What does that even mean?

Today's puzzle: the side of the can of Orange Crush (oh so delish and on sale at Target this week for $3.00 for a 12-pack) reads, "orange soda naturally flavored with other natural flavors." 

I don't even know what that means. Since "orange soda" is not, itself, a naturally occurring flavor - at least not to my knowledge? - the "other natural flavors" doesn't quite seem to make sense . . . . 

It's almost definite that I'm being dense, but if there's one area of my life where I feel justified in demanding simplicity and clarity, it's with my sugary beverages. 

Where Have All the Kudos Gone?!

Would somebody please just tell me what happened to those delicious chocolate-and-candy-covered granola bars? PLEASE?! 

I've searched the supermarket aisles high and low, for about a year now, to no avail. They've up and vanished without a word. And don't you even try to recommend Chewy's Dips as a replacement - those poor excuses for a poor-excuse-for-a-"healthy"-snack can't touch an M&M's Kudo bar with an 811 foot pole. 

The Friday 4: Traits I Hope We Don't Pass On

So, I've decided this is going to be my little theme for the next few weeks, traits I hope Brad and I do - and don't - pass on to our little guy. We'll start with the don'ts first to get 'em out of the way. 

4.  Brad's money-sense 

Even though Brad does all the banking (I'm not confident I could even write a check without at least minor assistance : / ), I'm the money mind in our family. When he got his first credit card at, I think, age 23, he joked, "Free money!" and while that's humorous as a joke, were I not there to insist that the balance be paid every month in full, he might have just spent the next year (till we got married) treating that plastic like an orange tree sprouting dollar bills. 

It's not that my husband is wasteful or self-indulgent - he's not. He doesn't buy cd's or clothes or movies, he doesn't spend money at the bar, etc., nor does he complain about not doing so. But when he goes to the grocery store, for example, he puts the things he/I/we want into the cart without checking the price (while I'm like, "$4 for a bag of chips?! No way!") and if I said, "Let's go on vacation," he'd give the thumbs up without thinking twice. And when we first met, I had thousands of dollars in the bank at age 18, while at age 20 he had a "Spend it the second you get it" philosophy. 

Also, he's not really a planner, so he doesn't create big picture plans with our money. It's just not how he operates. Happily, he very much appreciates my ability to do so. Which means I formulate most of our money goals and ideas, which works out well since I'm a bit of a, er, well, control freak. 

3.  My impatience 

It's no secret to anyone who knows me that I can't wait two seconds for anything. I'm easily agitated when things aren't going snap snap snap, and as soon as things seem not to be working out right away, I'm convinced they're going all awry. In fact, I'm too impatient to even write more about this topic :). 

2.  Our collective eating habits 

My husband's idea of "dinner" is a plate of Tyson chicken tenders/fingers: honey, southern style, crispy, original, honey bbq - if you can name the flavor, on any given day, there's a 50% chance you'll find a bag of it in our freezer. And if I didn't constantly have an aneurysm over the price, he'd go through a bag of Hershey's Kisses all by his lonesome every week. 

Yes, this looks gross - but it's this close
to looking good 

And believe me, I'm not much better. I'm a drink-a-holic (sans alcohol of course), and I would pick a Starbucks, Mt. Dew, IBC Black Cherry, or any number of juices over food most days of the week. I swear half my calories come in liquid form. Like, I got have my drinks. And until I was pregnant and getting sick if I didn't eat early in the day, I usually had my first bite of food circa 3 p.m., sometimes later. And that food was usually pizza or something nutritionally similar. 

So, we're not exactly health gurus in this household. And that's going to have to change, I know, once baby gets big enough to model his eating on ours. But that's gonna be a huge endeavor - you know, undoing just about 30 years of attitudes, preferences, and habits toward one of life's most enjoyable staples . . . . 

1.  My critical-ness/judgmentalness 

I can admit it - I'm too critical of everything. The brash color of the news anchor's lipstick is just as likely to get a comment from me as is the ridiculously unkempt house/yard/driveway down the block. And I'm equally critical of myself, sometimes too much so. 

I haven't been doing a stellar job of this, but I have lately been making little efforts to just button my lips whenever possible. This isn't to say that I don't think a lot of not-that-nice things, but the first step toward being less critical seems, to me, not saying all of them out loud. Which is, I must say, difficult in the environment of grad school where pretty much all everyone does is gossip (it helps to keep you sane, as Jo says). 

Regardless, it seems like the attempt to not pass on the judgmental gene to my little guy begins with him not hearing me cast aspersions left and right 24/7.

A Little Bit of Sweetness

Last night after work, Brad made me one of my favorites, pico de gallo. (This stuff is delish! And easy to make.) He'd worked all day, spent the better part of 3 hours commuting (as usual), but without complaint he chopped up 8 tomatoes, an onion, and a jalapeno while dinner was heating in the oven. He could've crashed on the couch and waited out the kitchen timer, but he didn't. 

This + Tostitos Scoops = Heaven 

Of course I thanked him yesterday, but while eating more moments ago, I texted him to say thanks again. 

His response? "You're welcome. I like making nice things for you." 

Couldn't you just squeeze him? 

