Dear Diary ...

I just got an ingenious little book: A 5 Year Diary. Each day of the year has one page divided into five sections. Just write a little blurb about your day, and as the years roll by you can see what you actually spend your life doing.

Today's entry will say:

Despite blatant fishing, I didn't get invited to the developers-only farewell lunch for two coworkers. I consoled myself by sleeping in, "working from home," and taking myself out to lunch at Wendy's. Not a bad trade off! Spent the rest of the day reading Marisa de los Santos' new book, Belong to Me, and am consequently head over heels in love with words and wish I used more unique ones like "litmus test" and "wistful" on a regular basis.

I'm excited for this new journaling approach. Heaven forbid I fail to record the monotony!

One Less Talent

I've always been really good at faking that I'm good at many things that I am actually crap at. (Except math. It's not even worth it to fake anything related to math.) But the cold hard reality is that I don't know how to do everything, and I'm finally getting around to sloughing off those extra things that really have no place in my "realm of expertise." Like cooking.

I hate to shock you guys, but .... turns out I can't cook.

I know, you're like, "How is this possible? You come from a family of cooks? Braising is in your genes. In fact, I've had plenty of really good meals that you've made." And it's true, I used to be quite a good cook, and my mom and chef brother cook circles around each other every chance they get. We regularly debate roasting methods and copper-bottomed cookware at family gatherings. So basically, admitting that I can't cook anymore will make me a pariah with the fam. But somewhere along the way, my natural born talent got overpowered by the ease and convenience of Hamburger Helper dinners. What's a girl to do?

Now, before we get confused, I'm talking about cooking ... not following a recipe. I can usually manage to follow a recipe. What I can't do is create a recipe, or improvise on a set of ingredients. No matter how foolproof it seems, it's always destined for failure.

For example, on Sunday, I decided I wanted to recreate this salad that I had at Zingerman's Roadhouse in Ann Arbor, MI.

Warm Spinach & Wild Mushroom Salad
Fresh spinach tossed with aged goat cheddar, sautéed roasted pepper, leeks and fennel in a beautiful, nutty brown butter vinaigrette. Add pit-smoked chicken.

Basically, I would eat this salad every day for the rest of my life. And it looks pretty simple, right? Well, the whole thing just failed. It was soggy and boring, and a shadow of the salad I was hoping it would be. I was crushed because this wasn't just one failed salad, it was an overwhelming signal that I should just give it up.

It's actually quite liberating giving up these fake expertise of mine. Now I can have people over for dinner, but won't have to stress out planning a menu (not to mention trying to make a damn cream sauce - those are my nemesis!) And really, doesn't everyone secretly love Chicken Nuggets more than cannelloni?

What about you guys? Any fakers out there?

One Month From Today ...

It will be my Birthday!!!!!!!!

Aren't you totally STOKED? I am. 32 is the age I have always wanted to be ... and while it has been an OK year it hasn't completely lived up to the hype. There are only 30 more days for 32 to show me what it is made of.

So, readers, this is what sporty types call a Hail Mary. For the next 30 days I'm going to try to do something special each day to make 32 the year I always hoped it would be.

If you have suggestions I would appreciate them! Or if you have birthday presents I would appreciate them too!

Documentation

I got a letter from the BYU Records office yesterday. I get mail from the BYU Alumni Association every damn day asking me to donate or subscribe or support. Which I never do. You'd think that after 7 years of ignoring them, they'd give it up. In this way, Alumni Associations are not unlike nerdy men that keep harassing you even after you've ignored their calls for 3 months.

Anyway, the letter from the Records office intrigued me, and I wracked my brain for who could be asking for my transcripts. So I tore it open to find out.

This is what the letter said, more or less:

Dear Gretchen,

We have your diploma in our vault. It has been there since 2000. Do you want it?

Love,
The BYU Records Office

Last week I couldn't have told you where I thought my diploma was, but my best guess would have been under my bed right next to my library science grad school diploma.

