Let's Talk About Rhinos

There are some things on which I consider myself to be something of an expert. In no particular order, those things include, but of course, are not limited to:

- Hot Chocolate
- Coffeehouse Drinks
- Growing basil
- The 1960's
- The film Casablanca
- J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye
- Fishtail Braids
- How to Tell Sassafras Trees Apart from Other Trees
- Semi-colons
- The Difference between Port and Starboard
- Disney's Animal Kingdom's White Rhinoceros Population
- Homemade Black Bean Burgers
- Basic Knitting
- The A, G, C, D, and F Chords on the Ukulele
- Yoga for Stress Relief

so when I was informed that I have an interview and need a three to five minute presentation for an audience of two to four people, I quickly narrowed it down to those topics. My mind raced. Could I really make a three minute presentation on semi-colons that would captivate an audience of four?

No. Semi-colons are too simple for that. You heard me; they are simple. See what I did there? I used a semi-colon-- correctly, I might add. To use a semi-colon correctly, you have to know if your two clauses (statements) can stand on their own as a sentence and if the thoughts are relatively connected. For example,
Semi-colons are shockingly simple to use; I have even seen non-native English speakers use them correctly.
would be a correct use. Just make sure you don't include words like, however, and, but, and or after the semi-colon (no matter what Microsoft Word tries to tell you).

Mildly entertaining? Maybe. Entertaining for three minutes? Not really. I quickly moved on...

Black bean burgers? I'd have to bring in samples. And sadly, my burgers are boyfriend-approved but not mass-approved, so that wouldn't be a good choice.

Catcher in the Rye? As much as I love Holden Caulfield, I know that much of the human population finds him whiny. Well, forget them; they're phonies anyway. (Holden Caulfield AND semi-colons. wha-BAM!)

Rhinos? Not only do I convince every one of my trainees that rhinos are worth saving and loving, but I can also recognize the white rhinos apart from each other. Most people can't do that, but I taught myself how with a few simple tricks.

And just like that, I had a presentation. Granted, I am practically the worst at interviews and presentations. This will be the third time I try for this job, and I tend to shake and tear up during even the "best" interviews. So practice has to happen. The pictures, by the way, were all taken by me while out on safari. For animal safety reasons, their names will not be included.

For practice for you all, let's figure out how to recognize black and white rhinos. There are certainly several similarities between the two species of African rhinos. Male and female African rhinos both have two horns that will grow continually during their lifetimes. Sadly, their horns are the reason why they are poached. There are fewer than 5,000 black rhinos in the world today and somewhere around 20,000 white rhinos. Rhinos have three toes on each foot. They have excellent senses of smell and hearing, but poor eyesight considering they have tiny eyes on either side of their head. Both species can also reach top speeds of about 35 miles per hour and can gallop (they can run with all four feet off the ground at the same time. I don't know about you, but I think that's amazing.). Black and white rhinos also wallow in mud to protect themselves from insects and sunburn. It also helps them keep cool in the hot African sun.

This is a black rhinoceros. Black rhinos are generally loners. They live in forested areas when possible, weigh about 3000 pounds tops, and have pointy upper lips. These upper lips are prehensile (can really move anywhere the muscles will let them. Think about your fingers moving independently or a spider monkey's tail being used as an extra appendage). They use these lips to grab tree branches. Black rhinos have a more slender build than white rhinos, so when they walk, it is almost like they tiptoe or walk with one foot directly behind the other. After looking at the pictures, you may also notice that isn't much a difference in color between white and black rhinos, either.

Below are some of the white rhinos. They can weight up to about 5,000 pounds. Notice their mouth structure. They have broad, wide mouths. In fact, that's how they got their name. The original Dutch Afrikaans settlers noticed that the rhinos living in the savanna together were wider in general-- especially their mouths. They ate grasses from the ground just like cows and horses. So they were wit or wide rhinos. When the English arrived, they mispronounced it. And no one likes to correct the reigning group of settlers, so there you have it.





The rhinos above are a mother and baby pair. You can tell it's the mother because of her WICKED LONG HORN! It's curved back toward her back. The baby is easy to tell apart from the others simply because he's so small. This was taken about a year after he was born, so he's a lot bigger now, but his horns are still small and rounded down. Rhino horn grows about three to six inches a year on average because their horns are made out of the exact same stuff that makes up our hair and finger nails. It's a densely packed protein fiber called keratin. Baby's horn still hasn't had much of a chance to grow in yet.

