How to wear your nightshirt to work

1. Have the teacher of a week-long software training you're attending tell you that Friday's going to be a lot more casual and invite you to even wear pajamas if you want.

2. Joke with your coworker that it'd be hilarious if you came wearing a nightshirt.

3. Make the coworker triple dog dare you to actually wear one the next day because you can't refuse a dare (and no one can refuse a triple dog dare (obviously)).

4. Settle upon this number:

(In case you can't see, the nightshirt is festooned with kitties, poodles, Eiffel Towers and the phrase "Oh, Mon Amour!)

5. On Friday morning, reconsider following through.

6. Remember you've been triple dog dared.

7. Add a belt, sweater, tights, boots and any other accessories that may lead passers-by to believe that the nightshirt is actually a dress.

8. Leave the house looking like this:

9. Wear your sunglasses on the train in case anyone stares at you so you don't have to meet eyes.

10. Wonder why no one's staring at you.

11. Remember that it's Portland.

12. Go to training session.

13. At the end of the session, inform the teacher that you took her up on her pajama offer. Become amused that she had thought it was just a really cute dress. Mission accomplished.

A peek into my nightttime brain

I had such a weird series of dreams last night. I would usually post those to my dream blog, but in recognition of my TP blog delinquency I'm going to post them here.

1.
My mom revealed to me that I had been adopted. I was shocked to learn this, as all four of us kids had been told repeatedly that we were accidents. My mom informed me that, in fact, my older brother and younger brother and sister had definitely not been planned, but after Big Brother's birth they had decided they wanted a little girl to complete their nuclear family. So they adopted me. I was furious; how could she have let me lie on all my medical family history forms I had filled out? How could she have let me believe that I was at risk for developing the cancer my brother had suffered?

I asked my mom if she had contact information for my birth mother and if she'd want to hear from me. She gave me Birth Mom's email address and showed me some pictures of her. She looked suspiciously like a woman in my real-life software training class that I'm going to all this week. I shot Birth Mom an email asking if she wanted to meet up and she responded emphatically that she would love to.

I met her at a VFW church, I believe. She was heavily made-up and wearing a ridiculous hat festooned with feathers. When I got there she was embracing Sarah Palin and telling her how much she loved and admired her. My mom was a neocon?? She didn't have time to talk to me-- the church service was about to start-- but introduced me to my birth father. He looked like an overweight frat boy with graying hair. I tried to interview him about my new family, but he was extremely hostile to me, perhaps because I told him I had been raised Jewish. His own father showed up and I tearfully told him that I was his granddaughter.

2.
I had a new poem that I wanted to read at a Portland open mic. I wandered into one I go to every Thursday, but it was a Wednesday and the crowd was sparse. A group of people beckoned me by name. I asked them how they knew who I was and they said they were huge fans of my boyfriend's. They inquired if he was coming that night because they wanted to give him $500. I said he was elsewhere.

I spotted a former coworker at a newspaper I used to work at. She told me that we had been two of five women who had ever worked there. She had just been laid off and she suspected it was due to her gender. We had left on not-so-great terms, so I tried to assure her that I really did like her.

Want to see a human brain?

In another installment of how my job can be substantially cool sometimes, look! Thanks to the nuns for letting us hang at their convent and the brain for letting me look at it with my camera.

I have the coolest job ever.

Got to edit and help shoot this piece of awesome.

My smile hurts.

And it hurts because I have been using it so much lately. Last night my friend Michael left me the best voicemail I have ever gotten in my life and I keep listening to it over and over. No less than 10 accents were used and it's 1:14 of pure hilarity and joy.

It just makes me so happy! It'll make you that happy too.

This may be an overshare.

I hate first kisses. They're awkward, they never work out, they make people so nervous they shake all over and drop things, when they don’t happen it’s disappointing, when they do happen it sometimes is still disappointing, and there is just no way – NO WAY – to make them happen smoothly. And if you tell me there is, then all I have to say to you is "It's nice to meet you Hugh Grant, may I have your autograph?".

(What I’m saying is, perfect first kisses only happen in the movies, people.)

Case and point. My first boyfriend and I went three months without kissing, and it's not like I was a bashful 12-year-old...I was 17. All of our friends knew about it and the anticipation built up so much that I would literally hurl my body out of his car and run to the house at full speed to avoid the awkwardness of the "thanks, I had a good time" conversation followed by anticipatory looks. Finally after three months I offered him a kiss on the cheek to which he said no, sending a shock through my entire system and making me stand there, stiff, outside of the car not knowing what to say or do. "Well can I kiss you on the mouth?" he said. "NO!" I said. Then he said fine, I could kiss him on the cheek, and when I went in for the innocent cheek kiss he turned his head at the last second to try to steal a full-on smooch, thus resulting in a complete disaster of him missing completely and two sides of lips mashing together and quickly being retracted back to their rightful place while looks of horror stretched across both our faces.

The slightest slip! There merest mishap! The tiniest tip of the head!

And it is ruined.

