tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73514035874677764792024-02-18T22:22:21.490-06:00A wooden nickel for your thoughtsGina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.comBlogger348125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-51072350583298914802015-04-13T03:00:00.000-05:002015-04-13T03:00:05.655-05:00Your daily distraction 4/13/15 | Family dynamics<div>
The backstory on the relaunch of A Wooden Nickel: I read <i>so</i> very many articles on the interwebs and want to start a daily link share. Today's posts all revolved around parenting (and frankly, some family dysfunction) so I went with it. In the future, I think it'll just be a collection of unrelated stuff I come across. Stay tuned as I shake out all the glitches.</div>
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I laughed out loud when I read the headline of <a href="http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/04/09/raising-your-successful-35-year-old/?" target="_blank">this New York Times article</a>. I'm forever grateful that my parents were so focused on keeping four kids alive and advancing their own careers that they never memorized my class syllabuses (<a href="http://languagesoftheworld.info/morphology/the-plural-of-virus-latinate-plurals-reconsidered.html" target="_blank">syllabi is a hyper-correction, FYI</a>) or rewrote my papers.<br />
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When Leaning In gets you nowhere: the (female) face and workhorse behind one of the most successful car dealers in the country <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/the-good-daughter-tammy-darvish-and-the-darcars-family-drama/2015/04/01/70bb0834-d158-11e4-a62f-ee745911a4ff_story.html?hpid=z5" target="_blank">got skipped over</a> when her dad retired and left the business to his two sons. Infuriating doesn't even begin to describe this story.</div>
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On the opposite end of the parenting spectrum is this talented mother who photographs her daughters being fearless in a series she calls <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/morganshanahan/this-mom-is-taking-the-most-incredible-photos-of-her-fearles?bffb&utm_term=4ldqpgp#4ldqpgp" target="_blank">Strong is the New Pretty</a>. The older I get, the more scared I get about trying new things. These photos are a fantastic reminder to stop worrying and start breaking new ground.</div>
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My friend Marie's beautiful niece, Hazel, had various complications at birth. <a href="http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/prayforhazel/journal" target="_blank">Here is her Caring Bridge site</a>. If you have a chance to read the journal and send positive thoughts to these first-time parents, please do so. #PrayersforHazel</div>
Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-50697873221472281492015-04-10T17:00:00.000-05:002015-04-10T17:56:38.794-05:00Remembering Paul Robert Delmore | 1952 - 2014My very beloved uncle Paul passed away just over one year ago, and I think of him constantly. I was honored to give his eulogy last year and have been asked several times for a copy. While I certainly don't mind sending hard copies around, I'm also posting it here for posterity.<br />
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<br /><br /><b>Paul Robert Delmore</b><br />April 29, 1952 - March 31, 2014<br /><br /><br />Because he spent his adult life a plane ride away, my family has spent the last 40 years waiting for my Uncle Paul to come home. And when Paul finally arrived for a holiday or gathering, two things always happened. <br /><br />First, you heard his voice. It was an invitation - deep and booming, but impossibly warm. Every word had an air of bravada, as though he should be on stage instead of in your living room. <br /><br />Then you’d make eye contact with him. And as he beelined toward you for a hug, Paul’s eyes crinkled around the corners, and twinkled wildly. Despite his rich Florida tan, he was still Irish in every way.<br /><br />And that was when the landscape changed. He was not a performer after all, he was your adored - and adoring - son, brother, uncle, cousin, friend. The ultimate conversationalist, cheerleader, co-consipirator. Even when you hadn’t seen him in months, Paul didn’t bother with small talk. He always started five questions in, referencing small details that he’d heard from others while trying to draw out new information. In a word, Paul wanted to know *everything.* <br /><br />In fact, my mom Sheila remembers her parents, Bob and Margaret, saying that when Paul was born, that little babe craned his neck around to see the world he had just come into. He was taking it in, and he continued to take it in. Paul was extremely observant - he saw it all, commented on it all, and had strong opinions of how things should be. <br /><br />As the Delmore children - Kathy, Paul, Dan and Sheila - grew up, the most important value instilled by my grandparents was the notion that you are kind and welcoming to everyone. Paul took this to heart more than anyone. I’m sure all of us here today can think of many times where his thoughtfulness made a difference. It could have been an unexpected postcard that served as a day brightener, or a long phone call where he reminded you how great our capacity to love really is. Paul always knew what to say. <br /><br />He had a genuine interest in people, and he was well-served in this regard by another Delmore trait, the steel trap memory. Paul never forgot a face, detail, name or relation, allowing him to make connections where no one else could, even decades after the fact. <br /><br />Together, this true love of people and his memory, made Paul the greatest storyteller most of us have ever known. Delmore family gatherings always included stories from days long since past - growing up on Salem Avenue, attending Most Holy Trinity or Benilde High School, stories of local shops, shopkeepers, neighbors, fellow churchgoers and friends. <br /><br />No one thrived on those memories more than Paul. In fact, if someone brought up a story blurred by the years, Paul was not afraid to interrupt with the long-forgotten details. It usually went something like this: “How can you not remember that the neighbor’s cousin’s best friend’s niece was also the cashier at Warner’s Hardware in the summer of 1972?” It wasn’t only that he remembered, it was that he was incredulous that this information wasn’t stored in everyone’s memory for easy access. And so he stood there, his voice eclipsing the original storyteller’s as he mimicked the exact original quotes, in the exact original voices, of every bit player in the story. By then, his perfect, unique and contagious laugh would set in and soon it would overtake the room. And the stories would continue all afternoon, making it all the more difficult when he left for Florida. We would have to wait until his next visit to get to return to that level of belly laughter.<br /><br />Paul spent much of his life in service to others. He was humbled by the idea of making someone’s day better or brighter, and he did so in his personal life but also for many years as a flight attendant for Delta Airlines and the job he held after his retirement. He had an uncanny ability to make people feel welcome, and important - which was recognized by Delta executives who promoted him into first class service almost immediately. Beyond this, his over-the-call-of-duty approach was greatly appreciated by the regulars he served and came to know on his flights over the years. <br /><br />In short, people felt cared for in his presence. He was truly devoted to his parents, with whom he talked every day on the phone - if not multiple times a day. Despite the geographic distance, Paul remained an incredible caretaker to them. He bookmarked news items he knew his parents would want to talk about, and always had a treasure trove of anecdotes to share with them. But the truth is, the content of the conversation didn’t matter as much as the fact that he was calling - their chats with Paul were the highlight of their day. Because of his easy ability to travel, he also came to town for the big events and often for no reason at all. Over the last few years, he has generously chauffered my grandparents around town to go to dinner or to take them on long drives around their old neighborhoods. <br /><br />The second best example of his caring spirit was that Paul - not once but twice in his lifetime - became the adoptive dog father of a dachsund. Pepper, in his childhood, and “Doggy” over the last ten years or so in Fort Lauderdale. While both dogs had perfectly decent families attending to them, they met Paul and their lives were never the same. If you heard anyone else tell that story, it would have seemed crazy - but when you knew Paul, it made perfect sense that the dogs had chosen him, and that the request had been honored by all parties. <br /><br />The fast-changing world was difficult for Paul to accept. He would be the first person to say he didn’t like computers or cell phones, but I think what he truly didn’t like was how they changed people. Paul loved to make connections, to strike up conversations and offer his quick, quirky wit to strangers. And so as everyone started to quicken their pace, and spend more time looking at their phones than the world around them, Paul was dismayed to lose what he considered to be a pillar of the human condition. The power that comes from a random shared experience with a stranger who becomes a friend, if only for a moment. <br /><br />The great mystery of Paul’s life, and now his death, is that he was able to show staggering levels of love, selflessness and kindness to everyone he met, but unable to give himself that same level of care. And so as we put him to rest, we ask that you remember the lessons he put on display for us everyday.