Welcome Home

While I was cruising around the Mediterranean, Mom and Dad turned Kolbe into a new dog. Apparently the anxiety of being kennel-bound for several hours a day resulted in excessive jumping and trying to crawl into my lap when he wasn't in said kennel. Twelve days of no kennel = calm, sweet dog. We tried for the first time leaving Kolbe free to roam the house while I was at work yesterday. Apparently, his behavior was much improved when the roomies got home, but he also had time to do this...
I didn't know so much trash could fit in that little can. Also, a shredded tea bag is really fun to get out of the carpet. (P.S. all the calendar pages are Bananagrams puzzles so I can rock the Scrabble board next time I play)

Cruise blogging to follow shortly. The laundry is finally done and most of the unpacking complete. But having to work this weekend may put a delay on the process. Until then, I'll leave you with a teaser.

The good:
The bad:
and the really bad picture-taker:

Bon Voyage

At least with a plan of blogging about her residency adventures month-by-month, Laura guarantees a regular posting. Me, not so much.

I'm sitting here with my eyes literally blurry from exhaustion, or maybe the horrible drying out they suffer from weird airflow at work, or maybe teary from allergies, and wondering how I could possibly be ready to embark on an 11-day trip to Europe in less than 36 hours. Yikes. The Spanish wine that my roomie picked out is not helping the blurry-eyed-ness. However, it is very tasty, not very heavy, lots of earthiness to the flavor (as opposed to fruitiness), and part of the Wine Trials 2011 book that we as a house are working our way through. So far, all successes in my opinion. (sidenote: I just spelled opinion as "opoinion" so methinks I'm about ready for sleepytime)

Anyway, I have a lot that I could write about in my pre-cruise blog, notably the horrible stress of packing or the straw that broke the camel's back tonight at work that had me nearly in tears or the hopelessness of putting together a functional kickball team so I'm not having to eat the $400+ in team fees that I just forked out. But, mostly I just wanted to check in with the online world to prove I am indeed still here. And to make note of the totally awesome James Bond coffee table book that I splurged on yesterday. It's called "The Art of Bond" and was more than 75% off which is the only way I'd ever buy a coffee table book. It just screamed my name while I was in line at B&N, and I knew that I would be a failure as a Bond aficionado if I didn't pick it up. It looks at the thoughts of producers, art directors, set designers, screenplay writers, etc, as they take on the legend of a spy who has lived and thrived in multiple generations. While I've only just made it through the introductory section on the adaptation of the Ian Fleming novels, the book is already a success by one definition. It has reinforced the idea that I do in fact have hobbies and passions. I love James Bond. I love the idea of an icon that spans time, that I can share with my dad, that is brought to life with a couple of musical notes or an on-screen silhouette. I love that for the bit players and instrumental movers and shakers that have brought each movie to life, being a part of Bond has defined their career. It's bigger than any one movie, actor, director, genre, or decade. And I love having something that I can be passionate about, that I can be knowledgeable about, that I can share with others (even if they do think I'm a nerd).

Ok, the wine is hitting me, and the typing skills are going down the drain. I have a lot of packing to finish up in the morning, and the next time you hear from me will undoubtedly be status post a lot of relaxation and picture-taking and adventure-having. I'm terrified and excited and the excited percentage is increasing to the point that it may soon exceed the terrified percentage. Not there yet. Maybe after some more wine. :)

Hurry Up and Waiting

Maybe it was the Valentine's Day episode of Bones that I finally got around to watching. Maybe it's been listening to Lasso by The Band Perry nonstop for the past week. Maybe it's the cheesy novel about a wedding planner that I checked out from the library. Or the speed dating, or yet another Save the Date that is hanging on my fridge, or the constant teasing I get at work, or the fact that my own mother has hinted at trying to set me up with someone. (I have to draw the line somewhere) But, as you may have guessed by this incredibly lengthy segue, I have been thinking a lot about dating and romance and the extreme lack of it in my life.

A little over a year ago, you could have chalked up the absence of romantic possibilities to my own failure. It's true, I was praying for God to land a nice, holy, handsome, funny, charming man in my lap and I was not exactly thrilled at the prospect of having to put forth some effort to meet God halfway. However, a talk with a deacon and long-time friend of the family (at, where else, a wedding) convinced me that I needed to step up to the plate. Complaining only gets me so far. In this case, nowhere. So, for the past 12 months, I have cast aside the skeptics living inside me and have fought my introverted temperament tooth and nail to try to meet some single men. Given my work schedule, I started online. Catholic Match was the cheapest of my options and had the added benefit of including my one "must-have" in every candidate. (side note: I have thought long and hard about the possibility of dating a non-Catholic, and it's not that I don't think that God could have somebody phenomenal out there for me who isn't part of the Church, or that I discriminate against non-Catholics. However, the Church, and my participation in it, is such a huge part of my life and the life I want to lead in the future, that I can't currently fathom wanting to be in a serious relationship with someone who can't share that with me or understand why it is so important.) I will make the long story of my online dating very short by saying that it was full of awkward first dates and not so many second dates. I have maintained two good friends from the process, but have not found it to be a dating style conducive to my personality. I'll get into that more later.