This rhino to the right is another adult female. She's honestly one of my favorites. Her horn is straight. The other white rhinos' horns are curved back a lot more than hers. Also, look at her ears. Even in the picture, if you look carefully, you can see how ridiculously fluffy her ears are.

Now that you know a little bit about the rhinos, see if you can tell the differences. I have included another picture of one of the white rhinos, so see if you can recognize which one it is.

That's a basic rundown of my presentation. Considering there are seven white rhinos to go through, it will take longer to go through all of them. Hope you learned a little something, and thank you for letting me practice!

Have Yourself a Merry Little Hiraeth

There's something a little ridiculous about the holiday season in Orlando, Florida-- especially if you are from Midwest Indiana. The weather has very little to do with typical Christmases either. It's either 40's and rainy or 80's an humid. The weather can't even decide what it wants to do with itself. At least in other states, for the most part, the weather picks a general set of ten numbers to stick to, but not here. Nope. And snow? Not even a thought. When it rains, Josh and I do joke about it being "snow," but even we don't think the joke is very funny.

Two days ago was my family Christmas party. It's a little early in the month, relatively speaking, but at least four generations of Sachtleben spawn make it out to Valparaiso, Indiana or Minooka, Illinois to sing "Silent Night" in German, eat deviled eggs because they were Cousin Steve's favorite, try to catch up on twelve months' worth of life events, watch Uncle Bob pitch a mini-fit over the blasphemy of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," and ultimately see how many secret glass fill-ups we can pull on Aunt Donna. If you haven't been, it's great.

I called my mom and sister's phones to get passed around from person to person, but no one answered. Cousin Megan texted to say she missed me. Cousin Chris texted to say he had a cold and couldn't go to the party either. I was feeling pretty low. But hey, Josh was either smart or lucky this year. The day of the party, two packages arrived for me. An Ahsoka Tano hoodie from www.heruniverse.com (cuz every fangirl needs one) and In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash by Jean Shepherd. I put on my hoodie, cracked open the book, and took a big whiff of book smell. I started reading, and the first chapter is all about going to Midwest Indiana after being gone so long that you practically decide not to claim it anymore. I teared up. Couldn't help it. I know people come down to Orlando for just about every vacation under the sun. But some days, you need a moment of your childhood back. You need a moment of what used to be normal.

You just need a Redamak's hamburger, and hopefully, a good one at that. Note: a good Redamak's
hamburger is so greasy that you need napkins in your lap, on the table, and in your shirt front. So much grease that you can feel it running down your arms. Toppings of choice: velveeta cheese product, ketchup, mustard, and grilled onions. The only acceptable variation of toppings is Swiss cheese, green olives, mustard, and grilled onions. You will feel this burger the next day, if not later that evening.

You need to drive down 800 North, afraid to go over 30 miles an hour because there's so much ice under the new lake effect snow, and you never know when a group of white-tail deer will bound in front of your car. You need to imagine that you're really in the Millennium Falcon and that the snow zooming past you are really stars that you're flying past in hyper-drive... only to remember you're only going 30 miles an hour.

You need to have a cat on your lap. A fluffy, heavy, cross-eyed cat who still mews like a kitten and sucks on fingers. You need to put in Lilo and Stitch because said cat just loves it so much. You need to almost hide your glass of milk because he's so spoiled that he'll try to drink it right out of your cup.

You need to sit on a squishy brown couch with a cup of coffee in your hand. You need to listen to your grandfather read "The Ballad of the Northern Lights." You need to marvel every year at how 1. you didn't remember how long this friggin' poem was or 2. the fact that it actually rhymed or 3. that you should really have this memorized after hearing it so much, but for some reason, it never sticks.

There are so many things that I miss about family Christmas. Things that you can't purchase. Things you can't put into words. Things you didn't even realize you'd miss. Instead, I'm in Florida. Making sure everyone else has an amazing vacation with their families.

I went to Target today. I got some pain meds, cold meds, a flash drive, organic juices, clementines, acorn squash, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and a maroon tank top. I walked outside into the "snow" donning my yoga pants and Ahsoka Tano hoodie. I took a deep breath in. Cigarette smoke and a nearby Cracker Barrel filled the air. It was almost like I was back in Indiana, grabbing lunch after the 8 am church service and before going to Uncle Fritz and Aunt Sharon's. Almost. I took my cart to the drop off, and an employee gestured for me to just toss the cart at him. I did so with the speed and precision one gets after pushing and parking strollers for two hours straight twice a week. It was an unfortunate reality check that I was in Florida and not able to get any time off for Christmas since everyone else has vacation and comes to visit me.

