Marching Illini Nostalgia? Splendid!

I'm feeling very nostalgic this week. It's been 10 years since I moved into my dorm at the University of Illinois and 10 years since my first season in the Marching Illini.  I can't help but feel grateful for the amazing experiences I had and people I met through my time in the Marching Illini.

It's been 10 years since I walked in to my dorm and found my roommate Rachel's dad building furniture in the hallway.  Ten years since I peeked into our cigar box of a dorm room and found Rachel's mom asking her , "which drawer do you want your dance clothes in?"  I remember looking at my parents with a hint of concern: she's a dancer? Lord help me.  (LOVE YOU, RACH!)  

It's been 10 years since I walked into the Harding Band Building (where it smells like piss) for my first MI band camp. My section leader John greeted me by name for the memorization test.  I thought it was really nice that he had taken the time to memorize the names of all the freshmen before camp started. I remember seeing our section shirt for the first time and realizing I had found my people. The section shirt that year was the iconic image from Animal House of John Belushi sporting a "COLLEGE" shirt and chugging a bottle of whiskey, except the whiskey was replaced with trumpet.  People who loved marching band AND Animal House?!  I had found my people!

It's been 10 years since I was among 12 people piled into a compact car to get to dinner.  Ten years since I first sang the Alma Mater at the end of dinner.  This, of course, lends itself to silly jokes at every bando wedding we attend (and there have been a lot).  It goes something like this:
*glasses clinking*
Non-bandos: Kiiiiiiissss! Kiiiiiss!
Bandos: *humming the first chord of the Alma Mater*  Hahaha, oh, wait, this isn't band!  Kiiiiiiiiss!  Kiiiiisssss!

It's been 10 years since I met my boyfriend.  We didn't start dating till months later, but he was there from the beginning.  During our first conversation, he told me that his brother and I share a hometown.  How weird is that?

It's been 10 years since my first note of Revised Entrance Number 3. Ten years since my first Three-In-One.  Any Marching Illini Fossil will tell you that both experiences are unforgettable.  The first time you play Revised with the full band in rehearsal is magical, but it doesn't even compare to the first time you play it at the first home game for the fans.

It's been 10 years since I got hopelessly lost on the walk back to my dorm my first night, stopping to discreetly pull out my map under the street lights to try and figure out where I was and how to get home.  It's been 10 years since I followed Stacey and Emily home the second night to avoid a repeat of the first night. It's been 10 years since Stacey and I became friends.  We're entering our 8th year of living together, and none of that would be possible if I hadn't stalked her on the way home from band camp.

It's been 10 years since I met my GL Kyle on the "Whoopasphalt" during freshman basics. Having met his cousin that summer at church camp, she told me to look for "the one with the hair". She was not wrong.  Kyle became one of my dearest friends in college.  We even worked together for a couple of very sassy years.

It's been 10 years since Elder Trumpettes Emily, Lisa, Cheryl, and Katie all recruited me for Sigma Alpha Iota, telling me it was a group of women who liked music (and food!).  I skeptically attended the first informational meeting.  Ten years later, I've held numerous positions throughout my collegiate and alumnae chapters, as well as volunteering as a Province Officer for three years.  Ten years ago, I never would have guessed SAI would be such an important part of my life.

I loved my college experience, and such a large part of that was because of the Marching Illini.  Because of that organization, I found my friends, my chosen family, amazing mentors, and the love of my life.  I owe so much to those people who helped shape who I am as an adult.

I only hope the current members of the Marching Illini enjoy their experience at least half as much as I did.  Umgawa!

Sassy Wedding-themed Pinterest Board? Splendid!

Because we're in the thick of instrument rental season at the store, the sales staff is working 6 days a week this month.  I usually finish up my blog posts on Thursdays when I'm home for the day.  Since that won't be the case this month, consider this a condensed post.

Recently two of my very dear friends got engaged.  A few days after Matt proposed to Elizabeth, I received a voicemail that said the following:

"Hi, Matt and I were talking about our wedding, and I promised him there wouldn't be any crafts.  So we thought I should call you and tell you so you can help me stick to this plan.  Also, so you don't start sending me adorable pictures of family photos submerged in mason jars of olive oil that shouldn't take very long but actually take 100 hours.  Because I don't have time for that.  So this is your warning."

Knowing that our friendship is full of sass (stories for another time), I responded to her voicemail with this text message:

"Because I am so full of sass, my response to your voicemail was to immediately start a Pinterest board called EB's Wedding According to Me.  It's going to be full of over the top DIY wedding ideas."

So in the last month I've been steadily adding photos to that Pinterest board.  Most of the photos are gorgeous and would make for a great wedding for someone... but not a DIY-free wedding.  The descriptions are full of sass and snark, and Elizabeth has assured me that both she and her family love them.

