Update on #36: Death by (Lack of) Chocolate

Temptation, she is a cruel, persistent mistress.

Now 25 days into my promise to ban all sweets through (the week before) Lent, I am pleased to report that, for the first Lenten Season in my life, I am still 100% dessert-free. However, I feel I should point out that the sacrifice has taken its toll, as I am now but a brittle, broken shell of my former self, and besides all that, I’m quite grumpy.

You think I’m melodramatic, but consider the lengths I’ve gone to just to keep my behavior in check. In the last (nearly) four weeks, I’ve eaten mass quantities of some very strange things just to distract myself from any and all dessert-ish deliciousness:

• Tic Tacs (orange-flavored)
• Mentholated cough drops (cherry-flavored)
• Fistful after fistful of Life cereal (cinnamon-flavored)
• Salad and salad and salad (balsamic-vinaigrette flavored)
• Wheat crackers…so many wheat crackers (salt- and bread-flavored)

Please note that I’ve only resorted to these desperate measures in times of extreme stress. Otherwise, mostly I’m fine. Mostly, I’m doin’ ok, even as the freezer remains fully loaded with ice cream, and GB tells long and lovely tales of the Girl Scout Cookies he’s keeping at work, and the boys eat chocolate pudding after the dinners they barely touch, and I fall to pieces in the pantry.

Here’s the thing, though, about not cracking under pressure: I can’t explain this—maybe you can—but I’ve found a sick, sordid and darkly satisfying new past time: placing myself in the enemy’s way.

Here’s what I mean:

• Day 3: I made batch after batch of iced sugar cookies for the boys’ in-class birthday parties. I creamed the dairy-free butter and sugar. I whipped tall peaks of French vanilla frosting. I spread soft, rippled waves of said icing across the tops of said freshly baked cookies. And when I was finished, I dropped icing-coated whisks untouched into a full sink of water.
• Day 8: I handed 36 dairy/egg-free cupcakes to a room full of already over-sugared little boys who sang “Happy Birthday” to my fellows as they blew out the candles at their out-of-school birthday party. We had relatives at home, so of course there were bowls full of plain and peanut M&Ms that lingered for days…because I was not eating them.
• Day 16: I walked into a candy shop with this in the window:

Inside there were trays and trays of truffles and caramel clusters and chocolate-dipped pretzels and the like. I’m not sure how long I stared at the peanut butter fudge in the display case, but let’s just say it was a long, long time.

• Day 20: I handed a sample of chocolate caramel cake to O just to watch how much he enjoyed eating it. And he did enjoy it. A lot. I wish I’d thought to take a photo, because that sort of happiness needs to be captured and shared.
• Day 24: I began to daydream about the enormous Graeter’s ice cream cake (it’s ice cream! It’s cake!) I’m going to request the day I turn 37—just 27 days from today—and this whole dessert-free nightmare is finally over.

There’s only one way I can think of to end this update: Twenty-four days in, I also rediscovered Kettle Corn.

I finally know how I’m going to make it through the rest of the season.

~*~ Follow me on Twitter: @36×37
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#30 is coming: Watching Chicago Go Irish

(via 2sistersblog.com)

Every year on March 1, my mother breaks out four things: 1) the Irish flag, 2) Irish decorations, 3) Irish accessories, and 4) a host of jaunty, traditional Irish tunes. There are four weeks of nothing but leprechaun socks and fiddles and tenors and bass drums, because even after St. Patrick’s Day has passed, she just keeps going, enjoying her heritage until April Fools Day shows its impish, pranking face.

If you don’t think this is an important element in shaping a family, look at it this way: I spent exactly 1/12 of my childhood celebrating a single day. There was a period where I tried to ignore all the Irishness, just to be rebellious, but these days, on the day, I’m the person who passes out clover stickers at work and wears buttons that say things like, “Top o’ the mornin’!” and “Pretend I’m the Blarney Stone.”

It also means that, should we ever walk into an Irish pub with a live band, I’ll make you learn to sing along to this:

The Dubliners & The Pogues – Whiskey in the Jar

That’s just how it is. When you have an Irish mother, you can’t help yourself. When my boys are grown, I hope they’ll know these songs by heart, too.

~*~

When I was young, we’d go so far as to travel three hours to celebrate appropriately. In my mother’s hometown of Pittsburgh, there’s a massive Irish population that puts on an equally massive St. Patrick’s Day parade. We didn’t go every year, but we went often enough. And when it was over, we walked around town in our Irishness to find other people who were Irish, too, even if just for the day.

Ah. Fun, Irish-y times were had by all.

We’re not going to Pittsburgh this weekend. Not at all. After 36 years of learning to celebrate the day, I’m finally ready for the biggest St. Patrick’s Day celebration there is this side of the Atlantic. And as my half-Irish/half-Sicilian luck would have it, the festivities just happen to be in my favorite American city.

Chicago.

(Oh, my heart just wept happy Irish tears.)

Because here’s what you must know: When I first put together my 36×37 list, St. Patrick’s Day in Chicago was the very first thing I thought of. And now we’re headed there tonight at 3:00 PM ET. Which just goes to show: once a lass sets her sights on something, nothing can tell her “no.”

I’ve packed my greens, complete with shamrock-dotted knee-high socks, so I can do this up right, 36×37 style. When my fellas and I get there, we’ll see a river dyed green and men in kilts and lots o’ bag pipes and Irish wolfhounds and Celtic dancers and people who are far drunker than I could ever hope to be.

I’ll take pictures. I’ll post them here. And as an added bonus, my posts shall greet thee with a wee Irish tune every day next week. You’ll either love them, or you’ll say what H said tonight when I popped in some live cuts from the Pogues: “How could anyone clap for this stuff?”

Céad míle fáilte! (One hundred thousand welcomes.)

~*~ Follow me on Twitter: @36×37
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Oh, it’s on. Or…up? Over?

You can’t really tell from this photo, but today the Columbus skies are a gorgeous cornflower blue. I only see jet streams up there. Not a single blessed cloud on the horizon.

Do you know what this means, kids? I’m flying tonight!

Come hell or high water, I’ll have all the goods here waiting for you in the morning.

Happy Thursday!

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#36 is Coming: Adios, Sweet Life

(via http://www.innjt.com)

Let’s say we’re at a party and we’re standing, of course, in front of the snack table. You’re drinking red wine and telling me I absolutely have to try so-and-so’s hand-made chocolate truffles.

They look decadent. We’re both drooling—me more than you, probably. You notice this and very kindly hand me a plate, a napkin and a truffle. I thank you but hand them back and say “I’ve given up sweets for Lent.”

You look at me strangely and say, “Lent hasn’t started yet.”

I look back at you just as strangely and say, “Believe me. I know.”

Confused?

So was my book club on Monday night.

(Sigh.) Let me explain.

~*~

I’m raising my kids in the Methodist church, but I’m Catholic. I won’t get into my hybrid status now, but what I do want to get into is this: Every year I give up sweets for Lent, and every blessed year, I fail.

And I don’t just mean “fail.” I mean I resort to seedy, humiliating tactics that help me keep up appearances while cheating my way through six weeks of supposed sacrifice.

Here’s what I mean:

Spring 1993: My roommate Marianne and I have sworn off the good stuff. She clocks her success honestly while I sneak snacks each time she leaves the dorm room. On this particular night, I’m showing a cherry flavored Tootsie Pop who’s boss when I hear Marianne’s keys in the door. Realizing I can’t reach the trash can in time, I tear the bottom half of the paper I’m writing, use it to wrap up the Tootsie Pop and wedge said Tootsie Pop between the cushions of her favorite chair just in time. The lollipop remains in that cushiony darkness until Marianne leaves for study group. I walk the lolli to the ladies’ room to trash the evidence. I keep the sticky paper scrap, though, so I can refer to it as I rewrite my assignment.

Spring 2000: The Girl Scouts have dropped off our annual cookie shipment. I take four of the six boxes I’ve ordered and place them in the freezer for GB to enjoy. He doesn’t know the other two boxes exist. I sneak them to my car and hide them in the glove compartment so I can snack by stealth through my morning (and evening) commute.

