go bucks! (and other revelations) November 11, 2011

Hello, friends!  How’s your week been?  I have today off in celebration of Veteran’s Day, and am writing this as two succulent loaves of Cranberry-Pumpkin Bread bake in the oven.  Thank you, Veterans, for the wonderful service you do for this country–and for giving me a morning to devote entirely to baking.

This past weekend, I road tripped out to Columbus, Ohio, to see my fab sister Lisa.  The drive is about 6 hours, but it’s through beautiful rollings hills and lots of quaint West Virginian towns.  This was my third time making my trip out to Ohio State, and I think the drive gets easier every time.

We had a great few days together, and could not have asked for better weather.  I was really nervous about bitterly cold temperatures and gusty winds, but we lucked out with stunning blue skies and mild sunshine.

I was in Columbus for maybe 45 hours, but it was a learning experience for me.  I had a number of “revelations” on the trip, which were honestly things I had probably known all along but had never really stopped to consciously admit them.  If you are interested, my friends, they are listed below–

Revelation #1:  First of all, and perhaps the most unavoidable realization, is that Lisa and I look similar.  Lisa and I have had people saying that to us for what feels like forever now, but I’ve always maintained that we have slight, but very noticeable, differences.  I think my nose is a little bigger, she has a mole right above her lip, I have a way better butt, she’s taller and has better hair.  But when I got home on Sunday and was uploading pictures to Facebook, the automatic tagging system thought we were the same person.  It literally took one picture of us, and listed “Jen N” as both people.  How spooky is that?  I mean, it’s one thing for people with questionable eyesight to think we look alike, but for a computer to think so, too?  I was shocked.  So, I guess it’s time for me to honestly admit that Lisa and I look more alike than we think–even though I will always be older, more fashionable, and with smaller shoulders.

me & lisa

Revelation #2:  Swim meets are boring.  Wow, I feel like a traitor for saying this, considering I’ve participated in what probably amounts to 500+ meets, but it is so true.  Ohio State was swimming in a quad meet against Virginia Tech, Dennison, and Cleveland State on Friday night, and I was originally really excited to see Lisa and the girls swim.  But after sitting on the cold, hard, unsupported bleachers through four heats of the 1000, I wished my water bottle had been full of Johnny Walker instead of water.  Absolutely nothing against the Ohio State women, who looked great for an early November meet, but man, that meet was rough.  I think KNOW that I owe my parents a huge thank-you for sitting through not only the Virginia dual meets, but the week long Nationals and Olympic Trials they came to.  It’s tough to watch swimming when you don’t know anyone in the pool, and are really not invested in the outcome.

Revelation #3:  Ohio State football is intense.  I think the whole country essentially knows this, but being immersed into the student section on a beautiful gameday was quite an experience.  Lisa was adamant that we catch the band play at the start, so we were able to see the stadium go from half full to sold out.  (Fun fact:  the Ohio State stadium holds almost twice the population of Pleasanton!)  I noticed that every time Ohio State had a good play or scored, the students around us would scream gleefully, high five each other, and dole out bear hugs to strangers.  When they calmed down, they would very seriously say to each other “Awesome job, buddy, that really was great,” or “How do you feel, man?? That was huge!”  I was laughing to myself because, wait, what did they actually do?  They weren’t on the field making plays, they weren’t putting in the practice hours–but they told each other congrats anyways?  Very funny and very intense.  If I hadn’t been so afraid of them throwing me over the balcony, I might have laughed out loud at their antics.  The most the students at Virginia are ever concerned about during a football game is whether they should have snuck in two flasks instead of one, or how to avoid sweating through their nice sundresses.  I would say only 4% of the student body has ever stayed for the entirety of a game.  So, this live-breathe-die Ohio State football experience was brand new and totally unusual for me.

