Happy Holidays, my babies!

I'm not gonna lie oh readers, I've been feeling pretty festive lately. I decided to put together a little jazzy holiday mix to thank you for your sweet sweetness over the two and a half years I have been regaling you with the minutia of my life.

Thanks ever so much, and best wishes for a happy holiday season.

(give her a minute to load up, she's a big one)



Or, listen on Grooveshark here.

Woot for small hands!

A coworker crocheted these gloves but they ended up being too small for her. My freakishly long and skinny hands luckily fit them, well, like a glove.

Oh feeble typing hands you shall be chilled no more. Come warmth!


(Though in a weird way I feel like Madonna meets your grandma meets an Easter egg.)

My pics for the Current's "Top 89".

Cage The Elephant: Ain't No Rest for the Wicked (Cage The Elephant)
Bon Iver: Brackett, WI (Dark Was The Night)
Brother Ali: Good Lord (The Truth Is Here)
Camera Obscura: Honey in the Sun (My Maudlin Career)
Dirty Projectors and David Byrne: Knotty Pine (Dark Was The Night)
The Bird And The Bee: My Love (Ray Guns Are Not Just The Future)
Ben Kweller: Sawdust Man (Changing Horses)
Alexi Murdoch: Towards The Sun (Away We Go Soundtrack)
Grizzly Bear: Two Weeks (Veckatimest)
The Big Pink: Velvet (A Brief History Of Love)

You can listen to a playlist I have made of these songs here:



Or if you don't like the widget, you can listen here.

We've got a code 70 on isle 6.

I just witnessed an attempted shoplifting!

I was in Walgreens. Just a regular day at Walgreens, right? I was checking out at the pharmacy department, picking up a prescription and some gum. Classic Walgreens purchase, right? RIGHT?

Then, all of the sudden, the employee that was checking me out calmly but fast like lightening picks up the telephone receiver and says over the loudspeaker "We've got a code 70 on isle 6. I repeat, code 70 on isle 6." I spin around to see 4 blue-vested employees speed-walking toward isle 6 from all angles of the store.

My vision is blocked, but I hear a slight scuffle. Next thing I know, an armload of goods is slammed down on the counter next to me. One of the vested speed-walkers brushes the bangs from her face and says "he had quite the night planned, didn't he?"

I looked over to see what the man had attempted to shove inside his coat: Not, one, not two, but EIGHT two-packs of single-shot energy drinks, and what else? You guessed it. A bottle of lube.

White girl can't rap.

I recently joined a small vocal ensemble and last week was my first performance with the group. The song we performed is Mercy by Duffy and it would be accurate to describe my role in this song as one of the "yeah yeah yeah" girls, with one exception. Halfway through the song there is a vocal percussion breakdown where every member of the group except the soloist and myself repeat different vocal beats, thus denoting the breakdown. My part includes 8 bars of rapping. That's right. Rapping. Having a little experience in the karaoke Gangsta's Paradise realm, I wasn't really nervous or anything until I realized that the audience we were performing for was about 100 students from the Black Student Union at the University, and maybe a handful of others (mostly consisting of our out-of-place ultra-white group)*. So the first stanza of my ridiculously non-sensical rap goes like this:

You look at me and think we're the same kind
'Cause you don't know what I got and
I want a bit more than I'm asking for
but I just don't want to waste my time

Pretty easy right? Theoretically. But for a rowdy theater full of yelling, snapping, clapping, boisterous college kids, they were essentially silent when we got up there. The lights were blinding, the mood was one of full-on skepticism. From them, it was probably skepticism over "who the hell are these kids coming to our show to perform in a format we're not used to", and from us, it was skepticism over whether we would perform well, mess up, be accepted, etc. Most of my group was calm and ready to rock. But something came over me when it was almost time for me to rap. I locked up and I got so worried about forgetting the words that this, to my horror, is what came out of my mouth:

You look at me and think we're the same kind
'Cause you don't know what I got and
I want a bit flim flattadata dat
bada blip blop bee boop dip dap dap

I finished the stupid rap unable to look anyone in the audience in the eyes, which meant, since it was stadium seating, that I had to stare at the floor until the song was over. I would like to think I can rap...but scat-rapping is not something I hope I never have to face doing again.

