Another Awkward Week [5.17.13]

What’s up, chicken nuggets? How was everyone’s week? Mine was signifffficantly better than the last. Thanks to everyone for being so nice last week when I was so down. And belated thanks several weeks late to all who offered oh so helpful tips for hard boiling eggs. My egg eatin’ life is bettah than evah. Y’all complete me.

It’s offensively early at the moment, but I don’t mind it. I’m about to hop in a car to a plane to Chicago. My little brother is graduating from law school this weekend! Well, I don’t know if he qualifies as ‘little,’ he’s a six-foot-two, twenty-seven-year-old attorney, but I have to assert my older sister authority somewhere. I’m so proud of our Mikey boy, he’s worked incredibly hard the last three years and landed a sah-weet job post grad. He’s definitely a future Sandy Cohen or Jack McCoy so look out, criminals. I only wish Chicagy wasn’t so far away!

You win some, you lose some. And now, quickly, before the sun rises, let’s take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week:

This (Brand New) White T:

Where my no-spill streak and Diet Coke cleanse came to a simultaneous end.

These Mangoes:

You guys. This is a true story. So I’m still big into smoothies these days, now that I know how to freeze bananas (but I still prefer them regular, if anyone’s curious) (no one is curious), and lately have been on a smokin’ hot strawberry-banana-mango kick thanks to Trader Joe’s handy and delicious frozen mango pieces. WELL. I ran out of frozen mango, a real #whitepeopleproblem if I’ve ever heard one, and didn’t have time to hit the Teej so I popped into my neighborhood store and did they have mango pieces in the freezer section? No. They did not. I wandered dejectedly back to the produce section to just, I don’t know, cry into some spinach or something and what to my wondering eyes should appear but some FRESH mangoes! Better than frozen!

All of a sudden realized The Stones’ “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” was playing over the grocery store loudspeaker.

“You can’t always get what you want,” crooned Mick Jagger, “But if you try some times, you might find…”

I reached out to pick up the glorious fruit and as my hand touched the mango…

“You get what you neeeeed!”

Believe it? Believe it.

I have always dreamed of having a life soundtrack and finally, my dream has come true.

Unfortch it seems I have absolutely no clue what to actually DO with a fresh mango, as I ended up with this mess:

I theeeenk I might be better served sticking with the frozen fruits.

Speaking of food I don’t know what to do with…

One of These:

As I mentioned, on Tuesday night I met up with some g-friends and caught up over entirely too much wine and delicious food. One of those foods was steamed artichoke with lots of yummy dipping sauces. I’ve eaten artichoke hearts from a jar and a can and in salads and things but I guess I have never eaten a whole artichoke. Or watched anyone eat one.

Well.

Apparently when eating an artichoke, you don’t eat the tough outside parts, but sort of pick off each petal and scrape off the soft, yummy insides with your teeth. Me, I didn’t know this. And for some reason, didn’t want to like, admit that I didn’t know how to eat an artichoke. Or ask. And my powers of observation took way too long to realize that my compatriots were not, like me, struggling to chew and swallow huge, tough, inedible outer petals. I nearly choked like eight times. And yet, I soldiered on. Why, why, why?

If you are an uncouth slob like me, here’s a helpful article on how to properly eat an artichoke: http://www.simplyrecipes.com/recipes/how_to_cook_and_eat_an_artichoke/

The more you know!

Also, this is a fact: pretending to know how to do something always ends up more embarrassing than just admitting you don’t.

These Hot Wheels:

I got a bike, you guys! I’m finally real hipster! I’m so in love with the old girl already. I’m considering naming her Saucy Sally, after a character in a great book I just read.

Why are cars and boats and things always named after women? As a feminist, am I setting the cause back by considering my bike a girl? Or is it a good thing, filling the world with more strong, sassy ladies, even if those ladies are inanimate modes of transportation?

I might overthink things.

Anyhoodle, this is my bike and I love it!

The one smidgeski of a downside: getting her into my apartment. I have nowhere to store my precious outside or on the ground floor, so, while carrying my heavy bike, I first must open up the front gate to my apartment building, then walk up three short steps, then some how set the bike down long enough to get out my keys and open the first of two front doors, then hold the door open with like, my foot slash butt, haul the bike into the vestibule, switch keys, open the second door to my apartment, repeat the butt-hold, yank the bike into the first floor of the building, realize it’s facing a direction that makes it impossible to get it up the stairs, do a fifteen point turn to get it in the right direction, somehow yank it up just high enough to clear the steps and clang up the four floor staircase, banging the back wheel at every turn and acquiring a huge-ass bruise on my outer thigh.

Oh, while looking like this:

There has got to be an easier way!

(And a friendly reminder, kidz, always wear your helmets!)

And finally..

These Duds:

Just wanted to inform that my sartorial spirit week marches on. Last week I wore purple but the photos were terrible, as was my mood. But trust me. This week: stripes!

And there you have it! How was your week? What are y’all up to this weekend? Do you know how to eat an artichoke?

Huge Congrats to my brother Michael and everyone graduating from some place of education this spring. You did it! You really, really did it!

xoxo Liz Ho