Spring 2009: It’s late and I’m at the office, trying to hit a deadline. I’m the only one here. A few offices down, a tiny Reese’s Cup sits all lonely and isolated-like beside a coworker’s telephone. It’s been sitting there for days. I’ve zeroed in on it every time I’ve stood up to grab some tea, just like I’m zeroing in on it tonight. I’m ashamed to say this, and I’m not exactly sure how it happens, but the next thing I know, I’m peeling the wrapper off the chocolatey goodness from the comfort of my desk. This is a new low for me. Immediately I hop in my car, drive to the grocery store, and purchase a bag of mini Reese’s Cups to replenish my colleague’s singular supply. I decide I have something wrong with me. Really, really wrong.

~*~

And now I’m here, in March, in 2011, and I’m six days in. No cheating! No thoughts of cheating, even! Instead, I’m 100% dogged (and cranky) determination. Still, that doesn’t explain why I’ve kicked off my commitment to sacrificing sweets one week early.

(It kind of makes me sad…here goes…)

My 36×37 project ends on April 17^th. (If you’re new here, read my very first post—it explains everything.) That’s the day I turn 37, close the book on a year, and hope I’ve crossed off all my remaining 36×37 assignments, this Lent thing being the last of them.

However, April 17^th is seven days shy of Easter, and six days shy of the last day of Lent. This means that if I truly want Life Without Sweets to be assignment #36, I need to start Lent a week early, so I can at least say, “I’ve clocked my six weeks, now give me some candy.”

I’ll write a post about it then and call it a day. (And a year.)

On Monday night I baked the best-smelling and –looking chocolate chip cookies for book club. How’d they taste? I wouldn’t know.

I don’t know why, but I’m proud I can say that.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
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Daft Punk is playin’ at my house, a-my house.

I have some pimping to do. That’s why I’m wearing these shoes—so you’ll know I mean business.

(google image from http://www.trade-show-guru.com)

As you’re reading this, I’m working my way through 36×37 assignment #24—or what my friend Supergoddess has dubbed my week-long “techie break.” Instead of blogging or tweeting or texting or facebooking or checking work e-mail and the like, I’m doing other dorky/awesome things I’ll tell you about next week.

That’s where the shoes come in; I need to pimp what’s going to happen here while I’m away.

1) I’m not here, I’m there.

I’m guest-blogging today at Amanda’s Wrinkled Pages (Twitter: @amandahoving). Amanda has completed a novel, and now she’s preparing to send it aloft to a handful of agents. Meanwhile, she has asked a few bloggers to write about finding inspiration in unexpected places. I’m honored and excited that she thought of me for the series, and I’m looking forward to meeting her readers. Be sure to visit Amanda and me today, then take time to spin through her excellent blog—it’s truly one of my favorites.

(Don’t worry, I’ll remind you at the bottom of this post. That’s right; I tend to keep my pimp hand strong.)

2) And while I’m there, a few guest bloggers are here.

They’re watching the house. They’re keeping the shop. They’re checking the mail and feeding the fish. I’ve stocked the freezer with delicious Jeni’s Ice Cream, and I’ve ordered them to make themselves at home. I hope you’ll be neighborly, chat them up a bit, then stop by their places for a while.

Here’s an at-a-glance of what’s coming this week. Be sure to check back daily; you don’t want to miss a word from these funny and illustrious friends:

Tuesday – Sunshine from Sunshine in London

Wednesday – Todd Pack from Todd Pack’s Messy Desk

Thursday – Wendy from Herding Cats in Hammond River

Friday – Jane from Planejaner’s Journey

3) And now, for something that is seemingly everywhere…

FYI, I’ve hidden an Roadside Shoes! Easter Egg in one of the guest posts! I hope you enjoy it.

Excellent.

Now. Look at me, then look at my pimp shoes. If they don’t remind you to read my guest-post at Amanda’s Wrinkled Pages, maybe this link will.

~*~ Follow me on Twitter: @36×37
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36×37 Assignments #24 and 25 (and Possibly 26 and 27)

(google image from visualharmonydesigns.com)

I hate telephones. I think they are the devil.

When I’m at home and the telephone rings, I let GB take the call. If I’m alone, I have to talk myself into answering. Friends and family leave voicemail, then they text, tweet or facebook to scold me for never calling back.

It’s a wonder, then, why I’m such a geek for my iPhone. We’re inseparable. It’s a 24/7 relationship. That sleek, iconic face is the last one I see at night, and the first one I see in the morning.

Which is sick, really. I spend more time with my iPhone than anyone or anything else. If it’s not in my hand, it’s in my purse or my pocket or playing music on its docking station or charging quietly on my nightstand. It’s ridiculous.

So I’m (temporarily) giving it up. I’m going off-grid. I’m taking a week-long iPhone vacation. No blogging or texting or tweeting or facebooking. No checking work e-mail. No nothin’.

It’s 36×37 assignment #24, and I absolutely cannot wait. Because I’m hoping it will break me of a habit that truly needs to be broken.

Here’s what will happen while I’m not plugged in:

• I’ll be working on 36×37 assignment #25 (and possibly #26 and 27). I’d love to spill the details now, but I won’t. Because as much as I hate to be surprised, I still love surprises.
• I’ve asked a few of my friends to entertain you while I’m away. They’ll start their guest-blogging festivities on Monday. They’re some of the funniest writers I know, and I have no doubt you’ll be very pleased to meet them. Be nice by showering them with lots of comments and clicking back to their blogs. You’ll find hours and hours of additional entertainment, and I promise, you’ll be glad you took the time. P.S. – If you’re a friend of the 36×37 facebook page, you’ll see these posts in your list of status updates the same way you do every weekday morning. (FYI, I’ve enlisted GB to link up the posts for me. I’m stating that for the record, so you don’t think I’m cheating.)
• Also, you know, there’s nothing wrong with visiting my old posts… There are 144 of them, after all. And they love the company. Just check out the “Categories” and “Archives” sections in the right column of every 36×37 page. (And while you’re at it, you really should subscribe!)

Happy reading, friends. I’ll be back in the blogging saddle on January 17.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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It’s 36×37 Assignment #23 Eve!

(…)

Well, it is.

I’m announcing 36×37 Assignment #23 Eve rather than Christmas Eve because you already know Christmas is on the horizon. Why would I tell you something you know I know you already know? One of these events is obviously more important than the other, and we both know which one that is.

Even so. Here’s what’s going to happen today:

1. Make giant grocery list
2. Drive to Market District and fill said grocery list
3. Start cooking, and keep cooking—taking breaks only for church and Aunt Kathy’s Giant Christmas Eve Feast—straight through to Christmas Dinner

I’m doing the whole thing myself. Not a single other pair of feet is welcome in my kitchen.

That’s the assignment. Cook Christmas Dinner, ’60s style.

(courtesy of AMC Studios)

Here’s the thing: As a Mad Men fan, I tend to romanticize the 60s. It might have everything something to do with Don Draper. Or Joan and her fabulous sass, or Betty and her fabulous wardrobe. It might. Because that’s the pretty surface of things.

But here’s the other thing: Do you think Don Draper ever did the laundry? Or cleaned the bathrooms? Or sat on the floor for hours playing Legos with his kids? Or did any of the really incredible things my husband does to make sure we’re equal partners in our marriage?

If you answered “yes” it’s clear you’ve never seen the show. Because Don Draper would instead be out wooing some tripped out artist or foxy elementary school teacher or under-aged niece of the woman whose husband’s identity he stole.

At any rate. I don’t like to take things for granted. And since I’ve never tackled The Feast of the Year on my own before, I want to give it a try to remind myself how good I have it. Because maybe I’m a little bit spoiled. And maybe I’m looking for a way to say thank you to the people I love most. Just as importantly, my epicurean parents with their incredible cooking talents deserve a year off.

Come back Tuesday, when all the sordid details will await you. In the meantime, Happy Holidays to you and yours. May the greatness of the season bring joy to your heart, comfort to your spirit—and warm deliciousness to your belly.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37

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Get Airborne

I fell asleep last night writing another post about the weekend. I still haven’t learned how to type while snoozing, so that post will have to wait until tomorrow.

