Still a child

It's day four, and he still hasn't wrapped my Christmas present.

On Thursday morning, a package arrived that was addressed to Tyler, and I knew it was my present. I shook it, listened to the quiet thump it made against the sides of the box, analyzed the weight and stared at the size. But that was all. OK, maybe I kinda brainstormed how I could open and seal the box without him knowing, but since I didn't have any brown packaging tape, I quickly aborted that idea.

He came home that night, took it into the guest room to verify the order, and then left it OPEN on the desk. All he did to close the box was to put other to-be-wrapped family present on top of it.

Now most of you know I am one of the nosiest people on the face of the Earth. I don't even realize I'm being intrusive half the time. My friend and old co-worker Chad constantly made fun of me for it because most of my inquisitive sentences to others included: What are you talking about? Huh? Hey, what happened (imagine A Mighty Wind)? And that's just putting my problem mildly.

Which brings me to my current plight. Tyler just left for work, and I am here alone for three more hours until I need to be at the restaurant. In the mean time, the opened package is taunting me from the back room — beckoning me to take just a little peak.

My inner child is struggling with my adult persona. They are tussling back and forth, and at this moment the child is winning. The adult in me can only fight off my weaknesses for so long.

And like a child, I will blame Tyler for not wrapping my present if I cave. After all, he should've known better.

A not-so Christmas dinner

Since we will be working during the holidays, we cooked our Christmas dinner on Wednesday so we could enjoy a nice meal with Quinn and Kent. We still had some Sand Hill Crane left from when my parents stopped by, and thought that was the perfect main course for our dinner.

We prepped all the side dishes, had a buttermilk pie in the oven, and were ready to cook the crane. Tyler had the breasts seasoned on a plate, and stepped away from the kitchen for just a moment, but that's all it took. In a flash the game bird was gone, and the only thing left was Moses licking his jowls. Tyler did manage to save Christmas by running to the store and returning with prime rib. Dinner was a little delayed, but it was still delicious.

Moses endured our wrath that we unleashed upon him, but ultimately our punishment was yet to come in the form of "the crane express" — a term coined by Kent. So far the aftermath hasn't been terrible, but I'm sure going to be happy when this train leaves the station.

Quinn's quarantined visit

Quinn arrived for a short snowboard trip on Monday night, just in time to beat the storm. After riding all day on Tuesday, and hanging out at the local bar that night, his fun vacation caught up with him in the form of a cold Wednesday morning. Instead of shredding Beaver Creek, we had a lazy day at the house watching A Christmas Story and the new series Amish Mafia. He took a nap, and tried to recover as fast as his Theraflu, green tea and citron vodka concoction would let him.

He kept apologizing for being sick, but we didn't mind at all. It actually reminded me of living together in Tahoe when we'd just hang out around the house after work. And that's the nice thing about good friends — it doesn't matter how long you've been away from each other, you can always pick up right where you left off. In sickness and health, it's always enjoyable to spend time with friends during the holidays.

Feel better soon Quinn.

Christmas hunting

As usual this time of year, we went and hunted a Christmas tree up around Vail Pass. We took our saw into the woods, but were able to trim it with our early present back at the truck (thanks for the Husqvarna Mom and Dad). It's a Thompson family tradition to trim a tree with a chainsaw.

After toting the tree back to our apartment, Tyler helped me decorate the tree — which he hasn't been able to do in years past because of work. We draped the lights around the tree, and then busted into the ornaments.

He couldn't believe how many ornaments we had; and I couldn't believe how excited he was to hang all of them. My mother has sent us some of my old ornaments, as well as two new ones for us every year we've been together. I've also inherited all the old ornaments I loved hanging on my grandmothers' trees in years past. From the painted glass balls with Alaska wildlife scenes, to the glass and gold angels with bells, he was an enthusiastic tree trimmer. He even was happy to declare that we had so many different ornaments, that there wasn't room for the unoriginal plastic ones we bought at the dollar store in Tahoe six years ago.

We may not have the holidays off, and our apartment may be too small for Tyler's perfect tree — but I'm happy to say it's ours, and that I'm looking forward to celebrating this time with my husband whenever we have a chance with our sparse days off. Merry Christmas, hon.

Balloons

I had to buy balloons at the grocery for a Christmas present I was making for somebody (I can't write more, otherwise it would ruin the surprise for some followers) and I had some spares left over. After finishing a game of 10,000 with Kent, Tyler suggested we create our own balloon animals to spice up the evening.