I know I have a lot to be grateful for. And I am. I'm just homesick for somewhere that isn't home anymore. For places, people, and feelings that may never exist again as I had known them. I found out recently that there's a word for that sensation. Hiraeth. It's Welsh. No direct English translation. But there you have it. So merry early Christmas, everybody. Remember why we celebrate.

Real life happens

LOOK WHAT I FOUND! An unpublished blog post from a month into dating Josh. This is cool to see... Time to finish and publish this bad boy...

Oy, the things I’ve done and seen, and it’s not even July yet.  Let’s start at the beginning (stranded in Kentucky). 

We had been on the road about six hours, and in spite of taking a wrong turn in Louisville, we were making good time. We drove so fast that the lack of air conditioning in the Zambezi Zelda Fitzgerald didn’t matter. We blasted the 1940’s novelty hits as we went down highway 75.  Even sister was singing along—huge deal. 

Then I felt Zelda buck.  This wasn’t the typical, “No, I’m not enjoying this all that much. Go to White Castle or something instead of driving so long,” buck.  This was a, “Oh, you want to keep driving? Absolutely not.  See that hill?  We’re going down it.  Hang on, Skip!” buck.  I heard something crunch, and I watched the RPMs go from 2 to 5.  Zelda was down for the count.  We pulled over, called a tow truck, and sat motionless at the bottom of the hill.

True to form, I texted everyone who would care that I wasn’t dead.  This list included the readership of this blog (whose numbers weren’t deleted when my phone died), Matt Vernon, Bethany Lee, my four Disney chicas, and my future roommates (Benton and Josh).

Benton, who I had known since 2008, was MIA. Josh, the guy I had never met who just kind of accepted me as the girl who'd live on his couch, was the one who bothered texting to make sure I was all right. 

The next day, no response from Benton, but I got a phone call from Josh. I don't talk, mind you, I text, so I was nervous... in spite of that, we had a 36 minute phone call talking about work, animals, adventures, a party goat (...? I didn't know what it was, but, hey, he sounded nice...), Indiana Jones... Things were going way too well, so I ended up saying g'bye and going back to the hotel room.

"So... did you have fun?" Ma asked.

"Actually, yeah. He seems really nice."

My mom smiled and said, "And that's how I met your mother..." I laughed a little, but the concept was horrifying. There was no way that I just talked to someone I'd ever end up with. I was on hiatus...kinda... ok, so I really wanted something to happen with this guy, and if it was that obvious to my mother after one-- count em, ONE phone call that I was really into this guy, there was no way I was going to make it through the week I would be living with him and Benton-- whoa! When did that happen? Not Benton and Josh, Josh and Benton! This was bad. And I found myself getting excited to meet this guy who I knew I'd have no chance with. All the same, the rest of the drive was spent listening to Frank Sinatra and thinking about how beautiful life was.

Long story short, I moved in with Josh and Benton and spent the day hanging out with Josh. Sure nuff, he was even more fun in person. I started getting excited for every excuse to see him. And that was tough business. I worked nights at the Jungle Cruise. He worked mornings feeding the animals at Animal Kingdom and EPCOT. So somewhere between 2am and 4am every day, we decided to start dating.


It's present day me again. We still listen to Frank Sinatra all the time. We're still animal nerds. Indiana Jones is still one of the best movies ever. We've changed jobs, gotten engaged, we've both had to get new cars. Life gets weird sometimes. But it's amazing to see that no matter how much has changed, deep down, we've always known where things were going.

Wedding Planning = Everybody's Favorite

That title is a lie, by the way. We've been engaged a good two years. That's two years of planning. Working on color schemes, guest lists, budgets, and time lines. For someone who loves sticking to a semi-regular schedule, two years seems like a long time.

I found out recently that Colorado has a neat little wedding law that we'd decided to use to our advantage. It's called self-solemnizing or a Quaker wedding. Basically, we can perform the entire ceremony ourselves. Considering how broke we are and that neither of us have an officiant in mind, I'm pretty excited about it... that, and deep down baby me always wanted to have a wedding like in Brigadoon.

For those of you who haven't seen it yet, near the end of the movie, two characters get married. The town's pastor had given his life in exchange for Brigadoon to disappear and reappear once every hundred years. There is no one to officiate the wedding, so the two characters say, "I will love you until I die," and then there's a dance number. Let's be honest-- who wouldn't want a dance number at her wedding? Granted, we haven't had that conversation yet...

That's the plan, anyway. A while later we'll go to Indiana for a family and friend shindig, and all bases will be covered. Finally. And who knows, maybe we'll get a dance number going.

