The adventures of Terri and DJ

It's been awhile, friends. As my father so lovingly reminded me last night, my postings are becoming less common that originally expected. Life in the Big Apple has kept me busy. I now have a full group of friends, and with Christmas quickly approaching, I have been shopping for as many gifts as my measly unemployed budget can withstand. The beauty of living in a big city, however? There are HUNDREDS of fun things to do that are completely free...well...aside from transportation.

Erika, as I have mentioned before, is my unemployed NYC counter part. We have also lovingly given each other pet names; Terri and DJ. Because she is also from a small town outside of New York state, she is just as excited to see and do all of the things that I am. So, lets recap on our glorious cost efficient adventures, shall we? Lets shall.

New York City: Yes, we live here, but have you any idea how large this city is? There are so many things on our check list of things to do here, that this will often be one of our adventure spots.

Originally, we were going to watch Bon Jovi perform on the Today Show, but by the time we got there, we realized we wouldn't see anything. We also didn't particularly care for Bon Jovi. Instead, we waited in line for tickets to be standbys to watch the Jimmy Fallon Show.

We didn't make it into the audience.

The lowering of the Christmas tree in Rockefeller.

Inside St. Patrick's Cathedral. This Cathedral was in TIME after the Kennedy assassination.

Inside the biggest Disney store I have ever seen, yet, they didn't have a single adult sized Little Mermaid t-shirt.

Central Park.

Yea, we saw Ben Stiller filming a movie.

Yea, we also saw Casey Afflec filming a movie with Ben Stiller.

Outside of F.A.O. Shwarts with the doorman. This is the toy store that Tom Hanks played the giant piano in, in the movie BIG. Sadly, that particular piano was not on display.

One of the stuffed animals inside of F.A.O. Shwarts.

Getting ready to take the train home out of Grand Central Station.

It was grand.

 Mianus: Yes, this is an actual town, located just outside of Greenwich Connecticut. I'll admit, the only reason why we went to Mianus, is so that we could say Mianus all day long.

"Hey, Erika, did you see that train running through Mianus?"

"Hey, Em, did you see the man riding a bike in Mianus?" 

You get the picture. The entire day was filled with shenanigans such as these. Although there really isn't anything all that interesting in Mianus, the story of our journey up there made the trip well worth it.

New York City (again): A few days ago, Erika were feeling like we needed to get our kicks strolling through the city again. This time, however, we had a plan. On the agenda?

1. Take the 6:50am train into Grand Central Station.

2. Wait in line to get standby tickets for Jimmy Fallon.

3. Go to the Museum of Sex (this is not free, however, we figured that spending money on one activity per visit would be ok.)

4. Take the subway to the Staten Island Ferry, take the ferry. Fun Fact: tickets to go to Liberty Island are pretty pricey. Instead, take the Staten Island Ferry. It's free, takes you relatively close to Lady Liberty, and also provides a BEAUTIFUL view of Manhattan as well the Brooklyn Bridge.

5. Go to Wall Street, Little China, and Little Italy.

6. Go back to check in for Jimmy Fallon to see if we got a seat in the audience.

Why is it that whenever a plan of attack is made, nothing goes as planned? Due to weather, 19degrees to be exact, Erika and I missed the 6:50 train, and instead caught the express train at 7:10.

"It's ok," we thought, "they don't pass out the standby tickets until 9...plenty of time."

The train Gods responded with debris on the tracks, resulting in the closing of all but 2 tracks during Ne York rush hour. We got to Grand Central Station a quarter after 8. We then hailed a cab to NBC studios, a location our cabby was unfamiliar with, causing us to try and give directions using a map that was in the cab.

We arrived at 8:30, and were numbers 27 and 28 in line. Once in line, we learned who the guests were; Nick Cannon, Robert Plant, and Sir Paul McCartney.

"There is no way w are going to get into this show," I told Erika. She agreed, however, we decided to stick around and try our luck anyway. It was a Thursday, it was freezing, and we were hoping those would pull in our favor.

Once we had our tickets in hand, we quickly shoved them into our bags, and headed off to the Museum of Sex.

This is a PG 13 example of one of the exhibits.

From here we went to the Staten Island Ferry. Although it was freezing, I stood outside and took photos

Lady Liberty shinin in the sunlight.

Manhattan from the back of the ferry.

From here, Erika and I went to Little China to take a look around. Erika had been telling me how freaked out she got when she went, because she felt like she was lost in China. At about 3:00, we decided we should head back to NBC Studios to check in for Jimmy Fallon. We were pretty sure that we had to be back at 4:30, but we weren't possitive. We pulled out our tickets. There, gleaming at us was the time we had to check in by in order to possibly make it onto the Jimmy Fallon Show...3:30. We were at least a 20minute subway ride away from Grand Central, which was the closest station we knew of. We got lost twice on our way to Grand Central, by getting on the wrong trains.  

