And how about afterwards?

On Sunday we slept in, shopped in the rain, and then grabbed a quick bite to eat on Stone Street. Then I dressed up in my new outfit (Happy Birthday to Me, From Me!), and David and I went to see the musical Rock of Ages, starring Constantine from American Idol, Season 4. However, his understudy stood in on the night of our performance, since the Tony Awards were on the same night. We were shocked at the huge crowd that had gathered in Times Square to watch the awards show that night.
After the play, David and I decided to take the Staten Island Ferry (which is a good way to see the Statue and the Manhattan skyline for free).
It was there on the ferry that I had my breakdown...the realization that I was no longer celebrating my special day where I just so happened, this time, to turn three decades old. Instead, I realized that I, on that particular day, was just a mere, boring, and OLD thirty years and one day...nothing special about that! There were a few tears while I pondered the fleeting passage of time and the relative insignificane of my days on earth so far.
I dried the tears up quickly. (There were some very odd Staten Islanders on the ferry who were looking at me strangely.) After all, I may have forgotten many details of my first 30 years, wasted some others on insignificant activities, and probably used up countless more napping, but...THERE'S STILL TIME!!!! My next 30 years will look quite different!

Q: And how about afterwards?
A: Look out, world!

How am I going to take turning THIRTY?!

So, it's finally here. The Big 3-0. Being someone who LOVES birthdays in general, I really hadn't been dreading this milestone like so many of my acquaintances seem to have done. Historically, I always look forward to June 12th for weeks in advance, even to the extent that my husband jokes that I don't actually celebrate a birthDAY...mine is a birthWEEK! I just can't help it, though. I love having an excuse to go out to my favorite restaurant(s), hang out with my favorite people, cook my favorite dishes at home, and eat desserts on a daily basis without feeling guilty! I also seem to manage to buy MYSELF a birthday gift every year.
Even so, as much as I love celebrating my birthday each year, I had suspected that this one might be marked with a little bit more emotion and introspection than usual. I combated this apprehension by booking flights for David and me to New York City to visit our bestest friends Adam and Sara and celebrate this monumental occasion in style! And we did!
We arrived late on Thursday, took a cab from the airport, and arrived at the Jonases apartment across from Battery Park in the wee hours of the morning. We greeted them and their girls (pups Lola and Lucy), chatted for a while, inflated our air mattress, and crashed in their studio apartment which was absolutely AWESOME!
On Friday, David and I split a ginormous sandwich at Carnegie Deli, hopped a double-decker bus (like all good tourists should) and toured upper Manhattan, went to MOMA, and then finally to watch the Yankees play the Astros at the new Yankee Stadium!
Then on Saturday, my birthday, Sara and I went for a jog along the Hudson River, which was much, MUCH cooler (in so many ways) than jogging ANYWHERE in Birmingham right about now. We came back to the little shop in the bottom of their apartment building and got breakfast...chocolate chip pancakes, fruit, and coffee for me... ...which we enjoyed on Sara and Adam's roof-top deck, which boasts an AMAZING view of the entire Southern tip of Manhattan, including the Statue of Liberty!
Thus began my 30th birthday. The rest of the day was spent on another double-decker bus (lower Manhattan), at Top of the Rock, and then out to dinner at Sushi Samba!
All in all...a good day! Most of all, though, I will never forget that I spent that morning enjoying my coffee while relaxing in a lounge chair on the roof of a building in New York City!
Q: How am I going to take turning THIRTY?!
A: Lying down!

Q: What is the most beautiful color on the face of the earth?

A:

Where have I been all month?!

Wow, I can't believe I haven't posted in a whole month! I'm a bad blogger. In my defense, I've been busy! Work is crazy. I've been trying to stay on top of my running/workout regimen. We've had guests in and out. We also went on the LONGEST VACATION OF MY LIFE to...

Key West...


















...the Bahamas...


...and Miami.


















Our eight day trip was just long enough to make me forget all of the various passwords I have to use at work...yet short enough to cause me to come home and do some SERIOUS research to find out whether there are any jobs out there that would pay me to travel. Just fyi...there aren't. Well, no immediately profitable ones, anyway. I could basically work on a cruise line, lead guided tours, teach English abroad, or be a travel writer. The latter, by the way, is quite tempting. Rest assured that if it involved any form of guaranteed income...I would have already sent my resume!