As you can see from the visual documentation that the boys unleashed their inner children. Sure we followed the instructions on how to make giraffes, dogs, flowers and party hats — but then we went rogue on our own custom designs:

Camping with the Thompsons

We went camping with my parents for a week recently. It was awesome to hangout with them since I don't get to see them nearly as often as I would like. To kick-off the trip, we went to Silver Jack Reservoir to stock up on firewood. After two nights, we decided we needed to get some sun, so we headed off to Moab. 

Since my folks hadn't been there before, we stayed out Onion Creek which is about 20 miles from the town of Moab. There was lots to explore out there, but we also went to see Arches National Park, Tyler's been there a few times, but I had only driven through quick when we were moving out to Vail. We had a good time exploring the arches and checking out the hikes around the park. 

And of course, there were plenty of cooking adventures. We all ate like royalty the whole time: burgers, fried razor clams, halibut, salmon, steaks, sand hill crane and ribs. Tyler even built a smokehouse for the ribs, and my dad assisted with the construction. For all of the visual documentation of the trip, click here.

Back to school

As some of you may have heard, Tyler is taking two classes at Colorado Mountain College this semester, which is helping him work toward his long-term goal to get into the brewmaster program at U.C. Davis. In order to be accepted, he needs to have some calculus, biology, chemistry and physics classes under his belt as prerequisites. He's taking both classes online: college algebra and chemistry 101.

What surprised me most about the online classes is that even his chemistry labs are done at home. It's not baking soda and vinegar projects, or water and cornstarch, but an actual kit with all the chemicals and flammable tools you need to make it through an introductory chem lab. In the above picture he's learning what colors different elements produce when they burn. And yes, that's the kitchen table. I've also caught him burning potato chips to determine their caloric content, as well as converting liquids to gases. 

Overall, he's doing well with his studies. He's disappointed when he doesn't receive an A on an assignment or test, and he's determined to nail the material. He told me the other day that school is much more interesting when you're working toward a goal. I'm just happy he hasn't set anything on fire yet.

Just a drink

Last night while I was bartending, a women came in to have a drink. Now, this doesn't happen very often at my restaurant because our bar doesn't have an ideal set-up for this. Usually when people come in and see it, they turn around and go somewhere else. But this lady was not detoured in the least bit.

After a few sips of her gimlet, it became clear how utterly alone she felt. Her mate, as she referred to him, had died suddenly from cancer just five months ago. The weekends were the hardest because she didn't have work to distract her. She said she had to plan the whole 48 hours out just so she could keep herself busy. Over the past month, the entire process of planning was exhausting her.

As a bartender, your secondary job is also being a counselor. Most of the time it's just small chat, but every once in a while you encounter some big chat -- and this definitely fell under that category.

This weekend was especially hard since all of her plans disintegrated, and most of her friends were busy with other things. She went to a matinee show, and then stopped at our place on the way back home. She said she always took it for granted the content feeling she had during weekend mornings when she cooked breakfast while her mate sat and read the paper. No plans, no agendas, just the happy feeling of being with the love of your life and not having to say or do anything. You can just be.

She paid and left her half-empty drink at the bar, probably not able to see that some day she might view it as half-full again. She said she'd be back sometime soon, but I doubt it. Hopefully she'll be able to keep busy enough next weekend.

The Mazie edition

Last weekend Mazie came up to Vail and had a sleepover at our house. We had a fun filled evening planned for her: baking pizzas from scratch, crafting cookies and a movie.

She was an awesome and enthusiastic kitchen assistant. She intently listened to all of the instructions, and was completed fascinated with how the yeast helped the dough expand. Every couple minutes she'd run over and check the bowl to make sure that the dough was still growing.

After we finished all of pizza and cooking baking, we all snuggled up on the couch and watched The Lorax. All of us were pretty sleepy by the end of the night.

The next morning Mazie preformed an original song for us, and this time she had Tyler play the guitar with her. Here is one of the performances on tape, and more pictures to look at.

Fall

Bye bye brunch

Fall officially started less than two weeks ago, and I couldn't be happier. It's not the cooler weather, the colors changing in the leaves, or the first few weeks of football -- it's because brunch is over.

Every summer, the restaurant is open for brunch during the farmers' market once a week. And during that summer, I am turning and burning the tables on our patio during the first part of the day, and then returning to a more fine dining style during the evening.

