My 40th Year on Earth: So what did I actually do?

Welcome to the last Island post of 2019 and the first post written from my new home! As I write this, Keely is sitting behind the curtain of the sliding glass door (his favorite spot), looking out into the dark morning. He may never come out of his hiding place. Maybe Keely understood 2019 better than all of us.

I always go into a new year trying my best to be optimistic and hopeful. Last year, around this time, I decided that I was going to spend 2019 doing things that I've always wanted to do but hadn't gotten around to doing. I wanted to live my 40th year on Earth (I turned 40 in June) in a way that included fun, challenge, and whimsy. I devised an impressive list of what I would try to accomplish:

• January: Participate in a Polar Bear Plunge to benefit Special Olympics VA. (ON)
• February: Ride in my first Mardi Gras parade. Hail Nyx! (FF)
• March: Actually sing at a karaoke night.  (T)
• April: Mastering the Art of French Cooking - I'll make a four course meal from this iconic cookbook. (ON)
• May:  Take a welding/jewelry class. (ON)
• June: Experience my 40th Birthday Extravaganza. I don't know what this means yet, but I'll figure it out. (FF)
• July: Launch my podcast, Don't Be a Jerk at Work. (T)
• August: Enter the Arlington County Fair baking contest, probably in the holiday cookie category.
• September: Take drum lessons. (FF)
• October: Go to Hershey Spa because why wouldn't I want to go to a chocolate spa? (PS - I don't like strangers touching me, so this is both a fun goal and a little uncomfortable for me.) (FF)
• November: Put The Craftery plan on paper. (T)
• December: Send Transient Suburbia proposal to at least two publishers. (T)

I classified these activities into three categories: For Fun (FF), Terrifying (T), and Outside the Norm but Still Different (ON). 

So what did I end up doing in 2019? Of the twelve activities, I completed six (links to the posts about each one are in the above list). I jumped into cold water for charity, I rode in a freaking parade, and I sang in public. I didn't make a four course meal from MTAOFC, but I did make the Queen of Sheba cake, one of Julia Child's most famous cake recipes. We threw a huge party at a winery to celebrate my birthday, my dad's birthday, and his retirement. I also embraced my inner old person during the month of June by getting irrationally mad because someone parked in my parking spot. 

I also listened to all four solo KISS albums so you never have to. I'm giving in that way. 

There were things I didn't do, and most of the things I didn't do were big things. These are projects I really care about, but am still not 100% in the right mindset to work on them. That's been something I've really focused on in 2019: mindset. No, this is not a post about Carol Dweck. I tend to focus on the things that could go wrong very quickly or what won't work, and I've made a concerted effort in 2019 to do the opposite. So I didn't send my novel to a publisher or start a podcast or figure out how to one day open my craft store. That's okay. Those things aren't supposed to happen right now. They'll happen when they're supposed to happen. Maybe this sounds like a cop out, but I don't think it is. I want to be able to focus on these projects to make the most of them. I wouldn't have been able to give them the attention they deserve this year. For me, that would be worse than failing. 

Instead of those things, I bought a house, admitted to being a perfectionist and how I need to let that go, presented at my first professional conference, celebrated one year with Keely, and went to Game 4 of the NLCS to see the Nationals advance to the World Series (I also went to the World Series parade because the Nats won). I got a button maker for my birthday and I went axe throwing. 

2019 was a year of introspection for me. I spent a lot of time thinking about what would make me happy, not my parents or my friends, but me. I bought a house (condo, but you know what I mean), something I really never saw myself doing. I got promoted, and have been focusing on being a better manager, which means failing spectacularly but doing it anyway. I asked for help, probably more than I have before. I also had a freaking blast this year, even when things were stressful. I got to spend time with people I love dearly. I rode in a freaking parade (I know I said this already)! I made glitter purses, probably the most frivolous thing I can do. Fun, challenge, whimsy - that's what I did in 2019.

Happy New Year from the Island! 

See you in 2020 for more glitter, Keely, and whatever else I decide to share.

My 40th Year on Earth: Someone sold a house to a child

I was out at dinner with my brother on Thursday. He wanted to introduce me to a restaurant near my new place (Italian/Greek combo, good fettuccine, excellent caramel crunch cake). It was the eve of my closing, and we were discussing being adults and how weird it is that I'm buying a condo and my brother is approximately four years away from retirement. We discussed how, despite our ages (my brother is 46), we still think of other people, like our parents and aunts and uncles, as adults, but we're not. I mean, we are, but we're not. I feel like I've had this conversation before; just because you do adult things (don't be dirty) doesn't mean you think of yourself as an adult.

Until you buy a house.

I don't know if it's the amount of money involved, the fact that negotiation may/will occur, that a loan officer is involved, or the fact that you have to sign a gazillion pieces of paper to get the keys, but buying a house is the epitome of adulthood. It involves credit checks, employment verification, getting a cashier's check, and at least four types of insurance. I can't think of anything more adult than four types of insurance. I didn't know there were so many types of insurance involved in one transaction. Why didn't they teach us this in school? I had to learn how to line dance in PE and dissect a frog, but learned nothing about title insurance. I feel like knowing about title insurance should trump knowing how to do the Electric Slide.

And it feels weird. Not bad weird, but "I didn't think I'd do this" weird. It's no secret that I'm not really following a traditional timeline kind of life. I'm 40, and don't have kids or a husband, and have rented an apartment for all of my adult life. I revel in calling Keely my cat son, particularly when it makes the person I'm talking to uncomfortable. I got my driver's license when I turned 20 (fun fact I bet you didn't know about me). The idea of following some sort of predetermined life has always bothered me. We all do things in our own time, and we all have to get better about understanding that. Let people live their best lives even if those lives aren't the way it's always been.

This is why I'm surprised that I decided to buy a house. I've never been opposed to the idea of home ownership, I just never thought it was a me thing. Just like not teaching us about all the types of insurance that exist and what escrow really is, school doesn't prepare anyone for all of the sudden feeling like you need to do something you never thought you'd do. It doesn't prepare you for having to discuss square footage, floor types, condo fees, and parking. I can't exactly explain, but one day I just couldn't face the idea of renting another apartment. I want to paint. I want to redo a bathroom in three years. I want more space.

I closed on my house on Friday. I made delightful small talk with a notary from the title company, my loan officer, and my realtor (because I'm so good at small talk), and signed all the documents and gave them all my money (not all, but you know what I mean). I got my keys, a folder full of papers (which I'll also get electronically apparently), and a promise that my deed will come in the mail. I celebrated by having lunch with my parents and buying a unicorn key chain for my new keys.

Today, I sat on the floor of my new home and stared at the walls for about an hour. I hung the shower curtain in my bathroom, determined that Keely and I will continue to share said bathroom, and figured out that the desk I was going to take from my parents' house is probably too big for the spare room. I met a neighbor, who I'm pretty sure is the neighborhood watch. I still have no idea where my couch is going to go or the television. I glanced through the very large file of appliance manuals the previous owner left me; these very fancy appliances are mine now and I don't know how any of them work. I started planning where my dishes and baking stuff is going to go. I realized that I have a lot of dinosaur decor, which may negate the fanciness of the fireplace. I made a list of all the stuff I still need to buy (garbage cans, don't forget new garbage cans). I tried to remember how to turn on the fireplace, but my mind went blank (my dad probably knows how it works). I wondered if my furniture would look okay or if I'm going to hate everything I own.