We're all about gratitude in this house and we have been for years. I say thank-you when he goes to the grocery store, and he says it when I go. When he cooks dinner, I thank him. When I fold the laundry, he thanks me. These aren't "necessary" thank-yous - the stuff has to get done sooner or later, by one of us, right? - but we've been in the habit for a long, long time of showing our appreciation for each other, and I have to say, it really means a lot to me and I'm sure to him as well. 

Reading February's Better Homes & Gardens this weekend, I came upon a reader answer section; the question was about a trait of your spouse's that you loved. While I identified with a lot of the things readers said, I found myself totally agreeing when I read one woman's response about how her husband thanks her for the things she does and how this makes her happy to do nice things for him. 

I couldn't agree more. Because I know he will appreciate it, I am frequently moved to take on a task that Brad would otherwise have to do - just to make his life a little easier, his day a little less stressful. And he does the same for me. 

I feel lucky to have a husband who appreciates the effort I make and takes the time to tell me he does. And I feel lucky to have a husband who does the sorts of things, big and small, that move me to say thanks. 

Random Memory: Going Dutch for Pizza

A favorite dating tale of mine comes from early in my relationship with Brad and involves, not surprisingly, food. Strangely, while I normally have a great memory for this type of thing, I can't recall whether this was our second or third "date." While I was just thinking it was the second, I usually remember our second date as a time when he was sick and I brought and "made" him soup at his apartment. (Like so many college students, our dates were often some form of hanging out.) And by "made" I of course mean dumping a can of Campbell's chicken noodle in an over-sized mug, heating in the microwave, and bringing it into the living room for him. 

Anyway, this post is supposed to be about pizza, not soup. (It's definitely true that a huge number of my memories, especially those about dating, revolve around food.) 

As I recall it, we're sitting in Brad's bedroom listening to music (if it's his, I hate it; if it's mine, he hates it) and he orders us pizza for a romantic (haha) dinner for two. When the doorbell rings and he gets his wallet, I say, "Here', I can give you half," and go for my bag or purse or whatever means I had with me for carrying money. 

And my studly future husband responds, "Every little bit helps." And he takes my money. 

That's it. That's the whole thing. He went downstairs and got the pizza, brought it up, and we ate it. 

Every little bit helps! He actually said that! And he actually took my money. For like a $12 pizza! 

This shows you just how out-of-my-18-year-old-mind-in-love with this guy I already was b/c I didn't even think twice about the experience till probably a year later. Yet even while in high school I would have balked at the idea of paying for myself while out with a guy - even if "out" was his apartment. Were a friend of mine to have asked me then, or if a daughter of mine asks me in the future, "Should I go out again with a guy who says, 'Every little bit helps" and allows me to pay for half a pizza," I would screech a resounding, "No!!!!!!!!" 

So basically, I was starry-eyed. 

While half-hiding his face in disgrace, Brad defends himself by noting that he was only 20 years old and he had no game and no money. I say, Veto. 

On a side note, and in defense of myself in the face of my potentially non-liberated stance (feminists everywhere may be weeping), it should be said that I ate half the pizza. Not 2 pieces or even 3, but a full six pieces depite being a wee tiny thing. Translation: even though I think he should've paid for my pizza, I'm definitely not the type of girl who picks at a salad on a date. That should put my feminist conscience at ease. 

I must say, however, that I don't remember having paid for a thing since, with the exception of possibly a birthday dinner or two for him before we were married - so $6 ain't too bad in the grand scheme of things :). 

De-Caffeination Success

I don't know how many days it's been since I started cutting back on the caff, but I'm pleased to report it's been a success: as of about a week and a half ago, I'm running on about 75 mg a day. 

This the equivalent of 

1.  a small Starbucks espresso drink, like a Caramel Brulee Latte (yum for holiday drinks; Brad loves the Peppermint Mocha), or 

2.  (my preference) a medium half-caff espresso drink (i.e., one shot of regular espresso and one shot of decaf) such as an iced Caramel Machiatto with whipped cream, or 

3.  a can of Mt. Dew + 2/3 of a can of Coke later in the day (I throw the rest out or give it to Shannon) 

Cutting back to, generally, one drink a day also means I'm usually not drinking caffeine after noon, which is probably a good thing given my crazy pregnancy insomnia. Last night, when I had a Mt. Dew at 6 p.m., I definitely paid the price come midnight (of course, that could have been a result of sleeping in till 11 a.m. and then napping from 3-5:30, but still). 

So, the basic gist is that you can get control over your caffeination with a minimum of discomfort and sleepiness - if you're willing to put in a few weeks of effort and really be conscientious. 

Not Just for Kids: a Theory of Flavor Selection

Apparently I am five years old b/c my husband dumped my bag of Starbursts (yum yum) into a Rubbermaid container to make it easier for me "to pick my flavors." While it makes me feel not a little bit juvenile, I have to say, it's an ingenious idea. My prior method - of peering into the too-small hole I ripped in the corner of the bag and digging my too-big hand in to grab the ones I want - wasn't the most feasible, and three cheers to Brad for his innovation. 

Anyway, this color picking points to a process to which I have decided to adhere with some fervor from here on out, after trying it out recently and feeling quite satisfied. 

You see, like many folks, I prefer to red Starbursts to the other flavors, and I really don't care for the yellow. Whenever I eat a delicious red one and stumble upon a yellow or even an orange one next, it takes my taste experience from fab to flub. 

So I have resolved to eat all of the red ones first. While this might sound, again, like the plan of a five-year-old, hear me out, b/c there is, as always, method to my madness.

Once all of the reds are gone, I then move onto the pink. Pink is my second favorite flavor (yeah, it's a flavor, okay?) and, as the best option remaining, I'm quite happy to have pink Starbursts in my pantry. Then when all the pinks are gone - yep, you guessed it, I'm onto the oranges, and compared with those yellow ones, the orange is pretty delish. 

Those do not look appetizing 

At the end of this several-day-long process, I'm left with those yucky yellows, which tend to sit there for a few weeks. But, eventually, when packing my lunch/dinner for a long day at school, I look in the cabinet and see those yellow ones and think, "Well, those won't be looking too bad tonight at about 8:00 in class," and I toss them in. And, sure enough, come 8:00 on a Thursday night, I'm happy to have those sweet yellow squares at the bottom of my bag. 

And so it is that you can best enjoy your bursts of flavor - without ultimately wasting a one of 'em. 

Oh, for a Turkey Tom; or, Pregnancy Cravings?

No, that's not a reference to Thanksgiving (though Happy belated Turkey Day!) - it's actually a reference to a Jimmy John's sandwich. A delicious 8-inch turkey sandwich on a French hoagie roll, with shredded lettuce, tomato, provolone, and mayo, minus the sprouts. Super fresh, super basic, and super good. I think I could eat 2 right this second. And then 2 tomorrow. 

But no rest for the weary and no lunch meat for the pregnant. Unless of course you're going to heat it to 160 degrees which is not part of the Turkey Tom recipe. (Although I did read in Pregnancy and Newborn magazine recently that some doctors say you've got about next to no chance of actually getting listeria from deli meat.) 

I know: a turkey sub doesn't exactly sound like a wacky pregnancy craving. I don't even think it really counts as a "craving" beyond "I haven't had Jimmy John's in like forever and I thought of it the other day and now really, really want one." B/c they are so good.

Brad and I used to eat Turkey Toms sometimes once a week while I was getting my master's, but there aren't any JJ's in my local area (although there is one in Oakland). I guess that's a plus right now b/c at least it's not taunting me on a daily basis. 

Anyway, what I want to know is what's the deal with these goofy pregnancy cravings I've always heard so much about? 

Are they legit? Are they coming my way soon or do I get a pass or are they really just exaggerated by people and the media? I certainly haven't had one ounce of desire for something like peanut butter on pickles or ketchup in my ice cream or chicken with cream cheese. (Although I have consumed all six of those foods/condiments separately while being pregnant). That stuff sounds just as gross as it did beforehand. 

Is it possible that I'm being weird by being, well, normal? Okay, maybe not totally normal: I would pay a small fortune and walk a mile, even with this persistant cold, if I could have a Turkey Tom right now.

To Plant a Garden

Home sick with a sore throat and cold, sneering at the ugly weather (there's a flood watch for tonight, for crying out loud!), and thinking about greener, sunnier days to come. And gardens. 

Flowers and fruits and veggies. Green and yellow peppers, violets, lillies, daisies, watermelon, tomatoes, and more and more and more. 

I'd like to plant a garden (not right this second, obviously), something I never imagined myself saying, but I actually have no idea how to go about doing so. Of course I can look online and find 300 different ways, but it's curious to me that I've made it this far in life, almost three decades, and I don't know where to begin. 

This isn't a metaphorical garden I'm talking about. I'm talking real garden: dirty hands and knees, bugs (ick), the smell of flora and produce. I'm talking questions like, Do we have a proper place? The right kind of soil? When is the optimal time? Can you grow XYZ in this climate? 

I guess I do know where to start: by recognizing my total lack of knowledge and asking questions. But it still seems odd that something so, well, natural, something I read about and see all around should be such a mystery to me. 

It seems like such a complicated task - to plant things, shield them from the weather and insects, make them grow, harvest and enjoy them - and yet so completely simple. There are probably many things like that: simple, ordinary things that boggle the mind (or at least my mind). 

I'd like to plant and tend a garden, see (literally) the fruits of my labor, feel pride when little seeds turn into something much more, feel a bit of peace being in nature. Maybe this spring I'll find a little patch of earth in the backyard and try my hand at making some good things grow. It can't go any worste than the potted tomato/cucumber/pepper failure of this past summer . . . .

The Friday 4: Best Trader Joe's Products

Until this spring I'd never knowingly tasted a Trader Joe's product, and until this summer, I'd never stepped foot in the store. But on a city adventure this summer, Brad and I stopped by the Pittsburgh store, which is located in the new posh area of posh Shadyside (where all the cool hipsters live). I'd been jonesin' for my very own bottle of Pear Cinnamon Cider, which my modernist poetry professor brought to class one day in the spring. I must've drunk half the bottle that day . . . . 

Brad was skeptical that this was going to be another Whole Foods,* and honestly I wasn't totally sure it wouldn't be, but we went anyway and were both very pleasantly surprised. It was a whole lot smaller than I'd expected, and the customers were super not-friendly. But the staff is awesome, and the prices are super reasonable. Plus, they've got a bunch of products (almost all of which are their own brand) that I just haven't seen elsewhere (though, to be fair, I was never really looking). 

