Life of a 20something

However homemaker-ish this post is, I am far from a homemaker…

February 1, 2011
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However homemaker-ish this post is, I am far from a homemaker…

….And not just because I’m 23 and the thought of keeping, let alone making a home is as far out of the question as is keeping a sun tan these Colorado days (today was -11 degrees, but it’s fine because tomorrow will be -18). Anyways, I did bear some semblance to a frustrated homemaker today as I unloaded the dishwasher. I was emptying the silverware bin and I kept putting forks where spoons should go, knives where forks should go and so on. I’ve wondered this a thousand times over…when people load the dishwasher, why don’t they put all forks in one slot, all spoons in another, all knives in another and so on? Then when they unload, they don’t have to spend as much time sorting through everything and having the silverware trip all over each other. I’ve always been baffled by the non-habit, and tonight, over slow-cooked chicken and corn, I asked my roommate her thought on the inefficiency. “Well, when you put spoons all next to each other, they stick to each other and cup each other…you know, they spoon each other.” And gosh it hit me as hard as the snow’s about to hit the

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Today’s perfect shade is tomorrow’s best memory.

January 19, 2011
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In my last post, I introduced Lucy – the 10-year-old that I bonded with over a single night of babysitting. I alluded to her saying something at bed time that struck my memory, and I said I’d save that thought for next time. Welcome to next time. So after our evening of sharing hearts, her asking me every question under the sun and her telling me I was her favorite babysitter (not the first time that’s been said…), I tucked Lucy in to bed. On my way out of her room, Lucy called to me. “Hey Stacy…” “Yeah, Luc?” (We were definitely on a nickname basis) “Have a good life.” It wasn’t specifically Déjà Vu, but I knew that wasn’t the first time I’d heard those words in her exact, earnest tone. I tilted my intrigued head and scrunched a baffled brow as I pulled from my memory. My wonder eased into a smile realizing “have a good life” was something I’d said to a friend and written about on my Asia travels way back when (surprisingly a year from last week—time.flies..flipping.fast.). I pulled out some Asian archives, edited slightly and here’s the basic recap: As I hugged Toby goodbye

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Worth it to the bottom of the bag.

December 28, 2010
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In my last semester of college, I developed a Chex Mix addiction. I’d add dark chocolate chips into the mix, and every sweet and salty bite seemed like a taste of heaven. That last semester, I’d also broken a finger playing flag football. My intent was to intercept the ball entirely, but instead, I just tipped it, with my pinky. It snapped backwards, or sideways, or some direction that, it too, never intended on, and it hurt like hell. It was one of the first plays of the game, though –I had to keep going, but by the end of our loss, my itty bitty pinky was the size of an aroused man. I went back to my sorority house (where I’d lived the past three years) and showed it to our chef, Martha (who’d become my mother away from mothers). She’s a super sassy ball of whippersnapper fire, a touch over 5 feet, and her spiked gray hair matched her take-no-bullshit, give-no-bullshit attitude. “Honey, what the hell happened, that thing looks like an erection” “I know, I know… I need ice, or tape, or one of those metal splint things” “No, ya idiot, you need

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33 Years of Blissful, Heavenly, Joyous Marriage

October 23, 2010
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…or something similar to that. Happy Anniversary to Mommy and Daddy Tasman! 33 years is nuts. Mathletes, don’t correct me, but that’s something like 1.35 times my age. These kids have woken up next to each other more times than I’ve woken up to myself, naps included, and I think the longest I’ve ever liked one boy wasn’t even 33 days (I’m sorry if any of you got the wrong impression). Funny story to tie in: I had bed bugs some short months ago. They aren’t bad at all, in fact, I feel like it made me a stronger New Yorker. But when I first figured out that my bug bites weren’t from rolling in the Central Park grass, I flipped and cried for daddy to “send me home immediately.” I realize now that I could have been a bit dramatic. And his less dramatic response? “Stac, I’ve slept next to your mother for 33 years, you can stand a few bed bugs for a couple of days. You’re stayin’.” Sympathy is never his forte, but sometimes he’s funny. And another story to tie in: My cab driver yesterday asked me if I was married. I always make

