At Least I'm Not A Six Year Old. Well...

As you may or may not know, this Sunday is Easter. In this family Easter celebrations are very small. And honestly, those celebrations have very little to do with, you know, the reason Easter is really celebrated.

Preparations include not eating meat on Good Friday. Only Good Friday. That's how we did it growing up, that's how we do it now. Only when we were growing up, we actually, you know, went to church during the Lenten season. Now we pretty much just don't eat meat that one time and call it...well, we don't really call it anything. We really just kind of pick that day and don't eat meat.

Like everyone else on the planet, we follow up this deprivation with a giant ham on Sunday. Because there's no way to reward yourself for being good that one day like a huge piece of pig.

The point is, we don't really celebrate Easter. But we do have Easter baskets. Even the Easter's I didn't come home while I was in college, I would get a package with plastic eggs full of Jelly Belly's, Snicker's eggs, you get the idea. And if we are home we get a literal basket with the pastel, plastic grass in it and everything.

All 3 kids are going to be home for Easter this year. I asked if Mom could hide the Easter baskets so we could search for them like when we were kids. This was not a joke. How fun would an Easter basket hunt be?! Yes it can be noted, we are 19, 21 (a week shy of 22), and 24 (a month shy of 25). But seriously, are you telling me you wouldn't have fun with a good old fashioned basket hunt?

Two days after I made this suggestion Mom in passing said, "Do you think you guys are too old for Easter baskets?"

My response? "You realize you're asking the child who a few days ago asked if you would hide her basket so she could find it right? You know, like someone under the age of 10?"

Mom: "Right. Nevermind. ... So, what do you want in your Easter basket?"

If I wake up on Sunday and these baskets are hidden: It. Will. Be. Epic.

The Blood Line Continues to Never Disappoint

So the little brother won Beer Fest '10. We all know how Mom felt about that. This past Sunday the 4 of us attended a Penguins game in Pittsburgh. The Igloo is being torn down this year and it was our little family's final hoorah. Our farewell to a historic place. A place we hold very dear to our hearts.

Naturally, in what is apparently true Fahn fashion, this involved a few beers.

With a Mom to drive me back to Buffalo and a little brother to drive S back to State College, the 21 year olds took advantage and toasted the Pens. This led to a few encounters that may have proven Mom right about how it's difficult to be proud of the beer funneling, keg standing, and flip cupping.

First 2 rounds were on me. (First paycheck put to good use!) Round number 3 was on S. As we were getting ready to get round 4 (our last one, we aren't that bad) S looked to me and said, "I think I'm going to ask Mom for money to contribute to our drinking fund!" And thus she promptly turned to Mom and literally said, "Hey Mom, want to contribute to our drinking fund? We need a twenty!"

Rolling her eyes, Mom went into her wallet, handed us $25, and asked us to get her a water. At the close of the period we got up to go to the restroom and then get our beers. Mom decided to come with us. Naturally, the guy at the beer stand looked at us and as he began to pour said, "2 Bud Lights?" Naturally, Mom rolled her eyes and responded, "Yep, of course they want 2 Bud Lights but they also need a water this time. As you could probably guess, the water is not for them."

As we walked back to our seats she looked at us and said, "So you guys pretty much make friends with whoever is serving the beer everywhere you go don't you?" After a moment of pondering the only real answer we could come up with was, "Yep."

So, maybe she has a point, but: shouldn't she also be proud that we're like really, really good at making friends? It's not like everyone gets remembered by the beer stand guy. We were special.

Or maybe we were just frequent fliers....

UPDATE: Mom came home today with a bottle of Jameson so we can take victory shots (there was nowhere to take them after the game) this weekend when the the kids come home for Easter. At least we know we totally get it from somewhere.

Tales Of A Productive Day

Today was one of the most productive days I've had in a while. While I cannot explain why I got so much accomplished today, I did. Excellent.