The whole thing wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for a few factors: closing the night before then returning within eight hours; and everyone thinking brunch is a synonym for a buffet.

I know hotels, casinos, and even the Manor help instill this idea in people's minds: brunch = buffet. And when guests are handed a menu with prices listed, that should help distinguish an a la carte brunch from a buffet. One morning I went in circles with a gentlemen four times before his date had to intervene and help me explain how a menu works. He just kept asking me, over and over, "but where's the brunch?"

Working in the hospitality industry is challenging, and can be rewarding, but it's moments like these that make me wonder how I'm able to hold my tongue. I don't know why, but brunch appears to attract a lot of socially challenged individuals, and amplify moronic behavior. It could be the lack of caffeine in the morning, the bottomless mimosas, or a combination of the two. I have seen people show up with shirts on backwards, annihilate social norms of public displays of affection, call the cops for family spats, and lose all sense of logic. Brunch is definitely not a meal Vulcans would enjoy.

And sometimes throughout the course of the shift, there are pleasant, intelligent guests who give you a glimmer of hope for humanity in all that dark madness. It helps you survive the morning, and keep up the energy to persevere through the evening too.

But now the memory of brunch is drifting away, and the off season brings the necessary break I need to regroup for the winter. And the best part is I have my football filled Sunday mornings back.

Camping with Kent

Last summer, Kent went camping with us a lot. Unfortunately we were not able to have nearly as many adventures together this season due to our busy and conflicting work schedules. This last weekend we all managed to find time and trek back up to Derby Mesa again. This time we were definitely prepared with the new additions to our camping gear: a croquet set, a borrowed chainsaw, and Kent's belated birthday guns (as shown to the right).


The leaves were still hanging on for us so we still could enjoy the spectacular mountain scenery. Besides having cattle wander by sporadically and whipping Moses and Aspen into a mad cow frenzy, it was quite peaceful and enjoyable. We managed to accomplish everything we had set out to do: extreme croquet, shooting, an impromptu boat race, tomahawk practice, and chainsawing and splitting tons of firewood to fuel the heat for the Dutch oven. For four hours we braised short ribs and ox tails to make a delicious stew to enjoy once the sun went down. Tyler brought veal stock from work to make it extra tasty. We were all so tuckered out from the activities (and a little hungover from the night before)  that we barely were able to stay awake sitting around the fire.

Like most weekends, this one had to come to an end. At least we were able to make it out for one last hurrah before the snow starts to fall and stick.

Here's the visual documentation for those of you who are interested.

Shit happens

The last five mornings I've hiked the North Trail loop by my house. It's a little more than five miles long, and it is the perfect way to start my day. (The view from the top is actually the banner for this blog.)

Since I started this routine, I've enjoyed the tranquility of nature in the quiet mornings. After it rained one night, the top section of the trail was filled with snails slowly scurrying as if they were on there own personal intertrail highway. Two days ago Tyler and I saw a buck bounding away from us through the trees — its antlers spanned more than four feet. And yesterday I saw three hawks circling up from below, catching the wind to carry them higher and higher in search of prey over the Vail Valley.

Today after I reached the top, I was curious to find out what amazing nature scene would be waiting for me this morning. More amazing changes in the fall foliage? A late blooming wild flower? Another deer to cross my path? My thoughts were excited with all the possibilities.

As I made my way down the last half of the trail, Moses and Aspen sprinted ahead of me and took off into the bushes. Usually this is a failed attempt to catch the quick chipmunks that run around taunting the dogs at every bend in the trail. This time they didn't return immediately, and I started yelling for them to come back.

My nature scene wasn't what I had hoped for today. Instead of some awe inspiring sight, I realized that today I'd only see what the animals had left behind: their excrement. And Moses was covered in it. Not only had he managed to "get all up in that," he had it in his ears, all around his collar and he couldn't have been happier than a farm animal cliche.

I tried not to let the setback kill my excercise buzz, but when you have to wrestle a no longer Great Dane into a bath tub by yourself and wash a thick layer of crap off the canine, it's not a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

But at least the aspens and my Aspen are awesome this time of year...

Derby Mesa

Fall is approaching quickly this year. I can hardly believe how fast the summer flew by. We haven't gone camping nearly as often as last year, but in the last few weeks we've definitely made up for our lost time.