Today I'm going to share it with you all.  My only concern is that some people don't know how to use Pinterest properly, and they forget to change captions.  So when they repin something from my board in earnest, they keep the sassy remarks about how ridiculous it is to do something like personalize individual cheesecake favors for 200 guests.

Reverting Back To Adolescence? Oh, great.

They say you can never go home.  I don't know who "they" are, but that's what "they" say.  They say it's impossible to go back to your childhood home and feel the same way you felt growing up.  That the nostalgia you feel is for something that never quite existed.

Well I call shenanigans.

A friend of mine from college was visiting family and friends in the area recently, and we met for dinner with a mutual friend.  That afternoon the two of them had been hanging out at one of their childhood homes.  My friend told me that she felt the same embarrassment with her mom trying to be the "cool mom" now as she did when we were teenagers.

This post took twice as long to write as it should have because I kept getting distracted by this GIF.

I thought that was kind of interesting, because I've experienced a similar feeling for years!  Don't get me wrong.  I love my parents.  They're hardworking people with good hearts.  They raised my brother and me to be intelligent, independent, creative, and funny.  They provided everything we needed as kids and then some.  They're a good example for relationships (celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary next week!).  I knew this as a teenager, though I scarcely understood how to appreciate it, and I know this now.  I have a great relationship with my parents and talk to them on the phone multiple times per week.  But something strange happens when I'm around them and other people I know at the same time.  Inevitably I revert back to being a pain-in-the-ass 17 year old.  I cringe at every interaction my parents have with anyone I've ever talked to ever.  I'm ridiculous.

For example, last month I was visiting my friend in Chicago and decided to stop in my hometown and have lunch with my mom.  We went to a local cafe and settled on a table near the front.  Just as our orders arrived, a couple entered the cafe.  The husband and wife are both retired teachers from the schools I attended.  They stopped at our table, and I was pleasantly surprised that they remembered me.  We chatter for a couple of minutes, and they went to place their orders.  As they sat down at their own table, I mentioned to my mom that they were two of the best teachers I ever had growing up.  

I had the wife for 6th & 7th grade social studies.  She was a great teacher and a sweet lady whom I loved, despite the fact that she gave me my first and only detention ever.  He was a hard-ass high school math teacher who took the time to reteach me everything I was supposed to learn in 8th grade Algebra I in order to pass his HS Algebra II class.  He was widely known throughout the school to be one of the toughest teachers, but we all knew he had a heart of gold.  He taught for more than 30 years, I think, and he really cared about educating the kids in his class.  As far as husband/wife teacher teams in my hometown go, I think you'd be hard-pressed to find a more beloved couple from that time period.

Anyway, as we wrapped up our lunch, my mom went back up to the counter for some reason.   As she made her way back to our table, I watched in horror as she stopped at the couple's table, and said (loud enough for the entire cafe to hear), "My daughter just told me that you guys were two of the best teachers she ever had in this town."  They were very gracious, of course, because I'm sure they've heard that before, and also, who doesn't like to hear nice things about themselves?  I, however, slunk down into my chair like a teenage boy with scoliosis and became even more engrossed with checking Twitter on my phone as my face turned scarlet from embarrassment.

My mother moseyed back to the table with a smile on her face; she was pleased with herself.  As she approached, I hissed at her, "Moooooooooommmmmmm! What were you thinking?!  Why would you do that?!"  

She was confused by my humiliation.  "What?  I thought they would like to hear the nice things you had to say about them."

"I understand that, but why did you have to do it while I was sitting within earshot?!  God, that's so embarrassing!"  I whispered.  Clearly this was a disaster.  Clearly.  

Now, I know that it was not, in fact, a disaster.  And my former teachers probably were touched that I mentioned them to my mom.  But at that moment in time, it was like being transported back to freshman year of high school, and having my mom tell a boy I had a crush on that I liked him.  (That actually never happened in real life, but I can imagine how humiliating it would be.)

Having dinner with my friends last week, and hearing their versions of the same stories about their own mothers, made me feel both better and worse.  Better because I'm not the only one who has such a strong reaction to my parents unwittingly embarrassing me.  Worse, because this is my life?!  A grown-ass woman acting like an obnoxious teenager any time my parents interact with anyone from my past in my presence?  Boo.

I have no resolution to this situation.  I fear I am doomed to behave like a surly adolescent in public with my parents for the rest of my life.  That's not a particularly attractive proposition for me.  So tell me, how do you overcome these feelings?

Summer Adventure? Splendid!

Back in January, I knew my life would be heading in a direction I like to call "shambly".  I knew that my interim position was ending and that there was a good chance I wouldn't be returning to my previous position.  Knowing my income status would likely change relatively quickly, I did what most slightly irresponsible 20-somethings would do: I made fun summer plans and bought concert tickets.

I've been a fan of Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward's band She and Him for at least three years now.  They recently came out with their third album (aptly titled Volume 3) and launched a tour to promote it.  I got an email about a pre-sale at the end of January, contacted some friends, and purchased tickets immediately.  To say I had been looking forward to the concert was an understatement.