Packing and posting...

I just finished packing to go to Colorado on March 7^th. It seems like I haven’t even unpacked from moving to Florida yet (partially because I haven’t). Packing always depresses me a little because I’m so good at it. I know so many women my age who go somewhere for a week and bring an entire wardrobe, but from packing up and moving for a season every year since 2008, I’ve figured out what can stay and what has to come with me. I even have space left over in my little red suitcase.

I’m not sure what’s got me depressed this go-round. Maybe it’s how I’m listening to Wicked and missing Jen, Tia, Sara, Bethany, Suzie, and Jamie so much that I want to cry. Maybe it’s the moderately unsettling thought that so many of my friends are getting married soon. Maybe it’s the stress of seeing my mom and sister for the first time since I moved (I wish that wasn’t so stressful, but let’s face it, it’s going to be). Maybe it’s knowing that this trip to meet Josh’s family is a bigger deal than I’d want to admit because then I’d be saying something “that counts.”

It’s not like I haven’t met boyfriends’ parents before. When I met Mitch’s family, I wasn’t dating him so it wasn’t a big deal once we did start dating.

When I met the Hope ex’s parents, he hadn’t told them he had broken up with his last girlfriend, so they just kept asking me questions like, “What’s the population of your town?”, “How do you feel about illegal immigration?” etc. In fact, the only interesting thing they had to say to me was, “Have you ever thought of going to Africa?” Well, yes I have, ma’am. More than I think about most things, actually. But it’s not that you’d care because you aren’t invested in me at all.

When I met Gui’s family, it was a simple matter of not speaking enough Spanish to talk to his mom, having his little brother take advantage of the culturally accepted kiss on the cheek when saying hello and good bye, and realizing that I really wasn’t comfortable with the situation at all.

Honorable mentions go to Much Ado co-star Justin’s mom:

Her: It’s really weird to see you kiss my son every night. I don’t even know your name.

Me: Nice to meet you. My name’s Elyse.

And the PK’s Pastor Father:

Him: Now that you’re in your first semester of college, have you met Mr. Right?

Me: Heavens no, but I’ve met plenty of Mr. Good-Enough-for-Right-Nows.

Him: Oh…?

So really, the difference is that I’m meeting people who are actually going to matter in the long run. I knew this was going to happen eventually, but here it is staring me in the face. While I was packing and trying to figure out if I could ever own enough blue, green, and black shirts to finally get to a point where I could stop buying blue, green, and black shirts, I couldn’t help but try to remember how I got to this point.

May 30, 2011, stranded in Kentucky. My mom, sister, and I had been on the road about six hours, and in spite of taking a wrong turn in Louisville, we were making good time. We drove so fast that the lack of air conditioning in the Zambezi Zelda Fitzgerald didn’t matter. We blasted the 1940’s novelty hits as we went down highway 75. My sister was singing along—huge deal. 

Then I felt Zelda buck. This wasn’t the typical, “No, I’m not enjoying this all that much. Go to White Castle or something instead of driving so long,” buck. This was a, “Oh, you want to keep driving? Absolutely not. See that hill? We’re going down it. Hang on, Skip!” buck. I heard something crunch, and I watched the RPMs go from 2 to 5. Zelda was down for the count. We pulled over, called a tow truck, and sat motionless at the bottom of the hill for 2 hours before finally being towed to a hotel.

May 31, first time hearing Josh’s voice over the phone. Josh called me after he got off of work that day. No pretense, no hidden motives, he just wanted to make sure I was all right and that I was keeping my spirits up as much as possible. I’ll admit I already had a crush on my future roommate at the time, so the 36 minute phone call had me geeking out more than I hoped he could hear so many states away. Any sort of crush I had on him was amplified after that.

He told me a few weeks ago that he could hear me smiling over the phone. I guess he was well on his way to knowing me way too well even then.

June 3, meeting Josh. There he was in his pajamas at the front door. I was wearing a white sundress because it’s the only thing I own that’s ever warranted a “two syllable damn.” I was expecting to only be living there for a few weeks, so I had to make some sort of impression, right? Even if something wasn’t going to happen that summer, I wanted to at least leave the option open eventually. The first thing I noticed in person was his ears. Then the shape of his face. Then his eyes. Then his voice. We spent the rest of the time that he was awake at Hollywood Studios riding Star Tours and getting backstory. I had an idea how much I was going to like him when I actually had the chance to meet him, but this was ridiculous. I couldn’t find a single reason not to like him more—believe me, I tried. I absolutely hated long distance. I didn’t want to get attached to a guy I had just met. But after one day of hanging out with Josh, the damage was done. He just kept getting more perfect.

