I think magic's in the learning...

Good bye 2009. You kind of sucked. There were a lot of good parts, and a lot of crappy parts. From most people's Facebook status updates, I'm guessing that it was the same for most people. What was it about 2009 that sucked? Well for me, the crumminess affected all of my interpersonal relationships: familial, romantic, work. However, I also accomplished a lot! I ran a 5k, quit smoking, applied for law school and went on an AMAZING roadtrip (see blog).

That being said, I'm going to propose a toast to the New Year:
Let us remember the past, but not dwell upon it, for it will bring us wisdom.
Let us remember our indiscretions, so we do not fall victim to them again.
Let us remember that there is always tomorrow, and that will bring us gladness.
Let us forget the bad times, and cherish the good times, for yesterday comes too soon.
Here's to family, friends, love, happiness, health and wealth, and good fortune.
The present is the only time we can live in, and for that, I'm grateful.

(wow. i sound so philosophical and articulate.)

2010 will be full of good things. Family, friends, new journeys, new adventures, new love and new life.

I feel like it must mean something that here I am at the precipice of a new chapter and it's New Years, AND it's a full moon. This is a time for change. I know with all my heart that it will be good change. I won't accept anything else.

I'm ready 2010. Thanks for the memories 2009, but I won't be missing you.

Home for the Holidays

Christmas. It can evoke a great deal of emotion. For example, for little kids: excitement; for grown adults: merriment; for other adults: depression; and for families: either anxiety or a warm feeling of love. It's really hit or miss.

Personally, I had a fantastic holiday. I was off from work, which meant that I had three glorious days to spend with family and friends.

Adam was supposed to pick me up around noon. Which he didn't, of course. He's really not one for following an actual schedule. Adam time has a formula: take the time he says he'll be there, add two hours. If its an important event, expect to be there +/- 10 minutes of start time. Generally the latter.

If there was one benefit to his being late, it was that I was able to have someone forcibly removed from my store. Twice. Merry Christmas.

The drive home was pretty frightening at times. The snow was coming down heavy and wet, making it difficult to see the road at times. However, we arrived in our lovely hometown around 8 pm.

I celebrated the impending holiday (as it was just Christmas Eve) with a beer. And some cookies. And then we went to church.

There is nothing like going to an upper midwest Lutheran church on Christmas Eve. The elderly, white choir always seems to find a new and interesting way to sing new-age Christian songs with the influence of either the classic "negro spiritual" or calypso stylings. Always a real treat.

Years ago, we used to be able to have candles for the closing hymn of "Silent Night," but after a few disasters involving candle wax and the new pew cushions, one of the many well-intentioned committees decided it would be for the best to completely avoid open flames. Now the choir gets battery operated light-bulb candles. They surround the congregation, the light of their 10-watt bulbs illuminating the church.

After the service, we returned home and went to bed. I couldn't wait for Santa! Lol cats. Actually, I was just really tired.

The next morning, I woke up and went to the living room where my mom had started a fire. On the TV, that is. WGN plays a loop of a fire all Christmas morning, which seems to be a bit of a tradition in my home now.

Santa brought me a toy polar bear which POOPS CANDY. Sometimes, things don't get much better than that. I got every thing I wanted, including a polar bear that poops.

We spent the rest of the watching TV, eating food, having a rockin jam session. The fam and I decided that it was by far, the best Christmas ever.

Christmas day night is reserved for the annual pilgrimage to the Dome Lanes. This remarkable bowling alley is the one drinking establishment that is open on Christmas Day in the tri-city area. Friends who I haven't seen in years, and some that I hoped I would never have to see again gather in a festive spirit for pitchers of Miller Lite, darts and pool. We laugh, catch up, and drink far too much. Also, did you know that you can still smoke in bars there?!? Uncanny!

