just d and y

oh, hi

2015-11-23T13:46:00.002-06:00

Hello from the other side.

(How did we greet each other before Adele changed everything?)

I don't usually drink coffee, but today I'm sitting in an impossibly hip coffeeshop in St. Paul and I just finished something called a "Cuban Mistletoe" that tasted like peppermint and hopes and dreams and it occurred to me, one year after my last post, that maybe I never mentioned on my blogger blog that I up and moved...twice.. and am now jotting down unimportant thoughts and pictures at dacijaye.com

Maybe I should drink coffee more often.

(Does anyone even read blogs anymore?)

mama loves you [volume 3]

2014-12-01T07:28:00.000-06:00

Dear Sir or Madam,

Y and I had a troubling conversation a few months ago.

We were on a walk around our neighborhood with Ike. Somehow, the conversation turned to Y's parents' expectation that he got As in high school "or else." (note: they deny this allegation.)

"I hope you don't plan to do that with our kid," I said.

"Oh I definitely will," he said. He was kidding.

OR SO I THOUGHT.

A few weeks later we flew to New York for a wedding. We took a cab from JFK to Grand Central Station to catch a train to the suburbs. Our short stop at Grand Central was our 15 minutes in New York City, and I needed something to commemorate the experience: PIZZA. Grand Central has the best pizza in New York, right? (that was a joke.)

I ordered my slice from a counter in the food court--I can't remember what type, only that it was dripping with grease--folded it in half and raised it to my mouth.

But before I could take a bite, I made a terrible mistake

I noticed the pizza place's health score. And I pointed it out to Y.

B.

Not even a B+. Just a B.

"You can't eat that!" said Y. "What if something happens to the baby?"

I mean, it was sweet. But COME ON.

I settled for an "A" cookie instead. Both of us ignored the fact that if we were truly concerned about your health, we could have opted for like, a salad, maybe?

I worry for you, Sir or Madam.

If "B" pizza isn't good enough for Y to feel confident about your future, well, all I can say is I sure as hell hope you do well in school.

Mama loves you,
D

I ate ALL the food at the wedding. Hope it got an A+.

maternity style | how do I look #3

2014-11-26T21:06:00.000-06:00

Y (from behind me): Hey!!
Me: What?
Y (excitedly): you're starting to look pregnant from behind!
Me:

____________

Look how adorably naive I was at 20 weeks. I AM HUGE, I was probably thinking, HOW CAN I GET ANY BIGGER THAN THIS?

Bless your heart, less-pregnant D. Oh and, by the way, ENJOY ROLLING OVER. It gets trickier.

around MSP: five watt coffee's oatmeal bar

2014-11-25T20:46:00.000-06:00

Here's what they don't tell you on Prairie Home Companion or in any of the Coen Brothers films: Minneapolis sometimes feels like a diluted Portland. Take Portland's famous hipster scene, biking community, and progressive culture, and water it down with some good old fashioned corn-fed Midwestern-ism, and you have Minneapolis: where every hipster has a fixed gear bike, a growler of homebrew in their basement...and a signature hot-dish recipe.

Every once in awhile, I get a vibe that is all Portland -- like I could be in a Portlandia sketch. The Sunday Oatmeal Service at Five Watt Coffee was one of those times. (another? Butter-churning aerobics.)

Five Watt Coffee is my favorite coffee shop for people-watching, eavesdropping, writing, and maybe hating myself a little bit. (One day while I was doing some work there, I looked up and realized that a line of about 10 of us had identical Macbooks. But I was the only one without an ironic mustache, so I felt a little better.)

For someone like me who loves coffee shops and hates coffee (I know, I'm the worst), Five Watt happens to be perfect -- all of the specialty drinks are made with so many extras, you can barely tell you're drinking coffee. Even still, my favorite drink is the London Calling: black tea, fennel bitters infused milk, and vanilla.

Yes, coffee purists might tell you Five Watt is trying too hard with its cocktail inspired drinks. But what puts Five Watt over the edge into Portlandia territory is the oatmeal bar. You can mix and match toppings to create your own oatmeal. Or you can turn to the Oatmeal Curator, so capitalized because that is his title. Swear. It's on his business card.

Every Sunday, the Oatmeal Curator --what else--curates an oatmeal special. When I visited, it involved walnut bitters and bacon and was pretty delicious. If you're not into the special, you can order omakase: "entrust the topping selection to our esteemed oatmeal curator."

You'll be asked a few very important questions: your last oatmeal experience, your best oatmeal experience and the thickness your prefer your oatmeal. Then, it's up to the Curator.

Laugh/sneer/roll your eyes all you want, but my oatmeal was delicious and for five dollars, not the worst brunch deal out there. Plus I'll probably get rich when I pitch this scenario to the producers of Portlandia... so there's that.

just the two of us

2014-11-23T21:35:00.003-06:00

When you find out you're going to have a baby, a few things happen:

1. You wash your hands, because they're probably covered in pee, or at least they were pee-adjacent.

2. You celebrate, etc. Maybe you take a picture of the thing you peed on, because this is 2014 and what don't you take a picture of these days? (For the record, I did not take a picture of my pregnancy test. I needed to save space on my phone for pictures of Ike pooping, which I sometimes like to send to Y while he's at work because... well, I'm not sure.)

3. You realize OH SHIT I'M NEVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO DO ANYTHING FUN ANYMORE.

4. You realize OH WAIT I NEVER DID ANYTHING FUN IN THE FIRST PLACE.

What we do for fun: selfies on the couch.