June 4-June 30, the month that everything happened. There’s no better way to describe it. Everything happened from me telling my mom I was going to marry him eventually and learning that there was someone else out there who liked Muppet Treasure Island as much as I do to eating whole chickens with our bare hands to our first “I love you”s. Things go faster when your introduction to somebody is being his/her roommate, but in retrospect, it really wasn’t as fast as it seems.

I had been told once that the first 3 months of the relationship define the rest of the relationship, so I figured that if I wanted this to go anywhere, I had to stay put. Heading back to Indiana could wait—indefinitely were it not for that whole graduation thing. By July, I figured out that I could finagle graduation into a semester, and boy howdy, it was worth it. Knowing that we would only be away from each other for a semester and having 3 months worth of memories under our belts made it that much easier to give long distance a chance.

January 4, 2012, starting the big drive down to Florida with Josh. We had done the impossible. Not only had long distance worked, but we had learned how to count on each other way more than we even had over the summer. It seemed like things had kind of come full circle. The last time when I was making this drive, I was heading to meet Josh, but this time, it felt like driving off towards the rest of my life. Some grand moment of cathartic solipsism after being away from each other so long.

Before you think that I rearranged my life to be closer to some guy I only knew for 3 months, don’t worry. Part of what made everything seem so perfect was how easily everything fell into place. He instinctively knew to quote my favorite play while putting boots on. He made me omelets without knowing that that’s my favorite way to have eggs. Instead of being weirded out by how I can picture punctuation in my head, he gave punctuation marks a sound (which I brought back to school with me, much to the joy and delight of my coworkers at the Writing Center). We don’t fight; we talk it out. He promised to be my best friend and hasn’t let me down once. He helped give my dreams for my future a form and function—and he added rhinos. He made dating over the phone easy. He’s the only person who gets to play with my hair or hold me while I cry. We just fit. 10 months later, nothing about it is disappointing. It sounds cliché, but it really is getting better all the time.

Am I nervous? Sure. Who wouldn’t be? Am I going to do something embarrassing? Of course; that’s part of the fun of it. This is just the next part of the adventure, packing to meet his family and all. After thinking about it, I’m not so depressed about packing. I’m good at it, after all. I’ve got most of this covered already. The big stuff like realizing how important Josh is to me is long since taken care of. Everything else is going to fall into place just as easily. I guess it’s just strange knowing how much this trip and packing matters this time. This is an instance where, once again, I can tell that I’m barreling head first towards the rest of my life. Here goes nothing. Wish me luck!

Some blog posts are written just to assess some things. This is one of those posts. (back order circa December 16th)

Any time I am faced with some sort of grand transition in my life, I can't help but try to take stock of where I've been and what I've done. The last time I really had to worry about this was last summer before I went to Florida. It was almost shocking to look at everything that had happened in recent years and realize that by age 21, I had done everything I had ever wanted to do.

-          Work in Disney World, check!

I've been working there since 2008, so that was nothing new. I drive a boat around in circles, tell bad jokes, wear a lot of khaki, and make magic for other people. This is also a cop-out way to get the sub-goal of professional comedian out of the way. After all, being a professional anything means you’re paid to do it.

-          Play Beatrice in Much Ado about Nothing, check!

Since that had been a goal since 1993 or so, the audition went off without a hitch. On the way to the audition, I had car trouble on the toll road, I had a phone fight with an ex (get poisonous influences out of my life, check!), and narrowly avoided a panic attack. It helped with the method acting portion, I guess. When I finally arrived at the audition, I took out my piece of paper with my scrawled out monologue and read with all of the oomph that I had used when I practiced in my bedroom when I was home alone. I had never been so relieved to say the words, “I would eat his heart in the marketplace” in my life. I'm pretty sure that people down the hall heard how much I wanted to kill Claudio, and they trembled in terror (at least that's what I'd like to think happened. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it). After the fiver performances, however, there was a nice, big void the size of one of Benedick's monologues. Awesome.

-           Go to Europe, check!

I spent spring break in Germany and France my sophomore year of high school. I kept a running tally of all the hot guys I saw (it's probably in my closet somewhere), geeked out over the history and culture (but mostly the bread... foodies on vacation. It's an issue). The best part, however, was probably going to Euro Disney and having some French teenagers flash the camera during the picture on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Needless to say, my mom wanted to buy the picture, but the nice man behind the counter said it was filthy and too stereotypically French.