The next morning, I decided that next year, I wouldn't be so festive at the Dome Lanes, as my judgment became impaired mid-way through the evening. The whole family got together to make eggs benedict, which as you know, has become my new specialty. Then I laid on the couch and cursed my poor reasoning the night before. The bloody mary which accompanied our benedicts had done nothing for me, though as I stated to my father, "I need this." That hair of the dog thing is a bold-faced lie.

Adam had gotten a slow leak in his tire on the way home, and on Christmas morning, discovered that he had a flat from where a nail had punctured it. He called all of the auto shops in the tri-city area, which is many more than you might expect. Because it was a holiday weekend, many of them were closed. Finally, he got a hold of someone. That person wanted to charge him $300 to patch the tire. Adam finally found someone who would do it for $20. We went to get the tire patched and then headed to Burger King and Walmart.

I went home and feeling much better, sat with my parents for a bit. It was their anniversary. 39 years! Whoa. It sort of makes me think that love is still possible in the modern age. Or perhaps my parents are outliers. I'm more apt to believe that.

We went out for dinner at the nicest restaurant in town, because it was a very special occasion! I got surf and turf. YUM. I'm fancy.

That day, which you Brits know better as Boxing Day, was very snowy. Very, very snowy. Christmas had been all melty and rainy, but Boxing Day was snowy. Which meant that the roads were now very icy. Home in pjs, laying on the couch, nursing a 7up, we watched a movie. At 10:30, Adam texted me saying that he would be at my house in 5 minutes and that we were going out to an ugly sweater party. Mom was not pleased.

I put on a dreadful puff-paint sweatshirt from the 90s. We drove off to the "fancy" bar in town, and after 20 minutes, went to the "dive" bar in town. I was tired and kind of crabby and was not in the mood to be drinking after the prior night's escapades. The bar smelled awful. Like poor choices and regret.

At 12:20, I reminded Adam that we would be going home now. He was distracted by a girl who now worked in Vegas as a hair stylist. They didn't speak, but he sent her a really creepy facebook message when he got home.

He dropped me off and began to get philosophical. I was too tired, and we would be in a car together for 5 hours the next day. I made him get out of the car and have a snowball fight. Because even though I was tired, there was beautiful fresh fluffy snow all around us. He nailed me. With a snowball. Sorry. I felt there needed to be clarification.

Hitting the sack was delightful, and all too brief. My mother sent me a text message at 7:15 and put the crazy dog in my room. We were going to shovel the snow. Yay!

Some good Samaritans came by and snow blew the worst of it. I shoveled some of the walks and then threw a snow ball at my mom. She threw a shovel of snow at me.

After the shoveling and the church, we went out to breakfast. Sunday mornings we go to the Serving Spoon, which is a delightful little cafe on the bay. We usually sit at the same large table and all sorts of people join us. However, some STRANGERS were sitting at our usual table, and as such, we had to squeeze into a couple of little tables.

Back at home, we changed into pjs again, and watched another movie. And ate some Mickey Lus. Now, if you're not from my hometown, you may not understand the glory of this cheeseburger. Its small, has a crusty bun, and "the works," which includes onions, ketchup, mustard, a pickle and a pat of butter. Best burger you'll ever eat.

The fam and I sat down to play some cards and then had another remarkable jam session. Adam and I postponed our trip back until 6. Which allowed for a little more family time.

When he came to get me, we gave him an encore performance of "Who dat baby," a song my father wrote in response to being subjected to years of awful choir performances. He'll be singing it at church on Sunday.

There's something really special about having a weekend like this with your family and friends. It's the sort of thing that while you're living it, you know that its a time you'll look back upon and think, "those were the good days." You have way too much fun, good quality fun, dull periods that are still fun and most of all, you just feel loved.

Now I have to go to work again. Literally, now. And as such, I'll leave you with a bit of wisdom: keep Santa in Christmas. And cherish the good times!

My Job

Let's pretend that I work for a high end children's clothing store. I don't, but due to a confidentiality agreement I signed five years ago, when I began working there, I can't actually discuss the nature of my business. It is retail, and it is high end. We'll leave it at that.