And then I laid on the floor in my living room and it was very quiet. I felt at home.

Coming soon to the Island: We recap the year that was 2019, Keely moves into the new house, and I update you on all that glitters in preparation for Nyx 2020!

My 40th Year on Earth: Work, Death, and Stuff

I have a realtor.

A few weeks ago, I posted about my perfectionist tendencies and my anxiety around buying my first home. Yes, I'm aware that people buy homes everyday (even if maybe they shouldn't), but that doesn't make it less stress-inducing. Since I shared my post, I've done what I always do: research. I read a bunch of articles about first-time home buying, loan types, the pre-approval process, and even looked at some listings. And then I got very anxious, and asked Keely to cuddle with me. My non-lap cat obliged, bless him, and I felt better. I did nothing, but I felt better.

I should back up a little bit before my real estate anxiety attack. The end of September and beginning of October were a series of unrelated, but actually very related events that have given me some new perspective on life and things (so eloquent, I know). It started with the docent walkthrough of the new Judy Chicago exhibition at the museum where I volunteer. Judy Chicago is one of my favorite artists, and I've been waiting for this exhibit to open. She spoke about it the last time she did an event at NMWA two years ago. The exhibition is called The End: A Meditation on Death and Extinction, and features three sections on grief, mortality, and extinction. With that title, you can imagine what the exhibition is like. It starts with a powerful series based on Kubler Ross's five stages of grief, moves into a personal exploration of one's mortality, and ends with a harrowing look at what we're doing to the Earth. No amount of me describing it will do the exhibition justice, so come visit NMWA to see if for yourself.

So during a walkthrough, the curators take docents and other volunteers through the exhibition and provide insight into the work, the artist, and the exhibition structure. We were in the room focused on mortality when I go to a work entitled How Will I Die #9. The work depicts a woman (Chicago) in bed with a large cat lying next to her. The text in the work reads "Will I die in my own bed with my cat Pete by my side?"

Pete looks exactly like Keely.

Photography isn't allowed in this exhibit, so you have to take my word for it or go see it for yourself. I started laughing, which is a terrible reaction to a very serious subject, but I couldn't help it. I could actually see myself in this image in a way that I've never seen myself in a work of art. It was funny, depressing, bizarre, and comforting all at the same time. A few days later, the museum hosted a Fresh Talk with Chicago and Martha C. Nussbaum, a philosophy and law professor. Nussbaum wrote the essay in the new Chicago monograph about The End. During the talk, Chicago discussed the evolution of her feminism, and the idea of personal and global grief. Listening to the women discuss death and the extinction of the planet was a lot. At some point in the discussion, Chicago said, "If there's going to be change, it's going to be because people take it in their own hands." Obviously, she was talking about the damage we've done to the planet, but like a song lyric, I added my own meaning to this comment. It could be about politics, our personal lives, and my fear of things like buying a house and dying alone in bed with my cat. I can overthink everything or I can just go do it.

A few days later, I attended an event for the release of Patti Smith's new book, Year of the Monkey. This is the third time I've seen Patti Smith live, and the second book talk. (I saw her in concert in 2008 - the start of Old Lady Concert Rules posts.) The new book is a follow up to the book M Train, which was an odd book, told in a sort of stream of conscious way and focused on grief (loss of her husband, damage to her home after Hurricane Sandy). In M Train, Smith travels all over, but it's a focused wandering. Year of the Monkey is a travel book too, but one that blurs "fact, fiction, and dream." It takes place in 2016, a year where Smith lost two very close friends and was working through those losses. I haven't finished the book, which is short compared to both Just Kids and M Train, but it's a little harder to read because I can feel her grief throughout. She talks through the "cycles of death" during the book and her talk. It was a fitting companion to Judy Chicago. Both women were so open about about these private feelings and moments, but in completely different ways. Thinking about death and mortality for several days straight is emotionally exhausting; I can't imagine doing it while writing a book or working on an art exhibition. My brain was mush by the end of Smith's talk/musical performance.

About a week after the book talk, I presented at my first professional conference. My company won an award, and we were invited to take part in a panel during the conference associated with the award. Originally my boss was going to present, but in early September, she asked if I wanted to be on the panel instead. Without hesitation, I said yes. I was in the final stages of preparation for this presentation when the Chicago exhibit opened and Year of the Monkey was released. Imagine having all these thoughts about death and mortality and loss swirling around in your brain while also preparing for a major work event. I'm a very confident public speaker. I like to describe my comfort level as either having "the confidence of a much taller person" or "a mediocre white man talking." I can talk to anyone, especially if I'm passionate about the topic (this is why I'm a great docent). I love what I do, but I've always felt like I wasn't worthy since I fell into a career in learning and development (L&D). Impostor syndrome is real, y'all. I've presented at conferences before, but it was always sponsored by the company I worked for, and my expertise wasn't questioned because I literally helped build the product I was talking about. This conference was nothing like that. I was presenting to other L&D professionals, many of whom have been working in the field their entire careers. I was on a panel with two executives from two other organizations. I've been in a training/learning role since 2008, so I've been doing this for 10 years, but I still felt like the new kid going into the event.

I nailed it. I wore a blazer like a freaking rock star (if rocks stars wore blazers, I don't know their lives). I spoke about the successes we've had aligned our programming with the organization's goals, and shared the lessons we've learned along the way. I answered questions, I discussed strategy, I cracked a couple of appropriate jokes. People came up to me throughout the day and complimented my presentation and wanted to talk more about what we're doing. I've made a bunch of connections professionally. I finally feel like I'm part of the community. I don't think that would have happened had I not joined the organization I'm at today. I've had some doubts since starting, but this event really helped me see the value of the work me and the team are doing. Y'all, I'm a real professional.

What does any of this have to do with finding a realtor? I've been talking about buying a house since the summer, but did nothing about it until this week. I was stuck, thinking too much about everything, getting wrapped up in the stressful parts of buying a house (money, I'm talking about money), hating that I have to do everything by myself, and thinking I can't do it. Having spent several weeks in a row thinking very deeply about some very hard topics and having some real successes made me realize I just have to do this...and I can do this. I don't want to live in a nice, but not great overpriced apartment, dealing with crappy neighbors and stupid community policies (the resident gate is only open until 8 pm - what nonsense is this?). I don't want to pay for Keely to live in my apartment anymore; pet rent is a huge scam. Judy Chicago wasn't talking about buying property when she talked about change, but change only happens when we decide to do it. I want to enjoy where I live. I want to be part of a community. I want my own space. I'm an adult lady who can do things.


Coming soon to the Island: Glitter purse season is back, a Lazy Movie Weekend post, and I start my house hunt.

On Perfection

I'm thinking of buying a house. I've never owned a home before; my most permanent belongings are a car and some rare records. Since I moved out of my parents' house when I went to college, I've been fine with apartment living. My twenties and much of my thirties included several moves, and a stretch of time from roughly 2002-2012 when I traveled frequently (2 weeks per month) for work. An apartment made sense. It was permanent enough, but gave me the flexibility to say, move to California for two years without worrying about having to sell or rent property. I guess it also helps that I'm your resident single friend, so I don't have to worry about a spouse or kids and schools. It's just me and my cat son, and he doesn't care as long as he has a window, his bed, and food.