So I decided to take today off. But that was before I saw this in my inbox:

Hells yeah, Groupon! I’m gonna get my flight on—on the cheap! Look at the clever marketing copy. How can I say no? Time to live the life-long dream.

Between this, and my plans to take trapeze lessons in February with my friend, Sara S., 2011’s 36×37 assignments are shaping up quite nicely. Look for more on this one in March.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
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#15-17 are Coming: Vegas, Baby.

 

google image: probasketballtalk.nbcsports.com

As you’re reading this, I’m probably flying home from Las Vegas. And I’m probably pretty happy about that, because it means I’ve accomplished Assignments 15-17, which are as follows:

15)   Attempt to double down. Honestly, this was the whole reason for the trip, and it was inspired by this classic scene from Swingers. (Fast-forward 1:45 min.) 

I may or may not have been successful in my gambling exploits. I say “may or may not” because I’m writing this post the Thursday night before our trip. Your guess is as good as mine.

16)   Try to sneak into a high-roller room to score a free, top-shelf drink. Our friend Mason swore it could be done, and he swore he could show me how. I agreed that it was probably doable, if one was tall and blonde and Scandinavian, with an inexplicably Russian accent. On Wednesday, I’ll let you know what happened when a short, Irish/Italian brunette gave it a whirl.

 

17)   Wildcard! I did it! And it didn’t involve getting arrested, or stealing Mike Tyson’s tiger, or losing a tooth or doing anything that involved looking sparkly.

 

…But then again, maybe it did?

While you’re waiting for the full story, I have two fun facts to share about Sin City:

a)      Did you know Vegas has its own death ray? Me either, until my brother brought me up to speed a few days before GB and I headed west. Apparently, when the sun hits the new Vdara Hotel’s energy efficient windows and concave south-facing design at just the right angle, laser-like rays beam down on pool dwellers to burn them and melt their plastic cups in a matter of seconds. When the hotel’s CEO tried to prove these allegations false, the rays singed his hair and eyebrows. (If you were the kind of kid who used a magnifying glass to set ants on fire, you probably understand the science behind this phenomenon.)

b)      Also, did you know there’s a place where you can sit at a blackjack table, watch sports, order free drinks and have a stripper give you a massage? GB learned this bit of news when a buddy kicked off the conversation like this: “So. How open-minded is your wife?” To which I say, knock yourself out, GB. After 11 years with me, I think you’ve earned yourself a good, old-fashioned stripper rub-down. Meanwhile, I’ll be getting pedicures from some pool boy named Javier.

So there you have it: There’s lots to be told! Be sure to check back soon for the full scoop…

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
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#14 is Coming: Money, Money, Money, Money

google image: http://www.xconomy.com

Here’s what I need to do between 1-6 PM today:

• Drill 200 holes in one oversized pumpkin. Stick one DumDum sucker in each hole.
• Bake mass quantities of dairy/egg/nut-free sugar cookies
• Make orange and yellow frosting
• Drive oversized pumpkin plus 200 mini-pumpkins to school
• Corral the volunteers
• Set up the treasure hunt
• Get the craft tables ready
• Organize the “minute to win it” games
• Donate the evilness known as Moon Sand to the games table

Apparently, if I do these things, people will donate money to H’s school. So far, I’m not seeing the connection, but I’ll do whatever it takes.

And when I’m finished, I can cross my 14^th 36×37 assignment—Co-chair a Fund Raiser—off the list. I wasn’t at my organizational best when I helped to plan this thing (i.e., I procrastinated like I invented the word), but still, mission accomplished.

Also? I realized today that October 17 marks the half-way point for this 36×37 experiment. This means that even if we count today’s accomplishments, I need to complete four assignments in nine days to catch up. “It can’t be done!” you say. Oh, but it can. I’ve already scheduled assignments 15-18, and I’ll give you the full report on each one next week. I’ve been looking forward to these for ages, and I can’t wait to tell you about them.

I’ll have more for you on Monday, so stay tuned…

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
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