At the same time as I bought the tickets, I also started a quick descent into the Joss Whedon fandom.  For those of you who don't know, Joss Whedon is the mastermind behind shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly, and Dollhouse as well as Dr. Horrible's Singalong Blog and The Avengers.  He also has some surprising writing credits including Toy Story and Roseanne.  He has a tendency to work with the same actors because he knows their strengths and their abilities.  In between principle photography and editing for The Avengers, he brought a bunch of actors to his gorgeous home and filmed an adaptation of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing.

I had been looking forward to Much Ado's release for a months, and I got very excited when release dates were finally announced.  I was less than thrilled, however, that "wide release" only included 5 theaters in Illinois - all of them in the Chicagoland area.  Thankfully I found a theater screening the film as a matinee on the same day we would be attending the concert.

Stacey and I headed north to meet our friend, Jenny, who would serving as companion and tour guide for the day.  As we got to the city, we looked for parking near the concert venue.  In case you're wondering, yes I did take a picture of what must have been the She & Him tour bus in front of the ballroom.  

Because I'm a creeper.

By the time we got to the movie theater, previews were rolling, and I realized I wanted to see every single movie they advertised - even the one in Spanish.  Much Ado was everything I wanted it to be.  I loved seeing my favorite actors from the Whedonverse perform what is essentially the original romantic comedy.  I enjoyed Whedon's use of a backstory that I always thought was hinted at but never explored in the original play.  I'm happy the traditional song "Sigh No More" was incorporated in the masquerade scene.  Clark Gregg really impressed me as Leonato.  That character goes through probably the most drastic changes in demeanor throughout the play, and Gregg gave such a fantastic performance of the entire range of emotions.  Tom Lenk and Nathan Fillion's portrayals of Verges and Dogberry cracked me up, as they would for any Whedon fan.  And Alexis Denisof had me in stitches throughout the scene between Benedick and Beatrice just after he's heard Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio describing her alleged love for him.

I'm SO happy I got to see this in the theater.  Thankfully the Art Theater in Champaign was able to get it after all, so I took my boyfriend to see it last weekend.  It made me just as happy the second time around.

After the movie we found a pub with outdoor seating and enjoyed the unusually mild June day.  For dinner, we moseyed down the street to try the burgers at Kuma's Too. 

Waitin' for our food with JNance

While visiting the restroom at Kuma's Too, I noticed all the graffiti inside my stall.  My eye was drawn to the top of the door, though, where a quote from one of my favorite movies, Empire Records, was scrawled.

Shock me, shock me, shock me with that deviant behavior.

After dinner we headed back to the Aragon Ballroom for the evening's main event.  I hadn't been to the venue before, but I had read up on it (like I do for just about everything).  It was a general admission show, and we got there right as the opening act was finishing their set.  That timing worked out fairly well for us, because a lot of people were walking out to use the bathrooms and/or buy merchandise and alcohol.  Signs were posted asking fans not to take pictures and instead enjoy the moments live.  I do respect that sentiment, I promise, but there was just no way in hell I was going to be in the same room with Zooey Deschanel and not snap a few quick photos.

Knowing we had just built ukuleles, and that I was already fangirling very hard about this concert, our friend Caitlin asked how I would react when Zooey started playing ukulele.  I told her I would probably make a lot of what we call "baby pterodactyl noises".  Then I demonstrated the high pitched "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" sound.  I think Caitlin was sorry she asked.  I also may have given her tinnitus.  

She and Him put on a great show.  In addition to being starstruck by Zooey and M., I was also impressed with the other members of the band.  Most She and Him songs are under 4 minutes, and the other band members covered all kinds of instruments.  That meant a couple of the guys basically ran from one side of the stage to the other every 4 minutes for the entire set.  There wasn't much banter in between songs, either, so there was no time to dawdle.

As expected, when the show ended after a high-energy cover of "Roll Over Beethoven", the audience kept applauding and cheering, hoping for an encore.  My friends and I all saw a roadie bring out a different guitar at the end of the set, so we knew it was coming.  That didn't make it any less awesome.

After the encore, people started shuffling toward the incredibly poorly designed exits, but I kept looking back toward the stage.  Why?  Because the house lights weren't up yet, and the show ain't over till the house lights come up!  When the band scampered (seriously, they scampered) back out on stage for a second encore, I took off back toward the front of the room.  (Before the show started, I made Stacey promise not to leave without me.  I had a feeling something like this would happen.)  I probably haven't moved that quickly in years.  The second encore was their pretty well-known cover of "I Put a Spell on You".  It was great.