We've at least liked nearly everything we've gotten there, and loved a whole lot of it. Below are my four favorites. TJ's products have become a semi-staple (it's hard to get over there, otherwise we'd go bi-weekly) in our diets.Check out a TJ's if there's one local. 

4.  Trader Joe's Mini Chicken Tacos 

I ate too many of these the first two times we bought them (surprise surprise - bah), so I'm sick of them, but Brad loves them, and they are surprisingly tasty and easy to make (8 min. in the oven), and they're not soggy. We always eat them as-is, but I'm sure they'd be delicious with some shredded cheese as per the picture on the front of the package. 

I want to say the box of mini tacos is $3.99 (?), but it could be a little more. Even so, it's not a bad price at all, and there's way less sodium in TJ's frozen products than in typical frozen products. 

3.  Trader Joe's Pear Cinnamon Cider 

At $2.99 a bottle, this isn't one of the best-priced items TJ's has to offer, but it's so tasty and different I can't leave it off the list. It's sweet with a bit of a kick (but not too much kick) and not like your usual bottled juice. 

(Brad just commented, "That would be one of my favorites, too, if I were ever allowed to have any." It's true: I'm stingy. But you have to understand just how much I adore this cider.) 

2.  Trader Joe's Masala Simmer Sauce 

I think this stuff goes for about $1.99. Maybe $2.49. It's delish. I am not a daring eater, and of the, oh, three (?) Indian dishes I've tried, chicken tikka masala is my faaaaaavorite. 

TJ's sauce is thinner than what you get at an Indian place, and it does have a bit less spice. But we've found the trick is to not add any water, because when you cook the chicken (in the skillet), the juices from the chicken will already thin out the sauce. (The directions on the jar say to add a jar's worth of water - DO NOT!). 

As an additional note, we pair the chicken with TJ's jasmine rice. We've never found a better price on jasmine rice, and, as with all rice, Brad (for some reason) has the most success cooking it in the microwave. Just be sure to rinse it out well beforehand! 

1.  Trader Ming's Mandarin Orange Chicken 

This is by far the best not-from-a-Chinese-restaurant-Chinese-food I've ever had. It actually tastes like Chinese food, which I can't say for any of the other frozen Chinese bag meals I've consumed. And believe me, that number is higher than I'd like to admit. 

The chicken comes out crispy, there's nearly enough sauce (instead of the usual absolutely-not-enough), and the flavor is delicious. It doesn't actually taste like orange chicken you'd get at a Chinese restaurant, but it does taste like authentic something (very exact description, I know). 

There are three servings in a bag, and we actually parse it out into 3 servings - we each have one and save the other for the next time - so at $4.99 a bag, that's a pretty cheap meal considering all you need to add is white rice. 

*No offense to Whole Foods-lovers. They've got great produce and meat and some other nifty stuff, and when we had the money (rarely) or I was on a three-day health binge (more frequently) back when we lived in the city, Brad and I would head on down to the Whole Foods in Shadyside and stock up. But their prices are beyond outrageous, and the air of superiority floating around that place and in a 50-foot radius is unreal. 

Taming the Caffeine Beast (Day 1)

So I've decided - for about the 20th time in my life - to get my caffeine consumption a bit more under control. Though this is possibly the first time I've ever decided to do so without maintaining the lofty (and never-reached) goal of cutting it out completely. 

The motivation behind this is pretty simple: I've been getting awful caffeine headaches of late. Yes, I've had my share of caffeine headaches in the past, but these past few weeks they've been wicked - and sometimes all I need is a glass of Snapple (we're talking a measly 20-25 mg of caffeine) to calm them down. 

So why cut back instead of just drinking the Snapple? Well, it's frustrating to be drinking caffeine and then, a few hours later, need to drink more even if I'm not in the mood for it or it's too late in the day or there are no caffeinated beverages conveniently located. 

Basically, I'm aiming to make myself less caffeine-dependent without totally cutting my ties. I do, after all, love my Starbucks :). 

Right now, an average day looks like this: 

-2 cans of Mt. Dew (55 mg each) + a 16 oz. bottle of Snapple (42 mg) = 152 mg 
  or 
-a medium caramel Frappucino (75 mg) + 1 can of Mt. Dew (55 mg) + a glass of Snapple (20 mg) = 170 mg 
  or, occassionally 
-a medium iced caramel machiatto (150 mg) + 1 can of Mt. Dew (55 mg) = 205 mg 

So b/t 150 and 200. Fair enough, and equivalent to about 2 cups of regular coffee. But if I'm not in the mood for another Mt. Dew (which has happened a lot lately, actually) or we're out of Snapple or I forget how long ago I drank something caffeinated . . . whoa, holy heck, the caffeine headache rolls in and knocks me on my butt. 

After doing a bit of reading today, it seems the best strategy is to cut back by 25% for a week, then 25% more of the original amount for the next week, etc., until you've reached your goal. Since I like my pop and love my Starbucks, I'm only looking to get myself to, say 50-75 mg a day - about one caffeinated beverage. Hopefully I'll be there by Thanksgiving. 

My first step? Keeping myself at 150 mg for the next week. Which means, sadly, no caramel machiattos. But that's okay b/c after years of not getting frappucinos, I've been on a frap kick for a while now anyway. Wish me luck! 