In retrospect, I shouldn't have been surprised to learn that I never got my diploma. I didn't go to my graduation ceremony. And really couldn't have cared less about the whole graduation process. I was heading off to grad school in a couple of months, so I didn't see any point of lulling myself into a false sense of having finished school. Therefore, I kept it simple and my undergraduate graduation was one of the most anti-climactic events in my life.

But now my long lost diploma on its way to me, which of course presents the question: What should I do with it? I rather like the idea of framing both of my degrees (as a matched pair, of course) and hanging them in my cubicle. That would lend some much needed gravitas to my cube while simultaneously informing that here resides a Mormon Librarian. How awesome would that be?

Or, Maybe it will just take its foreordained place under my bed with my other degree.

Multitaskability

We are a nation of multitaskers. And I, in fact, am a master multitasker. I suspect this has a lot to do with my current "bored with life" status. If I had twelve things to do simultaneously instead of a mere 3 things to do all day, I'd be a lot more content. But when all pistons are firing, I am a multitasking machine! These are some of the things that I commonly multitask:

• Conference calls, email, desk cleaning, blog reading
• Eating lunch, reading newspaper, listening to music, eavesdropping on coworkers
• Showering, cleaning shower (This usually evolves into bathroom cleaning, and on special occasions can escalate to full blown naked house cleaning.)
• Brushing teeth, turning off lights around the house, checking email, getting a glass of water, ferrying things back and forth across my apartment (this is perhaps my most productive time of night).
• Driving, putting on makeup, practicing snarky comebacks, talking on phone, yelling at other drivers/pedestrians.
  

The list is endless. Basically, if I still have a hand/foot/eye/ear/finger/mouth free I'll add something to the currently scheduled program.

Of course, there are a few things that do require being single tasked. Such as:

• Driving, when a policeman is behind you
• Reading assembly instructions (trust me, if you try to fake this, somehow or other you'll end up with five extra screws and your cat in the dryer.)
• Ordering a sandwich at Potbelly Sandwich Works

Now, you might think that ordering a sandwich is a perfect time to do some multitasking. But you would be wrong. Dead wrong. The tricky bit about Potbelly, is that even though there's some waiting involved, you could be asked at ANY MOMENT what you are going to order or what you want on your sandwich. You've got to be on your toes ... otherwise, you're mucking up the entire Sandwich Works. And I'm going to be pissed off at you.

So for example, if you were getting a sandwich today at one-ish in the Bethesda location, and you'd decided to read the Washington Post instead of keeping the line moving and deciding what you wanted, I would be pissed off at you. If, when you were asked what you wanted it took you 3 minutes to decide, well then, once again, I would be pissed off at you. If, after ordering, you decided to spread your newspaper out on top of the sandwich bar instead of proceeding along to the "fixin's station", well, it would be pretty surprising if I didn't rip that paper out of your hands and take you out back to teach you the hard way how to follow proper Potbelly etiquette.

I know you don't want me to be pissed off at you. No one wants that, really. And so I'm glad we've taken this time to define what is in and outside the realm of multitaskability. Just remember that if you think that getting a sandwich at Potbelly requires anything less that your complete and undivided attention, well, you better just be sure that I'm not standing in line behind you. Putting yourself between me and my food is never a place you want to be.

Ouchie!

I got braces put on my top teeth in October, and it wasn't bad. A little tenderness, a couple of canker sores, but really nothing serious. I thought that everyone who said that having braces hurt was just a wimp. I openly scoffed at them. But now, as in all things, I've been humbled and boy do I feel their pain.

On Valentine's Day I got my bottom braces on. Ouch. Ouchie-Ouch-Ouch! Apparently, my bottom teeth are much more sensitive that my top. I've been subsisting on soothing jello, ice cream and yogurt. I can't bite or tear anything. Not even cheesecake. Eating chicken nuggets was about the most painful thing I've ever encountered. I feel like I'm living through the middle ages when no one kept their teeth and had to eat really mushy food.