Once the train stopped in Grand Central, we ran up to the street. To make things worse, the one time we needed a cab, there were none in sight. We ran the 6 1/2 blocks to NBC Studios. Once inside, we bolted up the escalator. By this time, my knee was giving out on me, and I was having trouble keeping up with Erika's Speedy Gonzalez pace. 

"Erika!" I managed to blurt out under gasps for breath, "Wait!"

That's when it happened. I tripped. I don't know if you've ever fallen down an escalator, or witnessed someone who has, but they don't fall down; they fall up. I tumbled on the same three steps multiple times, before managing to regain my footing and continue up the stairs.

The pain in my knee was throbbing. Was I bleeding? I didn't know. Would I lose my leg due to the fall? I was pretty positive. None of that mattered, however. All that mattered was getting on Jimmy Fallon, seeing Paul McCartney, and having the most bad ass adventure story in NYC yet.  We managed to check in just in time. Then came the waiting.

Trying to get onto a TV show, is much like a game. A waiting game, that is. You get your ticket, then have to wait to come back several hours later. Once you come back and check in, you have to wait to hear if you are one of the lucky contestants who gets to go onto the next round, and wait some more. Erika and I were two of those lucky contestants. 

"If you are number 1-120, you are going to the next round. Please follow me upstairs." We did as requested, and followed the girl with the Buddy Holly glasses, and skinny jeans up to the elevator, down a flight of stairs, and into a long hallway. 

"Numbers 1-19, you're through to the show. The rest of you can wait until we have everyone seated, at which point we will know how many more, if any, will be allowed in."

The waiting game continued for what felt like days. Finally, the girl in the Buddy Holly glasses and skinny jeans announced,

"Follow me, guys." Again, we did as requested, and followed her back to the original floor the waiting game started on. 

"Ok, so, we're only going to take 9 more of you. That means that number 28 will be the cut off. If you are number 29 on, I'm sorry, but you will not be going into the taping."

Erika and I looked at each other. 

"Holy shit, dude." I said, still in amazement that my ticket number read the winning number 28. 

"OH MY GOD! WE'RE GOING TO SEE JIMMY FALLON!" she excitedly exclaimed while jumping up and down. 

Waiting to be seated for Jimmy Fallon.

Jimmy Fallon was amazing. Although I don't find him to be all that humorous, he did a great job pulling some good stories out of Paul McCartney. Also, Robert Plant canceled, so Paul McCartney performed 2 songs, including one he wrote for John Lennon. 

I'm still flying on the high of that day. 



Now that I know how...

I thought I would post some pictures of my trip out to NYC, and share some of the beauty the country has to offer.

A freak hail storm we encountered in New Mexico.

4 of 10 spray painted cars on the side of the highway in Texas.

Signing the wall outside of Graceland. Unfortunately, we weren't able to go inside.

A shot from inside Bonaventure Cemetery, Savannah Georgia. This was the most beautiful cemetery I had ever seen.

Another shot from Bonaventure.

Annnd another.

And one more...

This is the statue from "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil." She was on the cover of the book, and the movie. Originally, she was in Bonaventure Cemetery, but after the movies release, she was so popular, they moved her to a museum to cut down on the foot traffic in the cemetery. I had to sneak this shot. What you can't see is the security guard JUST out of frame, oblivious to my sneaky picture taking skills.

Leave changes in New York are as beautiful as I imagined they would be.

Update On All Things Emily

I'm slacking. I know. Let's recap on life, shall we?

First let me start off by saying Shawn's mom is doing fantastic. She will finally be going home, and can now walk with the help of a walker. I think that is what I'm most thankful for this Thanksgiving.

1. I had a battle with the Landlord. Think, grenade launchers, bazookas, angry buffalo and a 9 iron. The cause of the war? Shawn and I being allowed to do anything in the house.

No parking in the driveway.

No putting furniture in any room but our bedroom.

No touching the thermostat.

Landlord can come over, unannounced, whenever he feels the desire.

No cleaning any room without permission from Landlord.

No moving disgusting, mold infested items from the cupboard belonging to Landlord.

No cleaning any cupboards without permission from Landlord.

The list goes on..We made a mutual decision to meet the following day at noon to discuss everything in detail, write everything out in detail, and sign every clause. By the end of the "discussion" Shawn and I were so frustrated, we left the house for several hours until we knew he was gone.

The next day, 45minutes after the scheduled meeting time, the Landlord showed up, and we had our meeting. His attitude was completely different, and everything that Shawn and I had been saying the day before was agreed upon as being just and fair, written down, and signed by all parties. We even got the "OK" to get a dog. Something Shawn is just thrilled about.