Tyler took me out to Derby Mesa this weekend. He'd made an exploratory trip out there during the off season, and wanted to show me a few of the cool campsites he'd discovered. The leaves are starting to turn out there, so we want to get back within the next couple weeks.

Our new favorite activity while camping is using our Dutch oven. I don't know why it took us so long to buy one, but now we can't imagine a trip without it. Tyler said that he'd have been very sad to have lived before the Iron Age. It's the best camp cooking tool available —last week we baked corn bread, and this time we made stew with Deschutes Brewery's Obsidian Stout. By the way, our new life goal is camp and cook with different micro brews and equipment and get paid to do it — how feasible do you think this is?
 
It wasn't all eating and drinking — Moses is attempting to be the largest Frisbee dog ever. We practiced with him while we were waiting for ourstew to cook. The only problem is he's very selective of when he wants to attack the flying disc. Usually he actively pursues the Frisbee for about 10 minutes, and then he needs a break. It's funny because we always assumed that Aspen would love to jump and catch a disc or two, not our large moose-calf-like-dog.

Finally, as per usual, here's more visual documentation of the trip.

Green Mountain Reservoir and the fam

We returned to Green Mountain Reservoir, but this time we brought the Hansens and Dickinsons in tow. Tyler and I left early on Thursday morning to secure a campsite. When everyone arrived later that night, we all devoured our ambitiously prepared campfire dinner: corn pone and mac and cheese. Who knew how well a Dutch oven could bake corn bread in the fire?

The meal fueled us for our boating excursion the day. Athena was a model for safety in her life jacket.

The forecast had been for scattered showers, but the sun came out for the four hours we had the pontoon. It took Moses about an hour to gather his sea legs, but was a pretty good sport the whole time. Except when Tyler went to re-dock the boat at a random beach landing — Moses freaked out and thought he was leaving him so he took off into the water. Great Danes are not the most efficient swimmers of the canine family either. After much maneuvering, Tyler was able to come ashore without injuring Moses.

Some of the time during the boat ride was spent working up the courage to jump into the reservoir. As you can see, Ty was not tenative about going in the water. Mazie was extremely enthusiastic about the prospect, and insisted her mother join her. After making sure all of their clothes were carefully folded properly, and that anything that could aid to the procrastination of the the plunge was done, Katie and Mazie ventured to the edge of the boat to take a dip together. As for the video, my reformatting software wasn't cooperating, so you'll just have to watch Mazie and Katie jump in sideways. So just tilt your heads accordingly to remedy the situation:

 

After the plunge, Maxie wanted to go in again, but no one else shared her excitement for the cold water. She didn't even mind that the water had erased half of the face paint from her cheeks.

The clouds must have been keeping an eye on us, because once the boat ride was over, and we made our way back to camp, we waited out the brief rainstorm in the camper. When the rain stopped, we took a walk to Cataract Lake, then spent the evening with brauts, s'mores and campfire songs. For some other pictures, click here.

Diving in

I find this Pot-Shot extremely helpful today. I don't know if any of you remember seeing these in the weekday comic section in the paper. When I was in middle school, I used to cut them out, paste them in a notebook and keep them on a shelf in my room.

Lately I've been applying for writing jobs, but sometimes I'm my own worst enemy. I'll talk myself out of even throwing my resume out there because it's old,  and doesn't list enough experience. And all of my published clips are four years old. Within five minutes of constructing a cover letter, I start thinking I have no business even thinking I can apply for any job.

Whoever said we are our biggest critics nailed it. I don't know what it is that makes it so hard to overcome ourselves. Maybe it's the fear of rejection, and the thought that throwing yourself out there might not work. It feels easier to save yourself the heartbreak, and leave those starred e-mails about job opportunities in your inbox rather than face them head-on.

But ultimately that doesn't solve anything. Job postings disappear, and you're left with another missed opportunity gnawing at you. Sometimes it's better to leap without looking, and rely on the faith you can find in yourself.

I guess it's time to dive in.

Flat Tops

Last weekend we went up to the Flat Tops, which is one of our favorite spots to camp in Colorado. Unfortunately our super awesome camping spot was already occupied, so we had to go find a new super awesome campsite. Since our moms read this, I won't tell you all the details about what types of roads we inadvertently took our truck down (and up) — I'll just say that we were REALLY impressed with our truck, and that we didn't hurt it. But we won't be taking it back down those roads anytime soon. Or at least until we get it lifted, or buy a Jeep for that specific purpose.

The sketchy journey was worth it — we had the whole valley to ourselves with a lake a half mile away from our site, and we were right by the Blair Lake trail head. We cooked a magnificent feast of pork, onions, potatoes, poblanos and tomatillos. Tyler had to carry on the Beast Master name because I was full after the first serving. Here he is (on your right) finishing up his second helping.

The next morning we hiked the seven mile round-trip trek to Blair Lake, then packed up and headed home safely.


For more pictures of the sites and our crazy antics, click here.

P.S. Mom and Dad — Do you think Marty and Suzette could use this for a Kenai Peninsula Construction advertisement? Let me know if they're interested...

Apartment gardening

Here is visual documentation of the fruits of my labor: one single strawberry. I'm not counting the tomato plants we have, because they already came with tomatoes on them. And I won't count the herbs, because they were already full-grown herbs before they were planted in my hanging basket. But this one strawberry I grew. And that's pretty cool.

The Olympiad

Along Garmisch Drive kids were running around playing this morning when I went to walk the dogs. The three young girls next door declared they wanted to play gymnastics, and then started to argue who would get to be Gabby Douglas.

I have always loved watching the Olympics — summer and winter. I had Shannon Miller and Kristi Yamaguchi posters in grade school, and in high school I would stay up late and watch the late-night competitions when I was supposed to be sleeping.

When you're young, the Olympics inspire you. You watch and listen to the stories of the athletes, and they become your heroes within minutes. These are the people who inspire a new generation of athletes every four years. Recently on a flight from Portland to Denver, a group of kids were flying back from a swim meet. Since the games had started, all they could talk about was the events coming up, and who would become the reigning Olympic champion. Lochte, Franklin, and of course Phelps, were names batted around the cabin once we reached our cruising altitude.

No matter who you are, there is always someone or some team you begin to root for. That's why we can't stop watching — even if you've never seen team hand ball before. It makes it that much more exciting.

Two years already

Maybe it's because we dated for so long before getting married, but I still can't believe we've been married two years now.

I know it's weird, but I'm still finding out new things about Tyler. Just last night, he was telling me how disappointed he was in his ping-pong performance last week. Since I never have seen him play the game ever, I said he shouldn't be too hard on himself.

"But I used to be really good," he said. He continued on, and described the long hours spent in his dorm playing ping-pong and dominating the field. According to the story I heard, my husband was the Forrest Gump of Mathes Hall.

And then there is his ever changing ideas on his career path and entrepreneurial schemes. Over the years, I've grown accustomed to his quick shifts in direction and now can take them in stride. His abundance of plans for us makes life interesting, and definitely keeps me on my toes.

With all his silliness, and his earnest effort to carve out a life for us, he is the perfect balance that keeps me together. Maybe that's why the years seem to be flying by.

Roomie is married!

My beautiful Roomie (aka Tracy Solis now) married Jeff— I mean Joe Solis — today. It's hard to imagine how far she's come from the days of being freshman roomies, to attending vet school and owning a house and raising chickens. She's always inspired me to be a better person, and to try to stay positive no matter what happens. She is never afraid to try new things, and has never heard of a comfort zone. She is, quite possibly, the most interesting woman in the world, and deserves to be in a Dos Equis commercial.

 I'm so happy for you Roomie. You and Joe are perfect for each other, and enjoy your honeymoon in Spain!

Here are some pictures from my trip. Tracy's niece June and nephew Jarek were definitely the stars of the visit.

Down the hill

Over the past two weeks, we've made a couple trips down the hill. Here are a few pictures of nieces. And I think everyone can identify with Mazie's enthusiasm for cookie dough.

Moses and Athena are starting to get along pretty well. She isn't intimidated by his size anymore.

Ty's Belated Birthday

I haven't been very good with keeping up with my posts, and in the process I missed Ty's birthday. Don't worry — I didn't forget when it actually WAS his birthday on June 23, but I failed to mention it in a blog post. So here is the belated braut celebration we had while camping. I think he might like beer-boiled brauts better than cake!

Surrounded

On Friday morning I woke up in our tent, and crawled out of my sleeping bag to go brew coffee. As I unzipped the door and squirmed out onto the campsite, I felt many sets of eyes looking at me.

I turned around and tried to rouse Tyler.