And then if you're me, you start documenting your weekends because, incredibly exciting or comfortably mundane, you know you're going to miss them. Just a little.

A typical child-free weekend, part 1.

Friday night: We're invited to a friend's house for pizza. Some of us drink whiskey, some of us eat 6 pieces of pizza, and then Y starts telling a story from his childhood that sounds too interesting to be true. So, when he's not looking, I text his mom. The answer comes while Y is in the bathroom --"he's actually just remembering a story we told him, he wasn't actually there." When Y returns, we press him for more details, which he starts to tell us before we dissolve into laughter. Caught.

Saturday: Y works until noon or so, and when he gets home I remind him that we've been invited to a concert. Y sighs heavily (I've borrowed a line from New Girl and like to tell him "You sigh constantly! You sigh like you are the President of the United States and you are deciding if you want to declare war!") and asks, "is it a sit down concert or a stand up concert?" clearly hoping for the former. I can't confirm, but we decide to go anyway.

Saturday night: We head to the concert which is in, as the band's lead singer says, a "crusty" area of town. We throw open the doors to the venue with bated breath and -- sigh of relief -- it's a sit down concert! Y promptly falls asleep sitting up and misses most of the concert. The band, the Barr Brothers, are great, but they're very chill and the room is dark and I honestly might have fallen asleep, too but the baby is doing some serious dancing.

Sunday: Y has the day off, so I convince him we should go to something called Northern Grade, a marketplace of "artisan" menswear brands because I think it's right up his alley. Sure enough, once we get inside, I can't find him because literally every guy in there has the same beard. These are his people.

But here's what happened: in the parking lot, before we walked in, the trunk of Y's hatchback didn't open all the way, and when he leaned in to put something in the back of his car, he hit his head, hard. There was blood.

Once we get inside, it isn't the identical beards that make Y hard to find, it's the fact that he is wandering aimlessly, in a head injury induced haze. We both decide he is going to die, so we leave BEFORE WE EVEN GET TO LOOK AT THE HAND CRAFTED CANOE PADDLES.

As we're driving home, Y snaps back to reality and says, "I feel better! Let's get Indian food!" and I make a last second turn to get to an Indian restaurant nearby that has eight different flavors of chai. All is well.

Sunday night: We visit a friend's new baby. Y swears he knows where their house is, but we end up lost. Y ask Siris to text our friend, "What's your address?" Instead, Siri inexplicably texts me "I'll make macaroni and cheese for dinner" and we end up late. The baby is cute.

STAY TUNED FOR THE THRILLING SEQUEL.

maternity style | how do i look #2

2014-11-03T21:21:00.002-06:00

Me: How do I look?

Y: You kind of look like Mrs. Incredible

1. If you're familiar with the character Mrs. Incredible, you know this either meant that my hips looked HUGE or my waist looked tiny. Considering I no longer actually have a waist, I'm going to assume he meant the former.

2. The general theme of fashion this fall seems to be Olsen Twins Bag Lady Chic, which is awesome because it means I will never have to buy a maternity top. Case in point: this H&M shirt.

3. Two minutes after these photos were taken, I fell. I'm so graceful.

4. These pictures were taken at a random lake my work friends and I found 5 minutes from our office. When we're having a particularly stressful day, we spend our lunch break taking walks that often turn into what we like to call a senior portrait session. Posing ridiculously is good for the soul.

photos taken at 20 weeks, 5 days

october 2014 favorites

2014-11-02T15:23:00.002-06:00

in twin cities adventures

+ Most of October was beautiful, so we tried to spend as much time outside as possible in the form of walking, hiking, biking, and eating.

+ There's a corner in South Minneapolis that's home to three businesses owned by the same family, including an adorable little wine bar, Terzo, that serves half pours and amazing cheese plates. On the outside of that wine bar, facing the tiny parking lot, is their Porchetteria -- a window that serves just four sandwiches, three of them pork. They were amazing - we took ours to Lake Calhoun for a picnic.

+ The West River Parkway along the Mississippi is my favorite place to explore in the fall. The biking trail is pretty enough, but when you venture off the bike path onto the hiking trails, fall gets cranked up to 11.

+ Because I'm too much of a wimp for scary movies, I got my Halloween fix at the James J. Hill House (a creepily beautiful old mansion that, in the late 1800s, belonged to a railroad magnate named, shockingly, James J. Hill), where actors performed Victorian scary stories like A Telltale Heart. I'll take any excuse to visit this gorgeous part of St. Paul that's lined with mansions and history.

in clothing/beauty

+ I'm adding this phrase to my list of things that needs to be retired immediately: capsule wardrobe. I mean, I like the concept... but the phrase has just started sounding smug to me. That being said, being pregnant is like having a mandatory..grimace... capsule wardrobe and mine consists of three pairs of leggings and this poncho in camel.

(other phrases on my to-ban list: burning a candle, lovely, tucked away, this season of my life)

+ Since the age of 16, I've been addicted to straightening my hair. With all of the free time that's about to be yanked out from under me, I decided I needed someone to teach me how to wear my hair curly. After extensive research ("Okay Google, what salons in Minneapolis specialize in curly hair?") I found the Hive Salon, which sent me home with products and cheat sheets. I still prefer my hair straight, but it's never looked this good curly before, and I've been wearing it this way for a record two weeks in a row.

in music

+ I am not ashamed to admit that I bought 1989 with a Target gift card I received for... Boss's Day. I have so many feelings about this. 1) How am I a boss? 2) Boss's day is a thing? 3) Does buying a Taylor Swift CD immediately make me no longer eligible to be someone's boss?

in eating

+ I made these cookies three times in October, which is pretty significant since I'm not sure if I made cookies three times last year.