I know what you're thinking. Of all of these terrible situations I've been in, and there have been many, what’s the common denominator? It's me. I know. I get this. But I swear it’s not my fault. Almost all the dudes that have had the pleasure of my smooch have pretty much ruined the first one by missing, being too awkward, making terrible jokes, doing a bad job, or once – I even got the dreaded mom kiss. You know, the full-lipped completely non-sexual mom smooch. And I, at 24, still have as much difficulty with the first kiss as I always have. It just makes me shudder to think of all the ways it could go wrong, and to touch your lips to someone else’s for the first time seems like the ultimate showing of bravery to me. A bravery of which I have not yet conquered.

I feel bad for the kindly gentleman that I recently went on a date with. You would think after 11 hours of PG fun including the museum, batting cages, dinner, a live show, and a movie, the poor kid deserved one measly kiss when he walked me up to the front door. But what did he get? A handshake, an "I had a good time" and me staring at the ground until I awkwardly slow-motioned walked into the house. Sorry pal. It's not you – it's that I'm traumatized by the world’s eight to ten most awkward situations anyone has ever been in.

But the thing is – I think there's a solution. If you have to deal with people like this (like me), the best thing to do is sneak attack them. Get it over when they least expect it. You spare them the anticipation, the nervousness, the shakiness, and you will have officially gotten them over the hump. You will have allowed them to avoid being terrified about it, and you can both hopefully tell your kids about it someday.

And then mom smooch them afterward.

Goo goo goo goo!

One thing about Hawaii is that everywhere you go there is soft, indistinguishable Hawaiian elevator music playing. Our hotel played this one song on repeat in our hotel outdoor lobby, where we spent a good amount of time planning our day trips. At first the music is kind of nice, but when you fall asleep with it relentlessly burning in your ears, it gets to you.

Here is our take on one considerably terrible tune that would not escape our brains.

Disaster Cake

I decided to make my first cake today. It was to be an orange (the flavor, not the color), two-layer masterpiece with a meringue topping and strawberry whipped cream frosting.

Things started to go wrong pretty early on when I attempted to separate eggs for the meringue and the yolk kept breaking. I had a mini meltdown when I couldn't find my beaters. We've started watching Deadwood, so you better believe I was cussing up a storm Old West-style and calling my missing tools all sorts of unsavory similes for sex acts. Once found, they proved incapable of beating the meringue into the "stiff, white peaks" the recipe called for. More swearing ensued. After nearly going deaf from the blender noise I decided the gooey glops they were making would have to do.

Then I decided to put my oven racks one rung away from each other. Halfway into the baking process, this started to happen:


The meringue expanded so much that it stuck to both the rack and the cake pan above it. I tried to gently unstick it and to jiggle the rack loose, and the only thing both efforts got me was multiple burns.

After much maneuvering, I managed to flop my pathetic excuses for gateau onto a cooling rack. This is what they looked like:


Mind you, I was also planning on making a turkey for tonight's meal. The pressure to get everything ship-shape before I had to babysit/baste the bird for the next four hours made me swear like a sailor.

I figured I could hide the ugly under a layer of the whipped cream, and stack the less-offensive layer on top, like so:


Not so bad, right? Next I just needed to cover the exterior in frosting to make it all pretty-like. I channeled Duff from the Food Network's Ace of Cakes, and all my frosting efforts gained me was this:


It appears as if I just took fistfuls of whipped cream and lobbed them in the cake's general direction, but I was actually using a spatula to carefully transfer the frosting from the bowl to my masterpiece. This picture proves why I'm a better at thinking than at doing anything that requires motor skills.

But fret not my pets. I wasn't done with the little guy quite yet.

Behold: this is how I saved my boyfriend's birthday:


STRAWBERRIES! EVERYBODY DANCE!

Hawaii!

I went to Hawaii last week! I really did. Here's every single detail about my entire trip, complete with pictures.

Excerpt from my journal, written in airport on the layover to Hawaii: "Mohalo! And by this time next week I hope to be able to tell you what that actually means. My Guess? Welcome, or something, because 'Aloha' clearly means hi."

(As it turns out, Mohalo means thank you.)

Here is a preview for you.



Ok so before I tell you anything, I need you to know that my hotel was only $62 per night. That's right. $31 for each person a night. SHAZOOM! But it was definitely not that nice. Here is a picture of it. Just know that we didn't spend a lot of time there, minus staying in and watching the Oscars on Sunday night.

Getting to Hawaii wasn't exactly the way I had imagined it. First of all, we definitely did not get lei-ed in the airport. We actually walked around the entire outside of the airport before we found the cab station. We were offered a limo but I opted for a gigantic van instead, which was a bit of a mistake because we got stuck in rush hour traffic thus resulting in a $40 cab ride in which at one point our practically mute driver, while driving, opened the cab door, leaned out the door, and hocked a gigantic loogie right on the road.

We drove by this park along Waikiki Beach, but this shot was taken the next day when it was much more beautiful and wondrous outside. Our cabbie took us through seemingly the worst part of town where everyone who saw us scowled in our general direction and to make matters perfect, it was raining and cold.

Yes, those are old folks doing forward bends.