"Tyler, wake up," I said quietly. "We're surrounded by cows."

The day before we'd driven down to Durango at 6 a.m. I hadn't been there since high school, and Tyler said he'd never properly explored the area. By afternoon we had arrived and met up with Nate, one of Tyler's co-workers. Nate's buddy Chris lives in Durango, so he served as our tour guide for a little while, taking the boys cliff jumping in the Animas River, dinner at Cosmo where Chris worked, and then directing us to a cool campsite in La Plata Canyon — about 12 miles outside Durango.

Little did we know cattle roamed freely through this area of wilderness. I've been camping quite a bit, but I've never woken to find a a herd of cows grazing through camp before.

After I secured the dogs in the truck so they wouldn't disturb the cows, the morning was pleasant: coffee, my book, and the occasional moo. 

We packed up camp around late morning, then set off to Lake City via Silverton, but discovered a mudslide blocked the route we were planing to take. Instead, we drove up to Ridgeway and went out to the Silver Jack Reservoir. As we drove, we discovered something we hadn't seen in Colorado for a while: rain. Since we were camping, we weren't exactly thrilled with the weather, but happy to know our very dry state was getting the thirst quenching droplets it desperately needed. Because we travel with plenty of tarps, setting up a shelter wasn't too much trouble at all.

On Saturday, the rain followed us the whole way home — from Silver Jack, to Blue Mesa Reservoir, then Salida, and finally greeting us at our doorstep in Vail. I swear the rain stopped as soon as we unpacked and were officially home.

Missouri Lakes

We decided to hike up to Missouri Lakes, which is in the Holy Cross Wilderness. The dogs were training for our backpacking trip by sporting their super cool saddlebags. Tyler and I want to hike a Fourteener in the next few weeks, and we want to backpack in first. With this hot weather, the the whole pack was happy to follow a stream the whole way up, and take a dip in the lake at the top.

Personal finance

I think we’re getting older.

Today we were talking about moving in October, but the phrases “good jobs,” “unknown,” “our savings,” and “fiscal responsibility,” kept working their way into the conversation.

We’ve had these same conversations before when we moved to Tahoe, back to Bellingham, and then to Vail. But never before have financial responsibilities been the core of the debate. Usually we outweigh those cons with our young and care-free attitude. “We’ll be alright,” we say to each other. “We work hard, so we’ll be okay.”

But those days seem to be fading. The confidence we have isn’t as strong as it used to be for one reason: we have good jobs already. The repercussions for a poorly planned move seem more drastic than they used too — or maybe we are just fully realizing them for the first time.

Since we do have good jobs, it’s scary to think that we could be broke again. With our 30s approaching, starting over on the pay scale isn’t as fun and adventurous as it once seemed to be. The unknown is now scary, instead of being a place of endless possibilities.

But this is how people get stuck: financial security. I can keep doing what I’m doing and I’ll make good money, but it doesn’t mean I’ll be fulfilled. I don’t want to be become a crusty curmudgeon looking forward to an off-season vacation as my only reward.

You wouldn't like me when I'm crusty.

Grocery store and a body shop

The other day we stopped at Safeway before going to work. As we pulled into the parking spot, a man in a silver SUV pulled behind us and started yelling at Tyler.

When I got out of the car, all I could hear was the man talking fast and pointing at the dent in the side of the truck. He asked how it happened, and I guiltily replied "The wife happened."

Flashback: Last summer, I pulled the truck out of Tyler's parking spot at work. I took the corner too closely, and dented our new-to-us truck. The evidence was streaked across the side in yellow paint — the same hue of the pillars in his parking garage.

Back to present day: The guy points to my destruction and says for $250 he can fix it in 15 minutes while we are shopping. Tyler said we can't afford that, and attempts to walk away. In desperation, the guy comes back with his final offer.

"$100, please I need the work," he says.

Sold! The body shop we had went to before had told us it would be a $1,200 fix (to make it look like nothing happened of course). So Tyler agreed. When we got done shopping, the guy had made the dent 84% better, and thanked us for the work. He drove away trolling for his next customer, with his SUV that had an On the Spot Body Shop sign magnetized to the door.

I never knew you could be randomly descended upon by auto body specialist.