script ohio

o-h-i-o

lisa & me

Revelation #4:  I miss swimming.  A teensy bit.  I think I have secretly known this for a few months now, but it’s a really difficult thing for me to admit.  I decided to swim with the Ohio State girls on Saturday morning, since Lisa was going to be at the pool all morning anyways and I could use the workout.  I was at once excited and nervous for it, and had spent the weeks leading up to the trip putting in extra “practices” at my local pool.  When we started swimming, I realized immediately what I had been craving–intensity.  It’s so hard to find any kind of workout now that comes remotely close to offering the intensity that a swim practice has.  When Colleen and I do our weekly “swims,”  we just put our heads down and swim straight for 45 minutes.  There’s no frantic feeling–that if I don’t make this interval, I will have failed the set; that if I don’t give my very best, the coaches will be disappointed in me; that when this practice is over, I will only be 37 days away from ACC’s.  I thrived off of that intense energy, and it’s been really hard to find in any other sport or workout activity.  I definitely do NOT miss our 4 hour marathon Saturday mornings, but I miss the comradeship we all had in the locker room beforehand, knowing that we would be miserable together for 10,000 meters but would come out on the other side alive and proud of what we had achieved.

In my practice with Ohio State, I found myself repeatedly wishing that I was in the shape I was during college, that I could confidently go over to the distance group and tackle their workout.  Even though I was barely chugging along by the end of the two hours, I really enjoyed swimming for a coach and with a big group of girls again.  (Of course, I had an awful nightmare on Monday that I was back on the Virginia team and was getting absolutely berated for showing up late to a practice–something I can confidently say that I do not miss.)

Revelation #5:  The college lifestyle is hard!  Okay, it’s definitely not hard.  But let me tell you–coming home late on Friday from the swim meet, and then waking up early on Saturday for practice, then going straight to the game, then going out until 2 A.M. that night–WHEW!  I was absolutely exhausted.  I don’t know how I ever did it.  Partying all the time really takes a lot out of you.  But luckily, when my legs gave out on the dance floor and I had a major faceplant, I didn’t know anybody so I wasn’t even embarrassed!

me & lisa

Revelation #6:  Columbus is kinda cool.  Mama had given us money to go to a really cool tea place on Sunday morning (thanks mom!), and Lisa and I struggled out of bed to be there at 10.  It was called ZenCha and was awesome.  It’s a little cafe devotedly to specialty teas and their accompanying food.  I had an extremely delicious chai and Lisa had her usual caramel latte something something, and we had a most enjoyable morning.  I had these cool green tea pancakes that had a red bean paste on them–very unusual, but I actually really liked them.  Then Lisa and I walked around the Short North area, and I found myself really liking Columbus.  They had a number of really neat vintage furniture shops, and I came close to buying things a few times, but could never fully commit.  All in all, it was a beautiful Sunday morning.

pancakes!

Okay, I think I’m out of revelations.  Lisa and I had a great weekend, and I can’t wait to see her and my whole family for Christmas.  (Also to raid her wardrobe!  I have my eye on a particular dress for New Year’s…)

Up next this weekend is a trip to Mt. Vernon (so excited!!) and a potluck with some new friends.  Hope you have a wonderful few days off!

one last one--lisa & me

saturday steak night May 31, 2011

Following in the footsepts of my previous post, I would like to share another nugget of weekend wisdom with the Blogosphere.  (The first nugget was, obviously,  to go to the National Zoo.)  Today, I am parting ways with one of my all-time favorite steak recipes–get your printer ready. 

This actually came from my mom, who probably got it from her Bon Appetit magazines, but I hold it 100% responsible for converting me to the bleu-cheese-lover’s-club, a feat which was a long, fruitless, time in the making.  It takes me back to lazy, swim-free Sundays, with early dinners and nights spent on AOL Instant Messanger, giggling over emoticons and chatrooms.  Recipes that are usually prepared on the grill remind me always of my dad, who used to slave over bratwurst until they were “roassstedddd to puuurrrrfectionnn.”  My apartment obviously doesn’t come with a grill, so the steaks can be cooked just as easily in a hot oven, but the whole process fills me with a sense of nostalgia. 

The tried-and-true Bleu Cheese Steak recipe has made it through families, boyfriends, sneaky roommates, potlucks, and refridgerated tupperware containers, always coming out on the other side with seals of approval.  The last time I was in Columbus visiting Lisa, we made this together, so it seemed only fitting that we re-create the same dinner in DC.  We served it with a heaping pile of steamed green beans tossed with butter and fresh Asiago, as well as a baked potato for swimmer Lisa.  Something about the gooey-ness of the cheese topping combined with the bite of the shallots–YUM!  I overcooked the meat a smidge, but it was all so flavorful and rich we barely noticed.  I am moving further and further towards vegetarianism, but this is one meat recipe for which I can find no veggie substitute–not that I would even want to!

