Monday, December 9, 2013

I hope you've moved on. To our new site.

Dear the few who still have this site bookmarked,

We've moved. 
I hope you'll continue to read along on the new and improved site:

See you on the flip side.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

How long is an era? Probably about the time it'll take to read this post.

Dear 29,
It's the end of an era, assuming an era is a mere ten years. The end of your twenties is a weird thing. I don't think I realized just how different I was feeling about it until we're here, just 2 days before, feeling a surge of energy (in this case energy is defined as fear + anxiety + joy + motivation + hungryforbreakfast).
This is me at Senior Prom. Age 17. It's hard to believe that was 13 years ago.
PS we are all wearing dresses. Very important note to make. Clearly.
I don't remember my 20th birthday, at all, which is pretty odd for me. I'm sure it was important, you know no longer being a teenager, but I don't think I did anything too special. Strange. I love birthdays. I love birthdays more than any self-respecting 17 year old (seen above) should. I've been writing these lists for awhile, not quite an era, and this might be the year I crossed off the least amount of stuff. But you know what? SIMS.SINS. (Thanks, Kate, for teaching me this totally hip phrase. "Sorry I'm Not Sorry." Also thanks for correcting me on my terrible acronym)
Year 29 has been a hard one. I can't pin down a particular part of it that made it that way, but to be honest, it wasn't the kind of year where I wrapped it up a with a smiley summary. I hope I don't sound ungrateful, because there were so many incredible moments of pride in this finale year. So many. I think that this year felt so heavy because I really learned so much. And hot damn learning is hard.
They weren't the kind of life lessons that come with a great post about a sunburn on a Sunday where I ate beetles for the first time on a picnic blanket in a sea of lilac bushes (that didn't happen, but maybe "eat bugs" should be on list 30. I assume the life lesson would be don't eat beetles or be sure to wear sunscreen.) It wasn't a story kind of lesson learning, but rather the kind of learning that's hard to own up to. It was the kind of learning Mrs. Larry never really explained to me.

I learned that a new haircut can make a difference in your attitude, even if it is reminiscent of your hair in 1989 and takes a significant amount of patience and roundbrush technique to look as good as Michelle Obama's hair. I learned about backing up my computer, for the second time, and that photos matter, but facebook matters more (that's sort of a joke). I learned about what a real, grown up career transition feels like and how difficult it is to find your way, prove your worth and be the new kid. I learned about forgiveness and the kind of strength it takes to be secure and confident.
I learned about what a good fit feels like, to identify and recognize and maybe trust a gut feeling and just how important sincerity can be. I learned how much better the closer seats are at the Civic Center and that a good date matters. I learned how Saturdays of solitude can be perfection, but just how much fun a secret run to a bar called (embarrassingly) Whiskey Dix can be in the midst of a rainstorm even if you're probably to old for it. I learned that I'm stubborn and still don't like olives and look exactly like my mother did at 29.
I learned that your twenties are full of self discovery-- a topic no one really wants to talk much about, but something that is real and scary and trying, but brings out the complete best in you. I learned that everyone feels doubt and that admitting you need something or someone is necessary, because apparently the whole world can't read minds. I learned about art and about faith (in others, in yourself, in the world) and about growth and about friendship. I learned about giving and taking chances.
Ultimately my 29th year was about testing my strength. No, I didn't do a pull up. Frankly I didn't try. (I have a pretty significant frame for these frail arms to pull up above a bar. I joined the Y, yes, but I haven't spent a lot of time stress lifting. I have mostly been stress cooking. Which is a bit counter productive to pull up training.) I know the list feels unfinished, but, as cheesy as this may be, I don't feel undone.
(The Ocean Beach pier. Sigh)
Soon the list for 30 will be up. Soon I'll be writing posts on the NEW SITE that seems so professional. Soon 62% of my friends will have babies and I'll be living with a dude that isn't my dad. Soon I'll have to be sure my charitable giving is a documented deduction and I will be yet another person's boss. Soon 29 will seem a small blip on my life's radar.
That's my mom around age 29, not me. And my dad. And me, not a small boy.
But for now, I'll just look back on my twenties critically but fondly, knowing that bigger, and more joyful and more challenging moments lie ahead. For now I will be thankful for what I learned, for what you taught me and for what 29 meant. For now I'll celebrate the end of an era.

Friday, May 17, 2013

6 days away.