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L’Shana Tova

September 14, 2010
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L’Shana Tova

A few days ago was the Jewish New Year, and since I’m a New Year’s baby (born on January 1st), a part of me considered a few days ago my birthday. Regardless, I’ll use any excuse to reflect, but am happy to have Rosh Hashanah reinforcing the habit. The day is a large cultivator of introspection, with an emphasis on your most recent year. So, here goes. 365 days ago, I was in my senior year of college. My sorority house was the center of my being- that or Gator City on Wednesday’s Ladies Night. My face was painted every Saturday, I most looked forward to Pi Phi Taco Bar, I ran stadiums more than Tim Tebow, rode the Frat Row bus more than the frat row boys and studied more than, well, no one really (but school was free Dad, so no money wasted). Life was easy, other than the impending truth of its ease dwindling at the short semester’s end. 225 days ago, I was pedaling the back roads of Cambodia, coming near death by monkey in Thailand and writing off 11-hour bus rides in Vietnam as a breeze. I met someone new every day, learned something new

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I, I gotta new life. You would hardly recognize me, I’m so glad.

September 6, 2010
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I, I gotta new life. You would hardly recognize me, I’m so glad.

First off, I’m obsessed with acoustic covers of Ace of Base’s I Saw The Sign. Second off, this post is not timely whatsoever, so when I say today, I actually mean like 8 days ago…and then I’ll write about the in between 8 days… probably in…3 days. But, no promises. So, “today” was a beautiful day – relentlessly clear blue with a mesmerizing sunset raising curtain to a sharply-lit skyline. A few friends gathered on the Hudson after a long day at Central Park, as the sun tucked behind the chiseled outline of the city, and cotton candy became of the sky. No doubt a delicious-looking sunset. Coupled with a delicious order of garlic fries and hummus wrap, feeling full is not the word. The girl I split the fries, wrap and horizon with was Leah, and since she moved up to NYC a few weekends ago, I feel like life has been go, go, go-with the very frequent over-analysis of where it is we are actually going? My dad sends me e-mails pretty regularly, and usually the e-mails have links to articles that mostly detail how to save the money I barely make in the first place. His most

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From the land of exhaustion.

August 10, 2010
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The Sand Man and I aren’t on speaking terms these days. He says I don’t pay him enough attention. I tell him I’m busy, take a number, boy. That being said, I guess it’s no surprise that when the plane shoved off from New York to Florida on Friday, I was hit with an onset of exhaustion. It was an exhaustion build-up that kicked me in the face the second New York and I parted ways. I thought this weekend in Sarasota would cure this non-alcohol-induced life hangover (Let me be more correct and say not-entirely-alcohol-induced life hangover), but here I am again, back on the plane, stressed out, heavy-eyed and energyless. Such lack of strength can be a compilation of too much work, too much play, too much running on top of shin splits, drinking on top of hangovers (this time I do mean alcohol-induced) and dancing on top of bars. Kidding, but I couldn’t think of another “on top”. (real life interjection: I totally just had the flight attendant deliver me a single dose packet of aspirin) Anyways this just goes to show how easy it is to get caught up in New York City. I’d been going

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This post is rated R.

August 2, 2010
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This post is rated R.

Mom and Dad, that’s fair warning. You should probably go back to watering the cactus garden. Fine, read what you will. So, Saturday was quite the night. Nia and I started out at a friend of a friend’s apartment-warming party on Wall Street. This apartment was all too debonair, and the wine and cheese was all too perfect a compliment. Nia and I spent the majority of the party attached to the cheese platter, and befriended those like-minded people who loitered round the hors d’oeuvres as well. Good people. Coincidently (really it was a coincidence), we headed out as the cheese dwindled. Another friend of a friend that I’d met a few weeks back had tickets to an 80’s cover band at Canal Room. Here’s why I love Nia: I was taller than the two boys we met there, and that’s always just plain awkward. So with no sigh or rolled eye, Nia traded her flats for my heels. So, an hour in to the jumping and jamming, we had to give up. The energy level of the band, and these boys, was too much for our old souls. Winding through Soho to get back home, we ran into a

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