Now when I say house, I probably mean condo given where I live and the way real estate prices work around the DMV. If I wanted an actual house, I'd probably have to live in the middle of nowhere and drive four hours to work because NOVA has become the most expensive place in the world (I'm exaggerating slightly). Amazon is coming, and I assume that part of Jeff Bezos's plan to become a Bond villain is to drive up the cost of living so high in the area where I live that it will be deserted and he'll basically exist on a land island. Rent is worse, so really the smart thing to do is buy a house/condo. It's less expensive in the big picture, and would give me the one thing I really want: space.

I have hobbies. All of my hobbies include lots of stuff. As I write this, I'm sitting at my kitchen table (also my desk when I work from home), which is currently housing a button maker, stencils, an entire collection of pens, this laptop, two notebooks, my sewing machine (sitting on a chair), and tour notes for the museum. Under the table, are nine plastic bins that contain all of my glitter purse making supplies for Nyx 2020. If you go into the closet in my bedroom, you'll find all of the embroidery and other craft supplies I own and my larger sewing kit. I only bring those things out when I'm working on a project. My kitchen table would really like to be just a kitchen table.

Real estate is overwhelming, whether we're talking about renting or buying something. Yes, my parents and many of my friends are homeowners. I know at least seven realtors, none of whom live in my state, but I know them. That means nothing. It's still overwhelming and stressful. My shoulders are killing me just thinking about it. I'm uncomfortable with this process because I know very little about how it all works. Yes, I am researching and doing my part to understand, but it's still overwhelming. And a big part of why it is overwhelming is because it's risky and there are lots of unknowns within the process.

And that is the real problem. It's not the responsibility of home ownership so much as the fact that I don't know anything about what I'm about this journey that I'm about to embark on, and that is terrifying. I was listening to a podcast from Harvard Business Review this week called "Perfect is the Enemy," and it hit me hard. The podcast could have been about me. I'm a perfectionist and as such, it's hard to do things when I'm not 100% sure I can deliver or do something completely (halfway is not good enough for me). It's not in my nature. When I think about buying a house, I immediately go to the hundreds of things that could go wrong with doing so, rather than the positives I know exist. There are things I won't control in the process, and that makes me uncomfortable. I can't color code my way through this experience (maybe I can a little).

There were a few things in the podcast that made me say "that's me" (but not necessarily in a good way). My organizational skills tend to be very rigid, especially if I'm managing a project. While I'm fine with being flexible because the project scope or needs change, I still want to do things my way because I know my way is the best way (it's not always). I take failure very personally and even minor mistakes make me feel terrible. I don't often ask for help. I've been more aware of all of these things since starting my job two years ago, and have been trying to figure out a way how to balance it all and not drive myself or my colleagues crazy. There was a section on taking compliments that resonated too. I'm getting better on that front every day.

One of the podcast hosts said something a little later in the episode that definitely made me pause:

"There was a time, when I was younger, where especially being a perfectionist was kind of like a humble brag, like, I’m such a perfectionist. You know, you’re almost sort of proud of it....But then, over time, I started to realize, really for me, it was about internalizing other people’s expectations, and even sometimes just their imagined expectations."

This is exactly how I feel, and probably the way lots of women feel. We internalize so much of what we know or perceive others feel and it's exhausting. While I know that's now why I'm a perfectionist, I know my reaction to things when they don't go well is tied directly to this feeling. The hosts went on to discuss how as they go older, they stopped caring so much about those things they felt had to be perfect. They were more comfortable with who they are, their beliefs, and what they needed to be successful. It's not about not taking feedback, but using it in a way that will make you better and deciding what that actually means.

I think that's what people mean when they tell me how much I'm going to love being in my forties. It's like there's a magical line I've crossed that enables me to say, "Yes, I'm a perfectionist. I know this isn't always a positive thing, and I'm working on that. I also know that I don't care if you don't like the fact that I don't wear makeup all that often, have strong opinions about lots of things, like order and process, but still appreciate creativity and whimsy. I live my life for me, not you."

I don't have to be perfect. None of us have to be perfect. I can still love order and lists and my way of doing things, and not be perfect. I can step into the overwhelming, but ultimately (I hope) satisfying world of home ownership and be okay with the fact that it's overwhelming and I don't know what I'm doing. That doesn't mean I'll fail or not find a place to live. There are experts who will help me. Once they do, I can unleash my very thoroughly tested process for moving (it involves five steps) and dream of what color I'll paint my bedroom.

Please enjoy this very relaxing photo of Keely. He snores; it's very soothing.

My 40th Year on Earth: That's a bit of alright*

When I sat down at the start of the year to decide on what I wanted to accomplish during my 40th year on Earth, I didn't originally plan to enter a baking contest. This idea came up after a discussion with my friend, Anita, and some quick research to see what my options would be to compete. It's a great idea; I've been baking since I was 10 years old, supervised by both of my parents at first, and love baking things. In my late 20s, I started branching out from classics to making marshmallows and an Italian orange cake that takes three days to make. I like complex recipes as much as simple ones, and I love finding recipes with a history. I've written 23 posts about baking, including short stories, recipe shares, and observational posts.

Baking is therapeutic and delicious. I've said it before, there's something so soothing about watching ingredients come together. It's a little bit of magic in the kitchen (but also lots of science). If you bake, you know what I mean. To me, it doesn't matter if you make something from a box mix or from scratch, baking is baking. I know there are people out there who will disagree, but I'm not interested in their opinions. I started with box mixes, and eventually graduated to from scratch recipes. My family has a lot of family recipes, and both of my parents helped me be the baker I am today. Many recipes evoke memories from my childhood or remind me of the person who originally made them. Since I started baking for friends and co-workers, I often associate recipes with them too. I've also used baking as therapy, immersing myself in the process to work through a rough day or a problem. It's calming for me. The fact that I can then give what I make to others and brighten their day makes it even more powerful.

People have always told me I'm a great baker, that I should open a bakery. This is flattering, but also intimidating. Could I really do that for real one day? Are they just being nice? Has the sugar gone to their heads? To test this theory, I signed up for two categories in the Arlington County Fair competitive events. Arlington County allows residents from two cities to participate since we don't have our own fair (thanks, Arlington). I entered a bar cookie and a holiday cookie. I made test batches like I was practicing for the GBBO, and I took a few days off of work for the event. I downloaded my entry forms and read all the rules. And then I baked some more. I was ready to enter my bars and cookies.

The Arlington County Fair started in 1977 and is the largest free county fair in Virginia and one of the largest free events on the East Coast. In the last few years, over 80,000 people have visited the fair each year. Events include rides, concerts, food, pig racing (although not in 2019), and the competitive events. The competitive events include seven departments and four divisions. The departments include the baking categories as well as honey/beewax and food preservation, various arts and crafts, and multiple categories for fruits, nuts, plants, and vegetables. The divisions are separated into adults, teens, youths, and children (6 and under). I had no idea what to expect at the events; my experience with county fairs is limited to Celebrate Fairfax (nee the Fairfax County Fair) and the movie Butter, which stars Jennifer Garner as a butter carver (worth a watch if you can find it). What would the world of competitive county fair events be like?