Bleu Cheese Steaks

Topping:

cream cheese

crumbled bleu cheese

shallot

Finely chop the shallot, and combine it with the two room-temperature cheese.  Mash together until mixed.

Cook the steak at 425 degrees.  When one side has browned, flip over, spread the topping (I find that your fingers work best here), and put back in the oven until the steak is cooked to the desired doneness and the topping has browned slightly. 

YUM!

I hope you enjoy as much as Lisa and I did!

YUM YUM!

a perfect day at the zoo May 30, 2011

Happy Memorial Day!  Hope you’re busy getting tan and fat off grill food in hot and humid DC this weekend.

I just bade farewell to my younger sister, Lisa, who drove in from Ohio State for the long weekend.  After getting a little lost (495 is so confusing!), she made it to my apartment on Friday night, just in time to pay Spike Mendelsohn’s burger joint a quick visit.  On Saturday, after squeezing in a few episodes of best-show-ever Arrested Development, we meandered down to the National Zoo.

Bloggies, there are two reasons the National Zoo is one of the best attractions in the DC metro area:

1. It’s F-R-E-E.  And what does my family like more than free anything?  Nothing.

2. When the stars align, you can literally have the best zoo experience possible.  This is what happened to me and Lisa.

For whatever reason, the Smithsonian Gods were smiling down on us, most likely in the form of Simba’s dad in The Lion King, and they made magic happen for us at each exhibit we went to.  First, we went to the sloth bears, where we actually didn’t see any animals.  (The magic in this is that sloth bears are actually really ugly, so we didn’t know that we didn’t really want to see them.  The Smithsonian/Mufasa Gods saved us.)  Then we went to the panda exhibit, where I’ve always had bad luck spotting one of the bears.  Good thing we saw…. a tail.

Disappointed, we turned to leave, when all of a sudden we saw one of the big guys come barreling out of a secret hiding place, happy as could be.

He was only out for a few seconds–just long enough for him to see all the sticky, screaming children and for me to snap my photo.  He disappeared, and I waved my camera in petty triumph over all the other unfortunate tourists.  I figured they had it coming for their blatant disregard for the unspoken Metro rules.

Thrilled with our luck, but acknowledging that we probably wouldn’t have such an experience again, we set off for the cat exhibit.  We got to the daddy lion cage, and found him snoozing on a rock, looking like a big tan blob.  We stood there for a minute, and then a miracle: the clouds parted, the sun beamed a ray of light down onto the lion, and he lifted his head and roared.  AHHHH.

He was stunning, and his roar must have been a straight sign from Smithsonian/Mufasa Gods that Lisa and I were the days’ Chosen Visitors.  We felt so privileged.

We moved next door to the mama lions, who had their sweet cubs out for naptime.

As we walked around the exhibit, a few of the cubs woke up and started roughhousing with each other.  (They reminded Lisa and I of how our brain-damaged cat, Licorice, would play with himself before he reached his current geriatric state.)  The lioness sat serenely above them, knowing that with one swipe of her paw, she could get the little rascals back in line.  They must have been behaving, however, because after growing tired of an energetic hide-and-seek/pounce combo game, the cubs curled up once again and went back to sleep.

Moving on to the last of the cat exhibits, we got up close and personal with Mr. Tiger.  Just as we were coming around the corner to his cage, he popped up (like he had been waiting for us!), bounded down to the water, then walked with purpose to a spot right in front of us.

The minute we walked away, he went straight back into his little cave, leaving us to marvel at yet again how lucky we were.

Last but not least, we ventured into the invertebrate house to oogle the octopus.  We were there just in time for the feeding, where we got to see the normally red creature turn pale in anticipation of his dinner.  While we were crowded by tourists we obviously had never heard the term “personal space,” we had a pretty good view of the octopus (and a stranger).

Aren’t sea creatures just incredibly interesting?  I used to want to be a deep sea diver so I could see all the bizarre animals that live underwater.

Having exhausted all the zoo activities and our leg muscles, Lisa and I headed back home.  We dropped to our knees at the exit to offer a quick prayer of thanks to Mufasa for the incredible visit we had (don’t worry–we didn’t actually do this) before scooting across the street to the new frozen yogurt place (opinion: better than Yogiberry in Cleveland Park, nowhere near as good as Yogafina in downtown Pleasanton).

I can’t speak for my sister, but I know that that was one of the best zoo trips I’ve ever had.  I am obviously a huge proponent of the National Zoo, and encourage any tourist or resident to pay it a visit.  I can’t wait to go back for Zoo Lights this winter!

 

Do you like the zoo?  Which zoo is your favorite?

After Saturday, I would say the DC zoo is the best in the world.  But I also went to the San Diego zoo when I was a wee child, which is supposed to be phenomenal, so maybe that really was my favorite and I just can’t remember anything.  

find the german in you! January 9, 2011

Today I decided to explore options related to Resolution #3 from my last post–where to volunteer??  Being unashamedly nerdy, I thought immediately of the German American Heritage Museum.  (Okay, “immediately” is a big exaggeration.  I combed the internet looking for German museum-ish places, and after a lady on the German Embassy’s answering machine told me they were decidedly NOT looking for volunteers or interns, I picked the museum closest to a metro; hence, the German American Heritage Museum.)  I headed down to the Gallery Place metro and enjoyed a nice walk through DC’s Chinatown (and by town, they really mean block) before arriving at the museum.

Neither me nor my parents are German, but Mom & Dad did live in Düsseldorf for a year before I was born.  So Lisa and I grew up with a small to moderate amount of German influence–when our parents wanted candy without the kids knowing, they would use the German word (Süssigkeiten) instead; most of our Christmas tree ornaments are handcrafted out of wood shavings; Tante Gertrude, my parents German teacher, made her way into conversations quite frequently.  So when 7th grade rolled around and I needed to choose which language I wanted to pursue, German was a no-brainer.  When I got to college, continuing my German was another no-brainer, especially because the classes were truly interesting.  Unfortunately, swimming monopolized all–literally ALL–my time, so a study abroad course or extended German vacation was impossible, leaving my accent distinctly American.  (Compared to the crisp, clean, precise speech of the Germans, Americans talk as if they have “potatoes in their mouth,” a characteristic I have yet to overcome.)  Something about German speaks to me; there is a military strictness to the spelling, word order, and pronunciation that English lacks, an easy way to say exactly what you mean without having to meander around the point without ever being able to make it.  I love that you can string words and words together to make a new one; one of my favorites is the word for potato, Erdapfel, where erd means Earth and apfel means apple–together you get an Earthapple! I love the history of Germany–you could devote a whole semester long college class on each decade in German history since the early 1800s and it would all be fascinating.

My original hope for post-collegiate life was to achieve a Fulbright award, which would allow me to teach English in Germany for a year, at no cost to me.  Sometimes, however, life has interesting ways in working itself out, and I got to the very last stage of the selection process before being named an alternate.  I still have that hope of one day living in Germany, as a resident and not a tourist, so if that ever materializes for me, I better be prepared.  Thus, I am exploring volunteer jobs in places that will allow me to exercise my rusty German tongue.

The German American Heritage Museum is in a wonderful little house on Sixth Street, with three floors packed full of information on German immigrants and their impact on American society.  (Trivia–did you know Elvis Presley has German roots?  Same with Babe Ruth!!)  When I was there, it was also crowded with adorable German children, and it was all I could do to not steal one.  German babies are all blond-haired, blue-eyed, bowl-cut, turtleneck-wearing, cuteness, with names like Detleff and Eva that make you smile when you say them.

can i have you please?!

When all the German babies left, I finally got around to looking at the material on display.  The museum is pleasantly modern, with minimalist time lines on the walls and no unnecessary descriptions.  To be seen:

An original dirndl, next to a great view!

A HUGE bust of a famous German man–maybe a composer?