Once we finally made it down the treacherous staircase of doom to the main lobby, I pulled the girls aside so we could document our evening together.  I figured I would just ask the nearest event staffer to do it.  Of course, I didn't realize the nearest employee was approximately 70 years old.  So I had to explain in great detail how to take a picture with an iPhone...  We ended up with a grainy backlit photo that looks like it was taken in a subway.  Still, it's a MEMORY!  I'm so glad I got to share that memory with these particular girls.  When Stacey asked me afterward if I had fun, I told her I wish everyone in that room had enjoyed the show as much as I did.

 We also knew that one of Stacey's former students would be at the show, because Stacey was the one who alerted her to the pre-sale after my email.  We didn't expect to see her but thought it would be funny if we happened to run into her.  Lo and behold, as we were making our way past the merchandise vendor, she and Stacey spotted each other.  Apparently they arrived super early and were in the front row.  She also took illegal photos, but I have to believe that the performers were not nearly as washed out and unfocused in her pictures as they were in mine.

Fake Resume? Splendid!

With all the emphasis and talk of finding a job that's been going on in my life recently, I've spent a lot of time thinking about my strengths and weakness.  I've spent a lot of time thinking about what would make me a good employee or at least a good fit for certain jobs.  I've spent countless hours working and re-working my resume and cover letters, tailoring every cover letter to be specific for each job.  I continue to list my previous job responsibilities, mention my strengths, and demonstrate my enthusiasm for a given job.  But mostly I feel like everyone's resume is essentially the same.

Just for fun, I put together a fake resume for myself.  Everything on the resume is true; it's just not information you would typically find on a resume or cover letter in any of the fields for which I am qualified.

What true information would you put on your fake resume?

DIY Ukulele Kits? Splendid!

A couple weeks ago, Stacey and I were out doing some shopping, when she mentioned that she had found DIY ukulele kits on Amazon.  I've been not-so-secretly interested in learning ukulele for a couple months, but I didn't want to make the investment in a nice one if I was going to A) destroy it accidentally (a distinct possibility with my penchant for bumping into things) or B) get bored with it and ignore it while it gathers dust in our instrument petting zoo. These Grizzly DIY kits were, like, 1/5 as much money, and it meant we got to decorate them ourselves.  We got so pumped about them, that Stacey ordered them from her phone while we waited in line for the cashier.

They arrived about a week later, and we set a roommate date to start working on them.  In the meantime, we gathered most of the materials we needed: wood glue, sandpaper, a drill and appropriate bit, clamps, and various tie-down straps.  (Shout outs to Dad and Boyfriend for providing some of the necessary tools and Mom for delivering some of the supplies!)  Much in the same way that I cannot follow a recipe exactly, I decided we were not going to follow the directions exactly either.  Mostly, this just meant instead of buying 6 different grains of sand paper, ranging from 120 to 800 (or something equally ridiculous), we would buy two - fine and extra fine.

We began by sanding down the body and neck of the ukuleles.  

Action shot!

After that, we glued the neck to the body and used the tie-down straps to keep them pressed together.

We were supposed to wait to perform the next steps for something crazy, like 24 hours, but ain't nobody got time for that!  We were able to rig the ukes so we could keep the necks drying against the bodies while also gluing the fretboards down to the necks.  Before we could glue the fretboards on, though, we drilled the holes for the tiny mother of pearl dots.  This was terrifying for me, because I was convinced I was going to mess it up.  Also, Scott's drill weighs like 75 pounds.  Note the terror on my face.

Slightly terrified I was going to ruin something or hurt myself

We also taped off where the bridge would be placed after decorating, and left everything to dry for a day or so.

Now, let's be honest, most of the reason I wanted to make the ukulele myself was because I wanted to decorate it.  We took a trip to Michael's to gather supplies.  Stacey's inspiration was the striped side of a gift bag we have in the house.  I decided I wanted purple paint, purple glitter, and orange flowers on mine.  Because clearly I revel in simplicity.  I've already received multiple comments on how people are surprised I didn't use orange glitter paint on the body.  To be honest, I just didn't like the Krylon Glitter Blast shade of Orange Burst as much as the Grape Glitz.

A few days later, we spread out our decorating tools before us, taped off the neck of each uke, and got to work.  Since I was using spray paint, I took mine outside, where I promptly gave the bushes in front of the porch a little more pizzazz.

Do YOUR shrubs sparkle?

Stacey carefully taped off the body of her instrument using painters tape and different widths of washi tape we found at Michael's.  I thought it was brilliant of her to label which color each strip of tape would be painted.  It definitely kept things more organized as she continued to add color.

The flower stencils I bought were actually designed to be used on glass or plastic, so they were extra flexible and had a bit of adhesive on the back.  I found this very useful.  I cut up my stencils to use the flowers in a design that looked best on the body of my ukulele.

After letting them dry, we still had to attach the bridge, attach the tuning machines, and string the instruments.  I found attaching the tuning machines with a tiny screwdriver to be incredibly difficult and frustrating.  I thought this was supposed to be fun!  I apologize to anyone I spoke with on the phone that night.  I was Miss Super Cranky Pants.  I was so frustrated by this process that I asked our guitar technician at work if he would finish attaching them and put on the strings for me.  He obliged, and the angels sang from the heavens.  My poor bruised palm rejoiced.  Well as much as a hand can rejoice, I guess.

I brought my uke home after he finished it and promptly tried tuning it to learn some songs.  The problem is that strings need time to stretch out after they're put on, and I wasn't being patient enough.  I would tune the strings and start learning a song, and by the end of the song, the strings were out of tune again.  I didn't really care because I was just excited to be learning new chords.  After a few days, things leveled out quite a bit, and they sound pretty good now.

Stacey was at a workshop during the time I was finishing my instrument, so she finished it a few days later.  So, without further ado, i would like to introduce you to the newest members of our instrument family:

Luke the Uke and UkuLeia

(Get it?  Luke and Leia!  Because they're ukuleles AND twins!)

Luke is on the left, Leia on the right.

I'm so happy with the way they turned out!  I have to admit that I was hoping for more instant gratification when putting the kits together.  I wouldn't recommend building this particular kit with a classroom of kids, because it does take awhile, and there are some tricky parts that require dexterity and/or strength.  I think there are some other kits out there that might be a little bit easier in that regard.  But it was fun to build them and paint them, and now we're having fun learning how to play.

New job? Splendid!

For those of you who don't know, I recently started a position at music store.  It's a pretty good job, and the people have been fantastic so far.  I have only two real issues with the position: 1) I'm on my feet all day, and 2) it's approximately an hour away from where I live.  Other than that, it's an okay gig.  I compiled a list of thoughts and feelings on the situation over the course of my first two weeks.

1. Being on my feet all day sucks.  It sucks especially hard since I'd pretty much been sitting on my butt all day in the interim between jobs.  The first week was predictably difficult.  I work with four guys at the store, all of whom have been exceptionally helpful.  What they didn't do during my first 4 days though, was sit down.  There are a couple of stools behind the counter, but they just never sat down! Thankfully by my 5th day, I saw at least two of them relax a bit.  The other nice thing is that we're allowed to wear athletic shoes.  I haven't yet, because mine are, unsurprisingly, orange, and it's hard to look cute in a skirt and blouse when you're rocking orange Asics.  For now, my black Mary Jane Danskos are working very well.

2. The drive kind of sucks, but luckily in the long and boring way and not the heavy traffic kind of way.  After I accepted the position, I immediately downloaded a bunch of podcasts to listen to on the drive.  My commute is approximately 58 minutes, which is means hour-long podcasts are perfect.  I've been going through a backlog of the Nerdist podcast, and that's keeping me very entertained on the drive.  I also started listening to audio books recently using Audible.  This week I'm listening to the audio book version of Let's Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson.  I've already read the book, and I'm obsessed with her blog, but I'm really enjoying listening to her narrate her own life story.  Seriously, if you haven't read anything she's written, get thee a copy.  Get thee a copy.  (Obscure Much Ado About Nothing reference alert!)

The mouse's name is Hamlet von Schnitzel

3. The day before I started working, I was out buying more than I originally intended at Target, like you do, when I found Sally Hansen Salon Effects Nail Strips with music notes on them.  I mean, really, how perfect would it be to show up to my first day of work at a music store with music notes on my nails?  The answer is super perfect.

I mean, really.  Super perfect.

As I mentioned before, I mostly work with a bunch of dudes at the front desk, and they were completely oblivious to my fabulous nail art.  However, I did have two separate customers compliment me on them, so I will mark that in the Win column.

4. Quite a bit of my work the first week was learning how to fill out the contracts for instrument rentals.  The contracts are not overly difficult, but they're intricate.  I watched a few before I tried one on my own, but I felt confident by day 3 that I could do one solo.  That was doubly good because no one else was available to help my first rental customer.  After explaining the rent-to-own process we use for most of our band instruments and having the customers fill out their portion of the rental agreement, I headed to the register to enter in the down payment.  Luckily one of my coworkers was available then to check my work.  Because I had done all of the math wrong.  All of it.  I basically had to redo my portion of the contract, but we thankfully took care of it before I overcharged the customers.

The next day I completed three more contracts, and I felt like each subsequent contract was a VICTORY!  That is, until the end of last week, when the woman who enters all the contracts to our system emerged from her office.  Apparently I had been regularly forgetting one piece of information.  She told me that she had noticed it the first week but had hoped I would just figure out that I was doing it wrong.  Also, instead of coming directly to me at any point, she brought it up with one of the guys.  I'm not gonna lie, I was really irritated by how passive aggressive she was about it.  I mean, I'm new.  If you don't want me forming bad habits, correct me ASAP instead of wishing the problem away.  Argh.  Anyway, I have finally mastered the rental contracts!