The answer is: I have no idea. I arrived on Thursday morning (via Uber because there is no parking at the fair) to enter my baked goods, and I was one of maybe five people in line. All but me and one other guy were kids. I got my entry number, had help attaching the judging form and my recipe cards to the paper plates, and then my entries were whisked away by volunteers to be placed for judging. And that was it. I took my claim tickets and baking sheet and went on my way. There wasn't anywhere to hang out and watch other entries come in, and no one was allowed behind the tables until after judging. As I waited for my Uber home, I saw a few other people go in with entries. One was a lady entering tomatoes and the other was a guy bringing in some plants. I didn't get to talk to either of them, so I don't if this was their first year entering or if there's some secret world of Arlington County Fair Competitive Events competitors. In my mind, there's a very competitive group who enter every year, including a lady named Myrna who enters her amazing chocolate chip cookies and wins every year. There's Doris, a gardening genius, and Inez, the eccentric beeswax lady. I want them to adopt me and teach me the county fair competitive events secrets.

This is what I thought about as I waited to find out the results. I made up an entire world of competitive events contestants and fair intrigue and probably some "small town" drama (gossiping, sassy discussions about entries, a lot of "bless her heart"). I blame Christopher Guest and every novelist who's ever written a book about a small town with a fair or contest. Arlington isn't Mayberry or some other fictional small town, but you know what I mean. I imagined Best in Show, but for bakers and gardeners.

I entered two recipes: PB&J bars (bar cookie section) and Hot Chocolate Cookies (holiday cookies). These are two of my favorite recipes. They include ingredients I love: peanut butter, chocolate, and marshmallow fluff. I made my own fluff, and the batch I made for the fair was probably the best batch of fluff I've ever made. It was amazing, if I do say so myself. All entries have to be submitted on a paper plate.

Through a scheduling mistake on my part, I didn't get to go to the awards ceremony on Saturday night (I bought concert tickets not realizing the awards ceremony was going to be on Saturday night). I visited the fair Sunday afternoon instead. After wandering around the games and rides area and enjoying some ice cream, I made my way (along with Anita and her mom) to the indoor exhibits to check on my entries.

The results? Two class awards for second and third premium! The Hot Chocolate Cookies received the second premium, which doesn't surprise me at all. They were delicious. The judges liked the presentation of these cookies too. They are pretty adorable. The PB&J bars received third premium; I received a comment that the PB&J bars were a little dry. I sort of expected the feedback. The bars are dense, and the amount of jelly impacts how dry the cookie part will be. I used more jelly than I normally do, but it still wasn't enough. I was hoping that because I made them the night before it would be okay. Oh well, they still tasted good enough to receive a ribbon and that's a bit of alright if you ask me.

I'm pleased with my first attempt at competitive baking. I had fun participating and going through the process of what to make. I'm already thinking about what to enter next year; maybe a cake, maybe a different bar cookie, maybe another holiday cookie. The possibilities are endless. I have a whole year to plan. My experience has also inspired a new short story idea, which I'm working on now. I hope to share it in the next few weeks here on the Island.

If anyone is interested in being a baked goods taster, please let me know. I'll need plenty of volunteers!

*From an episode of GBBO. Mary Berry said it to a contestant.

At the Stars

In June 2009, I went to my first concert at the 9:30 Club. Given that I went to high school in Northern Virginia, it's probably weird to some that I didn't go to the venue until I turned 30. I didn't go to live shows much back when I was in my teens, and my parents weren't super keen on me going to DC alone or with friends at night (they're still not super keen on that, but I'm an adult lady who can do things). Occasionally, me and my friends would go to the Fairfax Fair and see bands (more on this shortly), but rarely did we go to real rock and roll clubs. It wasn't yet our thing. The band I saw in June 2009? Better Than Ezra, one of my favorite 90s rock band. They're from Louisiana, which makes them extra special to me. When I turned 30, I did a different version of my 40th Year on Earth. Going to the 9:30 Club was one of the things I accomplished that year, along with wearing a skirt or dress every day for a month (during the coldest May on record), wearing lipstick every day for a month (which I still do), and trying flan for the first time (no thank you, but feel free to enjoy it if you're so inclined).

My 40th year on Earth has been going surprisingly well. So far, I've participated in a polar bear plunge (and raised money for Special Olympics VA), rode in my first Mardi Gras parade, sang karaoke for the first time, and baked a cake made famous by Julia Child. That's a lot of good stuff. I accomplished things, including getting over my fear of singing in public. It's been a good start to the year.

And then May happened.

May was supposed to be one of the months where I was going to learn something new that I've always wanted to learn. I was planning to take a metal jewelry course at the Art League. I wrote the registration deadline down wrong and missed registering for the class. I thought about taking a different course, but nothing else interested me. Not one to let something like this derail me, I decided instead to focus on several creative projects that I let sit while working on my Nyx purses. I had a list of five projects I was going to finish in May. I had it all planned out: one weekend per project, with some time during the week as needed. I had everything I needed to create all these wonderful things (mostly for other people). May was going to be a creative time and I was going to bask in my awesomeness. Apparently, I didn't plan as well as I thought I did or I planned too much. You decide.

I finished one project completely (go me!), am about 95% done with another, 80% done with a third, and haven't looked at the other two. Well, that's not entirely true. I looked at them enough to move them from one place to another when I dusted the living room one weekend. The one project I did finish was technically finished in June, but it's adorable so there's that. I left May feeling like I failed. Nothing bad happened because I didn't finish these projects; they just didn't get done. I felt like my Type A self and my creative self where fighting one another, Jets and Sharks style (because I love musicals and choreographed gang fights).  I think I was trying to force myself to be creative. I was trying too hard. Doing something creative everyday is important, but sometimes it just doesn't work.

Which brings us to the month of June and back to Better Than Ezra. When I made my original list of things for this year, I left June pretty open. I believe I described it as "experience my 40th Birthday Extravaganza" or something similar. Doing this left the month open for pretty much anything, so I decided to think of June as the month to start it all over again. My plan is simple this month: do fun things that make me happy. They don't need to be extravagant or cost anything, just be enjoyable and fun. My hope is that by slowing down and doing fun things, I'll get back into my creative space. I'll finish my remaining projects and get ready to make my purses for Nyx 2020.

What I didn't expect was to be inspired so quickly by a seemingly routine activity: going to a summer concert. This past Friday, I went to see Better Than Ezra at the Fairfax Fair. Yes, I know it's now called Celebrate Fairfax, but I went back in the day when it was still the Fairfax Fair, so it will forever be referred to as such by me. Better Than Ezra opened the festivities this year, ten years after I saw them at the 9:30 Club (I believe that show was on the 15th or 16th, but close enough). The show was a blast. They're a fun band, and the whole show made me nostalgic for a time in my life where I enjoyed driving around listening to music with the windows down and no destination in mind. At one point the band paid tribute to Dr. John, who died last week, and an idea hit me. In the space of a song and half, I figured out all of my Nyx purses for the upcoming year. An idea got into my brain, and it's genius and fun and very New Orleans. It'll be challenging in a good way. They didn't play my favorite song ("At The Stars"), but Better Than Ezra helped me figure out a very exciting creative project. I'll share more about it in a future post I promise. It's good.