Dear 29,
6 days to 30. (Because that paper chain in your office you are using as a countdown is getting shorter, you've probably already noticed.) I think the stars decided to align for me and give me a vacation to remember and a return-home that's kept me busy enough to not think about the decade change to come. (Don't worry, I'm not that anxious.)
The HBF and I took a three day adventure to San Diego where we walked along the highway by accident, crossed the 5 out of necessity, withstood the record setting heat that felt amazing, took the ferry, went into a hidden bar with gilded skulls on the wall and pretended it was my birthday daily.
We rode in a pedi-cab with a man who said "they call me the Paulmeister" and marveled at the sands of Coronado (seriously covered in glitter. this was incredible.) I even went to the zoo. A honeybadger is a real animal. Hippos are really mean and nasty creatures. And aw man panda babies are cute. We allllmmmooosssttt didn't come back. (From San Diego, not specifically from the zoo.)
Another super highlight of the last week-- a family meet up. We got to watch the littlest one speak at graduation. Then we celebrated the big news, mother's day and just generally being together. And the Mar and I wore matching outfits. (Again, my family, probably more fun than yours.) These last few days before 30 have been a flurry of fun.
Hoping to wrap up the year with some great sappy posts about what I learned in my twenties. Unless I'm packing during those moments. So much good ahead.

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Westward HO!

Dear 29,
Because my sense of humor remains in high school, what a hilarious blog title right?
I mean it's a real thing, but it's real funny to me. But it's also what's happenin, today, in hours.
In the old days (or about a year ago) I spent lots of time out in California. Each time my plane began it's descent into the Golden State this wisp of delight surged through me followed by a wave of calm. Something about that vaguely L-shaped state felt like home. And today we head back. (Cue the track) My first real, grown up vacation with no work, no obligations, not even many plans. Looking forward to being in that serene headspace for a few days before the chaos of change (chaos is used in the way that means "exciting and awesome" here) that May will bring. But for now a Calmer Palmer.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

We've hit the big time.

Dear 29,
It's like I'm a machine. Or like I really want to be efficient.
Either way-- in the past week I've crossed off 2 list items and added to one. (Be shocked with me, it's ok.)
I finished a creepy book. I went out to a farm, learned gun safety, gun history and shot a gun used in World War I. Oh and I set up a real, grown up website. In year thirty I'm going to try using the blogging feature on this new, improved webpage, but we'll always have blogger to go back to.
Stay tuned for the big move. Now I have to pack for #13.

ps- I got carded again last night. Must be the freckles and not the headband.

Monday, April 29, 2013

On April 28th.

Dear 29,
I got carded today at Dahl's. Here I sit, 25 days from year 30, and I got carded. I think it's this ribbon headband I'm wearing that made the high-schooler behind the counter take an extra look at my need-to-renew-for-the-first-time-since-2007 ID. In 25 days I'm entering a new decade. My friends who have already crossed into their fourth decade (Thanks for the correction on that Tim. Would hate to have mistakenly called this my third decade) swear by their thirties. "So much better." "Seriously so much better."
If you'd take your focus off the two attractive dudes, you'd note I look younger in a headband. Particularly one made of bubble wrap. Note this was for an event. I wasn't wearing a hair accessory made of packing material today.
I'm feeling pretty guilty about the inadequate end to the 29th year on the blog. The list is blindingly unfinished. Fairfield Iowa is 1 hour and 53 minutes away from here. Homemade root beer consists of more than root beer flavoring, soda water and dry ice. (Spoiler alert. "Brew" involves actual brewing. Wrong word choice there, past-Laura. Should have gone with "Make my own root beer." That's a much more make-it-work-able sentence.) I haven't even considered camping until today due to a winter that lasted long into the fourth month of this year. I can't even explain what "Publish the Cookbook" means anymore after the idea has morphed, waned and come back to life at least three times since last May.
Currently drawing random recipes on a waxy paper meant to be a paint palette.
The list is more unfinished than it has been since the inception of this blog. When I look back on this 29th year, I can't say it was my most favorite, but I can say I learned more about myself this year than in any other I can remember. Maybe that's why there were less posts and more reflective moments (also known as panic attacks, celebrations, to do lists or Saturdays at home). A lot has changed in this finale year of my twenties. With 25 days left I vow to do my best, to cross off at least three more list items and to spend some time figuring out how the documentation of year 30 will be a little bit different. (New decade, new medium. Duh.)

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

It's me.

Dear 29,
We're sitting at just about 7 weeks from 30 and, well, let's face it, the blog, and the blog's author, we just aren't what we used to be. Days fly by without a word written. Even the number of draft posts (14) keeps dwindling. I haven't even "attempted" to post. Even my use of quotation marks, which I honestly almost called parentheses, is odd and unnecessary. Something isn't clicking between the two of us (insert joke about all the readers I used to have not clicking on my site anymore).
It's not that 29 hasn't been good to me. I mean, the winter has been far too long, but other than that I just feel older than I did at 27, not less inspired, less adventurous or less like I'm an hilarious writer. It's not that there aren't things to say, it's just that in year 29, this hasn't been the best way to say them. So here we are about 50 days from a whole new decade and we're at a crossroads. A metaphorical one, just so we're clear about that.
So what's the solution? That's a serious question, not a rhetorical one. We've had a great run, and I'm not saying it's over, but we seem to find less and less to talk about. In 1,200 hours, year 29 will wrap up. What's next is mostly unclear, but a new list is a foregone conclusion (the first time I've ever written that phrase, I'm not even completely sure I used it correctly). Something has to change to make this work, because a blog isn't really a blog unless somebody is willing to invest in this relationship. I guess we have some thinking to do.