+ Now that pumpkin spice appears to be jumping the shark, can we move on to apple caramel as the annoying fall trend? We can start with the Pepperidge Farms caramel apple swirl bread. I'm obsessed.

+ If you're still into pumpkin (you are, I can tell), my favorite pumpkin things this October: siggi's pumpkin spice yogurt, and the pumpkin chai from local cafe People's Organic.

around the house

+ Thanks to this marble shower curtain, our bathroom is finally sufficiently fancy.

+ We're doing some closet shuffling, and Y decided he wanted to wallpaper his new closet in toile. I love it. The idea of fancy wallpaper hidden inside a closet feels like an inside joke. Or a wink. Or something.

+ We also got a new Turkish rug. By that I mean we got a new Ikea rug and the tag tells me it was made in Turkey. IT COUNTS.

Minnesotans

2014-10-17T21:09:00.001-05:00

It's happening.

Yesterday was going so well. It was a random 72 degree October day, and Y and I were buying lunch to take to a picnic by the lake. Perfect, right?

And then the most horrifying thing came out of Y's mouth:

"We should go across the street and buy some pop."

Pop.

I guess there were other signs that we were starting to acclimate to our new state. First there was the flannel.

And then there's the one member of our family that has mastered the art of Minnesota Nice.

The epitome of passive aggressive behavior: When Ike wants to go for a walk, he now just sits by the door and looks really, really sad.

I had accepted all of that. But pop I just can't do. It just sounds so wrong to my ears.

To my fellow Southerners; y'all will be happy to know didn't let him continue until he clarified and said soda -- even though every good Southerner knows you say coke and let everyone wonder which specific drink you mean.

Mama loves you [volume 2]

2014-10-16T20:57:00.001-05:00

Dear sir or madam,

You're currently negative 4 months old, and everything you own right now fits in an Ikea bag.

Now before you get all offended, you should know that Ikea bags are huge. Like, don't expect to bring it to a grocery store as your reusable grocery bag without getting remarks and stares.

With that out of the way, I want you to know what's in that bag -- I want you to know your first four possessions:

1. Periodic table blocks: The very first material item you owned was a set of building blocks with the periodic table on them. If you haven't figured it out by the time you read this letter, Y is a bit of a science buff. I'm going to guess that he has gotten frustrated with you for not knowing something science-y at least 100 times by now. I predict the first time was somewhere around day 3 of your life.

The other night Y and I went to a frozen yogurt place with a chemistry theme. The flavors are displayed to look like a periodic table... but that periodic table was not accurate enough for Y. And he told me allll about it. That was a long frozen yogurt date.

2. Swaddling blankets: It seems to me like you should know who gave you your very first gift, and in this case it was our sweet friend (and Y's coworker) Rachel and her husband. Y thinks so highly of them that one time we all went bowling, and as Y was entering our names into the computer, he completely forgot Rachel's husband's name. "Hey man," he asked, "how do you spell your name?"

[long pause]

"M-i-k-e," said Mike slowly.

We treasure their friendship.

3. A flight jacket. For an 18 month old. Because we like to plan ahead (and because it was 50 cents at a garage sale. Only the finest for you, my future aviator!)

4. Vintage flashcards. I found these flashcards from the 60s at something called Junk Bonanza (I repeat: only the finest for you!) I got all the important flashcards: dinosaur, tiger, buffalo, hobo...

Mama loves you,
D

how do i look #1

2014-10-13T20:44:00.000-05:00

Me: How does this look?

Y: Those pants kind of make you look like weird bug.

And so it has gone since I started dressing to accommodate my new little partner in fashion crime. Y has never been shy about telling me what he actually thinks about what I'm wearing (which I like -- sometimes I listen and sometimes I override his thoughts), but lately his comments have really been making me laugh.

So, instead of standing in front of a wall week after week in a tight shirt and answering questions about how many stretch marks I have and whether my wedding ring is on or off, I thought this would be a more fun way to document my pregnancy (and keep the age old Just Dandy tradition of poking fun at Y alive).

I wore these $5 H&M maternity pants on my flight home from Carol Convention and opted out of the body scanner at the airport. As the nice pat-down lady started her pat-down routine and I stood with my arms out wide, she put her hands on my hips.

"Is this your waist band?" she asked.

"Nope," I replied. "Higher."

She moved her hands up a few inches. "Here?"

"Nope. Higher."

She moved her hands up a few inches above my belly button. "Here?"

"Still no."

She moved her hands up until they were basically at my bra. "Here?" she asked, exasperated.

"There you go."

And then she pulled my shirt up so the entire San Diego airport could see my 4 month pregnant torso covered in this pattern that makes me "look like a weird bug."

SPOILER ALERT: I had no weapons on my person.

photos taken at 20 weeks/3 days

stay classy, carols

2014-10-12T21:35:00.002-05:00

I think I legitimately squealed when I got my Carol Convention reveal package in the mail. AJL had us all fooled -- every single one of us thought we were going to South Carolina. So when I pulled the California postcard and California shaped sugar cookies out of a hot pink Baggu bag, I was completely shocked.

