I went to see how the handmade frosting was coming.

For some reason, I had only written down the ingredients for the frosting (which I already had pre measured anyways) and hadn't written down the recipe to actually make the frosting. Somewhere back in my long term memory, I had remembered my mom making frosting on the stove. So figuring this was the same kind, I basically boiled the frosting. It smelled good. As soon as I removed the pot from the stove, the frosting cooled and became a gelatin mold.

 Thinking I had still made it correctly, panic didn't set in until I removed the cookies from the pan. To say they were puffy and shapeless is an understatement. The stars looked like circles, the trees like ovals, and the gingerbread men? well, they made it out looking like Michelin tire men. 

Max and I decided we'd continue to decorate regardless of the disaster at hand. I started to spread the boiling hot and chunky frosting on the cookies but it cooled before we could pour the sprinkles. 

We decided to bag the frosting and draw with the skinny tubed frosting instead. The cookie making was basically a disaster. Max and I had a good laugh, and although my baking pride and aspirations were seriously shot down a few notches, I realized an important lesson; When life gives you puffy cookies and chunky frosting...don't become a baker.

Dracula's Dentist Appointment

I hate going to the Dentist. I honestly would rather get 5 shots in the same arm every thirty seconds than get my teeth cleaned. Let's be honest, who enjoys getting their gums stabbed by that silver scraper thing which makes your gums bleed? I realize the hygienists are not trying to make your life worse, but most of the time, it's a hard thing to remember. They sit you down in that chair, which usually looks like it's been there since the late 70's and make small talk, usually about your school and how much you brush and floss. Is that a trick question?

You're reclined and handed sunglasses, and bibbed with a blue napkin. I usually am drooling because I'm nervous, and she wipes my face like I'm 5.

By now, I'm trying to mask the secret about my brushing and flossing habits. I'll admit something to you all. I didn't consistently brush my teeth until probably 8th grade. Now, before you freak and get all grossed out, know that I didn't get any cavities until after I started brushing...just something to think about. I also rarely floss. Ok, I only floss when I can feel something in my teeth from dinner. I used to lie to the Hygienist, but they're the experts I later realized, and cannot be fooled. My gums always bled and bled, and I prayed they'd never notice.

So, after they scrape around and you pass for Dracula with the amount of blood on the blue napkin, they wash your teeth with that fresh cleansing water, which never lasts as long as you'd like. It's followed by the tube which sucks your tongue off in order to dry out your mouth. That freaks me out and usually it feels like my head will explode. I equate it to getting your blood pressure tested at the doctor.

Next is the polish which isn't that bad. I wish I had one of my own so I could polish my teeth every day. And finally, the Dentist comes in. He pokes around as well and calls out numbers and letters corresponding with your weak teeth. He always tells me what I already know; I still have a baby tooth, I need to get my wisdom teeth out, if I don't want my teeth to decay and cave into my mouth, then I'll need to brush and floss more, and that I'll need to see him in 6 months. Thank you Mr. Dentist.

He leaves, you're propped up again, handed the goodie bag, and have the best intentions to brush, floss AND use mouth wash for the rest of time. If you're wearing shorts, your legs stick to the plastic cover and it's pretty awkward to peel them off as you stand.

I'm whimpering, feeling defeated and my pride, definitely wounded. My mom never feels bad though. And neither does my sister who has PERFECT teeth. In fact, the hygienist once told her it was a pleasure to clean her teeth....WHAT?! Have you EVER heard of that happening? Props to Rachael.

So all this to say, I flossed tonight. Seriously. My gums feel ok right now. A little puffy, a little bloody, but clean. Hopefully I am turning a new leaf and begin flossing on a regular basis.

But probably not.

What's a Docent?