So, a month ago, I bit the bullet and jumped off a cliff that I never thought I would even approach, much less fling myself off of. I went speed dating. And while it was a fun and mostly enjoyable experience, and one I would do again (and again, if necessary), it has led me to a deeper understanding of what I want out of a dating relationship. And it explains why I have found so many failures in a year chock-full of attempts.

Following the speed dating event was a series of emails initiated by the coordinator of the event, mostly revolving around our thoughts on speed dating and dating roles in general. One line of commentary in particular got me thinking. In the present day and age, when women outnumber men in the dating arena, and when women are open-minded forward-thinkers, it has become acceptable for woman to initiate a progression in the relationship. She can ask for his phone number. She can ask him out on a date. On a rare occasion, she might even pay. All this forward thinking has resulted in many people asking me why I haven't asked a guy out. But one gentleman who participated in speed dating had an interesting comment that I'll poorly paraphrase: the man needs to do the pursuing in the relationship or his heart will not develop a stake in the outcome. Essentially, if the woman keeps taking the next step forward, the man loses interest because he doesn't have to capture the elusive prize. And it is the reverse side of this coin that has me up thinking tonight.

Throughout my online dating and the follow-ups to speed dating, I have had to put forth more effort in planning "dates," guessing at the definition of the relationship, figuring out how and when to follow-up, etc. The guy in question has failed to pursue. Sure, a few times, he has expressed interest, but it falls far short of the "pursue" category. And I've been so frustrated because I feel like I'm trying to no avail. And more frustrated because I don't want to have to try. I was a little taken aback when the speed-dating gentleman said the man has to pursue because I felt that the situation would be taken out of my hands. But tonight I realized (not happily) that I want to be pursued. My heart doesn't have a stake in the outcome if I'm not being pursued. Like the game of tag that ends when one person stops running, only this time it ends because one person stops chasing. I want to be wooed. I admit that dreaming big often has resulted in reality seeming cruel, but taking advice from Will Hoge, I'll keep on dreaming even if it breaks my heart.

I want the whole nine yards. I want to be treasured and sought after. I want to know that I'm on his mind when he falls asleep at night. I want to know without a doubt that he will call because he wants to see me again, not just because he feels like a call is the polite next step. I don't want to have to guess as to whether or not he just wants to be friends (or for that matter, whether or not I just want to be friends). I want to be excited about our next date because I know he has something special planned. And it's not about him doing all the work and the planning and the calling. I'm not being lazy. It's just that I've been on too many dates this past year where I had to pay or I had to plan or I had to try so hard to make conversation when it was clear there was no spark. And not once did I feel like the goal of his experience was pursuing my heart. If I had, I would have been more than happy to choose the activity or the location or put forth the money or the effort.

So, men take note. I want to be romanced, and wooed, and pursued, like a pearl of precious value. I think, despite my failure, that I'm a pretty good catch. And so, as much as it pains me to put God back in the driver seat when it felt like I was doing so much to actively help him out, I think I'm going to return to praying for a man who will fulfill the deepest longings of my heart. And God, listen up! I don't want to wait forever.

Drinking and Dining in the Twin Cities (ok, St. Paul wasn't actually on the agenda)

If I were a food critic, my column to close out 2010 and ring in the New Year (by the way, if you add the digits in 2010 you get 3, which is my favorite number...inside joke digression, sorry) would be full of front page finds. And maybe a couple footnotes. Having just returned from a wonderful first trip to Minneapolis for the wedding of some dear friends, I am appalled that in three days, Marijo and I had more fun food finds that I have in a lifetime in Denver. Maybe that's a stretch, but without further ado, here is my Minneapolis recount:

Day 1
The News Room: While I went to the rehearsal dinner, Marijo headed out to find some dinner and a bar willing to show the Husker game. Check and check, mission accomplished at The News Room- a rather large bar/restaurant with each room carrying the theme of a different section of the paper. Giant headlines plaster the walls, including two of my favorites from The Onion, found in the women's bathroom: "Women are smarter than men" and "Miami Police Dept to debut new hot pink and aqua uniforms." But one of the best parts of the bar was the actual bar- a giant ship, complete with sail, rope ladder, mast, etc. Top shelf liquor is literally "top shelf", with access only granted via several steps up the rope ladder.
But, since this is a food blog, let me just mention the highlight: Fried brie curds with blueberry ketchup. Yes, blueberry ketchup. The curds literally melted in my mouth and the ketchup was sweet and tangy, a perfect condiment choice. Best bar food I've ever had. The beer, though pricey since happy hour had ended, was good as well- Bells Amber Ale and Porter, and Schell's Lager. It's a good thing that the bar was such a hit because the Husker game definitely wasn't. Oh, but props to UNC for an exciting comeback finish to their bowl game. Poor Tennessee.

Day 2
The Wienery: Our morning was slow to start since the game ended so late, and we headed out to Midwest Mountaineering, a gem of a store in the east end of the city. Lots of trying on, wishing we had more money. And by the time we were ready to walk back to the train station, we were starving. The plan was to eat downtown because my google maps phone app was not revealing any nearby eatery gems. However, we walked past The Wienery, clearly some sort of hot dog joint. Tiny, hole in the wall, but with a few normal looking people in the window. Since I was ready to gnaw my arm off, we tried it out. This place gave new meaning to the word "dive" but my brat with sauerkraut totally hit the spot. Marijo opted for the "Downtown Dog" polish, with cole slaw, chili and cheese on top. Like a whole picnic in a bun. And of course, let's not forget the giant basket of greasy fries, two whole potatoes worth.
Not a crumb was left. We had a good laugh at the angry customer whose food couldn't be ready fast enough for the poor dog he left out on the sidewalk, and an even better laugh at the poster behind the counter.


The Local: After working out in the fitness center to counteract the two-potato fries, we headed to an Irish pub for dinner before the wedding. The interior was pretty upscale for a pub, done snug style with lots of little rooms offering a more personal feel. Since it was happy hour, I decided to ignore the fact that I was reading in the wedding and had a Boddington's (so smooth), and Marijo enjoyed a wonderful Kilkenny Cream Ale (Yum!). The wild rice and mushroom veggie burger was to die for, and the "better than couscous" quinoa salad was perfect for someone who was still suffering the effects of lunch. We really wanted to stay for the Guinness Mousse, but the only reason they let us have a table was if we promised to be gone in time for a 6:30 reservation. Plus, we had a wedding to get to.

Day 3 (there's that number 3 again)
Hell's Kitchen: highlight of the trip (besides the wedding)! There is no way to convey everything that I loved about this restaurant and our whole dining experience. I only hope that anybody reading this who is inspired to check out the restaurant has half as much fun as we did. First of all, it's in the basement, so you literally descend the stairs into Hell. Second, it's New Year's Day, so everyone is nursing hangovers with Bloody Marys and Mimosas. All of the servers are in pajamas, ranging from flannel pants and a bathrobe to a full red "onesie". We ate at the bar which turned out to offer two important views. Across the bar against the back wall were the "Absolute Worst Seats in the House." On the wall, it described why they were the worst seats in the house, ranging from "You have to deal with the kitchen chaos" (they were right next to the kitchen doors) to "You have no privacy because everyone is reading this." They did offer a free caramel pecan roll (huge and decadent) to anyone who still chose to sit there. Directly behind us, the Jana Nyberg Group took the stage and performed a jazzy brunch set, including a lovely rendition of Santa, Baby and some classics like Fever and What a Wonderful World. They also played some original stuff which you can download for free on their website. Other highlights included Saturday morning cartoons playing on the bar TVs, creepy bathroom hologram portraits that transitioned from normal looking 1800s people into skeletons and creepy creature-of-the-night zombies, meeting a Creighton grad at the bar, and coffee that was described as so strong it is "guaranteed to restore virginity." The place just had a lot of character. Oh, and did I mention the peanut butter?!? Yes, it was phenomenal. Best I've ever had, and a great complement to the toasted sausage bread (yes they put bison sausage in their bread). The potatoes were also noteworthy. I highly recommend this place to anyone.

The rest of the food isn't really worth mentioning. Stuff like mall snacks and hotel restaurant soup because it was too freezing and we were too tired to make any further forays into downtown. But let's be honest, after Hell's Kitchen, everything would have been disappointing anyway.

And, just to sidestep away from food for a second, check out our one-of-a-kind purchase from the Mall of America--Japanese baseball jerseys!
Thanks to Peter and Jenny for a lovely wedding and an excuse to explore the city. Happy New Year!

Simple Pleasures

Let me tell you the quickest way to experience and enjoy simple pleasures in your life--have a really crappy memory! Last night as I was leaving work, I happened to glance at the schedule and realized I HAVE A 3-DAY WEEKEND!!!!! Everybody channel Harry Carey now...HOLY COW!! Yes, I had completely spaced that the schedule was a little jankity this month giving me the Monday off before my weekend, and thus, 3 glorious days of freedom. Even better is that it follows one of my roughest weeks of work in recent memory. Was it because the kids were really sick? No. Was it because the census is super high or turn-around is particularly rapid due to respiratory season? No, no. Was it because some people don't think before they act? YES! And, some people have attitudes that don't mesh uber-well with the teamwork mentality of my department.

And so, after a night of really strange dreams (forgetting my pager at work and then going to return it but convincing everyone at work that I was really an astral projection of myself, and then finding a retractable leash in the parking lot to replace the one Kolbe chewed through), I sit enjoying a giant Marauder's Map mug full of coffee and pondering how best to kick some serious football butt today. Last regular season game, and yet another dreaded reffing opportunity, but you know what? I don't care, because even if it sucks two hours out of my day, I still have Monday off!

So remember kids, if you always forget the good things you have going for you, it makes it extra fun when you remember. :)

Lunar Lunacy

The sight of the moon never ceases to induce romantic inclinations in my mind and heart. Walking outside after work every night, I am greeted by the ever-changing stages of the moon, and I find myself constantly in awe at its power to direct my thoughts to sharing that particular view with one that I love. I find I have a hard time putting the sensation into words. It's like I step into view of the moon, and all of a sudden, anything is possible. Time is meaningless. Stress disappears. And in that moment, I am filled with a feeling that is half longing for something I have never had and half hope for something that I know will someday find me.

I realize it's a little cliche. After all, bad movies are filled with bad moon moments. Case in point- the ridiculous Dear John conversation of "the moon is never bigger than your thumb." Cheeseball to the max. However, I appreciate the sentiment of sharedness that comes with looking up at the nighttime orb and feeling something a little bigger than yourself. Feeling a part of something spiritual and otherworldly. Knowing that wherever they are, someone is seeing the same moon I am and sharing in the magic. It feels like a secret pleasure, meant just for me and whoever is open enough to appreciate the sight.

Every night the moon is slightly different, a shade larger or smaller than the night before. And yet, it brings with it a sense of homecoming, of feeling perfectly connected to ... something ... someone. Some nights, the luna halo gives me chills. Other nights, the moon is just a tiny sliver against the black abyss. And yet each night, it feels like it's all mine. I know someday I'll be able to share my moon with somebody. And we can sit out on the back porch, wine in hand, conversation soft and meaningful, watching it rise to light the night sky (because by that time, I'll no longer be working these ridiculous hours). And I'll know what moment each of my moon encounters was pointing towards. Until then, I drive home, eyes on the road but mind on the sky, enjoying the beauty of my own secret light. I can't help but wonder if the moon room of my childhood has me more inclined toward lunar romanticisms than the average person, but analyzing it makes some of the mysticism disappear. So I'll sleep tonight dreaming of the moon and all the romance (in the Chestertonian sense of the word) that it holds.

I'm blind, I'm deaf, I wanna be playing, NOT reffing!!!

Today was the second week in a row that I had to ref a football game, and I have decided that it is possibly my least favorite thing in the world. I constantly feel overwhelmed and under attack, and I don't have enough attention cells in my brain to focus on everything I need to focus on. And when I see something that I potentially want to call as a penalty, my brain goes through this sequence..."well, I think I saw it, but it really wasn't that big of a deal and they are going to ask me which player it was on and I don't remember if it was the guy with the black shorts or the muscle shirt and if I choose the wrong one, they are going to object, and look it didn't have an effect on the play anyway." So then I talk myself out of calling anything. But I have to remind myself that it isn't like soccer where the ref can just indicate "play on" due to advantage. There are definitive penalties that need to be assessed whether they had an impact or not. I finally figured this out at the end of the game and ended up calling a stupid too-many-men-on-the-field penalty even though the girl wasn't anywhere near being involved in the play, she just hadn't quite reached the sideline. But, I just need to call things I see and put the responsibility on the team not to break the rules rather than on me to draw a gray line on what constitutes a false start.

And, I'm going to do my best to start paying more attention to downs, girl plays, which first down marker they started the drive behind, etc. I'm going to be a good ref. Or at least, not a bad one.