A misplaced bite sent one bracket spinning free on the wire. To get it stuck back on the orthodontist decided that he needed to sand the surrounding teeth down to make room for the tooth to come forward. Now if this sounds unpleasant, believe me, it is. (I'm such a wimp when it comes to pain!)

Tomorrow, I'm going to the dentist for a teeth cleaning. Turning my tender teeth over to those sadists should be a real treat!

The only good thing about this is the enforced diet. Oh, and the nice straight teeth I'll have. That's good too.

Birthday Bash '07

Hot off the Camera - Birthday Pictures!

Dinner at Penang, an Asian restaurant in Dupont Circle. My dinner came in a pineapple - Oh Snap! Maria and I scored on our yummy swan-shaped dessert! The sauce had some sort of liqueur in it, which was delicious! This was one of those times when it's only your pride keeps you from doing something really embarrassing like licking the plate. Or knocking out your friend to get the last drop.

And now we DANCE!

Boogie, Boogie, Disco Brother! Lael proved that white guys can dance!



Last stop: Lucky Bar! We stayed here until about 1:30 AM. Lots of fun, lots of babes, lots of complimentary water.

Thanks for an excellent birthday everyone!

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow ... OK, Stop.

Despite (or perhaps because of) growing up in Colorado, I have long been a valiant foe of cold weather. I loathe it. I simply loathe it. So this winter has been pretty near perfect. Day after day of 40 and 50 degree weather. Warm enough to only need a light jacket, but cool enough to entice me to use my seat warmers. And as a special treat, a few weekends that hit the 70s just to remind me of the joys of summer. It was delightful, and I never wanted it to end.

And yet, yesterday when it started to snow big fluffy flakes I couldn't help but feel excited. Since I've lived in DC snowstorms have been a bit of a production. The mere mention of snow will send shock waves through the community as people rush the supermarket for bread and milk, schools do preemptive closing -- just in case -- and the streets empty as people hunker down to watch the "Team Coverage" of the snow reports on TV. All for a meager inch or two of the white stuff. At first I scoffed at the pandemonium, but now, I avoid the supermarket and happily take my snow-days.

Maybe it was because our little storm came on a Sunday, or maybe it was because our warm winter had folks excited for the cold snap, but our first storm of the season was surprisingly low-key. Whatever it was, I caught the fever and was as excited as a little kid to see the snow falling again. Kids in DC don't understand what it's like to have a real snow day. They are pretty much guaranteed to have at least some time off if it happens to snow (or threaten to snow). In Colorado, a snow day is only possible if the storm is really, really bad, and the school buses can't make it to the country roads. (Thank you Hippies for living in the middle of nowhere and giving me snow days!) DC kids don't know the sweet agony of anticipation you get running between the window, to make sure the snow is still falling steadily, and the TV to see if your school has scrolled along the bottom with the other closures. It's enough to give a kid a heart condition.

But yesterday I wasn't necessarily excited to get off of work, although that was a distinct and welcome possibility. I was more interested in having just a taste of winter. Not too much, mind you, but a little tiny bit. And two inches was just about right. Enough to make you want to sit on your couch and watch the flakes fall. Enough to shovel - and I love laying in my bed in the early morning listening to the sound of snow being shoveled off of the walks. (I don't love this sound quite so much if I'm on one end of the shovel.) I love tottering over icy walks, skating my boots along, wondering if it would be overkill to put on some crampons. I love looking like a marshmallow in all of my Columbia gear. I love breathing in and having your nose hair freeze - and then crunch as you stretch your nose. All of these things remind me of being a kid. And it's nice to have the unadulterated excitement of childhood back, if in some small measure.

All in all, it's been fun playing at "Winter" and if it wants to snow a little bit more this week I wouldn't mind. Especially if I get out of work. But, let's not get carried away. I'm completely expecting to be back to our regularly scheduled Warm Winter by next week. At which time, the complaining about the cold will resume.