-          Have something published, check!

I wrote a crappy poem about my dog once, sent it in to some magazine, and it was published. I actually got $35 for it. The fun thing about that story is that the poem was written in Spanish (Spanish rhymes easier than English). I wasn’t published again until the writing contest at school last semester. That time, it was actually in English. It wasn’t a big publication, sure, but again, the qualification for tacking the word professional onto anything is getting money for it.

-          Live like the Boxcar Children, check!

Who wouldn’t want to live like one of the Boxcar Children? After everything went wrong on my first day back in six months, I got to be homeless in Disney World for a month. I learned how to couch surf if I wanted some sort of bed, find electrical outlets when I needed them, and take showers on Disney property where I wouldn’t be bothered (you’d be shocked at how important it is to shower in peace. There are some places on Disney property where I would never shower.). I learned how to live on $20 a week, how to sneak slushies to cast members, how to use public transportation, how to never wait in lines, and how to never pay for drinks (magical Disney resort mugs and complimentary water. Those are the real best kept secrets in Disney World. You don’t see signs advertising mugs and free water, do you? Absolutely not.)… Granted, I didn’t actually have a boxcar. I didn’t have any siblings with me. I didn’t have a blue cup, and I never solved any mysteries. All the same, it was definitely one of the most epic things I’ve ever done.

When I started writing this, I had to wonder if I really had everything done. It seemed too easy. After realizing that I only had about five goals to speak of, I figured it was time to look through old photo albums and see if there was anything I had missed.

There were plenty of pictures of me growing up in Disney World and even of me excitedly waiting in line for the Jungle Cruise. There weren’t any pictures of me putting on a production of Much Ado about Nothing with my Barbies, but it is safe for everyone to assume that it actually happened. There were certainly pictures from Germany and France. Me staring at Notre Dame from my seat on a tour bus, my family and our exchange student eating breakfast in Germany, a rooster wandering around Euro Disney

—also, this is neither here nor there, but I had an epiphany! Maybe Euro Disney has chickens the way Disney World has ducks! And maybe Disneyland—since it’s in California where The Birds takes place—has crows and sea gulls. Eew... Meanwhile, back in my photo books…

There was, however, a huge part of my life that I had forgotten to include somewhere in my list of life’s ambitions: dinosaurs. There were pictures of me and dinosaur-related things all over the place. How did I forget when they covered my nursery walls, helped me understand the importance of family and tree stars, and taught me everything I knew about frog DNA? Once upon a time, I was going to find a dinosaur egg some place, incubate it, and have my very own dinosaur. If that didn’t work, then at least I would find a fossil one day. I guess there are some things that I left out. It seems a little silly now, but now that I have realized that there’s something that important that was skipped entirely, I have to fix it!

Unfortunately, seeing Sue at the Field Museum doesn’t really count as finding a dinosaur fossil. I’m going to have to take care of that at some point.

I also wanted to own a coffee shop at some point. I haven’t done that either, but by this point, I don’t really want to. My sister wants to open a vegan restaurant, and that will have to be the fruition of that dream for everybody.

I wanted to be a zookeeper back in the day, too. I wanted to be the person who took care of the big cats, stood by the enclosures answering people’s questions, watching to make sure kids didn’t run into cages (running into an animal enclosure, check! The buffaloes at the zoo did not enjoy that as much as I did.). Saying I live at a zoo right now is a bit of a stretch, but it’s been enough to make me feel like I haven’t failed at that one. While most of our family pets can be classified as farm animals, things like ferrets, a hedgehog, a parrot, hermit crabs, my tiny domesticated bob cat mix it up enough that I can fudge the data and call it a zoo.

On the other hand, there were things I did in addition to the goals I forgot to mention. I still have six months experience as a Mr. Manager. For those of you who don’t get the Arrested Development reference, that means I get to be a manager of something but only nominally. On my last day of being Mr. Manager of the Writing Center on campus, I was inches away from saying, “Squaw no gettum firewood; Squaw go home!” But since it was my last day, what would I have gained? I’ll take the six months management experience.

I’ve traveled back and forth in time (yeah, but that’s only between time zones). I’ve tried my hand at event planning. I’ve been somebody’s imaginary friend (when all the influence you really have is through text messages, you may as well be an imaginary friend. It makes enough sense to me). I’ve figured out what happy relationships look like. In case you were wondering, happy relationships don’t involve secretly hoping for the other person to die. That is actually the exact opposite of a happy relationship. I guess I still have a ways to go before I get everything done, but the list of what I have done and where I’ve been will just get longer. I can be content knowing I’ve done more than most people my age and also knowing I don’t intend to stop and let everyone else catch up. I’ll figure it out as I go, I suppose; there isn’t much else I can do.