• Gave myself a manicure. So happy to have found 'You Don't Know Jacques!' in a store. God Bless Duane Reade.
• Went to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society Office to officially register for the marathon. Only I drove right past the office park because Google Maps told me it was next to the Red Lobster across the street. So I drove in circles around what was clearly just a Red Lobster parking lot, ignoring the office park right across the street (where something like the LLS office would obviously be) for a good 5 minutes. Finally realizing my error, I drove across the street, parked, and was then unable to let myself into the very public building. Seriously, could not open the door. Door said pull, I pulled, I swear it wouldn't budge. Actually had to call my friend who works at the LLS to let me in. Yes, I do have a college degree.
• Went to the Verizon store because after updating the software on my Blackberry the icon that allowed me to lock the the keyboard disapeered. Just into thin air, gone. Being able to lock one's phone is crucial. Purse dialing the wrong person can lead to epic amounts of embarrasment. Epic. Turns out, all you have to do now is just push the mute button on the top of the phone. "It was part of the upgrade," the eye rolling, ever so superior Verizon employee said. Well, Verizon/RIM: perhaps if you included that information with the upgrade, I would know that. I've generally always thought mute button = phone muted, not phone locked. Am I wrong here? No.
• Had a very successful trip to Wegman's, even bought my mom flowers. (I know Daughter of the Year Award, coming up.) (OK, yes, technically she was paying for the groceries so she kind of bought herself flowers but it's the thought that counts here people.) Then I got to the checkout counter. Whoever you are checkout lady, YOU HAVE A SERIOUS BAG WASTING PROBLEM! It took probably over 10 minutes for me to checkout with no more than 30 items because this woman put about 2 items in each bag. Literally. Two. Items. A Bag.
• I then had a fantastic day at work and came home to cook Mom and I dinner. Potato-Thyme Tart? Absolutely fantastic. Cheddar Crusted Chicken? Burnt to high hell. Damn you industrial strength stove in way too small kitchen. Damn you. (Yes, it was the stove's fault, not user error.)
• I've decided since I've resorted to self-diagnosing my 'sprained ankle' and since, you know, I'm like, an adult, I should probably get myself some health insurance. After some very serious research I found a plan I'd like to give a whirl. I tried to print the application tonight. It took 2 people, 20 minutes, 2 (of 4! What kind of home printer has 4 ink cartridges?) print cartridges, a pair of scissors, and a flashlight to get the document to finish printing.

So maybe today wasn't such a productive day? Or maybe it was just in a really stupid, roundabout, areyoukiddingme?, seriously?, and whyme? kind of way. Yeah. We'll go with that one.

Because That Granola I Had For Breakfast Makes This Totally OK

I am, by no means, an unhealthy eater. Yes, I occasionally have Skittles for breakfast. And yes, sometimes I eat giant bowls of homemade popcorn, covered in butter and popcorn mix (a delicious mix of powdered cheddar cheese, salt, marjoram, garlic powder and some other tasty, tasty things) the night before 9 mile runs. (Note, don't eat that much salt before doing things like that. You will regret it at about mile 4.) Admitting to all that begs the question: who hasn't done those things at one point or another? According to the calculations (and rationalizations) of one of the top 5 healthiest people I know (also a vegetarian) (Meaning she is healthy and a vegetarian, not that we are both vegetarians. Go meat!), pizza counts as a good recovery meal after a run because it has carbs, dairy, and veggies. (Let it be known, I 100% agree with this logic. In fact, I'm shocked I didn't come up with that myself.) The point is: everyone has their moments.

The life long love for cooking means I eat at home at nearly every meal, even pre-move, so I know where all my food comes from and what's in it. When I eat, I tend to eat small portions. I try to have only one glass of soda a day, if that, and mainly drink just water. Recently, I've even been adding things like ground chicken and turkey into my repertoire, trying to eat more fish, always have a vegetable or a salad with lots of veggies in it with dinner, etc. The point is: I'm really a decently healthy eater.

Tonight, after dinner, I decided I wanted a little something sweet. I went into the freezer and had a fruit bar, literally pureed, frozen fruit, arguably the healthiest dessert ever, in my hand. That's when I spotted the bag of frozen mini-Snickers.

Can you guess what won? Slash can you guess how many of those little guys won?

Did I mention the 1/4 pound of peanut M&M's I ate work today? Yeah.....

Now This is A Blood Line To Be Proud Of

The Scene: My Kitchen (Where I haven't even had my first cup of coffee yet.)

The Players: Me and Georgie

Georgie: So, did you get the phone call I did last night? (Never ask someone that question like that. 'The phone call' could have come from anyone about anything. This girl's mind always assumes the next statement is, "Uncle Barry died. He choked on a shrimp at Red Lobster.") (I don't have an Uncle Barry. And if I did and he was eating at Red Lobster, I'd hope he was eating crab. Unless it was Shrimp Fest.)

Me: No, what phone call?

G: From your sister.

Me: Oh boy, what was it?

G (In a voice imitating my sister): MOM! You're going to be soooooooo proud! Jord won Beer Fest!!!!!! (Beer Fest AKA Beer Olympics. Every team dresses up as a different country, (which basically means writing Germany in Sharpie across a tee shirt) and competes in various drinking events.) (And for those of you who don't know, J is the baby of the family.)