The steps between levels are artfully decorated with any and all household German names, with portraits and bios on the walls.  This is actually a very arresting display that catches you right as you walk in–I particularly enjoyed the German color theme.

I really liked the museum, but I probably wouldn’t recommend it for everyone.  You have to be genuinely interested in learning a little more about Germans in America, but the museum does a good job of not inundating you with details.  It’s pretty interactive, so kids could definitely find things to occupy themselves with.  I wish they had some German food–a good roll and some cheese would have been something I’d have happily purchased if it were available.

The volunteer opportunities didn’t seem so great, unfortunately, so I’ll have to broaden my search and try again next weekend.  I’ll be sure and keep you updated!

 

Do you speak another language?

I speak a little German, but I really want to learn French next.  I was going to buy Rosetta Stone and learn it that way, but then Michael Phelps did those commercials for them and so now I think I’m going to do it a different way.  Because we all know Michael has a little trouble with decision making sometimes.

from my family to yours December 25, 2010

Wishing all you bloggies a wonderful, joyous holiday. May you find the pickle ornament first, eat an inordinately large amount of mashed potatoes, and not be haunted by ex-boyfriends.

With love from Jen, Lisa, Kathy, & Jeff

denny’s & memories December 5, 2010

Happy Sunday, bloggies!

I’ve spent the past few hours lounging on the coach, watching the Redskins-Giants game.  It’s halftime right now, and so far the Skins are not looking too good.  The game must be sponsored by Denny’s, because amazing ads for Denny’s breakfast keep coming on during every commercial break.

Denny’s is greasy, slimy, carb-y, cheap, fast food and low quality, but I LOVE IT.  Any thought of Denny’s transports me back to high school Saturdays, of finishing a 10 thousand yard workout and dragging myself, muscles aching and chlorinated eyes burning, to Denny’s for a big group breakfast.  Being at Denny’s always signified the beginning of a 36 hour weekend, and usually it was a time when our coach, Steve, would let loose a little and share some wild stories from the swim generations before us.  Back when I could easily consume 5,000 calories at a time, our team trips to Denny’s were little treasures that I didn’t know I should treasure until they stopped.

So watching these endless Denny’s commercials on my lazy Sunday, I’m overcome with nostalgia for my high school days of swimming.  In no way do I miss the Friday nights spent crying, dreading Saturday’s workout; or the incessant drama that accompanied eight teenage girls with big egos; and definitely not the 3:53am alarm on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday (I cringed as I wrote that).

But I do miss my overwhelming optimism about life.  I miss having an amazing coach who I saw 25 hours a week, one whom I could tell anything and would give me his impartial opinion.  I miss my group of girls about whom I knew everything–what their bra size was; what their favorite shampoo was; exactly how they swam their races; what they used to protect themselves from chafing swimsuits.  I miss my high school swimmer body.  I miss eating (LITERALLY) everything in the house and still being hungry.

At 16, my life goal was to be married by 22, preferably to someone extremely wealthy so I would never have to work.  I am 22 now, scared to death of relationships and completely in love with my job.

At 16, I thought I would stay best friends with everyone I was close with in high school.  Today, I am close only with those who I swam with–our experiences together bonded us more than anything else ever could have.

At 16, I loathed the 40 million XL, light gray, logo-emblazoned Seahawks shirts Steve gave us.  Now, I love them for the memories and spot each one has in my heart.

At 16, I thought leaving for college was the end of the world.  Now I know that your life is as good as you make it, no matter where in the world you are.

At 16, I wanted to be in the Olympics.  Today, I dream of getting all my laundry folded, metroing to work on time, and finding an affordable vacuum cleaner.

At 16, I thought duct tape hearts left on my hotel room window were a sign of love.  At 22, I know that a true sign of love is when your parents fly across the country to cheer you on at every important swim meet in your collegiate career–and dress up as the school mascot.