The Friday 4: Serious Questions

Last Friday I was MIA for reasons I can only now guess at (they all sound a bit like, "Extremely stressed out and working like a maniac"); to make up for my absence (which I doubt anyone but me noticed), I offer four very serious questions for you to ponder. And I'd really like to hear your answers. It is my assertion here that you can't really know yourself until you've considered your answers to the following: 

4.  If you had the opportunity were forced to be on a reality show, which one would you pick? 

Survivor, duh. I'd get rockin' skinny, in mad crazy shape, lose my caffeine addiction (though I'd suffer a monster headache in the process), and have the chance to win, what, $1 million? Doesn't sound so awful - that is, till I start thinking about all the bugs out there in those outdoorsy places . . . 

3.  You've won a contest! Now choose from the following prizes: a brand-spanking new monster truck or a 2 yr. old dolphin. 

There are serious considerations to be weighed here. Like, the monster truck is giant, so where are you gonna keep it? The dolphin, though, lives in water; where in the h-e-double-hockey-stick are you gonna keep that one? 

Dolphins are cool, no doubt. They're swimming mammals, for crying out loud! Plus, they're smart and kinda pretty. And some dolphin species are endangered, so it's not a shabby idea to protect them or, conversely, get your dolphin prize and set her free off in the wild, wild waters. 

Even so, I've got to go with the monster truck. Yeah, it'd guzzle gas like nobody's business, but from what I hear of Shannon's hometown, it's just the kind of place where you could drive around on 66" tires without raising too many eyebrows. Though I might mock off-roading, I think I could make an exception for a truck on steroids. 

2.  Gotta give up (gasp) either bread or cheese. Decision, please? 

I'm twitching just thinking about this. In either case, you ain't havin' pizza no more. Which in and of itself is weep-worthy. 

If you say "see ya" to the cheese, you can't eat, well, cheese. I'm not sure any other argument needs to be made. Nachos would be sorely missed, for sure. And none of Olive Garden's dishes would be the same. 

If it's the bread you wave bye-bye to, you're not eating toast, sandwiches, stuffing, and on and on (well, on and on if you can think of other things. At this late hour, I cannot). 

I'm sorry to say it even as I'm saying it (typing it), but the cheese-o would get the heave-o. No, I'm not happy about it, but bread makes possible butter, which I'll affectionately call My Life's Staple. 


1.  For one day, you've got a monkey at your disposal; detail your activities. 

A baby mona 

Who doesn't love monkeys?! Who wouldn't want a pet monkey for a day?! Since meeting a mona monkey at the community college where Brad and I worked after first getting married, I've been about two steps away from trekking to the jungle and hiding a furry friend in my backpack. 

Ala Dane Cook's hilarious animated clip from Shorties Watchin' Shorties, I want a monkey to fight. With swords. And it's got to talk. And be funny. After we swordfight for a few hours (with breaks scheduled for our respective favorite beverages and foods), the monkey and I will go out to mess with my friends' minds. I'm not yet sure what the plan is, but I'm pretty sure it will be awesome. Brad can come with us if he wants (and how, really, could he not?). But only after the monkey and I have messed with his mind, too. 

Lastly, I'll have the monkey show me how to be a tree-climbing-and-swinging bad*ss. There are woods all around these parts that should do nicely. Oh, and actually lastly - another swordfight, this time with blindfolds (don't worry, we're using Nerf swords for this one). 

(I couldn't find the clip from Shorties - much to my disappointment - but the content of his stand-up on the monkey is here. Be forewarned, you delicate souls: it's not PG or even PG-13. He gets to the monkey bit at about 2:40, but trust me, the whole things is soooooo worth listening to. Oh, and Dane Cook is a babe.)

I'm getting really good at this

Getting rejected from conferences, that is. I just got #6. 

It's a nice Sunday afternoon, you go to a kid's first birthday party (Amanda's son Jack's), chat and laugh with people, eat yummy yummy food, walk out into the actually-pretty-nice-if-chilly early evening, climb in your car, and then find a real downer of an e-mail in your inbox. Looks like no MSA conference for me this time around. 

It's okay though - Amanda got me an oh-so-sweet-and-thoughtful birthday present (yes, at her son's party) which, among other things, includes edibles. None other than flying saucers, Sour Patch Kids watermelons, Swedish fish, and, oh yes, those lollipops I was craving. I just drowned my sorrows in a little bag of flying saucers . . . I think that's about 18 calories total. 

Little Luxuries

We all have them, those little things we treat ourselves to. A new lipstick or nail polish, a favorite beer, maybe a yummy scented candle or a magazine from the check-out line. They're small things, usually not too expensive, and they make the everyday a bit brighter. 

My little luxury of choice is a Starbucks medium (I refuse the pretentiousness of the word "grande") iced caramel machiatto with whipped cream and caramel on top. (I don't wear make-up, drink alcohol, or like most scents - so coffee it is.) 

Do I ever feel bad about spending $4+ on a coffee drink multiple times a week? Sure I do. After all, that's $20+ a week I could be using for clothes or groceries or stuff for the house; or it's $20 a week we could be socking away in our savings (a savings to which we currently sock away nothing - call it the trials and tribulations of being or being married to a grad student). 