*Truth be told, one of us is 1/18 Hawaiian. That counts towards diversity, right?

Naming a band is difficult.

If you want to hear what it sounds like when a rowdy and ridiculously unproductive a cappella group tries to come up with a new name, one of our members secretly taped our discussion last night. THIRTY-EIGHT MINUTES WORTH OF IT.

The discussion features poop, farting, wikipedia, Garrision Keillor, Suri Cruz, noisy neighbors, and a stranger named Pam.

Listen: Kill me now.

p.s. I didn't mean to do a deaf voice when doing an impression of the "Noisy Neighbors". It just came out, ok?

And no. We never came up with a name.

Here! Let me sing for you.

One of my colleagues frequently writes song parodies for his podcast and sometimes he requests my inner diva to assist him. This one is a combination of a song from A Chorus Line and the swine flu vaccine. (It's short, just 40 seconds.)

He sings one chorus and then my diva is unleashed. Enjoy!

Listen: I hope I get it.

And no it didn't take 12 attempts to get this version.........*cough.

Slow Motion Sneezing.

Ok I probably wouldn't have gotten swine flu if more people would have watched this video. Although I was reflecting today that because of this "coughing into your elbow" thing that everyone's supposed to be doing now, people who are recovering like me must have some pretty gross and infections inner-elbows on our sweaters and shirts. Hopefully no one grabs my arm if they need me or something, otherwise they're going to get a handful of disease.

Anyway, enjoy this masterpiece. Don't you think it's kind of...beautiful, in a way?

Shhhhh. Secrets.

I was pulled into an audio booth the other day to help reporter Euan Kerr voice some stuff for his Post Secret story. My secrets talk about racism, God, and hotel rooms. Enjoy!

Triplets from Hell.

It was a fantastic Zombie Pub Crawl this year. On October 10, between 5,000 and 6,000 zombies took over the West Bank of Minneapolis, and I have to say, we won the award for cutest costume. Ladies and gentlemen I present to you, in full blood-soaked onesies...the Triplets from Hell.

Our mom and dad turned us into zombies in the middle of the night, so we ate them.

I have been swined.

Well. It got me, folks. The swine reared its ugly head and I was quarantined in my studio apartment for four entire days, without the slightest bit of human interaction. The following was my life for four days.

Note: Graphic.

Wake up to a bloody nose. Shove some Kleenex up my nostril. Clean the inside of my mouth/face of whatever collected in there throughout the night of incomplete sleep, tossing, turning, coughing, and fever dreams. Check my temperature. Put on 10 pounds of clothes if I'm frigid or strip down to shorts and tank top if I'm burning. Amble over to the couch. Put on endless episodes of either Lost or How I Met Your Mother. Groan. Cough. Take some Robitussin. Take some Aspirin. At about 3 or 4 p.m. realize that I haven't eaten or drank anything all day. Sip some water and choke down a little bit of soup. Get another bloody nose. Take care of said bloody nose. Check my temperature. Nap for 45 minutes. Wake up covered in sweat. Go back to the couch. Watch more Lost/HIMYM. Participate in a sterile mail-room exchange of goods from a friend. Wave meekly at friend through window and mouth the words "thank you so much". Collect your items from the floor of the mail room. Go back upstairs. Eat and/or drink a little. Take some more meds. Watch more episodes. Try to brush teeth. Crawl back into bed. Get into a coughing fit whilst lying there trying to fall asleep. Get one more bloodly nose. Sleep. Repeat.

Please try not to get H1N1 people. And if you do, bite the bullet and quarantine yourself like I did. I promise after a few days it starts to feel normal not to be part of civilization...like you have your own sickly little hobbit hole. And when your gone, perhaps your coworkers will give you a shoutout at the end of their podcast:

Secondhand Storytime.