We spent the weekend in the cutest house in La Jolla, a half a block from a beach where perfect people played with their perfect toddlers and wore thongs that showed off their perfect butts.

Five years ago, in Dallas, we decided to call ourselves Carol to solve a problem: creepy guys talking to us in bars. This year we stood outside of a coffee shop in Coronado pulling grey hairs out of each other's heads.

I guess we solved our little problem.

5 things you should never say to a pregnant person

2014-10-10T12:05:00.001-05:00

Is it just me, or have articles with titles like this taken over the internet recently? It's gotten to the point where I don't talk to anyone anymore for fear that I will offend them -- but let's be honest, I probably wasn't going to talk to them anyway because my eyes are glued to my phone where I'm simultaneously refreshing my Instagram and reading an article called 12 THNGS YOU SHOULDN'T SAY TO PEOPLE WITH BROWN HAIR.

I do think I tend to see more posts calling out people for daring to say things to pregnant people or mothers (Exhibits a, b, c, d) and I always wondered if those same things would offend me when I was pregnant. Sure enough, I've developed my own list:

5 things you should never (ever!) say to a pregnant woman (or anyone, really):

1. Look at you! Pregnant, you resemble a walrus!

2. I'm going to murder your family tonight!

3. Congratulations! I bet your kid grows up to be Hitler.

4. YOU'RE pregnant? And it's HIS baby? Did you guys consider... you know... going to the schmashmortion clinic?

5. BRB, honey, going to join ISIS!

...

Basically my advice to you this weekend is LIGHTEN UP, WORLD. There are some pretty terrible things people could say to you, and then... there's the stuff you would be a whole lot happier if you didn't get so worked up about.

DIY: Do it, Yoni

2014-10-09T21:48:00.000-05:00

I'm hopeless at doing just about anything with my hands, so in our house DIY means DO, IT YONI. In all caps. It's a demand. I like to think of myself as the art director and Y as my creative, because our house is apparently Mad Men.

Y's latest accomplishment is our bathroom -- he painted it, put up some much needed tile, patiently waited three months for me to find shelves and towel bars that I liked, and then hung said shelves and towel bars.

While I flew to New Orleans this summer, Y tackled the hideous pinkish-tan bathroom walls. After begging me for months not to choose grey or white paint ("I CAN'T TAKE ANY MORE GREY IN THIS HOUSE") he finally convinced me to let him paint the walls an actual color. I chose navy.

Joke's on him, because everyone knows navy is a neutral.

As he kissed me goodbye at the airport that weekend, Y told me, "When you come back, we'll have a nice bathroom for you and the baby."

While he was slaving away creating the perfect bathroom for a baby (which I guess means ensuring that there are plenty of surfaces for him or her to poop on/in), I spent the weekend singing karaoke until all hours of the night, eating way too much deliciously unhealthy New Orleans cuisine, and seeing Jay Z and Beyonce in concert -- and probably inadvertently giving the baby a contact high.

I think we can all agree Y won for best parent that weekend.

Although without my child rearing skills, the baby would never be able to claim that his or her first concert was a Beyonce concert. So maybe it's a toss up?

For reference, this is the bathroom we purchased. Like.... on purpose. Why?!

mama loves you (letter to baby)

2014-10-06T22:53:00.000-05:00

Dear sir or madam:

Is that too formal? I was always taught that when you were writing to someone important, but weren't sure to whom you were writing, you use "sir or madam." Since you're the most important person, we'll just go with that. Also, consider this your first writing lesson.

Let me tell you why we're not quite sure if you're a sir or a madam. One day in May of 2014, your dad (that sounds weird. Let's just keep calling him Y, short for Your Dad) came home incredibly excited.

"I was just talking to my OB friend. Let's not find out the sex," he said.

This was like, twelve minutes after we knew I was pregnant. I hadn't really thought about it.

"She says births where the parents don't know the sex are a lot more fun and everyone seems a lot happier," he continued. "And she said, 'really, how many surprises are there left in life these days?'"

That sounded slightly suspect -- I'm sure births where the parents know the sex aren't actually less fun -- but in my head, I pictured sad trombones in a hospital room filled with pink balloons. I didn't want a sad birth. Plus, the second part rang true. I don't think I've ever been surprised about anything, ever.

It was settled, 14.5 minutes after finding out I was pregnant. We weren't going to find out whether you were a boy or girl.

Later, someone asked me if we planned to find out. "Nope," I said. Y looked at me in horror.

"What? When did we decide that?" he asked.

"When you announced it dramatically after talking to your OB friend? Do you not remember?" I said.

"We never had that conversation," he protested. (He still claims that to this day)

Let this be a warning to you, Baby. Y remembers approximately 2 out of 10 things he and I talk about. He already seems to like you more than he likes me, so I predict he will remember 4 out of 10 things you two talk about. Still not stellar. So prepare yourself.

You're going to say "dada" for the first time and two days later, he's going to be all, "JESUS, IS OUR KID EVER GOING TO SAY ANYTHING?" He's going to tell you you can get a new iPhone 37c and then the next day, BAM. Conversation never happened.

It's okay. We still love him.

Mama loves you,
D

P.S. Is there a chance you are a koala? You're up all night and I've been strangely drawn to the scent of eucalyptus lately. Kick twice if you're a koala.