<br /><br />Be there for people, and love them. Show them they are important, by asking the questions no one else would, and not judging them for their answers. It may be that you have to put intention behind it. It may be that you have to slow down. But you will find that by offering kindness, it will be returned to you.<br /><br />And when that kindness is returned, know that you are deserving of it. Recognize your value, and recognize that you are in fact invaluable. Know that those whom you love, love you back. Do not be ashamed or afraid to ask for what you need from them. Do not be afraid to be who you are. And know that who you are is enough. In fact it, it has always been<b> more</b> than enough.Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-78455575822359969622014-10-16T21:10:00.000-05:002014-10-16T21:10:23.981-05:00On Howard Dean, the European Paper Crisis, and how I came to care about politicsI still remember when I fell head over heels for politics. It was my senior year of high school, on the day after the 2004 Iowa Caucus. As the bell rang to start class, our Giddy Civics Teacher exclaimed something like, “Last night, a top candidate lost his bid for the presidency in just 10 seconds.” <br />
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Then, he played Howard Dean’s wack-a-doodle, screamy “We’re going to [all the states plus more states], WHOOOOO!” proclamation. The class was in an uproar.<br />
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“Yes!” said Giddy Civics Teacher. “Your reaction right now is exactly why this man will NEVER BE PRESIDENT. This soundbite has been played over and over, and it makes him look off-kilter. And he’ll never recover from this.”</div>
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We respectfully requested that he play the clip eight more times before discussing the implications. <br />
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<i>Quick backstory: </i>It was pretty clear that this man was a dyed-in-the-wool liberal. We knew this not because he’d told us, but because he was incredibly passionate about conserving paper in his classroom. Once, he’d teared up when two girls asked him if he'd heard about “The European Paper Crisis,” a fake paper shortage they’d created to stress him out.<br />
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“I can’t believe you haven’t heard that they bulldozed the entire Black Forest,” my classmate said sweetly. “It’s such a huge issue, I assumed you’d be really upset about it.”<br />
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GCT was in panic mode at this point, and it was hard to watch. I remember wondering how someone so smart could be hoodwinked by these two who — like most 17-year old girls — knew more about bronzer than they did about German forestry.</div>
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I digress.<br />
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GCT was explaining how Dean was previously considered to be the savviest Democratic candidate, and was by far the party’s best fundraiser. He related Dean’s squealing to the Kennedy-Nixon debate, where Kennedy wore makeup and looked flawless, while Nixon appeared to sweat through the screen.<br />
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We spent the rest of the period talking about perception, and how it can be even more critical to a candidate’s success than the candidate’s stance on the issues. And I was hooked — not only at the absurdity of it all, but also by the confidence of GCT to pronounce Howard Dean dead in the water. <br />
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I wondered, How do you know the difference between a gaffe and a career-ender? How do you know when something is just that day’s big story, and when it will become an in-joke used for decades?<br />
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For example, Todd Akin had said all kinds of terrible things about women over the years but it wasn’t until he talked about “legitimate rape” that people took notice and emptied their coffers to support his opponent.<br />
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"I appreciate windjobs." -Mitt Romney, October 16, 2012 <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/isthataeuphemism?src=hash">#isthataeuphemism</a><br />
— Gina Thelemann (@Gina_Bean) <a href="https://twitter.com/Gina_Bean/status/258377778246844418">October 17, 2012</a></blockquote>
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In the 2012 debates, I remember being delighted as Mitt Romney uttered the words, “I love wind jobs” when discussing alternative energy. But only minutes later, he trumped it with “binders full of women” and the rest is history.*<br />
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All of this is to say, we have so many absurd stories to choose from these days. And so while I had blind faith in GCT’s assessment of Howard Dean’s collapse, I’m not sure these falls are as easy to predict as in 2004. <br />
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What is clear is that the gaffes just keep coming. This morning, for example, I watched two 60-year men — current and former governors, no less — throw a dual tantrum over the use of a fan during a debate: <b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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I haven’t been able to get that clip out of my head all day, but it doesn't seem like this bizarre series of events is really going to affect either of these yahoo candidates. I'm still not sure how GCT knew so clearly that Dean's shrieking was going to stick.<br />
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What I do know is that ten years later, I’m still making connections from one lesson plan. And while things like #FanGate are fun to talk about and obsess over, I'm interested in the complex issues of policy, too. <br />
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That was the gift GCT gave us — he first showed us something that was easy to access and dissect, then moved to the more difficult stuff throughout the course.<br />
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GCT, I don’t know where you are today. But I hope you’re out there playing a clip about #FanGate to a group of high schoolers. And even if they look apathetic, and even if a few of them are telling you that every California redwood was torched last night to make way for Google’s new headquarters, just know that one future wonk is in the back, listening to every word. <br />
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And because of you, she’s going to grow up to pester roommates, cousins, boyfriends and her parents to care about candidates and the big issues. Because of you, she’s going to be the weirdo who cries on election day as she considers the importance of her vote.<br />
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Thanks, GCT, for teaching me to be giddy about civics, too. <br />
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Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-56414354551405280032014-03-05T19:10:00.002-06:002014-03-05T19:13:08.406-06:00Why we don't have a houseJeff and I are pretty typical Gen Y-ers, which is to say we sometimes put a skewed value on goods and services.<br />
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Ten dollars a month for an unlimited Spotify account? Preposterous! Two lattes in one week, totaling more than that unlimited music account? Totally worth it.<br />
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Once, after I bought a stupid amount of gourmet cheese, Jeff yelped at me, "THIS IS WHY WE DON'T HAVE A HOUSE!"<br />
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At the time, we'd been dating six months and lived in different cities. So the lack of homeownership back then was due more to geographical logistics and our new-ish relationship than my high-quality dairy addiction.<br />
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Still, it was obvious then, even 2,000 miles apart, that we'd need to pull it together if we ever wanted to be like our good friends, Kory and Jenna. Kor and Jen are not only the king and queen of thrift, they are also Bonafied Homeowners™.<br />
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When living with them prior to moving to California, I started to take note of their habits.<br />
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"Today, Jenna made two pounds of pesto from the slightly aged basil leaves in our fridge," I reported to Jeff in August of 2013. "She did not let the basil go bad and then throw it in the garbage.<br />
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"THIS IS WHY THEY HAVE A HOUSE."<br />
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Not long after, Jeff was traveling for work. He was hungry at the airport and hadn't eaten. I told him, helpfully, that he should have brought his own snacks to the airport so as to avoid the high-priced options at SFO. He informed me that his plan was to buy food directly from the flight attendant on his next leg.<br />
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The only thing more expensive than in-airport food, of course, is on-plane food served from a cart by a blonde-banged flight attendant who resembles your aunt Tami.<br />
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"THIS. THIS IS WHY WE DON'T HAVE A HOUSE!" I hollered at him, threateningly.<br />
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We promised to do better once we moved in together, and so far, we're batting .500. We haven't been eating out a ton, but we do patronize the Whole Foods at the end of our block quite frequently. And Whole Foods, my friends, is not for the faint of heart or the thin-walleted.<br />
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Last week I made guacamole for a taco dinner night. I admitted as we ate that I had bought the stupid avocados from stupid Whole Foods.<br />
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"I simply can't stand for a life where Taco Tuesday is free of guacamole!" I said defensively. "It's un-American!"<br />
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"I'm fine with not having a house," Jeff said, "if we can ALWAYS have guacamole."<br />
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So that's where we are right now. I am a 28-year old who works in real estate marketing, and I have written all kinds of articles about why Gen-Y won't enter the housing market. They're good articles, too. They have stats of unemployment rates, of how we toiled through unpaid internships and got pointless law degrees. All of that is true, statistically.<br />
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But for now, I just love guacamole too damn much.<br />
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And THAT IS WHY WE DON'T HAVE A HOUSE.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Mom and Dad, I swear to God we're actually saving a lot of money and being quite responsible, aside from the avocado addiction. We hope to buy a house in two or three years, or until my "Should I wear a wrap-dress today" weather app takes off. </i></span><br />
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<br />Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-33220892640417588732014-02-26T17:29:00.001-06:002014-02-26T17:29:29.939-06:00Red curryOne of my truest, purest loves is Thai-style red curry. I'm not sure if I have an authentic palate or not, but I do know that I have a lot of opinions about this particular sauce and how it should be served.<br />
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So far, I haven't found anything in the Bay Area that lives up to my (High? American? Terrible?) standards and I am becoming pretty distraught over it. I even threw away leftovers last week after ordering truly terrible takeout.<br />
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Back in Minnesota, my gal pals and I would routinely trek to Amazing Thailand for the greatest dish in all the land, Mei kah thi. It's pretty much red curry with egg served over noodles and it is delicious. Plus, it comes in an enormous portion that you can easily (even on your fattest of days) translate into three meals.<br />
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Yesterday, things got so dire here that I began googling my favorite dish alongside location qualifiers. Alas, there is not any mei kah thi, in any spelling arrangement that seems reasonable, in Berkeley, Oakland or the city of San Francisco.<br />
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<b>Google, why have you forsaken me?</b><br />
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I remain undeterred. There will be red curry, and it shall be delicious. Fine people of the Internet, will you help me? LH, do you know any good places?<br />
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Thanks to all the readers who hate red curry and/or do not live in the Bay Area. For you, this was not a good post.Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-87010188804060101092014-02-20T17:36:00.002-06:002014-02-20T17:36:32.113-06:00Snakes on a TrainI'm a newcomer to public transport, but I'm making slow strides with my new pal BART (Bay Area Rapid Transport) and the characters I come across on the train.<br />
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Jeff and I live in a very nice neighborhood, but we have some seedy characters (complete with a drum circle) who hang out at our local BART stop during the day to um, drum and smoke weed. Their real skillset, though, is harassing single women who enter and exit the stop. I've become an expert at walking the long way around the stop to avoid them, and I also wear my headphones because I've learned the hard way that I do NOT want to hear the things they are saying about me as I walk by.<br />
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So. That's the biggest bummer.<br />
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Once you get on the train, though, there is so much drama for a chronic eavesdropper like me. Last week I live-tweeted the inspiration for my first screenplay, an as-yet-unnamed romantic comedy that takes place entirely on BART.<br />
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Dude on train is clearly in love with Lady BFF, who's recounting her terrible Valentine's Day date. <a href="https://twitter.com/search?q=%23BARTromcom&src=hash">#BARTromcom</a><br />
— Gina Thelemann (@Gina_Bean) <a href="https://twitter.com/Gina_Bean/statuses/434848111760920576">February 16, 2014</a></blockquote>
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"He didn't make reservations so we basically ate at a deli." Know who would make resos, honey? Your male BFF, that's who. <a href="https://twitter.com/search?q=%23BARTromcom&src=hash">#BARTromcom</a><br />
— Gina Thelemann (@Gina_Bean) <a href="https://twitter.com/Gina_Bean/statuses/434848440200081409">February 16, 2014</a></blockquote>
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"Do you think you'll see him again?" asks male BFF casually. Girl, if you say yes, I will be v. disappointed in you. <a href="https://twitter.com/search?q=%23BARTromcom&src=hash">#BARTromcom</a><br />
— Gina Thelemann (@Gina_Bean) <a href="https://twitter.com/Gina_Bean/statuses/434849459021680640">February 16, 2014</a></blockquote>
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Girl has refused to take an Instagram photo with Male BFF, proving once and for all that she is beyond undeserving of his love. <a href="https://twitter.com/search?q=%23BARTromcom&src=hash">#BARTromcom</a><br />
— Gina Thelemann (@Gina_Bean) <a href="https://twitter.com/Gina_Bean/statuses/434851719231442944">February 16, 2014</a></blockquote>
Really, we've all been there, Male BFF, so don't lose hope. Probably don't keep pining for this chick, because I think she knows that you love her and she likes giving you the run-around. But someday soon, I'll see you on the train with a new lady who adores you and we'll make eye contact and I will smile knowingly at you, and you will have NO idea who I am. But I'll be filled with joy on your behalf.<br />
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So to recap, sometimes there are fun things to watch on the train. On the other hand, sometimes you get on with luggage after a flight, and you see an entire three of four seats open in a quadrant, with a bunch of people standing. Your natural instinct is to think, "What luck! These fine people are so kind and generous to let the gal with the baggage take a seat!"<br />
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But really what's happening is that the gentleman sitting in the quadrant has a snake wrapped around his neck and no one wants to get within six feet of him.<br />
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The man whose hand is on the seat realized what was going on when he saw me take this picture. He freaked out and hissed at me, "I'm new to town. Is this normal?!"<br />
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I wish I knew, buddy.<br />
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-45882323658584659142014-02-15T13:34:00.001-06:002014-02-15T13:38:55.715-06:00UncertainI've been trying to come up with the perfect blog post to show you what a perfect life it is here in Berkeley, California. Because as you know, I now live in Berkeley, California.<br />
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Of course, no blog post can be perfect and no life can be perfect.<br />
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But life can be really good, and that's how it is right now.<br />
<br />
Jeff and I settled in easily - so far, we've had no battles over the brand of toilet paper we'll use or the color of our throw pillows.<br />
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Last week, I got my hair chopped off and when I unveiled it, I asked, "Don't you think it makes me look older?"<br />
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He looked uncertain. Then he mumbled a lot.<br />
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"It's so great!" I interrupted, as I tend to do. "I was mistaken for a 16 year old last year. I think it'll be good for interviews!"<br />
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Suddenly, he looked relieved. "No, it definitely does make you look older. I just had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing."<br />
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That's a smart, cautious man, no?<br />
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Here's the new hair:<br />
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P.S. Thanks to <a href="http://alittleleeway.blogspot.com/2014/02/i-can-go-now.html">Lee</a> for strong-arming me into blogging again. You are one persuasive lady.
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<br />Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-8237135294777190622013-12-18T15:58:00.002-06:002013-12-18T16:01:06.679-06:00Spiderwebs<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t adequately describe the excitement I feel when I run
into an old friend at the grocery store, the parent of a kid I coached at the
coffeeshop. It took me years to understand
that not everyone has that reaction; it took me years to realize that
community isn’t everyone else’s lifeblood. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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But it’s always been my lifeblood. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The biggest
achievements in my life – my friendships, my career path, coaching coups – are
not blips that popped up on a radar out of nowhere. Each is an intricate,
sticky spiderweb full of life-long relationships, almost-missed connections,
out-of-the-blue text messages and
friends-of-friends-of-friends-who-thought-of-me-who-thought-of-you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so, when one of those almost-missed connections, a
friend of a friend, became my boyfriend almost overnight, it made perfect sense
to me. Though I was inclined to take it slow, both my heart and
head immediately saw him for who he was - a potential partner. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The problem was that he lived a plane ride away, and that’s
where he had to stay. My life – my stable life, the community that had surrounded me for decades – would have to bottom out in order for him to
fit in. The weight of the next questions nearly crushed me. </div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>How can I leave all this behind? </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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And most importantly.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Who am I if I'm not here?</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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The answer, of course, is me. I'm not merely a pixelated composition of the people, places and experiences that have come so far. Those are all a part of me. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But I'm also the brazen liberal biproduct of two apolitical parents, the dancer in the midst of athlete brothers, the girl who once forced a group of rugby players to talk about domestic violence in the back of a crowded Wisconsin college bar.</div>
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<o:p>In two weeks, I leave behind Minnesota. And context. </o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p>I'm scared of what comes next, of course, but I'm relieved that I get to bring myself with me when I go. </o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>Because, as it turns out, I have created my community, I was not created by it.</o:p></div>
Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-57057426401681980302013-12-02T13:06:00.002-06:002013-12-18T15:58:33.046-06:00Reinforcement<div class="MsoNormal">
My friends and I have been undergoing some major life
changes this year, and we've been handling our new realities through the tactic
of reinforcement. For example, in August, I moved from the bustling-ish city of
Minneapolis to an outlying suburb, Prior Lake, with my friend Jenna and her new
husband. For the last four months, we've been sending texts like this:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“I’ll be home at 7. Home being Prior Lake, where I live,
with you and your husband, in Prior Lake. Because you’re married, and you live
in a house, with your husband and me, in Prior Lake. Where you own a home. With
your husband. And I currently live there.”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To clarify, I’m not a homeless troll who forced my way into
the home of my newlywed friends. In fact, the move to Prior Lake (with my
friend and her husband) has been part of a longer transition. Because in a
month, I’ll be moving to Berkeley, California.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>BERKELEY! </b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>CALIFORNIA!</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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As you can imagine, the reinforcement for this particular
move has been a lot more intensive. Purging, packing and job searching is all
top of mind, but my main coping mechanism has been to send reinforcement text
messages to Jeff, my boyfriend and soon-to-be-roommate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Are you at home? In Berkeley? Where we live? In Berkeley?
Because we have a home in Berkeley, California, where we will live together. In
Berkeley. Where we will live. In. Berkeley.”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To his credit, he responds with minimal judgment and his own
brand of repetition. In fact, I don’t think we’ll get over the novelty anytime
soon. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Berkeley, California. I’m going to live there. In Berkeley, to be clear. Stay
tuned. <o:p></o:p></div>
Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-38067031224758217732013-11-22T14:28:00.001-06:002013-11-22T15:24:39.309-06:00Quick lessonIn the summer of '97, my friend Cassie and I formed a calligraphy business. Having taken a six-day course in early June, I expertly hocked the goods to our ever-expanding client base... guilty parents.<br />
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"Would you like your stationery to have the Victorian border? Or the <i>double Victorian border</i>, available for just 2 cents more per sheet?" I'd ask sweetly. </div>
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The client knew to order the double Victorian border. And at ten cents a sheet, boy did they order them. The common request was for 50 sheets per customer, likely because they felt bad offering us anything less than $5. </div>
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We began working for several hours per day to fulfill the hundreds of pages, always listening to Hanson's <i>Middle of Nowhere </i>album.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHtWXB3LhCdO3suDqLWLEjQS-tNT0sjNR0ifQkRsDU2Nl1jtQtQJHz5tPMaOWbwY3YWGDqZyAiTtH_LXEA0OFgBWk7E9BvzLOLvNFk9gl2008x7t7g_AQOe2BAesmPkaotOR425EIUJQl/s1600/Hanson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHtWXB3LhCdO3suDqLWLEjQS-tNT0sjNR0ifQkRsDU2Nl1jtQtQJHz5tPMaOWbwY3YWGDqZyAiTtH_LXEA0OFgBWk7E9BvzLOLvNFk9gl2008x7t7g_AQOe2BAesmPkaotOR425EIUJQl/s320/Hanson.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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After a week or two of this, our hands began to hurt. My muscles were cramping and on occasion, searing pain shot through my digits. That's right. I had a classic case of <b>Eleven Year Old Calligraphy-Based Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. </b></div>
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The promise of straight cash - nearly $30 each* - and some intrepid efficiency methods kept us going through our darkest hours. </div>
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We started to listen to one Hanson track,<i> Lucy,</i> on repeat. "It's better if we don't know how much time has passed," we reasoned wisely. </div>
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When the pain proved too much to handle, we would numb our hands in a bucket of ice water we kept in the sink.</div>
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Common sense set in, and we stopped taking clients shortly thereafter. But we did fulfill all outstanding orders, on time and as promised. </div>
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I learned three important business lessons from this endeavor:</div>
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<b>1. Soundtrack is crucial</b></div>
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To this day, I have very specific music needs when I work. If I need to crank something out in an hour, I put on the Garden State soundtrack. If I'm working on something I hate, I ramp up productivity by listening to Nicki Minaj because she can make anything fun. If I'm having a crisis of confidence, I go all millennial and listen to R. Kelly's <i>World's Greatest</i> on repeat.</div>
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<b>2. Partner with people who won't give up - and who have good snacks</b></div>
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I vividly remember wanting to toss in the towel when I became temporarily hand-crippled, but Cassie made me keep going. She also acted as quality control by tossing out pages that didn't meet our high standards. Perhaps most importantly, Cassie had endless supplies of Cool Ranch Doritos and Tab soda, which we raided constantly to keep team morale high. </div>
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<b>3. If you're doing twice the work, charge twice the amount</b></div>
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The double Victorian border was a series of cursive "Cs", with a second layer running below in the opposite direction. I risked PTSD of the phalange-al variety to recreate it for you:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGTc0665IHwLdJV8EAX9VCY0gkQIGos9eTw7p62cxtG8DSZ4dXXJ9uSLTGw8R5H-vqt0f-TqFz470bWTDpQ24bE_D9abOqsaveeE7ltuq34o9pwkdIb-VIqzD5-qBlwTlkpEof8Kk-yV0/s1600/Calligraphy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="71" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGTc0665IHwLdJV8EAX9VCY0gkQIGos9eTw7p62cxtG8DSZ4dXXJ9uSLTGw8R5H-vqt0f-TqFz470bWTDpQ24bE_D9abOqsaveeE7ltuq34o9pwkdIb-VIqzD5-qBlwTlkpEof8Kk-yV0/s320/Calligraphy.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Charging only 25% more for the "DV" was foolish. It's a gorgeous, original creation that exquisitely exudes the time period after which it is named. Plus, it was a bitch to get the corners to match up perfectly.</div>
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<b>Lemonade stands are for amateurs. </b>Who else has a badass entrepreneurial story to share? </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Yep, we calligraphied over 600 pages of paper in a month and made $30 each.</span></i></div>
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Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-24962928047402072542013-10-10T10:07:00.004-05:002013-10-10T10:07:28.531-05:00Pandas playing on a slideI did the letter "O" two times, which is unfortunate because that means I could have posted this video of pandas going down a slide almost a week ago when I first saw it. <div>
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Whatever you do, watch until the end. If you don't laugh out loud (not a sad LOL but a real-life chortle), then I hate to admit to you that you are a sociopath. Or you maybe have some kind of PETA-esque objections to this video, which I do not want to hear. No one will rid me of the joy of this video. NO ONE.</div>
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Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-85667611344922609442013-10-10T10:02:00.001-05:002013-10-10T10:03:06.976-05:00OutfitI'm trying this new thing where I only let myself buy an item of clothing if I can incorporate it into five outfits already sitting in my closet.<br />
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This seemed like the best way for me to avoid moments of Squee! in Target, where I purchase $50 worth of ill-fitting clearance clothing because I am incapable of saying no to anything that is less than $8. Even if it is a puce-colored blouse that my friend dubbed "The Peter Pan" when I wore it out to the bar.<br />
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I digress. The five-outfit plan is working out pretty spectacularly, and I recommend it to anyone who lacks self-control or a wardrobe with versatile basics. The one unexpected downside is that I'm wearing almost exclusively navy blue and white/cream. Considering that was my uniform for 14 years (what up, Catholic School, pre-school through high school!), it seems like I may have had enough of that. But I just can't seem to quit you, navy blue.<br />
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Here's a photo of me in navy blue and white, performing the kindergarten smile (show ALL the teeth), while excitedly holding a Honeycrisp apple half the size of my head:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinhcDrRVZueKwIH6uEu0YpcqFGqwrM3YFHISWfypxyPx5xU83bqA4L3FSkQ-npkogxu-7atRlG8pWO7cLbt8UdZYy25-9Fuh2MUkS2006AXHdgenH2tLJUMLYXTyLLYnjIHEQABElWEZu0/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinhcDrRVZueKwIH6uEu0YpcqFGqwrM3YFHISWfypxyPx5xU83bqA4L3FSkQ-npkogxu-7atRlG8pWO7cLbt8UdZYy25-9Fuh2MUkS2006AXHdgenH2tLJUMLYXTyLLYnjIHEQABElWEZu0/s200/photo.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<br />Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-76238317012084700302013-09-30T12:59:00.000-05:002013-09-30T12:59:20.012-05:00OmitI <b>omitted </b>sugar from my diet a few weeks ago. It went so well that I celebrated by eating the sweets –all of the sweets– this past weekend.<br />
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Last night, I suggested to gal pal Jenna that we go on a one-month sugar cleanse to prep for our friend Emily’s wedding in early November. Bridesmaid dresses and professional photography and all that.<br />
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<b>Jenna: </b><i>Sugar cleanse? Is that the Whole Foods way of saying you’re giving up sugar?</i><br />
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<b>Me:</b> <i>That is accurate, yes.</i><br />
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<b>J:</b> <i>Can I have sugar in my coffee?</i><br />
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<b>Me:</b> <i>Well, my soy milk will have a little bit. But I think no straight sugar or flavor syrups.</i><br />
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<b>J: </b><i>NO FLAVOR SYRUPS? Okay, but we have Kevin's wedding this weekend. We can have wedding cake, right?</i><br />
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<b>Me:</b> <i>NO! That’s even worse than flavor syrups, probably. But now that you mention it, Jeff and I were planning to bike to the bakery tomorrow. So I’ll have a pastry tomorrow, and you have wedding cake on Saturday and we’ll call it even. </i><br />
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<b>J:</b> <i>Wait. Wait. Wait. Does this mean we can’t have PUMPKIN SPICE LATTES?!</i><br />
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I have been friends with this girl for nearly two decades and I have rarely seen her this worked up.<br />
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<b>Me:</b> <i>Jenna. You must definitely CANNOT have a pumpkin spice latte. That’s the worst possible thing you could have on a sugar cleanse. That drink involves TWO flavor syrups and a pile of whip cream. </i><br />
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<b>J:<i> </i></b><i>Listen. I’m not doing this sugar cleanse unless I can have pumpkin spice lattes.</i><br />
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So there’s that. With the exception of PSLs, bakery treats, wedding cake and assorted coffee flavor syrups, we’re totally sugar-free in our abode. No exceptions.<br />
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Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-30365757249498309472013-09-26T11:44:00.003-05:002013-09-26T11:44:58.913-05:00Nothing good gets awayI hope you're all familiar with <a href="http://www.lettersofnote.com/">Letters of Note</a>, a site where a fine gentleman reposts letters written by famous people.<br />
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The loveliest one I've read is<a href="http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/01/nothing-good-gets-away.html"> from author John Steinbeck to his teenage son</a>, who has fallen in love at boarding school.<br />
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<b>An excerpt from the beginning: </b><br />
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<i>First—if you are in love—that’s a good thing—that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone make it small or light to you.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Second—There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you—of kindness and consideration and respect—not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.</i></div>
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<b>My second favorite part: </b><br />
<i>You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply—of course it isn’t puppy love.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it—and that I can tell you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it. </i><i>The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it.</i><br />
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<b>The end:</b><br />
<i>And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens—The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.</i><br />
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Nothing good gets away. I just adore that line so much, and I think of it often. </div>
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You can read the full letter <a href="http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/01/nothing-good-gets-away.html">here.</a> </div>
Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-53433102008583270812013-09-25T09:28:00.000-05:002013-09-25T14:01:41.198-05:00MaintenanceIt's time to admit to you guys that I grew up in a broken home.<br />
<br />
Wait wait. My parents are still together, and they're pretty much obsessed with one another.<br />
<br />
But everything in their house is broken, and has been for quite some time. <br />
<br />
<b>Issue 1: </b> Lightbulbs burn out, and aren't replaced - including in the refrigerator, which has been void of wattage for at least six years now.<br />
<b>Back story: </b>Bulbs burn out at an alarming rate in that house, even though electricians have said we don’t have faulty wiring. We choose to blame the ghosts of my paternal grandparents, because a psychic once told my aunt that they were fighting for my dad's affection from the grave.<br />
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<b>Issue 2: </b>For a few months, we had an enormous piece of hockey tape holding the dryer door on after a screw fell off.<br />
<b>Lame excuse:</b> No one could find the number for the home warranty hotline. Once that was located, no one wanted to stay home for the repair appointment window.<br />
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<b>Issue 3: </b>Any time a printer is needed, it requires a 45-minute process of downloading drivers, adjusting settings, shaking print cartridges, and screaming at my father, an IT guru who is somehow rendered useless when the technology is coming from inside the house.<br />
<b>What gives? </b>Nothing. I think my dad is just sick of fixing stuff by the time he gets home.<br />
<br />
__<br />
<br />
In short, we’re not so good at maintenance. As an adult, I'm realizing I'm also a hot mess.<br />
<br />
Rather than labeling my mailbox as directed, I waited until the mail carrier wrote a threatening letter to me seven months after move-in. (I didn’t have any tape.)<br />
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One month after we started dating, Jeff forcefully drove Suze the Subaru to AutoZone to see why my check engine light was on. <i>What were you going to do?</i> he asked incredulously. <i>Just drive it until it blew up?!</i><br />
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<i>NO.</i> I said calmly. <i>I was going to drive her until the light went back OFF, <b>as it has several times before.</b></i><br />
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(This was not the answer he was looking for.)<br />
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Anyway, I turn 28 tomorrow. And this shall be a year of maintenance, people. I will back my phone up to the Cloud. I will sew the buttons back onto my favorite fall coat, which I wore last year as an open blazer. I will permanently fix the piece of plastic that falls onto my passenger’s laps when I drive Suze.<br />
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Mark my words. I’m pulling it together. Just as soon as I can figure out which computer I last backed up to six months ago. <br />
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<br />Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-68432271512285621692013-09-23T12:32:00.002-05:002013-09-23T12:34:34.223-05:00Lottery<a href="http://gawker.com/scammed-lottery-winner-gets-5-million-prize-7-years-la-1224828081">Gawker</a> recently reported that an ex-crack addict had been swindled out of a $5 million lottery payment several years ago; the state lottery board tracked him down to make it right. The man was given the option between a lump sum payment of $2.1 million after taxes, or $250,000 annually for the next 20 years.<br />
<br />
I surveyed my friends to see which option they'd take.<br />
<br />
<b>Grad Student living on a stipend: </b>I think I would get paid out in the allotments because I'm boring. I just think I would like to receive a S--- ton of money every year. It'd be like winning the lottery for the rest of my life!<br />
<br />
<b>Co-worker with a semi-crippling shoe addiction: </b>I REALLY wanna take it all in the lump sum. I just really, really, really do. I can't help it.<br />
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<b>Boyfran with a left brain the size of Texas: </b>Lump sum FOR SURE. You never know how much taxes or inflation will affect the annuity in the future, so you go for one payout. Then you invest the lump sum wisely so it ends up being even more than the $5 million you originally won.<br />
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<b>Me: </b>There is no way on earth I'd be able to take the annuity. In fact, make sure I have a good financial planner who advises me against getting my lump sum in gold coins or I WILL live out my childhood DuckTales fantasy.<br />
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<b>Co-worker: </b>F-that, we're going swimming!</div>
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<b>Boyfran: </b>Fine, we'll dive into our money and THEN invest it.
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<br />
<i>That's what you call a win-win. <a href="http://thebillfold.com/2012/04/how-much-money-you-need-to-realistically-recreate-the-scrooge-mcduck-gold-coin-swim/">Here's a fantastic and hilarious article</a> on how you would actually recreate the Scrooge McDuck Gold Dive in real life.</i></div>
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Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-48945382238647547162013-09-09T22:47:00.000-05:002013-09-09T23:05:26.478-05:00Kale smoothiesI've been <a href="http://awoodennickel.blogspot.com/2012/03/green-smoothies-are-my-life-fuel.html">semi-regularly</a> drinking green smoothies for the last year and a half. I'd like to report that these smoothies, which are largely comprised of antioxidant-rich <b>kale</b>, have made a huge difference in my overall health and well-being. Unfortunately, I continue to drink 500 calorie coffee drinks with alarming frequency, so it's been a bit of a wash. However, I'm dedicated-ish to drinking these green monsters for the foreseeable future.<br />
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Here's an Instagram photo my mom took of me, making fun of me drinking said smoothie while also swiping a Poptart for later. (Side note: Do not miss my mother's amazing caption.)<br />
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Below is the recipe I've been using. The cilantro and mint go a long way to making the smoothie taste fresher and less like ground dirt. In other words, don't skimp on tha herbz.<br />
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- 1/4 cup water<br />
- 1/2 cup ice<br />
- 2 cups kale<br />
- 1/2 cup spinach<br />
- 1 banana<br />
- 1 green apple<br />
- 3 stalks celery<br />
- 2 large carrots<br />
- 1 pear<br />
- 1/4 cup grapes<br />
- Literally anything else that might make it taste better, including: Cuties, oranges, limes, lemons, fresh or frozen berries, cucumber, pineapple and mango<br />
- 1 handful each parsley, cilantro and mint (add at the very end)<br />
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<b>Step One</b><br />
Blend all but the herbs using your friend's $400 Vitamix blender. Really, don't even bother making the above smoothie if you don't have an blender with horsepower equivalent to your car or a semi-truck. In the loving arms of the Vitamix, the smoothie is homogenous and darn near edible. When handed over to a Black & Decker that you bought at Target for $39.99, for example, your smoothie will need to be chewed like cud and you <i>will</i> dry heave in your kitchen at 6 a.m. Don't blame me; it's science.<br />
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<b>Step Two</b><br />
Thank and bless the herbs as you gently sprinkle them into the top of the mixture. Then blend them in. Seriously though. Forget those herbs and you will be awash in a sea of regret.<br />
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<b>Step Three</b><br />
Drink 16 oz. or more, making sure that at least one gulp is in the presence of someone who finds the whole thing to be repulsive.<br />
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<b>Step Four</b><br />
Separate the remaining into mason jars or other clear containers that will eye you with judgment every time you open up the fridge and don't drink from them. Finish it off and repeat from Step One until your skin turns green.<br />
<br />Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-18507453109342946432013-09-09T12:24:00.003-05:002013-09-09T12:24:43.381-05:00JubilationTruth be told, I've been a bit crabby lately.<br />
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What is causing this Case of the Mehs? When I get busy, I start coding every activity as an obligation. Everything from meetings to dance performances to happy hours are being scheduled into similar-looking-blocks on my calendar, all with the same precision. As a result, my brain is on auto-pilot getting from one thing to the next.<br />
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In reality, most of the things on my schedule are on there because <i>I want them to be. </i>No one is forcing me to coach this team, and I of course want to attend social functions with my lovely friends. So, rather than feeling like my schedule is an Outlook Calendar Straightjacket, I'm going to approach each day with <b>jubilation. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
That's right. <b>J is for jubilation.</b><br />
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"Have to" becomes "Get to."<br />
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"Am supposed to be" becomes "Am excited to." <br />
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You get the point. It's time to start feeling jubilant about life, instead of being bogged down by it. After all, I have a pretty fabulous life.<br />
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Last week, I may have focused on how hard it is to get to my dance practices on time, or how we're still facing heat index warnings in our non-air-conditioned gym in mid-September.<br />
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Instead, I'm focusing on how I get to hang out with 31 hilarious, talented and genuinely nice teenage dancers today. And I'm happy that we'd already earmarked today as a low-intensity practice, with plenty of water breaks and lowkey team-building activities.<br />
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<b>Jubilation.</b> It probably shouldn't be forced, but I'm going to try to anyway. Stay tuned.<br />
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<br />Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-69821085966767622272013-09-06T09:30:00.002-05:002013-09-06T09:33:37.090-05:00In the Aeroplane Over the SeaContinuing on this alphabet challenge, I stole a page from MM's playbook and peeked into my iTunes to see what my most-played "I" song was.<br />
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Then I laughed aloud. Several years ago, I shared the song <b>"In the Aeroplane Over the Sea"</b> with a guy I was interested in dating. I breathlessly recapped how the entire album by Neutral Milk Hotel was based on the story of Anne Frank, and how stunning this particular song was.<br />
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He responded by sending me <i>his</i> favorite song, which was either a parody of Electronica, or the worst Electronica ever... and I was reminded how very little game I have when it comes to the fellas. Nothing says "Date me" quite like admitting on Day 2 that you sometimes listen to songs about mass genocide for funsies.<br />
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Not all the dudes are turned off by my flimsy flirting, though. Last year, my friend came over to eavesdrop on a conversation I was having with a guy I'd met just hours previously. From afar, I appeared to be batting the lashes, taking tequila shots, and gesturing wildly. Then she got close enough to hear me.<br />
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<i>YES! Hillary Clinton is THE BEST Secretary of State OF ALL TIME. She is a diplomatic GENIUS...*</i><br />
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Zero filter as always. But this time, the reaction was different.<br />
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<i>You're damn right she is! I can't wait to see her leverage that role in 2016!*</i><br />
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We've been together ever since. And he likes depressing music, too.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Paraphrasing, because tequila.</span><br />
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<br />Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-18677476710866416792013-09-05T13:27:00.000-05:002013-09-06T09:30:43.812-05:00Harboring expectationsIf you've picked up a newspaper in the last five years, you'll know that Gen Y is comprised of entitled jerks who freeload off their (helicopter) parents and hop from job to job with reckless abandon. If you're a member of Gen Y, you know that the "job hop" is usually a necessity - until you find a company willing to hire you full-time, you take on internship after internship, knowing you'll likely be replaced by a new sucker after six months. All this, as the weight of student loans bears down upon you - is it already the 15th of the month, again?<br />
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Listen, I'm not the 27-year-old who believes that we should be given a cookie and a McMansion upon completion of undergrad. But I graduated in May of 2008, and the first job offer I was received was <i>as a professional grocery shopper for the elderly.</i> (One hundred thousand sparkly rainbows to my mother, who agreed to pay my September 2008 student loan payment so that I could avoid adding "Adept at locating low-sodium navy bean soup mix" to my resume.)<br />
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<a href="http://www.smartcompany.com.au/hiring/031158-who-d-hire-a-gen-y-4.html">Source</a></div>
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Through what can only be described as a CareerBuilder Miracle, I landed a front-desk position at an ad agency. I became Fed Ex's best customer and maintained supplies of hard and soft licorice bits so as to appease my fellow employees' discerning candy palates. Once, I gave our client - the CEO of a food company - an expired Diet Coke and he called me on it. I learned that "New Business Research" was code for trolling LinkedIn with the voracity of a stalker ex-boyfriend. (The day they added the "who's viewed your profile" feature was a bleak one indeed.)<br />
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I leveraged that role into a writing-focused position at my current company, where I've happily stayed put for three years. On paper, I look more established than the statistics report - I'm a loyal and long-time employee, I don't live with my parents, and I pay my bills on time.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing - it's a big fat lie. I purchased my car from my stepgrandma to avoid taking on another loan. I recently moved in with generous friends so I don't have to pay more in rent than I would on a modest mortgage. I swing by my parents' house to steal fresh fruit like Aladdin in the open-air market. And perhaps in the most millennial move of all, I work side jobs so that I can put money into savings without skipping sushi night with my girlfriends.<br />
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I'm not alone - 35 percent of employed millennials have started their own businesses to make ends meet. By my count, I've spent at least half of my PTO running my "side businesses" - which include coaching a dance team, and taking on marketing and writing clients that don't conflict with my non-compete. Every time I hear about how lazy and entitled we 20-somethings are, I mentally relive the four hours of vacation time I spent huffing school bus fumes on the way to dance camp.<br />
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By circumstance and yes, because we buy $5 lattes too frequently, members of Gen Y are still less stable than previous generations. But I've found that with a strong support system, a surprising amount of cunning, it's possible (and unbelievably fulfilling) to piece together a life that resembles the one I'd always expected.Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-56979326295424273102013-08-26T16:47:00.000-05:002013-09-06T09:30:52.402-05:00GoosebumpsThe first time I heard Macklemore/Ryan Lewis' "Same Love" was in November of 2012. I cried about eleven times that Election Day, while maniacally refreshing the data on Minnesota exit polls. <a href="http://www.policymic.com/articles/18334/amendment-1-in-minnesota-voters-will-defeat-same-sex-marriage-ban">I was optimistic</a> that my state would do the right thing by voting against a ban on gay marriage. We did, and as of August 1, 2013, same sex marriage is legal in my home state.<br />
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Only nine months later, this song is being played on every pop, alternative, and R & B station in the country. A friend recently said they were soooooo sick of hearing it.<br />
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Everyone is entitled to their opinion, of course, but if this song still doesn't give you <b>goosebumps - </b>even when you hear it for a third time in one day - then you're crazy.<br />
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After years of stagnation, the changeover in public support for same sex marriage has been swift and (at least in my opinion), inexplicable. A year ago, I never would have imagined that my gay friends could be getting married in the state I call home - just as I never would have believed that uber-commercial outlets like MTV and Clear Channel Radio would be playing a song like this. So for me? <b>G is for goosebumps,</b> every time.<br />
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Here's the group performing their hit on the VMAs last night.<br />
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Get More:
<a href="http://www.mtv.com/ontv/vma/" style="color: #439cd8;" target="_blank">2013 VMA</a>, <a href="http://www.mtv.com/artists/" style="color: #439cd8;" target="_blank">Artists.MTV</a>, <a href="http://www.mtv.com/music/" style="color: #439cd8;" target="_blank">Music</a>, <a href="http://www.mtv.com/artists/macklemore-and-ryan-lewis/" style="color: #439cd8;" target="_blank">Macklemore & Ryan Lewis</a></div>
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<br />Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-68130644505397418792013-08-23T17:08:00.001-05:002013-09-06T09:31:02.757-05:00FuneralsEveryone should read this article called, "<a href="http://www.npr.org/2005/08/08/4785079/always-go-to-the-funeral">Always go to funerals.</a>"<br />
<br />
Like the author of the above article, my parents have always instilled in me the importance of saying goodbye, and of supporting the families and friends of the recently passed. Of course, my uncle and grandfather own and operate funeral homes, so it's likely that I am closer to the issue than most.<br />
<br />
Over the last few years, I have witnessed and experienced colossal, devastating loss. Even when there is a chilling absence of peace and comfort, each funeral and visitation has offered a powerful sense of community, and of love. Even when the condolences are awkward, they are heartfelt. Even when the grieving family cannot offer you a smile that would ease the tension, they are grateful for your presence.<br />
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So, <b>F is for funerals.</b> It's not a glamorous topic, but it sure is an equalizing one. Like the author, I urge you to attend them. Even more, make others - your spouse, your children, your friend who "thinks it's creepy" - go with you, too.Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-10101376083390933032013-08-19T13:40:00.000-05:002013-09-06T09:31:11.156-05:00Emilio EstevezJeff and his college buddies have a thing where they tell jokes about Emilio Estevez. It's nearly impossible to explain, so here's an example.<br />
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<i>What do you call Emilio Estevez when he gets a job as a stock broker?</i><br />
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<i><b> Emilio Invest-evez.</b></i><br />
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Here's another example.<br />
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<i>What do you call Emilio Estevez when he puts on his clothes for the day?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i> <b> Emilo Is-Dressed-Evez.</b></i><br />
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As you can imagine, there is no real end in sight for this game. That is, until I released the greatest EE joke of all a few weeks ago.<br />
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<i>What do you call Emilio Estevez when he joins a sorority? </i><br />
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<b><i> Emilio #Blessed-Evez.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
{Drops the mic.}<br />
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{Picks it back up to share this photo with you.}<br />
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<a href="http://bleacherreport.com/articles/851242-the-5-most-important-characters-to-the-mighty-ducks-movie-franchise/page/5">Gordon Bombay Photo Source</a></div>
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Anyway, you should probably all share your favorite original Estevez jokes in the comments. </div>
<br />Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-65138174305181675222013-08-16T11:55:00.001-05:002013-09-06T09:31:21.684-05:00DecisiveI've mentioned before that coaching a dance team was the best thing that ever happened to me, from a decision-making standpoint. There's no pressure quite like the one you feel when 30+ teenage girls are staring at you waiting on an edict.<br />
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When I first started coaching, I was an assistant. I was the nice coach - and boy did those gals love me. I spent that year listening and appeasing. When I entered the room, I was greeted with a chorus of them yelling, "Geeeeeeeeen!"<br />
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It was delightful. They complimented my outfits and my hair. It was basically like a daily shower of appreciation.<br />
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Then I was hired as the head coach, which is essentially being hired as the "bad cop." You have to be strict and fair so that everyone is showing up, on time, and doing the work. And you have to make a thousand decisions - decisions about apparel, practice times, facilities, budgets, captains... and that's before you ever even get to practice.<br />
<br />
At practice, the clock is ticking. The arms are folded. You can see the scoffs and protests lying in wait deep in their throats, ready to come spewing out.<br />
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<b>D is for decisive. </b><br />
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Make a decision, and stick with it. Try your best to recognize your opposition, ensure they feel heard, and then move on. No time to look back.<br />
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I guess what I'm saying is, when a gaggle of girls is telling you at the beginning of the season to speed up the kick tempo, it's best to keep it at 145 beats per minute. Trust me on this one, you guys. You don't wanna see what happens at 155 beats per minute.Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351403587467776479.post-26916153746870078702013-08-12T08:29:00.006-05:002013-09-06T09:31:28.127-05:00Coffeeshop convosTwo weeks ago, I worked remotely in San Francisco, which was an all-around delightful experience. The only real issue is that I ended up having to work longer hours than expected because of <b>coffeeshop convos.</b><br />
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<b>C is for coffeeshop convos,</b> which can consist of eavesdropping on strangers in coffeeshops, or striking up your own conversation with strangers in coffeeshops. I did my fair share of both during that week.<br />
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At Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, for example, a Frenchman decided I look positively San Franciscan, and asked me for advice on what to see and do in the fair city. I gave him a few ideas before admitting that I was actually from Minneapolis.<br />
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"Minnesota?" he remarked with surprise. "I know that place! The um, the show... there was the show with the twins who moved from Minnesota. Such a long time ago... 90210!"<br />
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"Yes! Brenda and Brandon Walsh," I affirmed.<br />
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"We loved that show. We love all your shows," he offered back. Then he went on to tell me how disappointed he was when he visited New York, and found out that Central Perk, the coffee shop from Friends, wasn't real.<br />
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"It was filmed in L.A.! It wasn't even in New York at all! I asked everyone and they all said it was filmed on a stage!"<br />
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We discussed fictitious sets for awhile, and I told him that if he ever wanted to see Cheers in person, he could go to Boston. I also told him that he could visit a <a href="http://www.npr.org/2013/01/23/170074762/friends-will-be-there-for-you-at-beijings-central-perk">Central Perk replica</a> in Beijing, China, if his travels ever took him there. That seemed to satisfy him.<br />
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Last, I taught Etienne (which he told me was the French version of "Steve") the word "snooty," and mapped pretty much his entire trip for him on my computer.<br />
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He seemed grateful and relatively surprised that I would spend fifteen minutes finding him a Radio Shack within walking distance. In fact, <b>coffeeshop convos</b> with non-creepers are pretty much my favorite way to pass time.<br />
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<br />Gina Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18308432596661289197noreply@blogger.com0