But I look forward to my drink; I really enjoy it. And in the grand scheme of things, it's a very minor expense that brings me a lot of smiles. 

Besides, I figure I've earned it - I work hard and don't spend much money on myself. Yes, I buy clothes frequently enough, but I buy nearly all of them at the thrift store (for, like, the cost of a machiatto), at Gabriel Brothers (sells "irregular" merchandise - that's often got nothing wrong with it - for low prices), and on sale in stores/online (for instance, I got five awesome $54.50 sweaters this winter for $12 a piece - or less).  Brad and I don't go out frequently, and when we do, we usually do it on the cheap (exceptions: The Cheesecake Factory and Olive Garden). Other people our age drop big bucks at the bar, at the club, at the movies, but not us. And we're certainly (and unfortunately) not jetsetters bouncing from this city to that on the weekend or in the summer. 

So, I don't beat myself up too much over the cost of my little indulgence. I deserve it. And I could be spending that money on a much worse habit - like smoking or drinking. Coffee doesn't seem so bad in comparison. 

(Although, maybe I should do a little more beating up - do you have any idea how many calories are in that drink?!?! You don't want to know. Trust me.) 

Today's little treat (in addition to the coffee, of course): 
Starbucks' new Very Berry Coffee Cake
(what a healthy lunch! Haha). 

The Friday 4: I Am My Mother's Daughter

Sure, my mom and I differ in not a few ways - her house, for example, is spotless whereas mine is, well, very spotted - but I think that's to be expected given a 30+ year age difference. She was a skirt-wearing child of the '50s after all, and I was flipping over the handles of my ten speed wearing '90s neon. 

But my mom and I do share a lot of characteristics in common, and the number of these characteristics only seems to be increasing as I age. I'm okay with that, though, b/c my mom's pretty cool, and as long as I don't start saying "foward" instead of "forward" (like she does), I'm happy to say we're pretty similar. 

4.  We've got a lot of the same eating habits/preferences. 

Neither of us is an adventurous eater. At all. I won't get involved with run-of-the-mill things like tuna or gravy; she would never touch a piece of salmon and balks at the idea of trying any Chinese food that isn't General Tso's chicken. 

We're both obsessed with flavor. Very few things are complete without gobs of sauce, dressing (no non-fat or low-cal for these ladies), or other condiments (she likes mayo way too much). And, unless we're eating out at a restaurant, we both gravitate toward snacks - as meals - rather than, well, actual meals. My mom's idea of dinner? Cheese sticks heated up in the toaster oven. My idea of dinner? Potato chips dumped in a bowl. (I'm at least civilized about it!) See the family resemblance? 

Yum yum, love that dressing 

And for everyone who thinks it's weird that I get up at 6:30 in the morning and don't eat anything until 3 or 4 in the afternoon, let me tell you, my mom takes the cake here: she usually eats her first "meal" at 7 p.m. or so. In fact, Brad mock-gasps when we see her eating while the sun is still out. 

3.  Like her, I take the word "literal" to the next level. 

A literal crown for the Literal Queen 

My mom didn't earn the nickname "Literal Claire" for nothing. 4/5 jokes must be followed with, "That was a joke."

Well, I'm in hot pursuit of her title as Literal Queen, it seems, which is funny given that I love figurative language like nobody's business. In conversations, I just can't seem to understand what people mean when it's not exactly what they say. Is it possible I'm just tired? 

Note: while Brad finds humorous my inability to see the humor in half of the headlines/articles he shows me from The Onion, I don't think that's due to my "literal-ness." I think it's just because I actually don't get what the heck they're saying. 

2.  We both jump immediately to the worst possible conclusions. 

My mother claims to be an optimist, and maybe she is an optimist, b/c to see herself as such despite the fact that she automatically leaps to the worst possible conclusion does require an immense amount of optimism. As I've said before, I'm a realist, and I'm sticking to it. But my so-called pessimism does come out from time to time . . . 

Brad laughingly recalls a recent incident that was clearly no laughing matter: 

For a few days, he'd been suffering jaw pain. Like most men (oh, yes I did!), he verbalized his agony rather frequently, so it was in my head. Then, all of a sudden one day, I called him at work in a panic and said, "You don't have meningitis, do you?!" I was truly in an uproar. Now that I'm thinking about it, I can't remember what connection I was making b/t meningitis and sore jaws (is this a common symptom?), but it seemed like a very real possibility to me at the time. Clenching during the night had actually just made his jaw sore, so it turned out to be no biggie - easy to say after the fact. 

*A notable addition to my mother's assumption of the worst, is her physical inability to sugar-coat just to make you feel better. Conversations often go more or less like this: 

Me:  My arms hurts a little. 
Mom:  Where? 
Me:  Below my shoulder. You don't think a rare, poisonous Australian bug bit me, and this pain is a precursor to my arm turning purple and falling off, do you? 
Mom (very seriously):  I sure hope not. 

1.  Supposedly (that is, so my husband says), I tell stories increasingly more and more like she does as time passes. 

This turkey has nothing at all to do with
this post, but I like him, and Brad and
I saw a turkey the other day

Am I a little digressive in my tales? Sure - but who, I ask, is not? 

Have I been known, now and again, to include every last detail about a situation in order to paint a full, proper picture? Yes - so sue me for thoroughness. 