5. With it being summer in Illinois, I tend to wear my hear up more to combat the heat and humidity.  The first time I wore my hair down, one of my coworkers commented, "Wearing your hair down today, I see.  Loose and free like a hippie!"  Um, no.  I use far nicer and far more hair product than a hippie.  Also, I'm not terribly Bohemian.  Also, just no.

6. Two of my favorite quotes from my first two weeks on the job:

"Mustang Sally is the Jessie's Girl of blues." - coworker

"I just think the bassoon is my spirit instrument." - local high school drum major

Marriage 2.0? Splendid

Whoops!  I didn't get around to posting last week because things were INSANE, but to make up for it, I'm sharing a ridiculous story that happened recently...

My roommate and I have lived together long enough that if same-sex common law marriages were a thing in Illinois, we would have one.  Cohabiting for so long comes with a whole bucket of strangeness.  If you follow us on twitter (@KLandSP) you get a sneak peek into what it's like to live in our house.

We've been told by more than one person that our lives should be a reality show.  I think that's a compliment?  It wouldn't actually be a great TV show though, because it would mostly consist of us making snarky remarks at the TV while watching the backlog on our DVR or episodes of Doctor Who.

We have honed some ridiculous communication skills that include, but are not limited to, understanding each other while yawning, burping, chewing, and laughing.  We have even been known to communicate telepathically, like the characters on one of our favorite shows, How I Met Your Mother.

Recently we attended a bachelorette party in the Chicago suburbs for a college friend.  The pub where the party started offered the bride-to-be a free dessert, and the group of us gladly accepted it on her behalf because 1) most of us had already been drinking for 3 hours and 2) dinner reservations weren't for another hour.  

The waiter brought out the dessert, which seemed like some kind of ice cream cake with a chocolate cookie crust and strawberries and whipped cream.  We passed it around, and Stacey held the plate while I tried to break off a bite for myself.  I grabbed a dollop of whipped cream before sinking my fork into the frozen treat and trying to break through the cookie crust.  After attempting to be dainty about it and getting nowhere, I finally put some effort into it, and shot the cookie crust one way, the whipped cream another, and ended with a forkful of ice cream.  I happily ate the ice cream, found the piece of cookie crust, and checked the table for the dollop of missing whipped cream.  It didn't take long for me to realize that the whipped cream had landed on Stacey's forearm.  Without even the slightest hesitation or real eye contact, she offered her forearm to me, and I licked the whipped cream directly from her skin.

This is a recreation of the incident substituting sour cream for whipped cream.
Thanks to Mariah for taking this picture.

We immediately started cracking up, not because of the sheer ridiculousness of what had transpired, but because it was so normal for us!  

We're also just so comfortable with each other, you know?  About 4 years ago I started referring to my boyfriend and Stacey as my Life Partners.  Both relationships are very important to me, as I spend the majority of my time with one or both of them.  (Next year I want to send Christmas cards from the three of us with pictures in matching sweaters or something equally nuts.)  Each relationship provides me with something the other doesn't.  My boyfriend obviously provides me with a romagical (romance + magical = romagical) relationship that I won't elaborate on and Stacey doesn't provide. Whereas she will do things with me that Scott won't.  For instance, she will happily watch Real Housewives of ___________ (pick a city - we love nearly all of them) with me.  She will accompany me to Target 99% of the time.  She is always ready to go get ice cream with me, no matter when she plans to eat lunch or dinner that day.  

I shared this story and it's absurdity with our friend, Elizabeth, recently, right after we came to the common law marriage conclusion.  Elizabeth remarked that what Stacey and I share should be called Marriage 2.0, because we've been together so long.  It's obvious that we enjoy living together, and we stick together because we want to be roommates.  We take trips and mini-vacations together (Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Louis!).  We consult each other on all major life choices (Should I accept this job offer? or How do these pants look?).  We even do projects together - like the ukuleles we're building together.  That's definitely a blog post for the future...

Facing my fears? Splendid!

I was raised in a small town.  (Cue the John Mellencamp.  No, wait, please don't.  I hate that song.)  My hometown has approximately 5,000 people (97% of whom are caucasian according to Wikipedia), seven stop lights (four blocks in a ROW in the center of town), and not a single road that's more than one lane in either direction plus a center turn lane (there aren't even one way streets).  The nearest interstate is 15 miles away.  I didn't even drive on the interstate till I was a sophomore in college!  Why does this matter?  Because growing up in a community like that turned me into a big ol' scaredy cat behind the wheel.

I remember the first time I drove into Urbana.  I took a state highway instead of the interstate because I felt safer.  As I came into Rantoul, the road widened from two lanes to four.  This was a big deal for me.  Driving on Lincoln or University Avenues was treacherous as far as I was concerned, and both should be avoided at all costs.

