There are many times that I'm thankful I read Jean-Paul Sartre's play "No Exit" in college. Haven't read it? Here's the theme: Hell is other people.

I know, I know, 'tis the season for more cheery sentiments about mankind, but...once you embrace this theme it is so utterly flexible and applicable that I promise you, too, will come to love it. Take, for example, Cheryl Strayed's spectacular advice column entitled "Hell is other people's boyfriends." And, on our wonderful trip through Spain, I drew the profound conclusion: Hell is other tourists.

Spain is a fabulous country—we went to Madrid, Barcelona, and Seville. While in those cities, in addition to eating todos las tapas, we wanted to see the sites. But here's the thing about seeing the wonders of the world—spoiler alert!—you won't be the only one there. Actually, there will inevitably be so many people there.

Also? Selfie sticks. So. Many. Selfie sticks.

I highly advocate going to the Sagrada Familia, the massive church in Barcelona which was Antoni Gaudí's masterpiece. It's beautiful. It's moving. It's unlike anything I've ever seen before.

But, while you're walking beneath the church toward Gaudi's grave, brace yourself for someone's cell phone ring tone to loudly echo through the chambers.

"Thank God we have service down here," I whispered to Stephen.

Another place with superb service? The top of the Giralda, the tower connected to the Cathedral in Seville. After climbing the 34 ramps and few steps to the top, you could take in the panoramic views of the city, or you could block those views from other people and angrily yap into your cell phone. The choice is yours.

I should note that these tourists were not exclusively American. Although it's tempting to deem those we live nearest as the most exasperating of all people, my trip to Europe proves annoying tendencies know no geographical boundaries.

And of course, pictures. So. Many. Pictures. Pictures will be taken at all costs. Even, let's say, if you're sitting in a dark Flamenco theater in Seville and they explicitly said 900 times not to take pictures. The tourist in front of you will not listen.

The issue, of course, is that while you're witnessing all these irritating tourists you are hit with the cringe-worthy realization: You, too, are a tourist. You are forever bonded to these people by this unshakeable commonality. And to some say, the locals, you are these people. It's like the conundrum with catching someone kissing with their eyes open—the only way you can catch them is by opening your eyes. Thus, you are the victim and the culprit. You become the very thing that annoys you.

But, I digress. Thankfully, I am not a philosopher.

I write this not to deter you from witnessing popular sites, but to appropriately readjust your expectations. You likely won't have a Sleepless in Seattle moment at any of these places. But they are still, undoubtedly, worth going to. So, please, go to Barcelona. Walk through the Sagrada Familia and bask in the glory of Gaudi's creation. See a Flamenco show in Seville. Go to the top of the Giralda. But, for the love of the holy family, silence your cell phone.

How to Plan a Wedding in 48 Hours

Stephen and I got engaged a few weeks ago, and right after it happened I was so excited to be married to Stephen, but I was feeling this palpable sense of dread around planning the actual wedding. I was thinking I'd rather have a plane delayed by maintenance forty times than make a guest list. And I'd rather miss my connection by four minutes after sprinting through the airport than take nauseating engagement photos. And I'd choose getting a flat tire and being stuck on the side of the road in the freezing cold in the middle of Illinois over anything to do with centerpieces. Do you know what you should worry about instead of centerpieces? LITERALLY ANYTHING.

Yes, I was equating my wedding planning with a series of terrible business trips of my past, and thinking those would be preferable. Because at least when you get a food voucher from the Delta lady at midnight in DTW she doesn't ask you what your wedding colors are. 

And here I must profusely apologize to every woman who has ever had a wedding or will have a wedding with a perfectly curated guest list, adorable engagement photos, lovely centerpieces, and the perfect colors. Your engagement, bridal shower, bachelorette party, and wedding was or will be amazing. Seriously. I have attended these perfect weddings and enjoyed them immensely.

And I mean this with complete sincerity: Good for you, not for me.

So....right in the midst of a few weeks of "Let's elope" thought processes where whenever anyone asked me about my impending wedding I wanted to a.) punch them in the face b.) apparate to another time zone. and c.) eat an entire tub of Ben & Jerry's ice cream. (To be clear, I perpetually want to do c. regardless of the topic of conversation.) Right in the midst of this brain hurricane of wedding-induced panic, Stephen helped me have this life-altering epiphany:

It doesn't matter.