So thanks, Better Than Ezra and the Fairfax Fair. I'll get my other projects done so I can jump into my purses and realize my vision. It's always good when I have a vision.

Next week: Can you believe it's been a year since I adopted Keely?! We'll celebrate a year of living with this very strange creature. 

My 40th Year on Earth: Get Off My Lawn

Recently, I was talking with a friend about a mutual acquaintance's propensity fro acting like an old man on Facebook. The most recent tirade was about the series finale of Game of Thrones. This person kept going on and on about how everyone was acting like spoiled children with their complaints and petitions for a new ending. I described the posts as the Facebook equivalent of shouting "get off my lawn" at the neighborhood children. We're waiting to see what the next moment will be; I'm betting on some type sports meltdown next. We shall see.

I've lived in apartments my entire adult life. I have no lawn to yell about, but after a recent event at my apartment complex, I have to wonder, can you yell at someone to get off your lawn if you don't have a lawn? I'm certain the answer is yes. As a habitual apartment dweller, I'm used to/have accepted certain realities about living in a community of strangers:

• Dog owners are terrible about picking up after their dogs...even when poo bags are provided for them.
• Apartments aren't soundproofed. People can be loud, but it eventually fades into the background.
• People who vacuum at 10 pm on a Tuesday are the devil.
• Mandatory fun events like community happy hours are ten times worse than mandatory fun events at work. 
• People leave weird shit in common areas for people to take.

None of these things really bother me. They may be annoying (I'm looking at you, upstairs neighbor who vacuums at 10 pm on Tuesdays), but none of them are in any way dangerous or cost me anything. I haven't had to call the police on any of my neighbors in about ten years. I lived next door to a hoarder once; she was perfectly nice, but not a menace (I never went in her apartment after the first visit). I lived next to a woman I like to call "loud sex girl." Again, sort of annoying, but sort what you expect in an apartment building. 

At my current apartment, I pay a large sum of money (because Northern Virginia) to live in a nice apartment with relatively quiet neighbors. I pay additional fees so that Keely can live with me and for a reserved parking space. The parking spot is currently worth $1200. I have to pay for the spot; it's not optional if I want to live in my building and have a car. I only park in my assigned spot and my guests only park in the guest spots on the top floor of the parking garage. We're respectful that way. If I remain in my apartment through the end of my lease, the spot will be worth about $2000. That's not a small amount of money.

Which is why I got so annoyed when I came home Saturday night and someone was parked in my spot. Of course, the office was closed so I didn't know what to do or who to contact about getting the car moved. I certainly wasn't going to knock on doors and look for the person. A calmer person would have just waited the person out and moved their car back to its spot. I was not that calmer person. I called the after hours number and they connected me to the emergency maintenance number. They put a ticket in for a tow truck and were pretty cool about the whole thing. It was my "get off my lawn" moment and I felt like a complete ass about it. I felt stupid. It wasn't an emergency and it wasn't anything important. It was just annoying.

I spend most of my life being enraged by the world we live in. To curb the rage, I volunteer, donate, protest, vote, and advocate so we can live in a better world. I'm a genuinely nice person. I put my cart back when I'm at the store. I should not be this annoyed by someone parking in my parking spot. If this isn't a first world problem, I don't know what is. There are so many more important things to be mad about. My annoyance is the behavior of a small, petty person. But I can't help being annoyed and angry. And I know why. The whole situation annoyed me for two very specific reasons:

1. The person who parked in my spot was visiting someone who lives in my building. Someone who knows that we have assigned parking spaces, and more than likely, pays for one. My neighbor didn't both to tell their friend where to park. They didn't respect the rules of our community. People talk about how disconnected this area is when it comes to apartment and condo complexes, and this is a perfect example. I'm more annoyed with my neighbor than the guy who parked in my spot. Be a better neighbor. 
2. I felt bad about calling the tow truck on the guy in my spot (and yes, it was a guy). After I made the call, I kept thinking about how much it would suck to come back to the spot and see my car gone and another car in its place. And then he'd have to call and figure out where his car got taken and probably pay a pretty big fee to get it released. I felt guilty and like a terrible person. I felt bad that this guy would have to through all that even though he was using a parking spot I pay for and inconveniencing me. 

The guy left before the tow truck arrived. I know it was a guy because I took my trash out around 10 pm and saw him driving away. Had I come out three minutes earlier, I could have confronted him. That would have solved nothing, and might have been dangerous for me. So I moved my car back to my spot, called the emergency maintenance line again, and cancelled the tow truck. I called again this morning because I got an email that the truck was on its way...over 12 hours later. The whole situation was stupid and accomplished nothing. 

I guess everyone has a "get off my lawn" moment. I was really hoping to delay mine until I A. actually have a lawn and B. am the old lady in the neighbor who says ridiculous things but everyone thinks is endearing and kooky. I'm too young to be the "get off my lawn" person in my apartment complex. 

When I was eleven

I'm almost 40 years old and I don't have children. It's not because I don't like kids or didn't at some point want them; I just haven't found anyone I wanted to have children with. All but one of my serious boyfriends were really great humans, but we weren't the right human for me to decide "you should father my kids." I could adopt or have children without a partner, but that's not what I want for me or for these hypothetical kids. So yes, I could do this, but I don't want to. I have a choice. I made a choice not to have children. Every woman should have the ability to make a choice about having children, whether it's having a kid, not having them, having an abortion, or putting a kid up for adoption. I've had friends struggle with infertility, and be told that they couldn't adopt (apparently 35 is too old). I've had two friends decide to have abortions. It took years for both of them to share that information with anyone. And I have friends who are awesome moms, and do the best for their kids every day. I'm not the only childless one either. Women deserve to make these decisions, and to not have to feel like less than or a criminal because we make the decision that is right for us and our family.

The current state laws being passed/considered in places like Alabama, Georgia, and Missouri are creating a no win situation for young girls and women. Most of these laws are being created by men who clearly don't know how the female reproductive system works. They don't understand fertility cycles or how miscarriages happen. They're creating laws that criminalize being female and remove autonomy from women. These laws aren't about religion or morality, as they are often portrayed. These laws are about power. IT'S ABOUT POWER. If we cared about women's health or the health of children, these would not be the laws we'd be focusing on. But it's not about what's best for women. It's about controlling women.

We are at an important place in the history of who we are as a nation. We've been in this place since the 45 took office in 2016. There have been glimmers of hope, from the marches to the new slate of representatives in Congress to the fact that most of the horrible things end up being struck down in courts. This is the exact opposite of who we really are as a country. We, and I mean the collective we, have a responsibility to correct this narrative. If you're not doing your part today, you need to be. You need to get on board now before there is nothing left to save. I get it, this is not an easy topic for anyone. Abortion has been painted as moral problem for decades, not a health issue. These laws threaten to send us back to a place where women have to take their health to dangerous places.

When I was 11 years old, I liked New Kids on the Block, She-Ra, had a Smurf sleeping bag, and spent time choreographing dances with my friends during sleepovers. I really liked rainbows and unicorns. I had five favorite stuffed animal, including a panda who went everywhere with me. I barely liked boys, let alone understood how babies actually worked. I could keep a goldfish alive for a few weeks with adult supervision. I was, in no way, shape, or form, capable of being someone's mother.