I want one of these. It's a teacup Yorkie, and yes, they are cuter than a baby vomiting rainbows and unicorns.

I believe Shan's face looked something like this when the Landlord said I could have one of the above, should we decide to get one.



2. I made friends! No, I wasn't too horribly worried about making friends, but it can be tough. I met Erika one of the three days that we worked together. Her boyfriend works at the hospital on the campus that Shawn goes to school at. Like me, she moved to NYC from a small town. Like me, she has been with her boyfriend for 2 years. Like Shawn, Johnny is originally from New York, and met his significant other in her home state. We joke that we have been living parallel lives in different states.

I also met all of Shawn's classmates. I am in love with them, like he said I would be. All of them are from out of state, and were looking for new friends. They found each other at school, and I found them at a dinner party. Having a group of friends has made NYC feel more like home.

Some of the group. Shawn is taking the picture, and the others werent able to join us.

3. I came home for 2 weeks. It's odd. Part of me feels like I never left, but part of me feels like I've been gone forever. I find myself looking for food that I bought and have in the cupboards in NYC. I hesitate before trying to put anything down the sink, as the sink in NYC does not have a garbage disposal. I can watch TV. I can take a full shower without the water turning ice cold while rinsing the conditioner out of my hair. I can park in my own driveway. I feel by the time I have acclimated to being home again, and the 3 hour time difference, it will be time for me to get back on the plane.

Tonight, I am going out with three of my girlfriends, including Erin, Mandi, and my best friend Kay. Tomorrow I am driving to see Ty, my best friend since pre-school, and spend the night out dancing with him. Sunday, my oldest brother and nephew fly in, and Wednesday my other brother and his girlfriend fly in. It's looking to be a very fulfilling trip home.

Note: Shawn has requested that his photo not be shared. Therefore, any image used to represent him should be assumed to be a free image from Google, and not the handsome stud muffin he truly is.

Young Dogs Can Learn New Tricks Too

My parents like to call me the computer guru. I am very good with computers, however, I don't know everything about them, nor do I claim as such.

I have been wondering how to add photos and possibly video to this blog. It has simultaneously confused and amazed me, although I never really looked into how to do it.  I would prefer to look like this:

As you may have concluded, today I learned.

"How did you learn that magical new trick, Emily?" you may be asking yourselves. Well, friends, I hovered over the tools at the top of my editing screen, and read the hypertext links describing what each button does.

I am telling you this, because I may be adding photos to old posts. The soap mishap, for example, now has an image of the dishwasher.

Don't try to hide it. You're impressed. I can tell.

Put Your Big Girl Panties On.

Basements. Basements are not all that common in California...at least not that I'm aware. Every basement I have ever been in has been finished to look like a room, in which case it is then referred to as a "den."

Basements. The word alone gives me the hibity jibities.

Basements. We have a basement. Ours houses all of our landlords furniture cast-aways, including a crate of old playboy magazines, retro chairs, paintings of demonic looking kittens, bathtub bubblers, and mini ovens. It is also where our washer and dryer are housed, as well as the only way to get into the garage from inside of the house, which houses our trash cans

Basements. I am afraid of basements.

Because of this, Any time I want to do laundry Shawn has to accompany me.

"Hey, Em, could you go switch the laundry?"

I look at him like a small child looks at their parents for reassurance after learning about the Boogie Man.

"I'll stand at the top of the stairs..." he says, trying to coax me.

My fear remains piercing him through my eyes.

"Alright, I'll go with you," he always replies, defeated by my irrational fear.

It's musty. It's dark. It's infested with spiders, bugs, and who knows what other kind of creepy crawlers.

I managed to trek into its dark cold depths on my own once, but had to call my mother in case the monster I KNOW resides down there should decide that I would be a tasty mid-day snack.

He's lurking....
Maybe he ate my big girl panties, and that's why I'm unable to put them on to go down there by myself...

Testing, Testing.....Is this thing on?

Hello friends and family! I am requesting that you become a follower of my blog. By knowing how many people are reading, I will not only post more frequently, but I will be sure to give all of the nitty gritty details to make you, the reader, feel as though you were with me during my learning mishaps. It's a win win!

If you aren't sure how to become a follower, I have included directions to do so below:

1. To the left of the page, there is a white rectangle with a colorful "g" on it that says "Follow." Click on this.

2. A pop up will appear. (you may need to make sure your pop up blocker is off) If you don't already have a google, twitter or yahoo account, click on the link at the bottom that says "Create a  new Google account"

3. Follow the instructions and click "I accept. Create my account."

4. Click on "Follow this blog"

BAM! You’re a follower.

So, if you are, I don't know, say a grandparent, an aunt or uncle, or maybe a Vietnam vet who doubles as a rattle snake hunter, please please please sign up. Let me know you're out there.

