How to Paint a Wall in 10 Steps

I've been itching for a bit of a change in my apartment, and painting a bright "California Poppy" red accent wall seemed like an adequate way to scratch it...until I get paid again and can blow my paycheck on reindeer pillows, more mistletoe than I'll (n)ever use, and a roast beef that I'd like to practice roasting.

So, friends, how to paint an accent wall...

1) Go to Home  Deport, Lowe's, or other paint store. Look at myriad swatch colors and pick a few. Get crazy. I knew I wanted red going into this, so I stuck with that spectrum. However, I was extremely tempted to drift over to the blue/green colors...Buy supplies and blue paint tape.

2) Go home and tape the little swatches up. Observe them in the daytime and nighttime. Is one red more orange? Rustier? Boo. Go with what makes you happiest (and complements your skin tone--in my case, more blue. Why does this matter? It doesn't). 

3) Go back to Home Depot and buy the color you wanted, and make sure you don't let the girl who looks even younger and more inexperienced with painting than you tell you that you only need a quart. This is a lie. You probably need at least a galloon...taking two trips to HD kind of sucks.

4) Think back to your days of Pictionary and 7th grade art class (why did we have to paint a golf course in water colors?) and realize you have no visual artistic talents whatsoever. Have mild panic attack and call knight in shining armor to make a Saturday morning painting date. In this case, knight = dad. He is taller and wise than I. And has a stepping stool and broom poles to attach little roll-y brush. 

5) Have coffee ready for you and knight. Maybe some carrots for the steed.  Also, tape off corners. 

6) Pup down drop cloths and paint first coat! Revel in your victorious feat...or first coat of half of a wall because the dumb girl at Home Depot told you a quart would be enough. And return all the stuff you bought (except paint) because of course, dad brought everything you'd ever need. 

7) Take a break and run errands, including going back to Home Depot AGAIN for full, glorious galloon of California Poppy.

8) Paint second coat, and be careful not to get your weird textured ceiling with brush. Whoops. Let dry for 1 hour. Use wet paper towel to get as much of paint off of ceiling as possible. Otherwise, let it go and figure out how to hang garland there later. 

9) Realize you'll need a third coat. $&^*!. Pour wine.

10) Pour more wine. Paint third coat. Scrub more paint off the floor than is on the walls. 

THE END!

Brussel Sprouts with Clementines and Pecans AND a Balsamic Reduction

I recently made some awesome Brussel sprouts, and I can't not share my recipe with the world. These babies accompanied a rosemary and garlic rubbed pork tenderloin (yes, it was amazing). Yum in my tum. AND they were right off of the stalk. If you've never seen a Brussel sprout stalk before (I hadn't until Trader Joe's, bless their souls), it sort of looks like a jingle bells stick. Except green, edible, and a lot heavier. I also happened to have tons of little clementines, and thought, "HEY why not brighten up some sprouts with these citrus delights and see what magic happens?"

The Art of Cooking - with TealTheRealDeal

THE PLAYERS

4 cups quartered sprouts (about half a stalk)
3 or so clementines, coarsely chopped, de-pitted, and (time for the pithy jokes...) piths removed
a handful or however many you want of pecans, toasted, please
1 1/4 cups balsamic vinegar
some olive oil
S&P

IN DA CLUB

Rinse the sprouts and plop them into a large pan, around medium heat, with about 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Let those puppies get nice and tan. Add a little salt and pepper just to get crazy...and because either Alton Brown or Lynne Rosetto Kasper said salt brings out the flavors of the veg.

After they've bronzed up a bit (or as much as you want them to), invite the clementines and pecans to the sprouts party. Encourage them to mingle and dance it out. Turn off the heat.

As the sprouts are cooking, reduce the balsamic vinegar (boil until it becomes syrupy) in a small saucepan. This may take a little longer than you'd expect. I added a little pinch of sugar, just for kicks. Not sure if it actually did anything to help the process, though.

After the balsamic has reduced to liquid gold, pour it over the sprouts, clementines, and pecans. Everyone knows liquid goodness makes any party that much better.

ENJOY.

Dream Job = Godiva Taste Tester

I love all things chocolate, and I love dreams. Jobs are cool, too. Put 'em together and what do you get? Bippity boppity chocolate. Dream job = Godiva chocolate taste tester. Except white chocolate, which is just unnatural.

I signed up for the Godiva member rewards a few months ago ONLY because of the a) free membership, and b) free chocolate once a month. As I strolled into the Godiva store today, Auntie Anne pretzel in hand, I expected to receive a microscopic smidge of a chocolate sample.

Nay.

I was allowed to choose from ANY truffle (except for the liquor-infused ones) or some other option that wasn't that impressive. No choco-covered strawberries or peanut butter cups, but HOLY SMOKES! I chose the Butterscotch Walnut Brownie Cake Truffle.

Butterscotch caramel flanked some sort of walnutty maple-y cream nucleus with a milk chocolate shell. It was delicious, and that's really all I have to say...except...

GO JOIN GODIVA REWARDS.

The Trouble with Coffee

I would not, by any means, call myself a coffee fanatic. I didn't drink it in college to help me stay up late to write term papers--I was usually "that girl" who handed it in a week before the due date. I'm a Type A anti-procrastinator, and I like it that way, thank you very much.

I'm also not at all a coffee addict. Some people inject the stuff into their veins to wake up before 9am, but I won't bite your head off if you try to talk to me before my cuppa Joe. If I haven't eaten a solid breakfast...that's another story.

I only started drinking coffee semi-regularly this past summer. Having to be at work by 7:45am was rough, and I started small, with only half a mug or so from the break room coffee pot. One day I made the mistake of drinking two cups of jet fuel after only a few weeks of building my tolerance, and that was a hot mess. I've had a few weird experiences with inadvertent caffeine overload (someone once slipped me two green tea teabags before a choir rehearsal - woof), and they're never pretty.

I love the smell of coffee though, and I don't even mind the taste so much. I actually prefer my coffee black (like my men? Airplane? Anyone?), but I can be persuaded to enjoy it with some Kahlua or Baileys. Otherwise, Trader Joe's has a great spiced pumpkin blend. I bought it a while ago, intending to make it myself with a hand-me-down coffee pot my parents gave me.

Now, I've never made coffee in a home coffee maker. I've made it with the industrial sized gallon bins at restaurants, where you open the packet, pour it in the filter, and click a button. When I was living at home, elves made it early in the morning before the sun even came up. But I always heard them grinding the beans, and suspected they poured water over the ground beans, which I assumed then magically heated up and turned the water into coffee. Which is the same path I followed when I tried to make my own java for the first time a few weeks ago.

I put the filter in, scooped out about 4 tablespoons (2 for every 6oz), and then poured water on top of the grounds. Because, why not? Isn't that how you make coffee? No, apparently it isn't. The ghost of coffee that could've been tasted and looked like pumpkin spiced tea. I didn't understand...where did I go wrong? It was barely even warm.

I tried the next day with SIX tablespoons, poured the water on top of the grounds, clicked on, and waited. No percolating sounds, nothing. Garbage! So I gave up on drinking coffee for a little, and then buckled and bought a new coffee pot. Because clearly that dinky hand-me-down was broken.

It wasn't.

I only learned TODAY that I actually should've poured the water BEHIND the filter. Seriously? How did I not figure that out? I am 23 1/2 years old, and I only just learned how to make coffee. It started with an innocent chat with my boss about my coffee-making problems, and then my world turned upside down. So I ran home, pulled out the old coffee maker I was about to chuck, and scooped out my 2 tablespoons for a little mug of the good stuff. Then I measured out 6oz, poured it BEHIND the filter, and voila! It's time for the percolator. And delicious hot coffee.

Thumbs up for penguins who drink coffee!

Not a Lifetime made-for-TV-movie

After 3 weeks of traveling solo, I haven't turned into a 20/20 special...that I know of. Three cheers for me!

I met some really great people, I was 80% sure for a while that I had shin splints from walking so much without proper footwear, and also couldn't tell if I gained a million pounds or I lost lbs. I'm pretty certain my clothes just happened to stretch out like whoa, considering I didn't wash them for three weeks (get over it). But upon my return, it looks like so far, my trousers still fit. 

My last few days in Scotland were pretty relaxed. I took a rainy bus tour of the Highlands and boated around Loch Ness. I even snapped a photo of the monster herself! 

I met some nice German girls on the bus, and we went to the White Hart Inn in Edinburgh for some pints after the bus tour. Twelve hours on a bus isn't exactly my fave, especially since it was raining and my "rain" jacket lied about being water repellent. I was soaked. Anyway, Anja, Caroline and I were soon joined by some nice Canadians and even more whisky. These lovely Canadians later led me to my doom the next evening when we embarked on a nine-pub pub crawl. It was awesome. They also convinced me to stay an extra night to see the Hibernian soccer team play Inverness, and I obliged. It caused me to miss Windsor, sadly, but I'll be back I'm quite sure. 

Cold and wet. 

Those Canadians know how to party.

Yes, my last few days were spent in Edinburgh, which I was happy to see, but towards the end of the trip in general I was quite tired of living out of a suitcase, showering with flip flops, and trying to sleep while the hulking beast in the corner snored like a maniac. I learned that I don't particularly LOVE traveling alone for such extended periods of time, but I'm certainly capable of and good at doing it. It was nice to sleep in for as long as I wanted to, stop and eat some cheese whenever and not be judged, decide *not* to climb the 233 stairs to whatever dome, etc etc. But I also missed having a companion who can laugh with me later at the silly situations we encountered or that one really weird dude in the pub. But alas! 

Next stop....?

Captain's Log

 Sunday 

19:00 arrived after hectic train ride to Scotland--power outage made my trip 3 hours longer. It's all good.
19:20 Checked into very cool and monstrously big Hostel.
19:45 Had haggis and cask ale at Dirty Dicks--a nifty and eccentric pub in New Town.
20:00 Was befriended by an Australian also traveling solo, and he sat with me...then I didn't feel weird avoiding eye contact with other people while I ate.
21:00 After dinner, went on a non-scary ghost tour. Pints after.
23:00 Bed.

Monday 

9:30 Feet dying, bought cheap £6 sneakers-bright mustard yellow.
11:00 Free walking tour of Edinburgh with awesome Irish guide. How did he talk so fast?  And why wasn't he Irish?
14:30 Lunch of highlander chicken and ale. Yum
16:00 Visited grave yard where JK Rowling was inspired for characters' names. Inner geek in me wept softly

16:30 Scotch Whisky Experience with Aussie friend--GOLD TICKET AKA 5 TASTINGS, BABY. Yum yum in my tum.
19:30 Dinner of Tapas-Scottish cheese and smoked salmon, then mussels and wine for dinner.
20:00 Bed. Passed out cold

Tuesday 

10:00 Scone for a snack to fuel my adventure up a mountain

10:25 Hiked Arthur's Seat, an extinct volcano. Wish I brought proper running shoes. or hiking boots. 

13:00 Lunch. taking it easy with mushroom soup and tea. It was windy on that volcano, and let's be honest, I'm not as young as I once was.
13:45 shopped around to compare prices for souvenirs. Really want tartan hat with pom pom. might be called a tammy?
14:30 writers museum. A little boring.
15:15 camera obscura museum. So cool and interactive! Wouldve been cooler/I'd have felt less lame with a friend.
17:00 walked home and caught last song from cool bagpipe/drum/elec guitar trio. Note to self: track them down.
17:30 read Sherlock Holmes, contemplated going out.
18:00 refused to move from couch.  Black out.
21:00 Skype with parentals
23:00 pass out after obligatory social interactions with hostel mates. So tired. 

Wednesday 

10:30 Journeyed to Edinburg castle. Pretty groovy. Why does this city have so many darn hills?
13:00 Lunch and pints
14:00 Meandered. Contemplated trying Iron Blu, an insane soft drink that's popular here and banned in the U.S. for too much sugar and some liver antibiotic moonlighting as an ingredient. What? Insanity.  15:00 Walked inside elephant cafe where JK Rowling scribbled The first bits of Harry potter. line too long, walked out. Is my inner fan girl dying?
15:20 National Gallery of Scotland. Does it make me a child if I prefer the interactive exhibits designed for children?
16:00 Bought cheese. Walked to "The Meadows."
17:00 Found bagpipe trio from yesterday. Wait and update blog while they get ready.
18:00 Awesome set by spinning blowfish trio. Totes bought their CD.
19:00 Fought frozen pasta dish and a tin of beans to add protein. Ate a few bites, meh.
21:30 After catching up on Buzzfeed, sought trad music close to hostel.
22:00 Finally found it. not sure if 6.8% cask beverage or guitar/accordian duet made me extra happy.
23:00 bed.

Quick update

I may have forgotten to mention I visited Cambridge and Ely before Oxford and had the good fortune and pleasure to stay with a friend who lives outside of Cambridge. Yay for friends and their gracious hospitality!!

After Oxford, it was on to Bath where I did a bulk of my souvenir shopping and quite a bit of cheese-eating.

I loved Bath and made some nice friends there, and we did a very fun and silly walking tour called "Bizarre Bath." It was basically a brilliant stand up comedy tour. Amazing and I haven't laughed that hard in a while. I also love the street performers...fire juggling unicyclists, opera singers, drum circles, floating men, etc. So much fun! I even met a charming retired couple dressed up in old fashioned garb for the Jane Austen festival. We sat on a bench and chatted as people took our picture, and they invited me to Windsor and offered to show me around. Uh, yes please! Such dears.  Oh and the roman baths were amazing and I got to taste the water! ...it was weird and strongly reminded me of blood.

Then I journeyed to Edinburgh via London and a hectic mechanical failure in Carlisle. Needless to say, it was annoying and a trip that should've taken 6 hrs took 9. Boooof.  But I had haggis and a few pints last night complete with ghost tour so all is well. Yeahhhhhh girrrl

Lost in translation

While I enjoy traveling and find myself to be excellent company, I can only have so many conversations with myself. So, I've been getting a little bit bored of my own company. Of course I talk to people and have met fellow lone wolves, but it's a transient business. And they don't always get my humor right away...like my Californian friend whom I met in London.

We were talking about rent prices, and he mentioned he recently moved within the city. I casually, and with a very deadpan expression, replied,  "Oh, did you move to Alcatraz?" The poor dear looked so puzzled and had no idea how to react until I did an awkward Teal shrug and said, "dude...I was kidding." Gems. 

See? I knew he'd get it in the end.

Staircase seen in Harry Potter, holla.

 Then, last night in Oxford, a similar occurrence went down. I embarked on a ghost tour with an Oxford grad, and he started the tour with a description of the horrid conditions outside of the college walls where dead bodies were tossed, sewage floated, trash was thrown out, etc. I (brilliantly) inquired, "And their theses, too?" to which he replied, "Uh...yeah all kinds of rotten things." I figured he misunderstood me (feces/theses), and tried again. After he got it, he seemed very impressed by my "complex pun."  The rest of that evening was a dream come true. The guide, his boss, and I ended up getting a drink at a hidden away pub that only locals seem to know about. Logarithms, grammar, history, and politics were just a few topics we covered over pints. It was everything I wanted and nothing I didn't.

Cheesetastic

After my few very long days playing the ultimate Tourist (but non-fannypack-toting one), I decided to sleep in. I ate breakfast at the hostel, and soon after walked through Borough Market. As I've mentioned in other posts, I love love love markets, and thought I'd explore the francy one a mere few blocks from my hostel. It was fantastic! Mushrooms on display, still growing out of a tree trunk. Strange fruit and veg I had never even heard of. Stalls of beautiful cakes, still warm bread, fudge, candies, jams.

And CHEESE. I am a total cheese fanatic and naturally bought the £5 cheese plate for second breakfast-a delicious goat, a fabulously stinky and ripe Brie look alike (def not Brie) and a silky bleu. I found a table and contained my excitement as best as I could, but man was I excited. I don't pretend to know much about cheese or the proper terminology (hint Xmas present idea), but the extra stinky one seemed particularly acidic or...I don't know, dry. Like a tannic wine. Very interesting. The blue was unexpectedly mild, and The goat was just lovely.

 Later that evening after seeing Richard III at the Globe, some new hostel friends and I enjoyed a wine-soaked 4th meal on the Thames with more cheese and bread. So. Much. More. Cheese. The next day, I must admit after a breakfast of egg's Benedict, another cheese plate on a pub menu caught my eye, and obviously lunch was 3 beautiful hunks of English cheese. I don't think I left a crumb behind, and if I don't gain 15 lbs before I come home, it'll be a miracle. Perhaps it's the spike in dairy and warm Old Speckled Hen ale, but I seriously need some fruit and veg...and grapes and celery on the cheeseboard don't count.

Londontown

As some of you may know, I'm currently in London, taking a little vacation throughout the UK. I have the opportunity to travel around a bit before I start my new job. I'm also typing this on my iPhone, as the computers at my hostel are quite slow...so I apologize for any typos/weird grammar.

 After arriving in London on Wednesday, I hit he ground running. I dropped off my bags at my AWESOME hostel, and walked over to the Tower of London. I've always wanted to go, and it wasn't at all what I thought it would be. I expected prisoners and torture-y jails (it did have these things), but it was mostly for living! Very fascinating stuff, and my yeoman warden was excellent and so funny. If you aren't familiar with them (I wasn't), they're the "beefeaters," though they don't take too kindly to that word. It's an honor to be a warden and live in the tower after years of service in the military. I especially liked seeing their laundry drying as stood I various buildings in the fortress.

Then it was on to St Paul's Cathedral for evensong. I'm not much of a stair climber (my purse is way to heavy and I'm not agile enough for those spiral stairs), and I only wanted to see the inside. I can wiki the history later. The service was lovely, at least the parts I was awake for. Jet lag hit me pretty hard, and I almost fell off of a kneeler. Whoops.

 The next day, I planned my entire day out over eggs and bacon on toast, then promptly forgot them when I walked past the ferry pier. I decided to head over to Greenwich to see the Observatory and Meridian, college and painted hall. It was a great afternoon, and I smiled so hard when I unknowingly walked through the music college's courtyard. This sounds so cheesy, but it was such sweet music to my ears to hear musicians practicing. Ahhh :) The observatory was fantastic and I loved the planetarium...and yes, I did choke up when it played clips of us landing on Mars. I'm always amazed when I am reminded of what talent and brilliance there is in the world, and how much we don't know about life. Ok back to my pint now...

After that was a lovely lunch where the bartendress asked me if I wanted a half pint with lunch. Do I *look* like the kind of lady who only wants halfsies? No. After the ferry back, I went to the Churchill War Rooms, one of the highlights of my trip so far. They were absolutely fascinating and left entirely as they were during the war. The Churchill Museum was wonderfully presented and a fun interactive learning experience. My only wish is that I had had more than 2 hours. I'm the museum-goer who reads every little plaque. Thanks for that, dad ;)

Then if you can believe it, I headed to both the National Gallery (for the impressionists) and the Portrait Gallery. The Portrait Gallery had an excellent exhibit on Olympians and also the gallery's BP-sponsored contest. Yesterday I ended up walking for hours to get to Buckingham Palace, only to find tickets sold out. Wish I had known you have to buy them in advance...so I walked through Hyde Park to get to the V&A, where there was a gorgeous exhibit on British ball gowns and fashion. I felt so at home!

I must admit though, I did hit a brick wall. I have resolved to not try to see everything in the world of London, and I suspect I'll be a less exhausted Teal because of it. Phew!

Do I look like a peasant, too?

I've always thought, deep down, that I'd make an excellent spy. I have a knack for attracting interesting international characters, and last night was no different. After an exhausting but amazing day of sight-seeing, I sat down at a bar to have a glass of wine and order some dinner (delicious warm feta with eggplant, green beans, tomato, kalamata olive, etc). A foreign gentleman came up to the bar to pay, and started chatting me up...for the next two hours. He spoke of the finest restaurants he frequents, staying at the Four Season in NYC, and his lovely Tom Ford suit. Oh and his Australian mistress. He showed me his Harrods card (I asked when he'd take me shopping--soon), and he talked about his love of Irish people--because they look like peasants. After his exuberant verbal display of affection for MY Irish complexion ("It is in your eyes!"), I asked him if I looked like a peasant. He said I did not, which made my day. He continued to rave about how wonderfully independent, irresistable (French accent style), charming and lovely I am. "You only have one boyfriend? You should have four! If I were a younger man, I'd want you to have all my sons." No boyfriend actually, but I had to keep him at bay. And hey, work it, free dinner! Sir also insisted that I Google him on my phone to confirm that he was who he said, and it turns out he actually is kind of a huge big deal. Eventually we parted ways, with promises to send me bottles of wine from his family's vineyard.

My food fantasies

Some people fantasize about marrying Ryan Reynolds, some dream of the beach, and yet others desire the hedonistic tendencies of food and drink. I'm not sure if it's my lack of job prospects, nostalgia for my wild college days, or legitimate food cravings, but I have a hankering to get myself up to State College for a foodie/booze tour.

So, here is what I dream about, from breakfast to 4th meal.

For breakfast, it's off to the Waffle Shop for the dirt cheap eggs, bacon, toast and hash brown special. What can I say, I'm a purest, and I'm going to need to set my metabolism straight for this foodventure.

Snacktime is chocolate covered bacon chocolate cheesecake at Herwig's. Oh and a beer at Pickle's. Because in this fantasy of mine, the weather is beautiful, I have a bottomless pit for a stomach, a tolerance for alcohol that would rival any Irish stockyard worker, and stretchy pants.

For lunch, it's Mad Mex on the patio. One original Big Azz margarita, please and thank you very much. I'd bask in the sunshine and nibble on a shrimp, portobello, and spinach quesadilla with my marg and enjoy good company. Let's be honest...no bar is allll that fun by yourself.

Then I'd walk off the effects of the margarita/cheesy shrimp goodness and head to the Creamery, where I would request a child-size peanut butter ripple cone--those cones are just way too big to eat the whole thing in its entirety--and walk through campus talking to and feeding the squirrels.

Tea-time would be at The Corner Room for grilled stickies a la mode, covered in wet walnuts--that's a special thang I do. (I would say Allen St. Grill for the coconut cream pie, but I've already devoted an entire post to that.)

After that, the obvious dinner choice is Herwig's for the Tagesmenu. The most delicious homemade mushroom soup (mushroom theme?), homemade buttermilk ranch dressed salad and pork/potato hash, AND pastry dessert made with fruit from the owner's own fruit trees?! Oh, and did I mention it's BYOB, open air, and they chuck things and yell at you in German if you don't finish your food? Heaven. And three words for the road: chocolate. covered. bacon.

After that, it's next door for HAPPY HORAAAAA at Cafe. Grabbing an outside table in the front to people watch, long island tea in each hand, is the way to do it. And let's not forget those skillet fries. Seriously, crack on a skillet. I honestly can't say anything else about them, except that I had them once sans the 5 long island teas, and it just wasn't the same.

As for fourth meal, I only have two words: Canyon. Pizza. (ranch optional)

If you can't beat 'em...there's probably an App for that

There once was a fair young maiden who lived in a magical land far, far away. She lived in peaceful, happy, ignorant bliss because she had a sleek Razor cell phone. She read books, used her power of intellect to prove her college boyfriend wrong on multiple occasions (a rooster is a male chicken, I promise), and called her dad when she got lost on journeys. The maiden had no use for such things as "iPhones" to weigh down her soul with flashy "Apps" or prove that she was always right. She knew she was always right, and what kind of person REALLY needs to constantly update his or her Twitter every second? She lived in this contented way for many years.

One day, an evil gnome planted an idea in her head to purchase an iPhone. "Why do I need an iPhone? All I want in a phone is unlimited text messaging and a decent allotment of minutes." The young maiden had a clunky mobile phone with a dreaded QWERTY board that she never used (sadly, the Razor was long gone), but she didn't mind. But the twisted, beardy gnome persisted. Eventually, the young maiden was convinced in her heart that the iPhone 4S was meant to be hers.

As she entered the Verizon tavern one morning, she still wasn't fully convinced. "Do I really need Siri? And an 8 megapixel camera?" she queried. To be honest, no. But why buy an iPhone 4 that's already outdated? And so she sold her soul.

No one's heard from the young maiden since. However, rumors abound that she buries her nose in her phone, challenging Facebook friends to "Words with Friends" and trying to avoid embarrassing autocorrects, as well as dodging questions about why she finally decided to take the plunge into smartphonedom.

Whoopsie daisies

Alright, it's a little shameful how long it's been since my last post. Not to make excuses (but let's be honest, I sort of am), but I've been absurdly busy. Interning, waiting tables, and having a church gig suck up all available time, and the few times I've had some down time, all I want to do is watch Castle or Criminal Minds. Or bribe my youngest niece into giving me kisses. On Sunday at our family dinner, Molly didn't finish her dinner. Her mommy and daddy told her that if she didn't finish her food, she wouldn't get dessert. Now, here it where I saw an opportunity. I know how it works..if I want her to give me a kiss or a hug, I have to bribe her, usually with food. Sometimes I fake cry, but cookies are better. I told her that if she gave me a kiss, I would give her a bite of my pumpkin cheesecake (it was huh-mazing). WELL, apparently she innocently told her mommy the next day. Whoopsies. Tattler!

Since my last post, I've been busy with internship duties. I have not yet had to retrieve coffee, so that's good. I was, however, published online...which is pretty darn cool. Check it out here. I did indeed go shopping for business clothes, as well. Turns out that getting a credit card to the store you frequent saves hundreds of dolla dolla bills. Seriously...I think I saved $400 by opening an Ann Taylor card. I could be a Geico or Progressive commercial, but for clothes..."Save hundreds on car insurance, save hundreds on new hipster fashions."

This past weekend, I relayed in the Baltimore marathon with my sister. I trained a bit for it and managed 9 1/2 minute miles. I was proud of myself, and I know I could've run even faster if I hadn't been surrounded by a slower pack...snails. My leg of the race included running through the zoo, and I battled an alligator, a penguin, a bunny, and a rooster. It was intense. Ten-miler race next? Well, definitely a turkey trot on T-gives morning. At least I won't have to wake up at 5am for that one. Psh, Baltimore.

I was also offered a part time position as a voice teacher at a prestigious (so I hear) boarding school in the area. I'm super excited to start teaching! I have a feeling I'm going to love it. I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime, I dare you to be courageous and do something you never thought you'd be able to do. It could be killing a spider. Or being honest with someone about something that's been on your mind forever. It could EVEN be ordering that extra large cookie...for just yourself. Just get out there and live. These tips may or may not be based on personal experiences...especially the spider part.

She works hard for her money...

...so you better treat her right. And buy her diamonds.

Well, it's official! Today was the first day of my internship at the National Education Association, and you know what that means...I need to go shopping. Yay for public education and the country's largest union that needs me to write for and edit their publications! And I totally got called out for being an intern, today. Yellow "non staff" badge, psh.

Enough is ENOUGH.

This is something that has been churning in my mind for quite some time now. I knew the day would eventually come when I had to talk about it, but I didn't know when to bring it up. Now seems like as good a time as any, and honestly, I don't think I can stay quiet on the issue anymore.

I found this segment of wax at my place of work #angry face.

CRAYOLA, WHY DO YOU TORMENT ME SO?

Between 1949 and 1957, Crayola added "green blue" to its cornucopia of colors. Between 1990 and 1992, the company had enough sense to rename "green blue" to "teal blue." In 1998, Crayola made room for "outer space" (shut the front door, what kind of color is that?) and in 2003, "inch worm." I don't know what the average person thinks of when he or she thinks of the color of an inch worm, but I imagine a dull, gross fleshy color. In 2003, teal blue was retired. Why, you ask? To make room for a flipping deathly pallor color called "inch worm?" I understand that times and tastes change, but c'mon! Teal is a universally flattering color on everyone, and it totally shows up in nature all the time. How many "fuzzy wuzzy brown's" that aren't adorable bear cubs have you seen? Would you know if "razzmatazz" is a better descriptor for an ice cream cone or the color of the sky?

I've always loved that my name is both a noun and an adjective. In elementary school, I felt so cool in art class when I'd whip out my teal crayons and markers. No other kids' first names were on those extensions of our imaginations, and quite frankly, the only street cred I had in art class was having my name stamped next to that CrayZola brand. I couldn't (and still can't) draw to save my life. As I went on to high school and in college, it was tres cool to sign only my first name on tests. How many Teal's were there in the school? Believe me, if there had been any others...there wouldn't be. Adults continue to ask me if my parents named me Teal because my eyes are teal. Well, considering my eyes were probably shut when I was born because I was screaming and crying, no. Were my parents mad hippies? Maybe. Is your middle name a color, too? Pick a color. Are your sisters or brothers colors too? No, but you can be sure as heck my children will be. The color teal has totally become my signature, and naturally it's my favorite color. Not JUST because it's my name; it's genuinely awesome. And if I say so, an awesome girl/aquatic bird.

So Crayzola, when will the madness end? All I want is my name back on a crayon, and "jazzberry jam" has just got to GO.

How Maroon 5 bought me a speeding ticket

NOTE: I do not encourage or condone reckless driving. And I wasn't driving recklessly, either, for the record.

The speed at which I drive is directly proportional to the beats per minute of the song I'm listening to at the time. This also happens to me when I read. Many a book has spontaneously burst into flame in front of my very eyes, especially around Christmastime when Tran-Siberian Orchestra's "Carol of the Bells" is on repeat. It certainly makes for toasty fingertips.

Today I was listening to "Moves Like Jagger" by Maroon 5 when it happened. Based on my research, this song has 128 bpm. If you don't know the tune (are you living in a cave?), it's pretty quick and a great song to work out to...and drive to. While my hands were at 10 and 2, I whistled, hummed and busted out my best Christina A impression. But as I sang, I was particularly focused on creating new and intricate musical incidentals. Perhaps it's my inner nerd, but I love finding different ways to make an otherwise static background special and more jazzed up. It could also be my experience in arranging a cappella music. Regardless, I was working out my own little tid-bits in the chorus and somehow missed the impending road construction signage. It's not that I wasn't paying attention to the road, because I definitely was. Anyway, to make a long story short, Maroon 5's driving bass and syncopated guitar glory made me slow down just a little too late, and I got pulled over. I'm generally very good at blinking my eyes and smiling my way out of tickets, but I just couldn't think of a better excuse than, "Uh, well, you see officer, the music made me do it..." I apologized, he slapped with me a mere citation, and now my checking account has grounded me for a few weeks.

If ONLY he could've heard my sick new harmonies or seen my wiggly moves like Jagger!

Just like Eminem, I'm cleaning out ma closet

I'm pretty sure Eminem might legitimately have some skeletons and other creepy things in his closet. For the record, I just have a few dust bunnies, lots of shoes, and clothes. Maybe a box of markers or something random, but that's about it.

Anyway, one may not know it by walking into my room right now, but I really enjoy order and neatness. Scratch that, s/he definitely wouldn't know it. I think it all started freshman year when I was living in Tener Hall. My side of the room was totally mine, and I didn't care what kind of mess my roommate made. However, I made sure that everything on my side was in the exact right place. Call it a light and not clinically determined diagnosis of OCD. The same stuff went down sophomore and junior years...small living spaces = I keep them very tidy. Plus, I think knowing that I decorated and planned out my dorms with my own style made me want to keep it extra clean to show off. Now that I'm living at home, though hopefully only for a little while longer, I'm totally out of my groove. Why are there five library books haphazardly stacked on my night stand? Other books and photo albums are spilling out of the bookshelves like lemmings about to jump to their chilly deaths, and all of my necklaces are tangled around each other. I can barely open my closet doors for all the shoes that are shoved in there, though this is not an issue of having too many shoes, let's not be confused. But when did I let myself go? If I'd only remember to fold my shirts, my drawers wouldn't feel so stuffed. When did I give up on organization?! I can't take it anymore. Next week I am going to go through everything and do some MAJOR fall cleaning, clothing donations, and organizing.