(The picture illustrates what I felt during the following story...it's the best I could do)

 I was helping at the Newseum booth at George Washington University career fair, when two separate people asked if the volunteers  at the museum were docents. The first time that happened, I kind of mumbled "yes" under my breath and got away with it. I had no idea what they had just asked, but I figured it was something the program offered. The second time I said  yes, the other volunteer Howard, bald and 27, heard me. He quickly corrected by saying "actually no, it's not a docent program..." I sat there vacillating between telling him that I thought they had asked if there were door steps or just pretending it didn't happen. I chose the former and made a mental note to look up the word when I got home. To my dismay, the definition is a "person who is a knowledgeable guide, esp. one who conducts visitors through a museum and delivers a commentary on the exhibitions." (dictionary.com) It's pretty embarrassing when you're a volunteer at a museum, and you just learned the word "docent" means a volunteer tour guide at a museum.

I was feeling intimidated already because of the proactive and "go-getter" attitudes at the career fair. If those people aren't getting jobs, then I seriously don't know how I am going to find one...especially because I didn't even know what a docent was. I'll know better next time. 

Making Friends

(Today's photos symbolize me curling up on a log and not wanting to make friends, the next one is my renewed motivation to begin socializing again)

Basically people go to college for school and to make friends (among other things that i'm sure i didn't do at Gordon). After graduating and leaving that cultivating atmosphere, it's a like going 60 to 0 (60 having tons of friends around at all times to having none) and getting slapped in the face while racking up the phone bill because you have to talk on the phone all the time to keep in touch. Brutal. Well, moving to D.C,  I love (and i'm not being sarcastic) hanging out with my family. There's nothing better. But, i've also decided that instead of feeling sorry for myself that i have no friends around here, to start making some. I soon realized it's easier said than done. 

Moving around as a kid, making friends was almost second nature. But getting comfortable for those four years at college definitely got me out of friend-making shape. I need to work out. So between the small group of girls from church and the friends from the senate (not that i work in the senate.), i've had social activities these past two days. It's been great, but I've realized that conversation is almost harder to come by when with a random group of people because you don't have any foundation...you're just floating around in the sky, trying to grab on to any branch of similarity. 

But sometimes, well, for me at least, I just can't come up with any follow up questions. I'm a bad faker. When I'm done with the subject of conversation, I'm done. And I move so rigidly to the next subject, it's almost another punch in the gut and i feel like apologizing for my lack of friend making "fitness." Or worse, I just stand there and smile (one of those smiles where you don't show any teeth and tilt your head down a little bit) because I've lost all small talking skills. The person I'm talking to is helpless and confused because I'm just smiling at them. This is something that I need to practice more often and hopefully will continue to improve in my out-of-college-but-jobless-and-friendless (for now) life I lead. 

Me and the Newseum

There are 45 words in the First Amendment establishing freedom of religion, speech, press, assembly, and petition etched upon 50 tons of Tennessee marble covering the front of the Newseum. As D.C.'s most interactive museum, the Newseum creatively showcases these freedoms along with 35,000 historic newspaper front pages, 15 Theaters, 14 major galleries, 8 sections of the Berlin Wall, and more. Yes, this sounds like a pitch, and it may be, but yesterday, I pioneered my role as Newseum Volunteer, and with that new position comes my renewed appreciation and admiration for journalist. 

Although the wide legged khakis, green figureless polo, and windbreaker stand in my way each Monday and Friday from now on, yesterday's four and a half hour volunteer shift in the different galleries truly makes the uniform worth the stares in Starbucks, the snickers from my brother, and a few embarrassing pictures my mom.

For the first two hours, i followed Janet around. Known to fellow visitor service representatives as Miss Newseum, she showed me the different positions I will eventually take during my volunteer shifts. Janet dove right in to tell me she has some pet peeves. The first, untied shoelaces. I carefully gazed down at mine just to make sure i wasn't offending her. Some other ones? Smelly trash cans, dirty bathrooms, loose railings, blocked doors, chewed gum, volunteers who just stood there, and crooked signs, just to name a few.

