No Matter What, There Are Things to Be Grateful For

Honey mustard from Baker's Square
The vibration of a text message
Finding affordable journals at Michael's
How my iPod from 2007 is in perfect working condition
Henne's big mouth, open in a mini-scream
Fishtail braiding
David Sedaris
My nice dental hygienist
Free toothbrushes
Sister Wives
Afternoon trots downtown
Guiltless naps
Honesty and sincerity
Pockets of friends
Hot pockets of friends
That last one wasn't a real gratitude
But, hot pockets are usually worth mentioning
GPS for us directional idiots
Purple toenails
Perspective from space and time
Being tired at appropriate times
You go talk to your friends, talk to my friends, talk to me
Summer camp always with us
Making Lists

Henne at the Square

Remember When It Was My Birthday?

And I went to my favorite restaurant of all time--Baker's Square (sidenote: if you think that's sketchy/ghetto fab, die in a fire, it's an extremely nostalgic dining experience for most Chicago southsiders/amazing honey mustard so get over yourself)--and I ordered every pie on the menu? Because that happened.

30 pieces of pie. So this would be less than half.

My favorite Baker's Square pies--by category:

Best fruit pie: Cherry
Best Cream Pie: Strawberry cream cheese
Best Cake-like Pie: Oreo
Wildcard: Key lime
Wildcard Dos: Pecan French silk

Here's the thing. Every pie was delicious. Every one! So, like, how else in the world was I ever going to experience every pie because, you know, you go, and you say you're going to try something new, but how can you try something new when there is Oreo to be had?!

There were plenty of leftovers:

Ohmygod, ohmygod you pies!

(alternate Legally Blonde lyrics sung by Pookie and moi during pie hangovers)

True Meaning of Christmas

This morning I was sitting in church, and I was thinking about The True Meaning of Christmas. I think Jesus was a real neat dude. I know, I know, there's a good chance you probably don't believe he existed, and my theory is I don't really care. I like the guy--fiction or non, and I think we could learn a lot from his* lessons.

But I really don't think Christmas means Jesus to me. A. He probably wasn't really born December 25th. B. We should think about being good people all year (what I think Jesus symbolizes--or should). I don't love Christmas. I really don't. I like the build-up--like the songs and color schemes, but I find it a lame, sluggish, stressful, consumerist holiday BAGGGGH. I KNOW I RUIN EVERYTHING. Still, if I celebrate it, it should mean something. And, I think it does, but I don't know what exactly. Maybe family, I think. Something about it. Something about good cheer. I do believe in that. Peace--yes, I think peace is part of it. Bill Murray's Scrooged, stars, cute depictions of manger scenes, cookies, cartoon trees, George Bailey. I'm very very blessed to have my family.

I was icky sick on the drive from Pookie's to my dad's, so they drove. I sat in the front seat while my dad drove ahead in my car. After a while my sister's phone rang--"Checking on the Pookie," he said. My sister rubbed my neck.

Yesterday night I got to my mom's apartment in the city. "Voila!" she said. I had forgotten I had sent her a recipe for pumpkin cheesecake I found online. SHE HAD MADE IT. A great surprise.


Baker's Square French Silk.

*Purposeful non-capitalization.

Oreo Pie Monster

Pookie. Baker's Square. June 2011.

Same old graduate school song: I am sinking in quicksand. Sinking, sinking, SINKING!

Papers to grade.
Emails to answer.
Sketches to write.
Research to do.
Presentations to give.
Plays to revise.
Plane tickets to buy.
Living space to clean.
Restaurants to try.
Haunted houses to scream in.
Rehearsal to attend.
The Grand Canyon to visit.
Phone calls to make.
Letters to mail.

Plus, I had this goal of ordering a piece of every pie from Baker's Square. In this mess of muddled brain-muck, I freeze with anxiety over the readings due in two days and the pies I want to eat and what to wear to KWall's wedding all at the same time.

STUFF TO GET RID OF BECAUSE IT IS THE MOST UNPRODUCTIVE:

Guilt.
Anxiety.
Worry.