Never Fry Naked

I have been a VERY busy girl. thus, my slacking in updating this diary..as most of you have noticed, and alerted myself, my family members, and anyone else who may be following along with me. Believe me when I say that you have not been forgotten. I have not lost interest in keeping this diary, and I am very grateful for all of your encouragement.

The truth is, being an unemployed 22 year old is a messy job. Literally. Between scrubbing the cupboards and floors of my house, and trying to continue looking for jobs, I have been driving up to visit Shawn's mom on weekends, trying to discover new things to cook, painting, unpacking etc. etc. Yesterday I even walked down to the local cookie shop and bought enough black and white cookies, calnolies and tarts to stuff a pig. It's a hard job, but someone has to do it. And besides, the pay's not too great.

Back to the topic at hand, however. Let me begin by saying that in order to fry ANYTHING, one should wear the following attire:

1. A full ski mask. Better yet, one of those welding masks that shields your entire face.
2. Large flame retardant gloves, preferably that cover everything up to your elbows. If these are too pricey, oven mitts will do just fine.
3. a hooded sweatshirt to be worn under the above stated articles.
4. Pants. Not shorts, not capris. Pants.
5. Boots.

No, I did not fry anything in my birthday suit, although, scalding my hands with molten hot oil has taught me this lesson in advance...had my common sense alert failed to warn me of such things in the future.

Tonight, after Shawn left for class, I decided to play the house wife roll and have dinner waiting for him when he got home. I also planned to bake sugar cookies. My intentions were for him to walk in the door, take a deep breath, and feel the plethora of flavors dance upon his senses. I planned out my meal:

1. Mild Italian Sausage sauteed with garlic.
2. Pasta with Alfredo sauce.
3. Baked yams with cinnamon, vanilla and nutmeg.
4. Sugar cookies.

I had made the yams for my lunch, so those were taken care of. The pasta and Alfredo was easy enough, but I had never cooked a large sausage. Small, breakfast sausages, or chopped up sausages, yes. Large, Italian sausages, however, were a new addition to my cooking repetuar.

I pulled out my non-stick frying pan and added in my sausages. I placed my heat on low. My sausages weren't making a sound. No simmer, no crack. Silence. I added in my garlic. Still nothing. I thought to myself "Maybe I need some olive oil.." I added it, accordingly. There was a soft crackle that began. Content with myself, I walked to the fridge to pour a glass of juice. Apple. My favorite. Suddenly, my pan erupted into a symphony of popping, snapping, and spitting...spitting flaming hot oil everywhere. Including on me. Don't fret. I'm wounded, but alive. Any horrific scarring that my hands undoubtably have coming in their future from the grease splatters will simply make me tougher, and allow me to educate those younger than myself about grease safety. (p.s. does sarcasm come across through text?)


Needless to say, my sausages turned out perfect, my pasta, although in need of a little seasoning, was superb, and the rest never got touched. Shawn was a very happy, very grateful camper. My kitchen, however....

Tomorrow's duties include scrubbing my kitchen ceiling, floor, stove top, and counters, and trying to get my parents to send me a splash screen.

Is She Ok?

So far, this blog has been about my life lessons being out in the world on my own, and, for the most part, they have all been rather humorous. Well, my friends, a LOT has happened in the last two weeks, and writing is therapeutic for me. With this in mind, I guess I'm writing this particular entry as a personal release, and a way to dissect the events that have occurred in the recent past. Let's organize in chronicle order, shall we?

1. I got a job working as an office assistant for a Chiropractic Office. I got the job rather quickly, actually. I submitted my resume on a Friday, got a call to set up an interview on Monday, Interviewed on Tuesday, and was working on Wednesday.

The interview process was the ODDEST interview I have ever had. I felt like I was auditioning for a job. "Very New York," I remember thinking to myself. First, I was seated in a room of other applicants. We were called into separate rooms one by one. Each girl was in their interview for maybe a half hour. I watched as each was called in, and each walked out of the office. Finally, my name was called.

I was quizzed on a sheet that I was given to read, asked to sell the Chiropractor a container of alcohol wipes, asked to sell a coloring book without coming across as selling it, asked to follow a manual and enter myself into their computer, asked if I smoked weed because I'm from California, asked if I liked dogs, asked if I was offended by swearing...My interview lasted an hour and a half.

2. I got really sick. I was in bed for 3 days with stomach problems and migraines. This caused me to be out of work for 2 of the 3 days. Fantastic first impression, right? Unfortunately, germs do not wait for a convenient time to attack your immune system.

3. I turned 22 this past Monday! Unfortunately, I was too sick to do anything for it, but Shawn assures me he has a big surprise in-store for me. I will update on this after it happens.

4. Shawn's mom was in a car accident this past Tuesday. We immediately hoped in the car, and drove the 7 hour drive to his hometown to wait for news at the hospital she was taken to. The only information we had at the time we left, was that she was hit on the driver side of the car, and was being rushed to the E.R. I, of course, called in work to let them know my plans.

5. I was "let go" from my job.

6. Today, 4 days later, Shawn's mom was taken off of her respirator, and will soon move out of the ICU. She suffered 3 broken ribs, which caused a hematoma in her lung cavity, which caused her lung to partially collapse, and a broken pelvis. She underwent surgery to remove the hematoma and her lung is now re-inflated. She is bruised, and quite annoyed by the constant poking and prodding of the nurses, who have been extremely kind to us might I add, but is doing well and joking with everyone who comes in the room. She's a fighter, and is fighting with a smile on her face.

Needless to say, Shawn and I have been sleeping very little. We leave the hospital for a few hours every day, but have slept here every night. The first few nights we slept on the floor in the ICU lobby. As you can imagine, it was extremely uncomfortable, and extremely cold. Thankfully, one of his mom's nurses has become a bit of a friend to us, and got us two reclining chairs to place in her room. They recline into a bed. It's fantastic.

This entire month has been a bit of a whirl wind. Usually, I am a Halloween fanatic, and my birthday is celebrated the entire month. This year, however, October doesn't quite feel like October. I don't feel like I'm missing Halloween, or that I didn't really celebrate my birthday. Maybe I will throw a Halloween party in November. ;)

New Monthly Cure

I woke up this morning in a cloud. A big, black, thundering, rumbling cloud. The kind of cloud that I ignore when in public. The kind of cloud that only those "special" few get to see. The kind of cloud that comes once a month to let me know that my beloved Aunt Flo will soon be arriving.

I've become addicted to a game on Facebook called "City of Wonder." I try and stay away from these games for this reason, however, this one sucked me in. I get to create my own little town, explore, generate a population, etc etc. This is what I spent the morning doing. I thought that it was in the best interest of Shawn and myself that I do so.

Shawn went into school early today, but before doing so, thought he would be nice, and take me to pick up my prescription from CVS. This was at about 2pm, and was the first real time we spent together all day. I walked into CVS, all the while trying to ignore my grumpy cloud.

"Hi," I said to the pharmacist in my usual perky tone. "I'm here to pick up a prescription." With that, I handed the man my medical card, and patiently waited for my prescription.

"This isn't the card I need," he said after a few moments of typing away on his computer. "You need a different card."

"This is the only card I've ever used," I replied, trying to readjust my hair to cover the red horns I could feel emerging from my scalp.

"Well, I don't know," he said staring at the card. "Without the other card your total is $35.00, with the card it will only b $5.00. You need a different card."

I sighed, and unhappily handed him my debit card.

"Did you want to take the prescription with you today?" he asked me, looking the prescription bottle over. The bottle that says in all capital letters "TAKE ONE PILL EVERY DAY."

I stared at him, "Yes please," I said growing impatient.

Now, I am normally a very perky, very patient person. I have worked Customer Service, and I understand what it's like to have something be out of your control, yet, to the person, you represent the company/department. I have been screamed at, yelled at, verbally dismissed, etc. and I have always been able to remain calm, and respond with a smile and helpful advice to solve the issue at hand. This guy wasn't wavering. He wasn't being helpful. He wasn't responding to me with a smile or helpful advice. I made it outside before the cloud began shooting lightning bolts, and I sprouted a tail to match the horns that were now un-disguisable.

Every day Shawn and I walk into town, we pass a cookie shop. Every time we pass, I drool and insist that we devour something staring at us from the glass cases, begging us to eat them. Today was the day that this was honored. Shawn ushered me into the cookie shop. Instantly, my horns tucked themselves neatly back into my skull, and my tail retreated. The cloud, however, remained just to see if it would be a match for the power of the cookies I was about to ingest. I ordered three: a chocolate chip cookie, a sugar cookie with chocolate sprinkles, and a house cookie lovingly called "Black and White." We got into the car, and immediately, I pulled out the Black and White. It was easily the biggest cookie I have ever eaten. Not wide, THICK. The cookie is made out of white pound cake. They bake them upside down, then frost half of the bottom of the cookie in white frosting, and half in chocolate. I took a bite. My cloud didn't stand a chance.

I am now happily chomping away at my sugar cookie, and my cloud is nowhere in sight. This, I have decided, is going to be a monthly ordeal.

Is Anybody Listening?

Writing daily is therapeutic for me. It's a way to release the built up emotions that I acquire throughout the day, and reflect on the positive, and humorous, rather that brood about the stupid and insignificant. I know my parents, and my mothers co-workers read along to "stay up to date" on the little girl who ran off to the big city.