That was ten (seriously, ew) years ago.  Of course, I've gotten so much more comfortable in my adopted hometown since then.  I think a lot of this is due to me having my car for my first summer on campus.  I was able to learn which streets were one way and in what direction, and it meant not getting stuck in the circle of doom (you know: Green/Sixth/Armory/Wright/John streets) anymore.  I'm a pro at using  I-74 like everyone else in town: as a way to avoid University when going from Champaign to Urbana.  I've even mastered downtown Champaign.

No matter how comfortable I've gotten in Champaign-Urbana, though, I still hate HATE HATE driving in/around Chicago.  I avoid it if at all possible, begging my travelling companions to drive and bribing them to do so when necessary.  Part of this apprehension is due to my geographical ignorance about the suburbs.  In my head, they're all 15 minutes away from each other (I know this is false).  Also, I don't know how anyone knows where they are at a given time because the towns touch.  Where I come from, you know you're in a new town, because there are fields, a curve, and railroad tracks between each town!  If not for the best Christmas gift ever given to me by my boyfriend, a GPS we call Samantha, I would be truly hopeless in the suburbs.

Last week I had to face my fears.  My college roommate invited me to her place in the city for the night, and I was going solo.  Until then, the only time I had driven in the City of Chicago was to drive my parents home after my dad's open heart surgery last year, and that was a big freaking deal for me.  That trip included the following rules:
     1. There will be no yelling at any time.
     2. There will be no use of an invisible emergency break at any time.
     3. There will be no vocal intercessions to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph (Mom's favorite while
     riding along) at any time.
     4. I will retain total control of the radio.
     And number 5, which had to be added at the last minute after Mom proudly documented
     my driving prowess: There will be NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY AT
     ANY TIME.

The offending photo

I planned so see my mom for lunch on the way back this time, so taking the train wasn't an option.  I met with my travel consultant boyfriend to go over the route a couple nights beforehand because Samantha and I do not always agree on the best way to get somewhere.  And sometimes she forgets to tell me what lane I need to be in.  And, okay, sometimes I disregard her instructions and do what I want in a fit of defiant independence.  He and I decided on the simplest route, and I was ready to hit the road.  The day I left, I had major anxiety.  I mean sweaty-palms-throat-constricting-verge-of-tears anxiety.  It was as if I was going into battle.  I was going to fight my fear of city driving in the third largest city in the United States.

Before I left, I posted a self-indulgent Facebook status lamenting my impending journey, and I was so touched by the amount of support I received from my friends.  I got a lot of encouragement and some excellent advice.  (Cousin Katie wins the Advice Award: stay in the middle lanes and always check your blind spots.)  Armed with Samantha, backup instructions, my host on speed dial, and a large Diet Coke, I hit the road.  The first hour of the drive would typically be easy for me, as that's how I get back to my parents' house, but this day was different.  Even that first hour had me tense, with both hands on the wheel, spaced at 10 and 2 like I was taught in Drivers Ed.  As I made my way north, I started to stress a lot more.  I had to breathe slowly and deliberately to calm myself down.  Thankfully as I made my way onto the interstate that would take me into the city, traffic didn't seem so bad.  I thought I might even beat the rush hour traffic!  Then I needed to exit for Lake Shore Drive...

The signs on the road assured me that the right two lanes would exit for LSD, so I was pleased to already be in one of them.  As traffic started to exit, I notice the far right lane was incredibly backed up, and I was happy that I wasn't one of the schmucks over there.  Then I realized that the sign telling me my lane would exit LIED!  Well, sort of.  The two lanes do exit, but then they immediately merge.  So I felt smug for about 4 seconds until I realized that I had to rely on the kindness of one of those schmucks to let me into their lane.  Thankfully I was the recipient of some nice midwestern driving hospitality, as a young woman allowed me in front of her almost immediately.  I almost tore my rotator cuff courtesy waving to that woman.  As we wound around McCormick Place, I remembered my cousin's sage advice and tried to stick to the middle.  White knuckled, I didn't even notice Soldier Field enough to make a Doctor Who joke to myself about how it looks like a Raxacoricofallapatorian space ship crashed into the stadium.  I had not missed rush hour.  Not at all.  And I was stuck behind a bus.  I was not going to be able to drive in stop and go traffic for nearly 10 miles behind a bus.  Ain't no way.   

source

I was able to get around the bus surprisingly easily (it was a surprise to me, anyway), and the rest of the drive was mostly uneventful, thankfully.  I was able to navigate around a bunch of one way streets to pick Rachel up before heading back to her apartment.  The drive back the next morning was fairly simple as well since I successfully avoided morning rush hour traffic.  Of course Samantha failed to remind me that I should stay to the left on 90/94 to remain in the express lanes, but other than that, the trip back was fine.

You guys.  I was so proud of myself.  I had done something that I really didn't think I would able to ever do.  I did not give in to the anxiety.  I didn't even almost get in any accidents!  I faced my fear.  So what did I learn from my experience? I learned that most of the other drivers don't want to die in a fiery car crash either, so they'll usually try to avoid getting in one with you!  Not only did I face my fear by driving in Chicago, but I also put myself out there by asking for encouragement from my friends.  And I learned I have a lot more support than I sometimes realize.  I know that clicking the Like button on my silly little Facebook status doesn't mean all those people would go into a real battle with me, but I felt comforted knowing they were pulling for me.