Musings over cookies...

I have 57 cookies in a red food container waiting to be sent to Florida.  I may have spent a little too much time baking cookies tonight, and I had to blog as a result.  Something about the sense of smell sends memories flooding back.  Combine that with any of the other senses, and you’re stuck with whatever memories decide to show up.  Being the domestic that I am, I have baked a LOT of cookies in my day, so I have my fair share of cookie and baking memories.  You’d think cookies wouldn’t be blog worthy, but you’d also think that people wouldn’t get offended about comma use, and here I am. 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…  After baking 24 chocolate chip cookies, I moved on to snickerdoodles.  I made them from a mix rather than cheating (as much) with frozen dough.  Stirring was not going as planned, so I thought back to when I made snickerdoodles in the basement of Dykstra dorm with a girl named Alyssa.  I can’t remember who got frustrated with the dough first, but I was the one who ended up smooshing the dough with my hands.  I also ended up brandishing butter at somebody and picking things up with my toes…? Normal.

That evening, our boyfriends showed up to eat the cookies.  The Hope ex loved snickerdoodles, so he was very excited to eat them.  He bit into a cookie and put it back down quickly.

Zac: What did you do to them?

Me: I baked them…  From scratch, actually.

Zac: Well, I knew that much.  You can taste the difference between real cookies and fake ones. (*Note: I bet he was one of those who you could give a water bottle to where the water’s been poured out and  refilled with tap water, and he would brag about knowing the difference between bottled and tap water.*)  How did you put the cookie on the cookie sheet?

Me: I rolled the dough into walnut-sized balls—

Zac: So far, so good.

Me: –and then I squashed them with my thumb because I didn’t know how they would spread out.

Zac:  Oh.  That’s where you went wrong.

Me: That’s where I went wrong?  Anything else?

Zac: No.  Next time you’ll hopefully do better.

In retrospect, I should have slept with his roommate.  I’m kidding.  I just didn’t bake him cookies ever again.  I stuck with baking for people who actually appreciated it.  I mean, not a big song and dance about cookies, but still.

There were lots of people on my College Program who got cookies.  I had a bigger apartment than most, so many of the Skipper Movie Nights were at my place.  Much of the food ended up being my doing as well.  When you make the time to do entertain on a small scale, it doesn’t take much work to put on a nice shirt, pour spinach dip into rye bread, whip up bean dip, make worms and dirt, cover something in chocolate, and have Frank Sinatra playing in the background by the time people show up.  My ex Gui had seen me host or co-host parties all the time (what he probably didn’t realize was that the only thing to stress me out when he was around was him). 

When we both found ourselves in the Midwest, I realized that the only things that actually held us together were working for Disney and not seeing each other every day.  He’d call every day so I could entertain him over the phone.  He refused to make friends in Detroit.  He’d always say I was the reason why he moved there, so I had to show some gratitude.  Spring of 2010, phone calls were a matter of, “Hello, Tiny, did you do anything today?  Make it live!  …that sounds boring… Want to hear about my day?  I actually did something important.”  He’d call the house if I didn’t answer [When I lived with Wayne two summers ago, he did NOT have that house number.  I could go out and leave my phone off.  It was amazing (How did I find these people?!)].  By that time, I didn’t make cookies specifically for Guillermo.  I only made cookies if someone from my College Program came over.

Before I left for Disney that summer, I made Mickey shaped rice crispy treats, put them on a stick, and dipped them in chocolate for my 60’s Lit class.  On the way to school that evening, Gui called.  Granted, it was about a week after I called off the wedding, so he was quite angry with me.  It wasn’t the beginning of the end, really, just a continuation of it.

Me: Can I call you during my break tonight?  I’m running a little late because I was baking, so I’m frazzled.

Gui: You were baking?  For who?

Me: My 60’s class.  Since I am leaving tomorrow, I’m missing the final.  Holt let me take it early.  I made Mickey rice crispy treats like they have in the parks for him, but I couldn’t just make them for him... so I made about 15…?

I could hear him huffing over the phone.

Gui:  I don’t know why you bother.  Are you at least getting paid for this?!

Me:  No.  It’s a gift.  You don’t ask for things in exchange for gifts.

Gui:  I know what a gift is!  I’m not an idiot… I just don’t see why you should just bake for people!

Me:  Because it’s nice, and I’m leaving tomorrow!