 "I'm 55, so I'm pretty set in my ways and I do what I want...and if my boss is happy, then I'm going to keep on doing what I want," Janet said. She also decided to sing her Newseum song to me in the middle of the tour. . . there were three verses to the melody of Take Me Out to the Ball Game. After the two hours were up, Janet went to lunch, while I was left for another two and a half hours to wander and "get my feet wet" as a volunteer (as the Lead Coordinator told me) I wasn't quite sure what that meant, but I think I did pretty well. I told a little girl where the bathrooms were, I showed a woman where the 9/11 gallery was, and explained the progression of the News History gallery. 

I'm looking forward to the stories I will hear and learn while volunteering and sharing those experiences with others. And as far as the outfit goes? I guess it's the price I must pay. 

Time as I know it

I've noticed I've acquired a slightly different perspective on Time since I graduated. Before, I would categorize myself (and I'm sure others can attest) as a little obsessive compulsive slash paranoid. It probably stems from my dad's sense of the word and the little ditty he used while we were growing up; To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, to be late is to be forgotten. I take that very literally. Although in my mind, to be late means to be sweating, freaking out, snapping at anyone who is making you late, and sitting straight up and a little forward in the car to make it seem as though you are moving faster.

Here's an example (below) of a time when I was paranoid for no apparent reason. I was homecoming princess my senior year of high school and we were meeting in my town for pictures and a parade. Now, it's a five second clip so watch carefully. I think my sister is taking a picture, but she is actually taping. I get too nervous because i'm going to "be late" for who knows what. Notice at the end as I walk towards nobody and nothing...

 All that to say, things are a little different now. 

I only leave two hours to get into D.C (which I guess is about 25 minutes away), I'm only a little early when it comes to interviews (although I was an hour and a half early for one a few weeks ago), and I take naps now (because I can't keep my eyes open after my mom and I go to morning boot camp). Ok, I guess the only thing that has changed for me are the occasional naps. I really don't think Time will ever be "on my side" because for me Time is always "on my mind." 

 

I LoVermont

I'm back from my third wedding in four weeks. It was beautiful. Have you ever been to Vermont? The farther we drove north, the more the leaves were changing color. Here are some thoughts on Vermont. It was beautiful. I would never live there. I saw two hitch-hikers while it was pitch black outside. I think most people must use cash up there rather than debit or credit cards. Dirt roads were common. I didn't see a Starbucks once. I realized I may be a city girl. It was beautiful. 

The first night we arrived, we handmade the wedding favors; a bag of delicious carmel popcorn. I probably won't be eating too much of it anymore after seeing the amount of butter in it. Not only did the mother of the bride make most of the popcorn (with some help from bridesmaids and scripture readers), she then proceeded to prepare a full homemade lasagna and BREAD. She made bread...and not with a bread maker. She asked me to cut it and put it on the table so I grabbed a knife. I put my left hand on the loaf and was about to start when the mother said to me "You'll probably want a serrated knife." Oh sure I said, of course. Walking back over to the knife holder, I realized I had no idea what she had just said. That was my first inclination that I may not be as domestic as I thought. 

The night before the wedding there was a small but "joyous" celebration among the groom, his groomsmen, and the bridesmaids and friends. I wore flannel of course. In fact, one of the groomsmen asked me to go cut some wood out back. So the night progressed and as most parties go, there was some dancing. I pulled out my best moves which consisted of my imitation of Kristin Wiig as Kathy Lee Gifford. (watch until the very end). So I was moving my arms and doing my jig and noticed a group of my friends outside on the porch. I figured it'd be funny to dance along side the window to encourage more dancing. I began my sideways walk/dance and was pumping my arms with a face of pure enjoyment, until suddenly I didn't feel the floor anymore. As I fell down those seven stairs, I remembered midair that there were stairs there. I must have bounced on the fourth step and landed flat on my back. It was truly amazing that I didn't really get hurt, although part of my hip and most of my ego were bruised. 

That basically ended the girls' night and we walked back to our cabin for the night. The bruises didn't stop me from enjoying the wedding. I read scripture during the ceremony and danced again with my friends at the reception. This time however, there were no stairs. 