I want you to take a few minutes and think about what you were doing when you were 11 years old. What was your favorite thing to do? Who were your friends? What did you do when you came home from school? Maybe some of you have memories similar to mine. Maybe you had to help take care of younger siblings, but you weren't their mom. You didn't have to carry a baby to term and then give birth. You didn't have to deal with what that meant. You didn't have to face jail time for aborting that baby while your rapist got off with a light sentence because he's a "good Christian." I hope you didn't have to continue living in a house with your abuser. What were you doing when you were 11 years old?

If nothing else has propelled you to take action and do something, from voting to volunteering to donating to giving a damn, now is the time to finally do it. Now is the time to take a stand. Now is the time to start having uncomfortable conversations with your family and friends. I've done this a few times with my parents since the election, and it's not great, but it has to be done. They know I will take to the streets and the polls so no woman has to go back to the alleys and basements to make choices about her health. I will not sit quietly by while a male politician talks about the criminality of abortion one day, but then pays for his mistress to have one the next. This is not who we are. We aren't Gilead, but dangerously close to being there.

My 40th Year on Earth: The Queen of Sheba

Whenever I make a loaf of banana bread or a batch of sugar cookies from my grandmother's recipe, I always think about the convenience of modern baking equipment. The first stand mixers were sold mostly to professional bakers starting in 1914. Home versions came a few years later, but were expensive, around $200(which would be around $3K today, calculating for inflation). Later models were smaller, more efficient, and more affordable. The more more affordable versions were still expensive, so electric hand mixers were often a more cost friendly choice, but man would it suck to use a hand mixer for certain types of recipes. One of the most famous stand mixers, Julia Child's blue KitchenAid, is on display at the Smithsonian's American History Museum. It's part of a permanent display of her kitchen. If you haven't seen it in person, I highly recommend a visit.

I love my stand mixer, Stanny. My parents gave him to me as a 30th birthday present after my previous stand mixer (my mom's 25+ year old one) decided it had mixed enough things in its life. Stanny makes marshmallows possible. He's moved cross country with me, living in his own box because he's so heavy. The convenience of Stanny cannot be understated. 

However, Stanny doesn't always have a place in a recipe, and that includes the subject of today's entry into my 40th year on Earth. When I made my original list of things I would do during this momentous year, I planned to make a four-course meal featuring recipes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck. April has been surprisingly busy, so I had to re-plan a bit, and settled on making one recipe instead...the Reine de Saba, or Queen of Sheba, cake.

Let's be 100% honest: this is really the only recipe I want to make in this cookbook. I bough my copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking not long after reading My Life in France, a wonderful book written by Julia Child and her great nephew, Alex Prud'homme, focusing on Julia and Paul's arrival in France and her immersion into the world of French cooking. I love this book and I love Julia Child. She wanted to make French cooking, veiled in so much history and snobbery, accessible to home cooks. Both volumes of Mastering the Art of French Cooking contain more than recipes; Julia and her co-authors are teaching the reader how to cook. Techniques are broken down, equipment is explained, and ingredients are discussed at length. One recipe leads you to at least three other sections of the cookbook. Julia has a technique for everything. It's best if you follow her suggestions; she knows things.

Quick aside: My Life in France is also featured in the movie version of Julie & Julia; it's the basis of the Julia Child portions. If you haven't watched the movie or read Julie Powell's memoir, I give you permission to skip both. Or to only watch the Julia Child parts of the movie; they're the best parts. Originally, I was going to focus more on this, but why bother writing about my negative reaction to both? If you ask me nicely, I'll share my full opinion with you, preferably while drinking a really good glass of wine at 1 pm on a Tuesday. It'll be oh so very French.

Back to the Queen of Sheba cake. It's one of the last recipes in MTAOFC and is a surprisingly short cake recipe. There are ten ingredients in the cake, and five references to other sections of the cookbook for instructions on a particular technique. These include:

• How to butter and flour a cake pan
• How to cream butter and sugar
• How to beat egg whites
• How to scoop and level flour for measuring
• How to pulverize almonds (new one for me)

I read all five of these helpful tutorials. I've been baking since my pre-teens, and have, miraculously, been doing four of the five of these correctly the whole time. Pulverizing almonds was new for me; add sugar before pulsing in a food processor so the oil from the almonds doesn't become lumpy. Who knew? 

The Reine de Saba cake was supposedly the first French cake Julia Child enjoyed upon her arrival in France. I have no idea if this is true, but what an experience it must have been! This isn't the chocolate cake we're all so used to. It's meant to be slightly underdone, making it creamier in the center. It's not the type of cake that requires filling. It's often left naked, without frosting or glaze, or with a simple dusting of powered sugar. Frosted versions are decorated with almonds. It was named for the Queen of Sheba, a ruler from the 11th century BCE (probably), who ruled what is today Ethiopia and Yemen. She was a visitor to King Solomon's court, and may have had a son with him. To paraphrase something I read about her, her parts of the Bible are pretty boring so they probably actually happened. She also appears in Islamic stories and figures prominently in the folklore of Ethiopia. If you're an American Gods fan, Bilquis is another incarnation of the Queen of Sheba. This concludes your history lesson for today.

The French often named confections after famous or infamous figures from history. The Queen of Sheba cake falls into this category. It's a rich chocolate cake with almonds in the batter and as decoration. It's almost flourless, and based on the tastes I had as I was baking it, super decadent. It seems fitting to name it after a queen who "sped" to Solomon's court in three years time (it was a seven year trip), bringing gold and riches with her. 

What's most interesting about making this cake isn't the history, but getting used to the way the recipe is written. I guess I've become accustom to the way recipes appear online or in modern cookbooks; everything is detailed in one place. I always read a recipe multiple times before baking, and this was no exception. I also read my five how-tos several times, just to make sure I was doing everything to Julia's specifications. I browsed through a few versions of the recipe online too, mostly for tips since that's really what internet recipes are for. This was a poor decision. You see, I got so comfortable with how I do things, that I neglected one of the most important things about making a recipe from MTAOFC:

Julia Child knows things. And she is always right when it comes to technique.

Julie Powell discovered this during her year spent cooking and baking her way through MTAOFC. You have to do things the way Julia tells you. This includes, but is not limited to, drying the pieces of beef for beef bourguignon, the temperature of eggs, the way in which you whisk anything, and how to kill a lobster. Even when she makes a mistake, Julia makes it a learning moment. As I was making the cake last night, I followed the instructions from one of the online versions of the recipes for melting the chocolate. I wasn't sure my pans would work the way Julia wanted them to work. I don't temper chocolate ever, so I don't have a double boiler or metal or glass bowls for melting over simmering water. Julia's method is just a small saucepan resting in a larger saucepan. I should have listened to Julia. I melted the chocolate as I do for similar recipes and it was an absolute failure. It didn't melt, but clumped. This would not do.

So I threw it out and started again, following Julia's instructions. Of course, it worked perfectly the second time. MTAOFC was a multi-year writing project because Julia, Simone, and Louise tested every recipe and technique multiple times. They didn't put anything in the book that didn't work. I should know better, but I'm set in my ways and know things too. Just not as many things. And apparently not how to properly melt baking chocolate.