With that in mind, is anyone else reading my posts? If so, I would LOVE LOVE LOVE it if you would subscribe, if you haven't already, so I know who is following along with me on my journey, and my experiences. Please feel free to post comments, disclose your own experiences, or give me advice. Just because "my mother never told me," doesn't mean you can't!

My goal is to post once a day, although I understand that things come up, and I may not always be able to do so. In any case, I hope you enjoy keeping up with me.

P.S.
I got call about a job interview! Did I mention I've been unemployed since March...?

Things Your Mother Never Told You: Potatoes and Cheese

Last night Shawn and I were cooking dinner. Shawn was going to steam some cauliflower and broccoli, and fry some Italian sausages. I got the fabulous idea to make twice baked potatoes. Just thinking of them now makes me drool. I had never made them before, but thought I could figure it out.I sat down at the table and pulled out 4 potatoes. I sliced each in half and, using a metal spoon, began carving out the innards and placing them in a bowl.

"This is much harder than I thought it would be," I said to Shawn who was busy at the stove. "I wonder how I get the outsides softer, or if they just soften when I put them in to bake.." I put aside the thought, and hallowed out 4 of the 8 halves. It was at this point, when my arm was about ready to give way, that I decided to call my mom.

"Do I have to boil the potatoes before I cut them in half to make twice baked potatoes?" I asked.

"No, you bake them," she said matter of fact. "That's why they are called TWICE baked potatoes. You bake them twice."

I was silent.

"Why? What have you done so far?" she asked.

"Cut them all in half, and emptied the innards out of half of them," I replied.

"Wasn't that hard?" she replied laughing.

"Well, yea, but I just figured they would soften after I baked them."

It was at this point that she informed me there was no way to continue on the beautiful road leading to twice baked potatoes. Instead, she suggested I chop all of them up and make mashed potatoes.

My dreams were crushed. My hopes were dashed. My glorious potatoes were not going to materialize. I angrily chopped up the potatoes, recalling my conversation with my mom to Shawn.

"They'll still be good, baby. You make awesome mashed potatoes," he said, trying to perk my spirits.

He was right. I do make some B.A. mashed taters, but it was the fact of the matter.

I boiled my potatoes, angrily.
I mashed my potatoes, with a whisk mind you, angrily.
I seasoned and mixed my potatoes, angrily.

Finally, I thought to myself, I'm gonna make these good. They will be BETTER than the glorious twice baked potatoes, and will take less time. Now, usually, I broil cheddar cheese on the top of my taters. We didn't have any cheddar. Instead, I found American cheese squares. I tiled them onto the potatoes, and tossed them in the broiler.

Cheddar cheese, and American cheese squares do NOT melt the same. Nor do they broil to the beautiful crispy golden brown in the same way. American cheese squares burn. They didn't burst into flames, but they might as well have done so. They were black. Charred. Very un-glorious. These potatoes were going to be the death of me.

"You don't have to eat them," I said to Shawn, very disheartened.

"They'll be good!" He said giving me a kiss on the cheek.

That boy piled his plate with my ugly potatoes. We sat down at the table and looked at our plates. Then we looked at each other. The pressure was on of who was going to taste test the hideous mound of mashed dreams that was resting on the white and black plastic dishware. He took a bite.

"Oh-ho my God, baby," he said laughing, "These are delicious!"

I took a bite. He was right. These potatoes were great. They didn't burn, the cheese had just crisped to a different color. And the American Cheese gave an amazing creaminess to the potatoes that Cheddar isn't able to provide.

Although I still want to make proper twice baked potatoes, I'm glad I made this mistake to learn this delicious lesson.

Random Things Everyone Should Know...

I always thought that my common sense level was quite high. I still think that I'm smarter than your average bear, however, I am finding that more and more I am asking myself, "Why did you just do that?"

I have been wanting to put things up on the walls of the new house since day one. Shawn has wanted me to wait to do so. Today, I was given the green light. I whipped out my handy dandy hammer and some tacks, and began eye balling where I wanted things to be placed in our room. Since we don't have a stud finder yet, I chose to only hang the light things.

Random Thing Number 1: Hammers were NOT meant to bang on a tack encased in plastic.

I knew this..I guess I just thought that if I "tapped lightly" on the little buggers they would survive. This probably would have been true, had I not managed to somehow find EVERY stud in our room. When my "lightly tapping" proved no match to the wooden plank cleverly disguised in plaster, I tapped harder...and harder...and harder, until the tack began sliding through the wall. No, not sliding, bending sideways. Shattering. Breaking.

"I'm a beast!" I thought to myself. The fact that a tack is a small piece of metal, and I was wielding a heavy piece of iron and wood was NOT going to tell me otherwise.

Tack numbers two and three shattered as soon as I tapped on them. "HULK SMASH!" I said in my best Hulk voice. When you are alone in a new city, you find "special" ways to keep yourself entertained.

