beer & consequences

One day last month, Y accusingly pointed out that I needed to post in my blog.

"Give me something to write about," I retorted.

He delivered, but I kind of wish he hadn't

See, Y's new hobby is brewing beer.

His other hobby is not taking out the trash... which is actually a hobby we share.

On this particular day, Y was brewing a new batch, resulting in discarded hops filling our trash can. 

We left the house soon after for dinner and drinks at Marvel Bar, which I'm pretty sure is the hipster capital of the world. I mean, only a bar catering to hipsters would have an unmarked, underground entrance and serve the most delicious, well thought out cocktails made with liquor you have to Google, and then offer just one, blissfully ironic food item: Cheetos. 

ANYWAY. Back to the story of how Y almost killed our dog. 

Yep, that's what this story is about. When we returned home from our night of craft cocktails and Cheetos and found garbage strewn around the kitchen, we didn't think twice. We always take out the trash when there's food in the bag, and Ike is surprisingly skilled at detecting the difference between food and not food. We assumed he just moved some paper towels around with his snout and buried a loaf of bread. 

But later that night, as I got into bed, Ike began panting uncontrollably. And, just like when you're not sure of the liquor you're about to order, when you're not sure what the f is wrong with your dog, you google that shit. Here are the things that can cause your dog to pant uncontrollably:

1. pain

2. cardiac arrest 

3. POISON.

My smart and discerning readers will understand by now that Ike was poisoned by Y's hops. So at three in the morning, we sped to our nearest emergency vet, where 4 notable things happened:

1. The vet injected Ike with fluids that caused him to have a terrifying hunchback.

2. The vet told us Ike would be okay, and that it was probably the pitbull in him that saved him. Apparently, hops are insanely toxic to some breeds ("A greyhound will look at hops and die"), but pitbull isn't one of them.

3. The vet googled Y's name, found out that he was a resident, and proceeded to speak in Medicine-ese and ignore me the rest of the visit. 

4. The vet told us we had to take Ike's temp rectally every hour for the rest of the night, and I traded in my "THIS WAS YOUR FAULT card" and went to sleep.

And that's why you always leave a note take out the trash.

What to do when it's -20 degrees in Minneapolis

What is there to even do when it's so cold outside? (part 1)

I haven't experienced the soul crushing cabin fever that everyone warned me would hit come February. (Honestly, I feel more of a cabin fever in July in Louisiana, when I've been sitting next to an air conditioning vent for 2 months straight, watching my freckles and frizz multiply.) Despite it being really, really ridiculously cold, there is still so much to do -- inside and out.

Like eat soup.

The Midtown Global Market is in a diverse area of town, where supermercados and Halal markets checkerboard the streets, and an old Sears building sat empty (HOW CREEPY DOES THAT SOUND? Sears is creepy even when it's not vacant) from 1995 until 2005. Then, some genius turned it into a mixed use building with apartments, office space,and a DMV -- and added the indoor market as a place for recent immigrants to the neighborhood to start a business and live the American dream. 

The clincher was hiring a great designer. Now all of us boring, non-ethnic people who like a trendy space can feel good about ourselves for supporting local entrepreneurs. 

There's even a fresh produce market and live music.

And, randomly, a James Beard Award-nominated pastry chef's bakery. Not that I'm complaining.

 So one snowy day (which probably wasn't actually -20 degrees because I don't think it can snow when it's that cold), I saw on Twitter that the Global Market was holding a Global Soup Cookoff featuring a soup from each stand at the market. I was obviously in.

After taking the tour de soup, we voted for our favorite: a chicken saffron soup from Safari Express (which is where you need to go if you've ever wanted to try a camel burger... which, don't lie, you totally have.)

They won. But then, I've always known I have good taste in soup. 

tea time confession

I have a confession. I expect the entire internet to hate me after this, but here goes:

I don't really like Downton Abbey. 

I mean, I thought it was funny when the Dowager Countess asked what a weekend was. But that's about it. Each episode -- and we're on season 3, so it's not like I haven't given it a chance -- I find myself wishing I was doing something else about halfway through. So I do. 

Sometimes I even clean. That's how not into it I am. 

Honestly, I don't know why I'm not a fan. I like British things as much as the next girl. Digestives! Pride and Prejudice! The graphic design of the London Underground! Love Actually!

And tea. 

We love tea in this house. Y is half British and grew up drinking PG Tips. Now, tea is kind of a ritual around here... so much so that we've basically devoted a corner to it.

(Y has had to move on to stronger doses of caffeine, so coffee gets a place of honor, too.)

But wait, you're thinking, Doesn't the idea of curling up in front of Downton Abbey with a cup of tea sound romantic? 

The answer is NO.