How the Grinch Stole Fall

2014-10-05T21:41:00.001-05:00

Do you feel like you're going to scream if one more person mentions pumpkin spice? Is the general love of fall wearing you down? I present to you y, the fall Grinch, to balance things out a little.

Y [as I take the above photo]: Can I help you?

...

Me: Look! There's butternut squash growing in that front yard!"

Y: We're already on a fall walk, you don't have to point out every fall thing we see.

Y: Happy October 1st. Don't forget to pay off our credit card bill.

...

Me: Crap... I forgot to blow out my [pumpkin scented] candle

Y: Are you serious? This is what happens when you partake in fall activities.

...

music for the weekend | sorry not sorry

2014-10-03T23:59:00.000-05:00

I was about to call this post "weekend mixtape," but I decided that calling playlists "mixtapes" is getting a little tired. What should be the next intentionally nostalgic way the people of the internet refer to their music? 8-tracks? Minidisc mixes?

This weekend is looking quiet (tonight starts Yom Kippur, the most serious day of the year for us Jews) and, apparently, cold -- it's supposed to snow tonight. The Twin Cities Marathon runs along the lake right by my house this Sunday, and I always take Ike for a long walk along the route. Then, inspired, I go home, put together a marathon training plan, and forget about it after about 12 minutes.

In the words of Sarah at Note to Self (whose playlists I look forward to each month), every playlist has a story. I love finding new ways to tell a story; here's one for this weekend.

sorry | not sorry (listen on Spotify)

01. I'm Sorry Now -- Jude (because on Yom Kippur we ask for forgiveness)
02. I'm Not Sorry -- Meiko (because maybe we don't really mean it)
03. Timothy -- Tennis (because I believe in second chances and will be seeing Tennis again next week)
04. Budapest -- George Ezra (because Jen posted it the other day and I was immediately hooked)
05. Home (Leave the lights on) -- Field Report (because I'm excited to not be at work past sundown this weekend)
06. This Time of Year -- Better Than Ezra (because it's a fall anthem)
07. So Sorry -- Feist (because you probably haven't apologized enough)
08. Don't Panic -- Coldplay (because at the first sign of precipitation I pull out the Garden State Soundtrack)
09. Nothing But Time -- Opus Orange (because on my to do list for this weekend is making a video of our latest Carol Convention trip to California, and this song is a front runner for the soundtrack)
10. Lost in the World - Kanye West (because if I were to train for a marathon, this would be on all of my running mixes)

currently: october

2014-10-02T22:51:00.000-05:00

smelling: in turns out I'm most productive while laying in bed, propped up by three pillows (it has to be three). So here I am being productive -- aka answering five simple questions -- smelling the lavender linen spray I spray on my sheets because I like to pretend my life is luxurious and lavender-scented (when really it's just my pillows).

loving: I've been listening to Meiko nonstop since my friend invited me to an acoustic concert in a high-ceilinged pasta bar. I loved it!

planning: a quick road trip somewhere quaint to see some fall colors. fancy dinner parties. a blogging comeback. a nursery. (yikes)

baking: this apple cake for Rosh Hashana -- probably one of the best things to come out of my kitchen, you should really make it -- and these pumpkin donuts for Yom Kippur break fast (always a crowd pleaser).

celebrating: Ike was born at some point in October, so we call it Iketoberfest. Okay... I call it Iketoberfest. In my mind. But it should be A Thing, right?

a doctor's note

2014-10-01T23:54:00.003-05:00

October in Aspen

Let's do something really outside of the box today and talk about fall.

More specifically, let's talk about that time I was wandering through a strip mall on a sweltering October day in Shreveport, Louisiana about 4 years ago. Someone exited Ulta as I walked past, and as the door opened I caught a whiff of something. Something intoxicating.

The hairs on my arms stood up. Tears welled up in my eyes. It was the smell... of freedom.

Okay, that was dramatic. The smell was actually just pumpkin.

I doubled back and walked as casually as I could into Ulta. No, you cannot help me, I telepathically told the saleswoman. I do not need my mustache tinted or my eyelashes waxed or whatever tiny beauty products you have next to the register. I just need to get to your pumpkin candles.

When I reached the pumpkin candles I took a giant sniff and -- I'm not proud of this -- started to cry.

Because it was 90 degrees. In October. And it would likely be 90 degrees again in November. And I know you rolled your eyes up there when I said "it was the smell of freedom" but summer in Louisiana makes me feel trapped in this body that is so clearly not meant for summer. It burns, it peels, it sweats, it sticks, it makes me miserable. The smell of pumpkin represents me returning to my old self.

(Sorry, is this manifesto ruining all future pumpkin spice lattes for you? My deepest apologies. Maybe try a green tea? I think it's healthier.)

With the smell of those Ulta candles came the memory of what a breeze feels like. The long forgotten practice of snuggling. The thrill of exhaling and seeing your breath. The anticipation of actually feeling those things, combined with the realization that winter was not, in fact, coming to Louisiana anytime soon, and neither was fall?

That's why I cried in the corner of Ulta holding a pumpkin candle.

(And that's why you didn't scare me when you told me Minnesota was cold.)

All this being said, I'm giving myself permission to love fall without being classified as a "basic white girl." I have a doctor's note. Or something.

This post was sponsored by Ulta. Just kidding. But if any companies out there would like to pay someone to write about a time one of your products inspired a visceral overreaction, I'm your girl.

oh, hello.