I heard an amazing, shocking and hilarious story from a friend, who heard it from a friend, who heard it from a friend's friend.

At work, I relayed the story to my colleague and he suggested I submit it to a cool podcast called Secondhand Storytime and as it turns out, they recorded my story and the episode aired this week. Let me tell you...based on the responses I've gotten from people much smarter than me...I learned a powerful lesson about hearing things through the grapevine.

Here's the podcast.

Sorry Douglas Adams! I didn't mean to swipe your story. And technically, I did hear it secondhand.

It's gonna be a good fall.

I'm coming up on quite the musical fall with being in two vocal groups and spending way more money than I'm worth on upcoming concerts. (And these are not to discredit the awesome Donkeys/Magnolia Electric Co., Parlour Suite, Phoenix, Decemberists, and Gospel Gossip shows that have entertained and delighted me this summer.)

September:



October:



December:



(And shhhhh don't tell anyone - it's not for me - it's for a friend - I swear - shut up) Next weekend:

A culinary tour of Portie Pants.

First, a warning: This post will make you hungry. Second, what you need to know: the lady pirates of Truth Pirates decided to attend the infamous Truth Pirates convention located in Portland, OR (the land of plentiful eats) this weekend. Here are some pictures of what we ate to make your mouth jealous. Enjoy!

An ode to Yim.

Weddings.

Family fun for everyone. Right? I learned some things from my wedding season this year, which will be coming to a close in just a few weeks. First, make friends with the family. On both sides. Weddings are family affairs so if you're not in with the fam, you may as well just keep quiet and put your people-watching glasses on because you're in for a long night. Second, bring a good date. If it's not someone you can make lovey dovey eyes with on the dance floor during slow, country songs, then pick the next best thing - a funny friend.

Enter..........Yim! Possibly the world's best choice for a wedding date. Yim drove all the way to MN from Iowa to spend the weekend as my +1, giving up some of the last few precious days he had to spend with his girlfriend before they embark on the ever-awesome long distance relationship train. Once he got to MN, we drove four hours up north in fairly horrific traffic. He accompanied me not only to the rehearsal, groom's dinner, wedding, and reception, but he and I also had the great honor of entertaining the groom on his last night of freedom. It was basically two and a half straight days of wedding fun, rarely a dull moment, and many a stream of tears falling from my face out of laughter.

Also, whereas I am weak and delicate like a princess, he's strong and burly like a mule or pack horse. Observe the photographic evidence:

To entertain ourselves and the people who had the great fortune of receiving our calls that night, Yim and I invented a game wherein we meld our minds together and speak the exact same words at the exact same time. Sad you didn't get a call? No worries. Yim and I called my phone so we could delight in hearing ourselves the next day. It mostly resulted in what sounds like him screaming into the phone and me yelping with glee in the background...but you get the picture. Observe:

Dowload our wedding trick audio file.

All in all, it was a fantastic weekend, with highlights including being upgraded to a suite, Yim sleeping in a real life murphy bed, taking the groom out for his last night, going on a rogue morning canoe ride, finding the lake entrance to Narnia, creating the best wedding game ever, and piling our plates with more meatballs and turkey and rolls and salad and carrots than should ever be consumed by any one human being. Oh, and the beer. The beer flowed like wine.

Thanks Yim!

I love the state fair!

*illustrations by Julia

Why don't I live in Boulder?

Muddy waters.

Yesterday I discovered the wonderment that is a mud pit.

I'm totally late on the band wagon to this one, but Minneapolis has a hidden beach that boasts a fully-fledged mud pit around the corner from the beach, and holy bajeebus is it muddy. My friend (let's call him T-bot) and I first started exploring the pit by delicately dipping our toes in the gooey, chilly mess. A few minutes later, we had rubbed it all over ourselves and were delighting in the stickiness of the clumps of dirt we would pick up from the bottom of the pit and fling at the sides.