So even though Vermont may not be my next living location, I enjoyed the time I spent up there...way up there. It's a lovely state. 

June 12th; Pikes Place and Zelda

June 12th marked the second day of my "picture a day" project. After work, I met a friend at Pikes Place Market downtown Seattle and while I was waiting, I sat in this area of the market where I had never been before. It jetted out the back facing the Puget Sound, the ferries, and the Alaskan Way Viaduct. Usually when I am by myself in a crowded area I feel somewhat oblivious, however, this evening, I remember I was reflective and aware of my surroundings. 

I was sweating awkwardly. Names were carved into the wooden countertop and there was a small family sitting behind me eating dinner together. I didn't even have a revolutionary thought or a moving experience, I just remember "being." It could have been because I had just finished seven hours of data entry, but it was almost refreshing being amongst quite a lot of people with no obligation or agenda.

About 10 minutes earlier however, you would have noticed I was at a booth, money in hand, picking out my dad's father's day gift. The woman was about to clean up her booth after a long day, but still was warm and eager to explain her product. "Pick any of these out," she told me. I stood there contemplating. She told me they were able to go in the dishwasher and gave me a book giving directions to play "hot cross buns". I chose the bigger of the four and looked at the picture behind the display. Yes, I was buying an Ocarina. Have you heard of Zelda? Well, it's a video game and Zelda plays this eerie sounding flute to open doors, to distract a freaky enemy, or just for his (or is Zelda a girl?) own enjoyment. My dad has beaten the game (about 10 years ago) and for his reward, we felt he deserved an Ocarina of his own. 

Single-icious

I cry at any wedding I go to. It doesn't matter how close I am to the bride or groom, or if I am considered "un-romantic" by some. I simply have a hard time holding it together. I don't know if the salty flood from the ducts correspond to the friendship I have with the bride or if i'm imagining my own wedding someday. If it's the latter, they're probably tears of hyperventilation. 

I attended and participated in a close friends' wedding recently. I'm being discreet because of what i am about to say next. I've had it with Beyonce's "Single Ladies" song during the bouquet toss. "All the single ladies, gather 'round for the bouquet toss," is what the DJ usually says, when really he or she is thinking "gather 'round so everyone knows who the Singles are and can feel sorry for you." Now, the girls with the boy friends that step out on the floor for the bouquet toss are really just thinking they're being nice in accompanying you out there because in their minds, they aren't single. They just act like they don't want to be engaged or married yet. 

But the clincher is the misuse of Beyonce's song. It's one of my favorites, but only when used to feel empowered because of your relationship status, and to make those who are still, newly, or always single feel "Bootylicious" 

Now i was feeling "something-licious" myself at this wedding. That is until i noticed the vultures circling the nice guys and girls who were obviously Single. I say obvious because they, actually we, inevitably are grabbing a piece of cake, or since i don't like cake (although sometimes i eat it because it looks good, but i always regret that because i honestly just don't like cake) i eat the alternative dessert. This is a defense mechanism in order to look alive while the vultures are hovering. 

Well, unfortunately, i must have been helplessly standing in line for a drink when the matchmakers simultaneously pull me and this unassuming guy towards each other and force us to meet. I have no idea if he knows what this "meeting" is...although who wouldn't? we were practically handcuffed together. I quickly rummage through my what-to-talk-about-when-really-you-just-want-to-get-out-of-there box and come up with a decent conversation. Our relationship lasts about six minutes and finally we are both Singles again.

The dinner part of the reception begins and the bridesmaids and groomsmen are corralled to the door for our big entrance. I vowed at another wedding this summer that I would never dance into a reception. Well joke's on me, because my escort, who has a strong resemblance to Mr. Bean, were next in line to "get jiggy wit it" behind our fellow men and maids, and make a bit of a fool of ourselves. I try to block out what dance i did...although i can still hear the LACK of cheering as I danced the corners (thank you Christine Arruda). 

