Lunch on the Island

We all wanted 2nd lunch. Even though it was dependent upon each student's schedule, it seemed all the "popular" people were there. First lunch, which, beginning at 11:30 was too early anyways, was always boring and quiet. You could hear your conversation echoing throughout the tall-windowed, double tiered cafeteria, and everyone just sort of looked. I was blessed to have that ever-coveted 2nd lunch through most of my four years at Mercer Island High School. When the clock switched to 12:10, (we didn't have bells), the shuffles of papers, backpack zippers, and scuffing of sneakers crescendo-ed as half of the 1400 students basically ran or tripped to the cafeteria.

Most students didn’t bring lunches, but would stand in line to be spoiled by the chicken fingers Mondays, broccoli and cheese soup Wednesdays, or sushi Thursdays. We were from Seattle ok? There was also the "Tully's" line, where cute Asian lady Lily made us Italian Sodas. But I won't ever forget Smiley Smoothly Lady. Her eyes were always closed. After grabbing your lunch, then the important decisions were to be made as you frantically scanned, making sure your "group" was sitting at the table.

The freshmen, all restricted to the lower tier, sat at the ketchup clad tables or on the oversized steps, always craning their necks to see above the railing at the cool upper classmen. Once a sophomore, you either decided to remain the dominate species on the steps, or make the move to the lower section of the upper tier. By junior year, you really didn't care about who sat where as long as you sat in the upper upper tier. And by senior year? You owned the place.

The right side of the Tier sat the Athletes, their Girlfriends, the Boozers, their Girlfriends, and the Smart Ones and their Girl Interests. (They never really had girl friends). The left side was reserved for the Not-so-"cool" and the middle was the Band kids and the Floaters.

I was more on the Floater side of the spectrum. Even though I was in the Jamaican Steel Drum Band, I soon realized that didn’t really count. Lunch consisted of copying someone’s homework, gossiping about the latest homecoming drama, or complaining about the teacher who gave too much work. You'd sit there, eating your bagel, cream cheese, and flipz pretzels, until the 40 minutes were up. By 12:50, you knew where your latest crush was sitting, and coordinated walking to class together…without him knowing of course. Usually this happened by walking obnoxiously fast or awkwardly slow in order to intercept, bump into, or make eyes with him. If this didn’t happen, the entire lunch break was a complete waste of time, and you thought about what could have been, for the rest of the day.

But then, there was always tomorrow’s lunch.

It's April?

Where did that come from? Things have been busy. My sister got married (more on that later) my other sister is ready to have her baby boy named Wolfgang (well at least that's what I've decided), I landed a new job downtown D.C, my brother, the man that is, made the varsity lacrosse team as a freshmen, and today marks my parents' 31st wedding anniversary.

need I go on?

I will for the sake of details.

First, the wedding. I don't want to sound corny or cliche, but the wedding was perfect. All

aspects really. The colors looked great together, my sister wore a great-gatsby-like feather in her chignon, the ceremony was emotional but meaninful, the reception was a good time, and they left at 3. I for one wasn't so "good" after that. To say I was weapy was an understatement. I will try and paint the picture of my dramatic debut. That evening my family got together to relax and eat pizza. I came in, laid on the floor, and cried. Very uncharacteristic of myself, although very refreshing. I couldn't even tell you why exactly those emotions came out, but all I'm saying is that it was necessary.

Don't be mistaken, I definitely wasn't crying about my new brother-in-law. I couldn't have asked for two (both sisters' husbands) better pseudo-brothers. Although very different from each other, these two men add some pretty incredible character and fun dynamics to our family. I told the newest addition that our plan worked, that he just had to marry my sister so we could be related. Victory.

Second, my pregnant sister is a trouper. Not only was she 8 months pregnant during the wedding, but she did it without complaining, and looked absolutely adorable. Already outstanding parents, my sister and brother-in-law will knock this one out of the park. (That probably didn't go with "parenting" as nicely as I would have liked). Nonetheless, props to all moms who know that the only way out of their pregnancy, is to have the baby.

Third, my new job. I commute about an hour and 8 minutes to work every day. I'm one of those girls who wears tennis shoes with their work clothes. I'm pretty sure I used to make fun of them, so once again, jokes on me. I'm a receptionist. You may have remembered that I love office supplies, and now I have access to them anytime I want. I'm living the dream.

Fourth, my brother is the man. Not only did he make varsity as a freshmen, he made varsity on the East Coast. That's big time. Not that his ego needs any more help, but I will brag about this accomplishment until the next big thing.

And last but certainly not least, my parents are celebrating their 31st wedding anniversary today. They've been married more than half of their lives. To quote the Impressive Clergyman from Princess Bride, "wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva, so tweasure your wuv." Thank you to mom and dad for always treasuring your love and commitment to each other and being an example we can hope to emulate.

Love is in the air....and so is snow

I lived in the midwest for a combined 5 years (another 3 if you consider Utah on the west side of the midwest) but have never remembered a blizzard like this one. School's have been closed for almost a week, the airport shut down, the grocery store's shelves are bare, but ultimately...we still have managed to make the most of the conditions.

My brother is 14 years old, and with his adolescent and brilliant mind, he invented what we call "hillbilly sledding." Placed on my jeep's tow hitch are two ropes. One has a hammer connected to the end, the other a wrench, for handles. Sitting on two saucer sleds, my dad dragged my brother and I up and down our windy road most of the afternoon. He lasted much longer than I, but nonetheless, we enjoyed the snowy conditions.

I'm excited to see what else my brother comes up with while we're stuck in the snow.

New Titles

Things have started to pick up. By "pick up" I mean I don't just sit around looking forward to perusing the drugstore shelves and waiting in anticipation for my favorite show to come on.

First, I recently began working at Lululemon Athletica at the mall, and today, I learned the Cash Register. Ever since I can remember, I've had an infatuation with registers and office supplies. I'm talking memo pads. So to say this was my major highlight of this year to date would be an understatement.

Second, a major part (and perk) of working at Lulu is attending classes at any local gym in the area. Rough right? A few days ago, I attended the "Skinny Jeans Workout." (Translation; Abs, legs, and arms and trying not to laugh while staring at yourself in the mirror) Today I went to my first Crossfit class. My arms and legs were shaking so badly that it was a bumpy ride home with a stick shift car.

And third, my sister is getting MARRIED in two months and my other sister is PREGNANT and due a month after the wedding. Very exciting. Although both of these are not in the least about me, I am honored for the title MOH (maid of honor, not to be confused with matron of honor), Aunt (two times over), (to-be)sister-in-law, and babysitter (for my niece and nephew...when he is born) I am thrilled to be apart of these huge life changes for my sisters and look forward with an open mind and a prayerful spirit to what that next major experience or circumstance will be in mine. In the meantime, my titles as cash register guru, workout class attendee, museum volunteer (or docent), friend, sister, brother (as my own brother sometimes refers to me..thanks Isaac) and daughter suit me just fine.

My sisters and I in New York City

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.