Do I, perhaps, at times make clear that I have something very important to share and then take 10 minutes to tell the story that gets to that important point, thereby inducing feelings of stress and worry in the listener? I will not comment on this issue, beyond stating that such a claim is slanderous! Or libelous! Or whatever-ous!

A (sweet-tooth) trip down memory lane . . .

(Prepare to see a lot of pictures.) 

Today on our way home from P.F. Chang's where we met Shannon and Butcher for an early dinner, Brad and I stopped at Dairy Queen. Somehow I'd gotten a craving for an old childhood snack, something I haven't thought of in years and I wasn't even sure they'd still have. Sure enough, we pull into the drive-thru and it's not on the menu. But when Brad asks, the woman affirms they do, indeed, still carry the Misty Float. 

Growing up, we called it a Mr. Misty Float. It's like a Slush Puppy (only I'm thinking DQ doesn't have that brand - ?) with soft serve in the middle. Kennywood Park has something like it called an Iceberg, which is soft serve and Icee. Also delicious, but it can't touch the blue raspberry Mr. Misty I had today. 

This one little Mr. Misty - I haven't had one in at least a decade - really sent me spinning back to childhood in the most delightful and nostalgic way. When I was young, elementary school-age, me, my mom, and one of my sisters would stop at DQ on our way here or there, and I'd always pick a Starkiss (loved those!) or a Mr. Misty. I was little and they were simple and delicious, yet more special than a regular cone. 

Memories of the Mr. Misty then call to mind the Slush Puppy machines at convenience stores, and what a treat it was to get one when my mom or dad went in to pay for gas. And, of course, thinking about convenience stores of old has me thinking about pumpkin seeds and penny candy - Swedish fish and Sour Patch Kids and flying saucers that tasted like styrofoam (and that I still love). I'd fill up a mini-paper bag of treats while my mom (who in 2011 still pays cash for her gas) stood in line. 

Thinking about penny candy (do they even sell such a thing anymore?) brings to mind the time my dad took me to S & S Candy and Cigar Company in the South Side so I could pick out big boxes of candy; it was like penny candy on coke. I can't remember everything I got, but I do remember Sour Patch Kids Watermelon and these lollipops (they're made by Swizzels Matlow), which I never see anymore and totally forgot about until about 10 minutes ago. I now desperately want to find these wonderful, chalky treats, and if anyone knows where to get these, well, my birthday's coming up . . . 

After the candy store, my dad and I walked down to the the Pretzel Shop on E. Carson St. They make homemade pretzels, as you might have guessed - salted and unsalted, cinnamon, other flavors I can't remember. After we bought some (they put the pretzels in big paper bags), my dad asked if they'd show us the brick oven they use to make the pretzels. It was big and hot and really cool; I'd never seen anything like it. 

Thinking about this 20 years later (did I really just say that? Eeks), I realize this was very likely something they did frequently, whenever someone asked. But, as an 8-year-old, this was thrilling. My dad seemed like a superman. First, he'd taken me into the city; next he'd let me have my pick of the candy store's seemingly infinite contents; now, he was showing me some super-cool oven that no one else got to see. Now that I think of it, this has got to be one of my fondest memories of childhood. My dad and I would visit the Pretzel Shop every now and again in the ensuing years, and when Brad and I began dating, we'd often stop to pick up some pretzels on our way out of the city to my parents' house. That little shop has remained special to me for all of these years. 

There's obviously something about food that brings people together. Just look at the big Italian families with the big spreads across their tables and dining rooms filled with laughter. Simple memories like these above are really the sweetest things. They're just the kind of memories I want to make with Brad and kids of my own.

The Friday 4: Premature "Cancellations"

I'm being creative in my use of the term "cancellations" here, but it fits well enough. 

4.  Car:  Pontiac Bonneville 

Brad's looked just like this 

It's just sad that this car doesn't exist anymore (the same can be said about the whole brand). Good, old, American comfort. (Says the person who drives a Honda. But still.) I miss seeing them on the road. I also miss Brad's 2000 gold Bonneville, which he - I sigh - totaled in 2009. This, of course, is why we have the Blazer. More sighing. 

(runner-up:  Lincoln LS) 

3.  Presidential career:  Hillary Clinton

I voted for Hillary in the 2008 primaries. So did my husband. The rest of the county we were then living in, however, voted for Obama. It was a happy day for me when she accepted the Secretary of State position, but it ain't enough. I'm confident she'd be an effective, competent, and knowledgeable leader - and I'm holding out delusional hope that I'll soon have to retract this post b/c she'll be the 2012 Democratic nominee and, ultimately, our 45th president . . . I know, I know, come back to reality. I don't wanna. 

(runner-up - Bobby Kennedy) 

2.  Restauant dish:  Chili's chicken tacos 

Just seeing these saddens me 

Oh, oh, oh, I weep. Soft shells, delicious greasy sauce (what was that sauce?), chicken, lettuce, tomato, and, of couse, cheese - what's not to love? Brad and I used to split an order (plus bottomless chips and salsa) about twice a month. Until they started Menu Annihilation: the years-long process by which they replaced everything that was good and reasonable (by picky people standards) on their menu with nasty and/or tasteless and/or weird options. No more chicken tacos, no more Mushroom Jack fajitas, and they changed the recipe for the chicken Caesar salad (and the Caesar dressing). Now, we don't even bother going. 