Wait.

Let me say that again.

IT DOESN'T MATTER.

I love that sentence. Yes, in some instances it has a depressing ring to it but in others—take, this one—it can be incredibly freeing.

So, in this post-revelatory happiness haze void of meaning, Stephen and I, basically, did it all in 48 hours. Chose a city (Madison), chose ceremony space, and chose a venue for a reception.

And, I surmised there are two key things you need if you want to plan your wedding in 48 hours:

1. A very restricted/limited guest list. People will understand. They should be cool enough to get it. If they're not cool enough to get it—do you even care about them?

2. A healthy dose of apathy. (See above mantra)

:)

So whatever your "wedding" of the moment is—the thing churning around, unsettling your skull, rattling your peace of mind—ask yourself: how much does it matter? Five years from now, how will you feel about this very thing that's bothering you so much right now it's eating away at your sanity? Free yourself, yo.

And never forget: There are infinite things more important than center pieces. Take cats sprawling out next to toilets, for example:

Hope you're all having good weeks! xx

Our Engagement Stories

These days, there's a lot of pressure put on a single moment—the wedding proposal.

With so many meticulously planned and filmed proposals destined to go viral, it raises a lot of questions. Does he really love her if there isn't a flashmob? Did the moment actually happen if it wasn't captured on video? Or at least photographed? Does the number of "likes" on a Facebook engagement announcement increase their chances at everlasting love?

All this to say...Stephen and I got engaged yesterday! And, surprisingly, no flashmobs were involved. I want to tell you the wedding proposal story—I do—but reducing our five and a half year relationship to one moment seems impossible, like reducing your life to a single piece of paper. I couldn't pick just one. Here are a few of our engagement stories:

When I was a junior in college, in the middle of the worst basketball season of my life, Stephen and I started dating. We're talking a single-digit win season. Stephen came to every home game. Even if you're one of the few who considers women's basketball extraordinarily exciting, these games were not that. They were often downright painful. But Stephen came, cheered, waited (and waited) (and waited) after the game for me to be done in the locker room. Stephen was my fan, from day one. His enthusiasm has never wavered, all these years later.

The first picture taken of us together. Photo by Cosi!

Only a month or so into my relationship, my aunt died unexpectedly. I got the terrible news, then went to basketball practice. After practice, I knew Stephen had been looking forward to playing poker with a group of guys. Instead, he was at my apartment holding my favorite Dairy Queen blizzard, and refused to leave.

Stephen's graduation weekend. Before the wine and cheese thing at Bucknell.

I started this blog one year into our relationship. I was terrified to let anyone read it. Stephen would patiently proof every post, reassuring me it was good. His belief in me has caused me to more deeply believe in myself, and for that I am eternally grateful.

Somewhere on some trail in Arkansas.

Stephen and I dated long distance for over two years. Most of that time, he was in Little Rock, Arkansas, and I was in Madison, Wisconsin. Nearly every time I flew down, he'd text me after I landed something like: "Got held up at work. Can you take a cab to my place?" or "Sorry, not there yet." He was always there. He was always waiting. (And often hiding behind something so I had to look extra hard for him.) Despite all the miserable things about long distance dating, I'll never forget the joy of reuniting in airports.

Getting in touch with our artistic sides in Arkansas.

Since I had a job in Wisconsin, Stephen moved here. A little over a year after he moved here, I decided to quit that job. He was unquestionably supportive. Even though I wouldn't have an income. Even though we now lived in Wisconsin, away from all of our families, because of me and now I was quitting the job that brought me here. Stephen never stopped supporting me.

Stephen's first weekend living in Madison! (At the terrace)

Over the weekend, we flew to my home in Pittsburgh for my friend, Nicole's, beautiful wedding on Saturday night. On Sunday morning, Stephen asked if I wanted to go for a walk and, since we go for walks all the time, I agreed without thinking anything of it. We walked down to Hopewell Park and started going on a trail through the woods. The air was crisp, but not cold. The leaves on the trees shimmered in the sunlight—all shades of yellow, red, and orange—and the leaves on the ground crunched beneath our feet.

Once we neared the top of a hill, he suggested we sit on a bench for a bit, and that's when he got on one knee and asked me to marry him! Upon our return home, my entire family was there along with cake, flowers, champagne, and cute decorations. We had a big family brunch together. I couldn't stop smiling.

This picture snapped by Grace after showers were taken post-walk :)

If I had one wish, it would be that every person in the world has someone who loves them the way Stephen loves me. I look forward to making many more stories with him for years to come. 

I love you, Stephen!

5 Lessons from Living with My Boyfriend

Come August 1st, Stephen and I will have lived together for a whole year. While this by no means makes me an expert on cohabitating, I thought it'd be fun to reflect back and share some "tips" for those of you considering moving in with your significant others. (I'm sure it will just be amusing for those who have been doing this for years—I know I still have a lot to learn!)

1. Start on Equal Ground

Stephen and I each moved in from our own apartments to our new apartment, and even though that meant but a three-block move for me (from a 2 bedroom downtown, to another 2 bedroom downtown, womp), I would definitely do it again. We started living together in our place not his place or my place. There was no sense that one of us was intruding on the others' space/routines/life—we were choosing to enter the same space, and make a new life, together.

2. Purge (lots of) Your Stuff

I wish we would have purged more stuff initially. Obviously, I am a big fan of the Marie Kondo method but we should have been more stringent at first. For example, since we were merging two kitchens into one (small) one, we had way too much glassware. As in, we had to repurpose a shelving unit for mugs and then still had some permanently on the counter. In preparation for our upcoming move, we finally got rid of unnecessary glassware (but don't worry: not this glass), and I wish we would've done it ages ago (upon moving in rather than upon moving out).

But, whenever I make good decisions I always wish I would've done them sooner. Learn from our mistakes, and consolidate belongings. (Also, at one point we had four cheese graters. Not surprising at all if you know us, ha!)

3. Don't Correct the Person Doing the Chore

We don't have a ton of "house rules" but we have one that I love: If you're not doing the chore, you don't get to correct the person who is. Ex. I never put dryer sheets in the dryer (its against my nature), but he doesn't get to correct me because I'm doing the laundry. And, when he takes out the trash without first scooping the cat litter (gasp!), I don't get to correct him because he's taking the trash out. This works very well for us—no one wants to be critiqued constantly when they're doing a chore that benefits both people. Give it a try! (Even with a non-S.O. roomie!)

4. Wunderlist is a Godsend

I talked about Wunderlist in a list of Fun Free Apps a while ago but its eternal usefulness bears repeating. No one wants to exchange one million texts about "We're out of hand soap." And "I'm going to the store do we have milk?" Wunderlist is an easy and (dare I say) fun way to conquer the banality of stocking a home together. No more walking to the store and cursing yourself (or your partner) for leaving the grocery list on the fridge!

5. Adopting a Pet is More Challenging—and more Rewarding—Than I Anticipated

Although it's hard to believe since I've nearly come to crazy cat lady status at this point, I was not the driving force behind adopting Tywin, Stephen was. He was the cat person through and through, and I was resistant, but thought to myself "If the compromise of this relationship is a furry ball I guess I can deal." Flash forward ten months, and I'm obsessed. Of course, I was also surprised at the amount of work "raising" a cat entails. From vet visits to "incidents" (he has ruined a pair of my Steve Madden flats!) to the occasional middle of the night/early morning wake ups, you should be ready for a larger time commitment than anticipated. Still, it has been a wonderful thing to take on together—and I'd do it again in a heart beat.

Do you live with your significant other? Any other tips for cohabitating? I'm all ears!

p.s. Check out Mackenzie's post where she talks to 10 women about the big move-in. It was the inspiration for this post and is definitely worth reading!

Cats Don't Have Body Image Issues—And Other Life Lessons from our Feline Friends

It has now been over 9 months since we adopted our little kitten Tywin! Can you believe it? I thought I'd use this post to share life lessons I've extracted from having him around:

1. Nap anywhere you'd like, whenever you'd like.

 Cats don't beat themselves up for taking naps. They don't lament the could-have-been productive hours spent chasing z's. They don't awake from their slumber with a sense of guilt, admonishing themselves for midday laziness. They just sleep. 

(In this pic, he's sleeping on my legs that are wrapped in a blanket)

2. Anything is a toy once you set your mind to it.

If you are an indoor cat (as Tywin is), you're entire life is, really, quite confined. You don't get to gallivant around Europe backpacking with your boyfriend. You don't get to try a new restaurant every weekend. I mean, really, you don't even get to catch the birds you longingly watch out the window. But, that doesn't stop you from making the most of your surroundings. A shoe string? A toy! A nectarine? A toy! Behind the toilet? A place to explore! A box? A new piece of furniture!

If only I could view slight changes to my environment with as much enthusiasm.

3. Cats don't have body images issues.

Cats do not look in the mirror and immediately start to pick apart their own appearance. In fact, cats don't really understand the concept of mirrors, from my experience. They do not count the calories of their dry food, or turn down any offered treats. They don't get mad at themselves for eating an astronomical amount of wet food (really, I didn't mean to give him that much that one time). Cats just eat.

Well, it's seeming I'm hitting the critical limit of sharing too many cat pictures in a single post—so I'm going to share two more and call it a day. If you're considering adopting a cat, I highly recommend it. Also, if you're in Madison, feel free to email me. I volunteer at a shelter so could help you out (I am a big fan of #adoptdontshop)!

Happy Thursday, friends! xx

p.s. Still hungry for more cat pics? Here's my 2 week update (he was tiny!) and my 2 Month Update.

A Long Weekend Without Wifi

I hope everyone had a Happy Fourth! I spent the long weekend at my parents' new cabin on the Allegheny River that is a whopping 400 square feet! It was my first time up there and I really liked it, even though there were 6 of us up there, 6 ft + in height :) It was not unlike a giant slumber party.

The cabin is right on the river, so there was fishing, kayaking, biking, and camp fires.

(This nearby bridge used to be a railroad, but is now a bike path offering beautiful views of the Allegheny River.)

Other than being with family and friends, the best part—I think—about the cabin is the complete and total lack of Wifi. Even phone service was a tad questionable. I did manage to post a few instagram shots and send some texts/brief emails, but that was about all my phone could manage. For four days!

I know bloggers love talking about "disconnecting" which, to me, always feels a bit funny. E.g. "Here's an instagram about disconnecting!! #offline" Wait, what? But, here I am writing a blog post about disconnecting. So. Human beings are balls of contradictions, in my experience, and I am no exception.

I think I now have discovered the only way for me to really disconnect, since I apparently don't possess an ounce of will power. Go somewhere where it just plain doesn't work, no matter how much you want to read blog posts, scroll through your entire facebook feed, and read all your new emails. This reminds me of a quote by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and, as he died on this day 85 years ago, I feel it's appropriate to share:

"What can we know? What are we all? Poor silly half-brained things peering out at the infinite, with the aspirations of angels and the instincts of beasts."

—Arthur Conan Doyle

He was talking about our collective addiction to Wifi when he wrote that quote, right? ;) I know it's a stretch, but I do feel like I just instinctively spend hoards of time on my phone/computer, even though I aspire not to. So that's why his words came to mind.

With all the offline time at the cabin, I finally cracked open Jane Eyre. And got to feel like I was more embedded in the present moment. (Milan Kundera would be proud.)

Plus, I ate a ton of popsicles.

I hope you all had a happy long weekend filled with popsicles, s'mores, and/or the dessert of your choosing!

p.s. We got some sad news that my grandpa passed on the fourth, so I'll be heading down to D.C. for a funeral this week, so posts will be light. But I did want to share a book review this week, so I'll work on getting that out, but no promises.

Do you have ant issues?

This is a story about me, my car, and some ants.

Yes, my car was a (generous) gift from my parents. Thanks, Mom and Dad!!!! And OMG those "shorts." I was like 19 in this picture (taken long before the story below) but STILL. AHHHHH.

My Honda Civic (which I still drive) was my way to get from Bucknell, to home in Pittsburgh, and back. 4 hours east, 4 hours west, 4 hours east, 4 hours west. Wax on, wax off. We got into a bit of a rhythm during my collegiate years.

Well, after my junior year of college, I loaded it all up, packed to the brim with piles of crap from my dorm, and then, rather than do the 4 hours west homeward drive, I went to the beach with some friends, celebrated Stephen's graduation, and then drove it home.

I don't remember the exact moment I saw an ant in my car. Which, of course, was part of the problem.

But somewhere in my car's "dorm stuff baking inside" phase an ant (or two) decided it was a pleasant place to move in. As they do.

I got home, "unpacked" my car (as much as you unpack college stuff when you know it's going back in a few months anyway), and moved on with my life. Or so I thought.

I had seen a couple ants in my car during this process, over the course of a few weeks. Noticed them without, you know, acknowledging their presence. I kept my car outside, and ants lived outside, so there were a few ants in my car, so what? C'est la vie, the circle of life, Hukuna Matata, live and let live, whatever. (In hindsight, there were many situations when in I should have embraced a laissez-faire attitude; this was not one of them.)

But I had bigger fish to fry! A summer job promising hours (and hours!) at the scanner! A relationship to build with my now long-distance boyfriend (our first foray with "long distance," which would serve us well for what came ahead), and, you know, a life to lead not involving my car.

But, now that I think about it, my autonomous life was decidedly dependent on my car.

And that's how, when I was getting into my car to go to Starbucks to meet my friends, I noticed that the dashboard was particularly crowded with ants one evening. There weren't one or two scattering across the dash. We're talking more like 50.

And then, for the first time, I really looked. Really looked on the floorboards. In the back seat. In the cup holders.

Ants. Were. Everywhere.

Sorry if this is gross. If it's any consolation, I'm getting squeamish just typing and wiping imaginary bugs off my legs.

I had to stop everything (but my big Starbucks plans!), get my mom (what else does one do?), and start vacuuming those little buggers up. It was so not enjoyable.

So, here's my question: Do you have ant issues? It's not just ants, of course, but an issue, a problem, that you're passively noticing but not, you know, actively acknowledging.

Are you wishing something away? Are you hoping if you ignore it, it will vanish? Maybe it's seemingly minuscule. Tiny! Easily ignorable! Ant-sized!

Still, here's my advice: Just address it.

Because, from experience, most things like that don't just go away. You must work to eliminate them, work to solve them, work to fix them. And, if you just ignore them, pushing them aside and prioritizing other things (there are things to be scanned! And calls to be made! And Coffee to be drank!), these minuscule issues can grow. Worsen. Manifest. Or, in my disgusting case, literally multiply. (Yuck.)

I guess what I'm saying is, I think you already know what most issues are, it's just a matter of whether or not you admit it to yourself. I, personally, think most of us intuitively know things that are problematic —it's a matter of admitting it, acknowledging it, and addressing it. Easier said than done, of course. :) But acknowledging it is the first step!

Happy Tuesday, friends!

p.s. If you think this analogy is stupid, you can still sit down in your car today and think "At least my car isn't infested." :)

An Old Love Story and a New Puppy

On June 25 of 1946, Don was discharged from the U.S. Navy. He had just finished a 30-day "cruise" from Japan to San Francisco, with 4,000 other passengers. He slept on the sixth bunk on an eight-bed-high bunk bed. 

A month later, in Nebraska City, Nebraska, he met Mary. Three months later, on October 25, they got married in Omaha at a courthouse. They found a pastor from a random church to marry them, and pulled two little old church ladies from a simultaneous church pot luck to be their witnesses.

They have been married for 68 years.

Doesn't that sound like something a couple would say at the beginning of When Harry Met Sally?

That's the story of how my Great-Uncle Don and Great-Aunt Mary met. Mary is my dad's mom's sister. My parents and I drove out to Nebraska this past weekend to visit them, and a slew of other Nebraskan relatives. I was born in Omaha, but haven't lived in Nebraska since I was 9 months old.

I've always enjoyed traveling, even from a young age, but it took me a while to realize it really is the people I meet and interact with while traveling, even more than the places I've seen, that stay with me the longest.

Everyone has stories to tell — and hearing other people's stories helps me make sense of my own :)

I'll be driving back to Wisconsin from Nebraska tomorrow, but hope to be back to posting on Wednesday!

p.s. The pictures are of my cousin's new puppy, Cope. Isn't he adorable? I realize they are not in anyway related to the story (except, of course, I met Cope in Nebraska on the same trip I heard this story), but to me, one of the most challenging parts of blogging is this NEED for high quality images. If I have a good story, I want to share it, whether or not I have a high-resolution edited image. So, I decided to take this stance: If I have a good story, I'll share it. And if I have no new related pictures, I'll share dog or cat pictures. Because, if you don't like dog or cat pictures, what is wrong with you? :) And, of course, I'm an adamant a cat person, but this little guy is trying to make me a convert! 

Could having less books help you read more?

I was recently walking through the library, searching for a new read, when a title jumped off the shelf. "Ohh, I've been dying to read that!" I thought. Then I realized: I have that book.

Raising the obvious question: Why are you wandering through the library if you have a book at home you're dying to read?

The answer, of course, is even more obvious: I have a ton of books. Many of those fall into the TBR (To Be Read) category. The heaping piles of TBR books do not hinder me from regular trips to the library or bookstore.

This week alone, I bought two new books: The One & Only by Emily Giffin and The Art of Fieldingby Chad Harbach. In my defense, they were both on sale. And both have now joined their many friends in the TBR piles. Quite the eclectic literary party!

So — what's to stop these unread stacks from overthrowing my apartment? It turns out I'm not the first to face this dilemma. Joshua Fields Miliburn in his memoir Everything That Remains has a simple idea he lives out fully: Find joy from pursuing less, rather than from pursuing more. He extends his minimalist approach not only to clothes, gadgets, and kitchen appliances, but also (gasp!) to his burgeoning book collection.

He estimated he had around 2000 books when he started embracing minimalism, and he ruthlessly cut his collection by about 90 percent. Ironically, his decision to purge his books came from a couple quotes from a book, Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk. Miliburn writes in his memoir:

"Palahniuk wrote something like, 'Reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of material possessions,' and 'The things you own end up owning you. Both quotes kind of woke me up, made me look at the things I was collecting differently, which led me to another powerful line from that same book: 'It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything."

He realized that he was placing a ridiculous amount of value in how impressive his collection of books appeared to others. Don't we all do that sometimes? Maybe we don't judge books by their covers, but we judge people by their book collections.

But,  Miliburn points out, "The real value was in the words —in the act of reading — not in the physical books themselves." And, now that he owns way less books than he did, he claims he reads more than ever before.

Miliburn's ideals mesh well with Marie Kondo's The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering. Kondo isn't necessarily a minimalist, but she is a Japanese cleaning consultant who insists you should only keep items in your home that spark joy in your hearts. She maintains this stance with books — encouraging you only keep books that belong in the Hall of Fame. She goes as far as encouraging you to ditch her book post-reading it if you'd like.

When I consider the combined viewpoints of Miliburn and Kondo, I look at my precious TBR piles a little less lovingly. Are these books really adding value? Or, as Kondo puts it, do these books really spark joy?

Inspired by the notion of more reading, more joy, and less dusting, I've started new TBD (To Be Donated) piles. Sure, some books moved straight from TBR to TBD, but I think that's okay. I like to think they'll find someone who will read them, and spark joy for a reader somewhere.

Have you gone through a huge book purge recently? Any tips?

Valentine's Day: What Dating for 5 Years Looks Like

If you ever wondered what's it like to date someone for five years? here's a little personal anecdote just for fun. If you've, say, been married to someone for 20 years you can totally pull an Ygritte and say "You know nothing, Jon Snow." I'd totally understand. I'm also working on legally changing my name to Jon Snow -- so it's perfect! Without further Game of Thrones references, what the week leading up to our fifth Valentine's together looks like:

Any time I get Stephen a gift, I want to give it to him immediately. It just seems so silly to delay for an arbitrary futuristic date deemed appropriate for gift-giving. Valentine's Day is no exception.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm usually your run-of-the-mill last-minute gift scrambler so the whole "waiting to give gifts" is no biggie because I procure said gifts at the last possible second. But this year, I wanted to get new makeup for myself at Sephora. Which led to me being at the mall on February 6. Which led to, you guessed it, an early Valentine's day gift purchase. I know, I'm a selfless angel from above. Cupid incarnate, really. And, no, I will not tell you if the gift cost more than the makeup, so just drop it already!

My Madison friends can lament with me about the complete lack of male shopping options at the West Towne Mall. Even the J. Crew has only girl stuff! This inconveniences me a whopping three times a year (Christmas, V-day, Stephen's birthday), so I hardly ever get Stephen clothing. I usually try to go for an experience gift, like butchering a pig, for example.

Anyway, I blame the West Towne Mall for the below conversation:

Walking home post-sushi on Friday, February 6.