Ask me tomorrow and I’ll probably tell you that swimming for 15 years of my life was the worst decision I ever made.  But today, I feel indebted to my swimming career.  It gave me my drive, my competitiveness, my goals, my work ethic, my need to be successful.  Sometimes I wish I could go back to high school Saturdays, slumped in a Denny’s booth wolfing down three Grand Slam breakfast specials, shoulders burning and hair dripping, but I can’t.  So I must be content to look back on those days with fondness, as I relive them through NFL Sunday commercials.

love at the pool-- photo courtesy of caitlin

a not-so-average crossword puzzle October 20, 2010

Today was almost an average day.  I looked average, my Dunkin’ Donuts coffee was average, I got to work in an average amount of time, my assignments were averagely interesting, news from around the world was averagely depressing.  But there was one thing that prevented the 14 hours I’ve been awake from being completely, averagely boring: my crossword puzzle.

Since I haven’t set up (can’t afford) a subscription to the Post, I usually grab an Express from the friendly lady as I’m walking down to the metro.  I spend about 25 minutes commuting to work, which gives me ample time to browse through the articles that capture my interest and get a significant start on a puzzle of my choice.  Usually I opt for the Sudoku, but today the combination of the label “challenging” and my slacker attitude caused me to flip right to the crossword on the next page.  I am generally terrible at Sudokus, but I am infinitely worse at crossword puzzles.  I used to do the ones that are online on msnbc.com, which were awesome because if you typed in the wrong letter, it would pop up bright red.  So, when I got stuck on a word, I would just type in every letter on my keyboard until it DIDN’T pop up red.  Brilliant.  Unfortunately, I can’t lug my computer around on the metro every day just so that I can feel like a genius for cheating my way through a crossword puzzle.  So when I do attempt a legit crossword puzzle, I usually read through all the clues and find that I only know about three of the words, leaving me depressed and wondering what the point of a college degree was when I could have been traveling the world to learn the useless knowledge that inevitably shows up on crosswords.

Anyways, today’s crossword was magical.  As I was reading through the clues, I started to realize that I actually knew what a lot of the answers were.  I started frantically filling them in and arrived at work with practically half the puzzle done!!  Since this crossword was obviously destined for me to fill out, I put all my work to the side and concentrated on finishing it.  Allowing myself (only!!) three online look-ups and infinite amounts of white-out, this is my end result:

I would say that nothing short of an award is necessary for this feat.  I can count only SEVEN words that I didn’t figure out, which means that I will be keeping this crossword forever.  (Should I frame it?)  But I think another reason why I enjoyed this puzzle so much is that a lot of the clues conjured up memories from all different points of my life.  Every time I did a quick fist pump for filling in a word, I was also reminded of something or someone or somewhere that means a lot to me.  Sometimes the connection from the word to my memory was so obscure that even I can’t figure out what my brain was doing, but most of the clues took me straight back to a point in time with an eerie accuracy.  Never did I expect to take a walk down nostalgic, emotional, passionate, unsettling, sad Memory Lane when I opened Express this morning– but the ride I went on today makes me want to try the crossword to see what previously forgotten story I might unpack out of my proverbial attic.

#1 Across

Eighth Greek letter: THETA.  Immediately this took me to Jennings, a teammate from the swim team who is in the Theta sorority at UVa.  Thinking about Jennings and Theta together took me to Yeardley Love, the lacrosse player who was killed just weeks before graduation.

This tragedy rocked the entire student body at UVa, but hit the athletes especially hard.  I think that as athletes, we have a mentality that we’re somehow separate and different than regular students, so we don’t think that things that happen to “average” people will ever reach us.  Well, this did, and it went straight to our collective core.  I never knew Yeardley, but I had a politics discussion with her and watched her lacrosse games and recognized her around Grounds, so I was extremely shaken when we learned what had happened.  It really made me think about what is important in life, and how the unexpected should always, to some degree, be expected.  There is a run being held in Richmond on November 13 in honor of Yeardley and the phenomenal person that she was, as well as to support the OneLove Foundation (learn more here).  I encourage you to check out the website.