Adapting to orchids

Recently I’ve become obsessed with orchids. In February, Tyler bought me an orchid (shown above) as a not-a-Valentine’s-Day-gift. I debated getting one for a long time, just because of how temperamental they are. Also, many orchids are intergeneric, meaning they are products of cross-breeding by man. The theory is cross-breeding will make it easier for people like me to keep them alive by making the orchids stronger. But through my research, this makes it hard to figure out how to make them bloom again. So far, I think the above picture is a odontoglossum/oncindium hybrid.
Whatever that means.

We then decided it was a good idea to get another orchid (look to your right). This one I've identified as a brassia/odontoglossum hybrid. I think this one might not make it. It stopped blooming right away, and I found out it might take up to 10 months for it to bloom again. Yeah.

I know I must be sounding like Meryl Streep from Adaptation right about now, and I am aware of it. Don't worry — I have no desire to see a Ghost Orchid, become addicted to the drugs you can harvest from it, or have an affair with an orchid thief. That would take entirely too much effort, plus I'd end up killing the orchids I already have.

And if two orchids weren't enough, we got a third (below)! But I love this one. My phalaenopsis — the moth orchid. This one is supposed to be the perfect first-orchid. So far, this one likes me the best, whereas the other two act like rebelling teenagers. 

Now I know why all the Web sites recommended it for people like me. It's still blooming, and very forgiving of my ignorance. I still am planning on getting a book on orchids, and possibly becoming a crazy orchid lady as I grow older. At least the weird habit will smell a lot better than collecting all the stray cats in the neighborhood. And because life imitates art — or is it art imitates life? I will leave you with my favorite clip for Adaptation:

Yellowstone

Steve taking a picture of a bison grazing.

We went to Yellowstone with the Hansen/Dickinson/Smith/Sheldon clans for a few days in May. It's one thing to take Geology 101 in college, but it's quite another to see it in action. The area is fascinating and quite hard to put into words. Here are a few visual aids to help explain my experience.

Also, I am currently working on a horror movie about Yellowstone that could possible be a made for Chiller or SyFy Channel movie. Nothing too fancy — just some low-budget special effects and a few terribly enthusiastic actors. I'll let you know when auditions start...

Altering my course

It happened at The Willows — we were sitting around enjoying our cocktails before the dinner started and CJ asked the question:

“Have you been doing any writing?”

I felt my cheeks turn into apples, signifying a mixture of embarrassment and shame overtaking my face. I managed to respond with a quick, curt “no” and directed the conversation away from me.

I haven’t had anything published in nearly three years — I’m only 27 but three years is a long time to be out of game, especially one that I desperately wanted to be in since I was little.

And why did I give it up? I can make up a million excuses, point my finger at different people, but it all comes down to me. I benched myself.  All of the reasons I had seem stupid and childish now. Instead of saying what I didn’t like, or didn’t want, I should have been searching for something that I liked and wanted to do.

So hopefully it’s not to late. I am throwing my hat back into the ring. One of these applications is bound to stick.

Right?

Whenever Tyler and Eric get together, they can’t but help start giggling like school girls at some point. I'm happy that some things never change…

Trapped

Tyler came home after work this week to find Aspen all alone in the apartment. He let her out, but was confused when Moses didn't come out to greet him. He walked into the bedroom to see if Moses had gone to bed, but he wasn't there. He then heard Moses whimpering in the bathroom. He opened the door, and found a scared, traumatized Great Dane.

This is what we think happened: Moses went into the bathroom sometime after we went to work. His tail probably hit the door, thus locking him in the bathroom. He shat on the floor, so he couldn't lay down, and tried to chew his way out of his prison. He must of been in there for hours.

Now our huge dog can add "bathrooms" to "the many things Moses is scared of" list. The funny thing is, the bathroom door doesn't latch properly, so Aspen could have let him out at any time. She can be such a bitch...

Valentine's Day

Today is Valentine’s Day — one of the restaurant industry’s three busiest days of the year (Mothers’ Day and New Year’s Eve make up the rest). This is amateur hour. Most of the clientele on this day aren’t regular diners, and this is one of the special days out of the year they treat themselves to a nice date.

And restaurants take advantage of this: cramming every available table for two in every nook and cranny of the establishment. Creating tight turn times for tables, so couples can’t stay and linger over drinks and conversations lit by candlelight. After all, restaurants are businesses (something everyone forgets) and this is one of the days that needs to bring in some dough.