Well this message is for fellow Singles. PUSH THROUGH! Seriously, enjoy the time you have with no major obligations, you can be selfish still and blame it on being single, you can hang out with guys and girls, even though i don't really believe in platonic relationships (still working through that one) You can make your own schedule. 

 You will regret the time you had wasted dwelling on what society says is lame, the Singles.  "Better move, cause we've arrived, Lookin' sexy, lookin' fly, Baddest chick, chick inside, I just don't think you are ready for this jelly." Are you ready for this? 

So it begins...

It’s between flower pressing and collage making. If I’ve ever felt more like a home-schooler, it’s now. I’ve been sitting here, in my office-made-room on my futon-mattress-on-the-floor-made bed, racking my brain for hobbies to take up this summer. As a recent college graduate, I don’t know if this is what I imagined life after my last finals would be. Those who either have a job or just feel like they’re in a better professional position than you have been telling us “this is the worst time to be graduating college,” and “good luck finding a job in this economy.” Well thank you very much everyone. I mean, we didn’t pick to graduate in 2009, but they’re all acting like we got to choose whatever year we wanted or something. Like we guessed the wrong door and ended up with the bad economy. 

Well now it’s time to make the most of my situation. Hence, flower pressing or collage making. I’ve already embarked on the take a picture a day for a year project. But, like my friends reminded me, that takes like two seconds to do each day. So another option could be to try out for Joseph’s Technicolor Dream Coat production. I’ll probably keep on looking.

            I work in downtown Seattle. I take the bus, which is probably the highlight of my day, when I get to pretend like I’m an adult, and go to work for a city councilman. I’m not really into politics, if anyone is really into them. But I’ve already learned quite a lot of important and relevant information. For example, I know what percentage of tax dollars goes into which fund and I now know the difference between the police and the sheriff. While this is all interesting, I’m still deciding whether or not I’m cut out to work from nine to five every day. Although my dad recently reminded me that when I’m a mom I have to work twenty four hours a day seven days a week, so I’d better enjoy my time working nine to five while I can. So I will. Thanks dad.

            I work with a few women. Maybel*, who sounds like she should be 72, but she’s really 32. Some say she's a bulldog wearing lipstick. But I just say she can make grown men cry but at the same time is a "mother bear" to her girls at work. Christy*, 25, who is that driven communications director who moves a million miles an hour making your brain work a few steps ahead. She could also pass as a J.Crew model. And then there's Janie*, the other intern. Now Janie is probably 100 lbs, sponsored by Cute Clothes Every Day, and makes me feel like a manatee. She doesn’t mean to, she’s a really nice girl. In fact, we’ve become really good friends this summer since we see each other every day. But that doesn’t cancel out the fact that all the guys in the office seem to find ways to talk to her and joke around while I’m sitting at my desk, making labels, thinking of how I relate to Marla Hooch. The only satisfaction I get through the day is knowing I could break her legs if I tapped her and that I’m fearfully and wonderfully made.

After work, my routine is shedding the business casual clothes, which isn’t me anyways, and quickly get into my so-called uniform: a dirty but arguably comfortable Boston Celtics t-shirt that I got for five dollars at Modell’s, and big comfy shorts that my mom wants to throw away. Come to think of it, my mom wants to throw away most of my clothes. I try to remind her while we’re playing tug of war with a not-so-white tank top that this is just my style and I’ll buy another one and then I’ll throw it away.

            My attitude right now? It’s good. Better than I thought it would be considering the lack of friends and the fact that both my sisters go on dates quite a bit, leaving me to scrounge around the kitchen for something to eat because I have negative money in my bank account. But you know what I decided today? I’m excited to be single. Seriously. Sure, it’d be nice to be liked by a guy or to hug someone once in awhile, but I honestly get excited thinking about what’s going to happen next in my life. That’s why I’ve decided to take a picture a day for a year. I have absolutely no idea where I’m heading and I don’t want to forget how I get there along the way.