So, unless I can find an organization that's willing to PAY me to ride in a convertible, lounge on the beach, explore exotic places, try new foods, meet interesting people, and embark on a myriad of adventures...I guess I'll just be here in Alabama. Waiting. In my recliner. Or my cubicle. *Sigh*

Q: Where have I been all month?!
A: Here. There! And then here again...wishing I was still there. =(

Why do my orchids always end up looking like this?

Sometimes I ask myself why I even bother. As much as I love them, orchids are my nemesis. It's cruelly ironic that, being someone who can't grow ANYTHING, they are in fact my favorite flower. So beautiful and delicate. Ahhh, yes, delicate. Hence the reason I've found myself to be quite the serial killer of orchids. The one above is my latest victim. It's really a very vicious cycle that I'm on. It goes something like this:

1. Buy an orchid.
2. Admire the orchid.
3. Forget to water the orchid.
4. Notice that the orchid looks droopy.
5. Over water the orchid.
6. Try to lift the orchid's spirits with words of encouragement. Apologize.
7. Watch the orchid's blooms drop.
8. Still dropping...
9. Over water again.
10. Incessantly remind the 2 remaining blooms how pretty they are.
11. Plead with the last lonely bloom and beg it not to drop.
12. Over water what is now actually just a flower-less stick.
13. Stop watering.
14. Throw away the pot containing the flower-less stick after tiring of it taunting me about my poor gardening skills.
15. Buy an orchid...

And the saga continues. Sad, I know. No, really. The orchid. It actually LOOKS sad to me! Well, at least mine does, anyway. I generally find flowers to be quite expressive. To me most of them look like they have faces, and I believe that I unknowingly assign personalities to them according to the expression that I perceive they are making. Take Gerbera daisies for instance (or for that matter any daisy).











They're bold, sunny, always have a positive outlook. Compared to this:











Doesn't that face just SCREAM Drama Queen!






They just look so high-maintenance! So needy and fickle. To me this capriciousness has become even more characteristic of orchids than their daintiness. I truly believe that they are spoiled, bratty, little prima donnas that know how beautiful they are and how much you want them to thrive. They'd just rather DIE than give you the satisfaction of having successfully grown them! In fact, the only way you can ever gain their favor is by existing solely to entertain their every whim. By caring for them on their own terms. By watering them precisely every 7 days:3 hours:47 minutes, by talking sweetly to them for hours on end, by misting their leaves every morning, by moving them from one sunny windowsill to another so that they might enjoy a different view, and by constantly providing them with whatever else their little hearts desire!
And I refuse. I won't concede that easily. And so the orchids and I continue our silent war. I suspect that, somewhere deep in my subconscious mind, despite my love and awe of orchids, I secretly despise them. And the feeling is mutual.

Q: Why do my orchids always end up looking like this?
A: Because we're both too stubborn to make the relationship work!

Why do we refuse to get rid of our junk?

So, I'm a pack rat. Ok, a hoarder, if you want to be really offensive about it. I mean, I'm not one of those who refuses to throw away ANYTHING WHATSOEVER. I just have certain things that I have trouble getting rid of. But, then again, don't we all? I mean, for me it's things like clothing that may not exactly...um, fit...I mean, um...currently. Or maybe accessories that aren't in syle right now, but probably will be again at some point in the next 20 years...at which point I'll wish I still had them. And then there are the sentimental things. I have every birthday, anniversary, Valentine's Day, graduation, thinking of you, and random greeting card I've ever received. Why? I have no idea. I just love cards and refuse to get rid of them.
For my husband hoarding is more of an issue of utility. Our attic is stacked with boxes for every electronic item we've acquired since we've been married. He also can't seem to let go of things that he's used for years and considers to still be good, even long after I've bought a new one to replace it...i.e. his travel shaving kit, 3 mismatched dining chairs, and his white Polo shirt that has a salsa stain.
My sensitivity to these traits in us was heightened recently when we helped my parents move. Since they're transitioning to a smaller house with less storage, for now, it was imperative for me to officially take ownership of many Rubbermaid tubs full of memories of my childhood, teenage, and college years, in order to free up more space for my parents' junk. The sheer volume of things my mother, and to some extent myself, had accumulated over the years was quite sobering.
I must admit I have mixed emotions about accumulating "stuff." On the one hand, I see the futility of it all. Having so much "stuff" weighs you down. It requires more space to accomodate its mass. It adds to your "baggage" on so many levels. The mere presence of it limits your mobility. How can we abandon self and leave it all when there's just SO MUCH stuff involved?!
On the flip side, I can easily see how we become so attached. I saw the tears that glimmered in my mother's eyes as we sorted through bin after bin that contained things like my childhood stuffed animals, recipes her mother (my grandmother) had scrawled on index cards, the dress I wore when I was baptized, notes from my piano teacher, and even (surprisingly) the one thing that seemed to have the most emotional attachment of them all...the tweezers and small mirror that had always enjoyed a permanent residence in the sill of my grandparents' bay window...where my grandmother, Helen, could at any time pluck her eyebrows in the natural light. Funny, isn't it? The things we think will serve as reminders of our lives vs. the things that actually do.
On a lighter note, I was able to take advantage of my parents' down-sizing and managed to repurpose several of the items below:

Many years' worth of seashells I collected as a child








A pair of butterfly prints I've always admired













And...my favorite treasure...my mother's luggage from the 70's













Who knows if I'll ever carry the luggage? In reality I probably won't. It doesn't have rollers, so it's not that practical. Not to mention, I would hate to see it ruined or damaged by being mishandled by a skycap. Why? I'm not sure. After all, it's been packed away for years. It's not as if its being damaged would be somehow detrimental, since it hasn't been used in quite some time.
That being said, I still can't imagine anything happening to it. The same way I don't want to see anything happen to the large tubs of Cabbage Patch Kids, Care Bears, Little Golden Books, and other memorabilia that my children (if the Lord has enough of a sense of humor to bless me with any) will probably care nothing about. I can foresee a day in the distant future when I will force my children to make the decision whether to save or toss their childhood toys, books, and keepsakes so I can easily transition into my hassle-free retirement. Like my mother, I'll probably realize that my attachment to these items run far deeper than my childrens' ever will...and just keep them myself. I still won't know why. But, then again, does it really matter?
Q: Why do we refuse to get rid of our junk?
A: Because we just can't bear to let go...

How do you chop an onion without crying?

Ah! Another elusive question! I've heard rumors that there's an answer to this question, but quite honestly I've never had the time or energy to investigate it (or faith in any of the sources). Until recently. The other day, however, I found myself 1.) facing an onion, 2.) presented with a particularly potent specimen, 3.) with only a few minutes to spare. So I did some research.
The articles I found suggested various methods to help you chop said onion with minimal tears. Allow me to endorse/debunk a few.
1.) Place the onion in the freezer for 15 minutes prior to chopping. (You must be kidding. Most of the time when I'm chopping an onion I need it five minutes AGO, not 15 minutes from now. Try again.)
2.) Use a sharp knife. The odor/watering eyes are the result of enzymes released when the onion's cells are disturbed from the physical act of chopping. (My recipe requires that I mince this onion. I seriously doubt this will work. Try again.)
3.) Wear contact lenses. (I can attest that this does actually make a difference. Chopping onions seems to bother me much less when I'm wearing my contacts vs. when I'm preparing something in the early morning to cook in the crock pot while I'm gone to work. I usually end up with speckles of moisture all over my glasses where my eyelashes have slung tears all over the inside of my eyeglasses. However, this is not a viable option for non-contact lense wearers.)
4.) Chew a piece of bread or potato while chopping the onion. (Aaahhhh! Carbs!!!!)
5.) Set a lighted candle near your cutting surface to burn up the escaping enzymes. (This one seemed just crazy enough to work and also required the least preparation.)
Yes! The last suggestion honestly seemed to work! It was the only one I had time for when I was needing my onion, and I honestly noticed no tears whatsoever! (Even though I had teared up slightly, prior to my research, just from peeling the flaky skin off the outside of the onion and cutting off the tip!)
So...my recommendation? Forget all the other bogus tips that are out there! Just light the candle and set it next to your cutting board! Chop away!
Q: How do you chop an onion without crying?
A: Place a lighted candle next to your cutting surface!