This is one of the reasons I don’t like Valentine’s Day. Besides all the usual corporate holiday arguments, it’s destroyed any concept I had for romance on this day. I’m that server who wants to make sure you drank, ate and paid within 1 hour and 45 minutes, otherwise the rest of the reservations are going to back up. Sorry, but I have other guests to wait on long after your meal is over.

That is not that dining experience I would want to have, but the demand for reservations on this day forces businesses to accommodate the influx of people in ways they normally wouldn’t practice. If you don’t book ‘em, you lose ‘em, and that’s the way business works.

So if you have someone special in your life, and you choose to celebrate Valentine’s Day, take them out to dinner on Feb. 15 for a romantic dinner instead. Don’t subject them to the madness the day before. This way you can have a quiet table at the time you want, enjoy your company, and have the evening you would want to have. If I'm your server, I’d be more than happy to make that happen for you too.

In sickness and in health

A three day weekend lay before us, and it would be glorious: a road trip to Ridgeway and Ouray where we could relax in hot springs, eat and drink at breweries, and be merry.

We went left in the morning and arrived late in the afternoon in the town of Ridgeway. Everything was going according to plan — hot tubbing, then pizza and microbrews. We made our way back to the hotel room to relax and rest up for the remainder of our planned adventures.

And then it came with a vengeance, as food poisoning always does at 3 a.m. I sprinted to the bathroom and made it just in time for the violent sequence of vomiting and other lovely symptoms associated with the affliction to rear their ugly heads.

At first I thought I’d feel better after puking, and went back to bed hoping my health would improve by morning. I settled back under the covers, closed my eyes, and prepared my white blood cells for battle.

Within the hour, the bacteria and my immune system were in a full scale war, and the battlefield location had been selected: the bathroom. After a while, I even debated bringing a blanket and pillow in there, so I wouldn’t have to sprint at every impulse of impending spewage.

As night turned slowly into day, I began to realize that I would not be able to fully enjoy our weekend. Soda water, canned chicken noodle soup and Saltines would make up my dining experience, and the hotel room would be my spa.

I felt awful. My foolish fast food choice — which was causing utter turmoil inside of me — also sabotaged the weekend.

So I laid in bed the whole time, and Tyler dutifully stuck by me. Since he was perfectly healthy, I felt guilty for not being able to go and enjoy our time off together. He heated up soup for me, went to the store, and made sure I had plenty of beverages to replenish my system. I told him to leave me and enjoy his time off, but he insisted on staying. I don’t know what felt worse: my sickly state, or ruining his weekend too. He had just worked 10 days in a row, and planned this awesome trip for us, I couldn’t help but feel guilty.

By the next morning, I felt better. I could keep down food, and the nausea had subsided. This was great timing because we had to drive five hours to make it home that evening. We made it home, not having experienced the trip we wanted to, but at least we had a memorable one.

I'm not going to the Super Bowl

A few weeks ago I had the afternoon of Sara: The 49ers were playing the Saints, I bought a DiGiorno pizza, a six pack of Snow Day by New Belgium Brewery, and I had a Saturday night off. All the ingredients were there for a perfect evening, so I settled in to the couch ready to cheer on my team.

For those of you who watched the game, or saw the highlights, know what a crazy win the Niners pulled off. When I came into work the next day, my co-workers were excited to talk about the miraculous win.

“Vernon Davis is my hero!” I said. “We’ve definitely got the talent to go to the Super Bowl.”
This is where my manager Chad (who only watches tennis) interjected: “Why are you using “we?” It’s not like you played in the game last night.”

All season long, he’s corrected me on using the first person narrative when rehashing events on Sundays. For some reason, I’ve had a really hard time adjusting my speech. I’ll catch myself halfway through a sentence and disjointedly redirect my narrative back to third person. After being harassed for 17 weeks during the regular season, one would think this wouldn’t be a problem and more.

But it still is. After the game last week against the Giants, I still find myself saying “we were soooooo close,” and “this was our year.” And why is that? Is it because of my personal history with team sports, or the collective mindset that comes along when rooting for your team?

The closest explanation I could find for my behavior is what experts call deindividuation, which is “the process by which group members become less aware of themselves as individuals and less concerned about being socially evaluated.” Sociologists have used this to describe rioting after games, behavior in a sports venue, and the lack of social constraints occur during some trash talking sessions.

Even though I found many possibilities, I don’t think I can ultimately answer why I use the narrative I do. All can do is hope things will turn out differently for the 49ers and me next season.