But seriously. It's not you. It's me.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

A redo of August: Tramps.

Dear 29,
Again, an unfinished thought for us all to ponder. I've learned from this re-reading-of-posts-that-never-officially-hit-the-blog that the majority of posts that don't get published have a title I think is super funny, one or two photos I think are super funny and then I can't seem to write content that makes it funny to anyone other than me or someone featured in the photo. Exhibit B.
(August 15, 2012)
Dear 29,
Tramps is short for trampoline.
thanks for the photo liz.
The arches of your feet will hurt for a full three days afterwards. And Firework is an awesome tramp dance song. (Again, tramp is short for trampoline)
August is awesome
February 2013 commentary: This photo was taken at skyzone after it was too rainy and cold to float down a river in a tube. It was probably too shallow too. I love tubing, of course. This had to have been the one day it rained in August since we were in the midst of a drought. I wore a strange outfit because I wasn't quite sure what you are supposed to wear to a room full of trampolines. There aren't any pinterest boards dedicated to trampoline fashion. We played dodgeball with children under 10. We accidentally knocked over children under 10. I found it incredibly difficult to climb out of a foam pit after launching yourself into it from a set of tramps. I probably looked like a left handed cat trying to escape a bag of sugar coated donut holes. Not pretty. I will say that I recommend you drop $10 and bounce around this place for an hour (be careful though, I hear it's a pretty easy place to bust an ankle, but then again, sidewalks around Sherman Hill in the winter are pretty risky too.)
That's me dunking. And wearing my sweatshirt as a cape. In related news: Happy Bday MJ.
Potential blog topics that could have helped finish this post: What do you wear into a room full of trampolines? Why didn't I start a pinterest board dedicated to tramp attire? (hilarious) What are real trampoline athletes called? How annoyed were the children who had their time at skyzone interrupted by 20 and 30 somethings bouncing around? When can we go back to skyzone? Had we actually gone tubing down a shallow river, how do you protect yourself from a) snagging your swimwear on the countless river rocks that will be really near the water surface (because of the drought, duh) and b) from being uncomfortable seated in a tube, blasted by sunlight? 
But a better question: Where do I find a picture of a left handed cat trying to escape a bag of sugar coated donut holes?

I'll say it again, this post was clearly hilarious to me, but not to the masses. Because I want to appeal to the mass audience (of 7) who still read my occasional blog posts that have become increasingly unfunny over the years, I've included this super embarrassing photo of myself falling off a floor tramp and onto a wall tramp. You're welcome. Now that I've successfully/regrettably shared that, I think I'll tackle the draft-post about 50 Shades of Grey. Look forward to that one. There's a High School Musical reference.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

A master of the unfinished thought.

Dear 29,
I write a lot of drafts of blog posts. A lot. Lots. Seriously. After a blog hiatus, I spent a little time cleaning out the post-stash. There's a lot of unfinished business around here. Some posts failed because, well honestly, there wasn't a whole lot more to say, but today I'm exposing my unfinished thoughts. Putting them out there for us to laugh about together. So here we go.
"Just look how outdoorsy I've become."
(Fall-time, 2012)
Dear 29,
That's really it. A furry hat, Bass Pro Shop and fishing accessories.
February 2013 commentary: That's all. Clearly I wanted to post silly photos of myself that I found completely hilarious. What's funnier than a freckled face framed in fur? I KNOW, a picture of a giant fish body pillow held up like it was just caught in a lake/stream/fish-filled-body-of-water. What can you really say about a Bass Pro Shop photoshoot that hasn't been said in that first line? I have been to Bass Pro Shop at least 4 times in the last eight months, but still haven't bowled, which saddens me, but I have learned a lot about the outdoors. HBF actually shops there, I spend time looking at the feathers they use to make flies, other shoppers, camo-fashions, and studying the fish. Once I sat in a camo-recliner. 
This is a real catfish. I caught it. It's not as big as the body pillow. It's actually as big as my foot.
Potential blog topics that could have helped finish this post: Who buys a camo-recliner? Who sleeps with a catfish body pillow? How many freckles are on my face? Was I the only person wearing silk at Bass Pro that night? Do I always open my eyes that wide when I'm mocking myself?
In case you wanted to see another shot from that night. Yes. I did pose with a backdrop that was meant for children.
Now that I'm re-reading this, I realize this post couldn't really be improved upon, but instead of throwing in the towel, I'm putting my beige-heeled-feet-in-Bass-Pro out there for us all to see. Just a few months until thirty now, (in this case "few" is less than four months) and this list in year 29 is less than finished, much like most of my posts have been lately. As a master of the unfinished thought, I have a lot of work to do to cap off a year full of genius plans with a little execution. The post-stash of drafts ends today. Look for old ideas to resurface before 3-0 strikes.

I better go get a few pushups in if this pull-up is going to happen.