Me: Did he really?!

G: Yeah I guess so. And Sarah just kept saying, 'You'd be so proud, you'd be so proud!' And I just kept saying, oh yeah, I'm so proud that all my kids are so great at drinking. And there's nothing like getting that phone call while everyone is hammered so those kids can ask for praise for being, like, soooooo good at flip cup.

Me: Well, it is kind of funny. And we're good at other things too.

G: Yeah...Remember the first time Sarah came to visit you at Penn State and the only phone call I got was, "Mom, you'd be so proud of me! I drank at Tour de State all day with everyone!"? (Tour de State is far more complicated to explain but let's call it a bar crawl but insert 'people's houses and apartments' for 'bar'. Zack Morris was my team name for Tour de State '07.)

Me: Yeah, I remember that...

G: I rest my case. But, yeah, I'm really, really proud! (Is the sarcasm implied here? I hope so.)

End Scene

End scene as at this point I just walked out of the room with nothing left to say. Because, how do you say, "Yeah Mom, we run marathons, we teach kindergartners, we listen to a lot of Dave, and we're keg stand experts. We just want you to be proud of all of our accomplishments."

God Bless Target Employees

Thoughts had at Target:

1. Yes! Nothing better than a parking spot next to the cart corral. Seriously. Anytime I go anywhere a cart will be involved my parking decisions are based on the cart corrals, not how far I am from the door. Nothing worse than already being at your car and having to walk the cart back 3 miles. Those of you who don't return your carts, shame.

2. Paper towels are on sale! And I need to pick up paper towels! Little victories.

3. I have a 10% off coupon which means I can buy 8 giant rolls of paper towels, 4 boxes of tissues and an iPod for under $100. This. Is. Amazing.

(You can imagine how happily I'm walking out of the store at this point. I had checked out in the back at the electronics counter so the only thing between me and the car ride home was walking from electronics, past the cash registers, to my car.) (Also, I realize the aforementioned statements make me seem about 30 years older than I am but I think it's a well established fact that I'm kind of a 65 year old trapped in a 24 year old body.)

4. How did I get my cart so stuck between this pole and this refrigerator full of Pepsi products that a Target team member had to come get me unstuck from this situation? Seriously. I couldn't move forward, I couldn't move backward. And no amount of shaking, pulling, or lifting the cart was rectifying the situation. Who designed the checkout aisles so that their carts could not fit through them? And who made the carts so wide that you can't fit them through the checkout aisles?

Needless to say I walked out of Target a little more than embarrassed. If I hadn't had that parking spot to go back to it would have been a miserable situation...

I Am Woman. No, Seriously Mom, I Am.

My mom recently asked me if I was a boy. Seriously. "Kristen, are you a boy?" I know I spend a lot of time with guys and not girls. When I say 'time' I mean: 90% of the time I leave the house I know no guy is going to approach me because one of those 5 dudes I'm with must be my boyfriend. Otherwise why would I be the only girl around all the time? (I suppose I should note here that none of them ever are my boyfriend? There just happen to be more males in my life than females.) So, I had come to terms with all the assumptions people surely make, but apparently, I spend enough time with just the male species that it compelled my mother, the woman who gave birth to me, to think perhaps I have actual male parts? That is kind of an extreme thing for my brain to manage.

As it turns out, I couldn't give her a really good answer one way or the other. Clearly, no, I am not a boy. But you know, if people (particularly your own mother) are asking you that, you can't help but feel some sort of confusion. This was not a 'I'm going to get an operation' kind of confused. Just you know, bamboozled confused. Thought that should be clear.

Well, I have decided that I am, unequivocally, a woman. How did I come to this realization? (Aside, from you know, the last 25 years of bras and heels and dresses and the want for an engagement ring not because I want to be married but because I want a really pretty piece of something sparkly.) Of course, New York Magazine comes through again. I read the following quote from an interview with Mad Men's Christina Hendricks:

"It is perhaps ironic then that Hendricks actually started out as a model - catalogues, mostly, but there was one season on the London runway that ended when her agent said, "Darling, did your boobs grow?" (One imagines that future season might see the question posed in the opposite direction.)"

Because, really, that question is so much better to be asked if you are a woman as opposed to being asked as a man. And trust me, I've been asked that question more than anyone.

Oh, and hopefully one day that question is posed in the opposite direction. And that'll be one point for the big girls.