Once I got the chocolate situation under control, the recipe was a breeze. There's very little flour, only 1/2 cup of cake flour, and minimal sugar. The pulverized almonds take the place of more flour and give the cake a nice flavor. It bakes in 25 minutes (20 minutes in my oven), so a quick bake. I let the cake sit over night before adding the icing. The icing is even easier: just chocolate, coffee, and butter. I used the pan within a pan method for melting the chocolate then hand mixed butter to give it a creamy consistency. The last step was moving the pan into an ice bath, stirring until the icing got to the right consistency for spreading. I've never done this before, and it's an amazing technique. It takes almost no time and is easy to control from a mixing standpoint. Icing and frosting can quickly go south if you beat it too much. This method makes that less of a concern. It was easy to work with once it was ready and I finished the cake with almond decorations.

A few of my friends came over today for wine and crafts, and we enjoyed the cake. It's definitely denser than most chocolate cakes I've made. It's like a cross between a torte and a brownie, creamier in the center, but not hard to eat. It's not overly sweet, but not bitter because of the semi-sweet chocolate. The coffee and almonds make a difference; you can definitely taste both.

I will definitely make this cake again, but follow Julia's directions from start to finish. There's no reason to not follow her recipe. She knows how to make an elevated, fancy recipe approachable. Julia Child knows things. Trust Julia Child.

My 40th Year on Earth: In the style of

Here are some things I know:

• When presenting any sort of information in front of a group of people, I have the confidence of a much taller person.
• I owned a Debbie Gibson hat when I was in the 4th grade and I rocked it better than Debbie herself (maybe not, but again, confidence of a much taller person). 
• I store song lyrics in my brain like a hoarder hoards plastic bags (or whatever their preferred hoarding item is). 
• While my tolerance for nonsense and shenanigans is high, my embarrassment level/awkwardness in certain public situations is rather low. 
• I have never sung karaoke. 

We've come to the point in my 40th year on Earth where it's time to accomplish one of the terrifying things on my list: singing in public. I'm not entirely sure why I decided this was a thing I needed to do. It might have something to do with my inability to truly relax, or my control-freak tendencies. I don't know. Singing karaoke seems like something one does to truly let go. It doesn't really require singing ability or talent; just a passing knowledge of the song's lyrics and some showmanship. I occasionally have the confidence of a taller person, or even a mediocre white man, so I can do this. 

Earlier this month, I got called for jury duty. The second I received my summons in the mail, I knew I was going to end up on a jury. I had to go in the week after coming back from New Orleans and ended up on the jury for a murder trial. It was a surreal experience and an incredible contrast to my New Orleans trip the previous week. Anyway, I took Rob Sheffield's book Turn Around Bright Eyes with me. I knew I would need a distraction during breaks, and I wanted to re-read it before my own karaoke journey. Rob had guided my on my trip to Charlottesville, so why not help with karaoke? Turn Around Bright Eyes won't replace Love is a Mix Tape as my favorite of his books, but it's great. It mostly takes place after the events of Love is a Mix Tape; karaoke becomes part of the healing process for Rob after the death of his wife. He falls in love again and sings karaoke everywhere. Woven into the story of Rob's move to New York, and life moving on, are random facts about songs, tips for giving it your all, and observations about the people who make up the karaoke community (which is a thing). It was exactly the book I needed to read while on jury duty. Turn Around Bright Eyes kept me calm while listening to some horrible things. At the end of the week, I stumbled into some karaoke with my brother while we were out celebrating his birthday. I didn't sing that night, but I watched a couple of middle-schoolers and some drunk girls sing their hearts out at a brewery in Woodbridge. It was an odd end to a bizarre week, and it got me more excited for my own karaoke debut.

Anyway, my karaoke date drew closer and I still hadn't picked a song. I could have picked songs from Rob's book, but I felt like all of them were the songs of seasoned karaoke singers. I asked my Facebook community for suggestions. One of my Nyx sisters sent me a great article to get me thinking of the perfect song. Every song on the radio became a potential option. I gave my fellow 66 commuters a show over the last two weeks (singing in my car is my second favorite commuting activity after making up stories about fellow commuters). I listened to songs at the gym by genre, hoping something would spark. I spent most of the day of listening to records and embroidering (as one does) for more inspiration. Walking into the bar, I still had no song. Anita suggested looking at "the book" and deciding based on what's available. This is what I did.

Did I mention that Anita is a karaoke pro? Exactly six years ago to the day, I went with her to L.A. Bar & Grill (Lower Arlington, because that's a thing) and listened to her sing "Walkin' on Sunshine" while I drank like the supportive friend I am. She does a killer version of "What's Up" as well. It's a moment. I trust her karaoke wisdom. She was 100% right; I had to let the book tell me what to do.

I browsed. I checked for songs I had considered during the week. I looked for songs me and Anita discussed over dinner and the first of many beers. I talked to a few people who were also signing up. One woman, who I'll call Donna Summer, told me I couldn't go wrong with Donna Summer. She's right, but she sang "Last Dance" and killed it, so I knew I wasn't going down that road. I also got advice from a dude bro about having fun. He told me an 80s song was risky; people might not know it. This made me A. feel old B. realize he thinks I'm younger than I am which negated the feeling old thing. Karaoke is a lot. I was the last person to sign up on the first page of singers. Accomplishment.

Anita also selected the location and she picked a good one. We went to Rock It Grill in Old Town. It's a great place for karaoke; people are nice, they sing along, and are generally not jerks. The mix of people who went before me varied from the Lynyrd Skynyrd guy who started the night to the fantastic duo who sang "Bohemian Rhapsody" and of course, Donna Summer. There was also a woman who look terrified, but her friends got her through a Shania Twain song. The guy right before me sang a Drowning Pool song; it was a weird moment, but he did it with such conviction that it worked. 

I was nervous. When Drowning Pool guy got up, I knew I was next. My heart started beating a little faster and I downed my last beer. I felt my face getting a little hotter. I started giving myself the pep talk I always give myself when nervous. I looked around the room and saw a packed bar of perfect strangers who were way drunker than me who were all having a great time. They were going to continue having a great time during and after my song. And they did. People danced, people sang along with me. I got high fives and fist bumps on my way back to my seat. I didn't trip. I didn't freeze or throw up. I remembered the words...for the most part. The Go-Go's would be proud of me, I think. (I sang "Our Lips Are Sealed.") Anita went up a few people later and killed "What's Up" like I knew she would. I finished my shot of Jameson, we sang along to "Piano Man" and went home.

I did it. Singing karaoke may not sound like a huge accomplishment to many people, but for me it's a big deal. I don't sing in public. I don't really sing at all. I typically don't put myself in positions where I might, I don't know, trip and fall in front of 100 strangers. Or sing in front of 100 people. I can teach public speaking fundamentals to my colleagues, help Girl Scouts learn about abstract art, and tell vagina jokes to 50 feminists, but singing in public is not my thing. I'm proud of myself. And I want to do it again. Rob Sheffield told me I was going to get hooked and want to sing karaoke all the time, and he's right. I want to do it again. Maybe not every weekend or even every month, but the next time I'm randomly in Woodbridge at the brewery (it's the only one in Woodbridge) on a Friday night, I'm going to sign myself up. And I'll be back at Rock It Grill.