I had to hang up after that.  He didn’t see why I should bake for people?  I didn’t understand why I shouldn’t bake for people. If you ask me, I think it’s a nice way to show people that they matter.  The subtext when it comes to baking is that somebody matters, somebody is loved, and somebody is cared about.  It’s simply a nicety.  Instead of not baking anymore, I just stopped telling Gui if I was baking…or anything, really.

By this point, people don’t seem to be offended by me baking cookies.  My cookies don’t come with hidden agendas, and I am not fishing for compliments (even if the first anecdote doesn’t sound that way), so I bake when I get the chance or make the time for it.  While I was baking this evening and these memories popped into my head, I couldn’t help but think about how much I love the smell of freshly baked cookies.  For a moment, I thought, “It doesn’t get much better than that.”  I had to shake my head at myself—I’m shaking my head again, folks, because I’m about to gush. 

There is most certainly something better than the smell of freshly baked cookies.  Tonight I made cookies for my boyfriend Josh, and after 6 months with him, I can honestly say that being myself and happy with somebody else beats the smell of freshly baked cookies.  No contest.  And as silly as it sounds, not having to worry about failing at snickerdoodles or being chastised for baking for a class is also a heck of a lot better than the smell of freshly baked cookies.  But perhaps my favorite part is that my boyfriend deserves all the freshly baked cookies I can send his way.  I think that may be what makes the difference.

Post on back order for Sara Olson...

Leave it to me to write something and never publish it in any way.  As my summer adventures were winding down, I found myself missing Sara Olson more than usual (which is saying something).  As a direct result, I wrote this blog post.  Yet again, here goes nothing!

August 5, 2011

11:05 am

People have a tendency to do really stupid things when they miss somebody.  When I’m in Disney, there is one person I always seem to miss most: Skipper Sara Olson.  The closest we’ve been to each other since 2008 was when we both happened to be in that evil state (Kentucky) right before Christmas 2009.  Sadly, we had both been kidnapped by pirates at the time, so we didn’t get to see each other.  Instead, we “poop texted” for the rest of the year.

Long story short, I’m sitting at Ghirardelli in Downtown Disney with my latest idiotic tribute to how much I miss Sara Olson.  It is staring at me in sadistic triumph.  The receipt calls it, “1 Lg ID Esprso Sund ----- $8.95,” and let me tell you, I’ve never wanted to punch food so much in my life.

The sundae is about the size of a grinder at Earl of Sandwich, and it is loaded with espresso, hot fudge (cold fudge by now), chocolate chunks, and self-loathing.  I keep thinking, “How did I get to this point?  I haven’t been this bad since Heath Ledger died.  This never would have happened if my boyfriend had been here.”  It’s come to this.  And why?  Because I miss Sara, and she said I should get a sundae for lunch.

No, no, I can’t actually blame her for this.  The truth is I sent her a text to ask permission to eat a sundae in her honor.  She did tell me which one to get, though…

Ugh, and up to this moment, I had been so healthy in my eating habits!  I can’t even joke about making my family proud of me for this one.  Other thoughts knocking around in my head right now involve food math conversions.

1 large espresso sundae = $8.95.  With a cast discount of 20%, this sundae = $7.63.

$7.63 worth of missing Sara Olson = 1 sundae

1 sundae = 3 pineapples

1 sundae = 7 cartons of eggs

1 sundae = 2.5 lbs. of cheese

1 sundae = 2 funnel cakes

1 sundae = 1 chicken

1 sundae = 6 bottles of beer

And HERE is the kicker, sports fans:

1 sundae = 2 pints of Ben and Jerry’s

Yeah. That’s what I thought.  And I couldn’t even finish this *@#! sundae!  Sara Olson, I miss you every single day, but jeez, I need a better way to show it.

PS in 5 minutes, I’ll have had this beast in front of me for an hour.  I already have an icecream hangover… or a food baby.  Take your pick.

PSS “The only emperor is the emperor of icecream.” – Wallace Stevens… bet that poem was about this sundae because I, for one, have never felt this crass and hedonistic.

PSSS I hate icecream now

Appendix

Sara Olson to Food Conversion Chart (Silly but necessary):

How much I miss Sara Olson = 1 sundae

I miss Sara Olson 3 pineapples.

I miss Sara Olson 7 cartons of eggs.

I miss Sara Olson 2.5 lbs. of cheese.

… or 2 funnel cakes…

…womp womp…

12:29pm- SUNDAE FINISHED!

I wish I could be happier about that, but I feel gross!