How Ryan Seacrest Ruined My Day

In this house, we like to listen to music while we shower. (If you've ever been in this house you know this because some of us listen to our music very, very loudly.) (Oh yeah and note to John Mayer, even if I was in a blissfully happy relationship, I'm pretty sure your music would still break my heart. That being said, if you are at all heartbroken do not listen to any John Mayer music. It'll definitely make you want to light yourself on fire. I'm pretty sure this is why Britney Spears was invented. To serve as the antidote.) I suppose we get bored really easily and need something to get us through that 15 minute time span. Most of the time I choose to listen to CD's. Not today friends. Not. Today.

Today I chose to listen to the radio. I generally only listen to the radio when the siblings are home from school as one of those siblings chooses the radio for shower time. Epic mistake.

I turned the radio on to the last minute of a song I hate. Then Ryan Seacrest came on and said something stupid about cougars. (The Mrs. Robinson kind, not the animal. Is that implied these days?) Then it immediately cut to commercial.

This may seem like a silly thing to be so upset about that you feel compelled to write about it but, I mean, it is the little things in life. Isn't it?

Turns Out, I'm Not That Crazy

Seriously! It's a miracle!

I read in a magazine today that Taylor Swift Twittered something to the effect of, "I just used a Sharpie as eyeliner in the airplane bathroom."

This officially makes using a Sharpie to color your few, stray, grey hairs really not so weird at all. In fact, it almost makes it downright normal. I mean, I know putting it on your hair can't be like, really, really good for it, but, I figure you can multiply that by like 10 for your face. There is definitely no way that is good for your face. Not to mention how much face washing it would take to get that off. I feel as though one would need a chemical peel to completely remove it. This does, however, lead me to believe there is something to be said for getting your eyeliner just tattooed on your face. Which someone once in fact thought I had done as I have mad skills at putting eyeliner on. (Seriously. I said it. I don't have a ton going for me so, little victories.)

In other news: I pretty sure this also makes Sharpie markers the most versatile beauty product I've heard of since I learned you could use conditioner as a fabulous replacement for shaving cream.

Sid v. America v. My Head v. My Heart

It has been very difficult to explain my feelings about the Olympic gold medal hockey game. That being said, I understand it is even more difficult for anyone not in the same situation to understand my particular dillemma. For all but 2 weeks out of every 4 years it is Penguins before anything else. (OK, Penn State football is probably #1 all time but if a Penguins Stanley Cup Game 7 and a Penn State National Championship were to occur on the same day (a feat I realize is impossible, thank God), it would be the worst best day of my life.) So while country comes first and I wanted the USA to win gold more than anything, I couldn't help but be happy for Sidney Crosby. He is hero in this family. That doesn't just go away completely for 2 weeks because of how much you love America.

I didn't have a good way to say all this until I watched the simple ceremony before the Pens vs. Sabres game (at Pittsburgh) this evening presenting the Olympic competitors from both teams. On ESPN's PTI earlier today there was a discussion as to whether the people of the city of Pittsburgh would boo Sidney Crosby as his name was announced at Mellon Arena. The fact that this question was even asked proves these people clearly do not know the city of Pittsburgh.

Pittsburgh is town of homes and hearts. (One of my favorite quotes from a 1997 NPR Morning Edition piece called Where Are Your Loyalties? from Frank Deford.) It is a place, much like the city of Buffalo, where people are passionate about the place they live. People born there will live their whole lives there if possible. There is a loyalty there that is nearly impossible to shake. (I've lived in Buffalo for 14 years and still can't shake Pittsburgh. I support the Sabres but would never choose them over them over the Penguins. And that's not just because my mom would disown me. Literally. Disown me.) So no, when Sidney Crosby, took the ice back in Pittsburgh tonight, no one booed. It wasn't the loudest cheer I've ever heard when the announcer yelled 'Sidneyyyyyyyyyy Crrrrrrrrrrrosbyyyyyyyyyy!' But no one would dare boo Sid. He's ours. We simply lent him back to Canada for 2 weeks.

So that is why it was so difficult to be mad that it was Sid who scored that goal. If it had been anyone else on Team Canada it would have been considerably more heartbreaking. The fact that it was Sid was really just poetry to anyone from Pittsburgh. A strange, ironic, somewhat stinging kind of poetry, but poetry nonetheless.

All that being said, the cheers in Pittsburgh this evening when Ryan Miller's name was announced, were epic. (Those of you who know your likeness is in this picture, I cropped you out of it to maintain any kind of anonimity you may want. If you would like the original picture in this post instead, feel free to let me know.)