I can't wait to see what buried/forgotten treasures I find!

Shorty you da best, da best I ever had

It has recently (again) come to my attention that not all coconut cream pies are made alike. This may seem blazingly obvious, but I was unfortunately reminded of that fact last night.

There is a restaurant in State College called the Allen Street Grill...the food is decent enough (try the sweet potato crusted tuna), and the bar is nicer than your standard college dive. My college a cappella group, (the sexiest, oldest co-ed, and best one on campus) None of the Above, has their formal there every year. It's a lovely affair filled with good food, conversation, and endless inside jokes. But this isn't about NOTA. This is about Allen St. Grill's HUH-MAZING coconut cream pie. This pie is so decadent and coconut-y and creamy, you can feel your waistline expand if you even look at it. Which is why one night during my junior-or was it sophomore?- year of college, in one of my weird craving fits, I called ahead and ordered a slice "to go." Around 10pm. I showed up in expandable waistline lounge pants, and went to town on that piece of pie before I walked out the door. Or something like that. But literally, I didn't even wait until I got home to start eating it. It majestically stood about 4-5 inches high (no exaggeration, but maybe a little- though not that much), with only a little bit of whipped cream. That's what I so love about this coconut cream pie. It's a lot of coconut custardy goodness, and only an inch or so of whipped cream topped with toasted coconut. And that crust. So delicious and perfectly complimentary to the rest of the sweet, dense heaven.

Last night's pie was store-bought and had an inch of "coconut custard," if you can even call it that, and was three inches too high with icky whipped cream. I should've stuck with my Toll House refrigerated cookie dough. As we all know, pre-cooked cookie dough has 0 calories, and that pie was a waste of a hard workout.

Live and learn.

Happy Days at WSC Avant Bard

I'm a theatre reviewer for Maryland Theatre Guide, and I thought I'd share my review of Samuel Beckett's Happy Days. It was a super weird play, but very well done. Check out www.mdtheatreguide.com for more of my reviews and other awesome reviews of local theatre. Be sure to "Like" it on Facebook!


What will happen “when words fail” for Samuel Beckett’s heroine in Happy Days, or when she can’t “speak in the old style?” Goodness only knows, but she certainly has a lot to say before either of those things happen.

Winnie, played delightfully by Delia Taylor, is an eternally optimistic chatterbox who seems to be afraid of being alone or not having a companion to talk to. She discusses her daily (and monotonous) routine, her hopes and fears, and old memories. The catch is, Winnie can’t move because she is buried up to her waist in a massive, luxurious mound of “dirt.” In an interesting twist in WSC Avant Bard’s production, Set Designer Tony Cisek cleverly makes the mound in which she’s entrapped. It's actually the skirt of her dress, which manages to look amazingly silky and velvety all at once, with assistance from Costume Designer Marie Schneggenburger’s clever props and some fantastic Lighting Design by Cory Ryan Frank.

The only other character in the show is her husband Willie, wonderfully played by director Jose Carrasquillo. The audience only sees the back of his head, and he says little more than a few quips and monosyllabic grunts. However, he gives Winnie a reason to keep talking by providing a listening ear, as well as giving the audience some extra comic relief. Winnie has only Willie, her words, and her big black bag to keep her occupied.

We never find out why Winnie is stuck in the mound, but it’s not particularly important in this absurdist play. What is central is that she is lonely and has a desperate need for companionship, even if she doesn’t say it outright. Ms. Taylor brings a great cheerfulness to the character, and it drives Winnie’s complexity throughout the whole production. The entire play is almost a monologue, and despite—or because of being immobile – Ms. Taylor makes extensive use of her hands and quirky facial expressions. Her acting is natural and honest, and she makes Beckett’s compelling – though sometimes chaotic- language flow freely and easily.

The Black Box Theatre is the perfect space for such an intimate performance. While the plotline may be a bit mundane, Mr. Carrasquillo’s fresh approach to Happy Days, complete with a billboard-esque blue sky and clouds backdrop, is a lovely way to celebrate Beckett’s 50th anniversary production.

Running time is about 1 hour and 40 minutes.

Happy Days plays through September 25th at Artisphere – 1101 Wilson Boulevard, in Arlington, VA. Purchase tickets here.