P.S. While I was at her apartment, I helped Rachel set up her blog.  She's doing summer stock theatre in Door County Michigan this summer, and she's going to blog about her experience.  Find out what she has to say in I Carried a Watermelon.

This is My Life?! Splendid!

If I've seen you in the past two weeks, you've probably heard both of these stories.  For those of you who haven't heard them already, let me introduce you to a new series called "This is my life?!" that will showcase the slightly ridiculous moments that happen to me.  If you follow me (@klareau3) or our house (@KLandSP) on Twitter, you'll probably get snippets of these stories.  Here are the full (overly)dramatic versions.

The first story takes place just over two weeks ago.  I had an interview that afternoon, and it was unseasonably hot that day (welcome to Central Illinois, where the weather is schizophrenic), so when I came home, I changed from my interview dress to a lounge-about-the-house dress.  I decided to unwind for awhile by watching YouTube videos, and I became intrigued by the Colors of the Rainbow tag videos being made by some of the vloggers I follow.  The concept was to talk about one of your favorite beauty/fashion items for each color of the rainbow (plus pink and multi-colored).  I decided I wanted to make a video response.  

I set up my camera in the dining craft room, opened the blinds and turned on the lights.  I decided that I couldn't wear the lounge-about-the-house dress because it has weird straps, and I have to wear a cami underneath it, and there were just too many straps involved to make me comfortable on-camera.  I took off the lounging dress, and went back into the craft room to finish putting on my makeup so as not to get any makeup on the dress I was going to wear in the video.

Before I go any further, let me describe where I live.  It's a small house with two front doors situated on the corner of a side street and a busy one way street.  There's a bike lane along the one way street.  The window of the dining craft room looks out onto the one way street, but based on assertions by my roommate who never sees me wave at her from that window, I basically assume that most people can't see me...

As I adjusted my makeup in the dining craft room, I happened to notice a young man riding his bike on the sidewalk just beyond our front porch.  Now, I can't be positive that he saw me, wearing nothing but beige undergarments, but he did look directly at the window.  And I swear, in that moment, not only did he see me, but it felt like he looked into my soul.  I immediately scampered back into my room and threw the dress on.  Then just for good measure, I closed and locked both front doors that had been standing wide open so as to encourage a breeze inside the house.  Luckily for me, he kept on riding, but seriously, this is my life?!

Then last Friday, I was getting ready to north for my cousin's graduation party.  I had just gotten out of the shower and was wearing my pj's, which may or may not have been decorated with not only toothpaste spots but also a nice big smudge in the exact neon orange dust that is found on Cheetos. (Hint: it did.)  Most of my wet hair was sectioned for drying, and I had a single braid down the center of my head.  Since I'm home alone so often, I rarely get ready without playing music.  I was dancing around, like one does, as Mick Jagger serenaded me with "Let's Spend the Night Together."  To be honest, Mick was also serenading half the block, and there's a very real chance window panes were rattling in my little house.  The hair dryer was going, I was singing, and over all that cacophony, I heard four loud knocks on a front door.

As I emerged from the bathroom to pause the music, I saw the landlord standing on the porch.  He stopped by to check in about a few things and ask if we were planning to sign another year long lease.  The entire conversation probably didn't take longer than 5 minutes, but it felt like eternity.  In those four minutes, I think a bus full of school children unloaded at the corner, people were walking their dogs, and I was sopping wet on the porch in sweatpants talking to my landlord.  

The landlord is a nice enough guy, but he doesn't get me.  When we originally signed the lease, Stacey and I were in a good mood, making jokes about how we were excited to move to a neighborhood that didn't necessitate having the police on speed dial, and he just didn't get us.  Since then I felt like every conversation between the two (or three, if Stacey's around) of us has been awkward.  I could tell that he really didn't know how to process the sight before him.  I think it was the hair that put him over the edge, not the Cheeto dust.

As he turned to leave, I turned the music back on.  Once more in the bathroom with the hair dryer and the singing, I heard four more loud knocks at the door.  It was deja vu all over again.  I came back out of the bathroom to find the landlord on the porch again.  Now, he claimed that he had forgotten to mention one last thing while we were talking, but I'm pretty sure he was just floored by my beauty, grace, and glorious singing voice and was desperate to be in my presence.  This time I made sure his car had pulled away from the curb and was on its way down the street before I turned the music back on.

I do have a sense of shame, and I do get embarrassed from time to time, but stories like these happen to me so often that it doesn't make sense to feel embarrassed about them anymore.  Instead I share my potential shame with the world and hope that it makes somebody feel a little bit better about their day.