I would much rather sip this classy beverage while watching a ragtag gang of strangers murder zombies. 

Snow day. The world's most original title.

Ike has the right idea. That is how you should spend a snow day.

Here's a life update: I still think snow is pretty awesome. Ike, however, is less amused. Don't get me wrong, he still loves to frolic in the stuff. But the past two fresh blankets of snow have buried his tennis balls to the point of no return. 

It's okay, buddy. Spring is coming. Right?

I worked from home on this week's snow day, and I think I was busier than I've ever been at work. At least I was able to look at my cozy couch, watch the snow fall through the window, and blare The XX Pandora station. I think that beats sitting in two hours of traffic, like I did the last time it snowed. (I'm still bitter.)

By the way. Can we discuss the fact that I have terrible trouble memorizing facts, can't remember what happened in a movie five minutes after it's over, and yet, every time I hear the phrase snow day I remember that in ninth grade, there was a movie called Snow Day and it featured this song by Hoku, which I now have stuck in my head. Brain, 1; DJ, 0. 

what do you wear when it's below zero?

Shopping for winter clothes is really overwhelming. My first thought was to go to somewhere like North Face or Patagonia, but then I realized that I work in an office...not in an ice fishing tent.

Dressing for Minnesota winter is actually pretty simple. First of all, you don't wear this when wind chills get to -38, as was suggested to me by a daily e-mail I subscribe to that suggests what to wear based on the weather (and does a pretty terrible job of it):

BARE ANKLES? Are you kidding me? I haven't seen an ankle in months. It's like Victorian England up here. Also, that outfit is ugly. You better believe I clicked "not my taste".

Anyway, like I said, dressing for winter is simple. You just wear what you normally wear... times three.  For example, in many of the photos below, I'm wearing two pairs of tights and leggings.

And of course, everything gets a giant coat and an assortment of knit accessories thrown on top. 

But that's just for the 12 second walk from my parking lot into my office.

Because contrary to what people seem to think, there are actual buildings in Minnesota -- we don't have to work and live in igloos.... or ice fishing tents.

February

So... I haven't blogged for over a month. I could tell you that I was channeling Elizabeth from E Tells Tales, who took February off from social media (where is she anyway?! It is March 3rd, lady) but that would be a lie.

I hate when people apologize for not blogging. A) I'm not delusional; I know that no one has been sitting around, angrily refreshing my blog over and over again. B) I'm just not sorry. I love blogging, but work has been busy, and there are restaurants to try and shows to attend and husbands to hang out with and family to visit in Louisiana. So, no, I'm not sorry for doing all of those things and using my remaining free time to work out/sleep/read. 

But so much has happened in February. Like eating at my favorite restaurant in the whole world (the peanut butter and jelly stand at the Detroit airport. I'm only half joking). Standing in an endless line for the bathroom at Book of Mormon and somehow making it back twelve seconds before intermission ended. Slipping on ice at least once per day. Learning how to do a fishtail braid! Drinking fresh squeezed blood orange juice straight from the tree in New Orleans. Inaugurating the newest, two month old member of our brunch club with carrot cake pancakes.  Eating cheetos at an underground bar and drinking cocktails so fancy we had to google the liquor. Singing along to an intimate acoustic performance of "5000 Candles in the Wind" (aka the bye bye Li'l Sebastian song) with the one and only Nick Offerman (RON SWANSON) while drinking single serve wine. 

Yep, it was a good month. 

(But I hope to spend a tiny bit more time here this month. Don't forget about me.)

living near the airport

Our house was pretty affordable, and there's one really good reason for that:

The planes.

As the planes take off over my backyard, I can easily tell you which airline it is. Y, being some kind of transportation savant, could tell you whether it's a 747, 737, or CR80 by the number of windows or something.

I don't hate the planes.

I mean, there's a part of me that hates being on a plane. That's the part of me that refuses to watch a TV show featuring a plane crash (so I guess I'm okay with This is 40 for ruininng the ending of of Lost for me).

That's also the part of me that once bought a book to read on a plane, then tweeted the author to make sure there were no plane crashes in the book. She said no. THEN THERE WAS AN ENTIRE CHAPTER ABOUT WATCHING 911 UNFOLD FROM MANHATTAN.

Anyway.

I don't hate the planes. Because a bigger part of me loves what happens before and after air travel. The anticipation. The packing (I may be the only person on earth that loves to pack). The airport (I know I'm the only human on earth that loves airports). Arriving in a completely different state, country, continent. Having an excuse to buy a new book and eat overpriced fast food.

The planes constantly flying over my neighborhood remind me that I'm literally minutes from an adventure.

(We also got free updated insulation and triple paned windows out of the deal, so that doesn't suck.)