T-bot was braver than I, as he took two gigantic glops of dripping mud and rubbed them all over his face and beard. I was a little more ladylike about it. But we learned a lot that day about how to have fun in a mud pit. So as a special present to you, I give you Anna and T-bot's top 10 list of ways to have fun in a mud pit!

10. Just get in it.
9. Explore all parts of the pit.
8. Cover your entire body in mud.
7. Make sure to get any spots that your friend may have missed.
6. Hold out your arms and say "wraaaaaa!" when you see little kids.
5. If you get some mud in your eye, well, good luck.
4. Muddy up a makeshift slide on the side of the pit. Slide down.
3. Try not to think too hard about what may be inside the mud pit.
2. Probably just don't smell anything in the mud pit.
1. Place large glops of mud in each of your right hands. Pull your right hands way behind your head and up high into the air. Give each other a gigantic, forceful high five. Let the mud, in all its splendorous glory, splatter all over your faces.*

*you best close your eyes for this one

Where did the summer go?

I was just looking at my calendar from now until October, and this is what the rest of my summer will consist of: Wedding, wedding, Denver, Portland, cabin, wedding, camping. I have nary a weekend left where I will be in town.

To me, though daunting, this seems like a good list. I'll be cooped up in this teeny apartment trying to keep warm all snowy winter long so I need to go out and explore and go on adventures while I can.

That being said, the fourth thing on my list means there may or not be a Liveblogging Truth Pirates sleepover version 2.0 in a few weeks...........

You're welc!

Horrifying sight found at Lake of the Isles.

My niece.

At one week old she smiles...even in the face of danger.

Baby-crazy auntie.

As you'll recall, I've been waiting a long time for my sister's baby to be born. But as of exactly one week ago she's finally here!

Just look at her. Little Maya will cute the pants off anyone trying to be cute. Just look at that little tree hugger. She's an infant and she already loves the environment.

So as her favorite aunt, I definitely have responsibilities. I'm flying to see her tonight and I have a suitcase stocked full of things for her that I am now going to force you to oooo and aaah over. But each of these things has a reason behind them because it's my master plan to shape her into a perfect being. Observe.

1. Pretty pink girl dresses. My sister is a huge tom boy, and so is my brother-in-law, obviously. Someone's got to help the little lassie look like the pretty princess that she is.



2. A boy tank top of an alien flying to mars. Did I tell you Maya is going to grow up to be an astronaut? Well, she is. Because of me. And because of this shirt.



3. An actual infant-sized rash guard. You know, a rash guard, to prevent surfers from getting board rash. They're normally made for adults. But Maya will pretty much be a surfer by next year knowing her parents.


4. This stuffed animal, so that she may appreciate people of all different forms of beauty, and learn that even though she's really pretty herself, uggos can be fun too.

5. The world's cutest onsie.










6. And then, of course, I want her to be brilliant and love books like her auntie and uncles and mom and dad, so I picked her out these, which perfectly suit the personalities of her mom and dad.


7. And every baby needs a blanket. I dropped the ball on my plan for knitting something for her so instead I got her the softest, monkiest blanket I could find.

I hope she loves me.

Tilt shift from Afghanistan!

I've been lucky enough to communicate lots with my friend who is stationed in Kandahar as an engineer in the Air Force right now. For some reason I kind of expected him to drop off the face of the earth until he comes back in October, but awesomely enough he has been totally present - sending us pictures, responding to emails within hours, and facebooking like a fiend.

His philosophy on taking pictures is that if he takes enough, there will be a few good ones here and there. Maybe I'm way behind the curve on this one, but sometimes he puts a tilt shift effect on his photos that makes everything look like a miniature model. It makes me feel like he's really in the Mr. Rogers Air Force, not, you know, the American one.

The pictures are of downtown Kabul, my friend says. Typical mud, brick, and mortar construction.


So I am now inspired to show you my street, if it were made of toys.


Aaaaaaaaaaaand a tilt shift photo of Falcor highly enjoying his back rub, just for you.