Me: I got you a Valentine's gift today!
Stephen: What is it?
Me: You have to wait!
Stephen: Where'd you get it?
Me: The West Towne Mall.
Stephen: What store?
Me: I'm not telling
Stephen: Banana Republic?
Me: .....I said I'm not telling.
Stephen: Is it a quarter-zip pullover sweater from Banana Republic?
Me: I'll give it to you when we get home.

And, although I almost never buy Stephen clothes, he was, of course, exactly right. How did he know what I got him in less than 2 minutes? It beats me. I blame the aforementioned lack of male shopping options. Or the five years of dating.  :)

Wishing everyone a Happy Valentine's Day! Special kudos to those with the self-restraint to wait till the big day to exchange gifts. Extra special kudos to those with self-restraint to not consume entire bags of candy hearts in one sitting. How do you do it!?

p.s. These Lemonhead & Friends Candy Hearts are especially delicious. (Because I've heard it's cool to rank candy heart preferences.)

p.p.s. Did you know that so little is known about St. Valentine that the Roman Catholic Church removed his name from the General Roman Calendar? The general Roman calendar (I just learned) is basically the calendar indicating dates of celebration of saints and "mysteries of the Lord!" Thanks Wikipedia!

Random Acts of Snowy Kindness

I suppose the reason I didn't take a picture of my car this morning was I didn't want to risk taking my gloves off for 10 seconds to snap one. My little Honda Civic had transformed into an igloo. Nearly six inches of snow were coating my tiny Civic, and I was armed with nothing but my half scraper/half brush to unearth it from winter's wrath.

This wouldn't have been so bad, had the car not been surrounded by feet of snow ("plowed in"), and had I not approached it to find a parking ticket. I was parked on the wrong side of the road during a "Madison snow emergency" -- there's no signage for this stuff, you're just supposed to know. At least they didn't tow me. I thought. And then immediately changed my mind. If they had towed me, at least I wouldn't have to scrape my car off right now.

I started brushing. There are many reasons I've never considered running a marathon. One key reason is I don't have the mental fortitude to do the same thing over and over again without going absolutely insane. I brushed and brushed and brushed and brushed and brushed and brushed (etc.) and then looked at my car only to see I had hardly made a dent. So. Much. Snow. 

I was certain I was going to spend the rest of my existence on this earth brushing snow off of my car. I took small solace in that fact that, at least I was right: I always knew a Wisconsin winter would be the end of me.

I sat in the car to warm up, then reemerged to continue brushing. (What else is there? I've heard some people some places might be doing different activities, but my existence was reduced to that of a incessant snow brusher.) It was then I slipped and fell, landing on a fluffy mountain of snow. Now I was coated in it, just like my poor car. If I were six, I would have laughed, but I'm 26, so I swore.

It was only after unearthing my reliable Civic that I realized how foolish I'd been: The brushing was the least of my concerns. I was never going to be able to get out of my parking spot.

Maybe I'll be able to just drive out. I thought like a moron.

I revved up my engine and drove back and forth and back and forth, my car making terrible noises, tires spinning furiously, moving no where. I would never make it out.

I saw a man who I would probably call a hipster walk by holding a tennis racket, which made absolutely no sense. I kept spinning my tires, futilely. Jealous of anyone walking. Why do cars even exist? They're no match for mother nature.

Suddenly, the hipster man was at my window, "Can I help?" he asked.

"I think I'm screwed," I responded, "I don't have a shovel." 

"I have a tennis racket!" he answered, and started scooping and moving snow like a professional, as if his racket were designed for this very purpose.

I sat there, stunned. Why was this man helping me?

Then he pushed my car while I accelerated, and it made some progress, though was still not entirely un-stuck. Another woman clad in business clothes came to help push. Then a third person. I was overwhelmed with gratitude. Why did these people care about me and my car? But care they did. They pushed and dug and pushed, and within no time, I was on my way!

"Yay!" one of the pushing woman exclaimed as I emerged from my terrible plowed in spot onto the road.

"Thank you so much!" I shouted to the three helpers as I drove away. 

But I'll never be able to fully thank them, the three generous people who decided to take time out of their busy mornings to help a desperate girl, with no chance of getting repaid. I don't even know their names. But I do know, at least today, that the kindness of the Wisconsin people outshone the fury of Wisconsin's weather.