(runner-up - Chili's chicken nachos) 

Ain't she cute? 

1.  TV show:  Veronica Mars 

I LOVE Kristen Bell. Could anybody be cuter? I think not.

Mock if you will (I did before I watched the show), but Veronica Mars is a freakin' great show. The people at the CW network were fools to cancel it. Fools! I say. Brad and I still haven't watched the third season (we only came to our senses once it was cancelled), but it's at the tip-top of the list for the summer - when we have time to watch like 6 episodes in a row and pull unreasonable and fun all-nighters. 

Veronica and Logan . . . love it! 

It's just so darn engaging. Drama, comedy, mystery, detective story - what's not to love?! Not to mention the fact that I love Logan. (What a babe!) Sure, it's completely unrealistic - no high school or college life is anything like this - but who the heck cares! People don't seem interested in shows that are like real life either (see the runner-up below), so that's not a solid strike against it. 

(runner-up - Boomtown)

Chips 'n Sh*t

I'm Lutheran (as are Brad and the rest of my family), not Catholic, but in my younger years, I tried and failed to give up a variety of things for Lent. The last time I made such a 40-day attempt was probably college and it probably lasted about 2 days. But Brad reminded me this morning of a particularly ridiculous story from 8th or 9th grade that I'd shared with him at some point, and it's serving as a bit of motivation: 

Oh, Lays, how I love thee! 

This all must be prefaced with the explanation that I love potato chips the way some people love spending money. I'm instinctively drawn to them, they cause me all kinds of joy for a brief period of time, and then I end up feeling sick. ("Reflux sucks" could be the title of an entire post.) I've loved potato chips for as long as I can remember (probably as long as I've had teeth) - Lays, Ruffles, Snyders; plain, sour cream 'n onion, barbeque. You name it, I like it. And, back in the day, they didn't wreak havoc on my stomach. 

So, circa 1996, I decide to give up potato chips for Lent. I'm going strong. We're reaching the 20-day mark, then the 30-day mark, then 35 days. Somewhere in these last 5 or so days, however, I begin to get desperate. The chips, you see, have not disappeared from my house since I began my "chip fast." (Sounds like Slimfast made of chips. Ick. And yes, Amanda and I used to drink Slimfast. We also used to run 3 or 4 times a week. What can I say? Bad and good habits just seem to disappear . . . ). Instead, they're just hanging around in the cupboard longer b/c, although my mom and dad eat chips, they don't harbor an out-of-control love the way I do. 

Day 36 or thereabouts, things start to get dicey. I miss my snack. I've got a mad craving for some flat, fried potato. I take a bag of Snyder's barbeque up to my room. Stare at it awhile. It's me vs. the chips. The chips are winning. I open the bag and sniff. Dear goodness, this is what dreams are made of. I turn away. Must be strong. But they're calling me. I reach my hand in and pull out a chip. It feels so crisp and delightful. Only. Four. More. Days. I sniff the chip. It's everything I remember and more. 

And then, the moment of truth: I lick the potato chip. Yes, I did. I licked it, tasted the delicious barbeque flavor, breathed in the smoky aroma. And then recoiled in horror at my weakness. Okay, not quite a recoil in horror, but a shameful dropping of the chip to my lap. I continued no further, and if I remember correctly, I finished out the 40 days without actually eating a chip. It was a flawed effort, but my best to date. 

This year, I've decided to tackle a biggie: no swearing. I know there will be screw-ups along the way. In fact, there have been 5 already this morning/afternoon. (And that's only those that I was cognizant of. Surely there were more.) But, I'm not going to quit trying even though the words seem to just fly out of my mouth. This chickadee's gonna clean up her language over the next 6 weeks. At the very least, she's gonna try really, really hard.

No, Thanks. Really

It took me 20 years to try the stuffing at Thanksgiving dinner, and yeah, I'm glad I finally did b/c, as it turns out, my mom makes a mean freakin' stuffing (esp. for someone who isn't much into cooking). Excepting that experience, however, I'm pretty set in my food-ways, and I'm fine with that. 

Most everyone I went to school with during my MFA days equated exotic/expensive/complicated/odd foods with being cultured/sophisticated/intelligent/worth a damn. Perhaps I am none of these things since I do not eat such foods. (I've eaten duck though! And sampled lobster!) But I also don't eat - as in, have never and will not - A LOT of other things that I would classify as "typical" foods. If I'm unsophisticated etc. b/c I don't eat prosciutto and capers, then what am I given that I don't eat tuna salad (or tuna, for that matter)? Or any of these: 

gravy 

Gravy, anyone? Methinks not. 

coleslaw 

macaroni salad 

potato salad 

hard-boiled eggs 

egg salad 

thousand island dressing 
bleu cheese dressing 
wasabi 
guacamole 
beef chili 
pulled pork (and ham bbq, if that's different from pulled pork - ?) 
beef stroganoff 

Please don't pass the potato salad. 

brussel sprouts 

hot sausage 

mussels 

scallops 

oysters 

meatloaf 
salisbury steak 

candied yams 

anchovies 

artichokes 

(Though tempted to alphabetize these b/c they'll look so much nicer, I'm restraining myself . . . just barely . . . .)