#17 Across

Painful thing to have for lunch: KNUCKLE SANDWICH.  This is an uncanny reminder of my fabulously quirky Aunt Gail.  I think everyone has heard the knuckle sandwich joke at some point in their life, and I can still remember (in excruciating detail) the first time my WOAG told me this joke– it came with a punch to the arm.  The other one she got me with was the “hurts doughnut” joke– also complete with an arm punch.  My WOAG is an amazing joker, especially in the practical sphere.  The first time she met one of my high school boyfriends, she stuck a nasty piece of spinach onto her front tooth, mortifying me and making him outrageously uncomfortable.  I could hear her peals of laughter ring out as soon as we got through the door.  I was lucky enough to see my WOAG twice this summer, the second of which included a visit to a waterpark, where we repeatedly went down a slide reminiscent of a massive toilet bowl.  We weren’t even phased when we saw that the boy in front of us in line was 4 years old and the guy behind us was one monstrous tattoo and glued by the lips to another (female) monstrous tattoo.  I am hoping that my WOAG will come visit me in DC as soon as possible so that we can have another adventure (COUGH COUGH I know you’re reading this!).

#28 Down

Arcing tennis shots: LOBS.  This literally made me snort into my coffee this morning, giving me a really attractive snot-covered, coffee-stained look that I just wasn’t able to pull off.  The reason that I laughed is because I am practically a tennis SUPERSTAR.

This is a lie.  I am terrible at tennis.  I think it might be the thing that I am worst at.  I got into it because I needed some form of exercise that wasn’t swimming and all the cute tennis skirts in the Nike outlet were calling to me.  I took an intro to tennis class in the spring, where I officially improved NOT AT ALL.  I was seriously THAT GIRL in my class– the one who makes people cringe when they have to watch her play because they just feel bad.  Even though I may be the worst tennis player in the United States (not the world– there has to be some poor starving child in Africa who would try to eat a tennis ball instead of play with it, so I count them as being worse than me), I still really enjoy the game.  There’s something so utterly satisfying about whacking a teeny, neon green ball and watching it clear the net.  The sound that you hear when the ball hits your racket just right–twanngg–makes the thousands of other terrible shots totally worth it.

My racket... Someday

#10 Down

Child’s make-believe dessert: MUDPIE.  Yummmmmm.  You know that you used to make these when you were little– they are the quintessential imaginary food item that adorable children make and then cover themselves with.  I didn’t used to make mudpies so much as I used to make sandpies (self-explanatory, guys).  In my first house in Santa Rosa, we had the most amazing backyard, complete with playhouse, swingset, grassy hill, gigantic tree, and a sandbox.  My sister Lisa and I would bury ourselves in the sandbox, emerging hours later with sand pouring out of our ears and clinging to our eyelashes.  We used to hold tea parties in our playhouse, with sandpies as the main course.  This clue took me straight back to that backyard, playing in that sandbox, and made me ache with longing for that time of innocence, forgiven tantrums, endless mushy food, and extensive plans to reach China through the sandbox.

Me and Lisa, circa 1992, in front of the playhouse

 

Me and Lisa, 2010

#34 Down

Line discontinued by GM: OLDS.  This reminded me of our (very) old car, which was a heinous tan Oldsmobile.  I was pretty young when it was replaced by a mini van, but I’m sure we had some pretty great family times in the Olds.  I distinctly remember driving to swim practice one day with my sister, and us getting into a nasty fight.  To get revenge (or to just be evil), Lisa reached around behind her, found my brand new cloth (remember those?!) swim cap, and blew her nose into it.  BLEW HER NOSE.  INTO MY CAP.  EWWW.  I think I threw a humongous tantrum and probably refused to swim– I mean seriously, her snot was all over my cap.  No way was I going to put that on my head.  The Olds was eventually totaled when it was left out on the street and our neighbor’s suburban mysteriously rolled out of their driveway into our car (the story was that their baby girl accidentally kicked the gear stick and shifted the car into reverse as the mom was taking her out, but there are so many things wrong with this concoction that we just gave them points for creativity and let it go).  The mini van quickly made its way into our lives, as cloth swim caps slowly meandered out.

RIP Oldsmobile. You will always be remembered with the sun setting behind you.

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You can obviously see from my extensive ramblings how twisted and tormented my journey down Memory Lane was.  While it was a little of an emotional rollercoaster, I feel indebted to the Express crossword puzzle for shining a light on memories that had grown dusty with forgetfulness.  Consider picking up the puzzle tomorrow– you never know where it may take you.