It is now three days before Christmas and people are beginning to get crazy. These are the people that have waited until now to do their Christmas shopping. Over the course of my employment, I have ruined numerous Christmases, destroyed children's belief in Santa, and dealt with many angry customers.

This year, I came up with a new rule for myself. If people don't harass my sales people and are able to speak kindly to me and give me a rational reason for me to go above and beyond for them, I will. I do not tolerate shouting or threats of "never shopping here again" or "calling corporate." I don't care if people want to speak to my manager, or the store manager, or God, for that matter. I know what I can and cannot do, and I will from time to time make an exception.

Let's pretend that a little girl got our catalogue in August, and another in October. Inside, there are beautiful pictures of all of the beautiful things that we sell in our store and on the internet. The little girl circles the things she likes, hands the catalogue to her mom and dad, and writes a list to Santa.

Most rational parents purchase these items in a reasonable time frame. They get the things they want and hide them in the closet. On Christmas morning, the little girl opens the gifts she circled in the beautiful catalogue.

Other parents wait until the internet tells them that we've sold out of the "red sweater." Then they drive to the store, pay $30 for parking and are shocked when we don't have that red sweater. They should have called first.

Sometimes, they'll see an item on display, like a lovely pair of "brown shoes," with a display sign that says, "Temporarily out of Brown Shoes." They'll want to buy the display. Unfortunately, the item is shop-worn and already purchased... by our store.

There are certain deals the store gives, like if you buy an orange sweater, you get a pair of orange socks for $5 less than if you had bought them separately. However, this deal is ONLY on orange socks and orange sweaters, or green socks and green sweaters. If we're out of orange socks, we can't give you the deal on an orange sweater and a pair of green socks. It's just not how we work. Sorry. There's one specific thing we type into our cash registers to get that deal.

Today I dealt with the following issues: someone wanted green socks with the orange sweater. I said no. They shouted, and I apologized. She told me I wasn't sorry enough. I told her we run out of a lot of things this time of year. She asked me what the number was of "someone higher." I told her the 1-800 number at the top of the receipt would connect her with customer service. Don't shout at me. Raising your voice won't get you what you want. And I have enough experience dealing with crazies like you that it really doesn't phaze me anymore.

Another customer wanted the orange sweater/sock deal, but wanted the one from the display. I calmly explained that we couldn't sell the socks from the display, but we could call them when the socks came back in stock. They understood and accepted the fact that eventually, they would get taken care of.

Another customer was disappointed because we were out of a "white jacket" AND the "yellow dress," she was really striking out here. She wanted to buy the display and I explained that we couldn't sell it for the reasons stated above. However, I called the customer service manager, and she thought we probably had a yellow dress in her office in the "secret stash." Well, we didn't. But our on hand inventory was showing 6 white jackets. I searched high and low for those jackets. No luck. Eventually, it came out that the white jackets were going on backorder, and wouldn't be available for weeks to come. Bless the visual merchandisers (who make our displays). They saw the defeated look in my eyes and gave me a display to sell. No discount. Trust me when I tell you that the woman wasn't grateful enough for the hoops I had to jump through for her.

I'll tell you now that I'm in management, but I'm not a manager. I'm a pseudo-assistant manager. I'm not salaried, nor do I get the special perks that actual managers get. I have the same duties and responsibilities, but I'm not a "manager."

Today was the annual manager luncheon. Which meant that I was left alone on my level of the store for two hours to deal with all the crazies. There were calls to every department of my level constantly.

It wasn't a great day for me. I'm not going to lie. I pretty much hate every asshole parent who came in today and bitched at me. I don't give a shit that your child's Christmas will be ruined. It's your own damn fault. Get a fucking grip. It's a fucking oxford shirt... they'll live. And no. We don't give discounts. Asshole.

Sunday (Thursday) Morning Brunch (and other adventures on weekday days off.)

I'm in a unique predicament. Well, actually probably not that unique. But, I live alone and work retail, which means that my days off are usually spent alone. From time to time, this a great necessity. You're able to take care of your household chores and have a nice evening watching t.v. or what ever it is that you plan on doing. Other times it sucks.

For the majority of people with 9-to-5 jobs, Saturday is the day where you get your things done. You go shopping, you might clean or do laundry. You go out that night with other friends who also work 9-to-5 jobs. Or at least, that's how I imagine it. I'm usually working Saturday or Sunday, or both.

Sunday morning, is of course, reserved for brunch (or church and then brunch). You probably have a hangover, and as such the bloody mary is the perfect remedy. You have fried potatoes, an egg or two, and wham. You're set for the day. You've recovered from last night's indiscretions, ready to loll around the house or go antiquing. Clearly, I've got a pretty great imagination when it comes to 9-to-5 jobs.

Working retail, you generally have two days off during the week. They might be together, but likely they're not. This can easily result in mid-week binge drinking and wasted days. Over time, I've learned that its important to plan your days as though they were Saturdays and Sundays. Day off #1 is reserved for cleaning, and random other things. Day off #2 is meant to be a day off. Lolling around the house or going antiquing. (NB: I don't go antiquing)

My Saturday this week (Tuesday), I went and did those things that you're supposed to do on your days off. The things that you always say you'll do and never do. I went to the Art Institute to check out the new modern wing. I feel that its important to have on a cute outfit when you go to the Art Institute, in case you run into a cute person with whom you can strike up a conversation and later marry. This day, I did look very cute. Due to my strep-related psoriasis, I had my hair in a side pony-tail, as to not flake scalp all over my black sweater. And trust me, I rock the side pony.

I looked through the random modern art, regretting my decision to go into the video room with the clown on the toilet immediately. I saw Picasso, Dali, Pollack, Warhol. And a lot of other stuff I couldn't care less about. I enjoy modern art immensely, especially when it's got an explanation or its just beautiful or fun to look at. Some of it though, are neither of those things. I'm not a fan of blank canvases or squiggles on canvas with no discernible meaning. I love installations which take up entire rooms. There were some good ones of those that day.

After the modern wing, I swung by the impressionist galleries. For some reason, these paintings seem like old friends. Monet, Van Gogh, Seurat. Blue rooms, haystacks, blurry cityscapes, days at the park. Isn't that what we hope life to be like from time to time?

I went down to the Caravaggio exhibit and was utterly disappointed. One painting by Caravaggio, of whom I'm a HUGE fan. While in Rome and elsewhere in Europe, I fell in love with his style and the chiaroscuro. No one has mastered it quite like he did. What can I say, the Villa Borghese has ruined me for life.

After the Art Institute, I went down to Christkindlemarket in Daley Plaza. I had hot spiced wine and a pretzel. Before I left, I got some candied nuts. Wandering around the little booths with their trinkets was quaint. Drinking outside is always amazing.

I'll tell you what isn't amazing: the "french market" in Ogilvie Sation. I had been totally pumped about it. I imagined great breads, cheeses, wines. What it actually was was a bunch of local vendors selling their Wisconsin cheeses (which I love, but prefer to get in Wisconsin), a lot of fruits and veggies (not organic, French, or locally grown... so why?), and a bread stand. Feeling hopeful about the bread stand, I bought a baguette. Heading home, I was quite satisfied with myself.

Going out and "doing things" made me feel like I was a useful person, even though it was a day of leisure. It also made me feel like a snob. Being able to look at a great work of art and thinking to yourself, "Meh, I've seen better," is an incredible experience. Feeling that you know the artist's better works, and having seen them on a similar sort of day several years ago when you lived in Rome makes you feel strange... parallel lives, if you will. Turning up your nose at cheeses and wines has the same effect. But really, why call it a "French Market" if its no different than a regular grocery store? Walking into an outdoor market which brings back memories of the Easter Sunday you spent in Prague at their spring festival is incredible. It's not just the European cities that have these experiences... it's right in your back yard.

Today, when I woke up, I wanted brunch. It was "Sunday" after all. I have specific brunch favorites: eggs benedict and bloody marys. These two items are perfect compliments to each other, salty, tart, both go down like a charm. Also, they are perfect remedies for hangovers.

My last "Sunday," I had gone out for brunch. The restaurant I go to only served the eggs benedict on the weekends. Waking up, I wanted them. I didn't just want eggs benedict, I wanted a bloody mary. I decided I would have to make this myself. I thought about the foods I didn't have, like eggs, and vodka. Then I realized I would have to go to the grocery store.

I don't have a car, which is a nice and a bad thing. Nice, because I don't have to pay for things, like a car, or parking, or gas, or insurance. Bad, because its cold and I hate lugging groceries home.

I packed my purse with a couple of bags and my cocktail book, and headed off to the Aldi.

Let's talk about Aldi for a second. I love Aldi. Its so cheap and its normal food. My mom converted me, and for several years of paying a TON of money for groceries (seriously, Aldi cuts your grocery bill by 2/3s) I was thrilled when an Aldi opened up close to me. Closer than the actual grocery store. I had heard that the Aldi was originally supposed to be a Trader Joe's, but after the corporate people came and surveyed the area, they decided that this was "more of an Aldi neighborhood." I converted a friend, who now has a hard time going to the Jewel or Dominick's, because she knows she can get it for so much cheaper at Aldi.

I decided that I would just get the things I needed for brunch, and maybe go back later if I decided I should do my grocery shopping. Then I walked outside. Yeah, that would be the only time I went outside. I took the train one stop, got off, and was finally inside the Aldi. My grocery list was checked off with three exceptions: celery salt, canadian bacon and vodka (which I knew I couldn't get at Aldi). I checked out and after using a gift certificate, my bill was $8.00. For a cart full of groceries.

Mid-way through the grocery shopping, I realized I needed to go to the bathroom. Badly. Here's the other thing about living in the city, you can't just use restrooms in stores. For the most part, they don't exist (its to prevent the homeless from loitering). I was resolute that I would be fine. I'd make it home. No problem.

I stood at the bus stop for a few moments and then looked down the street. Lame. It was like three blocks away to where I'd get off any way. I decided to walk. I took four steps, and I heard my over-stuffed bag rip. So help me God, this bag would not break. I walked the four blocks, cursing my decision to wear galoshes. This was the coldest day we've had all winter. My toes weren't just cold, they hurt.

I bought my vodka and decided to take a shortcut through the alley. The lock to my patio was frozen and there was construction blocking the other end of the alley. This was my only choice. Because I was frozen and very seriously needed to go to the bathroom. Finally, I got in, trudged up the stairs, fingers frozen and barely able to move, I unlocked my door. Relief! Toes, thawing; bag, unbroken; bathroom, !!.

Bloody Mary's are fairly easy to make: 2 parts tomato juice, one part vodka, Worcestershire sauce, horseradish, Tabsaco, lemon juice, fresh ground black pepper and celery salt. Which I didn't have. But... oh man. So good.

I do not have a double boiler. Which I discovered that hollandaise sauce requires. I looked it up on the internets and rigged one up with two saucepans and a couple of hair ties. Crafty. Three egg yolks, and a stick of butter later, I had my sauce. I used the ham I had bought in lieu of Canadian bacon and cut it into heart shapes, because I didn't have a round cookie cutter. Poached eggs, no prob, just plop them in the water.

AMAZING. Okay. I'll admit it, making the hollandaise sauce was the hardest part, and it was super easy. It may have been the best brunch ever created in my apartment.

I spooned some of the sauce over the english muffins, put on my heart ham, carefully placed an egg on each muffin and spooned extra sauce on them. With my Bloody Mary in one hand and my Eggs Benedict in the other, I went to my table. And had to take a picture. Because they were that pretty.

And delicious. I may never go out for brunch again.

Well, that's a lie. I will. I may never make Bloody Marys in my apartment again. Because I really like them. A lot. And I have things to do!