Tacks four and five went nicely into the wall, once I discovered how to keep them upright, and in turn, reinforced with my thumb. No, I never hit my thumb or any other finger with the hammer, however, I still have yet to find the other half of the tacks that shattered.

Random Thing Number 2: When you move into a new house, locate your mailbox, and determine whether or not you can send mail out of said box.

I assumed that the rust covered box nailed by the front door was, in fact, our mailbox. I also assumed that I could place any mail that I wanted to send out in this mail box, and a cheerful mail-person would pick up my happy little letter, and send it off to the recipient.

First of all, I'm pretty sure that mail has not touched this rust covered box in years, yet we have gotten mail since we've lived here. As you can guess, I have not been the one to pick up the mail yet. I also have not seen any mail-persons in my neighborhood. With this in mind, I KNOW that the mail is delivered directly to the house...somewhere. I am beginning to think that it just appears.

Random Thing Number 3: When trying to think of the name of a spice, stand in the spice isle looking confused, and describe the spice you are looking for out loud. Inquiries as to what the spice may be will come from all areas of the isle.

I like to make top ramen and spice it up with "a red spice that starts with a C." I had it in my head that the spice I was looking for was called Cumin. Shawn and I went to the local grocery store, stood in the spice isle, and scoured for Cumin. I began telling him, "It's spicy, and red, and I know it starts with a C...I think it's Cumin, but I'm not sure.."

"Cumin is spicy," said random lady number 1, who was also looking for spices.

"Is it red?" I asked.

Before she had a chance to answer, random lady number 2 shouted "Coriander!" from the pasta area of the isle.

"Thyme!" screamed random lady number 3, who was looking at canned goods a good 50feet away from us.

"No, no," said random lady number 1, "She said it starts with a C."

We bought the Cumin.

I went to make my romin. I opened up what I was sure to be my missing spice. It wasn't. Instead, I fumbled through the other spices in our cupboard, pulling out anything else that I thought would satisfy my taste buds.

Out of curiosity, I called my mom to ask her about the mystery spice, and see if she had any thoughts of what it could be that I was looking for.

"It's red, it's spicy, it starts with a C, and you have a huge container of it at home." I said.

"Cyan Pepper?" She replied.

Cyan Pepper. My mystery spice. Not even remotely interchangeable with Cumin.

Recipe for "Poor Kids B.A. Ramen":
Boil half a cup or so of water.
Crack 1 egg into water, and break the egg up a bit
Pour in 1 package of Beef Top Ramen noodles
Add in beef flavoring, liquid smoke, CYAN PEPPER, and onion powder to taste
Let simmer until noodles are desired texture

Good Morning Sunshine

Shawn is a pre-med student. A "graduate pre-med" student, as I was just corrected. With this title comes a LOT of studying. When we first moved into the house, I had the brilliant idea that he should have his own study room. Did I mention this place has 4 bedrooms, and it's just the two of us? Shawn didn't like this idea.

Shawn lived in California for two years, and attended a college for some post grad classes about two hours away from where I lived. On weekends, I would drive to stay with him in his apartment. Shawn is a dedicated student. Just because I was there didn't mean he was going to put off studying. You see, Shawn likes to get up early, and study when the day is still young. When the hustle and bustle of the day isn't too much to conquer any hope of concentrating. Shawn also likes to be in the same room as me while I sleep, and be what I lovingly refer to as "a creeper." This is why he didn't want his own study room. How could he lovingly watch me sleep if he wasn't in the same room? This is where problems hit.

I am not normally an early bird, although moving to New York is changing that. I quite enjoy sleeping in and basking in the silence that the morning brings. For starters, silence does not exist in New York City, nor does it exist anywhere NEAR New York City. That aside, I am getting used to the screaming sirens of fire engines, the clanging of trucks, and the sudden vroom of cars taking off too fast from the stoplight by our house. Some how, however,  I am still not accustomed to the morning sound that is "Shawn."

I felt him crawl out of bed this morning, and heard the creaking of the bathroom door as it shut. I was lulled back to sleep by the sound of his toothbrush. I remember thinking to myself, "He's quiet this morning." Alas, I thought too soon.  Within a few minutes the door creaked back open, causing my eye to peak open. I closed it again.

CLANG
Something fell off the chair as he was trying to get his books.

SHUFFLE SHUFFLE SHUFFLE
The papers he needed were not where he had thought they were.

CREAK
He was getting back into bed.

CREAK
He forgot something, and needed to get back up.

BANG
His books needed to be placed on the night stand.

This continued for what seemed like an eternity. I glared at him.

"I'm sorry, baby, did I wake you up?" He said with genuine sincerity in his voice.