2014-09-21T18:38:00.001-05:00

If you read as many blogs as I do, this story sounds familiar: blogger takes a long hiatus; breaks hiatus to announce pregnancy. Reason for hiatus? Exhaustion during the first trimester and fear of revealing their secret.

That's not my story.

First of all, I haven't been exhausted. I've taken exactly one nap. The only time I've felt nauseous was in La Jolla, California, after sea kayaking for 90 minutes on rolling waves with the smell of sea lions thick in the air. (They balance those little red balls on their nose to distract you from their slimy scent).

The pregnancy fairy decided to bestow upon me only the weirdest of symptoms -- tongue zits (which the highly reputable Yahoo Answers confirmed others have had while pregnant) and shape-shifting eyeballs. Oh, and you know how your hair is supposed to be luscious and full during pregnancy? That has held true strictly for the hair on my legs. My head hair is as limp and pathetic as ever.

My hiatus is a combination of visitors, vacations and a sudden job change that's had me working later than our building's janitorial staff. With some upcoming days off, I might be able to get back into the swing of this whole blogging thing because I could use a creative outlet more than ever.

See you soon,

Woman Realizes She’s Pregnant After Insufferable Fruit and Vegetable Comparisons

2014-08-20T06:34:00.000-05:00

Minneapolis, MN – One Minneapolis woman has finally realized the cause of her inane fruit comparisons.

“The first time it happened was in a strategy meeting at work,” says Daci Platt, 30. “For some reason, it just occurred to me to compare the size of our logistical problem to a papaya.”

“It was accurate,” admits former colleague Lisa Furman, “The problem was actually about that large. But no one else on our team would have ever thought to describe it that way. We thought she was a genius.”

Over the next few weeks, Platt’s husband, Yoni, says he noticed the fruit comparisons happening more often and without warning. “She sent back her meal at a restaurant because it was the size of a plum and she was expecting it to be the size of a grapefruit,” remembers Yoni. “Frankly, it’s embarrassing.”

Platt says it was a comment at the dog park that convinced her to take a pregnancy test. “I was there with my dog, Ike – he’s about the size of a watermelon, for reference – and this puppy came up and sniffed him.” Platt remembers she squealed over the puppy and informed its owner that it was “the size of a butternut squash.”

“The puppy’s owner smiled knowingly and asked how far along I was,” laughs Platt. “I stared at her blankly. She whispered, ‘I’m 6 weeks and the nausea is unbearable, but thank God my fruit comparisons are pretty mild.’”

That’s when it clicked, Platt says. She left the dog park immediately and stopped at Target to pick up a few “carrot sized” pregnancy tests. “Sure enough,” she says, “They were all positive.”

Baby Platt is due in February and the Platts would like everyone to know that they are aware it will be cold that month -- and they couldn't care less than a garbanzo bean.

a long, TMI journey

2014-06-18T07:06:00.000-05:00

This sext brought to you by Simple Human.

(No, this is not a sponsored post. You'll see.)

Ike is apparently on a 5+ year mission to destroy everything we own. Basically, Ike is why we can't have nice things. Yet he's also why we had to buy a $50 Simple Human pet proof trash can. (Isn't that... ironike?)

But Ike was too smart for the trash can, and one night I came home to find it across the house. Trash and blueberry footprints were strewn across the floor, and an empty bag of frozen blueberries (which had been full when I threw it away) sat at the end of the trail.

Google informed me that blueberries were safe for dogs to eat, so I forgot about the whole thing until the next day, when Ike and I were taking a walk.

Ike usually doesn't do any business of the number two variety on walks, but as we entered a park in our neighborhood, he made it pretty clear that he needed to empty his bowels. I didn't have any bags, and leading him off to a discreet corner wasn't an option because the park was packed for an AIDS walk. I pulled Ike, mid squat, to an information booth and managed to find some bags. Problem solved.

Except do you know what happens after eating an entire gallon sized bag of blueberries? Blueberry diarrhea happens. And do you know what happens when you try to pick up blueberry diarrhea with a flimsy plastic bag? Shit. Shit happens. It happens all over your hands.

Luckily, with the event going on, there were 15 port-o-potties lining the park, with a portable hand washing station nearby. I set off to wash my hands, but by the time I got to the station I had a new mission: wipe Ike's, um, butthole. Is there a more glamorous word to describe that body part? Let's go with trou de derriere. Everything is ritzier in French.

Anyway, Ike's trou de derriere had not escaped the blueberry diarrhée cleanly.

It looked like an alien crime scene. And people were noticing. So wiping was necessary.

Those portable hand washing stations sure are convenient. They have a sink, soap and paper towels. BUT THEY DON'T HAVE A TRASH CAN WHICH IS REALLY NECESSARY WHEN YOU WIPE YOUR DOG'S BUTT.

pause while I remind myself why I keep this creature around.

Now, picture me walking around this park for a good five minutes, carrying the most disgusting paper towel you can possibly imagine, still with the explosion from before all over my hands, desperately searching for a trash can. This was not exactly the pleasant walk I had imagined.

But I found the trash can, I washed my hands, and life went on. I even stopped to take this picture on the way out:

And when I turned around from snapping my masterpiece, I saw that Ike had created his very own encore masterpiece behind me.

Back to the washing station it was.

Thanks, Simple Human.