Mardi Gras 2019, Part Three: So You Want to Be in a Mardi Gras Parade

Now that I've told you about the actual experience of riding in a parade and waxed poetic (or something) about my "journey," let's get down to the actual logistics of riding in a Mardi Gras parade. People have been asking me what I would do differently or what I've learned, so here you go. No state secrets are revealed (there are Mardi Gras krewe secrets), but these are my things to live by/remember for 2020.

• Make float friends. This is especially important if you're an out of towner. My group was all from out of town and thankfully, we have a wonderful group of float friends to help us. They picked things up, provided tips for everything, and are generally cool human beings. 
• Invest in glitter makeup. Y'all know I'm ore of a "a little mascara on a Saturday" makeup wearer, but I need to fully embrace glitter makeup in 2020. Not only is glitter makeup sparkly, but it's fun. And having fun is what Mardi Gras is all about.
• ALWAYS style your wig. You would think with my experience in costume design and the sheer number of drag queens I know that this would have been a Captain Obvious moment for me, but it wasn't. I didn't know we were allowed to change the overall style of the wig, but now I know we can do things that enhance but not fundamentally change the wig. This is particularly important with long wigs as I had this year. Thankfully, I had extra pins so I could pin my wig up once we were outside. I'll plan to have ponytail holders too. This is not a short hair girl thing, but I'll do my best. 
  
• Order your throws wisely. Being in a krewe is not cheap. It's not prohibitively expensive, but it's not cheap. I purchased a middle of the road bead package with some extras (cups, plush) and it was totally fine. I may up my bead purchase a bit next year (they're the easiest things to throw), but not significantly. As one of our friends told us, it's all about the kind of thrower you want to be. She's a heavy thrower, but that's not everyone's thing. I liked several of the supplemental items Kelly bought (glitter slap bracelets!), so I may add some of those next year too. Two other things to consider: glow necklaces are awesome from a volume perspective, but terrible from an assembly perspective AND only throw what you're allowed to throw. Don't ruin things for others. 
• Know the halfway point of the route. This helps gauge the best places to take breaks or spend time taking pictures and videos. It'll also help determine when you have to start throwing like a mad woman because the parade is almost over. It's somewhere on St. Charles Avenue for an Uptown route; I'm not quite sure where. 
• Everything will hurt at the end of the night and for several days after. It doesn't matter what shoes you wear or how physically fit you are, standing for approximately 7 hours hurts. Throwing stuff at people means you use muscles you don't necessarily use everyday. I'm pretty certain I got a bruise from my harness. The thing is, it's all worth it. Take a long bath, get a massage, enjoy a glass of wine. You'll be back to normal in a few days.
• Hydrate. If you drink alcohol, be aware of your alcohol to water ratio. A parade is not a race, it's a marathon. You need to make it to the end. I drink, but I don't drink that much. I limited my alcohol consumption during the pre-party. I wanted to experience the parade with fresh eyes and didn't really know what to expect. I wanted to be alert. I'm also not 25 anymore so I don't drink as much as I did back in the day. Drink in moderation and stay hydrated. Get your routine down and then decide what your limits are.
• Stay until Friday...at least. We all left at various times on Thursday. To quote Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, "Big mistake. Huge. I have to go shopping now." Not only does this apply to snotty women who work on commission on Rodeo Drive, but to Mardi Gras. Next year, I want to stay at least until Friday or Saturday if I can. I don't think I'll be able to afford staying through Mardi Gras Day, but we'll see. To paraphrase one of my friends, "It's freaking Mardi Gras, baby! Live it up!"
• Yell at me. A sign is great and fun and I know you put some time into making that. I appreciate you and your creativity. However, I can't guarantee I'm going to see it between the crowds, my mask, and my foggy glasses. Yelling is more of a sure thing. I'll post my float position, you tell me where you're going to be. I'll listen for you when we get there. I heard one of my friends and he got a purse (Kusama inspired purse). 
  
• You will hit people in the face. It's inevitable. While I was pleasantly surprised by the direct eye contact I made and the number of times I landed a throw, it doesn't always work. The float speed changes with some frequency. The wind picks up unexpectedly. People aren't really paying attention, so yes, you'll hit people. It's not intentional and is ultimately part of the experience. Also, I'm sorry. 
• St. Charles Avenue is not for the weak. St. Charles is a weird combination of families, college kids, and people staying in hotels along the avenue. I've spent so many years as a spectator on St. Charles that I never noticed how crazy it really is. It's intense and is the longest stretch of the route. My advice: take a break, refill your drink, restock/reorganize your throw. Don't panic - Lee Circle is just ahead. 
• Why, yes, there is a port-o-let on the float. No, I didn't use it. I hope I didn't ruin some illusion anyone had about floats being magical by telling you there's a portable toilet on board. I'm sorry if I did, but sometimes knowing things is better. I was on the upper level of the float, and it's not "easy" to get up there when the float is stationary. It's not hard either, but it takes attention. The ladies on the lower level also had stuff and so my pathway would take me through their stuff too. I opted to skip this entirely. Go before you leave the party, and manage your beverage intake. 
• Embrace the fanny pack. I've now written this sentence twice, and I'll write it over and over again. I don't know your fashion life, but trust me on this one. I took a bag this year, and it was a poor life choice. Thankfully, one of the novelty items was a fanny pack, and I thank the goddess for it. My fanny pack experience was amazing. All you need on the float is your ID and phone. Guess what fits perfectly in a fanny pack? I'm not saying I'm going to use it all the time, but I'll definitely be rocking it next year. 
  
• Dance, Dance, Dance! I freely admit that I'm an awkward dancer. I can dance, but I never feel really comfortable doing so. I love a rock show and enjoy rock show dancing because we know it's not the same as dancing dancing or being say, in the club. I vow to work on this for next year. Everyone knows the dances, and I want to know them too. 
• Work on your throwing arm. I did surprisingly well hitting my "marks" despite having the upper body of strength of someone who carries heavy boxes of cat litter on the regular (basically better than someone who never raises their arms, but not as good as a person who has a small child that needs wrangling on occasion). I'll have to develop a fitness regiment that I can do from the comfort of my couch. Some of the novelty items I threw don't have any weight, so I need to work on my drop skills too. 
• Save some throws for yourself. This was my first ride in Nyx, so of course I was going to keep things for myself. I also kept some things for my friends and family. It's nice to have them around to keep the spirit of Mardi Gras alive all year.
• Take pictures! We live in a society based on documentation on social media. It's what we do, so don't forget to do it here. Stuff is going to get thrown by you and everyone else in the float, so take some time to take video and pictures of the crowds, your float buddies, and whatever else is fun. My family couldn't come this year, so I wanted to make sure they could "participate" from home. I wish I had taken more, so I'm going to make a point to do this next year.
• Have fun! This shouldn't have to be said, but I'll say it anyway. I had a freaking blast and am excited for next year. I'm more of an introvert, so I know it might sometimes seem like I'm not having fun because I'm being quiet. Totally not the case. It's a lot; it's an overwhelming experience the first time, so my introvert brain has to make it all work. And it did. I enjoyed myself in the way I wanted to. I was with my friends and did something I always wanted to do. Let's get through the rest of 2019 so we can do this again!
  

So that's all from Mardi Gras 2019! I'm taking a short break from purse making and glitter, but will be back at it before I know it!

I'm taking next week off, but will return the following weekend with my next adventure: singing karaoke for the first time. Still need to figure out what the hell I'm going to sing.