I continued to glare, and finally rolled over and hid my head under a pillow.

Somehow, I fell back to sleep. Keep in mind that the commotion did not stop just because I had done so. The next thing I knew, the bedroom door was creaking open, and the strong sent of hazelnut overwhelmed my senses. I opened my eyes to Shawn standing at my bedside holding a mug of hazelnut coffee.

I guess I'll keep him...until tomorrow morning, at least.

Things Your Mother Never Told You: Dish Soap

This past weekend Shawn and I went upstate to see his family. While up there, we were given, among other things, a freezer worth of packaged meat, knives, a crock pot, night stands, spices a t.v. and some dishes. While Shawn was studying this morning, I thought I would be a good little house girlfriend, and clean the kitchen, clean out the cupboards, and put everything away.

No good dead goes unpunished.

Our house is filthy from top to bottom. We have been scrubbing base boards, cleaning out closets and cupboards since the day we moved in. The kitchen has been no different. Today, I discovered three cupboards filled with the landlords things. Shawn and I have been using one, tiny cupboard for everything. I started to unpack our kitchen supplies from boxes, and replace them with his. The first box emptied was the dish set bestowed upon us by Shawn's brother. I loaded them all into the dishwasher, along with some other dishes that needed washing as well. I scoured the room for dish tablets. Nothing. I found Dawn soap. I looked the bottle over, and poured a very small amount into the closable soap dispenser. After all, soap is soap...right?

I continued on my merry little way, gleaming with pride on how nice the kitchen was going to look when Shawn came down stairs. Thought of how excited and proud he would be when he saw that I had cleaned out the cupboards and given all of our new things a proper home. Suddenly I heard my name exclaimed.

"EMILY!"

I spun around to see Shawn staring at the dishwasher, and the floor directly beneath it completely covered in soap bubbles. The dishwasher was vomiting bubbles, and had no intention to stop.

"Go get something!" Shawn said  trying to scoop some of the bubbles up and stop the dish washer.
I ran upstairs and grabbed all of the towels I could find. When I got back to the kitchen, Shawn had covered his face in bubbles. Think Santa Clause beard. He proceeded to ladle the bubbles out of the bottom of the dishwasher and dump them into the sink. After draining the machine, and re-running it twice, the bubbles were finally gone. And in case you were wondering, my dishes were spotless.

Todays lesson in "Things Your Mother Never Told You" is that dish soap, while effective when used in a sink, on your hands, or dribbled over a grease covered pan, is NOT a suitable replacement for dish washer soap. No matter how little you think you used...

No, this is not a stock photo from the web. This is my actual dishwasher.

The Beginning..

September 30th, 2010 I embarked on a road trip that would forever change my life. Shawn was waiting for me in our new house, my car was loaded with everything that I could possibly cram into it, and my route was mapped out. But lets rewind...

I grew up in a small town of about 5000 people. Let's refer to this town as LC. My high school only had 600 people, and my graduating class was the largest to ever pass through its doors. Rural America. My home town.

Two years ago, I had a doctors appointment. The kind of appointment with the kind of doctor that ALL women dread. My gynecologist. Due to unexplained occurrences, I wasn't going to see my normal doctor that day, but instead, Dr. Petunia. Dr. Petunia was a well known public figure in LC, and was my sponsor when I was a former Miss of the county. She had never seen me as my doctor, however. During my appointment, the usual questions were asked about sexual history, monthly cycles etc etc, except one..

"So, Emily, do you have a boyfriend?"

About six months prior, my boyfriend of three years and I had broken up.

"Uh..no..not at the moment. Why do you ask?"

I'm sure she could see how puzzled her question had made me. I had never been asked this question by a doctor before.

"Well," she said, becoming much perkier than before, "My brother just moved out here from New York. We are going to a wine auction, and he needs a date. What do you think?"

Dr. Petunia was several years older than myself, and sounding more shocked that I would have liked I blurted, "How old is he?!"

At the time, Shawn was 22. He took me on a bind date two days before the wine auction so we could learn a little bit about each other. When he came to pick me up, I opened the door to a 6'1 dark complected handsome man. I was ecstatic. I had heard horror stories about blind dates in the past, and was a little leery going into the date. As I'm sure you have concluded by now, the date went perfect. I wasn't completely hooked, however, until he called me the next day requesting I come assist in making cupcakes with him and his niece.

Two years later, I'm sitting on my half of the twin beds that we pushed together to make a king sized bed in New York; 3000 miles away from everything I have ever known. We are in a two story house with 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, and a decent back yard, in what I keep hearing referred to as the "suburbs." We don't have a dresser big enough for all of our clothes, so suitcases and trash bags filled with my clothes litter our room as well as the one neighboring.

"This is normal.." I keep telling myself. "Things are accumulated...including places to put your things.."