(All opinions are my own.)

dandy reads | 2014.1

2014-06-17T06:00:00.000-05:00

Love & War | Mary Matalin + James Carville

Maybe you have to be either from Louisiana or really into politics to know about James Carville? In case you're not familiar, Carville was one of Clinton's campaign strategists... and a diehard Democrat. His wife, Mary Matalin, worked in the White House under George H.W Bush, and then again with Dick Cheney... and she's a diehard Republican. After years living in DC, they moved to New Orleans after Katrina and then co-wrote this book. It felt more like listening to your two crazy relatives argue on two rocking chairs on the front porch than reading the memoir of two very smart politcal strategists. Something about that bothered me. My favorite part was at the beginning, when they talked passionately about New Orleans, and it went downhill from there. Oh, I also enjoyed Facebook stalking their daughters afterward. It was a great reminder to update my privacy settings...

"After we moved here, my children said to me one day, 'Dad, would you give us a ride to Pinkberry?'

I said, 'Pinkberry, what the hell is that?'

They said, 'it's a yogurt place.'

So I told them, 'We do not eat frozen yogurt in this family. We have snowballs, goddamn it.'"

Attachments | Rainbow Rowell

I love light books like this, because I never expect too much out of them and therefore am never disappointed. I expected Attachments to be fun, quick and light, with maybe a dash of that giddy feeling you get at the end of a great romantic comedy -- and that's exactly what I got. Two co-workers talk about anything and everything over e-mail, not knowing that the cute guy in IT is also reading their e-mails... and falling in love with one of them. You don't need to know anything more than that.

“October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins. O autumn! O teakettle! O grace!”

The Goldfinch | Donna Tartt

And on the opposite end of the spectrum, this was NOT quick, NOT light, and NOT fun, but pretty freaking great. I have a love/hate relationship with books like this one, where I sympathize with the main character and then watch in horror as they make mistake after mistake after mistake until I no longer like them... but am attached nonetheless. Everyone and their pet goldfinch has raved about this book, and it won the Pulitzer, so there's really not too much I need to add to that conversation.

“—if a painting really works down in your heart and changes the way you see, and think, and feel, you don’t think, ‘oh, I love this picture because it’s universal.’ ‘I love this painting because it speaks to all mankind.’ That’s not the reason anyone loves a piece of art. It’s a secret whisper from an alleyway. Psst, you. Hey kid. Yes you.”

The Best American Travel Writing 2011 | Edited by Sloane Crosley

I know, I know, 2011 called and it wants its book back. But when I felt inspired to read some travel essays before we left for Israel, I specifically chose this volume because it was edited by one of my favorite authors, Sloane Crosley. I expected some witty essays about travel; instead I got some horribly depressing articles about life in other countries. Oh, and every other one of them was about a terrorist attack (at least it felt that way) -- not the best pick before flying to Israel. Eye-opening, interesting, and well-written for sure, but not what I was expecting.

"In the morning, merchants came down from the hills past our front gate with baskets of fruit balanced on their heads, and at night in bed under the mosquito net, when the moon was silver and big, we heard voodoo drums and strange, spooky singing. I don't know if I've ever liked a place more in my life." --Mischa Berlinski, "Vernance La France is Not Dead"

"But that's the point of flying halfway round the world -- to see what you didn't expect to see." -- Verlyn Klinkenborg, "The Vanishing Point"

a mini tour of the mall of america

2014-06-14T17:20:00.000-05:00

Last week, on a beautiful day that could have been spent frolicking around a lake or biking across the river or just generally exposing my sun-starved skin to the elements, I needed to go to the Mall of America for work.

It was only for about an hour. But! The combined stress of trying to drive there and park during lunchtime and while construction is happening (to make the mall even bigger!) and just the general ickyness of the Mall of America on a weekend afternoon compared to the general delight of a Minneapolis summer weekend is reason to be dramatic. Ask anyone.

After I whined about this for a good 15 minutes, I decided to make lemonade out of lemons and a)return a bathing suit to J. Crew (I don't think one pieces are for me), b) finally get an army green jacket so I can truly call myself a blogger and c) bring my camera so I could take my faithful readers on a mini-tour of, as its called here, The Mall. Capital "T", capital "M".

In our last few months in Shreveport, I wrote a post about the mall there; a mall that should probably hand out anti-depressants as you walk in. I think the fact that my most convenient mall is now the Mall of America is a classic case of be careful what you wish for.

In case you weren't aware, there's an amusement park in the middle of the Mall of America. It features a giant ferris wheel (with a terrifying giant Dora), a roller coaster that goes upside down, and some giant swinging contraption that looks like it's going to crash through the glass ceiling and never fails to give me a slight heart attack. Also in the Mall of America: a mini-golf course, an aquarium, a comedy club, a movie theatre, and a wedding chapel.

And, obviously, a store devoted to Peeps.

Not sure why they didn't stop in Lacoste.

You know how mall maps usually take up one side of one of these things? This map takes up three sides.

Not everything about The Mall is terrible:

in the winter, you can pretty much walk a 5k without passing anything twice (there are signs marking your mileage) || On a Saturday morning at 10 am, I can park, run in and out of 5 stores and be on my way in 30 minutes. It's all about timing. || Each store somehow manages to maintain a personality and its own smell, despite being crammed in with a million other stores. I noticed this when visiting Madewell and Free People, which are right next door to each other but feel like different planets. I think that's kind of cool, slow clap store designers. || there must be a noise ordinance, because the volume at Urban Outfitters is low enough that I don't have to leave within 3 minutes || the Forever 21 has a Classy Lady section where inseams are FOUR inches as opposed to TWO inches and there is nary a crop top to be seen

weekend lessons | 06.08.14

2014-06-08T21:07:00.000-05:00

01. Every time I realize that I really, really like a new restaurant, it closes. So, to the powers that be -- wink, wink, nudge, nudge -- I HATED the Rabbit Hole. The poutine with Korean spices and a poached egg? Disgusting. The Korean fried chicken? Tasted like a diaper filled with Indian food. The chef's booth we sat in with a front and center view of the kitchen? The cardboard box of seating options.

I really hope my SEO is terrible and those lines don't come up in a google search. Please don't close, Rabbit Hole. I loved you.

02. Yesterday it was rainy and gloomy and I found myself getting bored. UNACCEPTABLE. So I took myself to an art museum to see an Edward Hopper exhibit, where I discovered my summer style icon:

(PS, this is the same art museum where we saw the inaugural Internet Cat Video Film Festival, played artist-designed mini golf, and went to a butter churning aerobics class. I freaking love this place.)

03. At the end of the Hopper exhibit, a room was set up with a still life surrounded by easels for you to try your hand at sketching. So I took up an old hobby of mine (not paying attention in class and drawing clothes) and drew the dress the mannequin in a still life was wearing. Here's some brand new information: drawing is surprisingly relaxing. I was even able to tune out the kid screaming next to me because his drawing wasn't perfect. I love the dichotomy of these two drawings:

04. A homemade bagel + soft serve + a 17 mile bike ride = balance. Y and I biked uptown for Open Streets, an event where the city shuts down about 20 blocks of a busy street so pedestrians and cyclists can explore to local stores and restaurants.

photo via the Open Streets twitter

Side note: Amsterdam is a lovely place to visit, but do you know what traveling there has robbed me of? The ability to say "I've never seen so many bikes!" If I had never been to Amsterdam, I probably would have used that phrase about Open Streets.

Anyway, we tried homemade bagels from Common Roots Cafe (delicious, far better than Bruegger's) and World Street Kitchen's ice cream. Picture this: salted caramel soft serve with chocolate sauce, marshmallows and roasted almonds. Worth the 10 minute line -- and the rest of the menu looks pretty tasty. I have a feeling we'll be back.

05. It's going to take me a lot longer than 2 years to get used to seasons. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that just a few months ago, this:

was this:

PS:

reading: I finished Delicious! by Ruth Reichl this weekend. This (vaguely spoilery) review pretty much sums up my thoughts.

listening to: Ray LaMontage, my go-to rainy day music

watching: Orange is the New Black obviously, what am I, a monster?

cooking: this pasta primavera, which I wouldn't say was my favorite thing I've ever made, but a decent way to eat a ton of vegetables.

souvenirs from Israel

2014-06-07T10:16:00.000-05:00

Because it's the weekend, and it has been scientifically proven that on the weekend, the people of the internet can only read lists, here's a list of little tokens I brought home that keep reminding me of our trip to Israel.

Halvah || Have you ever tasted hummus and thought, "this might taste good as candy?" No? Well, you're wrong. In that bowl on the left sits the flaky, sweet middle eastern candy known as halvah. Although not actually hummus candy, halvah is sesame candy, and ground up sesame seeds are tahini, and tahini is a crucial component of hummus, so, close enough. I am obsessed with this stuff, and finished off my entire duty-free container in a matter of days. (if I can't read the nutrition facts due to their being in Hebrew or Arabic, it's healthy, right?) Then, the first chance I got, I visited my local Middle Eastern grocery store and bought a giant vat that came complete with English nutrition facts. Rude.

Cheap pashmina || Displays of these scarves were set up conspicuously in every single market, just waiting to trap tourists like myself. I chose this green one because it reminded me of the bright blues and greens of Akko. Also I've been told I look good in green.

Tea set || I don't actually own these PiP Studio dishes -- yet. Some of these mismatched dishes and teacups waited for us in our room at the Efendi, and it was out of one of the tea cups that I drank wine on the roof while watching the sunset -- a top ten Israel memory. I recently discovered that the brand is available on Amazon and pretty much everything is on my wish list.

Hamsa | Similar to the evil eye in Greece, the hamsa is a universal sign of protection. Much like the scarves, walls of hamsas are set up in every place you might find tourists.

Jewelry | Top left: I discovered the jewelry designer Shani Jacobi at a tiny store in an unassuming strip mall, and I'm in love with everything she makes -- but these earrings especially. Top right and bottom: I bought the delicate feather necklace at an arts market in Tel Aviv with the help of Y's uncle, who made sure that the Hebrew-speaking artist and I understood each other. Helpful, because I really don't understand Hebrew -- so much so that I didn't realize that Y's uncle was also buying me the matching earrings. So sweet, right?

This is a really great story to tell when you want to see if someone is listening to you-- I told it to some co-workers and one of them said, "how romantic!"

She was not listening.

Toiletries | At the Efendi hotel, our shower was stocked with this Delicate Jasmine shampoo and conditioner by Sabon, a company founded in Tel Aviv. I obviously kept it (because I'm Ross) and now I might be slightly obsessed and buying it for everyone I think deserves a little spa indulgence. Tip: before giving your mother-in-law jasmine-scented hand lotion, read the label that says that jasmine is actually an aphrodisiac and this lotion is very "sensual". Oops.