Let's move on. After finally getting to our hotel, we took a soak in the hot tub (which was to be my only dip in the hot tub for the rest of the trip......foreshadowing!) which made us feel infinitely better and after a dinner of burgers and drinks at Kelly O'Briens we crashed hard, jet lagged and a bit deflated from our horrible cab ride in.

Excerpt from my journal on day one: "Aloha! Ok first thing's first - I'm burned. We spent six hours in the sun today and I covered myself in sunscreen as much as I could but for some reason my right shin is just shot. It's a deep, stinging red. Don't worry I've been globbing on the aloe. I'm just afraid burn will attract more burn though, you know?"

And it did. My stinging body was a reoccurring theme throughout the vacation. Sitting down, standing up, walking, breathing, it all hurt. I'm just a burner. No matter how much 45, zinc, or shade I cover myself in. And I could definitely say goodbye to the hot tub for the rest of the trip. It was like dipping an already-singed limb in the fires of burning hell. But it was worth it because Waikiki Beach is...the...bomb. Observe.





We then hung out at the International Market for a few hours. We walked around the jewelry stands and aggressive women continually pointed out every piece of jewelry to us in their stands saying "This is a bracelet. Yes? Very beautiful. Very nice. You buy." We did buy a little, but the more aggressive they were the quicker I was sure to dodge them, those sly ladies. We then had sushi and macademia nut ice cream (notice the cone says Hawaii) while we watched a four-person Hawaiian band play.



On the way back to the hotel, we picked me up a most essential pair of hiking shoes, as we were going on an adventure the next day.


Before I go on, two quick stories to share with you.

1. I was in the public bathroom at Waikiki Beach taking care of business when all of the sudden a lil' old woman body slams the door to my stall open, thus exposing me on the toilet. She was so shocked to see me in there that she stood there, frozen, terror-stricken and staring at me right in the face. She didn't close the door as she could not move. So I did the only thing I could think of - smile at her. She finally left and I reached forward and held the door closed while I finished.

2. A Japanese teen tried to communicate with my friend Anna and me the beach. (Yes we have the same name, it's adorable.) After about five minutes of miming frantic motions and speaking hurried Japanese to us, we finally realized that he was trying to ask us to go swim with him and his other teens buddies. I declined. But I kicked myself after he left for not saying "arigato". He would have been pleased as punch, I assure you.

Saturday was a fantastic day. We woke up at 6:30 am and got picked up by Tommy's Tours and they took us to Hanauma Bay where we snorkeled the morning away. It blew my mind. Huge fish, some as long as my arm and every color under the sun, swam all around us. The coral was so shallow that we had to suck our stomachs in as we floated over it. I took pictures like a crazy person that has never seen the outdoors before.





After we got our fill at Hanauma Bay, we went to Diamondhead Mountain to go hiking. Everyone said it would take an hour and a half to hike up to the top, but guess how long it took svelte, young Anna and me? You guessed it. 20 minutes. Now will you just look at these views?




That night we grabbed some din din, picked up some gelato, and watched the sunset on Waikiki. Just as we were ambling around the beach we stumbled upon this performance. You probably can't see it, but take my word for it, nary a woman's eyes were straying far from that fella on the left.


Ok if there's one thing I truly will never forget, it was the surfing. We surfed three times there on Waikiki and it was unbelievable. I've surfed in Northern California before but it was freezing and I wore a full body wet suit and it was raining and the waves were humongous. It was still an amazing experience, but super difficult. But in Hawaii, the surf stands guarantee that anyone taking a lesson will catch a wave and they're right. The waves in that part of Hawaii are made for surfing. They gently propel your board forward, you casually raise your body to your knees, then you slowly lift one leg up followed by the other, and you gently glide in towards the sand. It couldn't be easier. And even if someone smashes their board right into your face, there's still a total feeling of calm and irie because everyone is so happy to be there.

Here is the surf stand that we rented from and the cool surf girl rash guards we bought to try to curb some mad board rash.



Ok I need to take you a moment to tell you a story. So the Tommy's Tour guide that drove us to Diamondhead was a hoot and a half, to say the least. She talked our ears off about everything that has to do with Hawaii and Hanauma Bay and right after telling us something logistical like where the bathrooms will be when we get there, she would interrupt by saying "Ok I am going to tell you a story now. Ok so two warriors were in love with the same woman. So she turned herself into a moutain ok so they would not fight and they would always think she is beautiful. Ok then her dad turned into a gecko mountain so he could always watch over her. And there is that mountain" (and she would point).

Monday was rainforest day! If you think I was a picture taking freak at the snorkeling bay, think again, especially since certain scenes of Lost were filmed in this very rainforest. I'm just going to let the pictures do the talking for this one.








And then last but not least, one of our last sweet things we did...whale watching. I wanted to take pictures of the whales but it was too magical to catch on film; I just had to focus on the present moment. But here are some pretty pictures I took along the way. (Notice the name of the boat.)




And that pretty much concludes your picture tour of the vacation! I will just say that it was one of the best vacations I've been on and I would do it again in a heartbeat. It was pretty cheap too, especially with my kick-a hotel deal. Thank you for being a passenger on my tour and to reward you I will leave you with this: